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  “Well, there’s also the Tarot reading,” Willow added. “And the psychic thing.”

  “Which Xander desperately wants to believe.” The psychic angle made a little more sense, but it didn’t calm Buffy’s anxiety. “I’m still worried.”

  “I’ll go.” Oz squeezed Willow’s shoulder and stood up. “I’m a guy. If I barge into a romantic clutch, it’ll give Xander a macho boost.”

  Willow smiled. “According to her registration ticket, she’s staying at the Golden Lantern.”

  “Justine drives a green van with a dragon on the door,” Buffy said. “We’ll wait here. Call us when you find him, okay?”

  “Will do.” Oz kissed Willow’s cheek and nodded at Buffy as he left.

  Buffy’s smile faded as Oz disappeared into the crowd.

  “Oz can handle it, Buffy,” Willow assured her.

  “I know, but can we handle this?” Buffy braced herself as Cordelia approached with an attractive man she dimly recognized from the festival grounds.

  “Uh-oh.” Willow winced.

  “That had an ominous ring.” Buffy gave Willow a sidelong glance, then followed her gaze past Cordelia. On the far side of the room, Anya slipped out of a booth and stormed toward them.

  “Well, if things get interesting, it’s all my fault,” Willow muttered. “Anya came to me for advice on how to get Xander—well, hypothetical Xander, anyway—to notice her.”

  Buffy blinked. “So now we’re Anya’s support group?”

  “I’m not happy about it.” Willow sighed. “But I sort of suggested she could try making Xander jealous.”

  Buffy blinked again. “With Cordelia’s date?”

  “Reporter,” Willow clarified. “He was the only guy in the gallery at the time. Anya asked. He turned her down to hang with Cordelia. Does that qualify as being scorned?”

  Never a dull moment, Buffy thought as Cordy paused to introduce the reporter.

  “Buffy Summers, this is Rob Chambers. He’s covering the festival for an art magazine,” Cordelia said. “Buffy’s mom is running the art show.”

  “My pleasure, Buffy.” Rob extended his hand. “I haven’t met your mother—”

  Anya didn’t wait for a suitable break in the conversation or bother with opening pleasantries. “Where’s Xander?”

  “Don’t know,” Buffy answered. “Not here.”

  “Is he with that woman?” Anya interrupted.

  Willow shrugged.

  “If I had my powers I could turn her into an old hag, Willow. But maybe with your help we could conjure the next best thing?” Anya said with a hint of desperation.

  Rob did a double take.

  Buffy shook his hand. “Welcome to Sunnydale.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Oz had no trouble locating Justine’s room at the Gold Lantern Motel, an old, one-story structure. The green van with its distinctive dragon logo was parked outside the unit on the far end. Like Buffy, he was concerned about Xander’s withdrawal, but he also understood that Xander’s self-image was more vulnerable than usual.

  So he probably won’t appreciate me checking up on him, either, Oz thought as he walked across the pavement. Opting for discretion rather than a frontal assault, he peered in the window instead of knocking on the door. The curtain was open, giving him a view of most of the room.

  Four large paintings stood propped against the far wall. All were fantasy images, but only one, which looked vaguely like the Grim Reaper, appeared to be finished.

  There was no sign of Xander or—

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

  Oz managed to keep from jumping up. Instead, he turned slowly to face Justine. “Looking for Xander, actually. No one answered the door.”

  “I was at the vending machine in the office.” She squinted at him, not sure she recognized him.

  “Oz. We met at the gallery last night.”

  “Oh, yes.” Justine tucked several packages under one arm and reached into a large cargo pants pocket with her free hand, presumably for her keys. “Xander went home over an hour ago.”

  Not to the Bronze, Oz noted with dismay. Xander’s ego meltdown was worse than he had realized.

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

  A sizzling tingle rushed from his hand into the deck. Startled, Oz stood up. A wave of dizziness overwhelmed him and he fell back against the wall. He blinked to clear his head, but everything seemed fuzzy. For a moment, he couldn’t remember where he was.

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

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

  “Inside, Oz.”

  He wanted to refuse.

  He walked into the room against his will.

  * * *

  Xander stared through a fog at the distorted images of the dream. Except it wasn’t a dream—exactly. He felt like he was wandering through a barren terrain strewn with bones and punctuated by leafless trees, but he couldn’t be. He was sure he was still lying on the old sofa in the basement, where he had been since Justine had told him to go home.

  Am I asleep or awake?

  Xander couldn’t tell. He felt like he hadn’t completely come out of the trance he had experienced during the Tarot reading the night before, which he hadn’t mentioned to Giles or his friends.

  Because Justine told me not to.

  The realization that Justine had some kind of control over his actions today jarred him, but not hard enough to jolt him out of the nightmare.

  Feathers fell from a vulture circling overhead. Xander ducked, only to be confronted by the robed Grim Reaper figure walking toward him out of a turbulent mist.

  Just like the Death card painting in Justine’s motel room.

  Xander’s displaced mind reeled as he recalled more details of the reading Justine had tried to block.

  The Death card represented the past, the future, and change, a key factor in his reading according to Justine.

  “The Death card deals with change that’s based on the destruction of what already exists.”

  At the time, he had accepted Justine’s assurances that that wasn’t necessarily bad. Now, disoriented and confused, he wasn’t so sure.

  So what did Justine mean exactly? Xander wondered. Most people would address the portent metaphorically. But then most people don’t live on the Hellmouth. He could be facing his own destruction, the destruction of everyone he cared about, or the end of the world. Not a unique scenario, but it never lacked for punch.

  The world that was slowly superimposing itself over his family’s basement seemed to support the destruction-of-the-world theory. The bleak landscape was, Xander realized, possibly his perception of death and annihilation—in progress!

  Reacting to a hissing sound, he jumped as putrid gases spewed from the ground by his feet.

  Except that he hadn’t actually jumped. He was still lying on the sofa. He could see the television set through the wall of flame that erupted along the desert horizon. The bizarre nature of his circumstances became clear in an instant of horror. He was physically in one place and mentally in another.

  Mist vaporized into sizzling steam as the black countenance under the Grim Reaper’s hooded cloak bore down on him. Staring Death in the face made certain truths Xander had hidden from himself very clear, too.

  He wasn’t psychic. Disappointing, but not a tragedy. He had latched onto the possibility like a crutch to prop up his misguided sense of worthless self. His friends accepted and respected him for what he was—an ordinary guy who was always there and did his best no matter what. He could deal with that.

  There’s just one really big problem, Xander thought as the Death figure loomed over him and the fog cleared off a surreal landscape of jagged stone an
d cracked desert.

  His mind was trapped in a Tarot card painting with no way out.

  * * *

  Willow shifted position on the barstool and checked the time. She and Buffy had moved to the counter after Cordelia and Rob had retreated to a private corner and Anya had departed to stake out Xander’s house. They didn’t want to miss Oz’s phone call, but she was getting more and more nervous as the minutes ticked by with no word.

  “Do you think something’s wrong, Buffy? It’s been almost an hour. I mean, I know Oz can look out for himself because of the wolf thing and all . . . but I’m a little worried.”

  “Me, too, but maybe that’s just because Xander’s been acting so weird.” Buffy stopped drumming her fingers on the counter and straightened with resolve. “If we don’t hear from Oz in the next five minutes, I’m out of here.”

  Willow nodded, but her anxiety didn’t lessen. What if something happened and Buffy’s too late? Or what if he hasn’t called because he hasn’t found Xander—yet. . . .

  The phone at the far end of the bar rang.

  “Finally,” Buffy said when the bartender waved Willow over.

  Willow was already off her stool and taking the phone. “Oz! Is everything okay? Where are you? Did you find Xander?”

  “Everything’s fine,” Oz replied. “I’m with Justine. Xander went home.”

  “Oh, well, I guess that’s good.” Willow shrugged, upset because Xander was obviously still mad at them for doubting his psychic power. “I mean, that’s better than finding him dead in a ditch somewhere or something. Are you coming back to the Bronze?”

  “No, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Oz paused. “As long as I’m here, I thought I’d have Justine do a Tarot reading for me, too. Can’t hurt.”

  “No, I guess not.” Willow handed the phone back to the bartender after Oz hung up, and hurried back to Buffy.

  “What’s the word?” Buffy asked.

  “Xander’s home and everything’s fine.” Willow smiled, but her nerves were still on edge and she couldn’t quite figure out why.

  Except . . . Justine is pretty free with her Tarot readings. . . .

  CHAPTER 7

  Friday after school, Buffy headed for downtown Sunnydale after checking in with Giles. He hadn’t heard from Angel and no mystical calamities seemed to be brewing. Just as well, she thought. Among her friends, weirdness abounded.

  Xander had skipped classes and he wasn’t answering his phone. Oz hadn’t been around, either. Willow hadn’t even heard from him since the phone call at the Bronze last night. Willow had left during her free periods to work at the gallery. The art show seemed like the best place to find everyone, especially Xander.

  Buffy was ready to swear Xander was an alien from another planet if that’s what he wanted to believe. Whatever it takes to get him out of this major mad. She couldn’t take another day of silent treatment, not from Xander-the-never-shuts-up. Until he had stopped talking, she hadn’t realized how much she relied on his daily dose of quirk to keep her going. No matter how bad things got, Xander was always there to make her smile. At least he tries.

  Willow looked up sharply when Buffy walked into the gallery. Her hopeful look changed to disappointment.

  “What?” Buffy asked. “You’re giving me a Cordelia look. Like I’ve got terminal color clash.”

  Willow shook her head. “I thought you might be Oz.”

  “Oh.” Buffy dropped into the chair beside Willow. She lowered her voice so the volunteers breezing in and out wouldn’t overhear. “You haven’t heard from him yet?”

  “I called a while ago, but no one answered. I bet the band jammed all night because Devon’s back from L.A. You know, learning new songs, trying things out. He’s probably still asleep.”

  “Could be.” Buffy smiled, but she knew Willow didn’t feel as casual as she sounded. “Something’s bothering you, though. What?”

  “Nothing.” A shadow of doubt clouded Willow’s pixie face. “Just the Tarot reading thing.”

  “What about it?” Buffy frowned.

  Willow’s brow furrowed. “Not that I really think Tarot can tell the future, but it’s just that . . .” Willow sighed. “What if Justine sees something really bad in Oz’s cards? With the wolf or something.”

  “Justine couldn’t tell he was a werewolf from a Tarot reading, could she?” Buffy asked.

  “That’s probably not the usual interpretation of ‘the beast within,’ no.” Willow grinned and slipped a floppy disk into the computer.

  “Any sign of Xander?”

  Willow shook her head. “No, but then that kind of fits in with the suddenly-not-speaking-to-anyone persona.”

  “Which is starting to wear on my nerves, believe it or not. I think I better go look for him.”

  Buffy headed straight for Justine’s display through the light crowd browsing the art show. Over the weekend the sidewalks would be clogged with curious customers anxious to buy. At least Buffy hoped so. Her mother had been too frantic to say much more than good-bye on her way out the door that morning. She was working her heart out to make the Sunnydale Sidewalk Art Festival a huge success.

  For the moment, the lack of activity worked in Buffy’s favor as she searched for Xander. After a couple walked by Justine’s display with only a passing glance, the artist planted her hands on her hips and shook her head. Clearly disgusted, she sat in a canvas chair beside a small table.

  Obviously not on the fast track to artistic fame and fortune. As Buffy drew closer to the three-sided display, she could see why. Although Justine’s imaginative pictures of winged horses, wizards, dragons, and other fantasy fare were beautifully executed, most people probably wouldn’t want them hanging over their sofas. Including me.

  Xander wasn’t anywhere near Justine’s display, but on a hunch, Buffy decided it couldn’t hurt to take a Slayer reading on the artist. “Hi, Justine.”

  Justine hesitated. “You’re . . . Xander’s friend?”

  “Buffy Summers. My mom is running the festival.”

  “Oh, yes.” Justine nodded and perked up when Buffy leaned forward to study a painting of a black unicorn silhouetted against a full moon. “Interested?”

  “Uh—no,” Buffy said, noting the price tag. Her petty cash was a few hundred dollars short and the price of holy water had just gone up. “I’ve got a wall space deficit in my room.”

  Justine immediately lost interest.

  “Has Xander been by today? Or Oz?” Buffy added as an afterthought.

  “No.” Justine shook her head, but the question obviously unsettled her. She nervously slipped her hand into her bulging pocket.

  Checking to make sure she hasn’t lost her wallet? Buffy wondered. Or touching a lucky rabbit’s foot?

  “Is that yours?” Spotting a Tarot card lying on the pavement, Buffy stooped over to pick it up.

  “Don’t!” Justine suddenly sprang forward, shoving Buffy aside.

  Surprised, Buffy almost struck back, but caught herself. The artist was no match for a Slayer punch. Besides, she wouldn’t learn anything if Justine was out cold.

  “Don’t ever touch my Tarot deck. Ever!” Justine’s eyes narrowed and her voice seethed with rage as she picked up the card.

  “I’m sorry, Justine.” Genuinely perplexed, Buffy adopted an apologetic attitude. “I just saw it lying there and—”

  “Forget it.” Justine inserted the card into a Tarot deck she had pulled from her pocket. Instead of putting the deck back into her pocket, she held it tightly between both palms.

  “Do you do readings professionally?” Buffy asked.

  “No.” Still gripping the cards, Justine stared at Buffy. “Is there something else?”

  “Guess not.” Buffy smiled and moved on with her instincts on full alert.

  She hoped Giles was still at the library.

  * * *

  Giles looked up with a start when Buffy and Willow burst into his office. “What’s happened?”

  “Nothing. Somet
hing?” Buffy threw up her hands. “I don’t know. That’s why we came to you. To find out.”

  “I see.” Giles kept a stack of Tarot reference books from toppling when Willow reached for the phone.

  “Sorry.” Willow dialed, then paced the length of the phone cord, which reached outside the office door. “Come on, Oz.”

  “Find out what exactly?” Giles frowned at Buffy, once again reminded that he wasn’t privy to every little nuance of their lives.

  “Hey! Are you okay, Oz?” Willow stepped outside the office pulling the phone cord taut.

  “Oz has been low profile today,” Buffy explained. “And Xander isn’t talking.”

  Giles looked mildly surprised. “Meaning he’s not forthcoming with information?”

  Buffy shook her head. “Practically mute.”

  “That’s rather a refreshing thought, actually.” Giles cleared his throat. “Perhaps he’s simply embarrassed because he realized he’s not psychic.”

  “We thought of that,” Willow said as she came back in. She replaced the receiver and sat down. “Oz is fine. Just sleepy. He stayed up all night working on some new songs Devon wants to add to the play list.”

  Buffy eyed Giles intently. “Why would Justine fly into a rage because I almost touched one of her Tarot cards?”

  “A rage?” Giles shrugged when Buffy nodded. “I’d say that’s an overreaction to the accepted principles of Tarot, but not without grounds.”

  “What principles?” Buffy asked.

  Giles picked up his tea and leaned back. “The owner of a Tarot deck spends an inordinate amount of time handling the cards so they’ll absorb the owner’s specific psychic energies.”

  “Which explains why she carries her deck in her pocket.” Buffy folded her arms, her thoughtful gaze on the floor.

  “Yes, quite so,” Giles agreed. “With the exception of someone having a Tarot reading done, a foreign touch could contaminate the deck.”

  “So Oz and Xander had to touch the cards for their readings.” Willow looked to Giles for clarification. “Like a personalized imprint?”

  “Yes.” Giles’s gaze shot to Willow. “Oz had a Tarot reading from the same woman?”