The hand clutching the knife trembled a little as the blade plunged toward its target. Quickly regaining her composure, Tara begin to mutter an incantation, but it was all too apparent that she would never cast the defensive spell in time. Luckily for Faith, she was every inch a consummate Slayer, replete with all the associated powers.

Instinctively, she swept her arm in an upward curve, deflecting the knife. Nonetheless, the sharp blade still managed to sink into her shoulder. Cursing, Faith kicked out at her assailant, landing a well-aimed boot in his solar plexus. He was still gasping for breath when Tara discharged her spell. Lifted off his feet, the young man careened backward for several yards before making solid impact with a brick wall. Groaning softly, he slumped heavily to the pavement. Immediately, Tara went to Faith, who had fallen to one knee and was grasping the handle of the knife, making ready to pull.

"Goddamn sunova—" she gritted through clenched teeth.

With a forceful wrench, followed by a short cry of pain, Faith yanked the blade free. As blood welled from the injury, Tara tried to assess the damage, but Faith was infuriated and in no mood to receive treatment. Brushing Tara aside, she got to her feet and stalked toward her attacker, who lay sprawled on the concrete.

He was babbling rapidly and incessantly, the words tumbling over themselves as they rolled from his tongue. His eyes were almost deranged, wide and staring.

"I did it," he gibbered. "Just like it was done, I did it, only- only there wasn't as much. I think, I think there should be—"

Faith looked down with angry contempt. "What the hell? Huh? What the hell?!"

He shrank away from her incensed demand, curling into a fetal position and facing the wall. The mark on the back of his neck was livid beneath the lamplight. Standing at Faith's elbow, Tara noted the strange symbol and frowned.

"What is that?"

If Faith heard the question, she apparently didn't care. Reaching for the young man's lapels, she hauled him roughly to his feet using her one good arm, the other being agonizingly out of commission for the time being, and shook him violently.

"You got three seconds to convince me not to gut you like a catfish," she snarled.

He regarded her with eyes that were fearful but contained little of their former lunacy. Nonetheless, his hold on sanity appeared to be tenuous and fleeting at best.

"Was it like this for you?" he asked despairingly. "No. No time. Over too fast. Not fast enough for the rest of us, though. It's not fair."

"Faith, maybe we should—" Tara ventured.

Faith's response was to slam the young man viciously into the brickwork. His skull made contact with a sickening thud, but he managed to maintain consciousness.

"I tell you what we should do," she spat viciously. "Try a little eye for an eye."

Pinning him to the wall, she painfully raised her injured arm. Gripped in her hand was the knife.

"Start talkin', or you get to be the world's first living voodoo doll."

The point of the blade tickled his cheek.

And suddenly, he was no longer afraid, no longer floundering in desperation. His eyes shone with the clarity of an unclouded mind, his expression tranquil and serene.

"Thank you," he told Faith, voice ringing with sincerity. "It's been ... hard. I brought them here but lost myself. Now I remember."

In a flash of movement, he drove his knee into Faith's stomach. Caught off guard, she loosened her hold somewhat and staggered backward. Taking full advantage, he squirmed out of the jacket like a slippery eel and effectuated his escape with breathtaking speed. She recovered quickly and tossing the discarded coat to one side, sprinted after his retreating figure.

"Faith, wait!" called Tara while she was still within earshot. "We need answers first!"

"Fine," Faith threw over her shoulder as she gave chase. "You get 'em your way, I'll get 'em mine."

Tara watched as Faith, intent on nothing but pursuit, became swallowed by the darkness.

A frown of frustration creased Tara's forehead.

"Slayers drive me nuts," she muttered before turning and taking off at a run back to Slayer Central.

Meanwhile, the makeshift research team had expanded their number to include Willow and Xander. There were plenty of books to go around, while Willow had claimed her usual spot behind her laptop. The rapid clicking on the keyboard was supplemented by the constant sound of pages turning.

Taking a moment to indulge in a long stretch, Xander snatched up his legal pad and held it overhead as he bent back over the chair. He swiped a hand across his face and sat upright again. "Okay, so to recap for the folks at home," he declared, "so far we've got squat."

Hannah gazed at him with disapproval from over the top of her volume. "Xander."

"Sorry," he quickly apologized. "We've got squat and a doodle."

"Doodle squat?" offered Buffy.

Dawn plucked the pad from Xander's hand and gave it a once-over of her own before reading aloud. "'Those branded with this curse'd mark, those who tread heavily on the path of shadow, shall know not peace nor rest, not with the breath of the living nor the screams of the dead'." With no small amount of disgust, she tossed the pad on the table. "We so need a modern library."

"Focus," Hannah said sharply. "We know that mark only appeared on Rupert recently, but I for one am not keen to see its long-term effects."

Dragging her finger down her laptop's touch pad, Willow muttered, "Hallucinations, touch of insanity ... Hello, Curse People, originality counts!" She shook her head and reached for the nearby book open to the page containing the teardrop symbol. "'The mark of justice, the touch of madness'."

Now that the words had been spoken aloud, they seemed to prompt a new thought in Willow, and she returned to her laptop just as Andrew entered. He gingerly set down the tray containing a fresh pot of coffee and enough mugs for everyone and took a step back. He waited expectantly. When no reaction was immediately forthcoming, he fiddled with the collar and sleeves of his turtleneck sweater and waited some more. Finally, he cleared his throat.

Hannah glanced up and gave him a brief smile before returning to her reading. "Thank you, Andrew."

It was apparently what he had wanted to hear. "You're very welcome, Mrs. Giles," he replied formally, then set about distributing and filling the mugs.

"I hate stuff that works like this," complained Buffy. "All brain-focused and sneaky. Give me something physical that I can sink my fists into."

"Ahh Buffy," Andrew mused, setting the steaming mug in front of her, "you are a Slayer true. Like a wild animal, relishing in the thrill of the hunt, the rush of the kill. Sugar?"

Buffy shook her head and frowned. "What? I don't— There's no relish."

But Andrew was on a roll. "The final thrust and twist of your weapon into the flesh of your outmatched opponent." He straightened, his expression turning to one of great distress. "Then you stand over him, triumphant and empty as he falls to the ground, his life's blood spilling from his ..."

His voice trailed off and his gaze flitted from one pair of wide, staring eyes to the next. "I've had a lot on my mind," he explained in rushed, sheepish tone. "I'm gonna go now."

True to his word, Andrew hurried from the room without a glance back. The assembled Scoobies could do little but continue to stare after him.

"There's no relish," Buffy insisted to the group at large, and nobody questioned her certainty. "But if something's tormenting Giles, I want it stopped. Sooner than now."

"Great idea," Dawn agreed. "Now all we need is some follow-through."

Further searching was delayed however by the appearance of Tara. She was panting more than a little, evidence that she had most likely run the entire way. "Scooby alert," she said between gasps for breath.

"Someone's gettin' a detention for tardiness," Xander admonished with a wagging finger. "Take a seat. It's a researching extravaganza and you're invited."

Tara was impressed. "Wow, you guys move fast. Faith called you?"

The exchanged, confused looks indicated otherwise.

"Faith hasn't called anyone," said Willow.

"We're researching something affecting Rupert," Hannah explained.

Taking the offered seat, Tara slipped into the chair with a frown. "I don't know anything about Mr. Giles, but Faith got attacked by a- a crazy person, and I think she needs help."

Xander couldn't restrain an exasperated sigh. "Oh, I see, it's one of those days."

"Where is she now?" Buffy asked.

"I don't know, she ran off after him," replied Tara. "But we were on Industrial, heading toward home."

The sound of chair legs scraping against the floor preceded Buffy getting to her feet. "I'll send out some Slayers," she declared, already heading for the door.

Willow reached out and stroked the back of Tara's hand. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Tara assured with a smile. "He didn't seem to even notice I was there. He just kept babbling, about 'no time' and how it wasn't fair and—"

She broke off when she spied a familiar marking in the book. "That symbol!" she said, gesturing to the illustration. "He had it!"

Hannah leapt immediately on this new piece of information. "Faith's attacker had this mark? You're sure?"

"Yes, absolutely. It was on the back of his neck," Tara answered, pointing to indicate its general location.

"That's great!" exclaimed Xander. "There's two! Two makes a 'them'! 'Them' means ..." He looked to the others to fill in the blank, but no blank-filling was forthcoming. His enthusiasm petered out. "It means we still don't have a clue, doesn't it?"

Willow's expression had regained its previous thoughtfulness. "Two," she said to herself. "I was thinking that it was specific to Giles, but if there's more than one ..."

As the laptop once more demanded Willow's attention, Hannah focused on Tara.

"You said he spoke to you. What do you remember? Anything might be helpful."

Tara's eyebrows knitted together as she tried to remember as many details as possible. "Uhm, I didn't catch a whole lot. He said ... He said it was over too fast, but not fast enough. That Faith had helped him remember something, and ... and that he brought them here."

"There's that 'them' again," Xander pointed out.

"He brought 'them'," repeated Dawn. "A summoning maybe?"

"Can you remember anything else?" Hannah urgently prompted Tara. "What did he look like?"

"A little crazy, actually," said Tara. "Young guy, about our age. White hair – super white, not just bleached," she clarified, "but like pure white."

That detail seemed to trigger a memory in Hannah. She tilted her head to one side, obviously thinking hard, and fell silent.

Buffy reentered the library just as determined as she left it. "The cavalry's on its way," she announced. "What've we got on the Giles front?"

"I think I found something!" Willow exclaimed.

"Oh. Good timing, Will," complimented Buffy as she reclaimed her seat.

"I found a few instances of the symbol popping up. It looks like it's connected with cases of murder and insanity – no real surprises there. People claming voices and visions drove them to it."

Tara leaned to the side so she could get a peek at the laptop screen. "How were they cured?"

"That bit's still a little fuzzy," Willow admitted, returning to her typing. "Just a sec."

Frustrated, Dawn pulled another stack of books toward her. "There's gotta be more on this stupid mark somewhere," she insisted. "Mystic bad symbols don't just pop up out of nowhere without mystic bad things attached the them."

Hannah's mind was still taken with her most recent mystery. "Tara, the young man. Did you get his name?"

"No, he never said."

"I can't be sure without seeing him," Hannah said slowly, "but ... I think I may know him."

"It's a small world after all?" Xander joked without any real humor.

The comment went ignored. "About eighteen months ago, when I was still operating as a bounty hunter, a young man matching the description you gave attempted to contract me. He wanted me to bring him Faith the Vampire Slayer."

"You couldn't do it?" Dawn asked.

Hannah shrugged. "I never tried."

"I don't blame you," commiserated Tara. "Taking on a Slayer? Scary stuff."

"Oh, it wasn't the job, he simply couldn't afford me," Hannah clarified in a matter-of-fact tone. While that detail sunk in, she continued, "The young man was livid. He swore he'd stop at nothing to bring Faith to justice. I believed him."

Blinking rapidly, Buffy sat back in her chair. "Wow. I mean, I've had my mad-on for Faith before, but I like to think I at least had a reason."

"I'm sure he felt the same," Hannah said. "Apparently, Faith killed his father."

For a moment, it seemed as though nobody dared to speak, until Buffy broke the deadlock.

"What was his name?" she asked suspiciously.

Hannah frowned once more and looked aggravated with herself. "I've been trying to remember. I believe ..." Suddenly she snapped her fingers. "Finch. That was it. Allan Finch Jr."

Buffy especially seemed to take the name with some shock, but there was little time to dwell.

"Guys?" Willow tentatively interrupted. "I hate to break up this bad news with yet more bad news, but the people with the symbol?" She glanced around the room with a worried expression. "Not so much cured as ... as committed suicide."

Almost immediately, Xander shot his hand in the air. "Okay, all in favor of finding something better?"

Willow's hand joined his, and a chorus of enthusiastic nods provided the answer when Dawn jumped in.

"Erinyes! The symbol! It's the Erinyes!" She repeatedly jabbed the open page in front of her and began reading. "'Without mercy, the Erinyes punish those they find guilty, driving them to madness and death in the name of vengeance. Those stricken with their mark are to be pitied for their remaining days, for no crime is surely worth the terrible wrath of the Erinyes'."

"Finch must've summoned them," concluded Tara. She nodded to Hannah. "When you turned him down, he must've been so desperate ..."

"You guys keep on this," ordered Buffy, getting to her feet once more. "Find me a way to send these yes-things back where they came from. I'm going to find Giles and make sure he—"

But much to Buffy's surprise, Hannah was already halfway out of the library.

"I'll go. You stay here. Call me the moment you learn anything."

And then she was gone. Buffy took a deep breath and returned to her place at the table. "Okay then. Let's get on this. I want these things stopped. Now."

The Scoobies attacked the research with renewed vigor.

"It's not like there's a whole lot of choice here," said Buffy. "If it's them or Giles ..."

"Nobody's arguin', Buff," Xander stated, sparing her a quick glance before returning to his reading.

That included Tara. "We all agree, we have to help Faith and Mr. Giles."

"And fast," added Dawn. "We can't let Giles ki—" It was as if even saying the words would somehow lend them truth and power, and Dawn hastily corrected, "—hurt himself."

"We won't," Tara assured with an encouraging smile. "We'll find the answers first."

It was an affirmation, and everyone returned to their respective research. Everyone except Willow. Unnoticed, she continued to stare at Xander as hard as she could, willing him with her eyes to look at her. It wasn't long before he did, and the moment their gazes locked, Willow's expression asked the unspoken question.

The conflict was instantaneous, and a battle of emotions played out on Xander's face as Willow watched. It was a long moment of heavy deliberation, but finally Xander had his answer. He couldn't completely sell it, not seeming to be one hundred-percent convinced of his decision, but he was convinced enough. He shook his head.

Willow looked somewhat frustrated, perhaps even a little disappointed, but she nodded her agreement and, without further protest, returned to her computer. Xander watched her for a moment longer, then followed suit with his book.

Finch dashed through the streets, feet pounding the pavement as he ran. An air of wildness lingered but he seemed more in control than before. Indeed, the fine line between sanity and insanity upon which he now teetered appeared to provide him with a sharper edge. He moved with a determined stride – a devoted individual who had just rediscovered his true purpose. He kept a keen lookout on his surroundings, although he focused primarily on covering ground.

Faith tracked her prey with the skill and cunning of a panther. She leapt lightly from rooftop to rooftop in an almost casual manner, never allowing Finch too much leeway to disappear from sight. Eventually, he arrived at his hotel. All the rooms were accessible from outside, so Finch had no reason to enter the lobby. Crouching atop a building located directly across the street, Faith watched him pull out his key to check the room number before hurrying inside.

Without a second thought and with the same ease a normal person would employ when stepping down from a curb, Faith walked to the edge and dropped eight stories to the concrete below. She landed with a nimble hop and sprinted toward the hotel. Her stride was smooth and unfaltering as she made her way to Finch's room, kicking open the door with a well-aimed boot.

Shocked and surprised, Finch visibly started as she entered. His eyes scoured the area for a means of escape, but there was none to be found – except through Faith and that route was obviously not an option.

"I believe I asked you a question," she stated, closing in threateningly.

Seizing him by the throat, she thrust him forcefully against the wall. His fingers scrabbled at the chokehold.

"Looks like I dropped my knife somewhere," she said, paying no mind to his vain efforts to secure freedom. "But that's okay. I'll improvise."

Reaching out toward the radio on a nearby nightstand, she wrenched the antenna free with one hand.

"Not as sharp," she said, inspecting the makeshift weapon. "Make a hell of a mess, but hey – that's what room service is for."

Desperately, Finch's eyes darted toward the sink area. A female figure – the Erinyes – was perched cross-legged on the counter, watching the action with a great deal of interest.

"She's here!" he gasped. "Now! Now's our chance!"

With a frown, Faith followed his gaze. "Who the hell're you talkin' to?"

But the Erinyes simply smiled at Finch, making no move to offer assistance or come to his aid.

"The ladies!" explained Finch, breathless as Faith shook him violently. "The Goodly Ones. One. Only one. And me. I called them. They were supposed to ... to hunt you. Make you crazy. Make you pay." He laughed. It wasn't an entirely rational sound. "I think I messed up."

Faith's hand slid to his chin as she forced him to look her in the eye.

"Why?" she snapped. "I never seen you before you snuck up and tried to shove a knife in my chest."

But the young man had entered the realm of full-blown hysteria. Tears streamed down his cheeks and he simply couldn't stop laughing. Faith's fury was fast approaching boiling point.

"Why?"

His merriment came to an abrupt end. "You killed my father!" He seethed, taking in one wheezing breath after another, but the outburst seemed to leave him drained. All he could manage now was a tiny shrug. "It seemed the least I could do."

A puzzled crease invaded Faith's forehead. Try as she might, she simply couldn't remember what he claimed. "I didn't—"

But Finch was persistent. "You killed him, 'Slayer'. He bled to death in that alley like a dog while you ascended. Took his place at the Mayor's side like you belonged there. Like you earned it." His mouth twisted as his voice climbed an octave. "It was his place!"

Bewildered, Faith shook her head. But then, a memory began to slowly surface. Her eyes widened and then grew narrow.

"I was thirteen when you took my father away from me," Finch said, his voice shrill, "but it was old enough."

Backing away, Faith relinquished her hold.

Finch ruefully massaged his throat. "I watched you in the hospital, and then prison. I thought that maybe, finally, there'd be justice for my dad and I could rest." The bubbling laughter threatened to erupt once more. "But then you escaped! And it's like everyone just forgot you existed! Like my father's killer wasn't worth punishing any more." His hands clenched into tight fists.

Faith opened her mouth. It was painfully obvious that she wanted to say something and it was just as painfully obvious that she had no idea what that something might be. Eventually, the words began to form.

"I ... I know there's nothing I can say," she faltered, "but believe me, I'd give anything – anything – to change what happened. I'm sorry."

Finch stalked forward, looking to take every advantage of the situation. "You can't change it," he agreed, "but you can make it better."

Lunging, he produced another long-bladed knife, seemingly from thin air, and jabbed the sharp point into the hollow of Faith's throat.

"You can die," he snarled.

Faith's arms didn't instinctively raise in self-defense, nor did she launch into an attack. She didn't do anything but stand there, staring at her accuser while the guilt washed over her in waves.

On the counter in the bathroom, unseen by Faith, the Erinyes clapped her hands excitedly. She bounced up and down, thoroughly delighted with the current state of affairs and barely able to maintain any sense of decorum.

Cursing, Hannah fumbled with the key that opened the door to Giles' loft. She cursed again, stumbling across the entrance as the lock finally yielded. Quickly recovering, her keen eyes scanned the room, soon finding the object of her search.

Giles was standing by the window and Hannah's instant reaction of relief swiftly turned to concern when she noticed blood trickling down his arm. On the windowsill lay the shattered remnants of the glass tumbler. The jagged shards also glistened crimson.

"Ziggy!" breathed Hannah, rushing to Giles' side to check on his injuries. He allowed her to examine him without protest, hardly seeming aware of her presence as his gaze remained fixed on a point outside, somewhere beyond the window.

"What've you done, you stupid man?" asked Hannah, tone harsh in her anxiety.

But the wounds weren't fresh and didn't seep as much blood as Hannah had first feared, nor were they as deep. Content that Giles was in no danger of bleeding to death, Hannah tossed him a worried look and then hurried to the bathroom. Giles' seemed as unaware of her sudden absence as he had been at her sudden arrival.

There was the sound of running water before Hannah reemerged with a washcloth and first-aid kit. She maintained her silence as she set to work tending to Giles' cuts, her fingers moving smoothly and efficiently. Eventually, she glanced at Giles' tense expression.

"You're under the effect of a spell. A curse," she told him.

"Yes," Giles acknowledged distantly.

"Whatever you're seeing or hearing—" she began.

"I'm not," said Giles adamantly. "I've blocked her. I told her I would."

He gestured vaguely at the low coffee table bearing the remnants of spell ingredients – herbs and powders liberally sprinkled with droplets of rich blood. Hannah looked from the table to Giles. A relieved puff escaped her lips to realize that such had been the reason for Giles' injuries – self-inflicted, yes, but not for the reasons she'd feared.

Giles frowned and stared at his reflection in the window. "Only it's not working quite as well as I'd hoped. I can still feel her." He massaged his forehead. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised."

Hannah laid a comforting hand on Giles' shoulder. "Someone summoned these creatures against Faith. The Erinyes."

He instantly caught the significance. "Ahh. The Madnesses. Yes." He nodded his understanding. "That would make sense. Though I only saw one? Got bored, I expect." He chuckled sardonically. "There's more than enough guilt to go around."

"Willow and the others are looking for a way to banish them," she said with a small smile of encouragement.

Giles continued to gaze out of the window. "If only it were so easy."

Hannah moved to stand between Giles and his reflection. "Rupert ... who have you been seeing?" she asked. "Who's haunting you?"

He regarded her sadly, eyes shining.

"Justine," he whispered "She thought I didn't know her name." He gave a rueful smile. "She was wrong."

But the name meant nothing to Hannah. Shuffling beyond her reach, Giles rested his brow against the cool windowpane. "You can't understand."

"Try me" she challenged.

"I tortured her," muttered Giles, voice barely audible. "I've been where she was. I know the pain. The terror. None of that mattered."

Hannah's eyes opened wide. "The Super Slayer," she said with conviction. Giles didn't reply but his expression clearly indicated that Hannah was correct. She lost no time in springing to his defense.

"Rupert, you did what was necessary to save lives," she insisted. "We had to know what we were facing, we couldn't go in there blind." She squeezed his limp hand. "And you didn't do it alone. If you're so bound and determined to damn yourself, then damn me too." The clip of her chin was decisive.

"It's not the same," sighed Giles wearily.

"It is the same," Hannah firmly maintained. "I hurt her and you hurt her. We're no different in this." Giles seemed to visibly shrink at her words and he withdrew his hand from her grasp. Hannah had apparently been hoping for a more positive effect. Still, she persisted. "The girl – Justine ... She's getting the best care possible. I'll call Robin, have him contact her doctors—"

Turning sharply, she took a step toward the telephone on the desk, but Giles grabbed her wrist, restraining her from going further. Puzzled, she glanced over her shoulder to see Giles sorrowfully shaking his head.

"There are no doctors," he said flatly. "There never were." He met Hannah's expression of confusion without flinching. "She's dead, Hannah. I killed her."

"What?" The word came out like a harsh whisper.

With a deep breath, Giles started to explain. "After I got the information we needed I administered basic care, but there must've been internal damage I didn't detect. Things happened so quickly after that ..." He released Hannah's hand and leaned against the cool window. "By my estimation, she must've died some time during our battle against Robespierre's Slayers. When Robin returned to headquarters, I told him where she was, but ... but it was already too late."

Hannah processed this news with a collected calm. "But you told me she was in England," she said slowly. "That you'd arranged 24-hour hospital care."

Mournfully, Giles negated the statement with a shake of his head. "Robin took her back to England and buried her there. An unmarked grave. A fourteen-year old girl in an unmarked grave," he wondered aloud. "Is there anything more pitiful?"

"Why didn't you tell me?" asked Hannah, moving closer.

"You shouldn't have to suffer."

"But you should? It was an accident. A terrible accident, but an accident all the same." She continued to move toward Giles until they were only inches apart. "You saved lives that day. How many allies would we have lost without that information? How many innocents would have died if we failed?"

"The ends justify the means," Giles interpreted, scrubbing viciously at the nape of his neck.

"Yes," Hannah replied emphatically. "I think they do."

Giles accepted this with a subdued nod.

"That's also been my philosophy." He gave a tiny shrug. "I've had quite a while to think on it. Justine— The Erinyes," he corrected. "She said things that weren't entirely false. What I did to her exposed a side of me that no one should ever have to see. It's terrifying ... but I've been trying to embrace it. I've felt I must." He turned away so that his back was to the window and his gaze traveled to the ceiling. "That some day, the time will come when it's someone I love sitting before me as she did, and a choice will have to be made." Mournfully, he turned to face Hannah. "I'm afraid I won't be strong enough."

"Ziggy," murmured Hannah. "Oh, Ziggy ..." She shook her head as an incongruous smile invaded her lips. "You're really quite stupid, you know that, don't you?"

Giles managed a small frown, this obviously not being the reaction he was expecting.

"You can't save the world by refusing to live in it." He tried to look away but she held his chin and refused to let go. "Detaching yourself from everything and everyone you care about ... God, who'd want to save a world like that? Might you someday be faced with having to destroy Xander, or Willow, or – heaven forbid – even Buffy? I hope with every fiber of my being that the answer is no. But if you do, then it will be your love that will see you through."

Giles' expression softened, almost crumpled in on itself, his desire to believe was so strong.

"Love saves the world, Ziggy," she insisted. "Apathetic detachment never saved a damned thing."

Without waiting for him to debate or ague again, Hannah gathered Giles in a tight embrace. His body instantly became rigid, almost painfully so, but Hannah refused to let go. For a long moment, they remained that way until, finally, Giles surrendered. He wrapped his arms around Hannah, willingly accepting the comfort she was trying to hard to give.

The Scoobies had relocated to the Sanctum, where they were engaging in an entirely new level of frantic activity. Buffy, Xander and Dawn were, on Willow and Tara's instructions, preparing the area for a spell. Buffy and Dawn were busily mixing ingredients together while Xander was placing candles to exacting specifications.

At the far table, Willow and Tara were reviewing a printout containing spell instructions. The page was covered in notations and modifications, all in Willow's handwriting.

"This says to use ground praxis," Tara noted, pointing to one section of the paper, "but won't that conflict with the—"

"We'll replace it with burdock root," responded Willow, hastily making the correction.

Tara considered the proposed change for a moment, then nodded approvingly. "That's my girl," she praised, and Willow couldn't entirely suppress a happy little bounce.

Glancing over her shoulder, Tara called out, "Add some burdock root, Dawnie."

Dawn went to tall bookcase currently serving as a spice rack on steroids. "Burdock, burdock," she muttered to herself as she scanned the vials.

"Second shelf from the bottom," said Tara. "It's a kind of greenish-brownish—"

"Got it!"

Dawn returned to the mixture-in-progress as Buffy joined the two witches. "So this'll send the Yes Men running?"

"Not running so much as strolling," Tara corrected. "It'll break the connection they have to the guy who summoned them. They won't disappear immediately, but they'll begin to fade. They should be completely poofed before too long."

Buffy nodded approvingly. "Sounds good. I'll be glad to see the back of this one. More emotional turmoil we do not need."

Willow looked up as Dawn and Xander approached, their respective tasks now complete. She took one final glance at the sheet of paper, then turned to the others. "We're ready."

"Time to get our vengeance off," announced Xander as he smacked a first into the palm of his other hand.

Rather than fan the flames of morale, however, Xander discovered himself to be under close inspection by his friends. He stuffed his hands into his pockets.

"Fine, next time you guys come up with the snappy 'going into battle' dialogue," he grumbled.

"An eye for an eye," Finch sneered, the knife never wavering. "That's what you said."

Faith remained impassive. "Think that'll make it all better? Cutting my throat? Watchin' me bleed to death on this nice clean carpet?"

"Yes!"

The Slayer's expression didn't change. "So get to it."

It seemed almost as though he was simply awaiting her permission. With the delighted giggling and applause from the Erinyes to cheer him on, Finch did exactly that. In one swift motion, he slashed the sharp blade across Faith's exposed throat.

At least, that was what he tried to do.

In reality, the moment he began to move, Faith had locked her hand around his wrist in an unbreakable grip. There was absolutely no way he could attack her now if he tried – and there was no doubt he was trying with all his might.

Delight for the Erinyes quickly turned to disappointment.

"See, that was the part where you were supposed t' have your big moral conflict an' decide killin' ain't the way to go," Faith explained patiently. She shook her head. "You were doin' so well, too. Zero points for the dismount, Junior."

She increased the pressure on his wrist. Finch's mouth opened in a soundless cry and the knife fell from his numb fingers. Faith caught it easily.

There was pain in Finch's eyes, but not enough to cloud the loathing. He stared at her, as though his gaze along would be enough to kill her where she stood.

Faith didn't blink. "You hate me. That's okay. You can go right on hatin' me 'til the day you die – not that you need my permission. But here's the thing."

In one smooth motion, Faith twisted Finch's arm around, forcing him to his knees. Faith went right along with him, until they were both on their knees.

From her perch, the Erinyes became distracted. She frowned and began to look around her, but could see nothing out of the ordinary.

"I'm sorry," Faith repeated sincerely. "You'll never believe how sorry I am. And see," she punctuated her statement by jabbing in the air with her finger, "that's where I start to lose it. I'm just sick an' tired of carryin' around all this guilt, waitin' for somebody else to make it okay to let go. Nobody ever will. So it's down to me."

Almost disgustedly, she tossed Finch's arm to one side and rose to her feet. Immediately, he turned to the Erinyes.

"Help me!" he commanded.

But the creature had other concerns. Her eyes were narrowed in deep thought, and if she heard him at all, she was ignoring him completely.

"Help me destroy her!"

With dawning realization, the Erinyes seemed to pinpoint what wasn't exactly right. Rather than be upset or angry, however, she simply rolled her eyes. With a great sigh, she crossed her legs and straightened her clothing in an attempt to look as dignified as a banishing could possibly allow.

"Where are you going?" Finch cried as she began to fade away. "You have to make it right!"

"Sorry, honey," she said as a cursory apology. "You're on your own."

Finch could only watch with widening eyes as the creature continued to vanish. "Wait!" His desperation was palpable and it sounded more like a plea than a order. "Don't go!"

The Erinyes managed a final shrug before disappearing completely. Finch's mouth opened and closed in silence before he looked up to Faith – only Faith, too, had gone.

Kneeling there on the ground, Finch could only look around his empty hotel room and cradle his injured arm close. "What am I supposed to do?" he asked no one.

No one had an answer to give.

In the wake of a spell well done, the Sanctum had turned from one of hectic preparation to lackadaisical tidying.

Buffy had taken a few steps away from the others while she spoke into her cell phone, but upon hanging up she returned. "They found Faith," she said. "She's okay."

Tara also had information to impart. "I spoke to Hannah. Mr. Giles is okay too."

Xander sniffed the air contentedly. "Are those the makings of a fine victory celebration I smell?"

"The things should be gone now, right? Not coming back any time soon?"

Willow nodded to Buffy. "If they're not gone yet, they'd better wrap it up fast. We won't be seein' 'em again for a nice long time."

"Not that we saw them anyway," Dawn pointed out. That earned her a gesture of agreement from Willow, and the group filed out of the Sanctum.

As they proceeded down the hall, Tara caught Willow's eye. "That was a good spell," she said proudly. "You improvised really well."

"Gotta agree," Xander said with a nod, coming up to stand at Willow's other shoulder. "Nothin' like good, ol' fashioned research to save the day, huh Will?"

He smiled as Willow turned toward him. She smiled back.

"There's just one thing I don't get," Dawn wondered aloud. "Giles said the Erinyes arrived with Finch, but then split up, right?" She looked to Tara for confirmation. "One stayed with him and one went to Giles."

"That's how Hannah explained it."

"But according to the research ... aren't there three of them?"

The group stopped short.

"So where's the third?" asked Dawn.

From a nearby room, a stressed and upset voice filtered into the hallway.

"You think I wanted to do it?" Andrew pleaded for some sign of understanding. "I didn't! He tricked me! Made me use you, and then—"

Without a moment's further hesitation, the Scoobies burst into the room. Andrew jumped nearly a foot, and the cards in his hands went absolutely everywhere as Xander grabbed him in a headlock.

"Check his neck! Check his neck!"

"Watch my neck! Watch my neck!"

As Andrew squirmed, Dawn yanked down the collar of his turtleneck to reveal—

"Nothing." Dawn straightened so that everyone could get a good look. "There's nothing there."

"Just a new pain for my chiropractor!" Andrew snapped.

Reluctantly, Xander let his captive go, and Andrew set about looking very indignant indeed.

"Who were you talking to?" Xander asked suspiciously.

Andrew turned to the table and sifted through the cards there until he found what he was looking for. With an awe verging dangerously on worshipful, Andrew held it out for the others to see. As one they peered closer. It was a Pokemon card of "Mew".

"I lost her in a fierce battle against a cunning and deceitful opponent at my CCG club," he explained. "I convinced him to give me some time to say goodbye, for tonight she will—"

"So ... no voices?" interrupted Dawn. "You haven't been feeling guilty about anything?"

He gave the matter all due thought. "Well I have been feeling a little bad about changing the creamer to a generic brand, but I think you'll find that over time, the savings will really add up."

Tara couldn't help but steal a brief glance at the ceiling. "I don't think it's him."

"What's me?"

"There's these ... things," Xander summed up with a wave of his hand. "They've been going around, punishing people for past crimes. Fun stuff."

Andrew's switch flipped back to indignant, and he crossed his arms huffily. "Oh, so naturally you assume I should be punished? I'm not the only one around here guilty of unforgivable deeds, you know."

He narrowed a pointed glare at Willow, which the others followed. As for Willow, she immediately became flustered under the attention.

"It's not me!" she insisted, turning around and lifting her hair out of the way to provide a clear view of skin that was definitely symbol-free.

"Well, I guess ..." Tara began thoughtfully, " I guess it could be someone else."

Buffy shrugged. "It's a big town. I'm sure there's guilt a'plenty to share."

"It's not like everything always has to be about us, right?" added Dawn.

Willow mostly seemed glad that nobody thought it was her, but was keen to toss in two cents. "With the summoning broken, it'll be gone soon anyway."

Clapping his hands together, Xander rubbed them vigorously. "Then I reassert our previous claim of victory and suggest moving swiftly to the celebration phase."

Andrew's eyes lit up, all previous pretense of being insulted forgotten. "Ooh, can I come? I'm hoping that maybe if I keep avoiding that guy, I can keep her."

Lovingly, he stroked his fingers up and down the image of Mew.

Xander suppressed a shudder. "Only if you don't do that ever, ever again."

"Okay," Andrew happily agreed, quickly producing a thin, hard plastic sleeve for the card and depositing it safely within.

As the group made its way out of the room, Buffy lingered behind. "You guys go ahead," she said. "I'm still all sorts of wired – all that adrenaline and nothing to punch. I'll catch up."

With assurances that she'd be along shortly, Buffy went in the opposite direction, heading toward the private training room. Upon reaching it, she entered and gently closed the door behind her. She began to hop in place and go through a few stretches to limber up. That sufficiently done, she fished in her pocket and pulled out a hair tie. In a well-practiced motion, she pulled her hair back into a quick ponytail, exposing the triple-teardrop mark on the back of her neck.

She turned toward the punching bag, and gave no notice to the female vampire reclining casually against the wall nearby.

"Not in the mood to party?" asked Rachel. "Not that I blame you. You've got a lot on your mind."

Every ounce of Buffy's attention was focused on her attack of the bag. One fist after another was driven home, until the Slayer's arms were a blurred motion.

"All those deaths, all those possible heroes – wasted." Rachel shook her head in pity. "I don't envy you. It's a tough spot. On the one hand—" She held out her right hand and tilted her head toward it. "—vampires are evil. If you don't do something, then people die. That's just no good. But on the other hand—" She extended her left hand and her head rolled to the other side. "—maybe, just maybe, there's a chance that vampires can become the good guys. With a little help from their friends." Her hands dropped to her sides and she watched Buffy closely. "You've been told from Day One that a vampire is an irredeemably evil thing. Only you know that's not quite true, don't you?"

Buffy continued to pummel the punching bag without reply.

"Buffy Summers. Judge, jury ... executioner."

As the inevitable fading began to affect Rachel, she stretched luxuriously.

"Time for me to go. But you think about what I said, hm?"

The vampire waggled her fingers in goodbye, but Buffy never saw it.