The credits rolled on the television screen as Dawn reached over to the lamp next to the couch, flipping it on and bathing the room in a soft light. Her friends all stretched out the kinks from their various positions around the room, some snuggling pillows and all dressed in their PJs for the night. Dawn's eyes darted from person to person anxiously, checking to see if anyone was exhibiting signs of having less than a fantastic time.

"That movie rocks," commented Meghan, rolling on to her back and staring at the ceiling.

"Orlando Bloom," Virginia sighed.

The room fell still, each girl wallowing for a moment in silent agreement for the implied yumminess of Orlando Bloom.

Finally Brenda spoke, snapping everyone out of her own private little fantasy world. "So I got this new 'Persuasion' eye shadow, you guys wanna try it out?"

"Kennedy can never hear of this," grinned Dawn.

Jackie started rising to her feet. "More Coke for me, I think," she groaned, stifling a yawn.

Seeing the action, Dawn was instantly there, seizing the plastic cup. "I can get that! Anybody else want anything?"

At their negative, Dawn headed into the kitchen, the grin plastered on her face faltering as soon as she was safely alone. Pulling the bottle of Coke out of the refrigerator, she began talking to herself, softly and reassuringly.

"See? These are just your friends. They're all having a great time. No need to be so nervous. It's not like your entire fragile social life rests on tonight going well. Not like you don't have people lined up outside the door waiting to be your friend." Dawn closed her eyes and put the bottle back on the countertop. "Oh god, why couldn't the monks have given me natural popularity?" she sighed. Recapping the bottle securely and placing it back in the fridge, Dawn took a deep breath, picked up the now-full cup, grabbed a fresh bowl of chips and walked back into the living room.

"Here you—" she started cheerfully, the words trailing off as entered the room.

Her friends were now gathered at the side of the room near the chest that Andrew had brought over earlier that evening. It was wide open, its contents spread around the room. Brenda was sitting with the stack of books next to her, nose buried in one of the volumes. Half of Virginia's body had disappeared as she was rummaging around in the chest, and Meghan and Jackie were both peering with interest at the ouija board on the carpet between them.

"What are you guys doing?" Dawn asked, her voice rising slightly in panic.

Virginia's head jerked out of the chest and she regarded Dawn with guilt. "We were— Meghan saw— It was just—"

Meghan leapt to her spastic friend's defense. "I saw the chest against the wall and thought it was pulchritudinous, so I checked it out," she explained.

"Poke-ri-what?"

"Pulchritudinous," Meghan told Jackie. "Pretty. It's actually a word you can technically only use for people, but I've been trying for ten days now to work it into a sentence, so ..." She shrugged.

Not paying attention to the exchange, Dawn's eyes darted from the chest to the stuff on the floor and back again. She began to twist her hands together nervously. "Guys, I don't think we should be—"

Glancing up from her reading, Brenda looked at Dawn. "When I realized these weren't written by anyone in your family, I went ahead and started reading. I hope that's okay?" Dawn sort of moved her head back and forth in a gesture that was neither 'yes' nor 'no', so Brenda decided to take it as a 'yes'. She held one of the volumes, showing it to the others. "They're interesting; it looks like all this stuff belonged to 'Ashley Buchanan'. Did you know her?"

Dawn shook her head, chewing on her bottom lip. "No, this is some stuff that Giles bought the other day, but I don't think—"

Jackie interrupted, lifting the board. "What is this? Is this one of those witchboard things?" the redhead asked. "No offense," she added to Dawn.

Dawn opened her mouth to say something, but Meghan answered first. "'Ouija board'," she corrected. "And yeah, I think so. I've never seen one quite like this before, though. Do you know anything about it, Dawn?"

Stepping forward, Dawn took the board out of Jackie's hands, finally finding her voice. "Only that we shouldn't be playing with this stuff," she said firmly, gesturing to the contents of the chest. "This is Giles stuff. Giles stuff is high on the 'Not To Be Played With' list. Buffy always said—"

"Is there anything we can do?" snapped an exasperated Jackie. "Geez Summers, your sister's halfway around the world or something and you're still living under her shadow."

Dawn flinched and looked stricken, but Jackie pressed on.

"She's not here. Willow, Xander and Giles aren't here. It's just us and you, Summers. For once in your life, stop trying to be what others have made you and just have fun."

Considering this, Dawn glanced at each of her friends, then at the board in her hand. Her face broke into a small smile and she nodded, handing the board back to Jackie and sitting on the floor next to them.

Four bodies sitting around the folding table in the middle of the supply closet didn't do much for making the place feel roomier. Regardless, Xander was upbeat and happy as he clenched half a breadstick between his teeth like a cigar. Radiating equal enthusiasm, Andrew sat next to Xander, peeking out from beneath the visor he wore with a grim and stony expression that seemed entirely out of place on him. By contrast, Wood and Giles were the picture of normality, even down to Giles' air of ultimate indulgence.

Extending a hand, Andrew prepared to drop three blue chips in the pile but hesitated at the last moment. "How much are the blue chips again?" he queried.

"Ten dollars," Wood replied, not looking up from his cards.

The blond considered this. "And the white?"

"One dollar."

Andrew slowly withdrew his hand, gently returning the blue chips back to his stash and picking up three white ones instead. "I raise three dollars," he proclaimed grandly.

Almost as an off-hand gesture, Andrew tossed the chips into the pile in the center of the table, where they skimmed off the top and directly into the neat and orderly stacks Giles had arranged in front of him. Giles' towers of plastic money collapsed, and he scrambled to reclaim it, but not before shooting a glare of pure irritation at Andrew, who withered under its intensity.

Neither Wood nor Xander acknowledged the destruction, the former content to remain impassively focused on his cards while Xander removed his breadstick with two fingers, almost pretending to puff on it.

"This is the life," Xander sighed contentedly, moving the "cigar" back to his mouth.

Andrew watched the movement with appreciation. "You look like Largo from Thunderball," he commented.

"All I need now are some killer sharks," replied Xander as he rearranged his hand.

Tilting his head to one side, Andrew looked contemplative. "Didn't you think that Timothy Dalton got the short end of the stick? From the first time you see him on that mountain in The Living Daylights, he is James Bond and when—"

Xander jabbed his breadstick at Andrew. "You're insane. Pierce Brosnan is Bond, bottom line."

With a long-suffering sigh, Giles rolled his eyes at the conversation. "You're both unspeakably stupid. Sean Connery, and that should be the end of the discussion."

Andrew and Xander both turned to Wood expectantly. "Uh-uh, I'm stayin' outta this," he remarked with a shake of his head.

Letting it drop, Xander admitted to Andrew, "Still though, you got a point. Some days the patch makes me feel very Nick Fury." He chomped down on the breadstick to complete the look.

Andrew gasped in delight at this new concept. "We can be your Howlin' Commandos!" he exclaimed.

"Absolutely." Xander gestured to Wood, "You can be Gabriel Jones ..."

Wood's eyes remained focused on his cards. "He was the token black guy, wasn't he?"

Xander cleared his throat but didn't confirm, instead moving to Giles. "You're Percival Pinkerton ..."

"I most certainly am not," the Watcher responded immediately, also without looking away from his cards.

Andrew beamed and waited patiently as Xander turned to him.

"And you're Dum Dum."

For a moment Andrew's expression was one of great joy, then the words began to take on another meaning and his face fell. "Hey!"

Giles appeared to be trying very hard to pay no attention whatsoever to the other half of the table, only acknowledging Wood. "Remind me again why we agreed to this?" he asked plaintively.

"You said it had something to do with Xander's relentless nagging, along with a desire to take him for every cent and, quote, 'put an end to this pointless display of chauvinistic, elitist male behavior once and for all.' Unquote."

"Ahh yes," Giles nodded, remembering. "I believe I also wanted to purchase some new compact discs, and Xander's money should do well to supplement my disposable income."

Xander remained unimpressed. "Brave words, 'Pinky'," he smirked confidently. "Let's see what'cha got. I call."

The four men spread their cards face up on the table. Giles was the clear victor with a full house, and he quickly set about adding his new winnings to the neat and tidy piles in front of him.

"Well sure," Xander finally spat indignantly, "when you play it that way, of course you're gonna win. And what do you mean 'chauvinistic elitist male behavior'?" he accused. "You belonged to a group that was the very definition of elitist males. Do you feel no sense of solidarity, man?"

Wood shook his head and sighed slightly to himself as he dealt the next hand.

In an extremely patient voice, Giles explained, "Xander, I have devoted my life to training 15-year old girls who could easily squash my head like a grape. Even if I had any such tendencies, my sense of self-preservation would have very quickly compelled me to push them aside."

"Wood, help me out here," compelled Xander.

"See above, re: 'stayin' outta this'," Wood replied, still dealing.

Xander gathered his cards together, huffing slightly. "You just don't want word getting' back to Faith."

"And knowing what you know of Faith, does this surprise you?"

Xander's slight huffing turned into a full-blown pout. "You're ruining my manly man poker night," he whined.

Intently focused on his cards, Andrew drawled, "'Hate don't belong in a card game, but old man, I'm gonna take every grain of gold you have in front of you.'"

The others stared at him, and his eyes darted from one to the next. With an embarrassed grin, he picked up a few white chips and carefully placed them in the center of the table.

"I bet three dollars."

Willow's mouth was stuck in a loop. It opened and closed of its own accord, seemingly heedless to the fact that her brain could supply no words. Her attention was riveted to the box sitting in the center of the table and she regarded it with something akin to terror. All of this went unnoticed by Kennedy, as the Slayer had been unable to make eye contact since she decided to follow through with her plan.

"I want you to have this," Kennedy stated, her tone strong despite her inability to focus on anything but the chair across the room.

"What—" began Willow, her voice cracking under the stress. She swallowed and tried again. "What is it?"

Kennedy didn't answer, instead pushing the box even further toward to the redhead, who appeared close to bolting like a frightened bunny. She managed to remain seated, however, and reached for it with a trembling hand. Kennedy fidgeted impatiently, but her gaze never faltered from its focal point.

Flinching as though it might explode in her face, Willow cracked open the box, one eye clenched tightly shut. When she spied the contents she relaxed, opening it all the way to reveal a stone – a shiny, silver stone. A wave of relief washed over Willow, leaving only puzzlement as she regarded the stone curiously.

"Kenn...?"

"It's a butterfly tear!" Kennedy blurted out, then immediately cursed herself for doing so. Willow said nothing, simply shaking her head in confusion. The Slayer inhaled deeply, steeling herself before finally lifting her head and looking at Willow.

"When I was little, before Mac was born, my brother and me used to play around in this big field by our house – the summer house. I think some construction company or something must've owned the lot, cuz there was this huge pile of gravel off to one side. It was spring, and there were butterflies all over the place, and I got it in my head that I was gonna catch one."

Kennedy smiled fondly at the memory as she recalled the scene in her mind's eye, toying absently with the drink straw. "It was beautiful, with these bright blue wings like the sky at night, just before the sun completely goes down. I couldn't get it, though, it kept flying away. Finally, it landed part way up the gravel, so I scrambled after it." She smirked ruefully, "This was way before Slayer balance, though, and I fell, skinning the hell outta my hands and knees on the way down. When I finally hit the bottom I just laid there, cryin' like a little baby. My brother came running over, figuring I must've broken every bone in my body the way I was carryin' on. After he made sure it was pretty much just my pride, he tried calming me down, but I had worked myself up into a pretty good snit by this point and just kept bawling my head off. So then he hands me this stone."

Willow glanced down at the box in her hand as Kennedy indicated to it. The stone didn't look like much, and from the nicks and dents that marred the surface, it had been around for some time, but the Slayer spoke of it with great reverence.

"I'm sure he just found it lying in the gravel, but ... " she shrugged, continuing. "So anyway, he tells me it's a butterfly tear, and it's magic. He said that butterflies only cried for really special little girls, and that by keeping this stone I'd always have a reminder of how someone out there thought I was special."

Moved, Willow traced her finger across the face of the stone. "I can't—" she began, but the other woman cut her off.

"I pretty much stopped believing in magic not long after that. As you know," added Kennedy. "But lately? I'm thinkin' maybe there's somethin' to it after all. And I want you to have this. To help you remember how there's always someone out there who thinks you're special."

"Kennedy, this is ... wow." The redhead gently closed the lid and extended her hand. "But I can't. I can't take this. Your brother—"

The Slayer reached out and forced Willow's hand back. "I want you to have it, so he'd want you to have it." Willow took a deep breath, gearing up for further protest. "Please," Kennedy implored.

Releasing the breath slowly, the witch nodded, and with a smile placed the box next to her on the table. Kennedy nodded also, relieved in a way that it was over. Both sat in silence, unsure of what to say or do next, and the Slayer motioned to the plate of neglected mozzarella.

"So. Cheese? Because I didn't just dump a whole boatload of it all over you."

Willow grinned, grabbing another stick, dunking it in the marinara and began eating again with the same intense gusto. Kennedy sat back, content to simply watch.

"You sure you don't wanna join in?" Virginia chirped happily. "This is ... whoa. This is awesome."

All the girls, save Brenda, were gathered in the center of the room, huddled around the ouija board lying between them. Their fingers were splayed on a plain, well-worn planchette that was carved from a dark, almost black wood. The device was moving in a lazy figure eight pattern across the board's surface. Meghan and Jackie sat across from each other, shooting glares. Virginia practically bounced up and down in place, boiling over with energy and delighted to be part of whatever was going on. Only Dawn appeared nervous, gnawing at her lower lip as she watched her hands being directed back and forth.

Brenda was curled up in a nearby chair, the stack of diaries on a table next to her. Intent on reading through one of them, she glanced up only occasionally to observe her friends. Smiling, she declined Virginia's offer. "Nah, I'm good. These are interesting. Whoever 'Ashley' was, she was a pretty good writer."

"You're moving it," Meghan growled at Jackie in a low, accusatory tone, completely oblivious to whatever else might be going on around her.

Jackie's expression was equally damning. "Your little pointed finger routine won't work with me; you're the one moving it."

"Will someone please just admit to moving it?" pleaded a worried Dawn.

Having perceived a question, the planchette broke its holding pattern and glided toward the letters surrounding the perimeter of the board. First "M", then "E", before it returned to tracing figure eights.

"'Me'"? read Jackie. "Very funny, Meghan."

A retort poised on her lips, Meghan opened her mouth, but Brenda stopped her short. "Looks like writing wasn't all Ashley was good at," the girl summarized. "According to what I've read so far, she was pretty much tops at everything she did. Constantly on the honor roll, whiz on the piano ... she even sold some paintings while she was still in high school."

"Ugh, I hate people like that. So perfect," complained Virginia, although coming from the small girl it sounded more like a passing comment than a declaration of thorough dislike. "Bet she was pretty and had all these guys swooning over her too. Does it mention swooning? I bet it mentions swooning."

"O Spirits," Meghan proclaimed, "will Virginia ever manage to hold a conversation without letting her hormones take it over?"

The room erupted into laughter as the planchette swung to "NO" – save Virginia, who was busy looking offended. She swiped at Meghan, which resulted in nothing but renewed laughter.

Only barely glancing away from her reading, Brenda reported, "Seems to be swoon-free. There is a lot in here about her younger sister Lydia, though. Poor kid, Ashley was really worried about her. Sounds like everyone pretty much just considered her 'Ashley's Sister'."

Dawn barked a quick, humorless laugh. "Is Lydia's phone number in there?" she asked bitterly, mostly to herself. "Maybe we can start a club."

With one ear cocked toward Brenda to indicate she was continuing to listen, Jackie addressed the still-swirling planchette. "Is Mrs. Carver secretly an agent of evil sent here to destroy innocent young minds by boring them to death with pointless, never-ending lectures about 18th century social reform in Italy?"

The planchette completed another rotation, then drifted easily to "YES".

"See? Told you so," Jackie informed the room with a self-satisfied smirk.

"Oh, hey, Ginny? I think I found some swooning for you." Shifting in her seat, Brenda leaned forward in her chair as the other girl's pouting finally faded and she perked up considerably. "Check this out: 'Lydia came home today, crying over Steven. I feel bad for her; I know how much she liked him. But she shouldn't have said those horrible things to me. It's not my fault that he broke up with her to be with me. And really, what did she expect? Lydia's a wonderful girl, but I hope she realizes soon that she just can't compete with me. The quicker she accepts that, the happier she'll be.'"

Brenda's reading completed, the room fell into contemplative silence.

"Okay, not really swoony ..." conceded Brenda. Virginia shook her head in wide-eyed, emphatic agreement.

"No, it's really not," Dawn echoed. "Geez, can she be more egocentric? What a bee-yatch."

The planchette began whirling faster, angrier, causing all the girls to focus their attention on it in surprise.

Meghan smirked, "I think the spirits are feeling neglected."

"Well I guess it's understandable," commented Jackie. "Being spirits and all, I guess they don't have much to do but float around and wait for someone to make a call on Hell's cell phone here."

"Spirits!" Virginia announced suddenly, causing everyone to jump. "Hear my question and impart upon me your wisdom!" She paused for dramatic effect. "Will Doug Matthews ask me to the Spring Fling?"

A loud groan was her only answer, as Meghan reached out and pushed hard against Virginia's forehead. The blonde fell back easily, flopping into the pile of pillows behind her, squeaking "What? I'm just asking!"

"Who are you?" Dawn asked the board without preamble, refocusing everyone's attention.

At this, the planchette slowed. It began to slide toward the letters, but then resumed its figure eight pattern without touching any of them.

Jackie eyed the ouija board critically. "Huh. Maybe they've been dead so long they forgot."

"Jackie!" Virginia admonished, shocked.

The other girl grinned. "Or maybe Meghan forgot how to spell."

Interrupting the inevitable retort, Brenda waved her hand. "Guys, guys, listen to this." She cleared her throat. "'I found something horrible in Lydia's room today, deep in the back of her closet. I wasn't sure what it was at first, but after doing some checking, I found out it's something called a 'ouija board'. People use it talk to ghosts and demons and things like that. I confronted her about it of course, and all she could do is ask me how I found it. Like that was even the issue. I didn't let up though, and she finally admitted she had been using it. She says she was just tying to talk to Mom and Dad, but I know better. She's trying to hurt me. I thought her jealousy might be getting the better of her, and now I have proof.'"

"Uhhh, so am I alone in thinking 'Go Lydia' at this point?" Meghan asked the group with a raised eyebrow, looking down as the planchette gained momentum and moved with certainty over the letters.

L Y D I A, it spelled, then darted to NO.

Laughing, Jackie regarded Meghan. "You can't even agree with yourself now?"

Meghan gave a bone-weary sigh. "Jackie, get over it already, it stopped being funny three lifetimes ago."

"Well I for one am completely registered with the pro-Lydia party," stated Dawn firmly. "Bad enough she had this way larger-than-life older sister, but Ashley's, like, the most self-absorbed person ever!" She pondered this for a moment before adding, "Second most."

"I feel bad for her," Virginia commiserated, her face openly displaying empathy for the unknown girl's plight. "Poor Lydia. Didn't she have anything that was just, you know, hers?"

The friends were engrossed in their conversation, and failed to notice when the planchette stopped weaving in its steady holding pattern to swing back and forth between YES and NO.

Brenda glanced up briefly from the diary. "Actually, yeah, it looks like she did. I'm toward the end now, but it looks like Lydia had a hidden talent after all. According to this, she had a beautiful singing voice. Ashley had no idea. And couldn't even come close to competing." She wore a delighted expression as she addressed the others. "I guess we finally found something she couldn't do."

"I'm sure that sat well with Little Miss Perfect," Jackie commented, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Dawn was only barely paying attention to the conversation; her eyes were firmly glued to the ouija board, the marker still moving in a ceaseless YES/NO pattern. She tilted her head to one side, narrowing her eyes in concentration. "If the board was in with Ashley's diaries, and we know she took it from Lydia ..." she trailed off as pieces started clicking into place. To the board, she asked, "Did you know them? The Buchanans?"

YES

"And did they use the board? Did someone try to do something?"

YES

"Hey Jackie, you were right," Brenda said from behind the book. "Ashley started out saying she was glad Lydia had finally found her thing, but as these entries go on, it's pretty clear she was anything but. I'm reading some stuff now ..." Narrowing her gaze, she frowned at the text. "They're kinda disjointed and hard to follow, but it looks like Ashley convinced herself that Lydia somehow stole the singing ability from her. And the last entry? It just says, 'She can't get away with that. It was mine. I know it was mine. Everything is mine. I'm going to make it mine.'"

"Whew, overwritten," remarked Meghan with a 'whoa' expression. "Looks like she left her writing ability the same place as her sanity."

Unnoticed by everyone save Dawn, the planchette had stopped swinging from YES to NO and was instead tracing out L Y D I A, very deliberately if casually. Brenda closed the final diary and placed it to one side with the others, leaning forward in her chair to watch her friends and the board.

"Did it work?" Dawn questioned the ouija with some urgency. "What they wanted to happen?"

NO

Virginia's eyes flashed from the board to the other girl. "Dawn...?" she began, her voice wavering.

But Dawn was too wrapped up in unraveling the puzzle to pay her friend any attention. The planchette's pace increased, unceasing as it spelled out L Y D I A again and again. The girls watched nervously, glancing at each other for reassurance and finding none.

"What happened to Ashley – Lydia was innocent, wasn't she?" Dawn pressed.

YES – L Y D I A L Y D I A

Dawn took a deep breath. "...Are you Ashley Buchanan?"

YES

As soon as it had answered Dawn's question, the planchette began to fly across the surface of the board. The girls were jerked along as it picked up speed, their fingers still firmly affixed. They watched in rising panic as its movements became a blur.

L Y D I A L Y D I A L Y D I A L Y D I A

"Meghan?!" Jackie asked fearfully.

"It's not me!" was the equally scared reply.

Virginia had turned white as sheet, unable to do anything but gasp, "Oh god. Oh god."

Practically leaping out of the chair, Brenda yelled to the others, "Take your fingers off! Just let go!"

"I-I can't!" Dawn shot back, struggling to move away from the board. "It's like they're stuck!"

"Oh god!"

L Y D I A L Y D I A L Y D I A L Y D I A L Y D I A—

The planchette suddenly whirled to GOODBYE and came to a halt, as though it had run into an invisible wall. Four sets of fingers were ripped violently from the surface, as the girls no longer encountered any resistance.

Nobody said a word, and the room was almost preternaturally quiet, save the sounds of terrified panting.

Then a howling sound, like a strong wind blowing through treetops echoed in the room. Heads whipped, trying to locate the source, but nothing could be seen. An actual breeze sweeping into the room soon accompanied the wailing, although all the doors and windows were firmly shut. The wind grew more intense, the force opening one of the diaries and ruffling the pages. Half-empty cups of soda tipped over as they rolled across the carpet, spilling their contents. The girls edged away from the board, huddling together against the far wall, their hair being whipped in all directions.

They screamed as a lamp, hurled by an invisible hand, crashed through one of the windows, raining shards of glass into the room, caught by the wind. CDs and DVDs started toppling of their own accord from nearby shelves, and the girls flinched away from the walls, covering their heads for protection.

The incessant howling of the wind reached a fever pitch, transforming into something that sounded unholy and full of rage. Then a flash of light from the discarded ouija board blinded everyone momentarily with its intensity. Light and wind both dissipated quickly to reveal a ghost – a pale and twisted parody of what was once probably a very attractive young woman. She hovered about a foot over the ouija board

"LYDIA!!" shrieked the apparition. Its voice could have been resounding from the very gates of hell.

The girls trembled, paralyzed in the face of this horror.

"I told you it wasn't me," Meghan whispered shakily.