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After dropping Brooks and Brady off at the motel in Atikokan, the helicopter headed to an airstrip on Lac La Croix where Graham had arranged for Joe to meet them. Buffy had been annoyed at first, thinking that the detour would waste precious time. When it came down to it, though, she'd needed the extra hour to talk herself down, to remind herself that there were two very big steps she needed to take before they could even come up with a plan to find Riley: get the Tribe's permission to see the body and, once that was accomplished, prove for sure that it wasn't him.

If it really was his body lying there? Well, she just refused to think about that. Because that's when breathing became an issue and she had to remind herself how to do it. In. Out. No big. In... Ou-

She felt Willow's hand on her knee; Willow, who was officially coming along to serve as the team's otherworldly representative. There was another purpose, too, though. Buffy was almost positive that she'd missed a late-night Willow/Angel make-sure-Buffy's-o.k. conversation. Just in case the body was, actually, Riley's.

In. Out. In. Out. Positive thoughts. There would be plenty of time to lose it if the day didn't go as she hoped.

She took it as a good sign that Joe was waiting where he said he'd be. Thanks to her being all completely - o.k., almost completely - calm now, she didn't bombard him with questions right away. Take it at their pace, Buffy. Go the local custom route. If Joe et al decided to do things the hard way, she could always beat them up then.

Another thing that boded well was that Joe had a motorboat waiting for them. Though she'd been ready for the canoe ride, she was happy not to have to supply any power. And the faster they could get this over with, the better. The first - and she hoped only - bad news of the day was that Graham wasn't invited.

Joe shrugged. "The Tribe needs to work closely with the Quetico people. They said that you weren't welcome in the Park. The Chief didn't want to stir up any trouble."

"It's o.k.," Buffy reassured him. Failure was not on her agenda today, and she had no problem working alone if that's what it took. "I can get this done."

Of course, Scooby companionship was always appreciated. She turned to Joe. "What about Willow?"

Joe gave Willow an appraising glance. Though the widening of his eyes indicated he sensed some of her power, he didn't seem threatened by it. The smile that appeared on his face indicated just the opposite, in fact. "Sure. Why not?"

Graham grabbed Buffy's hand as she started walking away. He gave her a com-cam. "If you can."

Her inclination was to refuse it - though she hadn't minded the toy on the original trip, this was Slayer time, and she preferred to work unimpeded. However, if she were the one who'd just been told that she'd have to sit here on an airstrip for who knew how long, ruminating about whether this really was the body of her best friend of twenty years...

Being Buffy wasn't the greatest right now - she'd had better weeks. But being Graham? She nodded and slipped it on her ear. Though at some point they'd probably make her take it off, she'd keep it on until they told her otherwise.

As they climbed into the boat, Buffy asked, "Why didn't we just use the motorboats in the first place?"

Joe answered, "Too loud." The smile still in his eyes, he leaned down and turned the key, the roar of the engine effectively cutting off any further conversation. He pulled away from the dock, heading for open water.

Fine, she thought. Even in just the few - albeit long and endless - days she'd been away from here, she'd forgotten how Joe always seemed to be laughing at something. Not in a mean way, it was just that impression he gave - that life amused him. She supposed she was glad it was amusing someone at the moment.

Forty minutes later, they reached the Tribe's land, attracting curious glances as Joe helped Buffy and Willow out of the boat.

"Unless you're a guide," Joe explained, "there's not much contact with the outside world. We don't exactly get many visitors here."

Buffy wasn't too concerned - being on the receiving end of odd looks was the story of her life. She turned to Joe. "Did Graham tell you why we came?"

Joe gave her a look of his own, one that clearly conveyed the question: do you think I'm an idiot? "I assume you want to see the body."

She noticed that he used the word 'the' rather than 'Riley's.' All her hopes jumped up and started dancing around, deciding that was an even better sign than the ones before. Get back down there, she thought. Cautious, remember? Still, it was hard not to focus on those little things. "Are we going to be able to?"

The laughter left his eyes. "It's not up to me." He gestured toward a cabin that sat overlooking the lake. "The Chief's eager to meet you."

Buffy and Willow followed Joe up the hill. They entered the cabin to find two men sitting at a low table, smoking. One of them - the Chief, according to Joe's introduction - seemed old enough to have been around during Angel's pre-vampire era. Despite his long, white hair and his wrinkled skin, he seemed strong; robust.

The other man, introduced as Rowente - "''Ro' to my friends" - looked even older. Unlike the Chief, he was small and frail - a little kid sitting in an oversized chair, except that his body showed the ravages of time. So, yes - either really, really old, or just way too much sun. He smiled the way Joe did, though - with the light dancing in his eyes - and it made him come alive.

Leaning back, he took a drag on his... Well, Buffy had no clue what he was taking a drag on - she'd always relied on Spike for the identification of all things smoking, especially when it came to the unusual things. Anyway, he took a drag, and looked from Willow to Buffy then back again. Addressing Willow, he spoke in a language that Buffy couldn't understand. She wasn't entirely surprised when Willow replied in kind, nodding her head.

The man then spoke to Joe in English, most likely for Buffy's benefit since she seemed to be the only one who couldn't speak Anishnaabe. "Did you know your warrior would be bringing a witch along?"

That didn't surprise Buffy either. She figured that someone she'd be meeting today would be of the Shaman variety; that he would recognize Willow's power wasn't exactly a shock. That Joe had it in his blood, too, came with the territory.

"Please sit. Drink with us." The Chief words seemed more like an order than a request.

Joe retrieved two wooden chairs from against the wall and placed them across from the men; then went back to the wall and stood, leaning against it. Buffy took her seat next to Willow and leaned forward to accept the drink the Chief handed to her. Ro said what appeared to be a blessing.

My heart's just looking for one thing at the moment. Buffy raised her cup and - unlike Willow, who showed more caution - followed the Chief's lead of essentially slamming it back as a shot. Despite the alarms going off in her head as the liquid seared its way down her throat, she managed not to choke on what may have been the most potent drink she'd ever had, all the while thinking, Thank you, Spike. He may not have taught her much about smoking; drinking, however...

The Chief put his glass down and laughed as he nodded at her. A moment later his smile was replaced by what appeared to be an honest expression of empathy and regret. "You've come a long way. I'm sorry to say that your trip has been a waste of time."

Darn it. She'd thought the drinking of pure grain alcohol - or its Anishnaabe equivalent - was the test. Apparently she wasn't there yet.

She concentrated on appearing relaxed, trying to ignore that every cell in her body was screaming, Let me see him! Her smile portrayed a serenity she did not at all feel. "I doubt that."

After a few minutes of studied silence, he spoke, lobbing the ball back to her court. "That thing you wear on your ear - what is it?"

The com-cam had been so quiet, that Buffy wasn't even sure it was turned on; until now, at least, when she heard Sprague groan in response to the question.

And Graham: "A million two, Buffy. That's what it costs. Just keep that in mind."

She resisted saying that that was quite a bit higher than a 'little more than' the twenty thousand she had asked Graham about that first night in Atitkokan. He couldn't really be that mad, though; not if this was what it took to get Riley back.

Taking it off, she showed the Chief. "It's called a com-cam; a communications camera. I can hear what they tell me here." She pointed to the earphone, then to the microphone. "I talk into here. This," she said, showing the tiny camera lens, "records everything visually."

The Chief examined it and put it over his ear. "Someone's on the other end? Like a phone?"

She nodded and put it back on, hearing Graham say, "One point two million. You heard that, right?"

That drift was hard not to catch. "If I gave it to you, they'd most likely disconnect it. You wouldn't be able to do anything with it."

"Still. It's been a while since we've added to our collection." The Chief gestured to a shelf hanging over the front door.

Buffy looked over her shoulder at the shrine to modern Western civilization. It held, among other things, a fireman's hat, a replica of the Empire State building, and, against all laws of nature and good taste, a stuffed, purple dinosaur.

There was no need to look at Willow - the 'A-ha!' radiated off of her. There was also an unmistakable, "You're fucking kidding me," muttered by Graham after Sprague described what had just been displayed on the monitor in Atikokan.

Though it seemed fairly obvious, Buffy had to ask, "They are the same - aren't they? The Butterfly Queen is the warrior princess from the legend." She was sitting next to an academic after all. Willow liked to have her proof.

"You've seen us on television?" The Chief seemed excited at the Tribe's, or their legend's, brush with fame - among the toddler set at least. "The television people thought 'Queen' sounded better - some of the tribal members feel that way as well. To me she has always been the Princess."

In Buffy's book, that was worth a com-cam. All 1.2 million dollars of it. "How rude of me." She blocked out Graham's response as he realized what she was doing. "I'd be honored if you would accept our gift." She handed it over.

The Chief placed it on the table in front of him, bowing his head in thanks. "And I, in turn, would be honored to answer your questions about Kaseniiosta."

"Kaseniiosta?" Buffy asked, more weakly than she would have liked. "The Princess?"

She had a name? Buffy wasn't sure why that made things seem worse, but it did. If it wasn't bad enough that she had to wrestle with the whole Sam issue, now Miss Warrior Barbie #2 was revealed to have a beautiful and poetic long, flowing name, which was probably accompanied by beautifully poetic long, flowing hair and beautifully poetic long, flowing leg-

Huh? Buffy looked up suddenly to see Ro watching her, a smirk in his eyes, his voice in her head.

The com-cam started vibrating violently, shaking its way off the edge of the table. Buffy looked at the Chief, waiting for his nod before she leaned forward to grab it; she put it back on.

Graham, whose agitated voice clearly betrayed his impatience. "The day of the bear," he urged. "Start with the day of the bear."

I'm on it, she resisted snapping. It's not like she was painting her nails or anything - she was getting acclimated. Except for that one teeny green-eyed monster moment.

Joe's eyes went hard and she could practically feel the air in the room turn about thirty degrees colder as he asked, "What about that day?"

"You tell me." Just because she and Graham had decided that was the place to start, didn't mean they had any clue as to why. In fact, despite their theories about magical interference, the bear could have just decided it didn't like the way Buffy looked without blood all over her.

Reaching into his pocket, Joe pulled out a pack of cigarettes, offering it to everyone before shaking one out.

That was interesting, Buffy thought. It hadn't been meant as a trick question. Joe, however, was obviously stalling, letting the cigarette hang loosely from the corner of his mouth while he searched his pockets for a lighter. Even if Buffy hadn't had the benefit of seeing Spike use that technique for years, Joe was moving so slowly that it was a dead giveaway.

"A test?" Buffy knew her surprise was clearly written on her face. "For who?" And, possibly just as important - "By who?"

Joe took another few puffs on his cigarette. "For me. By you. Riley." He shrugged. "Maybe Sam."

Graham's exclaimed, "Sam?!?!" was so loud that Buffy was sure everyone in the room could hear it through her earpiece. That was probably fine, though, since her own mouth had dropped open and refused to budge from the position.

Several more minutes of silence passed during which Joe seemed to be considering how far to take this now that he had opened the door. He let out an angry snort, as though he'd been commanded to tell by some unseen parent. "What Riley dreamed."

The ghost of a smile returned to Joe's face and he seemed to relax a bit. "The day of the bear." Each word was drawn out as though he were slowly leading them to what he knew to be the obvious conclusion.

"You're a dreamwalker," Willow murmured, earning a nod from Joe. Turning to Buffy, she explained, "It's a form of astral projection. He can-"

"Walk in people's dreams. Yeah - I get that." Buffy hadn't meant to bite Willow's head off. It was just the whole Sam thing was getting a bit much. Willow would forgive her; Joe, however, might not. Forcing the irritation away, Buffy repeated yet again, "The day of the bear?" As far as she knew, Riley had been fairly well occupied that day.

Of course, he had told her he'd been asleep on the beach, abruptly awakened by Joe running out of the trees with bear-meat-Buffy. Could Joe be running and walking - albeit dreamwalking - at the same time? "When exactly?" she asked. "And why would you think it was a test?"

Oh, come on, she thought when Joe raised the cigarette to his mouth again. It took everything not to reach across the table and yank it out of his hand. She almost cried in gratitude when Ro leaned over and did it for her.

De nada, she heard. Then out loud, Ro stated quietly, "Joe." Apparently Ro was the parental figure.

Joe's eyes crinkled into a smile. He appeared neither upset nor surprised at Ro's command. Grounding out his cigarette in an ashtray on the table, he answered, "I thought it was a counterspell. I thought you were taking advantage of my defenses being down."

"You used magic to bury the bear?" Buffy asked, as it all started to make a little more sense.

So not important, she thought to herself. She honestly couldn't care less about those kinds of technicalities. "How would we be taking advantage?" There was a slight hesitation before the 'we'; she didn't want to give the impression that there had been any conspiring on anyone's part.

Obviously unsure of whether to answer, Joe looked first at Ro. Upon the older man's nod, he turned back to Buffy. "His dreams were unusual. Too..." He couldn't seem to find the word at first. "...Vivid; too much. It was like living his life; living his grief." Joe looked down and softly said, "I've never experienced a dream in quite that way before."

Living his grief. Feeling it all over again. Going back to the past, reliving those key moments.

Buffy sat back, thinking about the dreams - the vivid, crazy dreams - she'd had over the past few days. "It's the spell," she said, quietly at first, trying the words out to see how her brain would react. "The spell," she repeated more loudly, an undercurrent of excitement in her voice. "She tried to take him before. This wasn't the first time."

Think. Did that really matter? That the Princess had failed once? And why would it have failed - because the spell was about Sam, but Riley's morning had been, um, infused - sure, that was a good word - with Buffy? So, then, "What did Riley dream about Sam? And why is it important?"

There were another few minutes of silence before Joe responded, "It just seems to me that we've got ourselves one trader and a whole lot of princesses. That, I would think, is key."

Buffy resisted expressing her annoyance at being grouped together in the 'whole lot of princesses' statement. She was not used to being grouped, especially when - of the three people in the group - she seemed to be the only one without a piece of Riley at the moment.

Get over it, Buffy. Neither here nor there. Get in to see the body. Prove it's not him. The whole reason you're here. Not to find out what Riley dreamed about, and most certainly not to debate the importance she held in his life with Joe of all people. There were other things she needed to know. Much more important things.

"'Would you die for her,'" Buffy said, repeating the phrase Joe had uttered to Riley not so long ago. "You meant Sam, didn't you?" That wasn't earth-shattering; that was just confirmation of something they'd already figured out. Unlike the next question. "Why? How does that fit?"

She stopped abruptly, another phrase coming back to her - one Joe had spoken to her this time. 'What some people never find once, much less twice.' Understanding began to descend and she couldn't believe that she hadn't seen it sooner.

Leaning forward, her eyes locked on Joe's. "Riley dreamed about me, too," she stated, no question in her voice, this time sensing Joe's nod before he even shifted. Trying to keep her excitement in check, she continued, "Sam's voice was what led him away. My voice can lead him back."

The laughter went away, leaving Joe's eyes dark and unreadable. "Ah..." His gaze didn't waver. "But it's not what's in your head is it? It's what in your heart. What's in his."

"What the hell does that mean?" Graham snapped over the airwaves when Buffy didn't respond.

True love, Buffy thought. "His love for Sam - it's how he could hear her." The unspoken part of that was that in order to hear Buffy's voice - whether figuratively or literally - his love for her needed to be just as strong. And vice versa. "Why would the Princess do this? What does she have to gain?"

Joe shook his head wearily, as though he was tired of repeating himself yet again. "It's not the Princess. It's the-"

"Right," she remembered. "The Maytag dishwasher people," she added, even though she knew full well what they were called.

Willow interrupted, "Then why did all the guides the police interviewed say her name when they saw the pictures of the bodies?"

Joe leaned back, obviously unwilling to answer, especially given the slight undertone of hostility in Willow's voice.

Buffy jumped into the silence before the subtle anger became outright; it wasn't as though Buffy didn't agree - fourteen men were dead and the guides' lack of cooperation had been a contributing factor. However, Buffy's biggest concern at the moment was that the number didn't jump to fifteen. Challenging this group about the silence issue wasn't going to get her anywhere. "What do the markings mean? Why did the guides refuse to tell anyone?"

She leaned forward, taking advantage of whatever connection she and Joe had built up over the last week; of the connection he'd had with Riley. "Help me get him back, Joe," she pleaded. "You can help me do this."

The Chief spoke before Joe could answer. "He's done enough to help you." Standing, he said, "I'm sorry. There's nothing else we can do."

"Wait!" Buffy jumped to her feet. "Whatever you want. I'll do it. Just let me see the body." She knew she was practically begging; she didn't see another choice. "Let me see if it's really him."

"You have his ring. I let Joe take it," the Chief answered, unmoved. "Isn't that enough?"

"No." Buffy fingered the metal band that lay against her chest, clinking gently against the cross she always wore. "It's not."

Ro, who had been sitting quietly as he watched, said, "We have our customs. They may seem unusual to you, but-"

"That's not a custom; it's a ritual." Willow leaned forward and gently placed her mug down. She stayed seated, her eyes locked on Ro's, and Buffy could sense the shift of power in the room. For this moment, she and the Chief were rendered useless, standing there futilely as the mystics settled the score.

Willow's voice remained soft yet strong; the traces of hostility were gone, replaced by unmistakable authority. "It's a ritual that you're desperately hoping will work but you have no idea."

Buffy looked at Ro, unsure as to how he'd react. She was surprised when he smiled and shrugged. "We don't know what she wants. Nothing else has stopped her. Maybe this will."

Beating back her frustration, Buffy didn't even bothering mentioning that "this" could very possibly be Riley's body. That didn't seem to concern them, or, if it did, not enough for them to break their circle. And apparently the Chief and Ro didn't share Joe's belief that the Princess was innocent, that the Maymaygwayshi were doing this just because they could. To be perfectly honest, Buffy didn't either.

She dropped back down, perching on the edge of her chair to emphasize she wasn't going to take 'no' for an answer. She wasn't going anywhere yet. "I can stop her," she stressed to Ro. "I can."

The Chief also sat back down. His demeanor had changed; his resistance was gone and he seemed to have given up on trying to send her away. Good. Although, now he was just showing his doubts openly. "She's in another realm. You can't just get into the boat and paddle up to her door."

"Why not? That's how she comes for these men," was Buffy's retort. "Why can't we just call her to come for us?"

Buffy turned back to him. She didn't believe in the word 'impossible.' "As far as you know, she has no idea the circle is even meant for her. Let me break it. Make her pay attention."

"It's not that easy." Despite Ro's words - despite the fact that he was most likely the one who put the body there - he leaned forward, conspiring, "Even if we allowed you to, the circle is already there. It can't just be broken."

"It was built for Kaseniiosta, for a warrior. For just anyone to cross that circle." Ro threw his hands up dismissively. "There would be consequences."

Buffy sat back and smiled. Of course there would be consequences - that was the whole point. "I'm not just anyone."

"No," the Chief murmured, exchanging a glance with Ro. This appeared to have been a topic of discussion - possibly a heated one given the disbelief on the Chief's face contrasting with the acceptance on Ro's. "We know about the bear."

Then what was the problem here? Buffy thought. This conversation had gone on long enough. And she and Willow hadn't been kicked out yet, which meant there was only one question left to ask, "What do I need to do?"

When neither the Chief nor Ro responded, she continued, "Drink more of that stuff? Fight your best men? Whatever you want."

"Our best men?" the Chief asked, still smiling. "We tend not to lose our battles. But it's been a very long time since anyone in this tribe fought for anything more than the biggest pick from the day's fishing. I don't think so."

"Then what?" Buffy asked impatiently. They obviously had something up their sleeves.

Ro stood up slowly, showing much more height and bulk than she had expected, given how frail he appeared. "Kneel down."

That wasn't exactly the response Buffy had expected. "What?" she asked, glancing at Willow.

"I don't like this, Buffy," Graham said, his voice putting to words what Willow was obviously thinking. He didn't actually go so far as to say not to do it, though.

She'd never been very good with orders, and it wasn't exactly in her nature to meekly comply; on the other hand, this was more a challenge than an order. And those she had no problem with. She knelt on the floor.

"Buffy." both Willow and Graham said as Ro walked around the table to stand over Buffy. He began chanting and held his hand out, hovering over her heart.

"Just don't go all Temple of Doom on me," Buffy muttered. "This heart's caused a lot of pain, but I'm still kind of fond of having it." She shut up as she saw the Chief's glare.

Ro hadn't stopped chanting, hadn't at all acknowledged Buffy's words, and at first Buffy thought he was somehow probing her for the requisite break-the-circle qualifications. Not much of a test, she thought. She'd do this one again any time.

Ro's voice grew louder, and something stirred inside of her - embers flaring and the heat building, a fire starting somewhere in her soul. The air around her shimmered and the room fell away, breaking into little pieces, receding into nothingness, and darkness was interspersed with a series of images.

No - images indicated something static; a picture. These were 3-D. Fully formed, corporeal...things. A shadowy figure darting out at her - she pulled back. A flash of metal coming at her head - she ducked. A flame flickering in front of her, reaching out and singeing her fingers.

Everything appeared and then disappeared again, leaving her waiting for the next break in the curtain of blackness that surrounded her, the next strike from the void.

She had no idea where she was; there was still a sense of kneeling in the Chief's cabin, a slight pressure against her forehead as Ro raised his hand to her head. And yet she wasn't in that room; wasn't in any room at all. She was just standing in a black hole, standing - it did seem - on something that was solid. Solid enough, at least, to hold her when she jumped up and landed hard a second later, avoiding the knife that had just come from out of the same nowhere that everything else seemed to be coming from.

Another knife, this one connecting in a burst of piercing pain. She cried out and Ro's chanting, which had faded to pure background noise, transformed into something totally different. Something moving and breathing and invading her very being. All that interference made it very difficult to concentrate - probably the point, since concentration could very well be the only thing keeping her alive at the moment, her entire defense strategy being dependent on instinct at the moment.

And defense was definitely a must, what with the blades coming at her head, and wooden sticks batting at her legs. She leapt in the air, jumping over a leg kicking out at her; whirled around in mid-air and caught the arrow coming at her head. Lobbed it back and heard the dull sound as it connected with its target.

She flipped backwards, avoiding a stream of arrows - no, make that avoiding most of the stream of arrows, not all, unfortunately - and then sprung off her hands and flipped forward again, a satisfied smile as her feet hit solid mass and something - things? - crashed to the ground.

Something else lumbering towards her - big and black. Another bear. She smiled. This time she was ready.

Flying at it, she aimed at its head, knowing the body was just too massive to get a hold on. She whirled from side to side, arms and legs lashing out, battering it - so much easier when she was wearing boots. It didn't have a chance to do anything more than raise its paws to its head, taking cover.

More arrows; spears, too. She knocked them out of the air as she cartwheeled across the floor. Almost in slow motion, she could feel herself jumping and kicking at what appeared as thin air, but still had substance to it. It was trickier now, with things coming at her from all directions, from above and below. There wasn't even time to think: she just blocked weapons that came at her, plucked them out of the air, and flung them back.

She'd finally gotten into a rhythm when everything stopped abruptly and a rush of cool air came over her as she fell to the floor, out of breath. She looked over to see Ro's prone figure lying on the floor across from her. The pieces of the Chief's living room reassembled themselves, leaving everything as it had appeared before.

"Buffy!" Willow cried, dropping down and gathering Buffy into her arms. "You're bleeding."

In a daze, Buffy looked down at her arms and legs - there were pinpricks of blood where the arrows had hit her; a gash down her arm where a spear had made its mark. Sitting up slowly, she reached her hand out to Ro. As she stood up, she pulled him up with her.

"Acceptable?" Buffy cried out. "I waled on those guys - did you see what I did to the bear? And those invisible guys? I mean - talk about 'may the force be with you'."

The Chief looked at Buffy. It was obvious she had - finally - passed the test. He smiled. "Is there anything else before you see the body?"

"No, wait," she said a second later, grinning at Ro. "That was fun. Very John Woo. Let me know if you ever want to do it again."

She stood just outside the circle of stones, her eyes fixed on the body under the blanket. Nodding as Ro looked at her, she listened to him begin to chant. She glanced up at the sky - she may have gotten used to having everything she saw and heard be shared with the rest of the team, but it was odd to know that she was actually being watched. She was tempted to wave despite having no idea where the satellites were.

And she could only imagine what Brady was going to say about the outfit she was wearing - some ceremonial thing. At least as a 'warrior,' as they kept calling her, she rated the tunic and pants rather than the dress. They'd also insisted she go barefoot and that she take off the com-cam and all her jewelry.

Except for the chain with the cross and Riley's ring, which wasn't going anywhere, thank you very much, she'd done what they said. They were smart enough to realize that compromise was the best policy.

Closing her eyes, she put her hand to her chest and laced the chain through her fingers. She held the ring in her palm, feeling it warm against her skin. Please let him be out there somewhere. Please don't let this body be his.

There was a light touch on her shoulder, one she took as a signal to step inside the circle. Opening her eyes, she let go of the ring and moved forward cautiously.

Though she had expected to feel something as she crossed the line - shimmery air or maybe everything around her breaking into pieces again - there wasn't anything. Nothing except the very faint sound of laughter. Almost too faint for her to hear, barely even audible above the sound of the machete slicing through the air, flying at her head.

She ducked and spun around. It was only Ro and Willow standing there, both looking stunned. Willow's eyes suddenly went wide as she focused on something over Buffy's shoulder. Buffy whirled back around, registering a man with dark hair running at her, holding something very sharp in his hands.

Damn it, she thought as more men appeared in native dress, all with one weapon or another. What is it with these guys and the multiplying thing? So many that all she was managing at the moment was defense. If she could just get one of their weapons.

She could feel a burning sensation, like her heart was on fire - was this whole thing on instant replay? She half expected to have a vision of Ro standing in front of her, but a quick glance back showed that Ro was still standing next to Willow, obviously just as surprised as he watched Buffy fend off the attackers. This time, though, the fire seemed more external than internal; the ring itself was hot - scorching, actually, searing her skin. Odd and yet irrelevant; for now, at least.

Turning back, she focused her attention on the battle at hand. She was making headway slowly - of the ten men that had originally appeared, two had vanished. She had no idea if she had actually killed them; they were just gone. Maybe it was like paintball - once you hit the target, he was out. If the target hit her, however, she had a feeling the consequences would be a bit more serious than just being tossed out of the circle. What she could really use was one of their.

Her chest was on fire again, and a blinding flash made her turn. On pure instinct, her hand flew up, catching a knife before she had even registered that it had been thrown at her. No - to her, not at. And just like that, the light was gone.

It was replaced, however, by a strange shadow, and she assumed it was just one more thing that she'd have to fight. Except it seemed to take her attackers by surprise, too: they faltered before quickly regrouping and dividing themselves equally - some staying to fight Buffy, the others splitting off to take it up with, well, the other thing.

She put aside any questions as to what it was or how it could be so, put aside the vague sense of familiarity as she fought side by side with it, focusing instead on taking her guys out which, now that she had a weapon, took only a few minutes.

Looking over at the other group, she tapped one of the two remaining men on the shoulder. He turned and she punched him in the gut, then struck his head with the hilt of the knife. As he disappeared, the remaining man vanished as well, courtesy of Dark Shadow. She reached out, trying to touch where the presence had been. Too late, though - it was already gone.

Buffy nodded reluctantly. She would so much rather be fighting phantom Butterfly Queen foot soldiers than looking at this body. Not because of the shape it was in, which, according to all who had seen it was not good at all, but because of what it meant; because it could be Riley.

Because, despite convincing herself that Riley was alive, there was the very plausible possibility that she'd been wrong and that she was about to find that out in the most awful of ways.

She took a deep breath and stepped forward, tucking her knife into her waistband - or, waist-tie, rather, since warrior pants apparently didn't come with elastic. Another deep breath and she removed the blanket.

Though she had seen plenty of dead bodies before, they were usually freshly dead; she rarely had to deal with the issue of decomposition - except for the mummy or zombie kind of way, which, for some reason, was completely different. And preferable. She'd rather avoid flesh - or what used to be flesh - that had served as the main meal source for maggots and flies. At least, that's what she figured it was, considering the kind of damage they'd done: the face was gone, but there weren't chunks taken out of it, as you'd expect from an animal - it was more flattened, the layers of skin and muscle being stripped away, only holes where the eyes, nose and mouth had been. They stopped before exposing bone, though, leaving a horrific mask of red.

It did occur to her that there seemed to be quite a bit of damage considering the short amount of time the body had actually been exposed. Although - did the forcefield keep out maggots and flies, too? Or was it one of those insects-will-rule-the-earth deals, kind of like the way there were always cockroaches or ants or beetles around, even when everything else knew that it was high time to flee.

She and Anya and Xander had had a very interesting discussion about that, actually, late one night. Xander had this whole theory about...

Oh, for heaven's sake, Buffy. Stop procrastinating. Just do this. Get it over with.

Alright. One arm gone - that was much more up her alley. Missing limbs and blood and guts - that was stuff she didn't mind quite so much. Except that in this case, the missing arm was the one that would have had the tattoo. So, no help there. And the face, being obliterated, was the definition of inconclusive. Not exactly the ringing 'not Riley' endorsement she had hoped for. She was ignoring the fact that the body itself - in terms of height and weight - seemed to fit him exactly.

O.k., she thought, blinking back tears. They wouldn't have an answer right away. They'd need to rely on the DNA test, which she'd better get moving on, no matter how distasteful it was. This part was so much more up Willow's alley.

The hair had mostly burned away. And the skin on the front of the body was, well, gross. According to Joe, the body had been lying face down on the smoldering ground. No open flame, but on top of a fire that had been traveling mostly underground - through roots and tree trunks. She had expected for the whole body to be charred, finding instead that it had, in essence, been grilled - the roots creating the criss-cross effect rather than the metal bars.

Hoping that the back had fared better than the front, she turned the body over. It was somewhat of a relief to see that, with the exception of the markings, the skin there appeared relatively unharmed. So, time to do the job she'd come to do.

It wasn't as though she hadn't scratched off skin before. Not too long ago in fact, she thought, closing her eyes as they began to fill and spill over with tears. In her head she saw Riley grinning as he pulled his shirt away from the scratches she'd given him the day of the rapids. She aimlessly ran her hand lightly across skin, imagining that she was feeling the roughness of where his shoulder was still healing.

Imagining being the key word, she realized as her eyes flew open and she leaned in close to look. Under the markings, it was perfectly smooth - no scratches. Not like there had been the last time she held him, in the early morning before he disappeared; no more than eighteen hours before this body was found. No scratches and, come to think of it, no scars either. The killer's canvas had been unblemished skin.

Dizziness prevailed as a rush of air suddenly filled her lungs for the first time in days. She was so elated that if it weren't for Willow's yelling, "The samples!" Buffy wouldn't have remembered to run her fingernails down the length of the man's back - something that had been completely distasteful before, but that she barely registered doing now. Nor did she remember the knife, which she could have used instead, or the scraper and plastic bags that they hadn't allowed her to take her into the circle, much to her irritation at the time.

The tears started flowing freely as she carefully shifted the body back into its original position and replaced the blanket.

"I'm sorry," she whispered to whoever this was, tears of relief streaming down her face, "but I'm so glad you're not Riley."

Walking out of the circle slowly, she knelt down on the plastic Willow had laid out, holding her hand steady as Willow scraped away the skin and put it in small plastic bags.

As Willow collected the samples, Buffy couldn't stop crying. "It's not him," she murmured over and over again. "It's not him."

He sat up slowly - with difficulty, in fact - already feeling the effects of the fight.

The other dreams he'd been having were all incredibly vivid - vibrant, really, like the clearest home movies he'd ever seen. There was a difference, though, between watching and doing.

Even if he hadn't known it in his gut - which he did - the fact that he was out of breath and the soreness in his muscles would have been enough to convince him.

"I." Sam knocked over her chair as she jumped to her feet and backed away from him. "How.?" She ran out of the room.

There was a part of him that wanted to go after her - this was a little different than the last time she'd made a hurried exit, which was - when? Yesterday? An hour ago? He had no idea - time passed strangely here.

He couldn't do that, though; couldn't go after her. There was nothing he could say.

Falling back to the bed, he closed his eyes again, not sure how to deal with what had just happened: he had just been fighting side by side with Buffy.

It didn't matter that it was physically impossible - why should that matter, after all? This whole situation defied any concept of reality. However, despite the fact that he was lying in a bed in this odd place - a room he hadn't even ventured outside of yet - he had just been on a bluff overlooking a beautiful lake, playing a very un-PC game of Cowboys and Indians. With Buffy.

And, although he didn't know this part for sure, he had a very strong feeling that somehow Sam knew it, too; somehow knew where he had just been, that he'd just been with Buffy. Was it any surprise that she wasn't happy about it?

He had no clue how, exactly, she had known, just that she did. What else could have caused that look on her face, the same one he'd seen that night, after Sunnydale? That how-could-you-to-that-to-me look he'd only seen once, right before he came close to killing their marriage.

Opening his eyes and sitting up again it was clear that no, thank God, it hadn't been worse. That, as realistic as those dreams were, they hadn't been of the wet variety. Which, in itself was unusual, because, well, he hadn't just been dreaming about that fight. That had just been the dream that woke him up. The one that probably mattered the least to Sam.

Was it possible to feel more like shit than he did at the moment? No, probably not.

He took a deep breath and let the air out slowly. He truly had intended to tell her everything - if it weren't for that damn falling asleep thing he would have done so already, no matter how hard it was for him to say or for her to hear. In fact, that would have been infinitely preferable to what she had probably just heard. But no, Sam had just had a front row seat to the Buffy Summers show. Because this time, that's what the dreams had been about. No matter how guilty it made him feel, dreaming about Buffy - dreaming those kinds of dreams about Buffy - when Sam was sitting right next to him...

Those dreams had been something else. Not even dreams, really; it was more like reliving each day - each and every day they'd had together - moment by moment. Feeling Buffy's body beneath him, on top. Her smooth skin and soft hair. Her lips as he traced them with his finger, her waist as he held her in his hands.

The other things were there, too: Buffy and Dad talking baseball in the living room. Her making blueberry cobbler with Liam. High-fives with Kate after a touchdown in Graham's backyard. An evil smile as she refastened her bra under the watchful eye of a policeman. The stunned look as she backed away from him, unable to believe what she saw, there in your typical candy aisle of a drugstore.

Riley ran his hands over his face. It must have been something, otherwise, why would Sam have run out of the room like that? Even if there was something wrong - something different - with this Sam, that look was hard to take. Harder, when he knew he was the one responsible for it. Again.

As though on cue, she came back into the room, and - for some completely inexplicable reason - was acting as though nothing odd had happened. The same way she'd done the other day. Or earlier. Whatever.

"I brought you some water," she said, as she righted the chair and sat back down next to the bed.

"Sam..." He took the glass she handed to him, because - yes, Sam. Of course a glass of water was the exact thing he needed at this very moment in time. That was going to solve everything. If only he'd thought of it earlier all of this would have made perfect sense.

He leaned down to put the glass on the floor, wondering what in the world he was supposed to say in this kind of a situation. May as well go with the universal favorite: "We need to talk."

He took her hand, stopping her before she pushed him back down to the bed. This was idiotic. "I can rest later. We haven't talked at all. And." - biggest understatement of all time - ".we have a lot to talk about."

With a resigned sigh, she stood up and went over to the wall. "Put this on, then." She came back with his shirt. "You'll get cold."

As he started putting it on, she said, "Besides, you've told me so much since you got here."

Yeah. Exactly. "I've told you mostly about the kids. I want to hear about you. Where you've." He answered her with only half his attention, belatedly noticing that the markings that had only covered his right arm the last time he looked, had now made it as far up as his shoulder, and halfway up the other arm.

Sam obviously noticed what he was looking at - it's not like he'd been trying to hide it, unlike her apparently - and leaned forward hastily, pulling down his sleeve.

As if that were going to make him forget that the markings were there. He wasn't an infant. He did understand the concept of object permanence.

What he didn't understand - and what he didn't want to believe - was why she was the one painting these symbols on his skin; the symbols that led to nothing good. "Sam - what is this? Where are we? What happened to those other men?"

"Other men?" She laughed it off, moving closer to him, and putting her mouth to his neck.

No. She was not going to do this again. He pulled away and started to roll up his sleeve. "Why are you doing this? Talk to me. Please."

O.k. So maybe that had been a little closer to begging than he would have liked, but he couldn't keep doing this. He was going crazy - kissing her and feeling her and not understanding how it was her and yet it wasn't. Even though he knew it was, well, let's not say impossible. Improbable. Highly improbable. "Sam."

"Mmm..." She put her hand over his and leaned forward. "I'd rather talk about our nice, big shower." - she kissed his throat - ".the bed by the window, warmed by the sun." - she nibbled his ear - ".underneath Aurora's lights."

The shower most definitely. The bed by the window? Warmed by the sun? He couldn't say that had never happened, although it sounded suspiciously like the hotel in Toronto, just a few short weeks ago.

Aurora's lights, though - that was the kicker. They'd never known anyone named Aurora, and had most certainly never done anything beneath her lights. The only Aurora he was even familiar with was Aurora Borealis - a.k.a. the Northern Lights. And he had never seen those in his life before that night with Buffy. Not with Sam, with Buffy.

She pushed him back down and leaned forward, kissing him. "No more talk." she whispered. "This time, think about me."

As the motorboat neared the landing, Buffy could see Graham pacing up and down the dock. Further up on shore, a second helicopter had joined the first and the blades of both were already whirring, ready to take off as soon as Buffy and Willow were back at the airstrip.

"You're sure?" Graham asked, grasping Buffy's arm the second her foot hit solid ground.

Buffy had been like a broken fountain since the moment she left that circle - crying off and on, without any control. Happy tears, mostly: they'd been right - the body wasn't his. Of course, no one needed to remind her that, just because it wasn't Riley lying there, it still didn't prove he wasn't dead. Or, if he were alive, that she'd be able to find him.

The same thoughts were clearly running through Graham's head - his nod was cautious and his eyes guarded as he took the samples from Willow's hands.

"Wait," Buffy said. "This, too." She held out a vial of liquid that Joe had passed to her right before she left the village.

"What is it?" Graham asked as a soldier came running down the dock to meet them, carrying a box that looked to be a forensics kit.

All she knew was that they hadn't made her drink it, which was somewhat of a relief. "Joe called it the 'dream maker.'"

Graham raised his eyebrows, but didn't ask any further questions. After a moment's hesitation, he instructed the soldier to pour the liquid into two plastic jars. Then he said a bunch of things that - other than seeming like a bunch of names and places - made absolutely no sense to Buffy.

"Yes, sir." The soldier closed up his kit and stood up straight, saluting before running back to one of the two waiting helicopters. Within seconds, it took off.

Buffy glanced at Willow - who also obviously had no clue - before asking, "Where's he going?"

Waving as the chopper turned in the direction that Buffy was pretty sure was south, Graham answered, "There's an Air Force base in Illinois. He'll stop there on his way to D.C. and drop off the second jar. Someone will bring it to your people in L.A. From what Angel told us about Wesley, I have a feeling he might be able to identify whatever that was."

Well, yes. That was exactly what Buffy would have suggested if she'd had the presence of mind to be thinking right now. Now, though, all she wanted to do was find Riley. Willow was already headed towards the remaining helicopter; Buffy started to follow, stopping only when Graham grabbed her arm.

"What?" For some reason, she hadn't expected him to want to know details. Which was absolutely stupid, because if she'd been on his end, she'd be demanding whatever proof existed, as thin as it may be.

There was desperation in Graham's voice. "How are you sure?" This wasn't the commander speaking; this was the man - the man who was trying desperately to believe that his friend was still alive. "That it's not him," Graham added quietly. "Sprague said from the visual that there was no way to tell."

"Oh." Watching Willow climb into the helicopter, Buffy wished that was where she was at the moment. She wasn't exactly eager to tell Graham how she'd known. "I don't suppose you'll settle for 'trust me'?"

God, Buffy. This is cruel. It's not as if it's never occurred to him that you've seen Riley naked. Still, she hesitated for a minute before saying, "There were scratches on his back, on his shoulder. Kind of, um, deep. They weren't on the body."

Graham's face fell. "Scratches?" He gave her a look of disbelief as his hand dropped away. A crushing look of disbelief. "Sounds pretty weak."

"I know him, Graham. I know his body." She ignored the heat rising to her cheeks. She may not have many qualms in the bedroom, but it wasn't something she particularly wanted to talk about, most especially not with Riley's best friend. These were not normal circumstances, however, and, damn it, if she could kill Evil Winnie the Pooh with her bare hands, she could at the very least assure Graham of what she knew to be true.

"I know where the scars are," she said softly. "They weren't there." She put her hand on Graham's shoulder and looked him in the eye. "I'm sure."

He nodded, closing his eyes in relief. When he opened them, Buffy could see they were filled. Although he did manage a grin as he said, "You gave him the scratches?"

She shrugged with what she hoped was perfect innocence, even though she could feel the blush that was giving her away.

"O.k." Graham cleared his throat. "Let's get back to Atikokan. Let's get this done."

Buffy paced back and forth, her arms tightly hugging her chest as she made a special effort not to bump into one of the far too many people crowded into the motel room.

"No," she said evenly, displaying incredible restraint. It wasn't as though she hadn't tried - not the killing him, of course, just the finding something else to do.

For example, she now knew that there were 742 tiny orange and brown diamonds on the room's 1970s-style curtains. She knew that it took seventy-three steps to walk from where she was standing, into the adjoining room, out that room's door into the parking lot and then back again; eighty-two if you detoured to the soda machine to get a Diet Coke.

There were fourteen cars in the parking lot, all with Canadian license plates, the numbers of which were... Well, there was no need to go into them at the moment. Suffice it to say there was - literally - nothing else she could find to do.

She walked over to where Graham sat and looked over his shoulder at the computer. "How much longer do we have to wait?"

Without taking his eyes off the screen, Graham answered, "Three minutes less than the last time you asked."

"We could deal you in," Brooks offered, his feet resting on the bed as he played Rummy 10,000 with Brady. At least, that's what it seemed like their score was up to. They'd apparently begun playing early in the morning; they hadn't put the cards down in the three hours since Buffy had been back from Joe's village.

Or at least she thought it was under her breath until Brady motioned towards the soldier sitting at a monitor next to Graham. "You're scaring Private Vega."

Private John Anthony Luis Vega, who, by the way, had been adopted as an infant along with his three older sisters, Kerry, Jamie, and Abigail Louise. Buffy could also name all of the pets that he'd had since the age of six as well as the name and description of every teacher he'd had from kindergarten on up.

"Graham," she said, poking the back of his shoulder. "Let's just go. Who's really going to know if you don't have a permit? There's, like, a million miles of territory in Quetico. The rangers aren't going to know we're in there."

Graham finally turned to her. "Right. 'Cause they won't happen to notice a chopper flying over their heads. Is Willow going to do some 'make them become idiots' spell?"

Buffy's eyes wandered to the window out of which Willow and Ana could be seen sitting in rusty metal chairs on the motel's dock. Willow had her laptop out as she tried to make sense of the markings - Ro and the Chief had given her some help, but even they couldn't translate all the symbols. Ana was finishing up the sweater that she had knit over the past few days, having nothing else to do other than hang out with Sprague, Vega and the other two guys that were rotating watching-the-body duty. Though Ana had offered to teach Buffy, it had been the general consensus that a pair of sharp needles was the last thing Buffy needed.

"Besides," Graham was saying with what Buffy felt was an uncalled for amount of exasperation, "what are you going to do when you get there? Sit in the middle of the lake and call for the Princess to come down and fight you?"

"Riley would do it for you," Buffy muttered, regretting it the second the words were out of her mouth.

"Yes." Graham folded his arms across his chest, obviously annoyed. "That's probably why he's my boss," he snapped. "Anything else you want to get into? Because I could probably come up with a thing or-"

The screen door slammed shut behind Willow, her eyes on the computer she was carrying in. "I think I need to-" She stopped speaking and looked up, her eyes widening as she looked from Buffy to Graham and then back again, clearly noticing that neither one was very happy. "What happened? Did the test come back?" A shadow passed over her face. In a horrified whisper, she asked, "They didn't... It wasn't Riley, was it?"

Buffy shook her head. Rather angrily, in fact, which had nothing to do with Willow.

Buffy had to admit she could see Graham's point, namely, without the results from the DNA test, General Cutting couldn't back this effort. Without General Cutting's backing, they wouldn't get the full support needed. No full support meant that the super speedy government helicopter wouldn't be available, and that meant at least three days for paddling out to the lake - three days they couldn't afford.

Plus, the fact that Graham was actually sitting here, his career completely on the line, should be given proper weight. He may not have the benefit of a year's worth of Scooby-style demon-hunting under his belt as Riley did - but Graham was bucking about a billion rules to be here; she supposed she should give him a break. Still, it didn't mean that she was beyond a lashing out or two.

Willow nodded, immediately and obviously disinterested in whatever subtext was between Buffy and Graham. She snapped her laptop shut. "It doesn't matter anyway. The spell's not..." She shook her head distractedly. "I'm not ready. I think I'm going to have to-"

"Not ready?" Buffy couldn't keep the desperation from her voice. Did no one else feel the urgency here? Did they not see that it was important to be moving? With a groan she sat heavily on the bed and put her head in her hands.

She'd had plenty of time to think about that over the past few hours - much too much time - and she was certain. Certain enough, even, to call Riley's kids and assure them that they were right, that Riley wasn't dead. She'd resisted, however, because she had no idea of how to answer what was most certain to be their next question: Where was he?

Or, more specifically, what alternate dimension was he in, and how could she get there?

Buffy put her hand to her chest; not to the ring this time, but to the burn it had left on her skin. An actual burn - an angry red mark branding her, convincing her that this was not rationalization talking; that someone - possibly even Riley - was trying to communicate with her; that somehow he had been with her, fighting those men in that circle. How he had gotten there - and why he had disappeared again - were not answers she could give.

She couldn't give any answers at the moment, in fact, because - despite all those hours of thinking - not one good idea had come to her about how to get Riley home. There weren't any ideas, period.

It had been a long time since she'd been so emotionally involved in - to use the military term - an op. For some reason, she didn't remember it being quite this hard, quite this tangible. And this part had nothing to do with any spell. This was just her future self talking. The part of her that wanted to sit on her balcony, curled up in Riley's lap as they watched the sun set, that wanted to wake up in his arms and feel his warmth surrounding her. The part that wanted to prove to him there really was a difference between the way she felt back in college and the way she felt now, something she wasn't entirely sure he believed yet.

"What's taking so long, Will?" This process usually seemed to go much faster. "When will you be ready?"

Willow was not in the least bit offended by Buffy's aggravated impatience, probably due to the twenty years' worth of experience in dealing with it. "I'm almost there. I just need to-" She was again interrupted, this time by Graham's cell phone ringing.

Graham answered, "Hey, Wesley," and Buffy's heart sank. Were the tests ever going to come back? Though no longer anxious about the results, she wanted to get this train moving.

After a few 'uh-huh's and a 'sure' or two, he snapped the phone shut and looked at Buffy. "The stuff Joe gave you - Wes said it's a dye, probably what was used for the markings on the bodies."

"Thus the name, 'dream maker,'" Willow murmured, perching on a chair squeezed in between the wall and the bed.

"Except that it doesn't make the dreams." Though Graham seemed relieved to be focusing on someone other than Buffy, he glanced back at her as he added, "It enhances them."

"What kind of analysis tells you that?" Brady asked, not bothering to hide his disbelief.

With a hint of a grin and a shake of his head, Graham said, "He tried some. Just went ahead and painted it on."

Brady's disbelief transformed into incredulity - a kind of 'you people are all crazy' look - as he turned to Buffy and Willow. "Riley spent a year with you guys? I think I'm beginning to understand him a little better."

Still stuck on what Graham had said, Buffy was barely paying any attention. Standing up quickly, she began to pace again, oblivious to Graham's eyes following her, his expression having transformed from irritated to concerned.

Enhances them? Enhances the dreams? As if they hadn't been vivid enough, which Buffy knew all too well having experienced them first-hand, without the benefit of any extra special boost. And knowing how hard it had been to feel Angel like that, to have him so close...

"Not exactly willingly," Brooks said, shaking his head and lifting the arm that was still in a sling. "And Sam would never do that." He seemed to realize that statement sounded odd given the fact that Sam was dead, and mumbled, "No matter what the circumstance."

Buffy decided she was done with that topic of conversation, even though she was the one who had brought it up. If Sam really were somehow behind this Buffy didn't think she stood a chance. And if it was Miss Princess/Butterfly Queen playing the role of Sam, well, then she wasn't playing fair.

Trying to get across how vital it was for her to not be here right now, to not be waiting, Buffy turned to Graham. "I need to do something. Anything. I can't just sit here."

Willow stood up and put her laptop into its bag. "There's a museum around here, right?"

Stowing her bag against the wall, Willow said, "I think they'll have what I need. I'm heading over for a little while." She pulled Buffy towards the door. "Come with me."

"I don't want to go to a museum," Buffy said, looking back at the room as Willow opened the door. "I want to be killing things."

With a concerned look at Private Vega - who, Buffy had to admit, really did seem kind of scared - Willow offered, "It's a museum. It has lots of dead things. Almost as good." Willow caught the car keys that Graham threw her and smiled her thanks. "Come. It will be fun." She pushed Buffy out the door and slammed it behind them.

As Buffy got out of the car, she specifically didn't ask Willow what they'd be looking for, even though the question was just sitting there on the tip of her lips. Knowing Willow better than she sometimes knew herself, Buffy could practically hear what Willow's answer would be: we'll know it when we see it. And that answer just wasn't what Buffy was looking for today.

Willow knew Buffy just as well, though, and she obviously wasn't fooled, saying, "We'll get him back, Buffy." Her voice was unquestionably reassuring, the determination of one of the world's two most powerful women talking to the world's other most powerful woman. Her eyes were full of empathy. "You're not alone in this."

Buffy just nodded her head. There'd been too much tension during the last few hours - too much grief over the last few days - to trust her voice right now. It took all her concentration to stop her body from trembling. She briskly turned and walked towards the museum's entrance.

They climbed the steps leading to the glass atrium that spanned the front of the building. The structure itself was much bigger than Buffy had expected, at least three stories tall and a couple hundred yards wide - easily the biggest building she'd seen in Atikokan. They paid and walked through the turnstile.

Willow nudged Buffy's elbow as they passed a sign pointing the way to the administrative offices. "What's that guy's name?" Willow asked. "Harry? Should we get the guided tour?"

Buffy shook her head. She wanted to get the lay of the land first. "Let's just walk around."

They were half way through the first floor when a display caught Willow's attention. "Buffy." she said, nodding at it.

Even if it hadn't been blatantly labeled as an exhibit on the Princess and the Trader, Buffy would have known from the portrait that was the centerpiece: an almost abnormally beautiful girl with - of course - long, jet black hair setting off her bronze skin. She looked no more than eighteen years old, though it may just have been the smile in her eyes, a smile that somehow shone through despite the several-hundred-years old painting.

The girl, however, wasn't what held Buffy's attention. It was the man the girl stood behind, a man who looked so much like Riley that they could be brothers - from the shape of his mouth to the shade of his hair to his long, sinewy arms and legs. Despite his being seated in a chair, his head came up to the girl's chest, and Buffy had no doubt of where he fit on the height and weight scale: six feet tall, two hundred pounds. Victim profile meet Didier Longère.

Buffy closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe. She should have come here that first day in Atikokan; if she'd come here that day, none of this would have happened. She would have dragged Riley to this museum and made him look at this picture and not let him leave until he admitted that he was walking straight into a trap.

Even Riley couldn't have ignored the uncanny resemblance, a resemblance that none of the other men had shared. Was this a good thing? Would it somehow help Riley? Throw the Princess for enough of a loop that she'd want to keep him around a little longer? Or was it just -

Her eyes connecting with Willow's, Buffy couldn't deny that she had a visceral reaction to seeing this man with this woman - an unmistakable stirring in her gut that had everything to do with the basest of instincts, with an age old hurt and an uncalled for jealousy.

"Didier Longère and his princess, Kaseniiosta," said the docent who appeared behind Buffy. "It's our own local fairy tale come true."

Fairy tale? Please. "Except for the tragic ending part," Buffy added in what some might call a petulant tone. Well, really - Disney at least had the sense to end with 'they lived happily ever after.' They never told you that Cinderella's prince died of smallpox before they reached their ten-year anniversary. Not that Buffy had any inside information to Prince Charming's fate, but wasn't that the point?

"When was this painted?" Willow asked, effectively drawing the docent's attention away from Buffy.

Vaguely registering the woman's answer - "Circa 1740" - Buffy wasn't sure if she was happy to have a few more minutes to look at the portrait. Immediately drawn to Longère's eyes - eyes with so much of Riley in them, she could practically hear Riley's voice whispering her name, could feel his hands grazing her skin.

Nor would focusing on the way the Miss Princess clasped his shoulder, her hand taking possession of his body and soul, claiming him as hers. That was probably a lot to read into one hand on one shoulder, and yet Buffy had no doubt of the ferocity with which this woman would protect what she saw as hers.

Was that what she wanted from Riley? Was that what she'd wanted from the other men? Did she kill them when they didn't play the part?

Buffy decided maybe it was time to tune back in to what the docent was saying: "... came to the area in 1732 at the age of seventeen, quickly earning the respect of both the other traders and the Native Americans he dealt with. He died of smallpox in 1748."

Sixteen years, Buffy thought. Odd, given that was exactly how long ago Riley had left her to go to Belize.

It's called a coincidence, Buffy. And none of the other numbers match up. Except for the height and weight thing. Still, it probably wouldn't hurt to know more about Monsieur Longère. "Do you have anything else on him?"

The guide turned and gestured to a case in the corner. "We have several of his journals, thanks to a very generous donor. Some of his personal items as well."

They followed her across the room. In addition to a small book open to pages filled with almost illegible writing, there were a couple of knives, a leather pouch, and a plain gold band.

Buffy could feel Willow's intake of breath as her own hand went to her chain: Riley's ring. What Willow needed to complete the spell: the link that bound all of them together - Buffy, Riley, and Sam; the Princess and her Trader.

Though anxious to get back to the motel room, Buffy remained where she was. Willow wouldn't be asking if it weren't important for some reason. The ring hadn't been enough.

The guide shook her head. "Not without the Curator's permission." She didn't offer to find him.

"Buffy," Willow said as soon as the other woman was out of hearing distance. "There's something here. It's not just the ring. It's ..."

What 'it' was, she couldn't articulate - the air buzzing, her skin tingling, the hair on the back of her neck standing straight up on edge. She wasn't even sure what had set it all off, just that it had started as they crossed to this part of the room. With her back to the wall, Buffy scanned the exhibit.

Her hand shot out and she grabbed Willow's arm. "There," she whispered, nodding to a series of pottery bowls, the clay so thin they looked like porcelain. They'd been tucked away into a back corner, their brilliant colors showing through despite the poor lighting.

At Willow's questioning look, Buffy explained, "The colors. They're like the sunrise - Riley's sunrise." She didn't believe anything could have captured the spectacular colors of that day, but these bowls had.

"Will..." It was suddenly occurring to Buffy that though Jessica had been the one pushing for Riley to go into the woods, she hadn't been alone that day - she'd been accompanied by Harry. Harry, who had to have been aware of the striking resemblance between Riley and the man in the portrait; Harry, who had been more than close enough to plant the gum that had attracted the bear. Harry, who could easily have played upon Jessica's hatred of Graham and manipulated her into choosing Riley for this mission.

Buffy jumped, having completely forgotten that they'd summoned him via the docent. She looked up at him slowly, the air around her virtually sizzling as fire filled her eyes; every tear she had shed became a pinprick of rage and she was actually seeing red.

Of course, that may just have been Willow's hair settling into place as she leapt in front of Buffy, obviously in hopes of sparing Harry's life - not because Willow would be feeling any affinity for Harry at the moment, but because it would probably be traumatic for the little kids viewing the exhibit to see a man's limbs torn from his body right in front of their eyes.

Harry somehow seemed oblivious. Denial, maybe? Whatever it was, he continued on as though he hadn't a care in the world. "I wish you had told me you were back in town. I would have provided a much more appropriate welcome."

Incapable of speech, Buffy barely registered Willow stepping forward and introducing herself, babbling on about how the trip hadn't really been planned and this had been an unexpected block of free time. Her hand on Buffy's elbow, Willow guided them out into the hallway, chattering with Harry the entire time.

Within seconds, Buffy found herself out in the parking lot, being pushed into the car by a smiling Willow. A smiling Willow who, as she happily waved good-bye to Harry, murmured under her breath, "Not yet, Buffy. You can't kill him yet."

Willow was getting in the car now and starting to pull away. Buffy leaned forward and shook her head, finally finding her voice again. "We can't leave, Will. I have to-"

She stopped abruptly as she realized Willow had pulled out her cell phone and was dialing a number as she drove away.

"Graham," Willow said, "when Buffy and Riley first started dating - back at Sunnydale? There was this guy named Ethan Rayne. Your guys locked him away.... Yes, that's the one. Any chance you've still got those fancy top secret facilities in Nevada? I think we might be needing them."

Of course she had. She wasn't an idiot. Her friend might be a little ditzy, but not Buffy. Definitely not Buffy.

He reached for the phone. No - there wasn't even time to make arrangements. Thank God he had planned for this, packed a bag in case he needed to make a quick escape.

That was o.k. This had been a good run. It had been profitable. Profitable enough for his own private island in the Maldives, in fact. Damn good thing, he thought, standing up and reaching under his desk for the bag he had stowed there. Because-

The door to his office swung open, and before he could even think about making a break for the window, Buffy was in his face, pushing him against the wall.

"Harry," she said, with a very unpleasant look on her face. "I think we need to talk."

Buffy could barely see straight and she had to force herself to remember that Harry was human, that she could actually be about to commit murder. And yet that didn't seem to make her want to hurt him any less.

"I can help you find him," Harry hurriedly offered. He gasped as Buffy pushed her arm against his neck. "Just tell me... Whatever I need to..." His words came in short bursts as she cut off his air supply. "I can..."

"Buffy..." Though Willow's voice was deliberately calm and soothing, the strength with which she gripped Buffy's shoulder was enough to get Buffy's attention.

Not that Willow left it to chance, quietly murmuring, "Don't do this, Sweetie. Because then you'll be Evil Buffy and you'll have to go spend a summer being taken care of by Giles, like they did with me, which would be fine if it didn't mean you also had to hang out with his wife who you know drives you crazy." She nodded her head towards the three soldiers who had accompanied them here. "Plus the commandos will have to shoot you and then what will we tell Riley when we get him back? That you..."

Willow's voice faded away as the fire flared out of control, and Buffy tried to get her focus back, tried to use Willow's hand on her shoulder as the focal point - Willow's touch rather than the way Harry was gasping for air.

Buffy squeezed her eyes shut, telling herself to concentrate. Get back to the center. Beat back the rage.

She opened her eyes again, registering the soldiers at her six-, seven- and eight-o'clock, their weapons cocked as Harry started to turn a little blue. His gaze was becoming unfocused.

Do not kill him, Buffy told herself. You can't kill him. At least not before he tells you what he knows.

Releasing her grip, she stepped back and let him slide down the wall, his hands going to his throat as he gulped in air. Looking up at her, his eyes were full of terror.

Her adrenaline was surging, and she was getting dangerously close to Psycho Faith territory, to that really dark place where everything - every cross she'd ever had to bear, every loss she'd suffered through, every 'ever after' she'd been cheated out of - became Harry's fault, and Buffy was a little frightened at how much she didn't want to let him go, at how much she wanted to make him feel every ounce of her pain, make him pay back every one of the tears she'd shed with a drop of his blood. Wielding her power this way was not something she was used to - Wesley usually played the interrogator role. It was an odd and alarming thing, a treacherous path that she had seen traveled badly too many times.

She forced herself to regroup, forced the fire back down. There was no doubt as to whether Harry was innocent or not - his reaction had already sealed his fate. Plus there was that fully packed bag peeking out from under his desk, one of those dead giveaway kind of things.

Reaching down and grabbing him by his shirt, she pulled him up and shoved him into his chair. "Sit," she hissed.

Close enough to him that she could smell his fear, Buffy tried to keep her voice from trembling with anger. "Harry, I need to tell you a little story."

Sitting back against the desk, she forced herself to breathe. An eerie calm overtook her, and ice began to flow through her veins, putting out the fire and leaving in its place cold, hard steel. "Once upon a time, there was a princess, who, incidentally, spent a good portion of her life getting knocked around." She reached for a letter opener lying on the desk.

"Oh, don't get me wrong..." She ran her finger along the sharp edge. "...She did a fair amount of pummeling herself."

Her rage shaped itself into a smile - a menacing, evil smile that she knew was directly responsible for Harry turning even whiter than he'd been before. Shrugging, she added, "O.k. - to be perfectly honest..." She leaned in close, her mouth right at his ear, her breath hot on his skin. She could feel him flinch when she whispered, "...That part was kind of fun."

The soldiers were getting jumpy behind her, and she could sense their agitation - never a good sign with people who had guns, even if they were on your side. She pulled back, deliberately lightening her tone.

"So as I was saying, this princess led a life that didn't allow for princes; not in a 'happily ever after' way at least." As Buffy spoke, she began playing with the letter opener again, flipping it back and forth, letting the blade come closer and closer to Harry's face. "But time passes; her life changes, and 'happily ever after' actually starts to look like it could work. Except for the part where she'd already used up her quota of princes."

She threw the letter opener up in the air and watched Harry's eyes follow it to the ceiling and then down again as she picked it out of the air, her hand closing around the blade so tightly that it drew blood. Not that she could feel it - she was beyond pain now. She opened her hand and let the blood drip to the floor.

Harry got the point. His breathing had become shallow and his knuckles were stark white as his hands gripped the armrests of his chair.

"And then one day," she continued, her voice full of wonder, "defying all rhyme and reason, the princess found him." Even the Slayer's steel couldn't protect her from that, and a blush rose to her cheeks - tears sprang to her eyes - as she could feel Riley's warmth surrounding her, could see the smile in his eyes.

Leaning forward again, she put her hand on Harry's knee, speaking as though he were a girlfriend she was sharing a secret with, and ignoring that the soldiers all tightened their grips on their blasters as she moved. "Can you believe it?" She shook her head. "Neither could I." She almost laughed as she repeated, "Neither could I." Because - honestly? - it still seemed a bit unreal, almost like a dream. Almost.

Letting her hands remain still, Buffy looked Harry in the eye, her gaze so cold she could practically see the icicles hanging between them. "You can imagine how unhappy the princess was when her prince got taken away."

Her fingers grasped the tip of the blade and then let go, whipping the letter opener so close to Harry's head that when it lodged itself in the wall behind him, it took a few strands of his hair with it. "No - not just taken away. Given away. To someone else."

She reached past Harry to extract the blade from the wall. "Ever hear the expression, 'Hell hath no fury?'" As she pulled back, she drew the edge of the opener along Harry's jaw. "Honey - you don't want to be around to see this woman scorned."

Abruptly standing up, she pushed Harry's chair backwards. "Why am I telling you this?" The soldiers backed away as she did, giving her some breathing room. She walked around to the other side of the desk and sat down next to Willow in one of the chairs conveniently placed for visitors. "Because I want you to be very clear on how important it is that you tell us what we want to know." She looked at Willow. "Tell him what we want to know."

Willow's eyes widened in surprise as Buffy said that last part, but - bless her - she barely hesitated for a second before leaning forward and saying, "Show me your spell."

"I..." Harry's voice cracked and he had to start again. "There wasn't any-" He stopped speaking as soon as he noticed Buffy shift.

After a moment of hesitation, Harry bent down, nearly disappearing from sight. His hands shot up in the air when - as one - the three soldiers were suddenly on top of him, the tips of their blasters, only inches from his face.

That was cool, Buffy thought. It was like being on t.v.; she could get used to this kind of backup. In her sternest voice, she said, "Go ahead. Slowly. Or else these guys might actually kill you before I do."

Harry nodded and carefully reached into the bag that was sitting on the floor, his eyes on the guns as they followed him down and then up again, a small black notebook in his grasp. He flipped it open, and handed it to Willow.

As Willow read, Harry said to Buffy, his words full of spite, "She couldn't have taken Finn if he didn't want to go. He wanted his wife back; he wanted Sam."

Buffy didn't ask how Harry knew about Sam. Unlike Joe, Harry had an inside track, working closely enough with Jessica that he could probably have found out anything he needed to know. Plus, he'd spent the week with Brady - Brady, who wasn't exactly known for his discretion. She decided it was unnecessary to dignify Harry's comment with a response, choosing to scan the pictures on the office wall instead.

Harry was undeterred, his voice gaining strength as he spoke into the silence. "You know, he didn't even stay with you the day you almost died. If he truly loved you-"

"You mean the day you almost got me killed?" Buffy laughed. "Are you serious?" Even now as, well, a more mature woman than she'd been sixteen years ago, she had a lot of insecurities when it came to men. Riley's being away from her while she was unconscious was not even close to stoking one of them. He was there when she woke up - that was all she needed to know. Oh, and that he had saved her life. That was called Coming Up Big.

Luckily, Willow seemed ready for her own questions, asking, "You've been using this spell since the beginning?"

Willow didn't take her eyes away from the notebook. "Where's the translation from? It's different than what I've been getting off the bodies."

It actually looked like Harry wasn't going to answer. Buffy moved forward slightly, her glare leaving no doubt that she would happily tear him apart, starting finger by finger, twisting off his wrist, yanking the arm out of its-

That made Willow look up. She smiled right back, unimpressed. "Me, too. And yet I ask."

Buffy looked back at the wall, her brain a few minutes late in registering what she had just seen. "Will..."

Standing up, Buffy crossed the room and pulled down one of the pictures. A newspaper article, actually, framed like a picture. She handed it over; there was no need to direct Willow's attention to the headline, "Local Boy Does Good." The accompanying picture - of a ten-year-old Harry, smiling and pointing to a rock on which was carved suspiciously familiar markings - told them all they needed to know.

A newspaper article, by the way, that would have been kind of key in the whole gathering information phase of this mission. "How did we miss that?" Buffy asked despite realizing that she probably wasn't being very tactful since Willow had been the one doing the research.

"The technology back then wouldn't have picked up the photo and with such a non-descript headline..." Willow shook her head.

The article was short and almost completely uninformative, the reporter clearly coming from the perspective of disbelief, the word "hoax" being all but actually mentioned in the article. Buffy glanced up at Harry. "You spent most of your life proving this reporter wrong." He'd probably been working on the translation that whole time. No wonder he'd figured it out.

"The reporter was an idiot," Harry spat out. "He could have actually earned himself a Pulitzer."

"What - and instead he created a monster? I hope you have a better excuse than that." Buffy turned her attention back to the text, seeing the words as she heard Willow murmur sadly -

Yes, sadly, because the reporter - despite the snarky tone throughout most of the article - had added two final lines: "Services for the late Emily Ashton Dunne, will be held this afternoon at 4:00 p.m. at St. Theresa's. Mrs. Dunne was killed in a car crash this past Sunday; on behalf of his father, Harry would like to thank the citizens of Atikokan for their support during this difficult time."

"On behalf of your father?" Being part of the club, Buffy didn't have any qualms over asking him about the details surrounding his mother's death; or about his father's reaction to it, which, as she was beginning to realize, was more to the point. Though her own father had been less than brokenhearted in similar circumstances, she'd seen enough of Riley's grief to understand what Harry's experience could have been. "He couldn't thank them himself?"

Unh-uh, Harry. Killing fourteen men didn't let you get off that easy. "He was incapable of it, wasn't he?" She could actually hear the clicks as all the pieces fell into place. "He'd lost the love of his life. He couldn't go on." She held up the article. "And no one - not even your father - gave a damn that you'd just made the discovery of your life." She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging the impact such a discovery would have had in circles far bigger than Atikokan.

She stood up and walked across the room, hanging the article back on the wall. Maybe she should have felt more sympathy for him; maybe she should have tried to be a little more understanding. But she couldn't - it wasn't in her, not with Annie and Kate and Liam and Jack on her brain. "Boy, that must have sucked to be you." Nope. No sympathy.

Harry didn't seem to care. His bitterness had nothing to do with her. "My father was as good as dead that day. His body was still with us. They told me I should have been grateful for that."

Well, alright. Maybe a teensy, eensy little grain of sympathy. It might have been more if he hadn't taken Riley away. She turned to face him. "I'm guessing he's not six feet tall, two hundred pounds. Otherwise you would have sent him away, too. Like you did with the other men."

Shaking his head angrily, Harry countered, "I sent each of those men home. Where they wanted to be. Ask her." He nodded at Willow. "The spell doesn't lie. I don't choose the destination. They do; they do what their hearts tell them. They get to choose."

Buffy looked at Willow, not at all happy that Willow wouldn't meet her eyes. Fine. She'd look at Harry then. "I refuse to believe that." Or at least, that's what she was going to tell herself: Riley wouldn't leave her that easily. He most certainly wouldn't leave his kids. "I think this is a little more twisted. I think that's the way you justify this."

She could feel the tightness in her throat. Those insecurities that Harry hadn't quite pinned down before? He'd just nailed them. Keep talking, Buffy, and go on the offensive because the alternative is, well... "You get a thrill out of helping her, don't you? You think this Princess is actually grateful to you."

Harry leapt to his feet, and, his hands on the desk, he nearly threw himself forward, getting right in Buffy's face. "I know she is. She tells me. And you know what she had to say about Riley? He was perfect. He was made for her. Even Sam-"

"No," Buffy spat back. "You tried to do the spell the day of the bear, but you failed. Riley was too-" Whoa, girl, she thought, closing her eyes. Don't get into this argument. Do not even finish that thought.

She may have wanted to think that Harry had miscalculated, that Riley's "home" that day had been just as much Buffy as it had been Sam, but even if Harry really had tried the spell that day - of which she had no confirmation - she had no idea if her theory was actually true or if it had just been Joe's magic providing interference. She refused to back down, though, even as she ran on fumes, completely unsure of everything she was saying.

Ignoring the heat that flushed her skin, the ring as it began to burn, she let the words tumble out of her mouth without any reasoning behind them - this was pure lashing out now, just trying to get on solid ground again. Although, as she heard the words out loud, they sounded more solid than they had before, ringing of truth. Or maybe it was just the conviction with which she spoke them, inflicting as much pain as she possibly could: "The Maymaygwayshi. They're playing with you the way you've played with all these lives. The Princess doesn't give a damn about you either."

"You saw it yourself," Harry answered, shaking his head angrily as he pointed out his office door to what she assumed was the exhibit with the porcelain bowls. "You saw Riley's sunrise. It's the same one you saw that morning, isn't it?" His voice turned cold - he could see he was getting to her, could see it in her eyes. He was flinging the pain right back at her, meanly snapping, "Would you like it as a keepsake? You could always sell it. That one was the best of the lot. With black market prices, it'll easily go for ten, eleven mil. With that much money, you could buy another pr-"

Buffy didn't even realize she had raised her hand to strike him until she felt the soldier's arms go around her, pulling her back. He was issuing orders to the other two men, telling them to take Harry away, assuring her that Harry would be taken care of.

"Ma'am," he said as Harry was led out of the room. "Colonel Miller would like a word."

The soldier - she wished she had thought to ask their names - took off his com-cam and handed it to her. Of course Graham would have been watching that whole thing. She looked at the com-cam and then at Willow; she wasn't sure she could talk to Graham right now.

Willow seemed to sense Buffy's reluctance, and, in a very Willow way, gently and yet forcefully took the com-cam from the soldier's hand and started saying things that didn't make any sense, or at least not to Buffy. There was too much anger and hurt and frustration and -

"Good work, ma'am," the soldier said before he left the room. He actually saluted her. That made her laugh. And, as she bowed her head, almost cry. God, how she wanted Riley back.

She pounded her fist on Harry's desk, sending papers flying. Deep breaths; deep cleansing breaths. A punching bag would come in very handily right now. As would Brady.

A few more minutes of forcing herself to breathe and she was able to get control again, able to tune in to what Willow was saying to Graham: "... more complex than I originally thought. It's a combination - part love, part locator spell. It goes back to that whole 'souls entwined' thing." She frowned as she listened to something Graham said. "Of course I can do it."

There was another pause, and Willow shook her head, then glanced up guiltily at Buffy before answering, "No, Harry wasn't wrong. The exact phrase is..." Looking down at the notebook, Willow read, "...'Lead me home.'"

Buffy closed her eyes, feeling a rush of hot air. She couldn't take Riley away from Sam. Not like that. Couldn't just reach in and -

She felt Willow's hand cover hers and looked up as she heard Willow excitedly say, "But I don't think it's that simple. This goes further than just using Sam's voice, it actually..."

Willow let go of Buffy's hand and looked back down at the notebook. "It actually requires Sam's soul. It's not just Riley who has to choose; Sam has to want him to stay." She bit her lip. "If I'm remembering Kate's dream right, I think Sam may be just as unhappy about this as, well, Buffy is."

Riley's ring suddenly began to vibrate, practically jumping inside of Buffy's shirt.

No way, Buffy thought, pulling the chain off and almost throwing it on the desk. Sam? It was suddenly very odd to have that piece of metal hanging between her breasts.

"Yes," Willow said, bending down to grab the car keys out of her bag. "I think it is." A smile lit up her face as she hugged Buffy and actually kissed her on the cheek before rushing out the door. "I really think it is."