She pointed behind her, to a cluster of shadowy figures that was making its way in their direction. Angel recognized Spike at once. The others seemed to be an odd asssortment of both child-sized and grownup monsters.

Xander took control. "We need to triage."

"This way." Angel pointed. "Find an open warehouse."

Xander gallantly rounded up the females. "Ladies, we're on the move."

Everyone took off except Buffy.

In her weakened condition and torn, heavy dress, it was all she could do to even stand up.

With one smooth movement Angel swept her into his arms. Her body was small and fragile against his, and he could feel her overwhelming fear. This was a side of Buffy he'd never seen before.

A dependent side. A helpless side.

A side that would most certainly get her killed.

Angel held her tighter, carrying her swiftly through the winding maze of dark, dangerous streets.

CHAPTER 13.

They had to get to safety.

As Xander, Cordelia, and Angel rounded the corner of an alley, Angel shifted Buffy in his arms and motioned to a warehouse door a short distance away.

"Over here!" he shouted.

Together they slid the door open and dashed inside, just as Spike and his minions appeared behind them. With only seconds to spare, they wrestled the door shut again, then looked around frantically for some sort of barricade. Old crates and broken furniture were stacked against one wall. As Xander immediately started moving stuff against the door, he yelled over to Angel.

"Check and see if there are any other ways in!"

Angel was ready for action. "Just stay here," he told Buffy, handing her off to Cordelia.

Cordelia rolled her eyes as Buffy fell into her arms. "Fabu. More clinging."

But the barricade wasn't working.

Xander jumped back as something jerked at the warehouse door. He could see demonic hands punching through it now, tearing it apart.

The door jerked again.

And then it began to slide.

The makeshift barricade flew everywhere. Xander and Angel fell back, retreating with the others as the warehouse door came completely open.

Spike stepped inside, smiling triumphantly at his loyal followers.

Ethan Rayne was smiling, too, even though his bloody face was plastered to the floor.

"And you said 'Rupert the Ripper' was long gone," he taunted.

Giles stood over him calmly. It was a frightening calm, a lethal calm.

Slowly and deliberately he wiped his fingers clean on a white handkerchief.

"How do I stop the spell?" he asked again.

Ethan began to laugh. "Say pretty ple-" he began, but Giles aimed a savage kick at his side, leaving him gasping for breath. "Janus," Ethan finally managed. "Break the statue."

Immediately Giles grabbed it and threw it against the wall. And then, as the statue shattered into pieces, he turned back again to Ethan.

For a long, long while Giles gazed down at the floor.

He was alone in the room now.

Ethan had disappeared.

As Giles and Ethan were having their standoff, Spike was enjoying one of his own.

Angel and Xander were pinned now, held at bay by Spike's minions, and though the two of them fought to free themselves, no one could help Buffy now.

"Look at you," Spike murmured softly. He moved toward Buffy as she backed away, his pacing slow and stealthy, his look deceptively kind. He could see how absolutely petrified she was, her eyes desperate and full of tears. Excitement raged through him-the thrill of the hunt, of the kill.

"Shaking," he whispered to her. "Terrified. Alone. Lost little lamb."

Spike smiled. Then he struck her savagely across the face.

"I love it," he said.

"Buffy!" Angel tried to throw off his guards, but they only held him tighter. He watched helplessly as Spike gripped Buffy's head with one hand and her arm with the other, as he bent her slowly backward, as he leaned in toward her neck.

Buffy was sobbing now. Spike's fangs gleamed in the pale, pale light . . .

Without warning, Xander broke free. Before anyone could stop him, he grabbed his gun and scrambled to his feet, Cordelia and Willow crowding in close behind him.

"Nowthat guy," Willow pointed at Spike, "you can shoot!"

Xander raised the machine gun. He aimed at Spike, tensed, and squeezed the trigger.

Nothing happened.

As Xander stared down at his weapon, he saw that he was holding only a toy-a small plastic gun.

His mouth gaped open. "What the-"

Around the room, Spike's minions were suddenly changing, too-not hideous henchmen any longer, but a very scared assortment of high-school kids and little trick-or-treaters. As Spike gazed at them in slow realization, he suddenly glanced down at his hand.

He was still holding Buffy's wig.

Only Buffy's head wasn't in it.

He glanced up again. Right into Buffy's smiling face.

"Hi, honey," Buffy said. "I'm home."

Spike never had a chance. As all the rage and frustration of her last defenseless hours came flooding through her, Buffy let loose on him with a brutal series of kicks and punches.

Spike sprawled to the ground. Buffy yanked him back to his feet.

"You know what?" she said cheerfully. "It's good to be me."

Again she let loose on him, throwing him viciously into the wall. Spike grabbed an iron bar, trying to fend her off, but Buffy wrenched it away from him. Beating him mercilessly, she stood back and watched as he collapsed once more to the ground.

Spike lay there, stunned. Then, after several seconds, he staggered drunkenly to his feet and took off.

An unsettling peace descended at last, broken only by the frightened crying of several bewildered children. As Buffy stood there, Xander, Cordelia, and Angel all moved toward her, shocked but alive.

"Hey, Buff," Xander greeted her. "Welcome back."

Buffy smiled at him. "Yeah. You, too."

"You guys remember what happened?" Cordelia regarded them incredulously.

"It was way creepy." Xander frowned. "Like I was there, but I couldn't get out."

Nodding emphatically, Cordelia turned to Angel. "I know the feeling. This outfit is totally skintight."

But she could see that Angel wasn't listening to a word she said. He was totally focused on Buffy.

"You okay?" Angel asked quietly.

Buffy stared back into his eyes-those dark eyes she loved so much-and she could see the worry they still held for her, the unmistakabe relief and concern.

"Yeah," she smiled.

He took her arm and guided her outside, leaving Xander and Cordelia to stare after them.

"Hello?" Cordelia's mouth dropped open in disbelief. "Itfelt like I was talking. Mylips were moving-"

Xander's advice was glum. "Give it up, Cordy. You're never going to get between those two. Believe me. I know."

Considering this, Cordelia turned back to the dazed little group of trick-or-treaters.

"I guess we should get them back to their parents," she said.

"Yeah. It seems like everybody is-" Xander broke off, his eyes going anxiously around the room.

"Where's Willow?"

He realized suddenly that he hadn't seen her leave. That he hadn't seen her at all, in fact, since he'd snapped out of his spell.

Willow wasn't sure what had happened either. One minute she'd been standing with the others back in the warehouse, but now she was coming back to consciousness on Mrs. Parker's front porch, lying there underneath a sheet.

Groggily, she pushed the costume away. It took a few seconds for her head to clear, to get to her feet and stand up again. She felt alive, at least. Back in her own body and in one piece.

Willow looked down at the sheet and started to throw it over her head.

And then she stopped.

With a boldness that was new to her, she tossed the sheet aside and strode off across the yard.

There was a van stopped at the intersection as Willow started across the street. She held her head high and looked determinedly forward, unaware that Oz was in the driver's seat, watching her every move.

Oz was totally enchanted.

As he watched the confident rocker babe fade out of view from his headlights, a slow smile spread across his face.

"Whois thatgirl?" he murmured.

EPILOGUE.

Buffy came out of the bathroom. Dressed in comfortable sweatpants and tank top, she looked like herself again as she paused in the doorway of her room. Her face was scrubbed clean; her hair was brushed and shiny, hanging soft about her face.

Her bedroom was dark. The only light glowed in from behind her, gently illuminating the figure on her bed. Angel had been lying there, deep in thought, but now he looked up at her with concern.

"Taa-daa." Buffy struck a pose. "Just little old twentieth-century me."

She crossed the room and sat down next to him. Angel gazed searchingly into her face.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked.

"I'll live."

He hesitated a moment. He'd come close to losing her tonight, and he fought back the urge to pull her into his arms, to never let her go.

"I don't get it, Buffy," he said at last. "Why'd you think I'd like you better dressed that way?"