Crouching at the baseboard, Tara seemed unconvinced by Donny's apparently friendly grin and ignored the hand affably extended to help her to her feet. Instead, she inched her way up the wall under her own steam.

"What are you doing here?"

Donny shrugged amicably at the refusal of assistance and laughed. "It's my house. Last I checked, man had a right to walk into his own house. Prob'ly more right'n you got, all things considered."

"B-But you don't live here," refuted Tara hesitantly. "We tried to- to get in touch with you, and—"

Donny nodded. "Yeah, I don't much come up this way. Me an' my girl Brooke, we got us a place outside'a town."

"Brooke?" questioned Tara with surprise.

"Sweet young thing, 'bout your age," her brother clarified. "Hell of a looker. You know the type." He favored Tara with a knowing wink.

An expression of mild disgust crossed Tara's face. "Because this day wasn't disturbing enough already."

Donny frowned and thoughtfully scratched his head. "Hey, weren't you and her friends way back when?"

"Don't play coy, Donny," Tara told him with some irritation. "You're too smug to pull it off."

Thoroughly amused by her observation, Donny's face broke into a huge grin. "Y'know, I think I might kinda like this new you."

"Much as I'd like to say the same about the old you," Tara retorted, "I'm sort of beyond the polite lie stage." She fixed him with a pointed stare. "What do you want? And please don't feed me some line about wanting to see me."

Donny appeared injured at the remark. "No line, I really did," he assured. "Hell, last we heard'a you, some friend of yours is callin' with funeral information! Then last night I get word you're back home like nothin' happened? Damn girl, do I need a bigger reason?"

It was a point well taken by Tara and her defensive aggression dropped a tiny notch.

"Like what'cha done with the place," Donny approved, surveying the room in detail for the first time. "Ain't looked this good since you left. Kinda bare, though."

"Most everything's boxed up outside," explained Tara. "I-I figured I'd donate it to Goodwill, but if there's something you want...?"

"Yeah, nothing wrong with that stuff," he acknowledged with a firm nod. "Once we get this place in shape, you just go ahead an' put it all back."

Momentarily taken unawares by the implication, Tara recovered quickly. "Oh, y-you're moving back in? I mean that's perfectly fine, it's not like I was totally thrilled with selling it, but—"

"Sure I'm movin' back!" Donny told her with confidence. "You need someone here knows how t'deal with you."

Tara blinked. "Donny, I'm not ... I'm not staying here."

"Sure you are," chuckled Donny as though anything else would be beyond the realm of reason.

"No. I'm not."

"Tara, don't be stupid now," he chided, beginning to sound less than friendly. "Runnin' around out there done filled your head with all sorts a' craziness. Daddy may've lost sight'a what you are, but not me." He confirmed the fact with a stubborn jut of his jaw. "No sir. I know exactly what you are."

Tara's hands formed themselves into clenched fists at her sides. "Trust me, whatever you're thinking? It's mutual."

Donny took a step toward her. "You got a smart mouth on you, you know that?"

"Yeah, I've heard it's good for all sorts of things."

The minute the words had slipped from her tongue, Tara visibly struggled to regain control of her temper and bring a halt to what was fast becoming a deteriorating situation.

"Look, this is ... It's been a pretty stressful day," she attempted in soothing fashion. "I'm sure for both of us. Why don't we, you know, meet for coffee tomorr—"

But Donny wasn't listening and he swiped viciously at the air between them. "Who the hell do you think you are?!"

Gone was the amicable facade. There was a nasty glint in his eyes and his lips were pulled back in a vicious sneer.

"Or we could just jump to the part where you're psychopathic?" Tara muttered, although Donny was beginning to seethe with rage and she was becoming increasingly frightened. He stalked toward her menacingly and she scuttled even further into her confining corner.

"You're nothing, Tara." Donny's voice was heavily laced with contemptuous scorn. "You were nothing then an' you're nothing now. You're a mistake Daddy should'a fixed before you were even born."

Digging deep, Tara probed her fear and unearthed a solid nucleus of well-founded anger.

"He was easy on you," continued Donny. "Gave in to you too much, made you think you were a person." His mouth twitched into an ugly smirk. "Oh but don't you worry none – week or two in the Quiet Room'll set you straight in no time."

"You really believe that, don't you?" challenged Tara. "That I'm some horrible, evil thing?"

"Sure as I am the sun'll rise tomorrow and you won't be there to see it."

With narrowed eyes, Tara leaned closer to her brother. Her tone was soft, low and conspiratorial.

"Then it must just kill you that Daddy would've rather spent his time with a demon like me," she whispered, plainly savoring each and every scathing word, "than a completely worthless failure of a son like you."

With a silent snarl, Donny's hand lashed out and brutally seized a fistful of long blonde hair. He jerked Tara's head until her face was mere inches from his own and when he spoke, the voice was eerily calm, but overflowed with threatening promise. His free hand curled into a fist, knuckles white against the skin.

"I think someone needs to teach you a hard lesson, little girl."

As he sailed through the virtually bare living room, Donny's feet never even grazed the floor. He impacted the bookcase with a sickening thud, shattering several of the now empty shelves, before collapsing like a limp rag doll. Dazed but conscious, he let out an agonized groan and began to raise up shakily on one elbow. Blood gushed from his nose and a huge goose-egg pushed its way through the scalp at the back of his head. Although his face was contorted with pain, he couldn't mask the overriding display of terror. Fearfully, he focused upon the daunting figure in the doorway.

"You were probably expecting the old me." He was duly advised. "The one who'd just stand there and take it."

Towering at the entrance, Tara seemed larger than life. She emitted a foreboding vitality, radiating sparks that originated from some inner source and crackled with dark energy, and her clear blue eyes exhibited no remorse or repentance for her actions. Donny gasped, breath catching in his throat as he wilted beneath the intimidating presence.

"Out with the old, big brother. In with the new."

The morning promised a perfect day for an outing to the zoo. The sky was clear and pleasantly blue. The air was crisp and exhilarating. In the foyer of Slayer Central, Xander, Dawn, Buffy and Willow were the first to arrive.

"Well this is new," announced Buffy. At the inquiring glances, she elaborated, "This whole 'fieldtrip' motif I'm working on. Twice in two days. We're not the Council any more, we're a really dangerous day care."

"Stop bein' so grumpy," chastised Willow. "I, for one, am looking forward to this." An expression of delighted anticipation crossed her face. "Oo! You think they'll have the petting zoo part open?"

"We can feed the lambs!" declared an equally enthusiastic Dawn.

Both zealots virtually bounced with excitement at the proposition and even Buffy perked up a little.

"Okay," she conceded. "The little lambs are cute."

"And besides," added Xander, "it's not like we're taking everyone. It's just Chrissie and a couple of her friends."

As if on cue, one of the doors leading from the main section of the building into the foyer burst open. The buzz of excited chatter preceded the appearance of bodies – a dozen bodies to be exact, including Chrissie and her friend, Rae, who led the entourage. All twelve girls were clearly pumped about the upcoming excursion. At the sight of them, an expression of shock slowly crossed Xander's face.

Standing on tiptoe to whisper in his ear, Willow offered what comfort she could. "Maybe we can get the group rate?"

Buffy blew out a resigned breath of air. "I'll tell Giles we need the van," she announced, heading for the opposite door.

Much to Xander's consternation, the troop of hyper Juniors immediately clustered around him. He peered into each lively face, and began to look a little ill. Shaking her head in amusement, Buffy darted through the door and made her way toward Giles' office. It was a crowded route and she had to deftly skirt several Watchers along the way. Rounding a corner, she nearly collided with a another figure, also in an apparent hurry. Both quickly voiced their apologies before realizing to whom they were speaking.

It was an awkward moment, as Faith stared at Buffy and Buffy stared at Faith. Neither seemed to know what to say, and so nothing at all was said for a long moment.

Eventually, Faith nodded a curt greetings/farewell combination and started to make good her departure, giving Buffy a wide berth. She hadn't gone more than a few steps, however, before Buffy called out to her.

"Faith, wait."

Complying with the request, Faith stopped and turned. She regarded Buffy with wary eyes. But having now secured Faith's attention, it seemed Buffy wasn't exactly sure of how to continue. She hesitated and took a deep breath before blurting out a question.

"What are you doing today?"

Faith appeared a little curious at the inquiry and provided a cautious answer. "Not much. Work out a bit. Maybe tinker with my bike. Read a book. Day 'a rest an' all. Figure I can't much go wrong with rest."

She waited for Buffy's reaction. The unspoken 'why are you asking?' implication lay heavily between them.

"Do you maybe want to go to the zoo?" asked Buffy hurriedly, as though she were trying to get the words out prior to them deserting her completely.

Faith's face registered astonishment. "The ... zoo?"

"Yeah, the zoo," Buffy confirmed. "You know ... big place, smells funny, lots of cages."

"I can think of a few things fittin' that description," smirked Faith.

"This is the one with giraffes," Buffy clarified with a tiny smile. "We're all going." She paused and fixed Faith with a guarded but still hopeful gaze. "You could maybe come with?"

The smirk intensified. "Why B, are you actually inviting me to join you an' the Superfriends?" Faith asked with grotesquely exaggerated flattery.

The line of Buffy's jaw tightened. "Never mind. Forget it."

Sharply, she turned on her heel and began to walk away. Faith watched for a brief moment and then, with a self-reproving sigh at her attitude, jogged to catch up.

"Wait," she called. "I'm sorry. My mouth don't always get permission before it does stupid crap."

Buffy bobbed her head in a noncommittal gesture of acceptance as she turned around. She didn't appear overly-aggravated and Faith was encouraged. "I'd like to come." She thrust her hands into her pockets before self-consciously adding, "Thanks."

The smile Buffy threw her way was small and a little uncomfortable, but essentially genuine. Before the moment could grow out of control however, Buffy gestured with her head down the hall, and the two resumed walking.

"Why the zoo?" queried Faith.

Buffy shrugged. "It's Xander's thing." She chuckled softly. "It looks like he's taking half of Slayer Central, too."

"Well if they give us crap, we can toss 'em in with the lions," responded Faith with complete seriousness.

Buffy nodded. "Nice idea, liking it ... I thought you weren't supposed to feed the animals, though?"

"We'll make an exception."

From an intersecting passage further down, Hannah emerged and looked from side to side. Spying Buffy from a distance, she hurried toward her.

"Buffy! I've been looking for you."

"Well you found me," Buffy responded amicably. "What's up?"

"We need to talk," confided the older woman. "There are some matters I'd like your help on."

A frown creased Buffy's forehead. "You sound serious."

"Quite possibly because I am," affirmed Hannah soberly.

"Okay, when?"

"As soon as you can," urged Hannah. "I don’t really want to delay this any longer than is absolutely necessary."

Considering this for no more than a heartbeat, Buffy faced Faith. "I think I'll pass on the lion feeding today. Can you tell the others to go ahead?"

"Sure thing," agreed Faith cordially.

"And you'll need to get the keys to the van."

Faith nodded. "On it."

She continued her path toward Giles' office as Buffy focused her attention on Hannah.

"I'm all yours," she told her. "What's the tragedy du jour?"

Taking Buffy's arm, Hannah steered her along the corridor.

"It's about Rupert."

The overly-cheery radio announcer declared the time to be 11:30 a.m. and promised an upcoming afternoon of mild temperatures and the possible threat of isolated sprinkles. In the kitchen, Tara poured milk into a ceramic bowl and rearranged the two sandwiches that she had carefully cut into neat triangles and placed upon a paper towel. Satisfied with her handiwork, she redeposited the carton into the practically empty fridge and grabbed a long piece of cardboard. Tucking it beneath one arm, she picked up the bowl and both sandwiches before leaving the room.

Once in the hall, she made her way toward a door that, up until now, she had studiously ignored. Reinforced with steel, it displayed a sliding bolt on the outside. Taking a deep breath, she stopped in front of the fortified room and put the items she was carrying on a nearby small table, resting the cardboard strip against the wall. Reaching out, she slid back the rusty cover of an eye-level grille and peered inside.

The Quiet Room was amazingly small, its dimensions perhaps even less generous than the standard prison cell. There were no windows, although it was dimly illuminated by a recessed light fixture in the ceiling. The four walls were completely bare and featureless. The furnishings too were dismally sparse, boasting only a humble cot in the far corner complete with a single pillow and some blankets. Upon the makeshift bed, back against the wall, sat Donny. On either side of him, embedded into the brickwork, were shackles but Tara had apparently declined to utilize them. Donny still appeared somewhat groggy. His lips and nose were swollen, and the lump on his head hadn't decreased in size, but he seemed in relative possession of his faculties given the circumstances. He glanced at the barred grille as it grated its way open and snorted a subdued laugh to see the inquisitive face of his sister.

"Guess you're lovin' this, ain'tcha?"

Tara's answer was sincere in its regret. "No, I'm really, really not."

The look he fired in her direction conveyed all the significance of a shrug, lacking only the shoulder action.

"How are you feeling?" she asked with concern.

"Like I got my butt whupped," came the rueful answer, followed by a frown. "My head's sorta fuzzy."

"That's probably because of the sleep spell," Tara stated. "I cast it, last night? After I sort of ... used you to kill the bookcase."

He wrinkled his nose and then grimaced as it trickled blood. "Ticked off as you looked, I'm surprised I didn't wake up a goat on Mrs. Richter's farm."

"I like Mrs. Richter's goats," protested Tara. "I wouldn't do that do them."

They shared a chuckle, although Tara's good humor faded fast. It was clearly she was troubled, but determined to shake it off for the moment.

"About that," she offered. "The scary magick thing. I'm sorry. I don't usually ... It was stress, a-and sort of a gut reaction and ... and I'm just glad I didn't hurt you." At Donny's wry look, she added, "More."

"Still not gonna let me outta here, are, you?"

With a smirk, Tara confirmed the assumption and Donny's expression indicated he already knew such was a foregone conclusion. He wiped his nose with the cuff of his shirt. The bleeding had all but stopped again.

"I made you some lunch," Tara told him brightly.

Grabbing the cardboard, she laid it on the ground, placing the bowl and sandwiches at one end. Glancing up at the grille, she noted that Donny had moved closer, peering curiously through the lattice.

"Stand back from the door," she instructed.

He shuffled away a few steps and Tara opened another slat at the bottom that was almost twice the size of a regulation letterbox. Using the far end of the cardboard, Tara pushed the meal through the opening. Bending down, Donny retrieved his bounty and Tara quickly pulled on the improvised tray. Within seconds, the grate was safely secured once more.

She peeked through the grille to find Donny examining the half a sandwich held in his hand. He flashed a boyish smile of genuine thanks. "Peanut butter and jelly."

"It's raspberry," confirmed Tara, returning the gesture.

Donny's smile broadened. "My favorite." Opening his mouth as wide as he could, he took a huge bite and began to eat, noisily and appreciatively.

"Don’t no one make food like you, Tara," he mumbled around the satisfying snack. "You an' mom. You two done spoiled me for any other woman's cookin', y'know."

A light blush crept into Tara's cheeks. "It's just a sandwich."

Donny wolfed down the remainder of that half and then instantly grabbed another. "Well it's been a while." Hungrily, he licked a glob of jelly from his finger. "I'll take what I can get."

As he lifted the bowl of milk to his lips, Tara hastened to explain.

"I already packed the glasses, so ..."

But Donny didn't seemed to mind. Indeed, it was doubtful he was even listening. He slurped happily while Tara watched with a melancholy smile. Frowning, she made the conscious decision to finally broach what was on her mind.

"Donny, about last night ..."

Immediately, Donny's enthusiastic consumption slowed and his expression grew guarded.

"What about it?"

"Were you maybe feeling sort of ...," she began and then shook her head before making another attempt. "Last night, before you came? I was hearing ... voices."

That earned her a chuckle. "And I'm the one locked up?"

"Not just that," she insisted. "Since I came back, I've felt ... I don't know. Trapped?" She glanced hopefully in Donny's direction. "Like there's this ... this itch, almost. In my spine. Like a- a pressure that I have to try to leave because I'm afraid I won't be able to."

"Conscience, maybe?" suggested Donny helpfully.

Tara sighed and decided on a different course. "Why did you leave?"

Her brother seemed taken aback at the question. "Huh?"

"The house," she persisted. "You said you have a new place now, and it's clear nobody's lived here for ages. I know you, Donny, you're cheaper than Dollar Tree. Why would you leave?"

Donny fixed Tara with a penetrating stare, his gaze narrowing. He looked vaguely angry at her doggedness, but the response came across pleasant and casual.

"Cuz'a you, actually. Daddy wasn't never the same after we found you in Sunnydale. The tricks you used to stay there—"

"They weren't tricks," Tara swiftly corrected.

Her brother shrugged. "Whatever, they sure as hell worked. When we got back here, it's like he just ... stopped. I swear he didn't move outta that damn chair for a week. I tried tellin' him: we couldn't convince you to come home, we could damn well make you. He wouldn't hear it. Eventually says I could either shut up about it or leave." He grinned sardonically at the remembrance. "Turns out he was right in the end – I never knew when to keep my trap shut."

Tara was confused. "But he's been gone for over a year now. The house was yours. Why did you stay away?"

Seeming a little uncomfortable, Donny averted his eyes. "I dunno."

"Come on, you can do better than that," urged Tara, thoroughly dissatisfied with the lame non-excuse. "A huge house, lots of land, no mortgage? I mean, okay, maybe you don't want to live here, but then you don't even come clean it out so they can sell it?"

Donny swirled the few drops of milk remaining in the bowl. "I just don't like comin' up here, is all."

Tara was nothing if not relentless. "But you showed up last night and started talking about moving back in, so if you don't like it then why—"

"I don't know! I just ..." He refused to meet her piercing stare. "I had to."

"Because of me?"

"Yes! You can't leave, Tara." It was an order that tolerated no potential discussion. "I can't let you. It's your job to keep that evil inside you under control, and it's mine to see that you do."

Apparently, Tara couldn't believe her ears. "Are you even listening to yourself? It doesn't make sense! Why are you so convinced that you have to do this?"

"Because I am! I feel it!" Donny clenched the bowl tightly in his hand.

At last, Tara experienced the gratification of being vindicated. "Exactly, that's what I'm trying to say. I think there's something going on here. Something that's affecting us. Last night, the things I said ..." Her fingers curled around the bars of the grille. "I-It was like someone was pushing me to say them, egging me on? But more than that. It feels real, and it feels ... personal."

"There's nothin' else, girl," scoffed her brother. "There's you, there's me, and there's a demon that’s been runnin' free for way too long."

Tara rubbed at her forehead and sighed. "Then can you at least maybe think of something new to hate about me for a few minutes? The demon thing's starting to get tedious."

"Witch," he whispered.

It was only one word, but its content paled to the manner in which was delivered. It was spoken in a flat timbre – cold, calculating and spiked with a bottomless hatred. Something in Donny's vapid tone caused Tara's eyes to widen with apprehension. She took an involuntary step backward and bumped into the small table behind her.

The dish slipped from Donny's fingers, shattering on impact and causing Tara to jump. "Evil. Witch. Never escape. Forever."

"Do-Donny?"

"—can't figure out is why you lied," he continued in normal fashion.

Tara blinked rapidly. "What?"

Donny frowned at the splinters littering the ground by his feet. "About you dying," he added reflectively.

Between the current conversation, what she'd heard only moments before, and Donny's apparently distorted recollection of the whole thing, Tara was utterly confused.

"See, this is what rages me more'n anything else." He ground the jagged shards to a fine powder with the heel of his shoe. "Some part'a Daddy never stopped thinkin' he could ..." He paused just long enough to give a snort of derision, "... make it all up to you. Hearin' he never would near killed him on the spot. That why you had those friends'a yours lie for you? Just to hurt him more?"

"It wasn't a lie," Tara replied distractedly, her mind dwelling on other matters.

Totally confounded, Donny watched his sister as she analyzed everything going through her mind. Then he began to do the same, wheels churning at a furious pace. His thought process followed a presumably logical path. Tara dying wasn't a lie and yet, she stood before him, clearly alive. His eyes began to widen.

Tara turned to her brother. "Did you say anything? Like, 'Evil Witch' anything?"

"Comes to you," he retorted condescendingly, "I say it all the time."

"I don't mean in everyday conversation," replied Tara with an understated eye-roll. "I mean like right now. Just a minute ago."

"Sure as hell thought it," he asserted with conviction.

Tara pushed the point. "But did you say it?"

"No."

This was all Tara needed to verify her conclusion and she gave an affirming nod. An expression of determination invaded her features.

"There's something going on here, Donny. Something weird. I-I don't know if it's the house or- or something else, but I'm going to find out."

Turning sharply, she moved down the hall with a quick and purposeful stride.

"You sayin' the house is haunted?" asked Donny uneasily. He paused, waiting for a reply that never materialized. "Tara?" he called nervously. Still nothing.

He made his way to the open grille and gripped the iron bars, craning his neck to look down the empty corridor.

"C'mon now, girl, this in't funny." His response was silence. "Tara?" he repeated anxiously.

There was yet another agonizingly long hush and Donny warily surveyed his surroundings.

"Mr. Ghost, Sir?"

This met with no more success than before and Donny crept quietly back to the cot. Curling into a tight ball so as to make himself small as humanly possible, he huddled in the corner and nibbled on the remains of his lone half sandwich.

Arriving at a building that rather provisionally declared itself to be Hope Falls Library, Tara climbed the stone steps and tentatively opened the door. The interior was small and seemed to consist of a singular floor. Nonetheless, it was crammed to overflowing with neatly-shelved books and there was not a solitary speck of dust to be seen anywhere.

"Hello?" she called in a subdued voice, failing to see anyone occupying the tiny check-in/check-out desk.

A startled shriek could be heard from behind one of the bookcases and a woman emerged, hand clutched to her chest. Her age was indeterminable. She could have been anywhere from a prematurely-advanced 30-something to a 60+ senior to whom the years had been quite kind. Her hair was fastened in a prim bun and horn-rimmed glasses were perched on the tip of her nose. Wearing a navy two-piece and sensible flat shoes, she was the epitome of a standard-issue librarian.

Tara blinked. "Oh! I'm sorry."

Smiling, the woman brushed aside the apology. "No, no, dear, that's quite alright. I'm surprised, but pleasantly. I'm not used to having people visit the library. If I didn't know better, I'd say that nobody in Hope Falls ever bothered to learn how to read."

"Maybe you just need books with more pictures," suggested Tara in friendly fashion.

"I'll keep that in mind for the next book drive," assured the librarian. Tara wasn't exactly sure whether or not her remark had been taken seriously, but she certainly recognized scrutiny when she saw it. Indeed, it had become depressingly familiar of late.

"Do I know you?" asked the woman with frown.

Exhibiting some hesitation, Tara launched into her now parrot-like explanation. "I'm Tara. I used to live here."

"Tara, Tara ..." pondered the librarian. "No, I can't say that's ringing any bells."

"This probably sounds weird? But I'm actually glad to hear that."

"Well, Tara-who-used-to-live-here, how may our humble library be of service?" The librarian favored her visitor with a sunny smile.

"I was hoping you had something on town history? I'm doing research for ..." Tara paused for a moment, "... a novel."

The woman greeted this snippet of information with a great deal of enthusiasm. "Oo, a novel about our little town?" She moved closer. "What kind of story?"

"A mystery," Tara immediately replied.

Beckoning for Tara to follow, the woman made her way to the rear of the library. "That's very exciting, isn't it?" she virtually gushed. "A murder mystery?"

"More like something stolen."

Nonetheless, the librarian appeared to be suitably impressed. She led Tara to an adjoining room and stopped in front of a long table, upon which sat a cumbersome and boxy contraption that looked as though it could have been the original prototype of a personal computer. Tall file cabinets lined three of the walls. The librarian gestured at the electronic dinosaur and its associated trappings with a broad smile.

"We don't have any books, but I'm proud to say that our periodicals collection is quite extensive! Every newsletter, every leaflet and every single edition of the 'Hope Falls Herald' can be found here on microfiche!"

"Every edition?" inquired Tara dubiously, the threat of being overwhelmed beginning to creep in.

"Three days a week, 52 weeks a year, for 137 years," the woman announced with immense pride.

"That's ... Wow, that's something." Tara acknowledged the achievement with all due reverence, before asking meekly, "Uhm, I don't suppose they're online in an easily-searchable format?"

The librarian cheerfully confirmed Tara's worst fears. "Oh heaven's no. I'm hoping to maybe get a computer in a few years, but we haven't had any sort of major upgrade since the microfiche machine back in '86."

"Of course," muttered Tara, mostly to herself.

"If you need anything, just let me know!" the woman told her, leaving Tara to her own devices – and the ancient one that awaited her command.

"Well, Detective Maclay," declared Tara softly with a sigh of yearning for more modern technology, "Time to do the Solo Scooby thing."

Taking a deep breath of resignation and preparing herself for the long haul, she pulled open the first file drawer.

Xander consulted the map in his hand and then stared bewilderedly at the confusing signpost with its vast array of directional arrows, some of which appeared to be pointing nowhere in particular. He scratched his head and peered at the map again. He was sure of his present location however – the very heart of Merchandise Land. He was surrounded on all sides by restaurants, concessions stands and souvenir shops. There wasn't so much as a genuine feathered, furred or scaled tail in sight.

The area was pretty much packed, although most people were skirting his immediately vicinity. More than one disapproving eye was cast upon the hapless Xander and his demanding bevy of young girls, each of whom could have easily snapped him in half with no more than an offhand gesture. He was visibly crumbling beneath the clamoring bombardment for anything and everything money could buy – at an exorbitant price, of course.

"Mr. Xander, can I have a hot dog?" asked a diminutive blonde.

"Sure, I—"

"Look at the cups!" A Junior with huge brown eyes hopped excitedly from one foot to the other. "Mr. Xander, I want a Coke in a big elephant cup!"

"Just a sec, I'll—"

"Will you get me these, Mr. Xander?" a shrill and unidentifiable voice inquired from behind an armful of exceedingly trashy and overly-priced toy knick-knacks. It was impossible to see her face, so extensive was her load.

Xander looked at the swag with disdain. "God, why?"

There was a tug on his shirt sleeve. "Mr. Xander, where's my cotton candy?"

"I think it's taking over my brain," he groaned despairingly.

"Buy me this, Mr. Xander!" Willow implored, holding aloft a stuffed gray wolf toy. "It's sooo cuuute!"

Xander's lone eye narrowed menacingly. "No."

Jutting her lower lip into a pout, Willow reluctantly returned the wolf to his pack of identical brothers and left Xander by himself to cope as best he could. She joined Faith at a nearby table. The dark-haired Slayer was thoroughly amused as she sipped on her drink and watched Xander's vain attempts to maintain some modicum of control. She nodded affably in Willow's direction as the redhead sat down.

"Where's Dawn?" Willow asked, searching for the teenager but not finding her.

Faith gestured toward one of several souvenir shops dotting the area. "In there. She an' Chrissie're teaming up to take Xander for every cent he's got."

Willow tossed her hand in the air with a puff of exasperation. "See, I should've tried subterfuge instead of hoping for distraction."

"Good to see all those classes on tactics and strategy are finally payin' off," Faith observed.

As Willow watched, Faith would dunk the straw into her drink, use her thumb to draw up some of the liquid, then pull the straw out again and watch it dribble back into the cup. Both women seemed somehow entranced by this, and they watched several rounds in companionable silence.

"So," Willow eventually asked with a chuckle, "having fun?"

The straw was plunged back into the Cokey depths. "Eh. Don't much like zoos, actually. Got a thing about keepin' animals in cages." With an obvious smirk, Willow opened her mouth to speak, but Faith didn't afford her the opportunity. "An' I already made my obligatory prison joke today, so don't."

There was a fraction of a second of hesitation, but Willow's jaw quickly snapped shut. "As if I'd even," she scoffed, but was clearly keen to move on. "I get what you mean, but they do help. Zoos, that is, not prisons. Well prisons help too, though less with the whole big conversation thing. And- And zoos help keep species from becoming extinct." She regarded Faith seriously. "Better for 'em to be in a cage than dead, right?"

Faith shrugged. "Guessin' nobody ever asked the animals that."

Willow dug for a response, but couldn't seem to form a good counter-argument to that. "No pets growing up then, huh? Birds, or ... or fish or anything?"

"Didn't really grow up in what I'd call a pet-friendly place," Faith informed matter-of-factly. An expression of mild embarrassment flashed across her features. "But I got a fish," she admitted.

Willow's face exhibited delight at the revelation. "You had fish when you were little? Me too. Only I wasn't so much little, a-and it didn't end well. But hey, fish! What were their names?"

Faith still appeared rather uncomfortable with the confession. "Just one fish," she corrected. "An' it wasn't when I was little, it's ... now. I got a fish now. In my room. Well, in a tank in my room," she hastened to qualify, "not just floppin' around on the floor or in the sink or nothin'."

In something close to amazement, Willow considered this new information. "Huh, didn’t see that coming." She frowned slightly. "But if you don’t like the captive animals bit, then why? Not that you need a reason or anything," she hastened to assure, "but ..."

The response was provided hesitantly. "Dr. Lombardi – she's this doc I saw back in London ... She thought it'd be good for me. Give me somethin' to take care of or whatever." Faith waved her hand, her expression unimpressed. "Buncha psychobabble, I tune most of it out. But when I got back here, I just ... I dunno." She shrugged. "Wanted a fish."

The smile she received was bright and genuine. "Well I think that's nifty," Willow decided emphatically. "So what's his or her name?"

Faith's answer was a while in coming. A tiny stream of soda poured from one end of the straw. She looked oddly vulnerable and did not wear it well.

"Nemo."

The conversation was abruptly interrupted by the arrival of Dawn and Chrissie. Each clutched a moderately large stuffed animal and Chrissie sported a new t-shirt that she had donned over the one she was already wearing. It bore the proud inscription: "I belong at the zoo!" The pair looked exceptionally pleased with themselves.

"Mr. Xander's the best!" enthused Chrissie, holding a giant pretzel approximately the size of her head.

Willow's eyes grew bright, as a brilliant, albeit devious, idea wormed its way into her brain.

"Hey Chrissie." She beckoned for the girl to come closer. "You know what I think you need next...?"

"Those." Hannah punctuated the selection with a determined poke of her finger. "Lots of those."

Facing the door, she and Buffy shared the far end of a long table in one of Slayer Central's conference rooms, scrutinizing several items laid out in front of them.

Buffy was doubtful. "Are you sure?"

Hannah nodded emphatically. "Positive. This won't be possible without them."

"I bow to the master," acquiesced Buffy.

Silence reigned for a moment as they both concentrated.

"Hannah, do you think we ..." Buffy sighed. "I'm not sure we should do it like this."

"If you have a better suggestion, I'm open to hear it," Hannah offered. When her expectant silence went unfilled, she claimed victory. "It's for the best. And, I might point out, his own good."

Still, Buffy remained somewhat unconvinced. "Look, I know lately he's been a real ..." She searched for an appropriate designation.

Hannah was only too happy to supply one. "Bastard?" she offered brightly.

Buffy was reluctant to concur, but obviously compliant to a certain degree. "Not exactly the word I'd pick," she replied hesitantly, "but for the sake of argument, I'll go with it. But this?" She threw Hannah a dubious glance.

Hannah said nothing, merely regarded Buffy with a raised eyebrow. Accepting defeat as gracefully as possible, Buffy threw up her hands. "Okay, okay, you win."

The two returned to the materials in front of them when Hannah cocked her head. "How about something like this?"

"Hmm ..." pondered Buffy. She began to lean forward for a closer look when, from the corner of her eye, she spotted movement outside the door. Her neck snapped sharply upright.

Glancing into the room, Giles seemed pleased to note its inhabitants and crossed the threshold with a smile of greeting. "Buffy, Hannah. Good afternoon."

Hannah declined to reply. She favored him with nothing more than a level, detached gaze. Not exactly a glare, it still managed to effectively convey an icy chill. Buffy did at least acknowledge his existence, but she too was distant.

"Hey Giles."

Giles turned toward Buffy, although his eyes remained locked on Hannah, as though he simply couldn't look away. He wore an expression of concern, but Hannah was immovable, and he finally focused on Buffy.

"I thought you were spending the day with the others?"

She shrugged dismissively. "Something more important came up."

Giles waited for further clarification. None was forthcoming.

"Ah," he eventually commented. "I see."

It was plain that he didn't 'see' at all. His gaze drifted back to Hannah but her attitude was no less aloof than before.

"Is it, erm ... Can- Can I help? With anything?"

Buffy shook her head. "Nope, pretty much got it covered."

Another unpleasant silence blanketed the room until the cell phone in Giles' pocket emitted its noisy demand for attention, effectively interrupting the non-conversation.

"Excuse me," he muttered with a hesitant smile that wasn't returned.

Slinking away, he retrieved the insistent device from his jacket and randomly punched a button. He brought the mobile to his ear, whereupon it jarringly continued the quest to be answered. Cursing under his breath, he scoured the possible options and tentatively depressed another button. He sighed with relief as the discordant jangle ceased.

"Rupert Giles speaking." He paused and smiled delightedly at the response he received. "Tara! Lovely to hear from you. Is everything going well?"

Sitting at the librarian's vacant desk, Tara cradled the handset of the rotary phone against her shoulder.

"Oh, it's ... you know." She sighed a little. "Could be worse. You?"

Giles glanced back in the direction of the conference room. "Everything here is quite ... dreadful, really," he admitted.

"Oh. Sorry," commiserated Tara.

"Not to worry," Giles assured with all seriousness. "I'm sure it'll regain its equilibrium to vaguely intolerable before long."

"Let's hope?" offered Tara uncertainly. "Uhm, actually, if you have a minute, I wanted to ask you something."

"Of course."

"Have you ever heard of ..." Tara briefly consulted the paper before her, "... the Belastung?"

"Belastung ..." pondered Giles, narrowing his eyes in thought. "Yes. Yes, I remember something about that." Seeming pleased to have something besides his most recent encounter on which to focus his mental energies, Giles increased his pace. "A demon, if memory serves. Particularly fond of decimating new colonies. Very charming." He threw open his office door and headed for the bookcase, eyes swiftly searching the volumes. "He was known for bringing about plague, famine, and other assorted flights of fancy."

Tara again examined the sheet in front of her, focusing on certain words that seemed to leap from the printed text: Hope Falls; The Belastung; disaster; crop failure; dead livestock.

"Sounds about right," she confirmed. "Do you know what happened to him?"

Finding the tome in question, Giles moved toward his desk, propping the cell phone under his chin as he attempted to flip through the pages.

"I believe he, erm ..." With a satisfied smile, he finally found the section he needed. "His last reported sighting—" The phone abruptly slipped, but he managed to catch it before it hit the floor. He settled it back under his chin and deposited the book on his desk. "His last reported sighting was in 1859. He's credited with turning the frontier town of Old Mountain View in California to ... t-to cannibalism during a particularly harsh winter."

Tara grimaced. "Ew. That's ... bad."

"And you're not even looking at the photographs," murmured a disgusted Giles.

"But after that?" prompted Tara.

Giles scanned the text. "No mention. The Belastung was quite prolific up to that point, so it was theorized he returned to his home dimension."

Tara peered more closely at the sheet of paper. It was a printout from the microfiche of a newspaper dated in 1963. The banner headline read: "Hope Falls Celebrates Its Birthday! A Look Back at 100 Years".

"Would it be possible to destroy him?" inquired Tara.

"Most everything can be destroyed, given sufficient effort," Giles replied.

"How much effort?" pressed Tara. "For him. I mean, could anyone do it?"

A frown of concern crossed Giles' forehead. "Tara, is something wrong?"

"Could they, Mr. Giles?" she persisted.

With a sigh, Giles supplied the information. "At that time, Belastung was extraordinarily powerful. He'd roamed the Earth for- for centuries, gaining power, destroying hundreds, if not thousands of villages." He thought for a moment. "For a spellcaster of any reasonable proficiency, I'd say the best they could hope to do would be entrapment."

More details seemed to leap from the article: according to legend; spirit healer; tricked the devils.

"What would that do to the demon, to Belastung?"

The furrow on Giles' brow deepened. "Provided the spellcaster were skilled enough, he or she could conceivably seal the demon away forever. Physically, at least."

Tara shifted her weight in her seat, sensing she was on the verge of a breakthrough. "And would he know?" she ventured. "What had happened, what was going on around him?"

Giles spoke with utmost certainty. "Oh yes. His consciousness would remain alert, although trapped."

Tara drew a sharp breath. "So I guess he would be angry."

"Quite exceptionally so, I would think," corroborated Giles. His expression became grave. "Tara, what's all this about?"

"I think I know what happened to Belastung, Mr. Giles."

The Watcher began to pace back and forth. "What have you—?"

"I'll answer everything later, I promise," vowed Tara. "But first ... you said anything could be destroyed? I need to know how."

Giles' anxiety promptly escalated. "I know we haven't entirely tested the boundaries of- of your power since your return, but Tara, to truly defeat a demon of Belastung's level, you would need a personal connection to the demon," he cautioned. "Something that binds the- the two of you together. A way to gain additional power over him above and beyond that of a regular witch."

"Don't worry." The tiny smile on Tara's lips was enigmatic. "I've already got that."

She gazed at the printout. Prominent upon the page was the grainy reproduction of a photograph, but despite the poor quality, it was easily recognizable. The caption beneath the picture read: "Although her name has been lost to time, according to the popular town legend, this woman is the spirit healer who tricked the devils during The Belastung, banishing them and saving the fledgling settlement that would one day become Hope Falls."

The replica was an exact duplicate of the tintype in the photograph album – a young girl in her mid-teens, dressed in buckskin with a rifle hefted over her shoulder. The tree next to which she had posed was also familiar to Tara's eyes. It was the ancient oak that grew in the front yard of her house. In red pen, Tara had circled something on the trunk. The image was fuzzy and somewhat indistinct, but upon concentrated focusing, appeared to be the outline of a face – a snarling face that glowered with malevolence upon the girl standing nearby.

"And I think she'd approve," added Tara. "So ... how do I destroy Belastung, Mr. Giles?"

She listened intently to the detailed instructions, careful not to miss so much as a single word being communicated to her. Consequently, she failed to notice the librarian hovering only a few feet away. The woman strained her ears in an attempt to catch the exchange of conversation, her expression growing increasingly baleful with every passing second.