Spike grinned. He looked down at Drusilla's cards.

"No. I think it's justenough kill."

He was pleased with the images he saw there.

Ominous, archetypal etchings that were not quite what they seemed.

A cyclops, a worm, a jaguar.

CHAPTER 3.

Career Fair was up and running. By two-thirty that afternoon, Sunnydale students were clustered eagerly around the booths that had been set up in the school lounge. Each booth was manned by representatives from various professions; all of them were there to give advice, offer encouragement, hand out information, and convince students that the real world is fun.

Willow drifted worriedly through the crowds. Her eyes went from one booth to the next-physician, postal worker, policewoman-but she still didn't know where she belonged.

"What are you doing here?" Xander teased, coming up to her. "Fly! Be free, little bird-you defy category!"

"I'm looking for Buffy," Willow told him.

"She left with Giles an hour ago. Some kind of 'field trip' deal."

Willow sighed, "If she doesn't get back soon, Snyder's really-" Without warning she perked up, her whole face brightening. "Done a fantastic job setting up the fair this year, hasn't he, Xander?"

Xander turned to see Principal Snyder right beside them. He immediately began to talk.

"Principal Snyder! Great Career Fair, sir. Really. In fact, I'm so inspired by your leadership, I'm thinking of principal school. I want to walk in your shoes." Xander hesitated, glancing down at the principal's feet.

"Not youractual shoes, of course. Because you're a tiny person. Not tiny in the small sense, of course . .

." His voice trailed off. He nodded emphatically. "Okay. Done now."

Principal Snyder didn't even grace this with a remark.

"Where is she?" he asked Willow.

Willow looked innocently back at him. "Who?"

"You know who."

"Oh . . ." Willow hesitated, "you mean Buffy? I just saw her-"

"And don't feed me that I-just-saw-her-a-minute-ago-she's-around-here-somewhere story," the principal snapped.

Willow looked like a cornered puppy. "But I did-see her a minute ago. And she is-around here somewhere."

"For what it's worth-" Xander began, but Principal Snyder cut him off.

"It's worth nothing, Harris. Whatever sound comes out of your mouth is a meaningless waste of breath.

An airborne toxic event."

"I'm glad you feel comfortable enough to be so honest with me," Xander returned amiably. "And I only hope I'm in a position one day to be as honest with you."

The principal gave him a curious look. Almost as though he were studying some rare and dangerous insect.

"Fascinating," he mumbled, and moved off.

"I'd love to stay and chat," Xander turned his attention back to Willow, "but I have an appointment with the warden on standard riot procedure."

"Okay," Willow said. "See you."

She gave a forlorn little wave as he disappeared into the crowd, then jumped as someone came up behind her.

"Willow Rosenberg?" a voice asked.

Willow turned. Two men were standing there, one on either side of her, both wearing identical dark suits and extremely somber expressions. There was an air of supreme authority about them, rather than of danger, yet still Willow shrank back.

"Come with us please?" one of the men said to her now.

Willow's eyes widened. "Excuse me?"

"Let's walk."

Reluctantly she allowed herself to be led past several booths, to a velvet cordon, then up into the elevated section of the lounge, which was now hidden behind a dark curtain. Two freestanding walls separated this area from the general population, and as Willow was led inside, she felt strangely like Alice in Wonderland dropped down the rabbit hole. The space had been refurbished into a deco salon. Soft lighting illuminated the area, while a gentle bossa nova played from hidden speakers. On one wall hung a company logo, and as Willow squinted at it, she realized it very much resembled that of a giant company in the computer industry.

A white-gloved waiter approached her. He held out a silver tray of hors d'ouevres.

"Try the canape," one of her escorts said. "It's excellent."

But Willow was feeling too overwhelmed to eat just now. "What is all this?"

"You've been selected to meet with Mr. McCarthy, head recruiter for the world's leading software concern," one of the men explained. "The jet was delayed by fog at Sea-Tac, but he should be here any minute." He paused, then added politely, "Please. Make yourself comfortable."

He turned with his partner to leave, but Willow stopped them.

"But I didn't even get my test back," she said.

"The test was irrelevant," the first man replied. "We've been tracking you for some time."

"Is that a good thing?" Willow asked nervously.

"I would think so. We're extremely selective. In fact, only one other Sunnydale student met our criteria."

Before Willow could ask any more questions, both men exited through the partition. In stunned silence she watched them go, then turned around to view her surroundings.

For the first time she realized she wasn't alone in here. Another student was sitting on the couch, looking completely unfazed by all this strange formality. As Willow took in his thick reddish hair, baggy clothes, and wide, friendly mouth, she recognized him at once as the one she'd gotten tangled up with in the hall on Halloween. But she'd been wearing her ghost costume then, she reminded herself-of course he wouldn't remember her.

She was wrong. As Oz slouched comfortably on the cushions, holding a plate of food, he glanced up to see Willow staring at him. It wasn't often that his face showed emotion. But it certainly did now-with the coolest hint of delight.

After a brief hesitation, Willow moved to the couch and she sat down next to him.

There was a long, awkward silence. Both of them stared straight ahead.

It was Oz who finally spoke. Leaning over with his plate, he offered it to Willow.

"Canape?"

CHAPTER 4.

Giles tried to keep up with Buffy as she hurried through the cemetery. It was clear to him that her feelings were still hurt-she was obviously trying to lose him.

"Buffy," he sighed. "Please. Slow down."

"Get with the program, Giles," Buffy tossed back. "We have work to do, remember?"

"You're behaving in a terribly immature manner-"

"Bingo. Know why? Iam immature! I'm a teen! I'veyet to mature!"

Giles struggled for the proper response. "I was simply offering a little constructive criticism-"

"You were harsh," Buffy set him straight. "You act like Ipicked this gig. But I'm thepicked. Too bad if I want a normal job."

Something must have happened,Giles thought to himself, wishing like hell he knew what it was. It just wasn't like Buffy to go around feeling sorry for herself like this. He looked around at the sun-dappled headstones and tried to collect his thoughts.

"What you have is more than a . . . gig," he reminded her firmly. "It's a sacred duty."

He recognized the "been there, heard that" look she gave him over her shoulder. He scrambled faster, determined to calm her down.

"Which shouldn't prevent you from eventually procuring a more . . . mundane form of employment if you like," he added. "Such as I have."

"It's one thing being a Watcher and a librarian." Buffy remained stubborn. "They go together-like chicken and . . . another chicken. Two chickens. Or something." Then, noting Giles's look, "You know what I'm saying-you can spend all your time with a bunch of books, and no one blinks. But what can I do? Carve stakes for a nursery?"

Giles conceded at last. "Point taken. I suppose I've never really thought about-" He broke off, thought a moment, then brightened. "I say-have you ever considered law enforcement?"

Luckily for Giles they'd reached the mausoleum now, so she didn't even have to come up with a scathing reply.

"This is the place," Buffy said.

She pulled open the heavy iron door and went in, Giles following.

She'd remembered to bring a flashlight with her; now she flicked it on, playing the beam all around the gloomy interior. After a moment, she led Giles over to the vault in the far wall, where the door was still standing open.

"May I?" Giles asked softly.

"Be my guest."

He took the flashlight from her, then shone it into the empty vault.

"It's a reliquary," Giles explained, "used to house items of religious significance. Most commonly, a finger or some other body part from a saint."

"Note to self," Buffy quipped. "Religion-freaky."

Giles turned back around, going over the rest of the wall with the flashlight. Now they could see something else they hadn't noticed before-bold letters carved into the granite above the doorway.

"Du Lac . . ." Giles read the name aloud. Immediately Buffy could hear the recognition in his tone along with unmistakable concern. "Oh dear . . ."

"I hate when you say that," she said flatly.

"Josephus du Lac is buried here."

"Was he a saint?"

"Hardly." Giles frowned. "He belonged to a sect of priests who were excommunicated by the Vatican at the turn of the century."

Buffy raised an eyebrow. "Excommunicationand sent to Sunnydale. Must have been big with the sinning."

"Remember the book that was stolen from the library by a vampire a few weeks back?" Giles rushed on. "It was written by du Lac and his cohorts-" Frustrated, he broke off. then added, "Damn it. In all the excitement, I let it slip my mind."

"I'm guessing it wasn't aTaste of the Vatican cookbook," Buffy said hopefully, but Giles ignored her.

"The book is said to contain rituals and spells that reap unspeakable evil. However, it was written in archaic Latin, so nobody but the sect members could read it."

Together they walked outside. The sun and fresh air felt good after the dankness of the tomb.

"Then everything's cool," Buffy tried to sound encouraging. "The sect is gone. Worm food like old du Lac, right?"

But Giles looked even more pensive than usual. "I don't like it, Buffy. First the book is taken from the library. Now vampires steal something from du Lac's tomb-"

"You think they've figured out how to read the book?"

"I don't know." Giles shook his head, his eyes deeply troubled. "But something's coming, Buffy. And I guarantee, whatever it is-it's not good."