Buffy had to think. "Like, a couple hundred demons ago."

"There's a rink out past Route Seventeen." He took a step toward her. "It's closed on Tuesdays."

Buffy looked up at him, scarcely daring to hope. She returned his smile and took a step toward him.

"Tomorrow's Tuesday," she said cautiously.

They were close enough to kiss.

"I know."

CHAPTER 2.

The outcomes of the aptitude tests had been posted.

As students milled about between classes, Xander and Cordelia stood in front of the large sign in the palm court, anxiously reading over the lists, searching for their names.

"Here I am!" Cordelia announced "Personal shopper or motivational speaker. Neato!"

"Motivational speaker?" Xander's look was mildly shocked. "On what? 'Ten steps to a more annoying you'?"

"Oh," Cordelia threw back at him. "And what about you? You're-"

Once again she scanned the lists, this time finding his name. With a burst of laughter, she shook her head and moved off into the crowd, leaving Xander desperately staring at the sign.

"What? What?"

He still couldn't see his name, and Buffy and Willow walked right past him, too deep in girl-talk to stop.

"You and Angel are going skating?" Willow said excitedly. "Alone?"

Buffy nodded. "Unless some unforeseen evil pops up. But I'm in full see-no-evil mode."

"Angel, ice skating . . ."

"I know," Buffy agreed. "Two worlds collide."

They turned as Xander caught up with them. One look at his face told them he was severely disturbed about something.

"Wouldn't you two say you know me about as well as anyone?" Xander demanded. "Maybe even better than I know myself?

"What's this about?" Willow sounded wary.

"When you look at me, do you think prison guard?"

The two girls paused. They looked him over appraisingly.

"Crossing guard, maybe," Buffy said at last. "But prison guard?"

Xander was in full indignation. "They just put up the assignments for the Career Fair. And according to my test results, I can look forward to being gainfully employed in the growing field of corrections."

"At least you'll be on the right side of the bars," Buffy teased.

"Laugh now, missy. They assignedyou to the booth for Law Enforcement Professionals."

Buffy made a face. "As in police?"

"As in polyester, donuts, and brutality," Xander said.

"Ugh."

Willow's expression brightened. "But . . . donuts . . ."

The mention of food didn't soothe Buffy at all. In fact, she was gazing off in another direction now, where they could see Giles trying to balance a foot-high stack of books under his chin.

"I'll jump off that bridge when I come to it," Buffy said. "First I have to deal with Giles. He's on this Tony Robbins hyper-efficiency kick. He wants me to check in with him now every day after homeroom."

Waving goodbye, she hurried off. Willow turned to Xander.

"You didn't check to see which seminar I was assigned to, did you?" she asked.

"I did," Xander assured her. "And you weren't."

"I wasn't what?"

"On any of the lists."

Willow looked confused. "But I handed in my test. I used a number two pencil."

"Then I guess you must've passed," Xander concluded.

"It's not the kind of test you pass or fail."

"Your name wasn't up there, Will," Xander said again.

He headed off for class, leaving Willow to stare worriedly after him.

The books were just about to fall.

As Giles tried to set them down on the library table, the whole stack tilted and began to topple over, when Buffy suddenly caught them.

"Oh, Buffy." Giles smiled his relief. "Thank you."

Together they eased the stack down safely while Giles continued to talk.

"I've been indexing the Watcher Diaries covering the past two centuries," he told her. "You'd be amazed at how pompous and long-winded some of these Watchers were."

Buffy hid a smile. "Color me stunned."

"I trust last night's patrol was fruitful," Giles went on, opening a notebook.

"Semi. I caught one of two vamps after they stole something from this jumbo mausoleum at the cemetery-"

"They were stealing?" Giles broke in.

"Yep. They had tools and the whole nine yards." Buffy paused, then asked, "What does that mean? The whole nine yards . . . nine yards of what? Now that's gonna bug me all day."

She pondered this a moment longer, then realized Giles was pacing, visibly disturbed.

"Giles, you're in pace mode," Buffy scolded. "What gives?"

"The vampire who escaped, did you see what he took?"

"No, but let me take a wild guess. Some old thing?"

Giles frowned. "I'm serious, Buffy."

"So am I. I bet it was downright crusty."

Giles was definitely not laughing. There was an edge of impatience in his tone.

"So you made no effort to find out what was taken?" he persisted.

Buffy looked up at him, a little surprised by his sharpness.

"Have a cow, Giles. I thought it was just everyday vamp hijinks."

"Well, it wasn't," Giles retorted. "It could be very serious. If you'd made more of an effort to be thorough in your observations-"

"If you don't like the way I'm doing my job," Buffy broke in, hurt, "why don't you find someone else?

Oh, right. 'There can be only one.' Long as I'm alive, thereisn't anyone else. Well, there you go! I don't have to be the Slayer. I could bedead!"

Giles regarded her solemnly. "That's not terribly funny. You'll notice I'm not laughing."

"Death wouldn't be much of a change anyway," Buffy rushed right on. "I mean, either way I'm bored, constricted, I never get to shop, and my hair and fingernails continue to grow, so really, what's the dif?"

Giles struggled for composure. "Must we be so introspectivenow?" he asked gently. "Our only concern at this moment should be to discover what was stolen from that mausoleum last night."

The large silver cross lay on a velvet pillow.

Its crossbar appeared to be dotted with holes, yet with no particular pattern or significant design.

Instead, the holes seemed to have been randomly placed-very much like Swiss cheese.

"This is it, then?" Spike asked softly.

He sat on the edge of Drusilla's bed, holding out the pillow to her like an offering. Her frail, quivering hands hovered above the cross, and yet she didn't touch it. She looked almost as if she were warming herself.

"It hums," Drusilla murmured. "I can hear it."

Spike smiled delightedly. "Once you're well again, we'll have a coronation down Main Street. We'll invite everyone and drink for seven days and seven nights-"

"What about the Slayer?" Dalton broke in.

He was standing at a respectful distance. Spike whirled around, angry at the interruption.

"She almost blew the whole thing for us," Dalton went on earnestly. "She's trouble."

Spike raised an eyebrow, his voice dripping sarcasm. "You don't say."

The reminder was enough to send him to his feet again, and as he started pacing, his anger quickly grew.

"Trouble?" he echoed mockingly. "She's the gnat in my ear. The gristle in my teeth! The bloody thorn in mybloody side!"

He slammed his fist down on the table, alarming even Drusilla.

"Spike-" she whimpered, but Spike immediately cut her off.

"No," he said. "Smart guy is right. We have to do something. There's no way we'll complete your cure with thatbitch breathing down our necks."

He grew quiet for a moment, thinking.

And then, as realization began to dawn, he slowly nodded his head.

"I need the big guns," he decided. "They'll take care of her. Once and for all."

Dalton looked at him nervously. "Big guns?"

"The Order of Taraka," Spike said.

He was pleased with Dalton's reaction, at the obvious shock and fear.

"The bounty hunters?" Dalton stammered. "For the Slayer?"

Drusilla picked up her Tarot cards.

She peeled three from the deck, and then she gazed at them with a dreamy, faraway smile.

"They're coming to my party," she mumbled. "Three of them."

"But, the Order of Taraka," Dalton rushed on worriedly. "I mean, don't you think that's overkill?"