As though emerging from a spell, Buffy stepped away and reluctantly shook her head. "I'm sorry.

There's no way I can afford this."

"Nonsense," Ethan soothed. "I feel quite . . . moved to make you a deal you can't refuse."

Buffy's whole face brightened. "Really?"

Again she pressed the gown to her heart; again she turned back to the mirror.

Ethan Rayne smiled.

CHAPTER 5.

The old factory had long been abandoned.

It sat within thick shadows in a dark, dangerous part of town, and no one had ventured inside its cavernous walls for years and years.

Only the rats had been brave enough to infest its ugly, rotting interior.

Until, of course, the vampires came.

"Here it comes," said Spike.

The room he stood in was washed with pale blue light. This light glowed from a bank of televisions lining one wall, and it threw everything into eerie distortion, including Spike's white hair and the delicate bones of his face. As Spike watched intently, an identical image suddenly flickered to life on every single screen.

The image was Buffy.

The recording was of her fight in the pumpkin patch.

Spike watched the film with single-minded concentration. Behind him stood the vampire who had taped it, who had hidden himself last night where Buffy couldn't see.

Now on the television screen, Buffy was falling onto the jack-o-lantern, crushing it beneath her. Now she was getting up again, now she was hurling a smaller pumpkin at her attacker.

"Rewind that," Spike said. "I want to see it again."

Yet he couldn't stay still to watch it. He paced the room restlessly, keen eyes narrowed, his senses absorbing every detail of the tape.

"She's tricky." Spike sounded amused, almost pleased. "Baby likes to play."

The video ran again. This time Spike noted the part where Buffy used the wooden sign to stake the vampire.

"See that? Where she stakes him with that thing?" Spike's admiration was obvious. "That's what you call resourceful."

He paced. He paused.

"Rewind it again."

A voice spoke behind him then. A soft silky voice, a haunting blend of dreamy seduction and childlike innocence.

"Miss Edith needs her tea," the voice said.

Spike didn't need to turn around to know that Drusilla had wandered in with one of her dolls, that she was standing there, swaying slightly, clutching it tight against her chest. And it didn't matter how many centuries he'd spent adoring her-each time Drusilla came near him, it was love all over again.

"Come here, poodle."

As always, his voice seemed to change when he spoke to Drusilla, growing protective somehow, almost tender. Yet even as he welcomed her, he kept his attention focused on the video and on Buffy.

Drusilla wafted over to him. He slipped his arms around her frail shoulders.

"Do you love my insides?" Drusilla murmured. "The parts you can't see?"

"Eyeballs to entrails, my sweet. That's why I have to study this Slayer. Once I know her, I can kill her.

And once I kill her, you can have your run of Sunnyhell and get strong again."

"Don't worry," Drusilla assured him. "Everything's switching. Outside to inside." She opened her mouth, growling softly at his neck. "It makes her weak."

Spike's head came up at once. He proceeded with caution. "Really. Did my pet have a vision?"

"Do you know what I miss?" Drusilla pouted. "Leeches."

"Come on," Spike urged, laughing softly. "Talk to daddy. This thing that makes the slayer weak. When is it?"

"Tomorrow."

"But tomorrow is Halloween. Nothing happens on Halloween."

Drusilla shook her head. "Someone's come to change it all."

She tilted her head back into the shadows.

"Someone new," she whispered.

Ethan's Costume Shop had closed for the night.

The last customer had finally gone, but the store was not quite deserted.

A tall figure moved silently into the back room.

A tall figure wearing a long, hooded black robe.

Ethan Rayne stopped beside an altar. One by one he lit the black candles that encircled it.

Directly in front of him, in the very center of the circle, was a marble bust of a woman. Her features were beautiful and serene. Kneeling before her, Ethan began to speak, squeezing his hands tightly closed, then opening them again.

His palms began to bleed. They bled thickly and freely, from stigmatalike wounds on his hands.

"The world that denies thee, thou inhabit," Ethan chanted. "The peace that ignores thee, thou corrupt."

He dabbed his blood upon his eyelids. He smeared a bloody cross upon his forehead.

"Chaos," he murmured. "As ever, I am your faithful, degenerate son."

He knew the true power of the statue.

He knew it, and he called upon it now.

For the back of the statue was quite different from the front.

It wasn't beautiful, nor was it peaceful to look at.

It was a hideously horrifying male visage.

A mask of pure evil.

CHAPTER 6.

Halloween day dawned crisp and clear.

There was a feeling of unrepressed excitement in the air, and classes let out early so that student volunteers could go home and change into their costumes.

Buffy stood in her bedroom, gazing silently at her reflection in the mirror.

She was wearing the gown from Ethan's Costume Shop, and for a moment she almost wondered if she'd actually stepped back in time. Her hair-a brunette wig-was piled elegantly on top of her head.

Held in place with an old-fashioned comb, it still fell loose in a few stray tendrils that curled around her face. Around her neck hung a lovely jeweled necklace, making her throat seem all the more delicate.

Even to herself she looked like something from a fairy tale. She'd never felt so beautiful.

Like the woman in the diary,she thought.Like thewomen Angel had loved . . .

"Where are you meeting Angel?" Willow's voice floated out from the bathroom, bringing Buffy back to earth.

"Here. After trick-or-treating. Mom's gonna be out."

"Does he know about your costume?"

"Nope. Call it a blast from his past. I'll show him I can coif with the best of 'em!" Buffy smiled at her reflection, then added, "Come on out, Will. You can't stay in there all night."

"Okay," Willow sounded resigned. "But don't laugh."

"I won't-"

Buffy's words caught in her throat. As Willow emerged from the bathroom, Buffy stared at her friend's amazing transformation. Willow was wearing makeup, and her hair was pinned in a casual upsweep. A clingy dark, midriff-baring top, leather miniskirt, knee-high boots-Willow was a total rocker babe.

Totally gorgeous. And obviously totally miserable.

"Wow." Buffy was practically speechless.

Willow took one look at her plunging neckline, grabbed her ghost sheet, and turned back for the bathroom.

"Will," Buffy reached out and stopped her. "You're a dish. I mean, really-"

"But this just isn't me," Willow argued.

"That's the point! Halloween is the night thatnot you is you, but notyou, you know?"

Willow was still pondering this as the doorbell rang "That's Xander," Buffy announced. "You ready?"

Willow paused, gave a deep sigh. "Yeah. Okay."

She tried to smile, but Buffy wasn't fooled. Willow reminded her of a deer caught in someone's headlights. She clamped her arms tightly around her exposed midriff. Terror supreme.

"Cool!" Buffy reassured her. "I can't wait to watch the boys go nonverbal when they see you."

She ran downstairs and opened the front door. True to form, Xander was wearing his low-rent army costume-camouflage pants and jacket, tank tee, aviator sunglasses-and carrying his plastic gun.

He stepped up to Buffy and saluted. "Private Harris. Reporting for-"

And then his words choked off. As he got a close-up look at Buffy, his mouth dropped open and his hand fell to his side.

"Buffy." He bowed his head. "My Lady of Buffdom. The Duchess of Buffonia. I am in awe. I completely renounce spandex."

"Thank you, kind sir." Buffy curtsied. "But wait till you see-"

"Hi," Willow said from the staircase behind them.

Expectantly they both turned.

Willow was standing there, covered head to toe with her ghost sheet.

"Casper," Buffy finished lamely.

Xander stared at Willow's costume, trying to come up with a compliment. "Hey, Will," he said brightly, "that's . . . that's a fineboo you have there."

Willow hung her head.