The mid-morning sun was warm and bright reflecting upon the windows of Slayer Central's cafeteria. There was barely a vacant table to be found, each being occupied by Watchers and Slayers enjoying every form of lunch consumable known to humankind. Alone at a table near the entrance sat Xander. Hunched over, he was peering intently at the hand-written notes in front of him. A plate littered with breadcrumbs and smears of ketchup was next to his elbow, as was an empty soda can; the majority of the remaining surface area was covered with books. Engrossed as he was, he failed to notice the figure approaching from behind until he heard his name.

"Xan."

Turning, he took stock of Faith hovering near his shoulder. His appearance was even more odd than usual, given the fact that he was sporting a pair of glasses. The eye patch was still in place, however, and Faith treated him to a very strange look indeed.

"Faith," he greeted. "Hey. You're looking very sort of ..." he waved a hand vaguely in her direction, obviously digging deep for an apt description. It finally came to mind. "...blurry and indistinct today."

Faith arched an eyebrow. "S'a new look for you."

"What do you think?" preened Xander. "Am I dashing and sophisticated?"

"Mostly it makes me think you're a guy with a way too many eye problems."

"Actually, only having one eye helps here," Xander volunteered with an air of optimism. "I think it's keeping me to only half the normal-sized headache."

Removing the glasses, he scrubbed at his eye, blinking wide in an attempt to refocus. Somewhat uncertainly, Faith took the seat next to him. Xander noted the action, but didn't tell her to leave or give any indication that he was upset at her company. Instead, he appeared to be quite impassive about the whole thing.

Faith poked at the glasses laying on the table. "So I take it those aren't yours, then."

"Nate's, actually," Xander told her. "I borrowed 'em for the afternoon. I thought maybe glasses were the key to all this Watcher stuff." He quickly corrected himself. "All this boring Watcher stuff. The research, the endless meetings, the constant stream of paperwork ... but no. It's gotta be something else. Maybe it's tea."

He frowned and seemed to be seriously contemplating the possibility as Faith's uncertainty resurfaced in full force.

"I just wanted to ... you know," ventured Faith dubiously. "Say hey."

Xander nodded wisely. "Ah, talking to me now, huh?"

Faith faltered momentarily, unsure of how to answer.

"About that ..." she finally offered. "When I first got here I just, I didn't know what to say."

"Actually, you seemed pretty sure of what to say," Xander told her bluntly. "It just wasn't suitable for children of all ages."

The Slayer pushed away from the table. The chair legs grated noisily across the floor in her frustration.

"Yeah, okay," she snapped. "Never mind then."

She turned to walk away, but Xander seized her wrist. She stared as his hand for a second and then flicked her eyes toward him. Xander promptly loosened his grip, but although freedom had been regained, Faith made no further move to leave.

Xander fixed her with a steady gaze. "It's hard for all of us, Faith, not just you. What you did ... I get it. I really do. But the way it all came down, I ..."

His words trailed away as he shook his head. Crossing her arms firmly, Faith returned the gaze unflinchingly.

"Nah, don't clam up now," she challenged defiantly. "You got somethin' to say, say it."

"I'm disappointed," sighed Xander. "That's all. I'm just really disappointed."

Faith worked her jaw before nodding once. "Yeah, I guess there's a lot of that goin' around." Silently declaring the interlude at an end, she turned and headed toward the exit.

Immediately Xander gritted his teeth in frustration. "Faith!" he called, attempting to halt her departure.

She didn't even look back, simply throwing a "Not now," over her shoulder.

Xander watched her stride through the door before blowing out a heavy puff of air and slumping in his seat. He continued to berate himself in silence for a moment, then turned back to the mountain of work before him.

As she made her way down the hall, Faith's face was a study in mercurial conflicts. Struggling for composure, she reached the workout room and stopped short at the door. Inside were ten young Juniors, obviously in a holding pattern while they awaited her arrival. Some sat on the floor whispering to each other, while others engaged in mild exercise to pass the time. None had yet spotted her. Taking a deep breath, she donned her best poker face and stepped inside.

In unison, the girls turned at her entrance. Those who had been seated instantly scrambled to their feet. Virtually simultaneously, all burst into a round of hearty applause. Faith had prepared herself for just about anything – except that. Her brisk pace slowed to a crawl as her dour expression melted into one of total bewilderment.

A tall blonde stepped forward, still clapping with enormous gusto. "Good to have you back, Faith!"

Faith was utterly confused. "Good to have me back?" she echoed.

"The most awesome Slayer walking the face of the earth?" added another girl, blue eyes round as saucers and sparkling with overt admiration. "You bet!"

A third Junior, wearing sweatpants of a rather nauseating pink, nudged the girl next to her with such gusto that the nudgee nearly toppled over. "Aw, man, these classes are gonna be so cool."

A tentative Faith ventured further into the room. She was reluctant to burst any bubbles, including her own, but the truth had to be told. "Look, you guys know, right?" she questioned, challenging each eager face in turn. "About ... Judith an' me an' ..."

"About you getting even for Hazel?" Blue-Eyes supplied eagerly. "That's all anybody's been talking about all summer!"

"Hazel was one of us ..." stated yet another Junior, pushing her way to the front of the crowd.

"...and you totally gave Judith what she deserved!" confirmed the blonde who had been the first to speak.

"You're our hero, Faith!" came a cry from the back of the room.

A resounding cheer followed the passionate declaration and then the girls dissolved into a buzz of excited chatter amongst themselves. Not a one noticed the expression that invaded Faith's features. Hero worship was plainly the last thing she had expected and judging by the look in her eyes, she wasn't at all sure that she liked it.

In the private training room, Buffy and Giles were sparring. Wearing huge padded gloves, the Watcher parried Buffy's attacks. They circled each other warily, the Slayer constantly throwing punches at Giles' oversized hands. He studied each assault with a critical eye, but Buffy seemed less than intent on the exercise; she was generally just going through the motions and her mind seemed primarily focused on other matters. She swung a fist in Giles' direction. It landed solidly in the center of the big white circle displayed on the palm of his glove.

"Are you sure?" she asked with a frown.

"You're stepping too far forward," instructed Giles. Then, in answer to her question. "Yes, I'm sure."

"Sure you're sure?"

Giles sighed despairingly. "Buffy ..."

"I'm just not sure," persisted the Slayer doubtfully. "Maybe she shouldn't have a class yet. Maybe we should ... I don't know. Give her a little house somewhere with 24-hour surveillance for the next few months." Her eyes widened as a wonderful idea struck. "Oh! It's the new reality show! 'Joe Sociopath'!"

"You're leaving yourself open," was the Watcher's only response. "Keep your other arm up."

Buffy appeared to take umbrage at being ignored. "What, no thunderous applause?" she questioned peevishly. "It's a great idea. Promotional spots, guest stars ... we'd be set for life."

"Buffy, Faith is not a danger. She's been nothing but cooperative since Judith's death, and has been given medical approval to return to her duties."

"Faith's a loose cannon, Giles," she emphatically disagreed. "Four years in prison and what's the first thing she does when she gets out?"

"Saves Angel, nearly at the cost of her own life," recounted the Watcher. "Then arrives in Sunnydale to become instrumental in defeating the First Evil and saving the entire world."

This was followed by a long pause.

"Yeah," admitted Buffy grudgingly, "but after that." Her sigh revealed the fact that she knew her argument was flimsy at best. "Okay, you're right. But Judith was beaten. It was over. Faith knew that, and it didn't matter."

"If you want to understand Faith's motivations, then I suggest you speak to Faith herself," Giles suggested curtly. "Whatever problems you two may have between you are ultimately irrelevant. We need Faith's experience and expertise. It's a valuable resource, and I won't see it wasted." He frowned over the top of his gloves. "Now stop standing there gawking. If I were a demon, I'd have eviscerated you by now."

Sure enough, the Slayer's onslaught had ground to a halt. Her arms hung limply at her sides while she listened to the lecture. She shook her head to clear it before resuming the swings, albeit in a half-hearted manner.

"Giles, what's with you lately?" she probed. "Not that you're typically Mr. Warm Fuzzy," she added caustically. "But it's been a bit much, even for you. Being British only excuses you so far, you know."

"Nothing is 'with me'," Giles replied. "We simply have a great deal of work to do. It's my job to ensure that you're prepared for- for whatever you may come up against." His tone became even more somber. "You must be strong, Buffy. Not just for yourself but also for those you train. As the world's foremost Slayer, your role is vital."

"I think I heard a similar speech when I started at the Doublemeat," declared Buffy cheerfully. She dropped her voice an octave. "'As the fry cook, your role is vital.'"

The Watcher was not amused. "I'm serious."

"I know," rejoined Buffy, in no need of convincing. "Hence the levity? Giles, you could give serious lessons to the 'American Gothic' people. The reports are in, and it's been scientifically proven that smiling does not, in fact, kill you."

"Nor does sarcasm, apparently," came the clipped reply. "Don't drop your shoulder."

The Slayer huffed with exasperation. "We all need some fun, and that so definitely includes you. A night of—"

She was interrupted by a presence appearing in the doorway.

"Guys?" The faltering tone was ominous in nature. It boded nothing good.

Buffy and Giles turned to see a stricken-looking Willow.

"There's been another one."

Ensconced in the library once more, Willow tapped furiously on her keyboard. She was part of a circle that comprised Buffy, Giles, Xander, Tara, Dawn and Faith. They sat quite close together, some in chairs and others on the floor, listening carefully to every scrap of data that Willow was able to unearth.

"The information's still pretty sketchy right now, but she ..." Willow's eyes scanned the screen and she sighed regretfully, obviously deeply troubled. "Her name was Evelyn Byrd. She ... worked at the magick shop."

Spinning the laptop around, she presented the image to the gathering. The smiling face, topped by a Trillium High graduation cap, regarded them cheerily from the computer screen. It was definitely Evelyn, the clerk employed at "Witch Way".

Dawn blinked several times. "Weren't you guys just there last night?" She looked to Tara and Willow for confirmation and upon receiving it let out a soft, "Whoa."

"Seconded," added Xander. He also looked at the witches. "You might've just missed him." His voice was low and dramatic. "Maybe he was there, the whole time. Just watching you all. Waiting for his moment."

"Thanks!" exclaimed Willow, clearly anything but grateful for the observation. "I wasn't creeped out before, but hey! That did the trick!"

Tara kept silent. Deep in thought, she slowly thumbed through her notebook containing the information she had meticulously gathered regarding the previous victims. In a nearby chair, Faith balanced on two back legs while she scrutinized photographs from the former crime scenes. She frowned in her concentration.

"So what've we got?" she asked of the room in general and nobody in particular. "He's killin' someone practically every night, right?"

Willow spun the computer around to face her and nodded in agreement. "The time of death for all the victims is pretty consistent, between about 11:30pm and 2:30am."

Buffy's lips were set tight. "They're not dying fast though. Whoever's doing this takes his time."

Giles polished his glasses and held them up to the light, ostensibly checking for smears. "What time did you and Tara leave the magick shop?"

"A little bit after 7?" responded Willow, dutifully relinquishing her laptop to Tara, who was gesturing for possession.

Giles settled his glasses firmly on his nose and began to pace. "Even assuming Ms. Byrd wasn't abducted until the store closed at 8 ..."

"Five hours," delivered Buffy through gritted teeth. "He kept her alive for at least five hours."

Xander's expression became resolute and determined. "Okay, hands up, who wants to stop this guy, say, nowish?"

"Looks like he's gettin' someone new every night," Faith speculated as she shuffled the photographs like a deck of cards. "If the witches saw this girl just a little bit before she died, he's workin' fresh."

Dawn quickly checked the clock on the wall. It read 5:00pm. Her gaze then traveled the circle.

"And he probably doesn’t have anybody for tonight yet. If we hurry, we can stop him before someone else gets hurt."

"Magick," announced Tara sharply.

Glancing in her direction, Willow regretfully shook her head. "We tried the detection spell, but no joy. Without something more specific to look for, we—"

Tara dismissed the statement with a wave of her hand. "No, I mean ... it's magick."

She turned the laptop toward Willow as she explained.

"The link, between the victims? I think it's magick. Evelyn is—" She winced at the need to correct herself. "Was a pretty powerful witch. She really knew her stuff. Then I remembered something I read about one of the other victims, Mrs. Coglin?"

Reaching for a stack of nearby file folders, Xander sorted through until he found the one Tara had referenced.

"She originally came from New Orleans," continued the blonde witch. "So I did a little bit of searching, and she was the head of a coven down there back in the 70s."

Willow had wasted no time in reclaiming her computer. Once again, she was typing at an astounding speed. Her eyes sparkled.

"I think you're onto something." She threw Tara a fleeting smile of admiration. "Paula Benning, she was a witch too."

Peering over the redhead's shoulder, Buffy jabbed a finger at a point on the screen. "What about Amanda Mitchell?" she questioned dubiously. "She doesn't seem too witchy."

Willow frowned in agreement. "No, but ..." The keys tapped out in a brisk rhythm. Then, having apparently found the proof she was seeking, the redhead directed Buffy's attention to the screen. "Check out her homepage. Her mother was a naiad."

"A naiad," Buffy repeated, clearly not understanding.

Tara took it upon herself to explain. "A river nymph. She may not perform spells and stuff herself, but she'd still be magickal."

Faith arched an eyebrow. "And the cops didn't pick up on all this why now?"

"Well they wouldn't really know what to look for," offered Dawn. "I mean, to them it's like magick and demons and stuff don't really exist."

"Even if someone did figure it out," stated an emphatic Xander, "they'd probably be laughed into a promising future of mall security for mentioning it."

Giles appeared more animated than he had in quite a while. "This is excellent, well done." He congratulated. "Now all we need to do is determine who is the next likely target, and be there when the killer makes his move."

"Right." Xander's tone was thoughtful as he tapped his chin. "All we need is someone female, sort of vulnerable-looking, giving off serious Magical Me vibes, and ..."

Slowly, all eyes turned toward Willow and Tara.

Willow and Tara blinked dumbly at the sudden attention for a moment, and then realization thudded home almost audibly.

Gesturing grandly, Xander presented one witch to the other. "Bait #1, meet Bait #2 ..."

In the seedy apartment where Dante's apprentice attempted to perfect his macabre artistry, the young man stood with head bowed before his master. Wearing no shirt, he now sported yet another tattoo. Similar to the designs etched into his upper arm and shoulder, this fresh creation decorated the skin of the inner elbow almost to the wrist. It was plain that, little by little, his proficiency was increasing. This new pattern was more intricate and elaborate in nature than the others. Hopefully, he regarded Dante through the singular eyehole of his mask. The words which met his ears were their own reward.

"Your progress is amazing. Just amazing." The older man seemed genuinely proud. "It seems like only yesterday I picked you, and now..."

Dante shook his head in wonder while the protégé puffed out his chest, lapping up the praise like a kitten with dish of double cream. His lone eye glittered within the black hood.

"Thank you, Dante. I want nothing more than to continue our work."

The master was well pleased. "The work is everything," he whispered reverently.

"Though the scales can never be balanced," added the apprentice with a show of wisdom.

Dante's grin was indulgent. "No. But that doesn't mean we shouldn't try."

He regarded the bowed head fondly for an instant and then in a heartbeat, was all business once again. "Now get ready," he ordered briskly. "It's almost time."

The young protégé slipped his arms into the sleeves of his shirt and began to button it up. Pausing, he looked thoughtfully toward the older man.

"Master? Someday, will you teach me why we must do what we do?"

Dante tipped his head to one side, a knowing smile gracing his lips. "Does it matter?"

"No."

"That's my boy."

The tension level in the library had risen dramatically and the air was almost electrically charged. Willow and Tara dominated the focal point of the room. Both were visibly irate, neither was particularly pleased and the target of each one's wrath was the other.

"But Tara—" protested Willow.

It fell on deaf ears. "No." The blonde vigorously shook her head. "It doesn’t make sense."

"It makes perfect sense!" argued the redhead. "We are perfection in sensurround! Buffy goes with you, Faith goes with me, the end!"

Curled up in a chair, Dawn squirmed uncomfortably in her seat and hugged herself for consolation.

"I hate it when they get yelly at each other," she confided to Xander sitting cross-legged in front of her. "I hate it."

Leaning back, Xander sympathized with the teenager's wretched state, but failed to share her anxiety. "Personally," he whispered, "I'm fascinated. It's like watching Colossus fight the Juggernaut." He paused before adding, "If Colossus and the Juggernaut were lesbian girlfriends."

"Will, you've got the most magick, right?" Tara reasoned.

"Well that's—"

"Right?" persisted Tara firmly.

Willow shrugged miserably. "I suppose, but—"

"So then Buffy should go with you because you're the more likely target." Tara gestured toward the dark-haired Slayer. "Faith and I will be just fine."

Willow frowned. "No, Buffy should—" Her eyes grew bright. "Oh! Okay, so if I'm more powerful, I can take better care of myself, so I don't need Buffy and she should go with you."

The redhead nodded decisively as her expression became smug and self-satisfied. Her confident gaze challenged anyone in the room – absolutely anyone – to find a flaw in her infallible reasoning.

"I do hate to interrupt this lovers' quarrel," Giles commented dryly, "but time is something of the essence."

Xander settled in more comfortably. All that was missing was a tub of popcorn. "And we move to sudden death," he commentated in anticipation.

"We can go now, I'm ready," declared Tara with finality. She looked toward the dark-haired Slayer expectantly. "Faith?"

Lips twitching with amusement, Faith got to her feet and nodded as Willow's jaw dropped.

"But ..." she stammered with something of a pout. "But my logic was best!"

"Willow ..." warned Tara.

"But—!" came the objection.

Tara narrowed her eyes, trying to salvage patience. "Willow, please."

It took a long moment, but the redhead eventually relented.

"I'm not happy," she scowled.

Tara threw her a charming smile. "I'll make it up to you later," she vowed.

"You better clear your weekend," grumbled Willow darkly. "You've got a lot of groveling ahead of you, missy."

Buffy glanced in Faith's direction. "If you have any problems with this ..."

"With being Door #2? Nah, I'm tickled." The notion was dismissed with a nonchalant wave.

Buffy sighed. "I mean—"

"I know what you mean," interrupted Faith. "I'm fine." She met Buffy's meaningful look with a level expression. Her tone became serious. "I won't let anything happen, B. I promise."

There was a moment of hesitation, but then Buffy nodded her acceptance of Faith's word.

Anxiously, Giles consulted the clock, obviously keen to get things moving. "All right, then," he announced. "Buffy and Willow, I suggest you take the north side of town; Faith and Tara, the south side."

"Cell phones on vibrate," instructed Buffy. "We don't want anybody to know we're there. Nobody call anybody unless you have to."

Now in a much better frame of mind, Dawn leapt to her feet. "So you want me with you or Faith...?"

Buffy blinked at her sister. It was almost as though she had forgotten Dawn was present. "I want you as far away from this as humanly possible," she told the teenager in no uncertain terms. "If you could be on Mars, that's where I'd want you."

Dawn was immediately disgruntled. "What?" she asked, seemingly unable to believe her ears. "No! We're not going through this again!"

"Dawn, there's nothing you can do here." Buffy's tone was adamant.

"I can watch!" protested Dawn, clenching her hands into tight fists. "I can help keep the creepazoids from Willow and Tara!"

Buffy refused to be swayed. "I said no! This is all staying hidden until somebody tries something, and when they do, I don't want you anywhere near it. I want you safe. I need you to be safe. Okay?"

Dawn's mouth worked in silent argument, but the words just wouldn't materialize and she was forced to give up the ghost when Giles took command of the situation.

"I know this comes as something of a shock, but there are lives in need of saving," the Watcher informed everyone with a long-suffering sigh. "Perhaps that could be our top priority for a few moments?"

Nevertheless, Buffy had the final say-so. "No, Dawn. Not this time."

Having spiraled into a major snit, Dawn snatched up her backpack and flounced from the room, but not before treating her sister to withering glare.

The blonde Slayer scrunched her eyes shut and rubbed her forehead. "Does it ever get easier?"

Despite his anxiety, Giles was forced to smile. "No, not really," he told her ruefully.

"Okay, enough with the chit chat," declared Xander as he bounded to his feet. "I've had my entertaining appetizer, now it's time for the main course."

He followed the four women as they made their way to the door.

"Xander ..." called Giles.

The party came to a halt and glanced back as Giles beckoned Xander to come closer.

"Go ahead," he told the others. "I'll catch up."

Nodding their agreement, the quartet took their leave as Xander moved toward Giles.

"Yeah?" queried Xander impatiently. "What's up?"

"You're not going either," Giles informed bluntly.

Xander narrowed his eye and tilted his ear toward Giles, since it was obvious he hadn't heard correctly. "Sorry, what?"

"As a Watcher, your place is here."

"No," Xander corrected, his tone that of a person speaking to someone with a mental deficiency, "as a friend my place is there."

Folding his arms in a gesture of authority, Giles stood his ground. "I’m afraid you'll find that sometimes it's impossible to be both," he explained carefully. "And in any event, this is a mission of stealth primarily and speed secondarily. I have every confidence in Buffy and Faith."

"But Watchers still do the mission thing," argued Xander.

"When they can be of service, true," admitted Giles. "But in a situation such as this, the less people present, the less likelihood of detection."

Placing both hands on Xander's shoulders, Giles steered him further into the room, although Xander dragged his heels and all but twisted out of the grip. Casting an apprehensive eye toward the exit, even though everyone was now long gone, Xander allowed Giles to push him into a chair without further incident.

"This is work for Slayers," Giles told him crisply.

Xander was not happy and his response was laced with some aggression. "Work for Watchers, that's all about sitting around and staring at the clock?"

"That part comes later," stated Giles and his tone was not unkind. "For now, I suggest we use that hellish device," he indicated Willow's laptop nestling atop a cushion, "to locate other potential targets. If we're unable to capture the killer tonight, it may be invaluable to finding where he may strike next."

"And then she's all like, 'No, go to Mars!' or something," mimicked an exceedingly aggravated Dawn into the receiver. "Can you even believe her?"

She strode down the street, mobile practically glued to her ear. Given the tone, facial expression and heavy stomping, it would have been safe to assume that she was not a happy camper.

"Believe her?" echoed Grip's voice through the cell phone, "I can't even understand her. Of course, getting it secondhand may have something to do with that."

But Dawn wasn't really listening. "Plus, hello?" she continued. "Eighteen-year old here? Am I or am I not officially an adult now?"

Grip lay across the unmade bed in his room and grinned sympathetically at Dawn's tirade. Telephone cradled in his palm, his eyes leisurely surveyed his domain: walls painted a pale robin's egg blue with a stenciled border close to the ceiling displaying flowering sprigs of forget-me-nots – a strangely feminine decoration, but doubtless the handiwork of a creative mother. Apparently, Grip had never felt much of an inclination to change the look. As might be expected, the room had a clutter benefiting any teenage boy. Clothes were strewn in random fashion on the floor, yet there was a certain air of order among the chaos. A few cans of Pringles sat on the dresser and posters had been affixed to the walls at weird angles. Bucky Lasek defied gravity as he landed on the underside of a half pipe, while Justin Gatlin raced along a diagonal track and Elvis Stojko executed a perfect quadruple toe loop.

"I think I can safely agree to your legal adult age," he told Dawn, settling his shoulders comfortably against a rumpled pillow.

"Exactly!" came the explosive reply. "So she totally shouldn't be shoving me to the sidelines like this, don't you think?"

Grip leaned back and stared upward at a promotional poster for the game "Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas" that was tacked up behind his bed. "You know what might help me out here?" he chuckled. "Knowing what we're actually talking about. Buffy wouldn't let you what now?"

"Go with her and Faith to—" Dawn's eyes widened as she stopped herself in the nick of time. Chewing on her bottom lip, she ransacked her mind for a suitable substitute to the truth. Something that wouldn't sound totally and utterly lame.

"To...?" prompted Grip.

Courtesy of an ostensible brain freeze, Dawn could come up with absolutely nothing. "It doesn't matter why," she retorted. "Can't I just be angry?"

"Apparently so," he replied with a laugh in his voice.

Dawn's denunciation resumed almost without pause. "Anyway, if she wants me out of the way, that's where I'll be. But we might as well have fun in the meantime. Meet me at my house in ten minutes?"

Swinging his long legs off the bed, Grip reached for the remote control and depressed the "off" button. The small television flickered for a moment before the screen went dark. "Miss the chance to be your petulant sword of teen vengeance?" he questioned rhetorically, kicking a stray PS2 game controller out of the way. "Wouldn't dream of it. I'll be there."

Dawn smiled happily into her phone. "Cool. Bring some movies, maybe we can pretend to watch them."

Grip grinned at the suggestion. "Okay, see you in a few."

Dawn hummed to herself as she flipped her phone shut. An expression of satisfaction crossed her face. The rebellion was a small one, but it was at least a start. Swinging her bag from her shoulder, she stuffed the phone into an outside pocket and then stopped short as a figure appeared in front of her on the sidewalk. Emitting a tiny yelp, she jumped backward and then sighed with relief as she recognized the individual.

"Peter! You scared me," she chastised with a frown.

"Sorry," he replied. "I guess my timing's off."

The statement seemed odd, and Dawn's frown became more furrowed, but she didn't dwell. "Yeah, okay. You heading home?"

Peter shook his head. "No. I came out to get something."

"Oh."

There didn't seem to much else to say and an uncomfortable silence descended.

"So yeah," Dawn finally blurted, her voice sounding loud in the quiet. "I'll see you tomorrow I guess."

Since he seemed disinclined to budge, Dawn moved to the left in an effort to walk around him, but stepping to the side, he barred her way. She shot him a look of irritation and went to the right, but once again, he blocked her path.

Dawn was fast losing patience. "Excuse me, I'd sort of like to get going now?"

Ignoring her request, Peter gazed heavenward. "Have you ever looked at the sky?"

"Sure," she told him. "I bet I'd like to look at it even more over there, so ..." She took another shot at trying to bypass him. It was no more successful than her former attempts.

"The stars," he pondered in a dreamy voice. "So beautiful. Magickal."

His eyes glinted as he looked into Dawn's face. It was an intense stare and one which sent shivers up and down her spine. By the light of a streetlamp, she noticed the bizarre tattoo running the length of his inner arm.

"What...?" she muttered, confused and increasingly unsettled.

"Magickal," he repeated softly. The gleam in his eyes turned to one of yearning. "Like you, Dawn."