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  PEERING THROUGH THE WINDOW, OZ COULD SEE NO SIGN OF XANDER OR JUSTINE.

  “What are you doing?” a sharp female voice demanded.

  Oz turned slowly to face the artist. “Looking for Xander, actually. No one answered the door.”

  Justine tucked several packages under one arm and reached into a pocket with her free hand. “Xander went home over an hour ago.”

  “Thanks. I’ll check there.” Oz accidentally jostled Justine’s arm as he passed and two of the items fell to the ground. He and the artist both stooped to pick them up, but he touched a deck of cards.

  A sizzling tingle rushed from his hand into the deck. A wave of dizziness overwhelmed him, and he fell back against the wall. He blinked to clear his head, but everything was fuzzy.

  Justine opened the door and stood back. “Come in, Oz.”

  Oz swayed slightly. His entire awareness was suddenly focused on the calm, compelling sound of Justine’s voice.

  He wanted to refuse.

  He walked into the room against his will.

  Fondly for Helen Baumander, my good friend in the North Country

  HISTORIAN’S NOTE:

  This story takes place during the third season.

  Acknowledgments

  The author gratefully acknowledges the following people for their assistance: my agent, Ricia Mainhardt, and her partner, A.J. Janschewitz, for always being there when I need them; my mother, Beryl M. Turner, and Betsey Wilcox for proofreading and keeping me on track; my husband, Martin R. Burke, for his continued support; my editor, Lisa Clancy, for her guidance, patience, and confidence; and Lisa’s assistant, Micol Ostow, for answering questions promptly and efficiently.

  Special thanks to Tabitha Baumander for providing information on Tarot at the beginning of this project and to Janice Scott-Reeder for the character Tarot readings incorporated into the manuscript. The author is solely responsible for any mistakes or misinterpretations.

  I am especially grateful to Joss Whedon and the cast and crew of Buffy the Vampire Slayer for their creative efforts and inspiration.

  CHAPTER 1

  Buffy checked her bad mood along with her jacket when she entered The Vineyard, a small Italian restaurant located just around the corner from her mother’s art gallery.

  “Buffy!” Papa Joe Felucci, the elderly owner, beamed when he saw her. “Where have you been? We haven’t seen you in weeks!”

  “I was getting fat on Felucci fettucini.” Buffy smiled, warmed by the old man’s friendly smile. She and her mom had been regular customers since they had moved to Sunnydale.

  “Impossible!” Joe feigned a look of shocked dismay. “My fettucini is almost calorie free!”

  “Good! Because my stomach has been grumbling for it all day.” Buffy laughed and followed Joe into the dining room. When her mom had invited her to dinner, she had eagerly accepted, hoping the diversion would take her mind off exams.

  “Buffy!” Joyce Summers waved from a corner table by a large bay window. Festive lanterns illuminated the grape arbors in the small courtyard outside. Her mother’s smile lit up the room.

  “Sorry I’m late.” Buffy gave Joyce a peck on the cheek and sat down. “Can we order right away? I’m famished.”

  “Didn’t you eat lunch?” Joyce asked with a frown, then shook her hand to erase the inquiry. “Never mind. I promised myself I wouldn’t indulge in any maternal meddling tonight.”

  “No third degree?” Buffy teased. “What will we talk about?”

  “I’ll think of something.” Joyce smiled and scanned the menu. “After I decide on one of Joe’s specialties.”

  Buffy knew the menu by heart and handed it to the waiter unopened. “Antipasto, Felucci fettucini, and iced tea.”

  “Make it two.” Joyce sighed when the waiter left. She picked up a breadstick and broke it, then placed it on her bread plate and absently sipped her coffee.

  Buffy thought she seemed a little tense. “So how was your day, Mom? Everything okay at the gallery?”

  “Business is booming.” Joyce nodded, smiled, and hesitated again.

  “So why do I get the impression there’s a problem?” Buffy asked.

  “No problem,” Joyce quickly countered. “Not yet, anyway.”

  “Anything I can do to help?” Buffy felt awkward pumping her mother for information, but something was obviously troubling her. “With whatever it is . . . that you don’t want to tell me.”

  “What?” Joyce started. “Oh, no. I want to talk to you about it. That’s why I asked you to dinner . . . and because we haven’t been out together lately.”

  Buffy smiled to put her mother at ease. “So what do you need?”

  Joyce put down the breadstick and looked Buffy in the eye. “The Slayer.”

  “Slayer? As in stake-a-vampire Slayer?” Buffy lowered her voice and frowned. “What vampire?”

  “No one in particular,” Joyce said. “The Sunny-dale Sidewalk Art Festival is this weekend and, well, unlike most of the people in this town, I know we have a serious security problem.”

  “I forgot about the festival!” Buffy gave herself a mental slap to the forehead for spacing yet another of her mother’s projects.

  Since the previous festival coordinator was now a permanent resident of the Shady Hill Cemetery, Joyce had been asked to coordinate and run the weekend event. The City Council insisted on holding the Sidewalk Art Festival every year as though it might somehow prove Sunnydale was just an ordinary small town. Most of Sunnydale’s population existed in a state of blind denial regarding the Hell-mouth horrors that stalked the streets.

  Her mother didn’t suffer from any such delusions.

  Hard to ignore the demon underground when your daughter is the first and only line of defense, Buffy thought.

  Joyce leaned forward to whisper. “I mean, what if some demon thing picks this weekend to launch a reign of terror?”

  “Well, as far as I know, Giles isn’t worried about anything big happening,” Buffy offered, to ease her mother’s mind.

  Buffy, however, was mentally focused on Sunny-dale being overrun with unsuspecting artists and buyers. Easy prey for the vampire gourmet, she thought. “Serious security problem” hardly defined the potential for disaster. These days the sun set before seven. Lingering spectators and artists closing up their displays would be at great risk from vampires as darkness fell on downtown Sunnydale.

  “Well, that’s a relief, but—” Joyce glanced from side to side. “—what about vampires?”

  “The normal menace?” Buffy shrugged. “If I concentrate my patrols around the show site and the nearby motels, I can probably keep the vamps under control.”

  Joyce sighed and nodded as she sat back. “I hate to ask you to give up your weekend, Buffy, but I really need your help. Nobody else can handle this except you and your friends.”

  Her mother’s request was kind of ironic, Buffy realized. Six months ago Joyce had had a hard time accepting that her daughter was destined to defend the world against demonic evil until the day she died. Now Joyce needed her Slayer skills to safeguard the artists she had invited into the demons’ lair.

  “I don’t have any plans,” Buffy said. Actually, she was glad to have something to distract her from the tension that exist
ed between her and Angel now. They didn’t talk about it much, but the unsolvable problem was always there beneath the surface. They couldn’t stand to be apart and yet, they were never really together.

  “In fact,” Buffy added, “I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than help you out by dusting a few unsavory elements.”

  “Metaphorically speaking.” Joyce smiled tightly as the waiter placed their appetizers in front of them.

  “I’m pretty sure we can count on everyone to help out,” Buffy said after the waiter left. “Giles, too, probably.”

  “I can’t tell you what a relief that is.” Joyce hesitated again. “Speaking of Willow and Xander, there is one other thing . . .”

  “Name it.” Buffy stabbed a piece of cheese and popped it into her mouth.

  “I could use some brains and muscle with the actual art show,” Joyce said. “I was hoping Willow might handle artist registration on the gallery computer. And maybe Oz and Xander could help mark off the display areas and help the artists set up?”

  “I’ll ask,” Buffy said. “I’m meeting everyone at the Bronze later.”

  * * *

  The Bronze was busy for a weeknight, but not packed to the rafters. Xander spotted Buffy and waved her over to the table he and Willow had grabbed near the stage. Willow’s attention was glued to Oz as Dingoes Ate My Baby slammed into their break theme.

  “Hey, Buffy!” Xander patted the chair beside him. “Welcome to the demon fighters anonymous social hour.”

  “Charter members only,” Willow said. “Except for Oz.”

  “Did I miss something?” Buffy raised an eyebrow as she set down her coffee and slipped into the seat.

  “Not unless you’ve got a thing for high stakes pool.” Xander nodded toward the pool table. The Sunnydale High School basketball team had been challenged by a group of frat brats from the UC Sunnydale campus. “Loser buys—coffee all around.”

  A collective groan rose from the high school team when the fraternity challenger sank two balls with one stroke. The college boy slapped a high-five with a friend.

  Buffy graced the competitive gathering with a casual look of disdain. “Like winning is a matter of life and death. I don’t get it.”

  “It’s a guy thing,” Xander explained.

  “Dingoes played two new songs in this set.” Willow grinned. “And Devon only forgot the words twice.”

  “Four times.” Oz pulled a chair over and kissed Willow on the cheek. “Five maybe.”

  “Not that anyone cares.” Xander shrugged. “For someone who’s several watts short of brilliant, Devon does a passable job of faking it.”

  “Then all’s quiet in the demon department?” Buffy asked.

  “It’s so quiet I almost wish Spike would come back,” Xander muttered. He looked up to find everyone staring. “To liven things up, which Spike does rather well for an undead guy.”

  “A little desperate for entertainment, aren’t you?” Buffy blew on the steaming coffee and sipped.

  Xander shrugged. Now that Cordelia Chase was romantic history, his status as an eligible senior male had resumed. Unfortunately, the only eligible female who seemed to care was Anya, an ex-demon with a passion for making men suffer.

  “Then you don’t have a hot date this weekend?” Buffy asked.

  “Let me put it this way.” Xander leaned forward. As of this second, he was still resisting Anya’s not so subtle effort to attract him. “If the video store hasn’t stocked up on new releases, it’s going to be a very long, very boring weekend.”

  “We could always do popcorn and the monster movie marathon,” Willow suggested. “Forty-eight hours of black and white classics starting at midnight Friday.”

  “Isn’t the band booked?” Buffy glanced at Oz.

  “Devon’s going to LA to see an agent,” Oz said. “No gig.”

  “No full moon and no snarly, hairy guy, either.” Willow pressed closer to Oz.

  “So you can neck without worrying about having your throat ripped out.” Xander nodded. “We could hang out in my house. It’s not Trump Plaza, but on the plus, it’s totally parent free.”

  “And vampire safe,” Oz said.

  “Sounds like fun, but I was thinking more along the lines of sharpening some stakes and keeping the Sunnydale Sidewalk Art Festival vampire free.” Buffy’s gaze darted from one face to the other and settled on Xander.

  Xander didn’t hesitate. He’d seen every movie on the monster marathon schedule a dozen times. “Prime the crossbow and break out the holy water, I’m ready to ride.”

  “Great!” Buffy grinned. “And don’t forget your hammer.”

  “What?” Xander frowned, confused. “We’re going to pound the undead scum before we dust them?”

  CHAPTER 2

  The Gallery, which was serving as headquarters for the sidewalk art show, was bustling with activity. Buffy and Xander stood off to the side, out of the way as the other volunteer crews got their instructions and supplies from Joyce. Inside the office, Oz and Willow were disconnecting the computer. After a brief conference, they had decided to put the registration table in the main room off the entrance because it was more spacious and accessible than the office.

  Xander paced, swinging a hammer. “This manual labor thing is like a disguise, right?”

  “Right,” Buffy said. “Between marking off the display sites today and helping the artists set up tomorrow, everyone will just assume we’re part of the regular show staff. Which we are, in a way.”

  “Right. Undercover security.” Xander shoved the hammer handle into his leather tool belt and folded his arms. “I like it.”

  Buffy smiled. What Xander lacked in skill he made up for with enthusiasm. Which has almost gotten him killed a few too many times.

  “I’m going to go out and scout around a little.” Xander checked the stakes stuffed into his back pockets. “Make sure there’s no daylight demons lurking about in the alleys.”

  “Good idea. I’ll be out as soon as Oz is ready.” Buffy leaned against the wall as Xander sauntered outside.

  Oz hustled out of the office carrying the computer monitor. Willow followed with other pieces and parts.

  “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Willow.” Joyce stopped Willow and slipped a trailing cord onto the keyboard the girl carried. “All the other volunteers claimed computer ignorance, but I think they just wanted an excuse to get out of registration and operations. Sitting in the gallery all weekend won’t be very exciting, I’m afraid.”

  Buffy stood up and stretched. The artist registration would be completed by Friday, but her mom needed someone in the gallery to coordinate the staff, direct any problems that arose to the pertinent person in charge, and dispense general information. Willow had graciously agreed to take on the responsibility.

  “I’ll bring a book or work on my physics paper,” Willow said. “So I have something to do if things get boring, which I hope they do because, well, exciting in Sunnydale is usually fatal.”

  “Almost done, Buffy,” Oz said as he dashed back into the office.

  Joyce nodded in response to Willow’s observation. “I know. It’s just that I was so flattered when the City Council asked me to run this show, I didn’t think about the dangers.”

  “Yeah, it’s not like you can warn everyone.” Willow pushed the monitor to the center of the table, then looked at an imaginary artist. “Oh, and by the way, Sunnydale has a little vampire problem. So it might be a good idea to, uh—carry a wooden stake and a cross with you . . . after dark only, of course.”

  Joyce smiled in spite of her concerns.

  “Don’t worry, Mom.” Buffy picked up a floppy disk that had fallen and set it on the table. It was too bad her mother hadn’t scheduled the show for Halloween weekend when demons usually went to ground. If this Sunnydale Sidewalk Art Festival went off without a massacre, she’d suggest it for next year. “We’re on it.”

  Oz set the PC tower on the floor under the table and turned
to Buffy. “Computer’s moved. Now what?”

  “We’ve got a whole city block to mark off.” Buffy pulled a diagram of the city streets out of her pocket and pointed to a box by the door. “Grab that, will you?”

  “Got it.” Hefting the box, Oz followed Buffy outside.

  Buffy saw Xander sitting on the bench in front of Walter’s Deli before he saw them. Chin propped on his hands, his gaze focused on the street, he looked lost in thought. Troubled? Buffy wondered, glancing up and down the street. Or waiting in ambush for a demon to pop out of thin air?

  “Doughnuts?” Oz called out.

  Xander held up a bag. “Would the snacks guy let you down?”

  “It’s three o’clock in the afternoon!” Buffy exclaimed lightly. “You guys are going to rot away from the inside out.”

  “Then we’ll blend right in with the walking corpses.” Xander offered Buffy the bag.

  Munching a Bavarian cream, Buffy led the way down the main street that constituted downtown Sunnydale. Using the diagrams Joyce had provided, the other groups of volunteers had begun attaching site markers to storefronts, telephone poles, and lampposts. Each preregistered artist already had been assigned a twelve-foot-long section of prime sidewalk display space. Last minute entrants would have to settle for lower profile areas on the designated side streets.

  When they reached the corner of Main and Vista, Oz and Xander measured off the first spot and marked the boundaries with masking tape. Buffy rummaged through the box looking for the numbered space sign that corresponded to her site diagram.

  “When does this show start?” Xander asked.

  “Noon Friday. Runs through six P.M. Sunday.” Buffy handed Xander the sign.

  Xander nailed the sign to a tree at the edge of the display area, then spun his hammer and deftly slipped it back into his tool belt. His gaze swept the line of cars waiting for the light to change. “Won’t traffic be a problem?”

  “They’re blocking off the whole area. No cars allowed.” Buffy picked up an empty soda can and a fast-food wrapper and headed toward a curbside litter container.