It was Vincent who spoke.  Catherine seemed to be in a kind of daze, staring at Buffy as if she couldn't believe her eyes.  Or ears.

             Buffy glanced at Vincent.  "Yeah, that's it.  You know, I've never been one for poetry, but watching the show and hearing you quote it kind of changed my mind a little.  Oh, and my mom got that CD where you quoted a bunch of poetry.  It's really beautiful."  She saw that he still had his hood up, and mentally shrugged.  She didn't know why her subconscious wouldn't want her to see Vincent's face, but whatever.  "Anyway, Vincent, you tracked down the guy who had taken your baby and rescued him - the baby, I mean.  And you named him Jacob, after Father."

       The man known as Father turned to address the group behind him.  His pleasant voice, with its British accent, reminded her of Giles.  "Please, everyone, return to the party.  I promise that as soon as we figure out what this, er, incident is all about, I'll let you know.  In the meantime, go enjoy yourselves."  He made a little shooing motion with his free hand, the one that wasn't leaning on the cane, and slowly, reluctantly the listeners dispersed.  Father turned back to Buffy.

       "You mentioned watching a show, er, Buffy.  What show is that, if you don't mind my asking?"  His clear gray eyes watched her intently.

       Buffy chuckled, amused that she was dreaming about television characters needing their own show explained to them.  If it was a dream and not a drug-induced hallucination, but she was beginning to believe it wasn't drugs, since she didn't feel in the least under the influence and there were no weird things happening.  Well, other than having conversations with television characters.  Maybe it was drugs, at that.

       She smiled at Father.  "I don't mind at all.  I was talking about the television series Beauty and the Beast.  It only lasted three seasons before it was canceled, probably because they killed off your character, Catherine.  That was in 1990, I think.  Ten years ago."

       Vincent, Catherine and Father exchanged another of those glances.  Vincent put up his hands and slowly pushed the hood back onto his shoulders.  Father looked as if he would like to protest, but remained silent.  Vincent faced Buffy.  "Is this what you expected to see?"

       Buffy examined the leonine features with fascination.  "Of course.  Only . . . different.  I mean, I'm used to looking at you on a TV screen, not in real . . . life."  Her voice slowed on the last words.  She came closer to Vincent, staring at his face.  Hesitantly she reached for his hand.  "May I?"

       Vincent nodded and held out his right hand.  Buffy took it in her own and examined it closely.  The light reddish-tan hair covering the back of Vincent's hand was long and fine.  His nails were claws, long and thick and - she touched one carefully - extremely sharp.  And obviously real, not fake.  She pushed his sleeve up his arm, revealing several inches of the same long, fine hair.  The skin below the hair was warm.  Buffy closed her fingers over his muscular wrist, feeling the pulse of his heartbeat.  Slowly she pulled his sleeve back down and released his hand.

       "This is impossible," she whispered, stepping back and looking at them wildly.  "Am I going crazy?"

       "You don't look crazy to me," Catherine told her in a warm, comforting voice.  "And believe me I've seen some crazies in my time."

       "I know," Buffy replied automatically.

       Catherine regarded her with curiosity.  "Buffy, am I understanding you correctly?  Are you telling us that ten years ago there was a television show about . . . us?"

       "About you, Vincent, Father, the Tunnels, Mary, Pascal, Mouse, William, the Helpers, your friends Nancy and Jenny, Joe Maxwell, Jamie, Narcissa, Diana Bennett . . . " Buffy's voice died away as she reeled off all the names she could remember off the top of her head.

       A tall young man with shaggy dark hair came up the path, carrying something.  "Hey!" Buffy exclaimed.  "That's my bag."

       The young man glanced at her.  "Yes, I know.  You dropped it back there, along with your flashlight which, by the way, still works even though the glass broke."  He held the bag out to Father.  Buffy suddenly realized it was open.

       "Hey!" she repeated, distracted from wondering about her sanity.  "Don't go poking around in there, please.  I need that stuff."

       Father gave her a strange look and gestured toward the bag.  "May I?"

       Buffy shrugged.  "I guess so.  Just be careful not to break anything."

       Father reached inside the open bag, pulling out Mr. Pointy.  "May I ask what this, er, device is for?"

       "That's Mr. Pointy.  I use it to stake vampires, of course."

       " . . . vampires.  Of course," Father repeated faintly.  He displayed a small bottle full of clear liquid.  "And I suppose this is, er . . . "

       "Holy water, yes."  Buffy grew impatient.  "Look, I told you, I'm the Slayer.  That's why I have stakes and holy water."

       "Oh my God!" exclaimed the young man who had brought her bag.  He was staring at her, open-mouthed.  "I - I know you!  You're Buffy the Vampire Slayer!  I mean, you're Sarah Michelle Gellar and you play Buffy."  He turned to a much bewildered Father.  "Father, you remember I told you about that television program Lee and I like to watch?  Well, that's her!"  He nodded at Buffy.  "I mean, it's her show, the show's about her!  And her friends."

       "Sarah who?" Buffy demanded, wondering just who was out of whose mind here.

       "Zach, slow down."  Catherine put her hand on his arm.  "I don't understand what you're talking about."  Buffy stared at the young man.  This was Zach?  But Zach was just a boy!

       Zach took a breath.  "There's a television show on Tuesday nights called Buffy the Vampire Slayer.  It's a sort of fantasy show about a young girl named Buffy Summers who lives in Sunnydale, California, who is a vampire slayer.  Or rather, the vampire slayer.  There's only supposed to be one at a time, though things got kind of muddled when Buffy died for a few minutes at the hands of the Master and another Slayer was Called.  And then that Slayer, Kendra was her name, was killed and Faith was Called, so there were still two Slayers.  But Faith died too, so now there's only one again."

       Buffy wet her lips.  She felt cold.  "How do you know about Kendra?"

       Zach grinned.  "I told you, I watch your show.  I suppose you hear this all the time, but I'm a big fan of yours, Sarah, and so is my lover.  We watch Buffy every week, religiously.  Well, unless Lee's performing, of course, but I always tape the show anyway, so he just watches it later on."

       Buffy just stared, at a complete loss.  "Wait a minute, I don't know what you're talking about.  I've never heard of this Sarah person.  My name is Buffy and I live in Sunnydale and, yes, I'm the Slayer.  I told you all that, but how did you know all those things about Kendra and Faith?"  She had never been so confused in her life.

       Vincent gave a soft laugh.  "I believe Zach knows about them the same way you know about us.  Father, you used to read a lot of science fiction.  You must have come across stories about parallel universes.  I believe Robert Heinlein used the theory in at least one of his books.  It seems to me that this is the situation we have here."

       Father ran a hand through his gray hair.  "Well, yes, of course I've read fiction based on that theory, it's not an uncommon theme, but - Vincent, are you seriously claiming that Buffy has come to us from another world, similar to our own but not ours?"

       Vincent cocked his head.  "Do you have a better explanation?"

       "You mean, other than that we've all lost our minds?" Father muttered.  He shook his head.  "No, I must admit I haven't, but - Vincent, the idea is absurd!"  His voice rose.

       "Maybe not," Catherine said seriously.  "Buffy, what year is it?"

       "The year 2000."

       "Same here.  Who is the President of the United States?"

       "Bob Dole, of course."

       "In this world Bill Clinton is President."  Catherine looked at Father.  "I rest my case."

       "Okay," muttered Buffy.  "This is really weirding me out."

       "But - " the patriarch of the Tunnels stammered, at a loss for words.  "Do you mean to say that in Buffy's world we only exist as characters in a television program, and in our world the reverse is true?"

       "I think I need to sit down," Buffy said to no one in particular.  She did so, right there on the ground, leaning back against the rock wall.  She found its solidity very reassuring just then.

       "You must admit it explains all the facts," Catherine was continuing.  "Father, is there any reason that we need to keep standing around here in this drafty hall?  Why don't we continue this discussion in your study, where we can be comfortable?"

       "Of course; where are my manners?"  The patriarch turned to Buffy and offered her his hand.  "Please forgive me, my dear.  Would you like to see our world?"  He chuckled.  "The real one, that is."  Buffy accepted the proffered assistance and got to her feet.

       Ten minutes later she was seated with the others around the table in Father's study, watching him fuss about making sure the water was boiling before pouring it over the tea to brew.  Suddenly she chuckled.  "Deja vu.  Actually, double deja vu."

       "Hmm?"  Father raised an enquiring eyebrow.  "Why double?  I can understand the first emotion if, as you say, there is a television program about us - and I'm not doubting your word, my dear.  If that program does indeed reflect our lives, this must be a familiar scene to its viewers, given how many gallons of tea I brew on a weekly basis."

       Buffy gestured around her.  "You're right, this is familiar, but in more ways than one.  You see, my Watcher - former Watcher, I mean - is British too."

       Catherine grinned, her greenish eyes dancing.  "Tea, tea, and more tea, right?"

       Father brought the tray over to the table.  "You may scoff all you like," he said as he seated himself, "but when things start going topsy-turvy there's nothing like a good cuppa to relax the nerves and set the world right again."

       The next few minutes were spent in pouring out the tea and passing lemon, sugar and milk.  Finally everyone was taken care of.  Father settled back in his chair, regarding Buffy thoughtfully as he stirred.  "You know, the ramifications of this situation are quite staggering from a philosophical point of view."

       "And metaphysical," Vincent put in.

       Father took a gingerly sip of the steaming brew.  "Indeed.  For instance, as regards the idea of parallel universes, there exists what might be called a sub-category which theorizes that these worlds are born because someone, usually a writer, conceives of them."

       Catherine blinked.  "Considering some of the books out there, that's a pretty scary thought.  Just think about Stephen King's contributions, to name only one author."

       "Not to mention the movies and television," Buffy added.  "And what happens when the story ends?  Do the worlds also come to an end?  No, that can't be, because you're still here and you've all aged since the show ended ten years ago.  I mean, Zach, you were - well, actually I don't think your age was ever mentioned, but I always thought you were about fourteen at the time.  But now you're a young man, with a, a significant other."

       Zach nodded.  "I'm twenty-six, and Lee and I have been together for almost seven years.  His first lover died eight years ago from AIDS."  He caught himself.  "Sorry, that's irrelevant."

       "No," Buffy said gently.  "It illustrates my point that obviously this world survived the cancellation of the series that created it."

       "If, in fact, that's how it came into being," Father commented.  "I must say I don't particularly care for the notion that I only exist because some television hack dreamed me up."  His eyes twinkled.  Buffy chuckled.  She felt amazingly at home with these folks, as if she'd known them forev -

       Oh.  In a way she had, of course.

       "Perhaps it's the other way around," contributed Vincent.  "Our world already existed and this person from Buffy's world was somehow able to tap into it, maybe subconsciously, and then wrote about it."

       "It's a fascinating concept," murmured Father, looking fascinated.

       Zach leaned forward.  "Buffy, you mentioned your Watcher.  That's Giles?"  When Buffy nodded, he gave her a puzzled frown.  "Why do you say he's your former Watcher?"

       "Because the Watcher's Council fired him after he spilled the beans to me about the Cruciamentum."  She explained about the ritual eighteenth-birthday testing of the Slayers briefly to the others, who reacted with horrified indignation and disbelief.  "So technically Giles isn't a Watcher any more, although it hasn't made much difference to our relationship."

       Zach nodded.  "Okay, I remember all that.  But Giles was reinstated after the three of you - you, he, and Angel - exposed Faith as a traitor."

       Buffy shook her head.  "No, that never happened.  Giles was fired and then later on I quit the Council, when they refused to try to save Angel's life."

       Zach didn't seem to understand, so she explained further.  "You know, right before the Mayor's Ascension, after Faith shot him with the poisoned arrow.  He was dying but the Council wouldn't help us research the poison because he's a vampire and, air quote, it's not their policy to help vampires, end quote.  So I told them I wouldn't be a part of their organization anymore.  Then I hunted Faith down and we fought.  She fell from a third-story window and suffered extensive brain damage along with other severe injuries.  Earlier you said she was dead, but that's not true.  She's still in a coma."

       Zach blinked.  "That's not what happened on the show," he said slowly.  "Faith died right after you and Angel tricked her into telling you about the Ascension.  The two of you were chasing after her and she ran right in front of a semi.  She died on the operating table from massive blood loss and trauma."

       "Who's Angel?" asked Catherine.  "Did I hear you say he's a vampire?  I thought you were supposed to kill vampires, Buffy, not work with them."   Zach started to answer, then looked at Buffy and closed his mouth again.

       "Angel is a vampire who had his soul returned to him.  So now he's a warrior for our side in the fight against evil," Buffy told them.  "He helped me for a while in Sunnydale, but he lives in Los Angeles now."  She stared into her cup.  The shock and excitement of finding herself in a fantasy world had pushed back her sadness for a little, but now it crept back.

       Zach gave her another quick glance, but kept quiet.  Vincent folded his hands, steepling his fingers together.  "It would appear from what you and Zach just said that the real life experiences in each world don't necessarily parallel those shown on the television programs; there are occasions where they differ.  Based on what you told us earlier, Buffy, about what happened to Catherine in your world, personally I'm very thankful about that."  His look at Catherine spoke volumes.

       Buffy felt a pang of envy, and looked away.  If Vincent can have his Catherine, why can't I have Angel?  Out loud she said, "I wonder what causes them to split away."

       "Artistic differences?" suggested Father, rather facetiously.  "Real life doesn't always make for good drama."

       Just then someone burst into the room, scampering across the floor to the table.  Buffy recognized him with delight.  "Father," Mouse panted, hugging himself excitedly.  "Sentries say, caught intruder.  A man.  Tall.  Dark.  Says he's an angel."