Tara drummed her fingers rhythmically on the steering wheel as she drove. Buffy was settled in comfortably at shotgun.

Xander leaned forward from the back seat. "So how's the book learnin' going, Buff?"

Glancing behind, Buffy nodded encouragingly. "Oh it's very, you know ... intimidating," she admitted, though her tone remained upbeat. "Terrifying. Failure looms."

"How many memories that stirs," commiserated a wistful Xander. "Tara?"

Tara glanced at him through the rearview mirror. "Uhm, pretty much the same. As before, I mean. Not the terror parts."

"No change at all for you, huh?" Buffy asked, readjusting the seatbelt to accommodate her slouching.

"The campus is new," admitted Tara. "A bit bigger. But that's about it. It just sorta feels like I took a break." She thought for a moment. "A really long break. With death." She shrugged and then smiled. "But hey, if I have to write an essay about my summer vacation, I bet I'll win."

Xander leaned back, stretching his arms wide. "Well I for one admire you both. Just the thought of going back to school makes my stomach start to Lambada."

"And yet, you all with the new classes and everything yourself," noted Buffy, peering at Xander from around the side of her seat.

"That's different," the carpenter dismissed airily. "I haven't entirely figured out how yet, but I'm sticking to my claim."

"I just can't believe Dawnie's starting college next year too," remarked Tara with wonder.

"Which would be a primary motivator for me going back to school," acknowledged the Slayer. "The second she completes more grades than me, she'll be completely intolerable. As opposed to the 'mostly intolerable' level at which she now comfortably rests."

Tara threw her a warm smile. "Maybe next year we can all schedule some electives and stuff together."

"And you can ask her for help on your homework!" added Xander cheerfully.

"I did mention how Dawn was going to West Point, right?" Buffy's eyes darted between her two friends. "Only allowed home on holidays? For brief, teeny visits that can be measured in hours?"

The carpenter breathed out a huge sigh. "I'm still working on keeping everybody straight. Will's a first year grad student ..."

"After graduating with top honors," Tara was quick to remind.

"Check you out," chuckled Buffy. "All glowy with girlfriend pride."

Tara's returning beam was totally unabashed.

Xander continued his efforts to keep track. "Tara's a Junior – again."

"Yeah," she agreed. "A semester's worth of incompletes'll do that do you."

"I, meanwhile," interjected Buffy, "am demoted back down to Sophomorehood, but with firm aspirations to not drop out this time."

Tara glanced at Xander again. "But so what does that make you?"

Reaching over, Buffy sharply tapped the carpenter's knee. "Yeah, what can we slap you with, Label Boy?"

"I'm thinkin' either 'Newbie' or 'Sucker'," returned Xander with a rueful grin. "But if I can get outta this without a hazing, I consider me ahead of the game."

Tara brought the car to a smooth stop outside of Slayer Central. Both she and Buffy turned to Xander as he exited the vehicle.

"Have fun," called Tara.

"Oh yeah," replied Xander, heaving a backpack onto his shoulder. "This is the most fun ever. Move over, Disneyland!"

"That's the Xander spirit!" Buffy encouraged brightly.

As Tara pulled away, Xander hesitated at the foot of the steps leading to Slayer Central, seeming to regard the building with a new light. Taking a deep breath, he strode purposefully toward the front door.

He hadn't gone far down the main hallway when he was brought up short by the calling of his name. Turning, he saw Giles hurrying toward him, the perennial clipboard tucked under one arm.

"Well howdy, stranger," he greeted the Watcher chirpily.

Giles blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"You," returned Xander, lifting his eyebrows meaningfully. "The Nowhere Man. Breakfast, this morning, you, us ..." He gestured in the air, as though the motion would somehow physically jog Giles' memory. "You were springing for overpriced, oversized muffins, I think?"

Giles frowned, his expression totally blank. Then, his eyes widened. "Yes. Yes, of course. I apologize. I was busy in meetings all morning."

"Ahh. Pesky meetings," confirmed the carpenter with a wise nod. "Funny how those seem to keep popping up these days, when you've done such a good job making sure this place can run like a well-oiled running thing."

The Watcher gave a tiny sigh, but otherwise declined to respond to the implication.

"I was hoping we could go over your encounter with the orb one more time," he told Xander, as he ran a pencil down the list on his clipboard.

Xander checked his watch. "I've got a few minutes, sure. Don't know what else I can tell you, though. Big orb, weird word, lots of breaking." He shrugged dismissively.

"Yes, it's rather the word that I'm interested in," mused Giles. "Or rather, your reaction to it. Can you think of any reason why you could read it while Hannah could not?"

"Hannah needs corrective lenses?" suggested Xander. When Giles didn't crack so much as a smile, he sighed and continued. "Honestly, that's about all I've got. It was there, plain as could be. 'The Baani'. What does it even mean, anyway?"

A deep frown creased Giles' forehead. "I've encountered the word in a wide variety of texts. It seems to have many meanings, though not all of them make sense. It's buried deep in volumes of ancient lore and—"

"Please," interrupted the carpenter hastily. "Before my teeth rot, my hair falls out, and I develop a sudden wistful love for Ed Sullivan."

Giles fixed the younger man with a narrowed gaze. "Are you sure this is the vocation for you?"

"No," Xander admitted. "But okay – point. Please continue. I'm suddenly fascinated." He leaned against the wall and allowed his backpack to slide to the floor.

A tiny smile of amusement crossed Giles face. "Xander, you are a terrible liar."

"But I love your tie," came the retort, delivered with unbridled enthusiasm.

Giles pressed on. "I believe 'the Baani' is 'the builder'."

Xander's expression grew sober as he absorbed this information. "Oh. Well maybe it's the stamp of the guy who built the thing," he ventured. "That pedestal was an impressive piece of work."

"Perhaps," Giles acknowledged slowly. "But it still doesn't explain why you could read it while Hannah could not."

Xander retrieved his backpack. "I'm stickin' with my glasses theory on that one. Anything else just gives me goosebumps."

"Indeed." Giles arched an eyebrow.

Nervously, the carpenter shifted his weight from one foot to the next. "Does it ... I mean ... Do you think that's me?"

"I'm really not certain," Giles was forced to admit.

"But you think it is."

The carpenter watched the affirming nod. Reluctant though it was, it did convey a 'yes, I think so' position.

"Well these books an' things," pressed Xander. "Where'd you see it?"

"As I mentioned, it's listed in several locations," began the Watcher carefully. "It's taken me some considerable time just to decipher this far. But the passages where it appears most frequently are- are ancient. And, I'm sorry to say, incomplete."

"But ... I mean, nothing happened," Xander insisted. "I touched it and it zapped me, but I'm fine. As far as ancient deathtraps go, this is definitely rankin' below the giant man-crushing bowling ball."

"I know," replied Giles, his frown making a return appearance. "It's most peculiar."

Xander huffed, clearly unsatisfied, but had little time to wallow in his frustration.

"Xander, there you are," announced Spencer, fast approaching down the opposite hallway. His attire, as always, consisted of a fashionably cut three-piece suit but, again as always, it seemed to sit oddly on his large frame. He turned to Giles upon reaching Xander's side.

"Good morning, sir," he greeted in his deeply soothing voice. "How wonderful it is to see you emerge from your office seclusion into this only slightly less seclusive environment."

Giles rubbed at his forehead and sighed heavily. "Good morning, Spencer."

With a bright smile, Spencer's attention returned to Xander. "Unless I'm very much mistaken, I do believe we should, at this exact moment, be studying research theories and acquainting you with new and fascinating worlds of The Neathmal Compendium, Arecba's Lexicon, the entire thirty-four volume collected works of Rashamon the Prophet ..."

"Oh no. No possibility of being mistaken there," Xander muttered. "Not even if I close my eyes and hope really, really hard."

"Xander, this was your idea." Giles' tone held a hint of chastisement. "I think you have potential, but only if you—"

"I know," interrupted Xander quickly, anxious to divert a lecture. "Focus. Apply myself. I haven't been out of school so long to forget the usual parent/teacher speech." He inhaled deeply. "I never thought I'd hear myself say this, but ..." he adopted an overt cheeriness. "Let's go learn that research!"

Spencer beamed and slapped Xander heartily on the shoulder. "Truly, your enthusiasm is infectious," he confided.

They hadn't gone but a few strides when Xander turned back to Giles.

"About that...?"

"I'll keep working on it," reassured the Watcher. "Perhaps later you can employ your new skills and assist me."

Xander executed a small skip of joy. "Wow, and extra curricular opportunities! I'm all a-flutter."

With a weary roll of the eyes, Giles tucked his clipboard back beneath his arm and walked away.

The carpenter leaned over toward Spencer, noticing the subdued smirk on the other man's face.

"And here I thought Watcher Academy was a party school. I think someone fudged on the tempting little brochures. I mean, where's the co-eds? Where's the keggers?"

Spencer brushed an imaginary speck of dust from his lapel and appeared to make a mental note.

"I'll be certain to speak to someone in admissions."

At Trillium High, the bell formally announced the end of classes for the morning. The front door opened like a floodgate, and students instantly began to swarm through. In the center of the throng was Dawn, flanked by Ginny and Jackie.

"I'm just saying," Jackie was insisting, "that we're Seniors now. That should grant us special privileges. Rewards for surviving this long."

"We get to leave school for lunch!" came Ginny's perky reply. "That's pretty cool!"

"I'm talking about with classes, Little Brain," Jackie responded briskly. "We've only been back a week, and I already have hours of homework, a quiz tomorrow, and a paper to write. Senioritis. It's a common ailment, and I'm totally suffering."

Dawn rolled her eyes. "Jackie, you've been claiming Senioritis since last year."

This seemed to only enhance Jackie's feelings that she was being treated unjustly. "See? I have an advanced case. Even more reason to not have to read three chapters of ..." She sneered contemptuously at the book she was carrying. "Uch, physics tonight."

As the trio made their way to the parking lot, Megan and Brenda joined them.

"Well just be glad you're not taking all these AP courses," sighed Dawn, indicating her armful of textbooks for emphasis. "I give my head two weeks until explosion, tops."

"Just like Scanners," prompted Ginny with a wise nod.

She visibly shrank a little beneath the four pairs of quizzical eyes but thankfully, the scrutiny didn't last long and the conversation continued without much pause.

"I think this year'll be cake. If we do it right," declared Megan.

Brenda glanced over Ginny's head at Megan. "If by 'do it right' you mean 'make Brenda do all our homework', then no cake for you."

Megan turned to her friend with wide eyes and brought her hand to her chest indignantly. "Brenda, I'm shocked. Offended, even. I'm simply thinking: study sessions for each and every homework assignment. Hosted by you," she added.

"Study sessions that wouldn't bear any resemblance whatsoever to an evening of everyone peering over Brenda's shoulder," snickered Dawn.

"Of course not," Megan dismissed with a gesture. "You'll be there too, so we have double the geeking power."

"I can bring Doritos," volunteered Ginny.

"I hate all of you," declared Brenda, but her tone was far from malicious.

Megan dug the car keys out of her pocket as they gathered around the vehicle. It was a beaten-up old jalopy. Indeed, it might have been a hand-me-down from the high school days of Megan's father, but it obviously had been and still was a cherished possession. There was plenty of room for three in the back – maybe four at a crunch, if at least one passenger were on the small side. Ginny made a move to claim the front seat until she withered at Jackie's expression and slunk toward the rear door, sidling up to Dawn and Brenda for protection. The girls continued to chat as they got into the car.

Megan slid the key into the ignition. "So, where for lunch today?"

Brenda leaned forward. "Oh, I hear there's this new salad place that opened up down by the university." She spied Megan regarding her skeptically in the rearview mirror and sighed with resignation. "Fine, McDonalds."

More than content with this decision, Megan put the car in first gear.

"Yay!" came Ginny's excited squeak. "I still have to get this week's Polly Pocket Happy Meal."

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," Jackie sighed without turning around, "and instead talk about something much cooler: tonight."

Dawn stowed her books neatly under the driver's seat. "What's so cool?" she asked. "Homework, dinner, bed. Pretty much every Tuesday."

"It's cool because we'll make it so," Jackie announced. "I call Vortex Night." She graciously extended grins all around.

Ginny blinked nervously. "But what happened to homework? And that pop quiz tomorrow?"

"So we'll study there," shrugged Jackie with a wave of her hand.

"It's not really a homework sort of environment ..." pondered Brenda dubiously.

Megan flicked the left blinker and then promptly turned right, her eyes mostly riveted to Brenda in the rearview mirror. "The teeth-chattering loud music, throngs of people, near-darkness, blinding strobe lights ... What makes you say that?" She blatantly ignored the aggravated honk of a horn behind her.

"Maybe the long history of other Vortex Nights where, go fig, no homework got done," suggested Brenda, smiling apologetically through the back window at the gesturing driver.

"Besides," added Dawn, "I've got a lot to do tonight."

"Like what?" scoffed Jackie. "Homework, dinner, bed? Come on, Summers, you're 18 now. 18! Let's live a little." She turned to Dawn with a wink.

Dawn fidgeted and twisted her fingers together. "Well I would, but living a little isn't exactly on my schedule for tonight. I've got those ... classes. The special training classes and stuff?"

"I think that's wicked," enthused Megan. "Next thing you know, you'll be like ... David Carradine."

Brenda was amused. "David Carradine?"

Megan glared into the rear view mirror. "What? My dad likes the old 'Kung Fu' reruns. Look, do I make fun of your mom's obsession with 'The O.C.'?" She didn't wait for an answer. "No. Okay then."

With a smirk, Brenda averted her eyes and shook her head.

"Then that settles it," determined Jackie with finality.

Dawn laughed incredulously. "What? That didn't settle anything."

Jackie shrugged. "Okay, so I hoped in the jumble of confusing images, that detail might've slipped by you."

"You should come with us, Dawn," urged Ginny. "It's more fun when you're around."

"I really— I want to," acknowledged Dawn with some regret. "But I can't. I've got some stuff to do with Giles and it's ... I can't get out of it. It's important."

"You guys've been doing this 'important training' stuff all summer," Brenda told her with a reproving frown.

Dawn slumped her shoulders, only a hairsbreadth from pouting. "Yeah, I know."

"What are you even training for?" demanded Jackie, swiveling in her seat and locking eyes with Dawn.

"Oh just ... You know ..." Dawn glanced vaguely out of the window. "Travel."

The four friends all exchanged a collective suspicious glance, even Megan until she was prompted by Brenda to turn her attention back to the road.

"They have classes for that?" queried a disbelieving Brenda. "I figured it was pretty much standard. Get on a plane, sit in a cramped space for six hours, and there you go. Travel complete."

Dawn fidgeted in her seat. "Yeah. Yeah, this is ... sort of like that. In the 'point A' to 'point B' sense."

With a screech of rubber, Megan pulled into the McDonalds parking lot. "But what do you need—"

She was interrupted by Ginny scrambling over Dawn's lap to get out of the car. Bursting through the door, Ginny raced toward the restaurant with a gleeful cry of "Booth!"

With a heavy sigh and exasperated shake of the head, Jackie rolled her eyes. "I swear she wasn't just dropped on her head as a child, she was used as a freaking basketball."

Megan turned off the engine and stuffed the keys into her pocket. "I'd better go stop her before she drinks any of the orange-colored sugar water. One cup of that and we'll never get her to stop bouncing long enough to get back in the car."

Jogging, she followed Ginny into the restaurant as the remainder of the girls exited the vehicle. Brenda spared a brief second to smile ruefully in Dawn's direction.

"I wish you could come with us tonight."

Dawn returned the gesture.

"Yeah. Me too."

The clock outside Regent's Park tube station revealed the time to be almost midnight as a group of girls emerged and began to mill around the entrance. There was an exchange of snickers and meaningful glances, but no apparent indication as to what exactly they found so entertaining. No indication, that was, until the butt of their collective hilarity also made her way into the street.

Kennedy was not a happy woman. It was, in fact, safe to say that Kennedy had pulled out an Atlas, identified the single point on the globe farthest away from Happy, and booked a hotel room there. She was covered from head to toe at random intervals with some sort of filmy black substance that clung to her skin and her clothing.

The giggling increased at her appearance, although several of the girls nudged each other into an uneasy silence as she approached. Her expression set in a rigid mask of anger, Kennedy moved slowly, almost threateningly, before coming to a halt and glaring at the fourteen-member group.

"So." She regarded them with narrowed eyes. "That's what passes for British humor, huh?"

The girls tried to stifle their sniggering, most of them failing miserably.

Kennedy nodded her head. "Witty."

She took a step forward, focusing on one girl in particular. Taller than her accomplices and certainly carrying more height than Kennedy, the girl had all the markings of a ringleader. Though thin, there was a certain wiry strength to the girl's build. Indeed, she gave every indication that she could have put up one hell of a fight in a scrap, even before the bestowing of Slayer powers. The light from a nearby street lamp glinted on the silver rings of her two obvious piercings – one septum, one conch. Her black hair was short and spiked with orange-dyed tips. Kennedy, however, appeared less than impressed.

"I think you're in trouble," she recited, replaying the events in her head. "I run to help. I wind up having a brief but intimate encounter with a section of subway I don't think they much bother with cleaning."

There was an eruption of further snickering. The object of Kennedy's attention, however, seemed equally as unimpressed with Kennedy as Kennedy was with her. The girl's stance screamed defiance, but her eyes belied any stupidity – there was nothing there but rebellion.

Kennedy's already narrow eyes became little more than slits. "Funny, Miranda. Seriously funny. Benny Hill-funny."

Miranda glowered and her voice, when she spoke, was laced with a with a thick London accent.

"Mira," she all but snarled. "I already told you that."

In the blink of an eye, Kennedy lashed out and seized a handful of the girl's shirt. She dragged her down until they were nose-to-nose. "And I'm pretty sure I told you this isn't a game," she spat. She tossed Mira backward, causing the girl to almost lose her balance. Mira stumbled and sneered in Kennedy's direction, but Kennedy's menacing glare simply widened to encompass the whole group.

"It's not a game, children," she warned. "You go playing around down there, and next time maybe you're cleaning blood off your clothes instead of ..." Kennedy looked down at herself with scorn and wrinkled her nose. "Whatever the hell this crap is."

She stomped her way toward another girl. This one's appearance was much less counter-culture and she was a good deal more intimidated by Kennedy's close presence.

"How's that sound to you, Jordan?" challenged Kennedy with a tilt of her head. "Fun way to spend the night? Going home and washing Sara's blood off your hands?" She gestured at the girl standing next to Jordan. Both Juniors paled a little at the thought and Jordan had the decency to lower her eyes.

Kennedy moved further down the line and singled out a stocky brunette.

"Nisha, you think you'll be laughing so hard when find a little boy lying in the gutter with his throat torn out? Knowing you could've stopped it, if you'd maybe bothered to take things seriously?"

Nisha flinched as Kennedy stepped back and appraised the group as a whole, marching steadily back and forth.

"You know children," she lectured firmly, "I can't help but think it's managed to somehow escape your notice that we're vampire slayers. Not vampire pranksters. I'm not sure what you've all been doing over here for the past year? But playtime is over. Tomorrow, I'm gonna tell you a story. It's about a girl, her Watcher, and how it feels to sit by helpless while bunch of eyeless bastards rips someone you love apart right in front of you. Oh and don't worry – it comes with visual aids."

Kennedy stopped her pacing and held the gaze of each girl in turn for several seconds. "Go home and sleep on that."

All seemed suitably chagrined, save Miranda, as they began to follow orders and slink away. Watching them go, Kennedy called her back.

Miranda turned quickly, her lips curled with derision. "What's that?" she asked with a nasty gleam in her eye. "Got some more scary stories, mon Capitan? Might need my nightlight if you keep being so scaaary."

"I don't know what your problem is—" began Kennedy.

Miranda feigned shocked surprise. "Something Kennedy the Great doesn't know?"

Kennedy continued as though there had been no interruption. "—but as it turns out, I don't give a damn. You risk my life, and the lives of those girls, then you get to be officially classified in the 'not with us' category." Kennedy took another step forward, glaring up meaningfully at the other girl. "Trust me, Miranda," she advised in a voice that was low and dangerous. "You wanna be with us."

The stare-down that followed was intense and fiercely competitive, but the outcome was inevitable. With a disgusted snort, Miranda turned on her heel and trailed after her companions with an exaggerated swagger.

Barely moving a muscle, Kennedy watched the retreat. She sensed rather than observed Faith's emergence from the shadows behind her. Lighting up a cigarette, Faith noted Kennedy's tenseness begin to relax.

"I think you're turning into a chain smoker," Kennedy told her without turning around.

Faith shrugged in the darkness. "Funny how I don't care."

"I thought you didn't care about what happened tonight either?" queried Kennedy, glancing in Faith's direction.

"Yeah, well I'm a complex character." Faith casually exhaled the smoke through her nose as Kennedy approached. "That girl's got her hate on big time," she remarked, jutting her chin toward Miranda.

Kennedy looked down the street, but Miranda had already disappeared. "You picking up on that too, huh?"

"And you so sweet an' charming," Faith grinned. "You know why?"

"Wood thinks it's general authority issues," answered Kennedy. "Me, I'm going with her delusion that she can do better than me."

Faith examined the red glow at the tip of her cigarette. "Probably both. You should keep an eye on her, Sparky. Girl like that, all kinds'a trouble."

"Speaking from experience?" chuckled Kennedy.

Faith's reply was a smirk.

Kennedy sighed, looking at her filthy hands for a moment before dropping them to her sides. "So what'd you do tonight?"

Faith rocked on her heels and looked up at the stars. "Hit the parks. Saved a few homeless guys."

"Very charitable," acknowledged Kennedy.

"Yeah, that all-access pass through the Pearly Gates is as good as mine now." She produced a new cigarette and lit it from the still-glowing ember of the first before flicking it to the curb.

Kennedy studied Faith closely for a moment. The other woman was clearly uncomfortable beneath the scrutiny. "You got somethin' to say, say it," she snapped curtly.

"Are you even happy here?"

Faith peered into her pack of Marlboros. "Got a few smokes left," she confirmed. "I'm good."

"I mean here," Kennedy pressed. "In London."

Faith didn't give the question much thought. "Gotta be somewhere. Might as well be here as anywhere."

"You haven't even been home since Dawn popped us here," persisted Kennedy. "I figured you'd maybe want to go back, see Haze—"

"What I want, to tell ya the truth," interrupted Faith sharply, "is a big fat drink. Then maybe we can kill us a bit more evil before sunrise. An' what you want ..."

Her voice trailed away as, with a skeptical expression, she looked Kennedy up and down. "What you want is a shower."

Seeming to have forgotten her rather unsavory state for the moment, Kennedy looked down at herself with disgust.

"Definitely shower," insisted Faith, wrinkling her nose meaningfully.

Kennedy sighed. "If I didn't have this incredibly kick-ass reputation to live up to, I'd be whining so hard right now."

"I understand if you wish to cry out." The words were spoken with understanding but totally devoid of sympathy.

The interior of the small warehouse was dimly lit, but there was sufficient illumination to make out the unfortunate figure in the center of the room. The green-skinned demon had been bound by his wrists and was suspended from a rafter high in the ceiling. The tortured eyes revealed that all traces of his earlier inebriation had been expunged, whether by the passage of time or courtesy of more sinister means, he was assuredly in no position to reveal and it may have been doubtful that he even knew. Most certainly, the previous hours had taken a fatal toll on his physical condition.

On the dusty floor of the warehouse, the girl was cleaning the long, thin blade of a dagger, purifying the weapon in the flame of a candle. From an embroidered silk pouch, she extracted a pinch of powder, sprinkled it along the length of the blade, and then carefully placed it back into the fire. The knife began to emit a soft white glow. The demon, however, was oblivious to the anomaly. He groaned weakly and the girl looked upward in his direction.

"Your pain. I regret its necessity." Her features remained unmoved as she refocused on the dagger. "I had thought it would bring your master, but still, he does not come. He does not dare. He fears me."

She extracted the weapon from the flame and examined it, approving of its current state.

"He shows wisdom," she added thoughtfully, rising to her feet and facing the demon directly. "It will save neither of you."

Even from outside the warehouse, the demon's screams were horrific.