A sign reading "Closed," had been prominently placed in the front window of After Midnight. Both doors had been secured locked and the blinds partially drawn. Standing by the bar, arms crossed, Buffy focused with concentrated suspicion upon Sam, who had taken up position between Buffy and the storage room. The demon had resumed the shape of what was apparently her default character of preference.

Buffy's eyes darted around the premises. "Tell me this big emergency isn't you needing an extra waitress on Wednesdays."

With a smirk, Sam inspected her long, red-tipped fingernails. "Don't worry, I won't be calling on you. I have very high employee standards."

"Is this the part where you're asking for my help?" asked Buffy with a frown. "Because I gotta say, not feeling so big with the helpfulness at the moment."

Taking note of the warning, Sam reined in her antagonistic attitude. "It's not exactly for me," she explained.

Neither were aware of a young woman hovering at the window outside the bar, peering through the blinds. The observer studied the scene taking place with avid interest, her ear tilted toward the glass as though she were listening intently to the conversation.

"Let me guess: it's for a 'friend'," scoffed Buffy. "'I have this "friend" who coincidentally runs a bar and also dresses like a big slut—'"

Buffy's theory was brought to an abrupt halt by the door of the storeroom opening very slowly. Nervously, a female figure emerged from the dark interior. She was around six feet tall with an athletic physique, but clearly skittish and very uneasy. Dirty smudges covered the gray sweatshirt she was wearing – the hood of which had been pulled up to cover her head – and her jeans were ripped at the knee.

Beyond the window, the voyeur narrowed her eyes.

"Strike the 'dresses like a big slut' part," acknowledged Buffy, cocking her head speculatively to one side.

At the sound of Buffy's voice, the girl began to shrink back into the safety of the gloomy storage room, but Sam hastened to encourage her, speaking soft and soothing words, although she made no move to restrain or even touch the obviously apprehensive girl.

"Hey. Hey, Tessa, it's okay," Sam reassured. "This is Buffy Summers. She's here to help."

Tessa ventured into the open once more and blinked in Buffy's direction. "She doesn't look like she could help make a pizza," observed the girl with what was probably supposed to be bravado.

"You're not the first to underestimate my dough-flinging skills," Buffy told her amicably. "Ever hear that phrase about appearances, how they sort of like to deceive?"

Pushing back her hood, Tessa revealed a pair of large silvery horns. Ram-like, they curved from her head downward to her cheeks. Her complexion was extremely pale and luminescent, as though the skin were fashioned from living ivory. The unnatural sheen of her flesh contrasted starkly with the raven hair.

"I'm guessing you have," Buffy decided.

"I know she doesn't look like much of anything, really—" Sam attempted to explain to Tessa.

"As opposed to Sam," countered Buffy, "who looks like much of everything."

"—but give her a chance," Sam concluded. "You'll be surprised."

"No. No, you don’t understand," Tessa insisted. "She's after me, and- and she doesn’t stop. I just want it to stop but she never does!" The girl was quickly becoming agitated to the point of panic. "It doesn't matter where I go or where I hide, she finds me. She always finds me!" She cast quick and furtive glances around the bar. "She's here now, I know it! I can feel it!"

Immediately, Buffy and Sam took stock of the premises, but could see nothing that posed any kind of threat. Outside, the young woman allowed herself one last, lingering, baleful look at the horned demon, and then disappeared into the surrounding scenery as stealthily as she had appeared.

"She's always over my shoulder, and I can't get away!" Tessa's tone betrayed her terror. "I try and I try, but she's always there! I can't sleep, I can never sleep." She took a shuddering breath. "I'm so tired and I just want … I want to go home." Her expression was wretched as she looked to Buffy. "I don't wanna die, I just wanna go home," she implored in a small voice as the tears began to fall. "Please."

Instantly, Sam offered what consolation she could. Buffy said nothing. She watched for a moment as Sam dabbed at the girl's wet cheeks with a bar rag, and then her gaze traveled to the window. But there was nothing to see.

In a small courtyard to one side of Slayer Central's main building, Faith was making some minor adjustments to the throttle of her motorcycle. Intent on her tinkering, she didn't seem to notice as Xander, tool bag in hand, approached from the rear. As he opened his mouth to speak, she revved the engine and his words were lost in the powerful drone of the machine. As the noise died away, he gave it another attempt, but was once again drowned out. A frown crossed Xander's face as he watched Faith work on a little fine tuning until the bike began to purr like a contented kitten. Quickly, he made as though to say something and immediately, the engine roared back into full-fledged life.

"Okay," he announced with a definite nod. "Now I know you're doing it on purpose."

Faith tossed him a grin from over her shoulder. "Busted."

"Is this your unsubtle way of telling me to get lost?"

Faith shook her head. "Nah, just exercisin' my right to be obnoxious."

"How Faith of you," commented Xander wryly before adding, "Something which, may I say, I'm happy to see."

"What're you—"

For no immediately obvious reason, she didn't finish her sentence. Instead, she reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone.

"Yeah?" She paused for a second and listened. "Out front. You want me to—" She paused again. "I'll be here."

Snapping it closed, she refocused on Xander. "What're you yammerin' about?"

"See? You accused me of yammering." Xander smiled cheerily. "It warms the cockles of my heart."

Faith arched an eyebrow. "Just the cockles? Must be losin' my touch."

"I just mean, it's nice to see you back in the swing," said Xander. "You know. Not locked in your 24/7 Broodathon. Take this set-up, for example." His wave encompassed the entirety of the small courtyard. "You're out in the sunshine, doing something not directly involved in killing. It's a good."

"An' with your approval," Faith was quick to rejoin, "life just gets that much sweeter."

"So, in all due seriousness, you're better now?" queried Xander, leaning against the motorcycle's pillion. A tiny frown creased Faith's forehead, but she tolerated the infraction and considered the question for a moment.

"I look better?"

"You look better," Xander confirmed.

"Guess I must be, then," Faith decided with a shrug.

Emerging from the interior of Slayer Central, Giles squinted into the bright sunlight and then shielded his eyes as he looked around for Faith. Sighting her, he made his way down the front steps.

"Faith. Xander," he acknowledged as he came closer.

"No, please, stop with the mush," insisted Xander, extending his arms as though he were in need of protection. "You'll only embarrass me."

"My apologies," Giles responded. "In the future I'll greet you with a hug and a sloppy kiss, would you prefer that?"

Xander's hands remained in their locked and upright position. "Not only would I not prefer that," he answered with a stunned expression, "I think a part of me just died inside."

"When you're done flirting," prompted Faith, resting her elbows on the handlebars.

Xander continued to look as though his lunch was planning a return trip, but Giles took it all in stride and turned his attention to Faith.

"I'm doing some follow-up work on a report one of the Junior Slayers made last night," he informed briskly. "They believe they may have encountered a small group of vampiric warlocks, and I was wondering if you'd seen anything similar in your patrols." He crossed his arms and peered at Faith. "I'd check your reports, but they curiously appear to be lacking."

"Let me guess," interjected Xander. "They're something like: 'Killed bad guy. Bad guy didn't kill me. Five by five'."

"Even that would be a welcome improvement," said Giles. "I mean they're entirely lacking, in that there hasn't been a single one since your return."

"An' since it took you this long to notice, I can see we have a real problem here," responded Faith, checking her fingernails for signs of grease.

"Well I simply assumed you were—"

"Look," Faith interrupted. "I go out, I do my job. Even give service with a smile. But if you think I'm comin' home an' writin' up a term paper every night, you're freakin' crazy."

"Make one of your Juniors do it," suggested Xander. "They'd figure out a way to walk on water if you asked 'em to."

Faith seemed to seriously consider the possibility. "Hm. Abuse of power." She nodded approvingly. "I can get behind that."

Giles tutted his disapproval. "This is one of the- the most important responsibilities of the primary Slayers, necessary to- to maintain an accurate portrait … of …" His reprimand drifted into nothingness as it become painfully clear that Faith couldn't possibly care less.

He sighed again. "We'll discuss it later." Faith's replying 'should be fun' smirk went ignored as Giles returned to the topic at hand. "So have you? Seen any…?"

"Nope, nothin' even close," declared Faith. "I'll keep my eyes peeled, though."

"If this is a magicky thing, why not bring in the magicky-types?" Xander suggested. "Will and Tara might be able to get more info."

Giles nodded his agreement. "If this becomes more substantiated, certainly. Before then, though, I see no reason to disturb them."

The "DO NOT DISTURB" sign had been affixed to the door of the Sanctum, complete with its accompanying warning and caution signs provided by Dawn and Xander. On the floor inside, Willow and Tara sat across from each other, Indian-style. Their eyes were closed and their hands were clasped. The area was suffused with visible indications of their magick. A silvery glow enveloped the couple, while within and around the radiance, a myriad of small effervescent spheres – some of a soft blue and an even larger number of a powerfully vivid green – engaged in a type of cosmic waltz. The sparkles danced around each woman before darting back and forth between the two witches, who both wore expressions of peace and contentment.

Unconsciously, Tara stroked the back of Willow's hand. In response, the miniscule green twinkles instantly become more intense, growing increasingly excitable in their movements. Although unable to see this phenomenon in the conventional sense, Tara was nevertheless aware of it and she smiled.

"Good to know I haven't lost my touch," she whispered.

Willow shook her head. "Don't think that's even a tiny possibility."

The glimmers continued their playful display. Five of the green flashes encircled one of the blue sparks and then began to pulse. Tara inhaled sharply as the blue twinkle glowed more brightly, while the greens became dimmed. The effect was captured for a few moments, and then the increased blue gleam dissipated, allowing the green flickers to return to their former state of high illumination.

"And the moral of the story?" Willow informed sagely. "It's better to give than to take."

Tara's cheeks were flushed. "I'll remember that for next time."

As the tiny sparks resumed their giddy swirl, a game of chase erupted between a few of them, initiated by a group of green twinkles. They flitted to and fro, closely pursued by an equal number of the blue flashes. The greens hid behind the shade of a table lamp, but were easily spotted by the blues. Next they tried to shakes off their pursuers by weaving in, out and around a collection of glass vials, but to no avail. Finally, they decided on a straight-out race and sped toward the curtains. That too was thwarted. At every turn, the tiny green spheres were foiled by the blue sparkles.

"You're fast," admired Willow.

"You think too much," Tara advised quietly. "Let go. Feel it."

The green glimmers seemed to become agitated.

"Me, magick and feelings – not exactly an award-winning combination," Willow said with a nervous chuckle.

But the blue twinkles were there, bathing the little overly-charged green flashes in a soothing glow.

"Emotions are the soul of power, Will. You have to know them to work with them."

Still, Willow was hesitant and unsure.

Another unit of calming blue sparkles joined the crusade, surrounding the brilliant nucleus of green. Tara gently caressed Willow's hands, offering physical comfort as well.

"Relax. Feel it," she urged.

Focusing every ounce of energy into her assigned task, Willow threw herself utterly into attempting to relax.

Tara opened her eyes and absorbed the sight before her with something akin to awe. Wearing an expression that was only semi-serene, Willow's brow was creased in a furrow of deep concentration. She was emitting hundreds of diminutive green-hued twinkles that ranged in color from deep emerald to pale lime. For a moment, Tara was totally overwhelmed.

"God," she breathed, "you're so beautiful."

Willow's lids fluttered and she looked across at Tara. Initially it seemed as though the redhead believed she had misheard the statement, but then she noted the look in Tara's eyes. The pair did nothing but gaze at each other for a long moment and it was Tara who broke the deadlock. Closing the distance between them, she leaned forward and cradled Willow's face in her palms. Her lips brushed the top of Willow's head, moving down to kiss the forehead and the tip of Willow's nose. Their mouths met tenderly at first, soon to be overtaken by a mounting urgency as Willow's fingers became entangled in Tara's hair. The sparkles of blue and green continued to waltz merrily for a few seconds and then faded as the pair sank to the floor.

There was a murmur of blissful delight and then only the sound of Willow's enraptured whisper.

"I feel it."

A scaly-skinned demon, reptilian in appearance, rapped his claws impatiently on the window of After Midnight. He blinked rapidly to see Sam's face appear and then jerked his head meaningfully toward the door. Taking hold of the plainly-displayed "Closed" sign, Sam waggled it up and down a few times and then waved her hand to shoo him on his way. With a disappointed flick of his forked tongue, the demon shuffled down the street. Sam watched his departure with an exasperated expression before rejoining Buffy and Tessa at one of the small tables.

"You'd think they can't read," she complained with an eye-roll.

"Maybe they can't," suggested Buffy. "I mean, they come here – how smart can they be?"

Sam favored her with a charming smile. "You're so cute when you try to be insulting." She turned to Tessa. "Go ahead, honey."

"It's been almost a year, I guess, since I left," began Tessa hesitantly. "My mother and I'd just had this huge fight." She laughed, and it was a short and bitter sound. "I thought it was so crucial. Now I can't even remember what it was about. I yelled, she yelled, and … I left. I just didn't want to be there any more. I walked for a while, not really going anywhere. I wound up near a Shirconthal."

Buffy put out her hand as though to physically halt Tessa's story. "Hold up, new vocabulary word. 'Shirconthal'?"

Thoughtfully, Tessa tangled the drawstrings of her hood around her fingers. "It sort of translates to …" She paused for moment. "'Misplaced star', I think is the best I can get. Our dimension is on a cusp, and the Shirconthal is a temporary, uhm … leak. A … A sort of hole in the walls." She looked to Sam and Buffy to ensure she was making herself understood. "They pop up randomly all the time. We're taught at a really young age that if we ever see one to leave it alone, because they're so unpredictable. They could go anywhere, and there's no way to know how long they'll stick around. Sometimes they're gone as soon as they appear. Others are older than me."

"And let me guess," Buffy said, connecting the dots, "in your fit of teenage rebelliousness …"

"I went in," finished Tessa, hanging her head. "Not my smartest move ever."

Sam offered comfort by patting the girl's arm. "So you crossed over and got stuck."

"I didn't care at first," declared Tessa. "I was just so happy to be … not there. And this world's so exciting! You've got Robbie Williams, and sushi!" For a moment, her dark eyes sparkled.

"Earth: come for the dimensional rifts, stay for the raw fish," Buffy agreed.

Tessa twiddled the plastic bobble at the end of the drawstring before bringing it absent-mindedly to her mouth. She chewed on it for a second. "I've been wandering around America every since. I arrived in Arizona and I just …" She gestured to her shoes. "Let my fingers do the walking."

The smile she offered was as weak as her pop-culture attempt.

"Those are your feet," Buffy corrected.

Tessa was obviously deflated. "Oh, yeah." She glanced hopefully at Buffy. "Is there a foot reference I can make?"

Buffy considered the poser. "The best I've got is 'These boots are made for walking'."

Sam gave a disdainful snort, which was met by Buffy's glower. "It's hard to make them up when you're on the spot like that, okay?"

Sam held her silence, but remained unapologetic. Buffy glared at Sam for a moment longer and then motioned for Tessa to continue.

"When I'm hungry, I get food. When I'm tired, I find some place to sleep. I made it all the way to Vermont before I began thinking about home again, but once I started, I couldn't stop." Her eyes brimmed with tears. "Then all I wanted was to find the Shirconthal."

A tiny crease appeared on Buffy's forehead. "Please tell me that's not it," she urged. "Cuz you know, sympathetic and all, but this isn't really my sort of—"

"She's being hunted," interrupted Sam briskly. "I found her this afternoon, hiding in my storeroom. After I got her calmed down enough to believe I wasn't there to hurt her, she filled me in." Sam inclined her chin toward Tessa, encouraging her to finish the tale.

"I was somewhere in New York when I decided to stop for the night." Tessa's fingers twisted restlessly in her lap. "I … found a house. The backdoor was open. It looked like everyone had gone away for the weekend or something. So I let myself in, picked the first bed I found and went to sleep."

She shuddered slightly, the memory apparently disturbing.

"The sirens woke me up," she resumed shakily. "The family … they hadn't gone away. They were … They were dead. They were all dead, and it was just horrible. The blood …" As though anticipating the thoughts of her audience, Tessa immediately went on the defensive. "I didn’t do it! They must've been like that when I came in, because I didn’t do it!"

"Honey, nobody's saying you did," Sam gently clarified.

"The police did!" Tessa exclaimed. "They wanted to take me away, but I knew if they realized what I was … So I ran. I ran as fast as I could, and I haven't stopped. I thought I'd gotten away, but I haven't. They sent her after me." Her eyes darted nervously around the room.

Buffy dipped her head, but no further explanation appeared to be coming. "Who's 'her'?"

"I don't know!" Tessa responded miserably. "She's this … this unstoppable monster! It doesn’t matter where I go or how much I try to hide, she can always find me." Her voice grew hushed and wavering in its desperation. "She's gonna kill me." She hugged herself even tighter.

"No she isn't," denied Sam adamantly. She looked to Buffy for corroboration. "Tell her."

But Buffy didn't answer immediately. Her face betrayed no emotion as she studied the wretched demon across from her.

"All I want is to go home," insisted Tessa. "My mom … I want to tell her how sorry I am. How I didn't mean what I said. I don't hate her, I don't ..." The tears began to well once more. "It's the last thing I said to her, and I'm gonna die and she'll never know. I just want to take it all back. I take it all back, Mommy. I'm so sorry …"

Tessa drew her knees up to her chin, curling into the depths of her chair and rocking slowly back and forth. She began to mutter in what was presumably her native tongue, lilting and melodic. Buffy looked at Sam, treated her to a penetrating stare, and then jerked her head toward the far side of the room, out of earshot of the girl, who was now openly weeping. Rising from her seat, Buffy made her way to the corner, assuming that Sam would follow, which she did.

"Here's the part where I officially say 'What the hell?'" snapped Buffy. "You brought me into this exactly why now?"

"Come on," retorted Sam, hands on hips. "You can't seriously believe she killed those people."

The pair glanced at the woeful figure cringing in her chair. She had adopted a near-fetal position and gave no impression that she presented any manner of threat. Indeed, if a creature sporting huge ram's horns could possibly be considered meek, it would have been Tessa.

Sam tutted sympathetically. "I think she'd need therapy if she turned on a light switch and the bulb blew."

Buffy's gaze lingered speculatively for a long moment. "No, I don't think she did it," she eventually admitted. "But I also don't think I run an escort service."

Sam opened her mouth to speak, but Buffy gave her no opportunity.

"As in, 'I will escort you through two time zones to your final destination'," she added sharply. "I mean, in case you hadn't noticed, we're on a Hellmouth-energy-thingie here. Chief Slayer, sort of needed."

Sam arched a disparaging eyebrow. "But I thought you helped the hopeless, or whatever it is?"

Buffy shook her head. "Different branch."

As Sam's mouth worked into another protest, Buffy yielded a little and searched for a solution. "Okay, maybe … a plane ticket," she conceded. "We'll book her on the first flight out."

Sam was clearly dissatisfied with the solution. "What about the thing after her? The kid's terrified. Do you really think she'll be able to fight it off?" She didn't wait for an answer. "I think she'd have to call 'uncle' on an anemic kitten. If this killer thing's followed her this far …"

Buffy held up a staying hand. "Fine, your suggestion?"

Briefly, Sam pondered the problem.

"Maybe you don't have to get her back there," she offered slowly, apparently still thinking it through to some extent. "If these sheer-whatevers are as random as she says, then the odds of just finding one are pretty much impossible anyway. So maybe you can force one. Create it yourself."

"Oh, sure," rejoined Buffy. "I just happen to have a can of Portal-Be-Here in my back pocket. Never leave home without it."

"Maybe not you," admitted Sam with an overly-sweet smile. "But I'm sure as Chief Slayer, you have more competent resources to pull from." Buffy's eyes narrowed at the jab and Sam sighed despondently. "All I know is, she's a scared little girl, trapped a long way from home, who got caught up in something bigger than herself."

Buffy crossed her arms. "Why do you care, anyway?"

"The question you should be asking is, why don't you?"

Buffy said nothing, simply regarding Sam soberly for a while before transferring her attention to Tessa. The young girl had regained a modicum of composure. She no longer cowered despairingly and the tears had ceased, but she now appeared utterly exhausted and very scared. She raised her head as Buffy approached. Her expression was a curious mixture of expectancy and fear.

"Will you help me?" she whispered hopefully.

Buffy maintained her silence for what seemed an eternity before she finally nodded.

"Yes."

The vacated apartment was small and not particularly cheery, save for the bright sun that streamed through curtainless windows. It was devoid of furniture but there was minimal evidence of habitation. A large backpack rested against one wall, flap thrown open. The untidy contents gave the impression that someone was living out of it. The sole inhabitant of the room was an athletically built young woman – the voyeur who had appeared earlier outside After Midnight. Standing before the largest window, she wore a high-tech headset and was dialing a number on her cellular phone.

The recipient of the call answered on the first ring. "Well hey there, gorgeous."

The voice was that of a relatively young male, perhaps in his mid-twenties, and bore the unmistakable accent of one born and bred in the south.

"Lazarus," the young woman greeted briskly.

"Uh-oh, I know that tone," he responded, the smile evident in his voice. "It usually comes before a lotta work for me."

"Good guess," she replied. "Can you see me?"

There was the muted tapping of a keyboard. "Got a fix. God bless GPS, huh?"

The woman apparently was in no mood for technological chit-chat. "About two and a half miles south/south east of here, there's a bar calling itself 'After Midnight'."

The tap of keys could be heard once more, and Lazarus chatted while he worked. "So what's the deal?" he questioned curiously. "If you have it pinned to a place, it should be dead by now. Don't tell me you're gettin' soft, Denali."

"I don't get soft," she chastised sternly.

"Don't I know it," said Lazarus with a sigh. "Okay, got the bar."

"I tracked it there, but it's not alone," Denali informed. "There were two others. Women. I don't know who the first was, but she wanted help from the second, so she must be the more important."

"Ready for standard check," affirmed Lazarus.

"Buffy Summers."

There was a pause, with no pitter-patter to indicate that research was being undertaken.

"Come again?" queried Lazarus.

"Buffy Summers," reiterated Denali. "Bee, yuu, eff—"

"Naw," scoffed Lazarus. "I mean … seriously?" He chuckled. "That's her name?"

Denali shrugged. "It could be a nickname."

"Well god, let's hope," stated Lazarus sympathetically as he began to type.

Shifting her weight from one foot to the next, Denali waited with enforced patience as Lazarus apparently called up and sifted through the available information. She did not have to wait too long.

"Okay," he reported slowly. "That's weird."

"I knew it!" she declared emphatically. "I knew there was something about her."

"Actually, there's nothin' about her," contradicted Lazarus, clearly mystified.

Denali frowned, trying to make sense the statement. She failed. "Huh?"

"I mean, there is something," he corrected. "The basics. Born in Los Angeles, January 19, 1981. Grades range from average to less-than. Moved to Sunnydale, California about ten years ago. Current residence: Trillium, Pennsylvania." He paused. "And that's pretty much it."

"That's it?" Denali was disbelieving. "That can't be it. There's more on you, and you don't technically exist."

"Hang on a sec." Lazarus' request was followed by the sound of increased typing. "Ah-ha!" he finally exclaimed. "Oh … oh, that's clever."

When no further explanation was forthcoming, Denali began to get antsy. "Don't leave me hanging."

"You know I'd never do that, darlin'," drawled Lazarus. "There's more on your friend. A lot more. Holes in school records, sealed police files …" Denali listened to the rapidly tapping keys. "Hell, found a hidden path here, looks like it leads right to the goddamn military! Think this Buffy Summers got herself a pet hacker, Deni. So see? You got somethin' in common."

"Then after I kick her ass and kill my demon, we'll have lots to talk about."

Lazarus laughed, but as he continued his research, he merriment turned to caution. "That ass-kicking may not be so easy," he advised. "This is high-level stuff here. Military don't have classified information this high on any Tom, Dick or Susan. We don't know who – or what – she is."

"This would be why I keep you around," purred Denali. "Can you get to the chewy information center?"

"I'm offended you hafta ask," Lazarus replied with all the indignity he could muster. "Whoever hid this stuff is good though, an' bustin' through the military ain't exactly cake. It'll take some time."

"We don't have time," Denali replied urgently. "Every day this thing is on the loose, that's another day it could slaughter someone else."

Kneeling in front of her backpack, she extracted a folder containing a sheaf of papers and a collection of photographs – shots of an exceedingly gruesome crime scene. Denali lingered for a moment on one showing the mangled remains of a small dog collar before moving to the next. Its focus was on the blood-covered hand of a child.

"I won't let it kill another family."

The last series of photographs in the folder were of Tessa, but not the meek and mild teenage girl Sam had discovered in her storeroom. This Tessa appeared dangerous and savage, almost feral. A couple of the pictures had been taken at close range, focusing on the sharp horns and desperate face, but the remainder were of a girl in panicked flight.

"This ends. Now," murmured Denali with a decisive nod.

The contents of the folder having presumably served to further fortify her resolve, she returned the materials to her backpack and spoke once more into the headset.

"If Buffy Summers has her own computer guru, she might have other contacts as well. Get me pictures, names and addresses," she instructed. "If Miss Summers won't give me my demon, we may have to persuade her."