"But not, I suspect, to you." Giles frowned suspiciously, taking the book away from her. "What is it you're after?"

Again Willow froze. They were definitely caught this time, she justknew it.

"Well, of course it's of interest!" Buffy insisted passionately. "I'm the Slayer! I need to know this stuff!

You can't keep me in the dark anymore!"

Again Giles started to pick up his stack of books. Buffy grabbed his arm.

"Look at me when I talk to you!" she blurted out.

"Buffy," Giles was beginning to sound annoyed, "I don't have time to play games-"

"Ms. Calendar said you were a babe!"

Giles stopped. Buffy smiled. From the other side of the room, Willow rolled her eyes, giving Buffy a "shame on you, that's so low," expression.

For a long moment there was silence.

Then at last Giles looked back at Buffy, his calm demeanor obviously flustered. "She said what?" he asked softly.

Willow slipped into his office and began gathering up the diaries.

"She said," Buffy stammered, "you know, that you were hot. A hunk of burning something or other. So.

What do you think of that?"

"I, well . . ." Giles took off his glasses and began fiddling with them. "Um, I don't-a burning hunk of what?"

"You know," Buffy made a face, "gross as it is for me to contemplate you grownups having smootchies, I think you should go for it."

Relieved, she saw Willow and the diaries slip out of the office and head swiftly for the door. Mission accomplished. Except Giles was still staring at her, and she still had to escape.

"Buffy," he said, slipping his glasses back on, "I appreciate your interest, but-"

"I've overstepped my bounds!" Buffy agreed quickly. "It's none of my business. My God,what was I thinking? Shame.Shame. Gotta go."

She bolted from the library and disappeared down the hall, leaving Giles to gaze after her in complete bewilderment.

Several minutes crept by.

"A babe?" Giles mumbled to himself.

And then he smiled.

"I can live with that."

Safe in the women's restroom, Buffy and Willow sat side by side on the sinks, huddled over the Watcher Diaries. They'd never seen anything quite so fascinating, and as Willow flipped slowly through the books, Buffy suddenly rested her finger on one of the pages.

"Man," Buffy breathed, "look at her."

What they saw was a detailed drawing of a woman. An incredibly beautiful woman with long dark hair and a flowing eighteenth-century gown.

"Who is she?" Willow asked.

"It doesn't say. But the entry is dated seventeen-seventy-five."

"Angel was eighteen," Willow mused. "And still human."

Buffy gave a tight smile. "So this was the kind of girl he hung around. She's pretty . . . coifed."

"She looks like a noblewoman or something," Willow noted, "which means being beautiful was sort of her job."

"And clearly, this girl was a workaholic. Willow, I'll never be like this . . ."

Willow heard the mixture of hurt and longing in Buffy's voice. "Come on," she said reassuringly, "she's not that pretty. She's got a funny waist. See how tiny it is?"

Buffy gave her a withering look. "Now I feel better. Thanks."

"No, really," Willow tried to redeem herself, "she's like a freak. A circus freak. Yuck."

But Buffy wasn't listening. Instead her mind was flowing back, back into some long-ago mysterious past where Angel had been young and mortal.

"It must have been wonderful," Buffy said dreamily. "To put on some fantabulous gown and go to a ball, like a princess, to have servants and horses and yet more gowns . . ."

Willow hesitated. "Yeah. Still, I think I prefer being able to vote. Or I will, when I can."

The bathroom door opened, jarring Buffy from her reverie. She looked up to see Cordelia sweeping over to the mirrors.

"So, Buffy," Cordelia pulled lipstick out of her purse and leaned in to check her reflection. "You ran off and left poor Angel by his lonesome last night. I did everything I could to comfort him."

Buffy's tone was grim. "I bet."

"What's his story, anyway? I mean, I never see him around."

"Not during the day, anyway," Willow mumbled.

Cordelia stopped doing her lips. She turned to Buffy now, almost reluctantly. "Please don't tell me he still lives at home. Like he has to wait until his dad gets home to take the car?"

Buffy shook her head. "I think his parents have been dead for, um, a couple hundred years."

"Oh, good. I mean-what?"

"He's a vampire, Cordelia," Buffy said flatly. "I thought you knew."

Cordelia stared, taking this all in. Then she calmly put her makeup back in her purse.

"Oh. He's a vampire. Of course. But the cuddly kind. Like a Care Bear with fangs."

"It's true," Willow insisted calmly.

Cordelia crossed her arms tightly over her chest. "You know what I think? You're trying to scare me off because you're afraid of the competition." She paused, then added smugly, "Look, Buffy, you may be hot stuff when it comes to demonology or whatever, but when it comes to dating,I'm the Slayer."

She turned and flounced out of the bathroom.

And Buffy watched her leave, not wanting to admit how deeply these words had stung.

CHAPTER 4.

Even though Ethan's Costume Shop was musty and rundown, it was stocked with every sort of costume imaginable.

Today the place was packed. Kids of all ages rummaged through hangers and shelves, through boxes and bags, searching for that one perfect Halloween costume. The supply seemed endless.

Buffy walked up and down between rows of clothing and hats and masks, searching for something to wear. No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't seem to muster any Halloween spirit. She moved almost mechanically through the mass of excited shoppers, wishing someone would just cancel Halloween this year, or at the very least, wishing she could just spend it in bed.

She glanced up as Willow came toward her, and she tried her best to sound enthusiastic. "What did you find?"

"A time-honored classic," Willow said proudly.

She watched as Willow pulled a costume from a bag. The package read Ghastly Ghost, and it showed a person covered with a large white ghost sheet, complete with eye holes, ghostly smile, and the wordboo stenciled across the chest.

"Willow," Buffy managed to hide her amusement, "can I give you a little friendly advice?"

Willow looked worried. "It's not spooky enough?"

"It's just, you're never going to get noticed if you keep hiding," Buffy tried to explain. "You're missing the whole point of Halloween."

"Free candy?"

"It's come as youaren't night. The perfect chance for a girl to get sexy and wild with no repercussions."

"I don't get wild." Willow's eyes grew wide and solemn. "Wild on me equals spaz."

Buffy firmly disagreed. "You've got it in you, Will. You're just scared-"

She broke off as Xander walked over. She could tell he was still mad at her, and Willow eagerly took advantage of the opportunity to change the subject.

"Hey, Xander. What did you get?"

He opened his shopping bag. He pulled out an orange plastic machine gun.

"That's not a costume," Buffy informed him.

"I've got some fatigues from the Army surplus at home," Xander explained. And then, in a poor attempt at Schwarzenegger, he added, "Call me the two-dollar costume king, baby."

Buffy took a deep breath and plunged in. "Hey, Xander, about this morning. I'm really sorry-"

"Do you mind, Buffy? I'm trying to repress."

"I promise I'll let you get pummeled from now on."

Xander paused. He could never stay mad at anyone for very long.

"Thank you," he said at last. "Okay. Actually, I think I could have-"

He broke off, realizing that Buffy's attention had wandered far away from the matter at hand.

"Hello?" Xander prompted her. "That was our touching reconciliation you just left."

"Sorry," Buffy murmured. "It's just . . . look at that."

Xander and Willow both turned around. They followed the direction of Buffy's gaze to the wall at the back of the store.

The red gown was draped over a mannequin. Fashioned in an elegant eighteenth-century style, it hung to the floor in flowing folds of satin and lace. The front of the skirt showed a narrow swath of pink, decorated along each side with small dainty bows, while even more delicate lace accentuated the low square neckline and cascaded down from the sleeves.

Willow drew in her breath.

It looked exactly like the gown in the Watcher Diaries.

Buffy seemed to be mesmerized. Without taking her eyes from the dress, she moved slowly, almost cautiously, toward it, Willow and Xander following.

"It's amazing," Willow whispered, while Xander firmly shook his head.

"Too bulky. I prefer my women in spandex."

Buffy stopped in front of the gown. Gingerly she lifted one hand, about to touch the dress, when a man suddenly approached them from a rear doorway.

Ethan Rayne was the owner of the shop. Tall and unassumingly dressed, there was still an air of understated sophistication about his clothes and a quiet hint of elegance about the man himself. His eyes reflected a devilish sort of glint. His smile was soft and somewhat secretive, and when he spoke, his voice held just a trace of British accent.

"Please." He stopped beside Buffy. He reached out for the gown. "Let me."

Buffy shook her head in wonder. "It's-"

"Magnificent," he said. "I know."

Carefully he removed it from the mannequin. Almost reverentially he held it up to her.

"My," Ethan Rayne murmured. "Meet the hidden princess."

And indeed, Buffy seemed magically transformed. Even Willow and Xander, the two who knew her best, couldn't help staring in silent awe. She was stunningly beautiful.

"I think we've made a match," Ethan purred. "Don't you?"