Power Hungry

	By Gail M. Eppers

	They found her in Shoreline Cemetery.  The fight must have been stupendous.  Two nearby heavy, granite tombstones were overturned and chipped.  The rear wall of the Becker Mausoleum was cracked in three places.  The grass was marred by more divots than a golf course, and red with blood.  Whoever or whatever she'd been fighting had apparently disarmed her, and used her own blade against her.  It lay in the red grass not far from her body.  There were numerous slashes along her arms and legs.  Her throat was cut open.  She was partially disemboweled.  There'd been nothing to do but call Giles and make arrangements, and try to comfort Dawn.  
	Giles had made it back to America in time for the funeral.  After which, there truly was nothing to be done.  They'd all gone home, heartbroken.  Giles had helped them make an attempt at tracking down her killer, but that investigation had come up dry.  She had simply met her match. 
	After moonrise on the day of the funeral, Spike came and stood at the grave.  He hadn't been able to go to the funeral, of course, but he felt a need to be here.  To say goodbye.  He stood there in the quiet night, looking down at the mound of freshly packed dirt and trying to ignore the ache in his chest.  They'd have to get a new gravestone.  The date was all wrong now.  He should have brought a flower, he thought.  There were bunches of flowers, lilies and whatnot, at the base of the stone, but Spike had brought none with him.  My bad, he thought, as Buffy liked to say.  He had suspicions about who had killed her, and he'd be checking them out straight away.  If he succeeded, he'd share the information with the Scoobies so they could put their minds at rest, but he wanted, needed, to work alone on this.  He knelt down, fighting the racking sobs that threatened to break through his cool exterior even though he was alone and unseen.  His black duster bunched around his legs and his vision blurred with tears.
	It was then that a hand shot through the surface.  Punched through, and began to claw at the mound.  
	Spike jumped back, startled.  "Buffy?" Spike said when the creature had exposed herself to the waist.  
	Her crazed, vamped face turned toward him.  She flipped her filthy hair aside.  "Spike."  The word slurred.  She wasn't used to talking around fangs.  Her cuts, the ones that could be seen outside of her funeral clothes, were dry now and sewn shut by the ME, but she only needed to feed to get them to heal.  She stopped in the midst of pulling her leg out of the ground when she saw Spike pick up a dry branch about two inches around and snap it in two over one knee.  "Spike, no!" Then her voice went falsely seductive.  "We're together now."
	Spike face went hard.  He lunged, plunging the makeshift stake through one of the few unmarred areas on her body and into her heart.  He watched the dust settle, then packed down the disturbed earth and went home.



Two and half years later:


	"Did you move California?" Rupert Giles called as he fingered the books on a shelf.  In his other hand, he held a stack of books about Disneyland that was getting rather heavy.    
	William Thackery,  Rupert's business partner of three years now, shouted from his location somewhere nearby, "Next row."  Then he came around the endcap.  "While you were on holiday, the shipment of Alaska came in and I had to move everything over."
	"Ah," Giles said, turning around and finding the section he wanted.  He turned a lone book that was facing outward to make room and began slipping in books from the stack on his arm.  "I thought I'd lost my senses.  Thank you."
	They both lifted their heads as the bell on the door sounded.  A woman came in.  She scanned the room, then approached the counter.  She stood five foot six or seven, and had long jet black hair that curled in waves down her back.  She was dressed in new, crisp black jeans and a peasant blouse.  William stepped over.  "Can I help you?"
	"I'm looking for Rupert Giles."
	Giles stood.  "I'm Rupert Giles," he said.  The woman turned, looking relieved.  Giles examined her face, trying to remember if he'd met her somewhere before.  Even from this distance, he noticed the hint of dark circles under her eyes, which sparkled as darkly as her hair.  From her ears dangled what looked like onyx earrings.   She looked almost panicked, and Giles stepped forward, handing what was left of his stack of books to William.  With a playful glare, William took them and the two men traded places.  "What can I do for you?"
	She glanced around again, as if to make sure that William wouldn't overhear.  William appeared absorbed in his task but Giles knew he was listening.  "You don't know me," she began.  Good, Giles thought.  Because I don't remember you.  "I'm Sarah George, a paranormal investigator.  I ... I have a message from Buffy."
	It seemed as if someone had poured quick drying cement into Giles' stomach.  "Buffy's been dead for ..."
	"Which is why she had to give me her message on my Ouija board," she explained.  "Look, I don't know who this Buffy is or what connection she has with you.  She kept saying 'get Giles' and 'Hellmouth' and," she paused, as if she didn't want to add anything but had to, "and 'hurry'."
	William gave up on hiding his curiosity.  He put the two books he had left on the floor in front of the shelves and came to stand next to Giles, who seemed to be a mannequin at the moment.  "Rupert?"  he prodded.
	It was as if William weren't there at all.  "How do I know ...?" But the question was more to himself than to Sarah George.  
	Sarah answered it anyway.  "She said if you showed doubts I should say 'Bay City Rollers'.  Does that mean something?"
	His expression told her it did.  He turned, bumping into William when he didn't realize his friend was so close.  Not even embarrassed, he said, "William, I need a week off."
	"You just came back from holiday.  You probably haven't even unpacked!"
	"That's fortunate, then, isn't it?"  He stepped past William, taking permission for the time off for granted.   "Thank you, Ms. George.  If you speak with Buffy again, please tell her I'm on my way."  He tried to hurry out the door, but was stopped when Sarah put a hand on his arm.  "Ms. George?"
	"Call me Sarah.  I'm going with you."
	"That won't be nec--"
	"It's all set.  Buffy had me make all the arrangements before I came here.   We take off from Heathrow in three hours."
	There was no time for arguing, and Giles felt he should defer to Buffy in this instance.  "Very well, Ms. ... Sarah," he said, correcting himself.  "I don't suppose you have my suitcases in your car?"
	She smiled, thankful that he wasn't resisting.  "No, just mine.  But we have time to stop for them."
	They hurried out of the store and Giles lead her to his car.  He'd always missed his old Citroen and had been gratified to find a used one shortly after moving back to England.  He double parked by her car so they could transfer her bags into the back seat and he helped her lock it up.  "I'll have William check on it," he promised.
	The next two hours were a whirlwind of activity as they hurried to the airport, checked their bags, except for a small carry-on that Sarah kept with her, and then walked quickly to the gate and finally onto the plane.  Their seats were above the wing, which was fine with Giles.  It was a long flight to America, and clouds and water got to be very boring very quickly.  Sarah took the window seat and buckled in while Giles stored her carry-on in the overhead compartment.  As they waited for the plane to taxi toward the runway, there was finally time to think about what they were doing.  Although he had no plans whatsoever to change his mind, Giles decided he wanted to know more about this person he'd put his trust in.  "Sarah, what made you go into paranormal investigations?" he asked, buckling himself in.
	The question took her by surprise.  "Would you believe no one has ever asked me that before?"  She stopped to think about it, then replied, "I suppose it goes back to high school.  I've had the Ouija board since then."  She gave a little laugh.  "We all thought that it would be fun to play around with it.  Most of them..." she shrugged, "they had no idea.  They'd spell out cuss words and pretend some spirit was doing it.  It wasn't real.  I almost threw it away.  Until I tried it alone."
	"Alone?"
	"I know.  You're supposed to have two or more to make sure you're not guiding the planchette, but I know what I felt and it wasn't me."  The plane pulled away from the gate and started its wide turn out toward the runway.  "The first one, his name was Ben.  He'd been hit by a car when he was seven.  He wanted me to tell his mother that he was okay where he was.  He wasn't afraid, and that he'd wait for her."  She leaned back in the seat and looked out the window at the passing markers.  "He gave me all the information so I could find her and I went to see her."
	"What did you say?"  Giles couldn't imagine her telling a woman she'd spoken with her dead son.
	"Nothing, at first.  I pretended I was taking a survey, tried to feel out what kind of person she was.  If she was even open to such a thing."  Her head turned away from the window now and she looked straight ahead, as if the woman in question were sitting in the little elasticized pocket on the back of the next seat.  The plane began to accelerate.  "I guessed right.  When I got around to telling her about Ben, she burst into tears, and thanked me.  She hugged me and thanked me.  I guess Ben knew, because when I got the board out to tell him, he wouldn't come back anymore."
	She stopped, but Giles knew she wasn't done.  "You said he was the first.  There were others?"
	"Just one, really."  Her eyes drifted back to the window.  "I tried the board two or three times a week, but it was months before I made contact again.  This time it was Peter."  She took a deep breath, "Peter ... wasn't very nice.  He wanted me to help him hurt people, he ... I told him to go away, but every time I tried the board he'd come.  So I stopped using it.  I wanted to find out if there was some way to stop Peter, I guess.  So I started learning more about spirits and such."
	"And?"
	"It's been fascinating, but apparently the only way to stop Peter is to not help him.  He may have found someone else by now.   I'll never know.  Anyway, about a month ago, I ... I don't know how to describe it; I got a feeling that it was time to Ouija again.  So I got out the board.  I was really scared it would be Peter again, but as you may have guessed, it was Buffy."
	"I see."  The plane was in the air now, beginning its ascent. 
	Sarah watched the scenery shrink away for a minute, then turned to Giles, facing him for the first time.  "Tell me about Buffy."
	"She ---" He stopped himself.  What could he say about Buffy?  Even though Sara was familiar with the spiritual world, the idea of a vampire slayer might be difficult for her.  "She was a very dear friend."
	"How did she die?"  Sarah's voice was soft, almost drowned out by the white noise of the plane's engines.  Before he could begin to answer, she went on, "I'm sorry.  I can tell it's still very painful for you.  You don't have to talk about it."
	"Sarah --" He wanted to.  She deserved to know more about the person who'd thrust this little adventure on her.  But she was right about it being painful.  Even when he was ninety, it would be painful.  He probably could have adjusted to the way she died, eventually, but not to the circumstances.  He hadn't been there.  Buffy had met her match, and he'd been in England.  So far away that he'd nearly missed her funeral.  Willow and Xander, both in tears, had told him about finding her, and they'd been so distraught that he spent all his time in America consoling them and helping them adjust.  Spike had an even harder time with it.  It was Spike who'd tracked down her killer, he learned later, and Giles felt that, at least in part, they blamed him for not being there.  Just as he blamed himself.
	He was rescued by the voice of the female pilot.  They listened as she recited flight information and read off safety instructions while the flight attendants did their accompanying mime.  By the time it was finished, the plane had leveled off.  He was about to continue their discussion, but Sarah smiled and yawned.  "I guess we have a little time to relax.  I'm going to catch a few winks, if that's okay with you.  I haven't been sleeping very well lately."
	"Yes.  Fine."  He said, noticing again the pale shadows under her eyes. He picked up the in-flight magazine and began leafing through it.  He was far too nervous to actually read anything, but flipping through the pages kept his eyes and hands busy.  It wasn't long before Sarah's breathing became soft and regular and he envied her.  She not only didn't know Buffy, she didn't know anyone in Sunnydale, their final destination.  She didn't know anyone who was possibly in great danger at this very moment to warrant Buffy communicating with them from beyond the grave.  
	"You know," he heard suddenly, "you should get some sleep too or you'll be all jet-laggy." 
	The phrasing actually made him look around.  He didn't know anyone else who spoke like that.  At the same time, he recognized the voice as Sarah's and finally looked at her.  She was definitely still asleep, her head lolling toward the window, rocking gently with the plane's motion.  Her mouth moved.  "Giles, you'll be landing really early in the morning.  And you need to be ready."
	"... Buffy?" He whispered, so as not to disturb his fellow passengers.
	She also kept her voice low.  "Sorry for the 'boo' factor, Giles.  I can only do this when she's asleep and did I mention that's where you need to be?"
	The magazine in his hand slipped to the floor, but Giles ignored it.  "Sarah's channeling you?  That's why you insisted she come with me."
	"Duh.  No, I thought you and she make a great couple."
	"Sorry, Buffy, but this is a little, um, awkward," he really hoped no one was overhearing this conversation.  The engine noise just might be enough to cover it, and he realized how little sounds carried on a plane, but he didn't want to be met at LAX by men in white coats. "Oh, Buffy, I'm so sorry.  I'm sorry I wasn't there for you.  I ..."
	"Bridgewater, Giles."
	"You mean bilgewater, as in poppycock?"
	"No, bridge.  As in water under the?"
	Giles ginned sadly.  Very well.  Point taken.  "Are you ... in Heaven?"  He had to ask.  After dying to save her sister, Dawn, Buffy had gone to Heaven, and had been brought back by Willow who was afraid her best friend, killed by malevolent mystical energy, had gone to a Hell dimension.  Finding out that she had actually been in Heaven had been horrifying for all of them.  
	"No," she sounded only mildly disappointed.  "Not this time.  But I'm not in Hell, either.  So don't worry about me."
	"What else do you know about what's happening in Sunnydale?"
	"Not much.  All I know is it's something bad.  Big bad.  Now please, sleep.  It might be a long time before you'll get to do it again."
	"Very well, Buffy.  I'll try.  You realize the situation isn't particularly conducive to relaxation?"  Despite what he just said, Giles noticed himself starting to feel drowsy.  It's the rocking of the plane, he told himself, and the white noise of the engines.  It's designed that way.  He waited for a response from Buffy, but she was apparently gone.  He settled in his seat, reclined it slowly, mindful of the gentleman sitting behind him, and closed his eyes.
	He slept fitfully, plagued by vague, intermittent dreams of hellfire, death and destruction.  A flight attendant woke them both gently to give them their meals some time later.  Sarah mumbled that she wasn't hungry and tried to curl awkwardly into her seat.  He nibbled his own meal, leaving most of it on the plate, and watched her sleep.  Perhaps he should wake her up, not let her get completely rested.  It seemed cruel, but if Buffy could only come through while she slept ...?  But Sarah seemed to be sleeping like the proverbial dead, despite her awkward position and the overhead light shining right in her face.  He reached up and snapped it off with a sigh.  "Rested, Giles?"  
	This time, he knew who was talking.  "More or less.  Buffy ..." He didn't want to let her go.
	"Don't worry, Giles.  You'll hear from me again.  I can't make her sleep, but I can make her tired as hell.  Makes me feel mean, though."
	"Buffy," he said again.  
	"Is that all you can say?"
	"I miss you."
	"That's more like it."
	Giles cleared his throat as a flight attendant came and took his tray.  He motioned that she should also take Sarah's, but kept the package of nuts in case she needed something later.  When the attendant passed them, he turned back to Sarah.  Her breathing was slow and steady, but he saw no eye movement under her lids.  Buffy was preventing her from entering REM sleep.  Yes, it did feel mean.  But he knew Sarah would recover.  For the rest of the flight, he dozed lightly, checking Sarah each time he woke.  And thought about Buffy.
	Shortly before the landing procedure began, he shook Sarah awake and smiled.  She appeared to be taking a moment to remind herself about where she was.  He saw memory come back to her, and she took a deep breath.  "Good morning, Mr. Giles."
	"Just Giles, if you please.  All my friends call me Giles.  Sleep well?"
	She straightened in her seat, rubbing her sore neck.  "Do you really want to know?"
	"Yes, I do.  There's a reason you're here with me and that makes your welfare my concern." He picked up the long forgotten magazine and put it back in the elasticized pocket.
	Sarah stared at him for several moments before asking, "A reason?"
	Giles debated whether to tell Sarah about Buffy's communication and thought better of it.  Not that Sarah would have trouble with the concept, but there didn't seem to be any reason to reveal that she was channeling Buffy.  It would probably only make her self-conscious.  In reply to Sarah's question, he just shrugged.  "We don't know the reason yet.  But there is one."
	"Maybe that's why ..." she started, and stopped herself.
	"Why what?" Giles prompted.
	She diverted her gaze out the window at the rising scenery below.  "Why I'm suddenly ... really terrified."
	The plane landed and they taxied to a gate.  Giles and Sarah sat, waiting for other passengers to deplane to avoid the crowd.  Finally, the end of the line reached their aisle and Giles rose.  He took Sarah's hand, Sarah grabbed her carry on, and they walked off the plane and down the ramp to the terminal.  Giles looked at a wall clock.  Buffy had been right about the hour.  It was 3:30 in the morning.  He was glad he'd slept.  As they stood at the baggage carousel, he asked, "still scared?" and gave her hand a squeeze to relax her.
	He was rewarded with a smile that made her dark brown eyes sparkle.  "A little.  Do you feel it?"
	He nodded.  He'd felt it from the moment she'd walked into the bookstore.  A tension radiating from his stomach, as if he were a child in the dentist's waiting room listening to the sound of a drill.  "I've felt it before.  But not like this.  This is ..." he searched for the right word, "more intense.  Is that yours?"  
	He pointed to a red, softsided suitcase coming around the carousel and she moved forward to grab it.  "Thanks," she said, checking the tag to make sure.  "Now, where's yours?"  They watched the carousel, both purposely avoiding the topic of the unnamed sensation they were both experiencing.  
	Soon, his black suitcase came down the chute and thumped onto the belt.  Giles lifted it from the carousel.  "I guess we call a cab. Or we could rent a car..."
	"Do you even know where we need to go?"  Sarah asked.
	"That won't be necessary."  The voice was deep and came from behind them.  They turned as one, and Giles saw the familiar black duster before he could even focus on the man's face.  "Xander sent me."  While Giles was sure Angel was glad to see him, he noticed Angel's utter seriousness.   The man in the black duster picked up both bags easily.  "Let's go.  My car's this way."
	"Sarah, this is Angel, an ... old friend."
	Sarah started to hold out her hand, but realized his hands were both occupied.  She smiled at him and let her hand fall to her side.  "Nice to meet you, Angel."
	As they began walking toward the door, they heard a low rumble.  At first, Sarah thought she was stumbling over her own two feet, and embarrassment flooded her cheeks.  Embarrassment turned to fear when she realized the floor beneath her was heaving, as if the Earth were taking a deep breath and she was standing on its lungs.  A couple of people elsewhere in the airport screamed.  A little girl called out for her mother.  An employee behind a rental counter shouted "Everyone remain calm!"	
	Angel grabbed Sarah by one arm and pulled her into the nearest doorway, stopping inside the frame.  It was a very tight fit, with Giles on the other side of her preventing the automatic door from sliding closed.  By the time they were in this position, it was over.  "Angel?" Giles asked, unwilling to extricate himself just yet.
	"It won't even make the papers.  Had to be less than a 2 point oh, I would say," Angel replied.  "But I bet I know where the epicenter was."
	Sarah found that she was clinging to Angel and slowly peeled her hands from his shoulders.  "This doorway's not big enough for the three of us," she quipped, sliding out toward the street from between the two men and unable to look either of them in the face.  The vestiges of fear were still making her stomach feel fluttery. She took a deep breath of the cool night air.
	"First time?" she heard Angel ask her.  She looked up then and realized that he'd been watching her reaction.  His expression was concerned, but light-hearted, and his half smile showed his straight white teeth.  
	Sarah found herself unable to answer for a moment, but cleared her throat.  "Um, yes.  I guess it is."  She turned to Giles, who had allowed the door to slide shut.  The three of them now stood on a sidewalk that lined the side of the building.  Several taxis were lined up here, accepting passengers and their baggage before veering off as if nothing had happened.  She turned to Giles.  "That epicenter he mentioned.  It's where we're going, isn't it?"
	"Yes." 
	His simple reply both frightened her and reassured her.  The former because it meant she was heading into danger, and the latter because it showed that Giles would not lie to her.  
	"We'll have to hurry if we're going to get there before sunrise," Angel said.  Still carrying both bags as though they were empty, he began walking at a fast clip, forcing Giles and Sarah to keep pace as they followed him across the taxi lane and into the parking garage. 
	"Angel, what's going on?"  Giles asked, one eye on Angel, the other making sure Sarah stayed with them.  
	"We're not sure yet, but ..."
	Giles tried to stop Angel with a hand on his arm, but the man kept walking.  "But what?"  His eyes searched what he could see of Angel's face.  Never stopping his pace, Angel glanced at Sarah and Giles understood his concern.  "She's in this for the duration.  Tell me."
	Angel stopped.  "Willow's missing."
	Sarah saw something pass over Giles' face.  Darkness, sorrow, worry, and then it all solidified into determination.  "Willow ... when?"
	"I'll tell you in the car.  We've got to keep moving.  Time's running short, you know that."  
	With an apologetic look, Giles took Sarah's hand in his and stepped up his pace.  Angel carried both heavy suitcases and seemed to fly through the parking garage.  "Giles," Sarah said, huffing just a bit from her run, "why is it so important to get there before sunrise?"
	"Because Angel's a vampire," Giles blurted.  Then he realized he also should have waited until they'd gotten in the car, for the news stopped Sarah in her tracks at the sign that said "Row D - Compact Cars".
	"A what?"
	Linked by their hands, Giles also had to stop if he didn't want to drag her bodily toward the car, which was now in sight.  "He's a vampire, and sunlight will kill him.  We have to get to Sunnydale, so he can get indoors before the sunrise."
	"But ..."
	He could see that she was having trouble grasping this unreal bit of reality.  Despite their rush, he moved closer to her, stood in front of her blocking her view of the parking garage.  Blocking everything.  "Sarah, listen to me.  He IS a vampire.  But he's not evil.  He won't bite you.  I'll explain it all to you in the car, but I need you to trust me.  I trusted you when you came into my bookshop.  Can you do the same?"
	She met his eyes, hesitated for a beat, then nodded.  "I trust you, Giles."
	He lead her to the red convertible, where Angel had already loaded the bags into the trunk and was waiting with the back door open.  She looked up at the man Giles said was a vampire and the butterflies in her stomach gave a flutter.  He didn't smile at her.  But then, given the situation, she figured he didn't have much to smile about right now.  She ducked and slid into the back seat, allowing him to close the door for her.  For a split second, Angel was taken aback.  As she slipped under his arm he caught a whiff of her scent.  Not unusual.  A vampire's sense of smell was acute.  But he'd noticed it before in the doorway.  
	Her scent was familiar.
	Angel shook it off.  She used the same perfume, that's all.  He hurried around the car, and Angel and Giles closed their car doors simultaneously.  They buckled their seatbelts.  In another minute, they were moving, Angel behind the wheel, expertly maneuvering out of the parking space and down row upon row of cars until they bumped their way into the street.  
	As soon as they were on their way, Giles turned to Angel.  "What happened to Willow?"
	Angel's eyes flitted from mirror to road to Giles and back again.  "All I know is I got a call from Xander about two hours ago, asking me to pick you up at the airport and take you to Sunnydale.  They had just discovered Willow's room was a shambles and she was missing.  Xander didn't want to leave the girls alone to come and get you, under the circumstances."
	"I see.  I -" he stopped himself, noticing the terrified look on Sarah's face in the back seat.  "Sarah?"
	She'd been staring, it seemed, out the windshield, but Giles' voice got her attention.  "The mirror," she said.
	He looked behind them, thinking she had seen something in the rear view mirror mounted at the center of the windshield.  Then he realized it wasn't what she had seen, but what she didn't see.  She couldn't see Angel's face reflected in the mirror.
	"Sarah, was it?"  Angel asked, also understanding her unease.  "It's nice to meet you, too, by the way.  I'm sorry if I'm a bit, uh, serious, but we really do have a situation here.  Let me tell you a little about myself."
	So Angel told Sarah his history, from his being turned to being cursed and his unique perspective of vampirism.  He didn't tell her about his having turned evil after sleeping with Buffy, and subsequently returning from the hell dimension she'd been forced to send him to, but explained about his soul and his guilt, his quest for redemption and his commitment to the powers of good.  Occasionally, Giles jumped in with a comment or two, but allowed Angel's discretion when it came to the matter of his relatively brief but extreme excursion to the side of evil.  Even now, for Giles, the memory of that time was difficult and excluding it from the discussion was preferable to dredging up images of Jenny Calendar.  By the time Angel finished talking, they were well on the way to Sunnydale.  "So, still afraid of me, Sarah?"
	"I'm still afraid of something," she admitted, putting a hand on her nervous stomach as if it would help quiet it.  "But I don't think it's you."  Hesitantly, she reached forward and touched Angel's shoulder.  "Let me get this straight.  The gypsy cursed you with a soul, making you a good person who lives forever.  How is this a curse, exactly?"
	Angel didn't answer right away.  Giles was about to speak up when Angel finally said, "Haven't you ever done anything you regret?  Ever feel guilty?"
	"No, not really."
	"When I was ...I not only killed people, I terrorized them.  I tormented them.  I drove a woman insane by brutally killing her family members one by one, then I turned her into a vampire.  I --"
	"But that's the point," she said, her hand brushing his shoulder gently. "It wasn't you who did those things, Angel.  It was the demon inside you and you had no control over it.  None.  You have nothing to feel guilty over."  
	In the front passenger seat, Giles silently agreed. Although there'd been a time when he would have enjoyed seeing Angel go down in flames, that time was past.  Angel had proved himself time and again.  He watched Angel's face as Sarah spoke to him, saw the sad resolution form in his brow.  "Curses work in mysterious ways, I guess.  I do feel guilty.  All the time."  His shoulders hunched as he swung the wheel in a wide arc, making a left turn.  Sarah's hand rode with it like a surfer on a wave.  
	After another moment, she withdrew her hand and sat back again.  They rode silently for several minutes before she came forward once more, not reaching this time but just leaning forward, her stomach straining against the seatbelt.  "Angel," she said softly, "I do know one thing about gypsy curses.  They do end.  It may not be in our lifetimes," she said, including Giles with a nod of her head, "but when that family line ends so will the curse."  
	Angel hadn't thought about that situation, but it didn't take him long to answer.  "I'll go back to being Angelus, completely evil, without any concern for consequences.  No soul, no guilt."
	"I don't think so."
	The car swerved a little as Angel tried to turn around in his seat.  Giles motioned with a finger that Angel should keep his eyes on the road.  "I don't follow your reasoning, Sarah." Giles confessed.  He thought briefly of explaining that the curse had already ended once, and they'd seen the result first hand, but decided that if Angel wanted her to know he would tell her.  It wasn't his place.
	Sarah leaned back in the seat, confident.  "The curse is the guilt, not the soul.  Feeling guilt might require a soul, but having a soul doesn't mean you feel guilty.  They aren't mutually exclusive."
	"It seems you've given this a lot of thought for someone who's just met their first vampire," Angel commented.  "But you should know that ...," he gave Giles a sidelong glance as he spoke, "it's already happened once.  We all know --".  His voice cracked and he stopped talking.  
	From the back seat, Sarah whispered, "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to...maybe we should change the subject."  As if to punctuate, she shifted in her seat.  "What about the earthquake?  And this missing Willow?  Who is Willow?"
	"A mutual friend of ours," Giles answered.
	"Like Buffy."
	Hearing the name, Angel looked up at her reflection.  "You knew Buffy?"
	"I'm sorry, I guess it's my turn to tell a story," she said.  "I'm a paranormal investigator from London.  The ghost of Buffy, for lack of a better phrase, contacted me via Ouija board and had me make the travel arrangements and then contact Giles.  It's all very ... strange."
	Giles had to admire Sarah.  She seemed to be taking all these new developments very well.  Inside, she had to be wondering just what kind of people she was getting involved with, but apparently her head and her heart had agreed to disagree.  "I assure you, Sarah, Buffy is not an evil ghost, Angel is not an evil vampire, and I'm --"
	"Not an evil bookseller?" Sarah guessed.
	Angel and Giles both laughed.  "I was going to say completely trustworthy, but your phrasing will do," Giles said.
	"Tell me if it's too windy back there," Angel said.
	"Mmmmmmmmm, no.  I'm enjoying the night air, actually."  Her straight black hair streamed behind her, waving goodbye to the road behind them.  She leaned back, relaxing, then suddenly sat up straight.  "Giles!"
	Giles followed her index finger to the horizon and understood.  A misty pale gray haze could be seen over the distant rooftops.  The sun was beginning to rise.
	"Oh no," Sarah was saying, this time pointing ahead of them.  A bend in the road ahead was bisected by a bright orange band where a break in the buildings allowed the early sunlight through.  
	Angel eased the car into a slow crawl and pushed the button that started the roof mechanism.  Sarah held down her hair as the roof rose from behind her, moving up and over her head until it joined the windshield.  "There's a blanket in the back. Hand it to Giles," Angel told her.
	Although panicked, Sarah took only a moment to grab the crumpled blanket from the foot well on the other side of the back seat and pass it up to Giles.  A horn blared behind them, and Angel stuck an arm out to wave the car around.  The maroon Continental zipped by, but Sarah saw the driver flash them an angry glare.  A moment later, the Continental passed through the band of light, which glinted off its black roof for only a split second.  "If we go fast enough . . .?"  Sarah didn't know how to phrase the rest of the question, but counted on Angel and Giles to understand.
	"Oh, we will," Angel responded.  "But there may be more, so I'm just getting prepared."  Giles tented the blanket over Angel's head, holding the front up so he could see.  "It's not much farther."  After a questioning look at Giles, he added, "here we go."
	The convertible picked up speed rapidly, and zoomed around the bend at 60 mph.  But Angel had been right.  There were more bands of light and Angel kept the speed up until they reached the residential streets.  The trees provided more shade, but still Sarah took uncomfortable notice of the wisps of smoke floating off the blanket.
	They approached the familiar bungalow style home at 1630 Revello that now belonged to Xander and Anya at an impressive 35 mph.  Before that it had belonged to Buffy and before that to Joyce and the sight of it flooded Giles with sad, painful memories.  Joyce, dead on the couch that now sat in the basement shrouded in plastic sheeting.  Tara, well, he hadn't seen her dead on the floor in Willow's old room with a bullet hole in her chest, but he knew it had happened.  The battles they had waged ... and won, inside these walls.  It was strange that a house seemed to remember.  It was nothing but a collection of wood, plaster, metal and plastic, yet no matter how you changed the furniture, painted the walls, or adjusted the landscape, the house remembered.  Sometimes, even more so than the people in it.  
	As Angel's car squealed into the driveway, Anya, followed closely by Xander, came running out of the house carrying yet another thick blanket.  She held it caped over one outstretched arm, shading Angel as he emerged from the car and guiding him to the open door.  "I hereby invite Angel into my house!" Xander said loudly.  Angel crossed the threshold without changing his quick pace and he and Anya disappeared from view.  Xander closed the door and came down the walk.  "Giles!"
	The two men embraced briefly.  When they parted, Xander noticed that Giles was looking up and behind him and knew without turning what he was looking at.  "Yeah.  Willow's window.  It was broken some time last night.  And no, we didn't hear anything.  Hello."  This last was directed at the young woman letting herself out of the back seat of the car.
	"Sarah this is Xander Harris.  Xander, Sarah George, a paranormal investigator whom Buffy contacted in London -" Giles explained.
	But Xander cut him off.  "We spoke on the phone."  He moved toward her and offered his hand.  "Pleased to meet you."
	Sarah shook his hand.  "Likewise."  She also looked up at the broken window.
	Giles had taken the keys from the ignition -- Angel hadn't even taken the time to turn off the engine -- and was getting the suitcases from the trunk.  He closed the trunk, and took one bag in each hand, walking awkwardly back to Xander.  "I'd like to see Willow's room," he told Xander.
	Xander took one of the bags and lead his guests into the house.  "No problem, Giles.  We haven't touched anything since we found it."
	Inside the house, Angel was pacing the living room, holding the cordless phone to his ear.  "I'll let you know as soon as I have any information.  Just thought you'd like to know I got here okay.  Thanks."  He thumbed the talk button and lowered his hand, setting the phone on the coffee table.  He also stopped pacing as the rest of the group entered the house.  Anya finished folding the blankets into squares and draped them over the back of the couch.  
	Just then, Giles heard the sound of footsteps running down stairs and turned to see Dawn flying toward him.  "You're here!  Giles, I missed you!"  She threw her arms around his neck and gave him a totally unselfconscious hug.  But she didn't hang onto him long.  The excitement spent, she stepped back.  "You'll find Willow.  I know you will."
	"I'll certainly try, Dawn," he said, taking one of her hands and swinging it.  "Let me look at you."  And he did, astonished at how little she had changed physically, yet there was an air of maturity around her that both pleased him and saddened him.  It was nice to see her looking responsible, but he missed the carefree, ear-to-ear smile he remembered, knowing the hardships that had brought about that change.  Losing her mother, then her older sister, and now possibly a long-time dear friend.  Yes, he thought to himself.  I shall find Willow.  I promise.  But he could not voice that promise out loud, because he wasn't sure if he'd be able to follow through.
	"Dawn, take Giles and Angel up to Willow's room so they can have a look," Xander suggested.  He took the other suitcase from Giles and set them both next to the couch as the three of them went up the stairs. There would be time for settling in later.  "Sarah, have a seat.  You must be tired from the trip.  Can I get you something to eat?  Or drink?"
	Sarah accepted his invitation and sat on the couch next to the folded blankets.  "Thank you, Xander.  Just coffee is fine."  She still wasn't sure what her stomach was feeling and she didn't want to tax it if the trip had made it sensitive.  "Black," she specified, knowing she would be needing the caffeine.
	"I'll get it," he replied, waving at Anya, who was about to get up.  She sat back down and smiled shyly at Sarah.
	There was an awkward moment of silence, then Sarah said, "You're worried about Willow."
	Anya nodded, biting back tears.
	Sarah took a deep breath and finally placed what she'd been feeling.  It didn't make sense.  She'd never met Willow.  "So am I," she said.

						#

	Upstairs, Giles was shocked.  The door to Willow's room hung by one bottom hinge.  Inside, he could see the foot of the bed where blankets and sheets, including the fitted sheet, had been pulled to the floor.  Every dresser drawer sat open, clothing strewn about and hanging from the drawer pulls.  "No one heard anything?"  he asked Dawn.
	She shook her head, her long dark brown hair drifting from side to side.  "I got up around 2 AM to use the bathroom and saw her door like that.  That's when I woke up Xander and Anya.  Anya suspects someone used a spell to prevent us from hearing them."
	"Stay here, Dawn.  Angel," he nodded at the vampire to enter the room first, then followed him in.  Not only was the bed stripped, but the upper mattress was half-way off the box spring.  Her table lamp was on the floor so far from the night stand that the plug had been pulled from the outlet.  Her closet door was open and clothing and hangers littered the floor.  The two men stepped carefully, their eyes scanning for any detail.  
	"I can smell blood," Angel said.
	Giles took a frantic look around, but saw no visible traces.  He was conscious of Dawn listening in the hall.  "Can't be much. There's no visible signs.  And it may not be Willow's."  He glanced at Angel and saw him mouth the words 'it's human'.  Carefully stepping over debris, he moved toward the broken window and looked out of it.  The yellow caf‚ curtains were all but shredded.  Angel stayed away from the window.  "Is this how they got in?"
	Raising his head to see over Giles, Angel said, "It's locked from the inside."  Instinctively, he stepped back as the morning sun found its way through the cracked glass.  
	Noticing, Giles reached up to pull down the shade.  That's when he saw it. Hanging between the shredded curtain and the window, tangled in a series of jagged tears, was a piece of twine.  With both hands, Giles gently untangled the twine and lifted it free.  It had been tied together, crimps in the ends proved that, but the knot had come loose.  You tie string together to hold something on it, like a necklace, Giles thought, looking down now.  There, in the shadow behind the dresser.  Something was there.  He crouched down.
	"Giles?"  Angel asked.
	It was in his hand now.  A flat circle cut from thin, flexible plastic, like that from a coffee can lid.  A small hole was punched near one edge.  On the circle, in black magic marker, was a symbol Giles believed he had never seen before.  He rose and took it to Angel.  "Any idea what this means?"
	Angel took it and examined it.  Shook his head.  "No."  He gave it back to Giles, then followed him back to the hallway where Dawn waited.  
	Dawn looked at the symbol, but didn't take the circle from Giles.  "It's not Willow's," she said with certainty.  "It's tacky."
	They brought the circle downstairs and showed it to the others, but no one could identify it.  Anya described it as "two diamonds with tails".  Xander saw three X's and wondered why Swedish porn stars would kidnap Willow.  In Sarah's opinion, it looked like two fish kissing.  As far as Giles was concerned, Rorschach was no help at all. "I'd put it in a search engine, but how do you search on a symbol?" Dawn offered.
	"Got a scanner?"  Angel asked.
	"Of course."
	Angel took the circle and followed Dawn to her computer set up on the other side of the living room.  Her fingers lightly brushed her trackball and the monitor came to life as she settled confidently into the chair.  The others stood behind her to watch, too tense to sit and wait.  She placed the circle face down on her HP ScanJet and spun the trackball, clicking the icon for the scanner program.  In a few short minutes she had an image of the symbol on her computer screen.  "Okay, but I still can't put that in a search engine."
	"I need you to email it,"  he grabbed a pen and scribbled an email address on the notepad near the trackball.  "This thing on a separate line?" he asked, retrieving the phone from the coffee table.
	"Yeah, cable modem."
	"Send it."
	While she did that, Angel dialed.  "Hi, Wes.  It's me again.  Listen, check your email.  There's something I want you to look at."  He waited while the person on the other end did as he had requested.  "No, I didn't think you'd recognize it.  But see what you can find out about it and call me here, okay?  It might have something to do with Willow's disappearance.  Thanks."  He hung up.  At the unspoken question from the others, he added, "We wait."
	
	#

	Every muscle in her body ached as Willow raised her head weakly.  She was in some kind of chair, but her arms and legs were immobilized.  And she realized with horror that something was attached to the back of her head, at the base of her skull.  If she leaned forward, she felt a painful tug.  "Hold still," came a craggly voice behind her and she remembered.
	She'd been laying in her bed, trying to sleep.  She had known something was coming.  The Earth had been telling her for weeks.  There was always a sensation of impending doom this close to the Hellmouth, at least to those who were attuned to it, and it was really just a matter of degree.  A few weeks earlier, Willow had felt the degree start to rise.  But try as she might, she couldn't lock on to any details.  She hoped she was wrong as she waited for something to happen.
	As had been her habit since it began, Willow had cast a simple protection spell before lying down.  Until now, it had given her comfort.  Now there was only the urge to repeat the spell, to spread it over all of Sunnydale, over the whole world, but not even all the members of the Coven together could do that.  She did what she could, knowing in her heart that it wouldn't be enough.  She lay in silk pajamas under two blankets and a sheet but couldn't get comfortably warm.  
	There were noises downstairs.  "Xander?" she asked the empty, dark room.  And she knew it wasn't Xander.  "I call on the Goddess Isis to protect this house and all who dwell within it from harm," she whispered.
	Her bedroom door flung open violently, making her jump.  The top hinge pulled out of the frame and the door canted oddly.  Dim light wakened the shadows in the room.  From below, approaching up the steps, came voices.  "You idiot," she heard one gravelly voice say.  It was vaguely female, but she couldn't be certain.  "Why do I let you teleport?  You couldn't find your way through town on a leash!"
	"Oh, shut up!" another voice answered.  This one seemed more masculine to Willow.  She hoped they kept making a lot of noise.  It was sure to wake up Xander and Anya and they would call the police.  "I only missed by ten vertical feet and you know vertical is harder.  Besides, you felt it.  It's like we ran into something."
	"As long as we're down here anyway, unlock the door.  Jinx will be here with the car soon.  He'll be able to get in and help us."  Willow didn't hear the click of the lock, but she was sure it had been done.  "Could we just get her and get out?  This place creeps me out."  A short pause while Willow heard footsteps reaching the landing.  "Down there."
	There were more scampering sounds, then two short, troll-like creatures appeared in her door frame.  They were dressed in bland, homespun robes with wide, flowing sleeves.  She recognized them.  They were two of the minions who had helped Glory in her quest for the key to open her dimensional doorway.  Glory had been horrifying.  Almost unbeatable.  Not a demon, but a displaced Hell god.  Her minions, though, had been mostly laughable.  Willow's fear diminished.  "Get out.  I know who you are.  Xander!"  She called his name loudly.
	They tried to enter the room but bounced back from an invisible barrier.  "Protection spell," the male minion diagnosed.  "Not a problem."  He reached into a pocket of his robe and brought out a pinch of powder.  He blew it at the doorway, saying words in a language Willow didn't recognize.  To test the results, he thrust an arm over the threshold and smiled.  "After you, Gronx."
	The female minion entered the room, snapping on the overhead light.  "Egads, how do you live like this?" she said, taking in the decor.  
	"Xander!  Anya!"  Willow called again, blinking at the sudden brightness.
	"Call out all you want," the female snickered, her hooked nose wrinkling.  "They won't hear you."
	Willow had a sobering thought.  "You ... you killed them?"  How could they have?  She hadn't heard anything before their arrival downstairs.  But she imagined possibilities.  After all, despite the noise, no one was coming to help.
	The two minions looked at each other, passing a silent question between them, and the female shrugged.  The male responded, "Yes.  They're dead.  All of them.  Dead."  He stepped toward the bed, ready to grab her arm and pull her up.
	"No!" She both had to believe it and didn't dare.  Her eyes misted, but she blinked the tears away.  "You don't know who you're dealing with." Still on the bed, she pointed at the shriveled looking minion who was about to grab her, and when she lifted her arm and swung it toward the window, he went with it, crashing into the pane with surprising force.  Willow heard the glass crack and held him there while he scrabbled for purchase, his nails shredding her caf‚ curtains.  She thought she saw something fall to the floor, but she didn't care, only hoped it was a finger or the tip of his nose.  "I'm so not in the mood for your games."
	"Not a game, witch.  But I think you know that," Gronx said.  "And we do know who we're dealing with."  She also dipped into a pocket.  Her hand came out holding something small and shiny.  It looked like a silver ballpoint pen.
	"What is that?"  At one time, she would have been able to hold the minion to the window and disarm Gronx with enough left over to crash an airplane or two, but not now.  Willow felt strangely tired, and the minion slid to the floor.  
	He groaned and rose to his feet.  "The rest of this day will be a pleasure," he said, narrowing his tiny eyes at her.
	"Murk, can you grab her?"  Gronx held the silver object with both hands now, as if it were heavy or hard to aim.
	He moved to do so, and Willow, feeling like her head would float away, muttered "No," and rolled off the opposite side of the bed.  Gronx was pointing the silver object at her and it was doing something to her, blocking her.  She found her legs buckling under her and pulled at the bed covering trying to gain her balance.  Instead, she fell backwards, bringing the blankets with her.  She kept reaching and grabbing at the bed to pull herself up.  A bunched corner of her blanket jammed behind her lamp cord until the plug pulled free of the outlet.  She heard the lamp fall, but no shattering glass.  Finally the corners of the fitted sheet popped off the far end and there was nothing within reach except loose cloth.  "Get away from me," she said, short of breath. 
	"Murk, she's weak now.  Get her by the hair if you have to."
	Willow leaned on one arm and turned, reaching for the sturdier support of the dresser.  Even in her weakened state, she recognized the sound of the front door opening downstairs.  "What's taking you two so long?"  Someone yelled up the stairs.  More footsteps coming closer.  The third minion, Jinx most likely, stood looking into the shambles of a bedroom.  He was heavier than the other two, but just as short.  "What are you doing, you morons?"  He stepped forward and slapped the silver thing from Gronx's hand.  She retrieved it and stuck it back in her pocket.  "Don't weaken her, you idiot.  We need her strong."
	Without the blocker on her, Willow was able to get back on her feet.  She felt unsteady at first, but it passed.  Jinx put his hands on his hips, "You, come with us or we kill your friends."
	"I thought...you said..." Willow looked questioningly at Gronx, then understood.  She'd been lying.  Her friends weren't dead.  She wasn't sure why they apparently couldn't hear any of this racket, but they were alive.  
	Jinx tapped Gronx on the shoulder.  "What did you do, tell her they were already dead?  Don't you know anything about leverage?"	Murk, who'd been standing there stunned by Jinx's reaction, suddenly remembered his job and cupped his hand around Willow's left arm.  She winced as one of his freshly broken, jagged nails scraped across the inside of her arm and saw that Murk had scratched her on purpose.  He was trying to look innocent, but looked guilty just the same.  Jinx nodded approvingly.  "That's better.  Now, Witch, will you come with us or watch your friends die?"
	"I ... I guess I'll come with you," Willow said.  Hang on, she told herself.  See what this is about, and wait until the time is right.  Opportunity.  Once they're away from the house, and Xander, Anya and Dawn are safely out of reach ...
	Smugly, Murk guided her out of the room.  She was wearing only her pajamas and her feet were bare.  "Just a minute," she heard behind her and she was allowed to turn and see.  Gronx was studying the room.  "It's looking better.  Wait."  Gronx stepped to the closet and pulled the clothes down, letting hangers fall where they may, then moved to the dresser, opening the drawers and tossing the clothing like a salad.  "Now it's a bedroom.  Really, you humans have got to learn to decorate."  She turned off the light as if it were her own room.
	In the hallway, Murk double stepped to catch up with Jinx, forcing Willow to follow.  "What about the sacrifices?"
	"There will be time to get them later," Jinx said with a dismissing wave of his hand.  "The machine needs to run from midnight to midnight and it's after 11:00 already."  He led Willow and the two minions quickly down the stairs, out the door, and into a waiting pea green AMC Gremlin.  They stuffed Willow and Murk into the back seat.  "Don't try anything, witch,"  Jinx warned her.  "Your friends will never be safe enough."
	Willow rode quietly, trying to see through the night.  Where were they going?  The minions also said nothing.  Jinx was already angry, and Gronx and Murk both dreaded retribution.  After several minutes of travel, Jinx broke the silence.  "Now."
	"Now?" Murk asked.  "Now what?"
	Jinx twisted in the driver seat to look Murk square in the eye.
	"Oh, now."  Willow saw Murk's arms move under his robe.  She felt a pin prick in her side.
	The next thing she knew she was lifting her head.  "Hold still," she heard.  It was Jinx, busily strapping her waist.  Whatever Murk had injected her with was wearing off quickly, or it could have been panic, but she pulled against her restraints.  They were unyielding, however, made of thick leather wrapped around what might have been metal chains.  She heard the sound of a motor of some kind, whining its way to full power.  Several feet in front of her, there was a minion with his back to her, doing something.  He moved to one side and she saw a machine resembling a rocket launcher mounted to a large tripod.  It was pointed at her. 
       "It's fully charged, Jinx."
       "Well, turn it on, then."
       Obediently, the minion toggled a switch and a hair-thin beam of light shot from the barrel of the machine and struck Willow in the middle of her chest.  She gasped, expecting pain, but it was just light.  It hung there, revealing a fine mist of dust motes in the air, shimmering like a single strand of spider web.  "Well?"  Jinx asked impatiently.
       "Give it time."
       Willow didn't want to give it time.  "I don't suppose you'd like to tell me what you're doing?"  She asked, eyeing the machine in front of her and wondering what aside from the light beam it was supposed to produce.  Weren't the bad guys always supposed to explain things, allowing the hero, or in this case heroine, to devise an escape based on just that information?  That was the way it worked in all the Bond movies, anyway.  She tried to imagine the minions watching a Bond movie, however, and couldn't.
        "You're helping us," was all Jinx said.
        "I don't want to help you."
        "It's not voluntary.  Besides, you'll be dead when it's over so what you want doesn't matter anymore."  As he spoke, she saw a small bulge emerge slowly from the mouth of the machine and begin traveling toward her along the beam of light.  
        It struck her chest, giving her a small shock, like when she touched metal after scuffing across a carpet.   "This is supposed to kill me?"  With the imminent danger from the machine minimized, Willow tried to figure out where she was.  She couldn't move her head very far without straining whatever was attached to the back of it, but she could see enough to recognize her location.  She was in the basement of the high school.  She couldn't see it, but she knew that a door to her far right opened into the boiler room, and beyond that a stairway to the first floor of the school.  
        Jinx finished the last of the bindings and walked over to where the other minion waited.  "Like he said, give it time.  This is a slow process, witch.  But it should be quite a ride for you.  Sit back and enjoy it."  Tucking his hands into the sleeves of his robe like a Chinaman, he asked his fellow minion, "The sentries are in place?"  With the nod of assurance, the two exited into the boiler room.
        Oh, thought Willow, that explains everything, as another bulge began to travel along the beam.  
        Hours later, Willow began to understand.  As time went on, the charges grew gradually more frequent, until they were seconds apart, then they became stronger as well, as the thickness of the beam and the corresponding size of the bulge increased.  She realized that it wasn't ordinary electricity that was striking her, either, but magicks.  Dark magicks, with which she was all too familiar.  The charges flooded into her, draining out quickly through the connection at the back of her head, into ... where?  That, she couldn't guess.  But it couldn't be good.  She had no idea how much time was passing; it seemed almost like days, but she remembered Jinx saying it needed to run from midnight to midnight and her mouth went dry.  There had to be much further to go, and the charges were beginning to become painful, each one forcing a gasp of breath from her, making her heart pound and her stomach tremble in fear.  Yes, she knew, if this continued, it would indeed kill her.  

	#
	  
	While they waited for Wesley's return call regarding the strange home-made medallion they'd found in Willow's room, Giles took a seat on the couch.  "I think it's time for a little deductive reasoning."
	Dawn swivelled her chair around.  Sarah sat on the other end of the couch and Xander sat cross-legged on the floor like an anxious child at story time.  Angel began to pace.  Anya carried in a platter she'd thrown together of crackers, cheese, and cold cuts and placed it on the coffee table.  Dawn had no appetite and had to be cajoled into taking a token Ritz back to the computer chair with her.  Xander inched forward for easy access and nibbled at a slow but steady pace, sometimes eating an ingredient alone and occasionally taking the time to build a cracker and cold cut sandwich.  "It's occurred to me," Giles started, "that they, whoever they are, could have taken any of the others in the house last night, either in addition to Willow or in her stead.  But they only took Willow.  Why?  Why would they want Willow, specifically?  What makes Willow different?"
	"She has red hair," Sarah blurted, immediately realizing there was no way she could have known that.  "I don't know how I know that," she added.  "But she does, doesn't she?"
	The others stared at her a moment, taken aback.
	"Yes, she does," Giles assured her.  "I hardly think they would have taken her for her hair, however.  It's something else."
	From her chair at the computer, Dawn suggested, "She's a witch."
	"She's a witch?" Sarah asked.
	Her question was ignored.  "Far more likely, Dawn, thank you.  Now, why would they need a witch?"
	"To do a spell, I suppose," Anya guessed.
	"Wait a minute, she's a witch?"  Sarah asked again.
	Giles shook his head.  "When she was taken, you three were under some kind of spell that prevented you from hearing the noise.  So they've demonstrated that they have some ability in that area themselves."
	Xander raised his hand.  "But she hasn't so much as floated a pencil since ..." he was about to say 'since Buffy died', but couldn't.  "Unless you count some simple protection spells.  Isis pretty much knows us by name now."
	"A non-practicing witch is still a witch," Anya declared.  "And she got quite a reputation after Tara was killed."
	Sarah spoke again, this time more to herself than to anyone else in the room.  "Okay, she's a witch."
	"So you think it's someone who knows about her past?"  Xander asked around a mouthful of cracker crumbs.  "Guess that makes sense, if it is the witch thing they want."  He chewed deliberately and swallowed.  "But you'd think if they knew about that, they'd know she doesn't do that stuff anymore."  Xander saw Giles' eyes float unseeing to his left.  "Giles?"
	His eyes found Xander almost unwillingly.  "It's not what she does or doesn't do, Xander.  I think it may be about what she's capable of."
	If Xander hadn't swallowed he would have choked.  He knew all too well what she was capable of.  He'd seen it first hand, and up close, the day Willow tried to end the world.  "Giles, we have to find her."
	When the phone rang, Angel leapt on it.  "Hello?  Wes!  Great, what have you got?"  He saw the others watching him expectantly as he listened.  Then he turned and moved toward Dawn, grabbing pen and paper again.  "Can you spell it?"  He scribbled something down and gave it to Dawn, who typed it into the waiting search engine.  "Hang on, Wes.  I might still need you."  He held the receiver against his chest and watched the computer screen.
	Suddenly, Dawn swivelled, her dark hair flying around her face, "Hey guys, they have a web site!"  Giles, Xander, Anya, and Sarah all stood as one and swarmed around Dawn, Keeper of the Keyboard.  Centered at the top of the screen was the symbol in a black circle, and under it in large Old English script "Minwols".  Part of the symbol was red, revealing that it was a W superimposed over an M.  Dawn read aloud from the web page, "Lose your leader?  On your own and wish you weren't?  Join us!  Whether your leader was killed by the Slayer or died of natural causes, you can join us, Minions Without Leaders, as we invite ... Giles, how would you say that?"
	"M'Tethla," Giles supplied.  He then took over and continued the reading.  "to guide us.  The Magnificent M'Tethla will lead us to victory in the Great Battle For Dominance that is to come.  Join now!  Email for details."  Below that was a field labeled "email address" and in tiny print, "copyright, August 2007."
	"Did you get that, Wes?"  Angel said into the phone.  "Wes?"

						#

	Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, formerly Watcher of Faith, formerly Watcher of Buffy, and formerly Rogue Demon Hunter before joining Angel Investigations, hung up the phone and frowned down at his notes.
	"What's up?"  Cordelia Chase asked from the doorway to Angel's office.  "You know it's really hard to eavesdrop on a phone conversation when the person you're trying to listen to doesn't say anything."  Wes didn't respond, so she stepped forward until her denim clad thighs rubbed against the front edge of the desk.  "Earth to Wes.  Hello?"  When finally he turned his head up to see her, she asked again, saying each word distinctly, "What is up?"
	"Everything," he said.  "The Great Battle for Dominance."
	"The what?"
	He ignored her question and provided one of his own.  "How quickly can you pack?" He grabbed a nearby notepad and pen and began scribbling a note to Gunn and Fred, telling them to hold down the fort until they got back.
	She gave him an 'are you kidding' look.  "Not as quickly as you can explain what's going on."
	He finished his scribbling and placed both hands calmly on the desktop. "The Great Battle for Dominance between Good and Evil.  The End of the World."
	She rolled her eyes and shifted her weight onto one foot.  "Do you have any idea how many times I've heard that?  I use to live in Sunnydale, you know.  And, so far," she waved her hands to indicate their surroundings, "hello, still going strong!"
	He wasn't looking at her again.  She always found that very irritating.  "The meek shall inherit the Earth.  It makes sense."  He rose and came out from behind the desk, snagging his notes about M'Tethla in one hand.  "Cordelia, go home.  Pack."  He paused in both his speech and movement for just a beat, in which he took stock of her relatively conservative attire.  "Wear something sexy."
	"Sexy?"  She was getting angry.  He had looked at her, sure, but he wasn't paying attention to her.  "What for?"
	He headed for the door.  "In case we get pulled over."
	She chased after him as he hurried out the door and into the lobby.  "Wesley!  Pulled over for what?"
	Wes didn't stop but turned his head and threw one word over his shoulder.  "Speeding."
						
	#

	Five pairs of eyes studied the strange web site.  "Email for details," Dawn said with a shrug, and typed in her email address.  Could it be that simple?  How nice would it be to get an automatic response with all the information on this M'Tethla guy and his pretentious Battle and while you're at it how about this is where we keep the witch?  She expected to hear her email cue within a few seconds, but there was nothing.  Angel looked at the phone receiver worriedly, then set it down.  Maybe Wes had recognized something and had been in such a hurry to research it that he'd forgotten to say goodbye.  Or maybe they'd simply gotten disconnected.  In any case, Wes would call back if there was reason.   
	"Search on M'Tethla," Giles suggested.  
	Dawn went back to her search engine and typed it in.  After a few moments, a mostly blank page came up with one link.  "It wants to know if we meant to search for M.T. Thells," Dawn translated.  "I know he's a rapper with a lisp, and no, I don't get it, either."
	"I think it's referring to his brain power," Xander quipped.  Anya clapped quietly at her husband's wit.
	"Battle for Dominance," Giles whispered right behind her right ear.
	This time there were more results.  "Okay," Dawn said, scrolling down the page.  "We have one psychological treatise on domestic violence and two rebuttals, and,"  she scrolled further, silently counting, "about fifteen links to pages from the Crocodile Hunter site.  I'm guessing, not relevant."
	Giles straightened his back, arching the other way to fix a kink.  "Not necessarily--Steve Irwin is definitely evil.  But I think the chances of him being M'Tethla are relatively low."  He walked away, his wheels turning.  The glasses came off and one bow found his mouth.
	Dawn switched to her email program which had remained adamantly silent.  If there had been an automatic email set up, it was no longer functioning.  Or perhaps someone on the other end actually had to send the details, which could take hours or even days.  There wasn't time to wait for it.  
	Xander, trying to be inconspicuous, bent stiffly at the waist and reached behind him blindly for something from the snack tray.  His fingers closed on a slice of cheddar and he tried to bring it to his mouth.  But his arm stopped on the way up.  
	Everything stopped.
	With one hand poised over her keyboard and the other resting lightly on the trackball, Dawn was frozen in place.  Behind her, stood Anya and Sarah, nearly touching elbows.  Angel was rigid a couple feet to the other side, in mid-step on his way toward Dawn.   Giles held his glasses propped by one bow still in his mouth, and Xander had somehow found the best diet aid of all:  to stop moving before the food reached your mouth.  
	There was an elongated flash of light and suddenly a minion stood in the middle of the tableau.  After checking to make sure everyone was still, he crossed to the door and opened it.   Four more minions entered, accompanied by four large male vampires, their brows furrowed and their fangs dripping with drool.  The first minion pointed at Giles, then at Xander.  "Him, and him."
	The vampires divided into teams of two and took hold of the two men, tipping them over stiffly and carrying them like department store mannequins.  "Wait," the first minion said.  "These are fighters.  We don't want them coming around as soon as we're out of the sensory bubble."  He waved two of the minions forward and they injected each man with something.  
	The remaining minions seemed to be supervising.  One of them pointed at Angel.  "What about him?  He's strong."
	"No, moron," he was answered.  "He's not human.  M'Tethla needs human sacrifices.  The others are weak females.  Two sacrifices will be enough.  Let's go."
	First out the door were the vampires and their cargo, followed by the crowd of minions, the last one closing the door behind him. 

						#

	Wesley stopped the car in front of Cordelia's building and she jumped in, tossing a gray backpack into the back seat, next to his overstuffed leather gym bag.  She was wearing a sequined red dress that looked poured on and heels that may have substituted for stilts.  Her left shoulder was bare, and a cut-out revealed her navel and several inches of flat abdomen.  "How's this?"
	There is no chemistry, he told himself several times as she buckled in, remembering the bland kisses they had shared before he left Sunnydale.  "Very good.  Hold on."
	She was pushed back in the seat as the car sped down the street.  "Hey, we could have chartered a plane if you wanted to go that fast!  In fact, hold on, I think I'll --" she pretended to want to get out of the car.
	"Cordelia, don't be stupid."  He drove with complete confidence, heading for the interstate.  "We have to get to Sunnydale.  Angel is going to need our help."
	Gripping the car door tightly, she prayed silently to the Powers that they wouldn't crash.  "Well, I hope mutilated corpses are what he needs then."
	Wes eased up a little, as much for her benefit as his own.  Reducing the speed of the car proved to have a calming effect, to an extent.  Although he'd done quite a bit of high speed driving as a Rogue Demon Hunter, it had been awhile, and he found that his tension eased as he slowed just enough to stay within the flow of traffic, only weaving as needed around the truly slow.  It would also give him time to try to explain to Cordelia what he suspected was happening instead of having to give all his attention to keeping the car on the road.  "Is that better?  Listen, I don't know how Willow's disappearance fits in, but the web site they read referred to the Great Battle for Dominance.  I'm sure this means the apocalyptic battle between Good and Evil.  It's in almost every mythology.  The Christian text also says that the meek shall inherit the Earth.  The Minwols are chiefly minions, the lackeys of other demons, the sidekicks.  The meek."
	"Oh, then we lose," Cordelia noticed.  "What's your hurry?"
	"I think we need to take this seriously, Cordelia," Wes admonished her.  "Should we go back to L.A. and sit on our laurels while Angel fights against the end of the world?  Or do we go almost blindly and certainly valiantly to our deaths to help him?"
	"Well, I'm usually one for laurel sitting in these situations," she said, cringing as they passed through an intersection a second after the light turned red.  "But do you have to drive like it's ---"
	"Like it's the end of the world?" Wes finished for her.  "Want to be five minutes late to the battlefield and see the Armageddon coming or have it wash over you while you're neck deep in hand-to-hand combat?"
	Cordelia gave Wes a sidelong glance.  It sounded as if he were looking forward to it.  Like he couldn't wait to get there and get his hands dirty.  But she knew Wesley didn't really have a death wish and he wasn't really giving her a choice.  "Again, normally, I think fashionably late is a good thing.  You know, late is even better than not getting there at all, right?"  she asked, noticing a flashing red and blue light behind them.
	"We'll get there," he promised.
	"Wes."  Right after she said his name, the police car turned on its siren.
	"Damn," Wes said, hitting the steering wheel hard with the palm of his hand.  "Where are they when *I'm* being left in the dust?"
	Obediently, Wesley pulled over into the breakdown lane and waited for the police officer to come to his window.  In the side view mirror, he watched the officer emerge in full uniform, leather driving gloves, hat pulled low, wearing Ray-Bans.  His thumbs drummed on the spokes of the steering wheel impatiently.  "Now what, Wes?" Cordelia asked, really wanting to call him an idiot for driving like that in the first place.
	Wes took stock of the situation, noticing once again the slinky dress.  "Follow my cue," he said.  "Be ready to flirt your brains out."
	In another moment, a gloved hand rapped on his window and he rolled it down as requested.  "I'm sorry, Officer.  You see, ..." He stopped himself, the words getting jammed in his throat as Officer Cheri Krewel leaned in.  
	"License, please."
	Wes swiftly dug out his driver's license and handed it over, stumped.  
	Suddenly, Cordelia unbuckled her seatbelt, slid over and leaned across him to speak to the officer.  She seemed very upset.  "It's all my fault, officer.  If I'm late I'm going to lose my job."
	Officer Krewel raised one eyebrow, taking in her attire.  "Job, ma'am?"
	Cordelia didn't miss a beat.  "I'm an actress and I'm trying to get to our location shoot in Sunnydale and if I can't get there on time I'll be fired, and I really need this job.  I haven't had a decent meal in a week," tears rolled down her cheeks freely and she ignored Wes, who sat there without a clue.  "It's just a stupid commercial, I know, but it could be my big break and I really don't think I'll get another chance.  If I'm late I'll get blackballed and no one will hire me ever!"  She punched Wes in the chest and started yelling at him now, "Some agent you are!  It took you two months to get me a commercial and now I'm going to lose it because of your stupid driving!  Asshole!  You are so fired!  If I lose this commercial you are going to be unbelievably fired!"
	The officer handed the license back to Wes, "Sir, were you aware you ran a red light back there?"  Her eyes scanned the interior of the vehicle.
	"Yes, well, as you can see, my client..."
	She stepped back and waved back toward the police car.  Her partner came out, one hand on his holstered pistol.  He stood at a distance, watching.  "I'd like you both to step out of the car, please."  Reluctantly, Wes and Cordelia got out of the car and closed their doors.  Cordelia walked around the front of the car to stand near Wes on the highway shoulder.  "Can you tell me what's in those bags?"  the officer asked, gesturing toward the back seat.  
	"The gray backpack is mine, officer.  Just a change of clothes.  We'll probably be staying over night and I can't very well wear this the whole time, can I?" She laughed nervously.
	Wes didn't reply to the officer's question, so she repeated it.  Finally, he said, "same thing.  Change of clothes."
	"Slowly," Officer Krewel instructed him, "take it out of the back seat and hand it to me, please."  As soon as she had it, she set it on the car hood and unzipped it.  "Well, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, what have we here?"  She reached in and pulled out a large dagger.  She put that back in and extracted a battleaxe.
	Cordelia repressed a groan, and yelled, "Props!  Officer," she said, trying unsuccessfully to make light of it, "they're all props for the commercial."
	"A slasher commercial?"
	"Shoe commercial, actually.  You see, I try to run away in these," she said, pointing to her six inch heels, "and I fall and get killed -- off screen, of course -- and another girl is wearing the new Nike Life Savers and she gets away.  Cool, huh?"  
	"What's your name, sweetie?" 
	Cordelia really did not like the oily smile the officer was giving her.	For one brief moment, she considered giving her a fake name and decided against it.  "Chase.  Cordelia Chase.  Remember it.  I'm going to be famous."
	"You certainly are."    
	Officer Krewel's partner raised his gun.  "Oh, wait," Cordelia said, "my commercial --" 
	"Drop it, lady. Don't you think the police are informed about location shoots?  I've worked security on several myself, and I know there are no shoots scheduled for Sunnydale.  And these blades are very hard and very sharp.  Plus, guess what?  They were concealed."  As she spoke, she placed handcuffs on first Wesley, then Cordelia.  "You have the right to remain silent ..."
						
						#

	The beam was now the diameter of a dime.  Willow wondered how long she'd been sitting here, but she was nearly to the point of not caring.  It didn't matter.  Nothing mattered except the next pulse, that next surge that was about to hit her chest making her heart skip a beat.  Nothing mattered except that she could no longer feel her hands or her feet.  She wasn't sure if they'd gone numb because of the shackles or because of the energy pouring through her, the energy that seemed to be pulling everything inside out the back of her head.  She cried out, just to hear something other than the constant thrumming that was getting louder and louder.  How could it be that no one could hear it upstairs?  Was it a school day?  Was class in session?  Willow couldn't remember.  Wasn't it about time for the janitor to come down and check the boiler?  Surely he would hear this going on just the other side of that door.  Midnight to midnight?  What time was it?  She couldn't remember if she'd been wearing her watch, and even if she was the glare bouncing off her chest would have stopped her from seeing it.  
	Just then, the door opened and several people entered.  She squinted, trying to see, but could make out nothing but shadows.  Several small, minion-shaped shadows dragged heavy chairs over next to the machine shooting the energy beam.  Four larger shadows placed two more shadows in the chairs and began to bind them.  She gulped.  The sacrifices they'd mentioned.  It had to be.  They appeared to be men, but both had their heads down.  Then a minion lifted the head of the one closest to the machine and light bathed his face.  The minion took a pair of glasses from his robe pocket and placed them on the man's face.  She recognized him, and her heart filled with horror.  "Giles!"  She screamed.  But when the minion let go of his head, it fell back to his chest.  The minions looked up at her, seemingly annoyed.  Then they filed out of the room.
	"Giles!"  She called again, but with no results.  She'd known he'd been on his way.  It was somewhat comforting knowing he'd arrived, but the situation at the moment was not looking good.  If they were able to take Giles, and ... who was the other one?  Could be someone she didn't know, but she suspected otherwise.  "Oh, wake up," she said, unable to raise her voice above the noise of the machine again.
	The beam became the diameter of a nickel.  

						#

	"What the --?" Dawn blinked.  On the center of the computer screen, an error message said 'Your system clock has been reset.  It is recommended that you replace your CMOS battery.'  A quick glance down to the bottom right-hand corner of her screen was shocking.  Suddenly, it was nearly four o'clock in the afternoon.
	Behind her, she heard Anya call out Xander's name.  By the time Dawn swivelled, they were all calling for Giles.  But neither was there to answer.  Dawn looked at Angel, Sarah, and Anya.  "What just happened here?"
	Anya licked dry lips.  "I think they did that spell again.  The one that stopped us from hearing when they took Willow."  She swallowed the bowling ball in her throat.  "Looks like they can take anyone they want."  Next to her, Sarah's knees weakened and Anya was able to catch her by one arm and guide her to the couch.  They both sat, stunned.
	"Take them where?"  Dawn asked, looking at Angel as if he knew.
	Angel shook his head.  
	She turned back to her computer screen and clicked 'OKAY' to close the error message.  "Hey!" she said, "I have mail."  It was from Minwol.com.  Her heart beat madly inside her chest as she double clicked to open it. "Thank you for your interest in the Minwols.  We are sorry, but we are no longer accepting applications for membership," she read.  "Great.  Now what?  We have to find out where they're holding Willow."
	"And Giles and Xander," Anya added.  "Chances are they're all in the same place."
	Weakly, from the couch, Sarah said, "I have an idea, but it might not work."  She was feeling sleepy, but wouldn't give in.  Heck, she getting used to feeling this way.  Aftereffect of the spell, she told herself, even though she knew she hadn't had a good solid night's sleep in at least a month.  This was not the time to let it catch up with her.
	"What is it?"
	"Buffy might know," she said.
	"Buffy?!"  Dawn asked, "What do you mean?"
	Sarah heaved herself up from the end of the couch and went to her suitcase which Xander had set by the other end.  With effort, she lifted it to her lap and opened it, pulling out a folded Ouija board and a white plastic planchette.  Don't be stupid, she heard her own voice in her head.  You know contacting Buffy always makes you tired and you can't afford to pass out now.  But then another voice argued back.  There's no other way.
	"Oh, you can't be serious," Dawn said, having walked over from the mostly useless computer.  
	"Didn't Xander tell you?  I've been communicating with Buffy for about a month.  With this."  She slipped down to the floor and unfolded the board in front of her, placing the planchette on an empty space.  "Quiet, please.  And ... back away.  I'm used to doing this alone."  The others did as they were told, watching her with interest.  She lightly placed the tips of the fingers of both hands on the edges of the planchette, and closed her eyes.  "Buffy Summers, I call your spirit."  Sarah's head wobbled slightly, and Angel thought she might actually be falling asleep, but she kept talking.  "Spirit of Buffy Summers, I summon thee.  Are you here?"
	The planchette actually jumped out from under Sarah's fingers and the clear window centered over the word YES.  When the planchette moved, Sarah's eyes popped open.  "I'll take that as a yes," she said, retrieving the planchette and placing her fingertips on it again.  
	A tear flooded from Dawn's right eye and onto her cheek.  She could barely believe it was Buffy.  There were so many things she wanted to say to her sister, but she knew this was not the time.  She hoped that before she went back to England, Sarah would let her try it.
	The spectators hardly breathed as Sarah went on, "Buffy, tell us where to find Willow."
	Beneath her fingertips, the planchette trembled.  "Do you know where your friends have been taken?" Sarah asked.
	The white plastic triangle moved back to YES.  
	"Are they all together?"
	It didn't move.
	"Where?"
	Still on YES, the marker trembled again.
	"What's wrong?" Angel whispered.
	Sarah tried to calm herself.  "I've seen this before.  She's trying to say too much at once.  It jams like a manual typewriter,"  she explained, then continued speaking to Buffy, "Boil it down, Buffy.  Keep it simple.  Where?"
	The marker moved into the alphabet, pausing on the H.  It slid over to the E, then to the L.  It seemed to leave the L, then went back to it.
	"Hellmouth," Angel guessed.  The planchette once again escaped Sarah's fingers and slid to YES.
	Grabbing car keys from the end table, Anya headed for the door.  Angel stopped her, "Weapons," he said.  "They won't be unguarded."
	Dawn was ahead of them.  Near the computer sat a large wicker chest.  Dawn was holding the lid open with one hand and grabbing something with the other.  She held up a dagger longer than her forearm.  "I've got mine."
	The others took turns at the chest, each grabbing a bladed weapon.  
	Sarah was still seated in front of the Ouija board, her back resting against the couch.  She looked pale and exhausted.  Angel crouched down, "Sarah?"
	"I'm all right," she said, pushing herself up.  But she couldn't stop herself from putting one hand to her head to make the room stop spinning.  
	"You can stay here," Angel offered, steadying her with one hand.
	"Like hell."  Raising her head firmly, she looked Angel in the eye.  "I'm coming with."
	"Do you have any experience with hand-to-hand combat?  We don't want anyone getting hurt.  Except them, that is."  Angel looked at her doubtfully.  
	The lightheadedness passed and she moved to the weapons chest.  Looking over what remained, she reached in and pulled out the crossbow, then let the lid drop. "I can deal."
	"That's Buffy's ..." Dawn's objection vanished in the same breath.
	Seeing that it was still daylight, Angel told them, "I'll have to go underground.  I'll meet you there."
	Anya and Dawn nodded, and the three girls, with their weapons, went outside into the late afternoon sun and got in the car.
						
						#

	Also coming out into the late afternoon sun were Wesley and Cordelia.  They exited the L.A. Courthouse and walked down the wide cement steps.  "Well, your bright idea for getting us to Sunnydale quickly lost us most of the day, and your weapons.  How are we supposed to help Angel now?"  Cordelia had been allowed to change from the dress into her spare clothes.  She was now comfortably dressed in jeans, sneakers, and a cap-sleeve shirt.  Her feet were much happier than she was.
	They cornered the building and headed to the back where the impound lot was located.  "I don't know, Cordelia.  But we still need to get to Sunnydale."  He stepped up to the guardhouse window, signed something and was handed his keys.  
	Finding his car, he went to the trunk, opened it and lifted another weighty gym bag out.  He closed the trunk with his free hand, then said, "Here," tossing the keys to Cordelia.
	When she caught the key ring, she smiled, proud of herself.  "I'm driving?"
	"Yes.  I'll be in the back seat.  They didn't confiscate my books."
	Cordelia unlocked the driver's door, then pushed the button to automatically unlock the rest of the doors.  She settled behind the seat, determined to get them to Sunnydale in one piece.  Behind her, Wes was in, buckled, and was unzipping the bag to get at one of several volumes of demon lore he'd brought with.  

						#

	Giles came to first, wakened by a low, steady thrumming that seemed to be coming from inside his head.  He realized immediately that he was bound to a chair and lifted his head slowly to examine his surroundings.  Xander, still unconscious, was tied to a chair to his left.  But what was more frightening was across the room.  
	Willow was also bound to a chair, but it was no ordinary chair.  It looked like an electric chair.  Her hands were manacled to the chair arms and her ankles to its legs.  A wide band stretched across her lower ribs.  From somewhere behind him, a steady stream of light the diameter of a baseball struck Willow's chest.  It pulsed with each thrum.  Willow was held upright against the back of the chair, unable even to slump.  She saw Giles move his head and shouted his name.  
	Her shout wakened Xander, who came to quickly, startled by his new surroundings. Giles," he said, then he looked up and saw Willow under her bombardment of light.  "Willow!  Giles, what's happening?"
	Giles was surprised how quickly the effects of whatever drug they had used left him.  His mind felt clear and quick.  "I'm not sure, but I think they're feeding M'Tethla through Willow.  Have been feeding him, I'm sure, for hours now."
	"Through Willow?"  Xander asked.  "They turned Willow into a straw?!"
	"Effectively, yes."
	"How do we stop it?"  Xander struggled against the ropes holding him, but they were like iron, and he only succeeded in creating painful sore spots on his wrists. 
	"I don't know."  The sight of Willow on the other side of the room was disturbing.  Giles wasn't even sure if he averted his eyes because of that, or because of the brightness of the light, or because he needed to think.  The thrumming surged and Willow gasped in pain.  
	"Giles," she yelled.  "Xander!"  
	"Giles, look," Xander said, only loud enough to get Giles' attention.  "Look at Willow."
	Giles looked up.  Willow's hair had grown just a bit darker.   As they watched, the color faded back to her special shade of red.  The energy flow was starting to back up, creating feedback that for a moment resided in Willow.  "That's it," he said.  "Xander, M'Tethla can't absorb the energy that fast.  But Willow's holding it until he can. She's not just a straw.  She's a siphon pump."  
	Willow was close to exhaustion.  The surge ended and slowly her hair returned to its normal persimmon hue again, but there was no time to rest before another surge began.  
	"She can stop it," Giles said, convinced.  Then, louder, "Willow!  Don't let M'Tethla take the power!  Keep it!  Keep it to yourself!"
	"I can't!" she shouted back.  "It's Magicks, Giles.  Dark Magicks.  I won't do that again!"
	"You have to!  Take it, Willow."
	Next to him, Xander said, "Giles, are you nuts?  My ribs haven't recovered from the last time she powered up!"
	There was another surge and her hair grew even darker than before, but drained only partly back, leaving her hair a dark brown.  "Giles, it hurts."  Her eyes were big, round, and terrified, but they were still her eyes.  The thrumming continued, relentless.  Surging and slowing, then surging again at irregular, but short intervals.  
	"All the power you let through makes M'Tethla stronger," Giles explained, frustrated that he couldn't physically help her.  "You can't let him break through to this dimension, Willow. He'll destroy us all. You're stronger than he is.  That's why he needs you.  Concentrate."
	"No.  I can't.  I'm tired."  Her hair was nearly back to normal now, but another surge pushed it painfully into jet black.  She turned her head away from the spray of light against her chest.
	"Use the power you're absorbing.  Let it give you strength instead of M'Tethla."  Giles coached.  "Keep it."
	The air crackled, and Xander saw it.  In the air between them and Willow, there was a small blue hole.  If he closed one eye, it looked like a blue pimple on Willow's cheek.  The portal was forming.  It would grow, and this M'Tethla guy would come through it.  "Will, take the Magicks!" he said.  "Do it!"  Each strike at Willow's chest twisted something deep in Xander's, but he knew Giles was right.  
	The vortex, swirling and writhing, began to grow, the edges popping like a campfire.  He could still see Willow through the gauzy haze.   Her teeth were clenched, but the exhausted look was gone.  She took deep breaths, and her hair darkened continuously now. The beam of energy became more of a nuisance than an obstacle.  "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"  she screamed at the coming vortex.  And her eyes, pupils, irises and whites, turned black.
	"Yes," Giles whispered.  "Keep it up."  The question was how fast could Willow absorb it?  Taking the magicks from him that day after Tara died had thrown her for a bit, but she'd taken it.  But there was no way to know how that compared to this.  Her eyes had gone black, but there was still a light in them.  The grief that had fueled her before was not there.  The thirst for vengeance had no subject on which to focus.  Through the gauzy blue haze, Giles began to see the veins grow black in Willow's face.  Soon, she would be able to free herself from her bonds.
	Next to him, he saw Xander swallow hard.  "Giles, are you sure this is a good idea?"
	"No, I'm not," he replied honestly.  "She'll free herself soon.  Then the question remains, will she free us, or M'Tethla?"
	"Would you please stop speculating?" said Xander, who hadn't imagined the possibility that Scary Veiny Willow would be the last he would see of his childhood friend.  
	Each of them ducked instinctively as the metal holding Willow's arms and legs bent itself backward and flew away.   When she pulled her head forward, skin and hair ripped away, but it was a simple matter to regrow it, to heal the wound.  She rose, stepping easily out of the path of the beam, which hit the vacant chair, breaking it to bits.  It shot onward and began to work on the cement wall behind.  
	"Yes," Xander said, seeing his friend free and coming toward them.  "Come here, my little dilithium crystal."
	But she didn't come to them.  She planted herself near the vortex.  She raised one hand in their general direction, and the light beam vanished.  The thrumming stopped.   The only sound was the crackling of the edges of the vortex, which seemed stuck about the size of a piece of school paper.  The sudden near silence was unreal.  Even though his ears rang with echoes of the machine's thrumming, Xander could hear his own gasping breaths as fear and panic poured adrenaline into his system.  "Please, Willow," he said quietly. 
	"Willow," Giles spoke a bit more loudly, but gently, hoping to remind her about them, about who she was and why they were here.  
	When Willow turned to look at him, his heart sank.  That light he'd seen in her eyes before, the sparkle that said Willow was still there, was gone.  Her eyes were unfeeling, hard onyx orbs.   "Quiet," was all she said, veins black with Magicks throbbing over her face and neck.  This was the Willow who had flung him mercilessly from floor to ceiling and back again in the Magic Box.  This was the Willow who had nearly killed him.  He studied her face, hoping to see a hint of the woman he'd coached in England, the chagrined, guilt-ridden woman who'd spent months practicing techniques of control that all seemed lost now.
	Remembering the kind of power she now possessed, Giles lowered his eyes in defeat.  "I'm sorry, Xander." She was going to feed M'Tethla what she had stolen from him.  Give him the power to break through into their dimension, where he would begin by devouring all of them whole before moving on to Sunnydale, California, America, and the entire population of Earth.  It would probably kill Willow outright, feeding M'Tethla, but that didn't matter to her anymore.  The Willow she had been no longer was worthy of her attention.
	She stretched one arm out toward the vortex.  "It's been nice knowing you, Giles,"  Xander said, bracing to be eaten alive by M'Tethla as soon as Willow brought him through.  She raised her arm, elbow bent, ready to touch the hazy blue gateway as if it were spun glass. 
	Then Willow hesitated.  As Giles watched her carefully, he noticed the intense concentration on her face.  She pulled her arm back, but not down.  "No."
	"Way to go, Will!"  Xander shouted.
	She turned on him.  "I said 'Quiet'!"
	Xander's head turned as if struck, and the shadow of a bruise appeared on his left cheek.
	"No," she said, speaking to herself, or to the power within her.  Then she gave a gut-wrenching cry of pure frustration, and vanished.


END PART ONE




PART TWO

	Anya parked the car outside the front steps of the school and got out.  Dawn emerged from the other side and they slammed their doors shut.  Then a back door opened, and Sarah, carrying the crossbow close to her chest, got out.  Together, they hurried up the steps and stopped in front of the double doors, peering in.  They saw nothing, and entered the school cautiously.
	Creeping down the hallway, Dawn took the lead with Anya in the middle and Sarah bringing up the rear.  Dawn stopped at a corner, took a quick look and backed against the wall.  Anya and Sarah did likewise.  Dawn held up three fingers.  She'd seen three robed minions milling by the door to the stairwell.
	"Shouldn't we wait for Angel?" Anya whispered.
	Sarah shook her head decisively.  A little too decisively, in Dawn's opinion.  She was the one who was new at this.  "I say let's kick their asses," Sarah said quietly.  "We wait, they're liable to hear us, or sense us, and we lose the element of surprise."  And without waiting for a response, she jumped into the hallway intersection.  "Surprise!"
	Dawn and Anya exchanged a glance.  This didn't seem like the same person they'd met this morning.  Dawn wanted to wait for Angel, but Sarah had just taken away the choice.  Instead, Dawn blinked slowly, as if offering a quick, silent prayer, and followed Sarah out into the open.  She was astonished to see that Sarah had flung the crossbow over her shoulder and was engaging the nearest minion in hand-to-hand.  That was all she had time to notice before her combatant came at her and she brandished her dagger like a sword.
	"Attack!"  shouted the third minion as he launched himself at Anya.  "We're under attack!"
	"You knew we were coming," Dawn said, pulling the dagger on Minion Two.  "Where's our cake?"
	Minion One was already being pummeled by Sarah, who punched and kicked relentlessly.  Then he gained his footing and pulled a knife from inside his robe, striking Sarah on the arm.  She was startled and uttered a cry of pain.  But it wasn't a deep cut, and the bead of blood seemed insignificant to her.  Before she could retaliate, someone yelled "Duck!" behind her so she stayed low.  A two sided axe somersaulted through the air and struck the minion in the chest.  He fell against the wall, dying without time to scream.  Sarah looked back and saw Angel coming to join them.  She also noticed that there were more than three minions now.  There was a veritable crowd of beings, minions, vamps, and other creatures swarming around them.
	Out of the corner of her eye, Dawn saw Angel, and the sudden influx of enemies, and felt both better and worse.  She plunged her dagger into the second minion, but her aim was off and she hit bone.  She gasped as a blade wielded by a nearby demon fighting someone else sliced into her side.  The minion she'd struck screeched in pain then tried to laugh at her injury but ended up in more pain.  She had to brace herself with one leg against his chest to retrieve the dagger.  Aim bad, balance great, she thought as she accomplished the maneuver without so much as a stumble.  Once free of the blade, the minion snarled.  "It's already too late.  What was begun cannot be stopped," he told her.  
	But Dawn knew the rules of battleground conversation.  The first rule was don't have any. Repartee fine, conversation no.  It's usually used as a distraction, and you can't afford to lose your mark in a battle.  The second rule was, if you can't say something witty, don't say anything at all.  She thrust forward again and this time her aim was true.  The blade sliced into his throat and came out the back of his neck.  She pulled it back quickly, allowing the blood to flow through his grasping fingers as he slipped into the bloody pool on the floor.
	Anya had already dispatched the minion she started with by severing his left arm at the shoulder with her sword.  She now faced a brown-haired, female vampire armed with a spear which she jabbed at Anya awkwardly.  Almost bored, Anya sliced the shaft just below the tip.  The spear head fell with a plop into the gore.  With her other hand she grabbed the cut end of the staff and pulled it away from the vamp.  Twirling it like a baton, she spun the wooden end around and shoved it into the vampire's chest.  The pool of blood gained a layer of dust.  "Novice," she grunted. 
	Angel put on his vamp face to enhance his strength.  He'd managed to retrieve his double sided axe, although he had to break the neck of another minion who tried to beat him to it.  It was then that he heard a scream that pierced the noise of battle.  Sarah, he noticed, had been holding her own.  She'd picked up a large knife from a dead minion and was using it to stab at a demon who was attacking her, but it wasn't having much effect.  The demon was fairly large, with horns that twisted toward each other, and sizable claws that had just raked across Sarah's stomach, but only her shirt was damaged.  Angel grabbed his horns and tried to snap his neck, but the demon turned with him, growling.
	He let go, facing the demon.  The demon squinted at him.  "I know who you are.  I've heard about you.  They say your bark is worse than your bite!"  He howled in laughter at his own joke.
	"Never heard me bark, did you?" Angel said, swiftly decapitating the demon with his axe.  The head rolled near Sarah who backed away, having a brief gut reaction of horror.  She looked up at Angel, at his vamp face.  He winked at her.  Then she turned, giving a vampire behind her a high roundhouse kick to the jaw.  Before he could regain footing he was rapidly losing, she faked with her left leg, and kicked him again with her right.  He went down and she backed up, deftly pulling the crossbow from her shoulder and shooting it in one swift move.  The vampire dusted, looking surprised.  
	Either she's a quick learner, or something weird is going on here, Angel thought.  But there was no time to ponder.  A second later he was battling another demon, this one with a pesky extra arm that kept blocking his moves.  

						#

	Not long after Willow disappeared, the hazy blue vortex collapsed and vanished as well.  But still there was not silence.  Above them, they could hear sounds of scuffling feet and clashing weapons.  Screams of pain.  Screams of triumph.  Giles and Xander struggled against their bindings.  "We've got to get out of here," Xander said.  "We have to find out where Willow went."
	Giles stopped his struggles, seeing them futile.  His eyes went upward, to the noise of battle above them.  "What if she went up there?  That could be her doing."
	"Didn't I tell you to stop speculating?"  Xander also stopped, his wrists feeling raw.  "It's Angel coming to rescue us."
	"Fighting Willow?"
	"Giles!"  Xander didn't like the defeated look on Giles' face.  Things were looking bad.  Even though they had stopped M'Tethla, things were looking bad.  But it was always like Giles to play the proverbial Devil's advocate and state the shady side of things.  Xander used to like that about Giles.  He was honest.  He always let you know the worst-case, so you could be prepared.  But after over a decade of worst-cases, Xander was tired of it.  "Could you pretend that we're not about to die?  I could really use that right now."
	"Sorry, Xander," Giles apologized.  His glasses had slid down his nose and, unable to push them up, he looked kind of like a picture of Benjamin Franklin Xander had seen once, but without the gray hair.  Well, without *all* of the gray hair.
	Then they heard the sound of a door being flung open above them, then lots of footsteps coming down the stairs.  Rescuers?  Or a group of minions hurrying down to check on their experiment? They didn't have to wait long to find out.  A moment later, their friends were swarming around them, all asking questions.  Some of them were bleeding.  Anya began untying Xander and Angel bent down by Giles.  At the back of the group, Giles noticed Sarah, holding an empty crossbow, with blood spatters on her face.  "Sarah, what are you doing here?  You shouldn't have come.  You could have been hurt!"
	"It's all right, Giles," Angel said as he worked on the complicated knot.  "She did great.  I guess there's more to Sarah than meets the eye."
	Giles wondered what Angel really meant by that.  "Apparently so," he muttered.  "But we have a bigger problem."
	"Willow," Angel guessed.  "What happened?"  He finally got Giles' hands free and moved to his ankles.  
	Giles rubbed his wrists, noticing the redness and bruising.  "At my direction," he began, speaking loudly enough for everyone to hear, making sure if anyone was to blame for what was to come, it would be him, "Willow absorbed all of M'Tethla's energy.  It was the only way to prevent him from crossing over and destroying us all."
	"Oh my God," Anya exclaimed, remembering.  She had freed her husband's hands and moved in front of him to help free his legs.  "She hurt you!" she said immediately, noticing the black and purple bruise on his cheek.  "And she left to go hurt others, didn't she?"
	"Not necessarily," Giles said.  "I believe she left not because she wanted to hurt anyone, but specifically because she didn't."  At the confused faces around him, he went on, "It's not the same as before.  There's no grief, no thirst for vengeance, just unlimited power and nothing to use it on.  She probably went somewhere to employ the techniques of control she learned in England.  A retreat."
	"Oh, so we wait for her to come back?" Anya asked hopefully.
	"No."  Giles had taken to rubbing his ankles and let Angel help him to his feet.  "She has too much power.  She can't be allowed to keep it."
	Now Sarah spoke up.  "But if she can't use it and she can't keep it --?"
	Xander finished for everyone, "she'll go insane.  Giles, what do we do?"
	Giles looked at the group around him, counting heads.  Six people, including himself.  "I think I know how to help Willow, but we're going to need more people."
	Angel pulled out his cell phone and flipped it open.  "I'll call Wes," he said, then stopped as Giles held up a hand.	
	"We can't wait that long."	
	"But we don't even know where she is," Dawn said.
	The phone in Angel's hand began to ring.

						#

	"Wes," Cordelia said.  "Look at that."
	"Hmmm?" He didn't raise his head from the open volume on his lap.  
	She sighed.  "The sunset, you moron.  Look at it.  It's beautiful."  She drove the car along the shoreline road, thankful to be off the interstate.
	"Sunset?"  Wes looked at his watch, then out the window with concern.  "It's too early."
	"What do you mean, too early?  Feels to me like it should have set hours ago.  Good thing pretty scenery keeps me awake when I'm driving."  She yawned over the last words.
	Wes, his finger left pointing to a spot on the page, said, "I'm sorry.  You're tired.  Do you want me to --"
	"No!" She knew he was offering to take over the driving again and wouldn't have it.  "You'll be lucky if I ever give you the keys back."
	"More than an hour."
	"Huh?"
	"The sunset.  It's more than an hour early."  He was looking at it now, but clearly was not appreciating the array of colors.
	Cordelia was getting uncomfortably nervous as she shifted gears to climb a steep hill.  "What could cause that, Wes?"
	"Nothing good."  He turned his attention back to the book.  "If M'Tethla were here, I don't think we'd be alive to see the sunset, early or not.  I don't understand."  He closed the book on his lap, shoved it aside, and opened another.  "Do you have any idea of the power needed to change the rotational speed of a planet?  This can't be happening.  Maybe my watch is wrong."  He shook it next to his ear, but could hear its regular ticking.  
	Cordelia crested the hill and shifted gears again, stealing another glance at the setting sun from their new height.  She noticed a dark figure standing, just standing, facing the ocean.  Someone preparing to jump to their death?  "Oh God," she whispered.  The figure turned and for a brief moment she saw the face.  It seemed familiar .... "Oh my God," she said, louder, recognizing the face, as changed as it was.  She pulled onto the dirt shoulder, almost into the grass, and stopped the car.
	From the back seat, Wes again pulled his attention from his book.  "What is it?"
	"We found her," she said, pointing out the window.  "That's Willow."
	"Can't be," Wes said. "Willow has red --"
	Just as he spoke, Willow turned her head again.  Cordelia gasped and pulled her hands from the wheel as the car suddenly, despite the brakes, moved backward several feet.  Tires screeched and the smell of burning rubber came through the vents.  When the movement stopped, the two of them again looked toward the grassy bluff, but Willow had turned her back.  "I don't think she wants company," Wes said.  He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his cell phone.
	"Who are you calling?"
	
						#

	"Hello," Angel told his cell phone.  "Wes?"  He spoke to the group watching him.  "It's Wes.  What?!"  He listened for a minute, again translating, "They found Willow.  They were on their way into town when they spotted her.  She's on the bluffs." They began walking out of the high school basement, with Angel still on the phone.
	"They?  Who's with him?"  Giles asked, holding the door open.  
	Angel hung back.  "Just Cordelia."
	"Tell them to stay there.  Don't confront her.  We're coming."  He and Angel went through the doorway and followed the group up the stairs.  Everyone stepped carefully as they entered the corridor, and Giles understood why.  The aftermath of their battle littered the hallway for a dozen feet in both directions.  
	Xander wondered idly what the janitor would think when he came in Monday morning. 
	Angel had told Wes what Giles said, and was listening again, seemingly paying no attention at all to the carnage.  The group waited just inside the main entryway, looking out at growing darkness. "You've got to be kidding.  Hold on."  He stopped and put one hand over the mouth piece.  "Giles, Wes says the sun just set more than an hour early."  
	In reply, Giles pointed toward the glass doors.  A look of astonishment came over him.  "Amazing.  I doubt she's trying to do that.  Chances are she's not even aware of it.  It's just ... leakage."  If that much power was seeping out of Willow, if Willow was indeed trying to maintain some control -- and if she wasn't why hadn't the Earth exploded? -- what kind of power was she still holding back?
	Angel reminded Wes and Cordy to stay put, said good bye, and closed the phone.  Giles waited, wanting everyone's full attention.  "Let me explain what we need to do.  Think of Willow as a forty watt bulb being fed a hundred watts or more."
	Xander raised his hand as he were a child in school.  "It'll burn out, possibly explode if the wattage is high enough."
	"Correct."  He scanned the others to make sure they were following the analogy.  It seemed they were.  "Xander, say that's the only power available, and you have lots of bulbs, but none over forty.  How do you get light safely?"
	"You call my electrician," Xander said.  There was uncomfortable laughter.  "And he'd wire several bulbs together so they share the wattage.  Vanity lights!"
	"Exactly!"  Giles was pleased.  
	Xander took pride in being right for only a moment.  Then he realized what Giles was suggesting.  "You mean we're going to -- we'll be sharing --?  Are you sure that's safe?"
	"Of course it's safe.  I've done it hundreds of times.  It's routine."  Giles muttered under his breath, then corrected himself, "There's no way to know.  I'm going on theory here.  This situation has never come up.  But the theory is sound, even though Magicks are vastly different from electricity.  People are equally different from bulbs, which cannot control the energy flow.  Those of us with experience will be taking the brunt of it, but I won't sugar coat this."  His eyes scanned the loyal faces, pausing on Dawn and Sarah.  "It is very dangerous.  And because of that, even though numbers are vital, I won't force anyone to take part."
	Xander appeared about to say something, but was stopped when Anya jabbed him with an elbow.  
	"Um," Dawn broke in, "how many bulbs do we need?"
	Giles always hated to admit he didn't know, but he often didn't.  "As many as possible.  Quickly."
	"I can get one more and meet you there," she suggested.
	Xander groaned.  "He won't come."
	It was then that they heard a low rumble and the ground shook.  Everyone held out their arms to keep their balance, but Sarah backed up against a wall to stop herself from falling.  Dust and plaster particles showered down.  It didn't last long, but when it was over, heavy breathing broke the sudden silence.  Heavy breathing caused by fear.  
	"I'll make him come."  Dawn was determined, not even brushing the white dust from her clothes. "I'll drag him by his testicles if I have to."  At a trot, she pushed her way out the door and into the twilight.
	"She's not kidding," Xander said.
	With a glance at Giles, Angel said, "I'll go on ahead.  Let her know we've got a plan to help her."  Giles nodded, knowing Angel on foot was faster than they would be by car, and Angel also ducked out the door.
	The rest of them, Xander, Anya, Sarah, and Giles climbed into the car Anya had left parked out front.	  
	
						#
	
	Lorne hummed as he opened the door to the lobby of the Hyperion Hotel.  They were going to be so surprised to see him.  He hadn't been here for several weeks as he worked on opening preparations for Caritas IV, but popping in on Angel and friends was more fun that way.  If he came all the time, they wouldn't be so happy to see him.  His red horns buzzed with excitement.  But the lobby was empty.  "Hello?"  His voice echoed in the emptiness.  He continued through the lobby, heading for the office, noting that the office door was ajar.  He peeked in cautiously.  "Angel?"
	He saw no one in the office, but did notice the notepad and pen centered on the far side of the desk and guessed that someone had left a note, so he went around the desk to read it.  "Cordy and I have gone to help Angel.  Hold down the fort.  Back soon.  Wes."  His brow furrowed in confusion.  "Now, what does that mean?"
	"What does what mean?" said a pleasant, cheerful voice.  "Hey, Lorne!"  Winifred hung up her light jacket on the coat tree and rushed to hug him.  
	He accepted the embrace, then pointed to the note.  "Where's Angel?"
	"He's in Sunnydale, Lorne.  On a mission from Xander.  You remember, the guy who called you Mr. Spock?  Why?"
	Lorne had a bad feeling.  Angel's missions were never simple, but if he needed Wes and Cordy to help...  "You mind singing something for me, peach pie?"
	"Excuse me?"  Fred asked.  
	"Anything.  I just need to get some bearings.  Indulge me."  He tried to erase the seriousness from his face, but he wasn't sure he was successful.
	"I don't know what to--"
	"Anything."
	Fred stopped to think a minute, Lorne's insistence making her uneasy.  She sang the first thing that came to mind.  "Happy Birthday to you.  Happy Birthday to you.  Happy Birthday, dear whoever.  Happy Birthday to you."  Her voice faded as she saw Lorne's face become a paler shade of green.  "Lorne?"
	"Is it Lorne's birthday?"  Fred turned to see Charles Gunn, who had elected not to wear a jacket over his black turtleneck and jeans, enter the office.  Fred motioned Gunn to be quiet.
	Lorne shut his eyes, trying to forget what he'd just seen.  Because Fred had sung, he saw Fred.  In tears, over a scorched and burned body.  Wearing spectacles.  "Ten is not enough," he muttered, then opened his eyes and acknowledged Gunn's arrival.  "If we don't go help Angel as well someone is going to die."
	"Angel?" Fred asked hesitantly.
	"No, but someone close to him."
	"You got this from reading me?"
	"Sure, pumpkin," Lorne explained.  "If something goes wrong in Sunnydale, it affects Angel.  What affects Angel, affects you.  It's like dominoes."
	"What exactly did you see?"  Fred was getting more than a little terrified, but she lifted her coat off the coat tree anyway.  
	"Don't ask.  It's not going to happen.  We need to find out exactly where he is."
	Without a word, Gunn reached into his back pocket and pulled out his cell phone, dialing with his thumb.  He held the phone to his ear, listening to it ring.  After three rings, he heard Angel answer.  "Angel?  It's Gunn.  Listen, we need --"  There was static on the line, and he could hear outdoors sounds.
	"Sorry Gunn.  Can't talk now.  Call Wes."  The line clicked and went dead.
	He shrugged, reset the phone and dialed Wes.  Lorne and Fred listened anxiously.  "Wes, where are you?  What's going on?"  He paused, listening to Wesley's explanation, then, "we're closing the damn fort.  Lorne says you need us."
	"Need is irrelevant," Wes told him.  "There's no way you'll get here in time, good intentions aside.  Whatever's going to happen tonight is going down in the next thirty minutes, an hour at the most.  Can your car do 150 mph?"
	"No."
	"Then how are you going to help us?"
	"I don't know --"  Gunn noticed Lorne motioning for the phone and handed it over.
	"Hi, Wes, we got trouble....where exactly?"  said Lorne, who Fred was happy to see was getting some color back even if it was sickly looking. "Okay, you know, I think we're in luck.  I know a shortcut.  Seriously.  I do.  Never mind.  Just sit tight." 
	Wes sighed, the breath causing static to click in Lorne's ear.  "I don't know what you have in mind, but you know I can't ask Giles to wait for you."
	Lorne's tone had been almost happy, but now became morose again, "No, I wouldn't expect you to do that.  Bye."  He handed Gunn the phone back, then turned and began rummaging through the shelves and drawers.  
	"What are you looking for?" Gunn asked, skeptical that they'd be able to help at all.
	"The shortcut," Lorne said, not stopping his search.  "Aha!"  He finally said, raising one hand in triumph.  In it was a book.
	The Book of Pylea.  
	Fred backed away, a look of terror on her face.  "Lorne.  I don't think--"
	"I know, sweet cheeks," Lorne said regretfully. Approaching Fred slowly, he handed the book to Gunn and took her shoulders in his arms.  "It's not my favorite place, either.  Remember, the last time I was there, I got decapitated.  Not lethal, but not an enjoyable experience, either.  But we NEED to get to Angel, with a capital N.  And a couple of capital E's and a capital D."
	"How is this a shortcut?" Gunn asked, turning the book over in his hands.
	Lorne let go of Fred, who was looking just as terrified as before.  "They call them parallel dimensions, but they're not exactly parallel.  It's more like they meet at angles, touching here or touching there and when you travel you slip through the nearest conjunction."  He motioned for them to follow as he walked out of the office and entered the lobby.  "If I remember Pylea right, leaving from the lobby here will take us to the Pylean Forest.  We go South, and when we clear the forest in Pylea, we jump back.  We should end up in the woods that separate the bluffs from Sunnydale.  Then we run like mad for those bluffs."	
	Fred wandered ahead of them to the center of the lobby and turned slowly.  "What if something goes wrong?  What if someone sees us, or we don't come out in the right place?"
	Lorne didn't have a real answer.  "I think I trust my instincts on this one," he found himself remembering the vision of Fred crying over what he knew would be Wesley's smoking, charred body.  "It's the only way to get there in time.  Wes said they can't wait for us."  He could see that Fred was still worried and anxious.  "Listen, Fred," he said, using her real name for emphasis, "we shouldn't see anyone.  It's into the woods and out of the woods and home before dark."
	Fred's nervous eyes shifted toward the window.  "It's already dark."
	"Eh, what does Sondheim know?"
	"Sond who?" asked Gunn.
	"Never mind.  Start reading."  He gathered his friends close and they clasped hands.
	
						#

	The cave wasn't hard to find.  He'd made the doorway bigger since they'd killed Gnarl and you didn't have to crawl in like a snake anymore.  But the light was fading and the cave was dark as pitch.  She stayed in the fuzzy curve of remaining light.  "Spike?" she called.  "Spike, we need you."  She grimaced at the foul air.  After enlarging the doorway, couldn't he have put in a window?  Something to let in fresh air?  Trouble was, it would also let in sunlight, and that's just what he was trying to avoid.  She wondered how he could stand it, and how long before she was uncontrollably blowing chunks.
	She could hear him.  He was sucking on something, it sounded like.  As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she began to make out shapes and she saw a small shape fly through the air and land on a heap in the corner.  It was a large pile of dead, exsanguinated rats.  "What do you want?"  He stepped out of the dark to the less dark, wiping blood from his mouth. 
	"We ... we need your help."
	"Uh huh," he said, sucking the remaining blood from his teeth and humanizing his face.  "Toilet plugged again?"  He'd developed quite a strange relationship with the Little Bit.  Seeing her always reminded him of Buffy, and he hated that.  Hated what he'd had to do, all because of that brat Elzbeth.  He'd told them about Elzbeth, but not what she'd done to Buffy.   She was just some vamped Slayer that wanted a bud.  He was glad they never suspected the truth.  After all, a vampire can drink blood from anywhere.  She didn't have to bite Buffy on the neck or anywhere else if the blood was pouring out of her like that.  Then, with Buffy all but dead, it would have been easy to hold her mouth open and let her own blood flow into Buffy's throat.  God.  But then, God had nothing to do with it, did he?  And God had nothing to do with it when he'd hunted down Elzbeth and dusted her, either.  Should have kept the blade, bitch, he'd told her, silently adding to his Slayer tally.  He supposed Buffy should be included, too, but he wouldn't count her.  It didn't seem right. 
	Seeing Bit always reminded him of Buffy.  And he liked that, too.  He didn't want to forget Buffy.  Ever.  
	"No."  She tried to remember that there wasn't a lot of time, but she also knew she couldn't just drag him out, despite what she'd said at the school.  She wasn't strong enough.   "Sun's down.  You'd be safe."
	"I can see that."
	"It's Willow," she said.  "She ... she got kidnapped and they forced her to absorb energy and feed it to this demon guy who was going to come and destroy the world.  We stopped him, but now Willow still has all this energy and we have to help her.  Giles says he knows how, but we need lots of people."
	"Giles."  The name had gotten Spike's attention.  "Giles is here?"  
	"Yes.  We don't have a lot of time, Spike.  If Giles is right, she could wipe Sunnydale off the map with an errant thought, including this cozy little cave of yours."  She tried to sound threatening, but wasn't sure it worked.
	Spike pooh poohed.  "No skin off my nose, Bit."
	Dawn was never quite sure how she felt about Spike's nickname for her.  It was always used affectionately, which was nice, but it made her want to scream 'I'm not a child' at him.  Still, she knew that in his eyes, she would always be a child, always be innocent, even when she was old and gray and he was still the twenty-something platinum haired vamp he was now.  Or it could be that the word was just a diphthong off of 'bitch', or past tense of 'bite'.  There were just too many uncertainties.  "Please don't say skin," Dawn said, eyeing the unseen part of the cavern as if Gnarl was about to jump out and attack again.  No, he's dead, she told herself.  He's been dead a long time.  Keep focused on the job here.  "I'll do something for you.  I'll ... I'll clean out your rat pile," she offered with a wry frown.  At least he'd know she was sincere.
	He glanced at the pile in the corner.  "Naw.  Blurg is coming tomorrow.  He likes his meat dry.  We have a deal."  Then he gave the pile a judgmental look.  "Pile's kind of small.  I haven't had much of an appetite lately."
	Dawn tasted bile and forced it back down again.
	"Besides," Spike continued, "you know what I REALLY want."
	Oh, God, thought Dawn.  Not that.  "Please don't make me do that.  Spike, have a ... oh, never mind," she corrected herself, realizing that of course he didn't have a heart, at least not an active one.
	"You're hurt."  Spike stepped closer, noticing the gash in Dawn's side.  He looked concerned.  
	Dawn took a step backwards.  "It's nothing. We just rescued Giles and Xander."
	"We?"
	"Xander, Anya, a friend of Giles' named Sarah, and --" she didn't want to say it, but "Angel."
	Spike's head tilted up.  "Ah, Angel!  Quite a little family reunion you've got going.  What do you need me for?"
	"I'm not sure," Dawn admitted.  "Giles just said we needed as many people as we could get.  It's Willow!" She said the last sentence petulantly, insistently. 
	He let a moment of silence stretch on before asking calmly, "do I get what *I* want?"
	She gulped.  What choice did she have?  "Okay, okay.  After."
	"Promise?"
	"I promise." 

						#

	Willow stood on the grassy bluff just outside Sunnydale city limits.  Moonlight reflected off her jet black hair, which danced around her shoulders with the ocean breeze.  Her stomach was trembling as she looked down at the waves crashing against the base of the cliff a hundred feet below.  Huge, jagged rocks extended several feet out into the water, inviting her.  Inside, a hundred voices argued for attention.  There was the voice telling her to let go, to let the dark magicks flow from her.  Even from here, she could easily kill the entire population of Sunnydale - human and demon alike.  But she forced herself not to think about that.  Another voice told her to jump, and another warned her it wouldn't kill her anyway.  The power wouldn't let her die.  She couldn't escape this that easily.  And yet another voice, one that she worried might her own, the one that had been with her always, was on the verge of tears and cried out that she didn't want to die.  With tremendous effort, she held all the voices in a mental box, held the ocean of dark magicks behind a wall of stone.  How long she could maintain this she didn't know.  She only knew she had to, or people would be hurt or killed.  
	"Willow," came a soft voice behind her.
	She whirled, a little too quickly, and her control slipped for a small yet infinitely large moment of time.  "Go away, Angel.  Please."  Even speaking was difficult.  It required she take that iota of attention away from the box and the wall.
	Angel stepped close, right into her personal space.  It might have seemed foolish, but he knew that with the kind of power she had distance was irrelevant.  He needed to see her clearly, see in her eyes, those inky, black eyes.  "Are you evil?"  He asked, not wanting to believe it.
	"Are you?" she shot back at him.
	He ignored it.  Probably the only time in recent history he had ignored that particular question.  "I know what you're here for," Angel went on, heedless to her warning.  "When I first got my soul, or at least, one of my earliest memories of myself with a soul, I was about to do the same thing."  He backed up a step, looked out at the ocean.  "It was stupid.  I know.  It wouldn't kill me.  At best, I would lay there on the rocks while my bones healed.  They wouldn't heal straight, of course, and I'd end up deformed, even more of a monster than I already thought I was."  He kept walking, slowly, as he talked, until he was some distance away, standing in the tall grasses near the edge of the bluff.  The tail of his black duster flapped behind him in the ocean breeze.  He turned back to her. "It's not the answer."
	Willow wanted to say something, tell him to go away again, but didn't dare distract herself.  He was too close.  If she slipped, he'd be the first to die.
	"I know you're struggling.  You're afraid.  There's probably echoes of M'Tethla, conflicting voices, urges and emotions stronger than you've ever felt before."  He walked toward her again, just a couple of steps.  "Giles and the others are coming.  Hang on.  They'll help you."
	"They'll have to help you first!" She heard herself hiss at him.
	Invisible hands grabbed Angel, pushed him, to the edge of the bluff.  "Willow!" he had time to say, before he toppled over into free fall.
	
	#

	In the car, watching, Wes and Cordelia jumped.  "Angel!"  They both called out.  
	Cordelia started to get out of the car, but Wes pulled her back from behind.  "Cordelia, no."
	"But Angel --"
	"We can't help him."  Cordelia could hear how much pain saying those words caused him.  
	
	#

	Angel fell, only the movement of his duster distinguishing him from the night.  Below him, gray and black shadows rose upward.  Cold water droplets sprayed his face as he comforted himself that at least he had friends now who would see that his bones were set properly, which is all the thought there was time for before he prepared himself to smash into the hard, jagged rock pile.  
	Suddenly, it was as if he'd landed in a fisherman's net.  But there was nothing there.  He blinked. His fall aborted, and if he could reach down he would have touched the slimy, moss-covered surface of rock that should have been buried in his skull.   
	"No!" Willow shouted, rushing forward and landing on her stomach, her face over the edge of the bluff.  She saw him, suspended just above the rocks.  The voices argued again.  Let him fall.  He deserves it.  You told him to go away, didn't you?  Pull him back for more thrust, like a slingshot.  You can do it.  And then that other voice, the teary, crying one: Put him back on the bluff.
	The rocks below him began to recede.  Slowly, he rose backwards, back the way he had come, knowing that Willow was fighting those voices for every inch.  He didn't blame her for his fall.  He understood that the amount of magicks held inside of her now was equivalent to the demon he himself battled every minute.  Perhaps even stronger.  Even though she struggled for control, she wasn't really responsible.  She hadn't asked for this.  It had been forced upon her.  And only her extensive training had saved her sanity thus far.  As he finally rose above the bluff, coming down in a small arc that put his feet back on the grass, he wondered how much longer she could hold out.  
	The veins in Willow's face throbbed.  Her dark eyes looked like holes, like the night sky was looking at him.  "Get away from me."  There was no pleading now, like before.  He heard only anger and hate.
	He wasn't afraid of anger and hate.  He'd dealt with them most of his ...well, unlife.  Angel stood his ground.  She turned back to stare at the ocean, and he stayed near.  He didn't speak, but was prepared to stop her by force if she made a move closer to the edge.  But she didn't move closer to the edge.  She didn't move anything except her eyelids.  She barely breathed.  Her concentration was that deep.  There was a crack in her wall and she had to fix it.  Fix it before the thing behind the wall could come out.  
	After a few moments, he began to look around to see if the others were on their way and noticed the car several yards away on the shoulder.  He could see two people inside it, one in front and one in back.  He walked over. 
	Cordelia jumped out of the car and ran toward him, throwing her arms around him.  "Oh, Angel," she said tearfully, "I thought she'd killed you!"
	"It wouldn't have killed me," he answered, moving next to the car and resting against the hood, watching Willow from a distance.
	A door clicked closed softly as Wes climbed out of the back seat.  "What's the plan?  Assuming, of course, that there is one."  He walked around the car to join Angel and Cordelia leaning against the car.
	Angel explained the same way Giles had, using the light bulb analogy.  Cordelia gulped, and he added, "He said he wouldn't force anyone to do it, but the more people we have the safer it will be for everyone."
	"Right," Cordelia said.  "No pressure."
	"Wish we had more time," said Wesley.  "We could call in Gunn, and Fred, maybe even Lorne."
	Angel shook his head.  "Willow won't be able to control it that long.  The sunset?  Giles guessed that's just leakage.  Think about it."
	Wesley understood.  He looked in awe at Willow on the bluff, then at his watch again, and the dark sky.  "Where are they?"  How early would sunrise come if the Earth's rotational speed continued to increase?  He tried to gauge it by watching the stars.  Here, this far from the lights of Sunnydale, the sky was filled with stars.  Willow seemed to be staring at the horizon, paying no attention to the stars.  Far below them, he could hear waves crashing on the shore.  Everything seemed peaceful.  He considered it a Very Grand Deception.
	After a few minutes, they heard the sound of a car approaching and saw headlights.  Angel saw his convertible, top still up from their race with the sunrise, pull in to the opposite shoulder.  All four doors opened immediately, and Giles, Anya, Sarah and Xander got out.  Crossing the narrow road, they joined the other three by Wesley's car.  "Did Angel explain what we need to do?" Giles asked.
	Cordelia and Wesley nodded.  "We're willing," Wesley volunteered for them both.  Cordelia did not object.
	"Excellent.  Now we just wait for Dawn and --"
	"We're here!"  Dawn was calling, almost breathless.  She and Spike came running along the bluff, slowing to check out Willow, who maintained her concentration and seemed to be unaware of them all, before joining the group.  "I told you he'd come."
	Xander avoided looking at Spike.  "Okay," he looked at Giles, "how do we get Willow's attention without getting killed?"
	"I'll handle Willow.  Come this way, all of you."  He lead the group over to the grassy part of the bluff, behind where Willow stood.  "Make a circle.  Angel, you and I will be on either side of Willow.  Spike after Angel, then Wes --"
	Spike interrupted, "Half a mo.  Why can't I be next to Willow?  I'm just as strong as he is.  And I didn't come here to play second string."
	Giles didn't want to argue, but he hesitated.  "Spike, do you know what you're asking?  The two next to Willow will be standing next to the dam when it breaks.  Are you sure you can handle it?"
	"Are you sure you can?"  Spike raised an eyebrow, knowing he had a point.
	"This isn't a time for vampire one-upmanship, Spike."
	Spike said nothing, but stood his ground, waiting patiently.  Of course he knew time was running out and that Giles would give in.  He wasn't wrong.
	"Very well, Angel and Spike.  Then working outwards from both sides, Wes and myself, Cordelia and Anya, Dawn and Xander, and Sarah."  As he spoke, the designated people took their positions.  He waited to see if there would be anymore objections to his arrangement, then continued when there were none, "Now, I thank you all for your participation.  You understand the dangers, as well as they can be understood.  If you feel...overwhelmed at any time, don't fight it.  Relax and let the energy flow.  Most importantly, once the circle is formed, we must not break it until I give the word or Willow herself lets go.  Prepare yourselves."  He then left them to retrieve the guest of honor.
					
						#

	The Hyperion lobby faded into haze and in the next moment the three friends found themselves surrounded by tall, lush, green trees.  It was still daylight in Pylea.  "Head count," Lorne said.  He reached up and touched his face.  "Yep, still there."
	Gunn, anxious to get back to his own dimension as soon as possible, asked, "Which way is South?"  He held the closed book in one hand.
	Their heads all twisted back and forth, then up trying to judge direction.  Fred took a step and touched the nearest tree trunk.  "Lorne, does the moss thing work the same on Pylea?  Moss is supposed to grow on the North side."
	Lorne and Gunn both came to her side and examined the tree.  "That way," Lorne said, pointing.  "Good thinking, Fred."
	Their instincts wanted them to run, but the ground was uneven and covered with roots and piles of dried leaves.  Gunn tripped on a root and sprawled, the book flying, but picked himself up again and brushed detritus from his clothes, then retrieved the book where it had fallen.  It was easy to lose direction, having to skirt around trees in their path, so they paused often only long enough to check for moss.  It seemed to take a long time.  Once, it looked like they had come out of the forest, but it was only a clearing and they continued on.  They had to push their way through some thick brush, the branches snagging on their clothing and scratching arms and faces.
	Finally, the trees opened onto a vast expanse that revealed a village in the distance.  "Okay," Lorne said, not wanting anyone from the village to see them.  He stopped where he was, turned, and took Fred's hand in his.  Gunn found his place in the book and held it open with one hand while holding Fred's hand with his other.  He read.  
	The trees seemed to move forward and engulf them once again.  And the sun went away.  And a tornado seemed to have come with them.  "Now which way?" Gunn shouted over the wind.  Again, they went to a tree and checked the moss to find their way.  
	It was harder to move through the woods in the dark.  Trees appeared in their path seemingly without warning.  But they were close to their goal now and driven by desire.  It wasn't long at all before they emerged onto the bluff.  They stopped only a moment to take in the scene.
	Eight people stood in a nearly completed circle, but not holding hands.  Two other figures stood near the edge of the bluff.  They broke into a run, calling Angel's name.  One of the figures at the open end of the circle broke free and came to meet them.  "How did you get here so fast?"
	"I'll explain later," Lorne said.  "Where do you want us?"
	
						#

	The walls were beginning to crumble like ancient ruins.  In her mind, Willow dashed about repairing cracks only to have more appear.  And now pieces were flaking away irretrievably and she knew that this couldn't go on.  The Evil wanted to come out of her, but where could she go where innocent people wouldn't be harmed?  Outer space?  She wasn't even sure how far she could go or how far these powers would reach.  And she didn't want to find out.  She just wanted it all to be over.
	Dimly, she knew that something was going on around her, that Angel had gone away.  They were probably trying to find a way to kill her, and wouldn't they be surprised to find out how easy it would be?  She wouldn't resist.  She'd even try to help them.  At least, that's how she felt now.  Everything would change when the Evil took over, though.  She remembered the last time and how unimportant all her friends had seemed to her then.  They were nothing but bugs.  Even Giles.  She'd already come close to hurting Angel and she knew worse things would come.  It would be easy to strike them all down, she knew that.  The hard part was this.  Like putting a starving man in front of a buffet and telling him not to eat.
	But she wouldn't eat.  Instead, she would go quietly insane and the Willow she was now would simply die.  But the other Willow, her body, the Energizer Bunny on speed, would go on.  She looked down at the rocks, only seen by the moonlight glinting off the slick surfaces, and knew it would only take one step.  If she could break her body first, prevent it from being useful...but the Evil could fix anything she could do to it.  And did it even need her body anyway as more than a receptacle?  What was to stop it from reaching out and manipulating someone else?  Until she could figure that out, Willow could do nothing but keep trying to contain it.
	Giles was coming.  She sensed him, sensed his intent.  No, too dangerous.  Go away.  Please, go away.  "Willow," he said.  No, don't make me talk.  But Giles was persistent.  Gentle, but persistent.  "Willow, come with me.  We're ready to help you."  He took her hand and she pulled it back, shaking her head.  Her stomach trembled with fear.  "Let me help you."  Again he took her hand, and she shut down all resistance.  Resistance was distraction.  Distraction was deadly.  She felt him guide her away from the bluff's edge, turning, slowly.  In just a few steps, she was in position.  Giles let go and she stood like an automaton.
	"Hold hands," Giles told the group.  He noticed without comment the newcomers.  A green skinned demon with red horns had taken a spot between Angel and Wes.  A bald, but muscular black man now stood between Spike and Anya.  And a very slender woman blended in nicely between Sarah and Dawn.  Everyone took their neighbor's hand, but Giles motioned Angel and Spike to wait before taking Willow's.  Before he took his spot in the circle, he licked his dry lips and stood next to Willow.  "Willow, when you feel the circle, you must let go of the power.  We'll help you control it."
	Damn you, Willow thought.  You're making me talk now.  "No," she pushed through her clenched teeth.
	"Trust me, Willow."
	"It's too much."
	"Yes, far too much.  Which is why you have to release it."
	Willow blinked, for possibly the first time in ten minutes.  "You'll all die.  I can't do that."  She winced and took a step back.
	This time, Giles placed a hand on her back and urged her to her place again.  "If you don't do as I say, you'll lose control.  You'll destroy the whole planet."
	At the far end of the circle, Xander whispered to Dawn, "Isn't he going to refute the 'you'll all die' thing?"
	Dawn said nothing, but watched Giles and Willow.
	"Please don't," Willow gasped.
	Beneath them, the bluff heaved up and down. There was a low rumble of thunder.  "Giles, she's losing it," warned Angel, as they all took a step to keep their balance.  
	"If she doesn't release it the circle is pointless," Giles responded, speaking over the growing wind.
	"She doesn't have to release it if it breaks free."
	"If it breaks free," Giles shot back, "Willow, our Willow, will be the first to die!"  He put his attention back on Willow.  Her dark hair, eyes, and bulging veins left a pain in his heart.  She would be overwhelmed completely by the Magicks if her walls crumbled much further.  "Do you understand, Willow?"
	She nodded, barely moving at all.
	Quickly, Giles moved to his spot, taking Spike's hand on one side and the dark stranger's on the other.  His eyes flashed gratitude.  He nodded to Angel and Spike, who in turn nodded to each other as they each reached out and took Willow's hands.
	Wind whipped around them, blowing Angel's duster until it snapped behind his new neighbor.  As one, their heads were thrown back and the circle stretched, their arms straining, but not letting go.  Angel and Spike were the first to move their heads forward again, now wearing head bumps and fangs.  They growled in pain, neck veins bulging in competition with Willow's.  Giles felt the energy flow through him in that first instant, as eternally unprepared as one is for the death of a loved one, but quickly grabbed hold of what he could.  All along the circle, the initial shock was severe, but no one let go. 
	Gunn gritted his teeth, his muscles tightening reflexively as something like an electrical current shot through his body.  Okay, I volunteered for this?  he thought.  Why do I hang out with these people?  If I survive this, I'm going on my own.  Oh, who am I kidding?  I'm not going to survive this!
	Anya wished for a good, old-fashioned spear in the chest.  Was that her hair standing on end or being blown by the wind?  There was a lot of wind.  Was the circle holding hands to keep the flow going or to hold each other down?  
	Dawn realized that Giles had put her next to Sarah to protect her, who of all of them was physically the weakest right now, having not slept well for the past month.  As the energy burned through her she realized Sarah and Anya were both squeezing her hands nearly tight enough to break bones, knew that she was also gripping their hands as tightly, as surely all of them were.  They probably couldn't break the circle if they tried. 
	Using her imagination to imagine she was back in the cave in Pylea, Fred realized she had just bitten off a piece of her lower lip.  Not that she could feel it.  But she tasted the blood, and felt the warmth ooze over her teeth.   
	At the far end of the circle, Sarah gasped, not in pain, but in wonderment.  She was breathless, as if having sprinted for a mile, but at first, there was no pain.  At first.  Then the heat, the burning, traveled from her fingertips and throughout her body.  Her heart skipped a beat, then made up for it.  Everything went white as a clarity hit her and for a brief moment she understood everything, had all the answers.  Then it was gone.  The pain dulled, and she remembered where she was and she was able to concentrate.  
	Next to her Xander, after what seemed like an eternity to him, was finally able to relax his muscles a bit and open his eyes.  What a rush!  But not a good rush.  This rush, in fact, sucked the big one.  He wanted to check to make sure his head hadn't exploded but didn't dare break the circle. 
	Cordelia wished for a good, old-fashioned vision.  Even her worst vision was practically an orgasm in comparison.  But the visions, she thought, were probably good training for this.  She couldn't put a hand to her head, or fall down thanks to the high-wire tension stretching along their collective wingspans, but she could scream.  One scream, a good long one, could do wonders for pain tolerance.  Besides, it was so windy the sound probably wouldn't even carry very far.
	Wesley heard Cordelia scream and didn't blame her one bit.  He longed for a good, old-fashioned throat slitting, in fact.  Bleeding to death, or nearly bleeding to death, really hadn't been half bad.  But this...if he didn't pull a muscle from the involuntary contractions he'd be lucky. 
	Are my horns smoking? Lorne wondered.  He wished, even in this maelstrom of wind and pain, that someone would sing, just a few bars.  Fred's reading had told him that ten would not be enough, but that didn't really mean that thirteen would be much better.  Wasn't thirteen considered an unlucky number by some humans?  He was surprised no one had mentioned it.  And he wished immediately that he hadn't thought of it himself. 
	Between the two vampires, Willow stood in a mental cloud of smoke.  It was everywhere.  The voices buzzed freely around her head and she wanted Giles' voice back again.  Where had he gone?  She'd seen all her friends here, but couldn't see them now.  She'd listened to Giles again.  First, she'd done as he said and collected the energy, knowing full well that it was evil.  But he was right, she couldn't let M'Tethla get it.  So she'd taken it, and of course the Evil was in her then.  As it came in, she shut it in the box, put the box behind that wall, but she kept having to get a bigger box.  Eventually, it had exploded out of her, breaking the bonds holding her to that chair.  The Evil freed her from her prison, but then it wanted company.  It wanted M'Tethla and others.  Yes, there could be others.  It had taken a great deal of effort not to pull the vortex open and jump in.  There was too much and she didn't know what to do with it.  It took such concentration.  Then Xander kept distracting her by talking and when the Evil struck out at him she knew she had to leave them.  Then she'd come here -- how long had that been? -- with the same dilemma.  When Giles had spoken to her, though, she listened.  She would always listen to Giles.  The Evil wanted to push him off the cliff, too, but she didn't let it.  It had nearly cost her everything, but once again she'd listened to Giles and let him move her, let him orchestrate whatever it was he needed to do.  Then the circle had closed and before the wall could shatter completely, she put in a door and opened it, hiding behind the door and apologizing repeatedly to the friends she knew she was about to hurt.  
	Finally, after what seemed a very long time to Willow, the smoke began to clear, the voices became subdued.  And she saw them, in pain, and a tear of regret slid down her cheek.  Cordelia had screamed.  They were shaking, or was that the ground?  As if her head weighed more than the Earth, she turned toward Giles.  His glasses had blown off.  She could see them in her mind's eye, lying in the grass about ten feet behind him.  He wasn't concerned about them.  He was concerned about her.  She felt it.  "What now, Giles?" she was able to ask.
	Giles felt like he was standing on the third rail of a subway track, but he could hear Willow, even through the wind.  Now the really hard part, he had to figure out where to direct it, so it wouldn't just go exploding through Earth and its inhabitants.  He had the answer.  He looked up at the sky.  "Send it away, Willow."  He panted with the effort to speak.
	"But --"
	"As far as you can."
	Willow raised her face, looking at the stars.  What if?  As far as you can, he'd said.  Okay.  She projected and pushed and sent the largest clump of energy she could handle hurtling through to an empty spot in space.  She projected her mind and saw a dead sun, surrounded by dead worlds in the empty spot.  The energy slammed into the dead sun, sending it spinning, spewing chunks of rock.  It would probably be years before they saw the results, decades perhaps.  She grabbed another batch, gave it a mental wind-up, and pitched it after the last one.  Then another and another.  Always to the same spot.  Most of them hit the dead sun.  Some hit and shattered a dead planet.  Whatever sacrifice she was creating, it would be as limited as possible.  
	The others saw fireballs the size of Giles' old library globe erupt from Willow's head and fly away into the night sky, diminishing and shrinking until they disappeared from view.  Each one took some of the wind with it.  After a while the wind died down, and the fireballs took with them something else.
	Xander, getting really tired of clenching his teeth, saw the black veins shrink from Willow's face and neck.  After twenty or thirty fireballs, the whites of her eyes came back.  She saw Xander looking at her and gave a half smile, her lips curling up around each heavy breath.  Finally, she had to actually draw the energy back from her friends, who, of course, gave it willingly, and the fireballs weren't so big anymore.  When her hair began to lighten to her normal red hue, Xander knew then that every singed hair follicle on his body was worth it.
	It was Willow who broke the circle.  She let go, and fell to her hands and knees, exhausted.  In a comical copycat maneuver, the rest of the circle followed suit.  Then they fell to their backs, spread eagling all over the grassy bluff.
	In a moment, Angel opened his eyes.  He glanced down at his chest, then opened his shirt to view the large black mark that existed there.  The edges of the mark were red, raw, and tender, but he knew it would heal.  On the other side of Willow, Spike was also admiring his burnt chest, turning his head a few times to get a look at Angel's wound for comparison.  He thought Angel's was bigger, but he told himself that at his age, Angel probably didn't heal as quickly as Spike did.  Could be Angel's wound hadn't even started healing yet, whereas his itched like mad.  "Spike," Giles whispered.  He'd also seen Spike's badge of courage and felt almost certain that if he had kept that place he would have been killed.  As it was, most of his body was numb, though beginning to tingle painfully to life.  
	After a couple more minutes of group groaning, Xander pushed himself back to his hands and knees and crawled over to Willow.  She gave him a curly-cornered smile as she lay there, still too tired to speak.  Xander lay down next to her and put an arm across her chest.  "Welcome back, Will."
	Then, like someone in a low budget zombie movie, she was inundated by crawling, slow-moving people who all wanted to wrap their arms around her.  She was pulled into a sitting position, then to her feet.  "Thank you.  Thank you, everyone.  Giles."  She pushed through the crowd to Giles and wrapped her arms around him, crying freely.  "Thank you, Giles."  She pulled away unexpectedly and stumbled past him.
	"Willow?"  Giles asked uncertainly.
	Bending down, she picked up his glasses from the grass, then turned and walked back.  She blinked tiredly.  "Found your glasses."  Giles took them with an appreciative smile, folded them, and put them in his breast pocket.  
	Xander was shaking hands and mingling like a politician.  "Everyone, please, come back to the house.  We'll sleep for a day or so, and when everyone's up I'm buying you all breakfast.  Or lunch, or dinner.  Whatever's appropriate."

						#

	Half an hour later, two cars pulled up in front of the Harris house.  People piled out of them like circus clowns and trudged sleepily up the front walk and into the house.  On the horizon, the very first hazy rays of dawn glowed purple.  Xander entered first, tossed the keys on the coffee table and plopped onto the couch.  Then Giles, who sat in the chair.  Dawn and Willow supported each other.  "Come on," Dawn said, steering Willow toward the stairs, "I'll help you put your bed back together."  
	Anya came in next, landing next to her husband on the couch and putting her head on his shoulder.  Angel and Sarah came in.  Sarah looked at the stairs and just shook her head, "oh, the carpet will be fine..."  Instead, Angel scooped her up and carried her upstairs.  
	He passed Willow's demolished room on the way.  "She can have my bed, Angel," Dawn said as she snapped a sheet in the air.
	Angel carried Sarah, who was already asleep, into Dawn's room and put her on top of the bed.  He went to the window and pulled down the shade.  It wasn't light yet, but it would be soon, so he took the curtains out of the tiebacks and closed them.  The hallway light Dawn had turned on was the only thing illuminating the room. 
	Self-conscious of his bulky frame, he approached the bed.  "Buffy?"  he said softly.
	The figure on the bed stirred, crisp new sheets rustling underneath her.
	There was a soft, sleepy groan, then, "Angel?"
	"Yes."
	"How did you know I was here?"  Sarah's head was turned away from him, but he could see her jaw muscles working as she talked.
	"I could smell you on her."
	"I smell?"  she asked.  "Well, I mean, I know I'm dead, but I thought I left the stinky parts someplace else --"
	"It's not like that," he corrected her.  "It's not body odor.  It's ... hard to explain."
	"Hey!" she said, excitedly, and it was really strange hearing a wide-awake, excited voice come out of a head that was sound asleep.  "Does this make me deader than you?  Yeah, I think it does! I win the dead contest!"
	"Sure," Angel said.  Anything you say.  "How are you --?
	"This?  I guess I'm being channeled.  Pretty cool, huh?  But it only works while she's sleeping and it makes her not sleep very well.  I've been keeping my foot in the door, too, so it's even worse.  I can't stay much longer.  I just ..."
	Angel wanted to talk more, of course, but knew that Sarah was going to need a lot of rest.  "I won't keep you.  I just wanted to --"
	"No, don't go.  How's Willow?"
	"Sleeping.  I think she'll be fine."
	"I'm not sure Sarah could have ... she's strong and everything, but ... At least, I got to help.  I wonder if anyone else knew about me.  Besides Giles, I mean."
	"Do you want me to tell them?"
	There was silence while she thought.  "Nah.  Let them think it was Sarah.  A lot of it was, you know.  I ... even though I helped her fight, it was my instincts not me.  I can't see what she sees.  I can't see you."
	"Have you ever tried?"
	"I'm afraid it will wake her up."
	"Try."
	"What if she wakes up?  She'll think you're trying something."
	He smiled.  "I'm willing to take that risk.  Go ahead.  Turn your head and open your eyes."
	Slowly, Sarah's head turned toward him, her shoulders falling back.  She lay there awhile, then her eyes slid open and a bright smile lit up her face.
	Angel stood above her, looking down, seeing Buffy's bright blue eyes where Sarah's brown ones used to be.	

						#

	When Angel came downstairs, the living room was empty except for Giles, who was spreading a blanket across the couch.  The drapes were closed, but the room was still brightly lit by the early morning sunlight that filtered through.  Giles noticed Angel approach.  "She sleeping?" His voice was barely above a whisper.
	"Like a baby."
	He stopped in mid-smooth, just for a moment, knowing what Angel's words meant.  "That's good," he said.
	"Giles, why didn't you tell anyone?"
	"What is there to tell?"  He smoothed a wrinkle at what would be the foot of his makeshift bed.
	"You know what I mean.  I wasn't even sure until just now.  Sarah's been carrying Buffy around and you didn't say anything."  
	Giles stood.  "And what if I had?  Do you think if the others knew about that, they would have been able to focus on rescuing Willow?  They would have hounded poor Sarah with questions and requests.  She didn't need that."
	"You don't give them enough credit.  Now Buffy's gone, and there's no point to saying anything about it, but you should have given them the chance.  I'm glad I picked up on it, anyway."  His eyes floated to the ceiling, thinking of Sarah blissfully unconscious above them.  "Sarah doesn't even know, does she?"
	"I don't think so.  If she does, she didn't say anything."  He took off his jacket, then sat to remove his shoes.  "I'm certainly not going to tell her.  She'll think that's all she was good for -- a vessel for Buffy.  No, she exhausted herself to help us, and true or not she deserves to feel good about it.  She has a life, and after she's fully rested she deserves to go back to England and continue it."
	Angel slipped off his leather duster, draped it over the back of the chair, then sat down.  He fidgeted with the crease in his pants, then looked behind him, right and left to see if anyone had heard them talking.  "Giles, now that I have you alone...there's something I've been meaning to tell you for a long time."
	"Yes?"  Giles put his shoes aside and wiggled his toes, considering removing his socks.  "Go ahead."
	There was a moment of quiet.  There was the squeak of a mattress in some other room as someone turned over.  "I'm -- Giles, I'm sorry about Jenny."
	At the sound of the name, Giles stopped looking at his feet and raised his head.  
	Angel continued, "I knew you loved her and I snapped her neck, and then I planted her in your bedroom like --"
	"No."
	Angel wasn't sure what Giles meant.  No, don't say anymore?  No, you're not sorry?  
	After a moment, Giles expanded on his monosyllabic reply.  "You didn't kill her.  Angelus did."
	"But these hands --"  Angel held out his hands, the hands that had committed so many horrendously evil acts.
	Giles shook his head.  "As Sarah so rightly pointed out, you are not Angelus.  It's taken me some time to accept that, but I have accepted it."  He was no more Angelus than Ben was Glory.  He had killed Ben to stop Glory.  There had been no choice.  There may come the day when he'd have to do the same with Angel, but this was not that day.  
	"And when Angelus comes back?"  Angel almost said if, but he remembered that there was no 'if' about it.  Someday, Angelus would return.  The idea haunted him almost as much as his guilt.
	Giles took a breath.  "I will not hesitate.  I will show no mercy, except in the form of a quick death.  I am fully prepared to rip his head from his shoulders at the very first sight of him," he said in a calm, but determined voice.
	Angel cleared his throat nervously.  "Um, sounds fair.  Sleep well, Giles."
	
						 #
	
	Willow was the first one up.  After a shower and getting into clean clothes -- real clothes -- she thought she'd probably throw out that particular pair of pajamas -- she spent the time waiting for the others by baking a double batch of chocolate chip cookies.  The aroma woke Giles and Angel who had both slept in the living room.  They stumbled into the kitchen.  Giles glanced at the kitchen clock and noticed that it was after seven.  P.M., he was assuming.  Outside the kitchen window, the falling darkness confirmed his assumption.  "Willow, you didn't need to do this."
	The redhead grinned at him and handed him a warm cookie.
	His voice now muffled by cookie, he added, "You didn't do anything wrong.  It wasn't your fault."
	She shrugged.  "These aren't guilt cookies.  They're appreciation cookies.  They're 'thank you for almost dying to save me and my sanity' cookies."
	"Funny," said Xander who had suddenly appeared and was already helping himself.  "They taste just like guilt cookies."
	Slowly, one by one, people began to gather in the kitchen, eating cookies.  Some of them, Willow didn't even know, but they had helped and they got cookies.  And true to his word, some time after 9 when everyone was dressed and ready, Xander piled them all back into the cars in the driveway, except for Angel and Spike, who apparently went off to find their own breakfasts.
Xander drove to Olive Garden, with two carfuls of people in tow.  No one left the least bit hungry.  
	When they came out of the restaurant, Angel met them in the parking lot, and he, Wes, Cordy, Lorne, Fred and Gunn separated into Wes's car and Angel's and headed for the freeway to L.A.  The rest returned to the house in Xander's car. 

						  #

	As she promised, Dawn reported to Gnarl's, oops, Spike's cave, early the next morning.
	"Did you bring it?"
	"Of course," she indicated the thin, rectangular box under her arm. 
	"You didn't tell Xander or Anya?"
	"You know what they'd say.  Besides, I'm an adult now.  I don't answer to them.  I can do what I want.  They can't stop me."
	"Good girl.  C'mon, we'll set up in the back on the slab.  I've got a flashlight."
	"Okay," she said, putting the box on the stone slab and opening it.  "Dibs on the race car!"
	"Hey!" Spike objected, flashing the light in her face and making her squint.  
	With one hand up to shade her eyes, she scanned the remaining tokens and picked one up.  "Here.  You can be the puppy dog."
	Spike pouted.  "Okay.  But if you get Boardwalk, I'm peeing on it."

						#

	Giles steered Xander's car into the drop-off lane and stopped.  He turned to Sarah, ready to say good-bye.  The dark circles had left her eyes, and he felt good to know she was fully rested.  Angel had told him that Buffy had completely left Sarah.  He suspected Sarah had ways of contacting her again, and envied her.
	"Are you sure, Giles?" Sarah asked, although she already knew his answer.
	"I can't go back to England, Sarah."
	Her face fell.  "But it's over.  They don't need you anymore."
	"No, they don't.  They've made it abundantly clear over the past years that they can handle the Hellmouth without me.  It's not that they need me, Sarah.  But I've come to realize over the last few days, that I need them.  They're my friends.  I can't be thousands of miles away when something happens, even if they don't need me to fix it.  What happened with Buffy should have taught me that, but I was too wrapped up in grief to figure it out."
	"You never told me what happened to Buffy."
	For a long moment, Giles couldn't speak.  His throat closed up and he almost couldn't breathe.  His eyes wandered of their own accord before he forced them to focus on Sarah.  "You'll miss your plane," he said.  He unbuckled his seat belt and went around to open her door, reaching into the back seat for her suitcase on the way.  She slipped the carry-on over her shoulder as she got out of the car and took the handle of the suitcase from him.  For a moment, their hands touched on the handle, and they both looked down at it as if it might wrap itself around their hands and bind them together forever.  Sarah almost wished it would.  Finally, his fingers slipped from the handle numbly and his hand fell to his side.  They each looked up, then, at the other. 
	"Good-bye, Giles," she said.
	"Good-bye, Sarah."
	He would have stayed to watch the plane take off, but he wasn't allowed on the concourse, so instead Giles sat in Xander's car, trying to guess which plane overhead was hers, until a security officer asked him to leave.
	He drove back to Sunnydale alone.

THE END