Los Angeles:

The vampire exploded into dust.

Charles Gunn looked down at it.

All that... all that, and /this/ was all it came down to.

A pile of dust, blown away by the wind.

After so long.

The others saw the grim expression on his face, but said nothing.

'Account finally came due.' he murmured. 'Finally came due.'

He let the air in his lungs out in a single breath.

'Let's get outta here.'

'Place is clear.' George said.

'Better make sure it stays that way.' Gunn said. 'Long as we can make sure...'

'Lost too many people.' George murmured. 'Far too many.'

Gunn nodded, but was quiet.

'Let's clear this place.' he said finally. 'Gotta get back.'

One of the others nodded silently, and went to start up the van.

Finally got it back. From them. Finally got it back from them.

Yeah. Ours again.

They won' get it back.

Quietly, they left the abandoned building.

---

'Things are out of balance.'

'Tell it. That boy up on stage... he just ain't balancing the bass and treble.' The green-faced demon winced. 'But he's got /soul/. Real Holliday kinda soul.'

'That's the problem.' the man in the Hawaiian shirt said. 'He /doesn't/. The vampire with a soul is dead. The Chosen One, the Slayer... she's dead. The prophecies are-' He snapped his fingers. '-/dust/. The darkness is winning - and when they do...'

'So what you planning to do?' the demon said. 'Sounds like it's gone too far for you, me or even Elton John to do anything else.'

'Elton John?'

'The man can do /anything/.' the demon said. 'Caught him when he did MSG couple years ago. I swear...'

The man grinned. 'He's got his /own/ part to play in this, though. No... The prophecies have been broken. The future's an open book. One they intend to write.'

'Somehow I don't think it's gonna be a good one. For you, me /an'/ Elton.'

'True. True.' The man winced. 'Especially for Mr John. The darkness is rising...'

'So what's on your mind?'

The man nodded at the figure on stage, drunkenly singing how he'd done it *his* way, not anyone else's.

'/Him/.'

'Him?' The demon looked at the singer, and his red eyes narrowed. 'Whoo boy. /Nasty/.'

'It will be.' the man said. His expression was grim. 'When he steps outta here, he's gonna go down to Sunnydale-'

'And the fat lady's gonna sing.' the demon said. 'That's all she wrote.'

'Yes. No Slayer. No souled vampire. No-one. No-one.' The man's voice was soft. 'And things will be as they were in the beginning. No music.No rhythms. Only the screaming of the damned and the dying.'

The demon shuddered. '/That's/ a tune I never wanted to hear again.'

'But others do.' the man said.

'If he's so important, how we gonna stop him going? I'm imagining he ain't gonna listen to the "Powers That Be want YOU!" spiel.'

'And he won't take kindly to being manipulated. That's the thing, you see. He cares, but not about humans. About the women he's lost, yes - but the happy meals around him? No chance, even if - especially because - he can't lay a finger on their heads. He won't raise a finger to save one. Why should he? Another meal for him.'

'Hold on. Hold on. If he's the sorta guy you're saying, seems to me he'd jump at the chance to stop the Apocalypse.'

'Hmm?'

' 'Cause he ain't the sorta person who won't be bothered by all that world-ending crap. And please. Can't these abominations,hellgods, demons - can't they find something /better/ to do with their time? He's gonna wanna stop it - 'cause he's got somethin' better to do with his time.'

'At the moment, he doesn't.' the man said. 'That's why his decision is so critical. He has to find something to do - otherwise he's going to go down there.

'And die.'

'So what /can/ ya give him?'

'/I/ can't give him anything.' the man said. 'He isn't looking for a reward.'

'So he don' care about people. He's gone and lost everyone he's ever cared 'bout, done the lashing out, the grieving, the despair, the whole 'what am I gonna do' - the whole blues thing...' The demon smiled. 'You can't. I can.'

'Hey, Billy!' he yelled at the figure on stage.

'M-my nam's /no'/ Billy!' the figure mumbled angrily.

'Murder the Idol's songs enough...' the demon said. 'Listen - you wanta job? I've got an opening for a bartender going - my last one went off for a DeLaurentiis...' He shuddered.

'A... job?' the figure slurred. 'Listen, I killed two Slayers, been spending the last hun'red years rampagin' 'cross the globe - why the hell should I need a job?'

The demon looked him up and down. 'You want I should answer that?'

'I can get *anythin'* I want.'

'Yeah? Well, you ain't getting outta here without payin'.'

The blond figure slung some bills in front of him. 'There. Satisfied?'

'Yeah, I am. Question is, sugar, are /you/?'

'Huh?'

'I read people's souls when they sing.' the demon told him. 'And believe me, you got some real /need/ bakin' off yours.'

'Yeah. A need to get the hell out of here.'

'Really?' The demon arched an eyebrow. 'Where ya headed?'

'Sunnydale. Real nice place for my kind these days. Slayers poppin' up and just /begging/ to be killed, whole factories for blood...'

'And the fact you can't lay finger one on them - how well you think that's gonna go down?' the demon asked. 'Last I heard, vamps weren't into the whole "carin' for the invalid" thing. Dust 'em first time they see it. And sugar, you may be tough, but tough enough to stand up 'gainst a whole town of vamps?'

The blond shrugged. 'Tough enough to take as many of 'em as I can with me.'

'Uh-huh. 'Cause I'm tellin' ya, that'd be a real waste, you know? That voice - a little more work, and you'd be slayin' them. And as for the coat...' The demon looked the blond up and down again. 'It's /all/ about the coat. Be a real shame if it went "poof" with the rest o' you.'

The blond hesitated. 'Wh-?'

'/And/,' the demon continued. 'you get a whole range of benefits - blood practically on tap, hell, they deliver it by the tankerful. Now it probably ain't as sweet as feelin' a neck under your teeth - but hell, any of us, we're lucky if we get any neck action these days. Whole night shift thin' - can't have the employees burstin' inta flames, can we? Well, bar the fire demons, but they always get a little heated come payday. Full benefits package - an' medical insurance, believe me, the way you'll keep gettin' banged up, you'll thank me, you really will. No life package, 'cause hey, that whole undead thing. Or pension scheme. An', hey, you get the chance to let out some tension on any troublemakers, 'cause this /is/ a demon bar. Demons? All over the place. One little step out of line - *pow* - tension released, am I right? And full wage inta the bargain.'

'Yeah? Think the Big Bad's gonna let himself be caught /here?/'

'Looks like you already let yourself get caught, sugar.' the demon said. 'An' that /need/ for what caught you - shinin' so brightly off ya, I can barely /see/.'

'Listen,' the blond said. 'I don't need this. Or you, or /his/-' he stabbed a finger at the other man's Hawaiian shirt. 'godawful fashion sense. You escape from 'Passions' or something while they weren't looking?'

'You'd be surprised.' the man said.

'So what do ya want?' the demon asked. 'You want a future, or you wanna go dust? 'Cause what I'm offering, it's a hell of a lot more than you'd get down Sunnydale way. You get a chance to /make/ somethin' of yourself. And sugar, you say you're the Big Bad? Maybe in your little corner of the world, but 'round this way, you're surely outta your depth, like the Bopper.'

'Yeah? I can still tear you to shreds.'

'Ooh, I'm so scared.' the demon said. 'Tear poor lil' old me to shreds, yeah, real Big Bad that. Tearin' up a guy jus' 'cause you feel like it.'

'No.'

'No?'

'You're pissing me off.' the blond said. 'Way /I/ see it, that's more than enough for me to start tearing. Now, my grandsire? You pissed /him/ off, you were in for a long and painful life - and an even longer and worse death. Guy's an artist. Real Obi-Wan Kenobi.'

'Was.'

The blond hesitated again. 'Was?... Yeah, yeah, he was. I'd heard.'

'Thing you didn't hear was he went down fighting the Master - alongside the Slayer.'

'Now I know you're talking out of your arses. Wondered what the stink in here was.' The blond waved exaggeratedly.

'You ain't left yet.' the man observed.

'Watch me.'

'He got his soul back.' the man said.

'What?' the blond said.

'He got his soul back. Got cursed by a Kalderash gypsy tribe. Way I heard it, he snacked down on their little princess - and *bamf*, they exacted vengeance. Course, /someone/ wiped them out afterwards. Didn't do a whole lot of good for Psycho-Wan, tho'.'

'Oh yeah?'

'Yeah. See, he gets to know right and wrong - and knows most o' what he did last hundred fifty years was /wrong/. Guy just couldn't take it. Had to cop out and /run/, once his sire found out...'

'You're not serious. I was /there/. No /way/ did anything like that happen.'

'Yeah? You noticed while you were scarfin' them down like there was no tomorrow? Never wondered why you ain't seen him in over a century?'

'Went his way, I went mine.' the blonde said. ' 'Sides, wasn't like he actually /liked/ us or anythin'. Why should I get in touch?'

'Might've helped.' the man said. 'Go down there, and you're gonna end up like him.'

'What? Dead? Been there, done that.'

'As a pet.' the man said. 'That's what he was to them. A /pet/. You think you're gonna get off any better? "Oh look, a vamp who can't kill! Can I take him home with me?".'

'No chance. I'm the Big Bad. And the way I see it, you don't have word /one/ backing up that story. So... later.'

'Dru told you.' the man said. ' "I felt the angel fall, fall away into dust, and the Slayer's stench in his ashes. Daddy's gone, daddy's gone, and grandma won't be pleased. Look at what he did, Spike, leaving his ashes in our fireplace".'

'You bastard.' the blond breathed. 'You absolute bastard. Dru never said that to anyone - *anyone* - but me. No /way/ you could have heard /that/.'

'She was /right/, Spike.' the man said. 'Angelus died - and the Slayer walked right through his ashes. The angel /did/ fall.'

'So you eavesdropped on me. Oh, I'm so convinced. Scrying spells don't take /that/ much work.'

'No, they don't.' the man said. 'Which was how we found out. And then we found the chains.'

'The... chains?'

'The chains they'd used to chain him up. And... there was a video.'

'A video?'

'They spent two years torturing Angelus, Spike. They videoed that torture at /least/ once. Maybe more. I didn't care to stay and find out.'

'They... /videoed/...? Angelus, tortured? No. No way. You're lying.'

'I have the video. Not on me - but I have it. Stay here a while, and I'll get it.'

'No way.' Spike said. 'I'm going.'

'Go, and it will be /your/ video we find. And they'll keep you alive much, much, longer... Angelus was their pet. /You/ will be a freak. A monster. Beneath them.'

Spike slowly turned and settled into a chair.

'All right. You get it, then show me.'

'Are you sure?'

'Show. Me.' Spike's vamp face told the man.

Unfazed, he nodded. 'Very well.'

---

'Another.' Spike said.

The Host passed him another Virgin Mary (with real blood and vodka).

'Thing like that,' he murmured. 'Thing like that /needs/ a drink.'

Spike didn't reply. Instead, he gulped down the Virgin Mary, and clanked the glass on the bar.

The Host noted the tremble in his hand, but said nothing.

'We hunt. We kill.' Spike said quietly. 'Tha's what it's about. The hunt. The dance. We hunt them down, we fight, we kill - or we're killed.'

He ran his finger over the glass.

'That's what it's all about. The blood that calls to us, pounding through our veins, rushing through the body...'

'Blood music.' the Host murmured. 'Music in your blood.'

'Now you're gettin' it...' Spike said.

He looked down at the glass.

The Host poured more of the Virgin Mary out.

'We're /vampires/.' Spike finally said. 'Anger, gettin' pissed off with someone, jealousy... yeah, no problem. Some thin's are /well/ beyond that. Well beyond... Hell, some things were beyond Dru...'

He trailed off.

'Hey, Jolly Green?'

'Yeah?'

'Lemme sleep on it, 'kay?'

'No problemo,' the Host said. 'Check in day after tomorrow - well, tomorrow, now, we'll see you're fixed up either way.'

He paused. 'Got anywhere to sleep?'

'Out in the car.' Spike said. 'No offence.'

'None taken.' the Host said, a tiny trace of a smile on his face. 'Just check in tomorrow. And bring the coat. We can't have you without the coat.'

---

Elsewhere...

(Translated from the Czech)

'It's coming! It's going to kill us!'

'Our lives aren't important. We have to protect the Key.'

The two monks hurried over to join the third, forming a circle. A soft glow illuminated their faces.

'The choice has been made.' the third said, his eyes not opening.

'That one?'

'That one.'

The other two nodded.

'Help me perform the ritual.'

Together, the three of them began to chant, their eyes closed.

Something pounded against the door. The door shuddered under the impact.

The youngest monk's eyes flew open.

Another blow. Stress lines across the door.

'Concentrate.' the eldest said.

The youngest nodded, all three returning to the chant.

The door began to break and splinter under the strain.

The glow on the monks' faces became brighter and brighter.

The bolt on the door split.

For one moment, three voices became one, one wordless voice.

The candles blew out.

The glow expanded, illuminating the room - then contracted.

And then - was gone.

The room went dark.

And the door exploded.

The three monks turned to face the thing that had entered.

---

Tara Maclay struggled to keep from yawning as she tried to open her apartment door.

A long day. A /very/ long day.

And the witchcraft meeting?

Dull, dull, and dull. Blessedbe wannabes, all of them.

No, they're not like that, she admonished herself. They mean well, after all.

But still... it would be nice to talk to someone else about the magic. Someone who understood.

Someone... who wouldn't run when they found out.

The key finally slotted into the lock.

With just a hint of a wistful sigh, she opened the door.

'Hiya. Long day?' Dawn Maclay said, not looking up from her book.

''You might say that.' Tara murmured.

She eyed the book her little sister was reading. 'I wish it was /half/ as exciting as he-'

'He's a /she/, sis.'

Off Tara's baffled look, Dawn tried to explain. 'The guy who writes these is a /girl/, sis. Turn on a chat show sometime.'

'Oh. Well, half as exciting as /s-she/ makes it out to be.' Tara settled down on her bed.

'It'd help if you showed me how to do-'

'Dawn...'

'I know, I know. No rubbing auras with the black arts for the littlest Maclay. You told me already.'

'It's r-risky, even for /our/ family.' Tara said. 'R-risky, scary - and very, very n-not exciting.'

'Yeah, I can tell...' Dawn murmured.

Tara changed position so she was sitting beside her. 'I-it's not that I don't /want/ to. But I-i have to look after you. M-make sure you're all right. I m-mean...'

Dawn was quiet. 'Yeah. Yeah, I know.' She looked up. 'Hey. Wanna go for an ice cream?'

'W-well...'

'And you can go for one of those chocolate drinks. With sprinkles.' Dawn grinned. 'Go on. Treat yourself.'

'Okay. W-why not?' Tara said, pulling her shoes off. 'Just let me s-shower first...'

---

'Aaah. Oh no. Now I'm going to be awake all night.' Tara thought about that. 'Well... okay. I mean, it's not like I was doing anything tomorrow. And, and there were those texts I was meaning to catch up on...'

Dawn looked at her over her ice cream. 'Just drink the coffee.'

'Yes, Mom...' Tara said.

She set her mug down. '...I like these longer evenings. Just walking through a park, and, and sipping your drink while you watch the sun go down. Which we would if, if it weren't overcast and that. M-maybe just forget for a while where you are, just watch the night come in overhead. Well, not in Los Angeles, but it's still nice to pretend.'

'You couldn't do a protection spell?' Dawn asked. 'Y'know. "Bad guys stay the hell away!" sort of thing?'

'Well... I could do one to let me know w-when danger w-was c-coming.Shielding... well, I can't keep up a spell like that for long,unless I c-could find the proper components.'

'You can find anything in Los Angeles.' Dawn observed.

'I-it's finding a s-shrimp substitute that's the problem,' Tara mused. 'O-otherwise the spell backfires, a-and you end up w-with a room full of chocolate moose.'

'Nothing wrong with that,' Dawn said.

'It is when it starts bellowing.'

'...Oh. *Oh.*' Dawn's cheeks went red.

'K-kidding. I'm kidding. Although, although the horns are a bit of a problem...'

'Need to work on that delivery.' Dawn commented.

'I'd noticed.' Tara said, smiling. '...Wanna start heading back?'

'Mm.'

'T-there's something about this city. Something... I-i dunno.' Tara thought on, as they started back.

'The air? The people? The buildings? The stars? The mansions? The tourists? The friendly crimes?'

Tara glared at Dawn.

'Sorry.'

'N-no. Just... just something. I dunno quite w-what...'

'Maybe it's the fashion sense. Where else could you get away with wearing that shirt?'

'Dawny!' Tara scolded.

Then she /saw/ the shirt in question.

'Oh my Gods...'

The man wearing said shirt gave them the look of one who /knows/ how hideous the shirt he's wearing is to any onlookers, but quite frankly enjoys wearing it.

Tara, quite literally, didn't know where to look: at Dawn's grinning face, at the man, at his shirt, at the bystanders - who'd start staring at /her/ if she did that...

'I wear the shirt. It does not wear me.' the man said. 'Although I wonder sometimes.'

'Umm...' Tara began.

'You'd be surprised how many people try /not/ to react to the shirt. Yeah. It's hideous. But this is LA, no-one's gonna comment. Now you, you actually reacted. Must be new in town, am I right?'

'W-well...' Tara tried again.

'Came in last year.' Dawn supplied. 'She's going to UCLA, and I'm staying with her.'

'Really? Could have fooled me. Well, she could. You, on the other hand...'

'Oh, T's always like that.' Dawn explained. 'Trips over her own tongue every time she opens her mouth.'

'Excuse her.' Tara said. 'She's 14 years old...'

'Whistler.'

'I-i'm Tara. This is Dawn.' Tara hesitated.

There was... something about him. It wasn't that he wasn't 'flowing' with the Earth, or the people around him. He was.

But... he didn't /belong/ in that flow. Or he wasn't a part of it - like someone had added a widget to the flow. A part of it, but... well, not.

'Now /that's/ perceptive.' Whistler said.

'I-i'm sorry?'

'Yep. I'm not from 'round here.'

'I think the shirt was a bit of a giveaway.' Dawn said, deadpan.

'This?' Whistler shrugged. 'Had it for ages.'

Tara was experiencing the all too familiar urge to go and bury herself somewhere. Preferably where she wouldn't be found for... oh, the next decade or so?

'H-how many ages?'

' 'Bout ten years or so.' Whistler raised an eyebrow. 'Nice try, though.'

'Will you two stop talking in code?' Dawn said, arms crossed. 'It was bad enough when she tried to explain sex! Hello? You don't think 12 year olds go to biology classes?'

'Okay.' Whistler paused. 'This way - and if I do try anything threatening, feel free to pull my hair. What there is of it.'

'Long experience?'

'No, I've got a little sister too. And she's a hair-puller.'

---

'Caritas?' Tara said. 'That means "mercy"in Latin.'

'Appropriate in more than one sense.' Whistler observed.

Dawn opened her mouth.

'No.' Tara said. 'W-we're /both/ underage.'

'I was just about to ask if I could get a Coke.' Dawn huffed.

'Nothing for me, thank you.' Tara said.

Whistler nodded.

Tara's eyes widened when a green-skinned demon came over to take their order. And that was /not/ latex. Or plastic. Or, in actual fact, a mask of any sort.

Then she realised Dawn was boggling too.

'Umm... T-this is a demon place, i-isn't it?'

'A demon bar, hon. But we're equal opportunity. Vampires, werewolves, ghosts, witches - hell, if you're even only a bit outta the ordinary, you're in.' the demon said. 'And, 'cause I'm the Host of this wacky joint, I see it all.'

'Y-you /are/ a demon...' Tara breathed.

'One who works for the Powers That Be,' Whistler said. '/This/ place is neutral - no violence allowed.'

'As for me, I sing, I talk, I listen. And I try to run the best damn demon bar in the City of Angels.' the Host added.

'Are there-?' Tara began.

Whistler grinned. 'That one's a long story.'

'You're a demon.' Dawn repeated.

Whistler nodded. 'And big sis is a witch. An hereditary witch, unless I miss my guess. That kind of perception - tends to be a familial thing, far as I can see.'

'Y-yes.' Tara said. 'H-how can y-you be a, well...'

'There're many types of demon, kid. Some try to do good. Some love doing bad. And some want a balance. Trouble is working out which one a given demon /is/... I'm guessing your talent lies more in perception, centering and grounding, than in actual demonology.' Whistler added. 'Important. Vitally so, sometimes.'

'I-it is?'

'You know the rules. You play by them. You understand why they exist. That means you've already got a good grip on what you can do. And you know the dangers. Always err on the side of caution. Many of the others never get as far as you do.'

'I-i know...' Tara murmured. She looked up. 'So w-why bring me here? Just for the drinks?'

'The drinks are spectacular,' Whistler observed, accepting his, and passing Dawn her Coke. 'But that's only a part of it.'

'I knew it.' Dawn announced. 'This is where we become human McNuggets.'

Whistler looked repulsed. 'Are you kidding? Can't stand the things, let /alone/ human meat... No, sort of a wake up call, really. You're not alone out there - and you'll always have somewhere to go, no matter how much your life is in the gutter.'

'Watch much Barney?' Dawn said.

Whistler looked confused. 'Huh?'

'W-what I think she means i-is... it's a bit Moral of the Week, isn't it?' Tara said. 'Come in, sit down, tell us something you think is important - and everything is supposed to change.'

'Worked so far,' Whistler said, an amused expression crossing his face. 'But the change is your choice. That whole Threefold Rule thing.'

'Change?'

'There was a reason you didn't accept the University of Sunnydale spplication.'

'I-it... it was... There w-was something /wrong/ with it. Something /bad/.' Tara said slowly, carefully.

'What? I thought-' Dawn began.

'It was... /dangerous/.'

Whistler raised his eyebrows. 'I'm impressed. The Council of Watchers lost two Slayers before /they/ got clued in to what was up. And I think some of them still don't believe.'

'The Watchers? Slayers?' Dawn asked.

Tara's gaze rested on Whistler for a moment. 'How did you know?'

'A knack.' Whistler said. 'Call it a perk of working for the Powers.'

'Is that it? You want to recruit me as an agent of the Powers?'

'Does that mean she gets to dress up in a costume and fight evil?'

Dawn shut up in the face of their combined stare. Under her breath, she muttered 'Well, I would...'

'Actually... no.'

'W-what?'

Whistler shrugged. 'I'm a demon. Far as you know, this could be some complicated head game, designed to have you sell your soul to the dark side. So... this ain't a recruitment drive. Just filling you in on the situation, clueing you in on what's what.'

'What /is/ what?'

'Things are bad. And getting worse.'

'Real Pollyanna, aren't you?'

'Some might say that. Bad things are waking up, evil's popping up all over the place, the End of Days is gonna arrive a few years earlier than schedule, usual cheeriness.'

'I thought you said you were an agent of the Powers.'

'I am,' Whistler agreed, setting his drink on the table. 'And this was not what they thought was going to happen. So the plan got thrown out on its ear, and they're tryin' ta play it best they can without that plan.'

'And I play a big part in that plan?'

'Maybe you did. Maybe not. At the moment, it's in your hands. You know the lowdown. End of Days. Bad Things. Apocalypses. But-'

'But?'

'You're not looking for redemption. And your life's always been odd. So ask yourself. What do you want?'

'I...' Tara closed her eyes. 'I want to look after Dawn. I want to learn more about my magic, learn how to control it better. I... I just want to make sure that I'm /safe/, that she's safe. I want... I want someone I can talk to, who won't be afraid. I- I want a life of my own. A job, maybe?' She trailed off. 'I can't think of anything else. I'm sorry.'

'Don't be.' Whistler advised. 'Neither of you's got anything to be sorry for, am I right?'

Tara nodded.

'You know the lowdown. You know what you want.'

'What do I do?' Tara whispered.

'That's the biggie.' Whistler said. 'What do you do next? Sorry to break this to you again - but that's your choice.'

Tara looked at Dawn, then back to Whistler.

Then she beckoned the Host over.

'Mr...' She hesitated. 'Mr Host?'

'Just the Host, sweetie.' the demon told her.

'Do you have a part-time job available?'

'/WHAT?!/' Dawn gasped.

'Now, kid-' Whistler looked equally taken aback.

'Sure, sweetie. You sure it's what you want?' the Host said, cutting across the others.

Tara hesitated. Then, finally, she shook her head. 'No. I'm not. B-but I don't see anything else that works, and... and I need some time to think. To see w-what's open to me. What I should be doing.'

'Sugar plum, that's why everybody comes to LA. Some of us are just a little more honest about it than most.' the Host said. 'When do you want to start?'

'I-is tomorrow all right?'

'Tomorrow at 6. Perfect.'

A little strength returned to Tara's voice. 'I'll be here. Dawn?'

'Yeah, I know, I know. Nice to meet you - even if you didn't turn us into McNuggets.' Dawn told Whistler. 'And I've gotta see what she's like as a working girl...' she told the Host.

The Host grinned. 'Tell the bouncer ta keep an eye out for ya. Lemme make you out a pass...' He scribbled on a piece of card. 'That should hold you for the week.'

'Umm... It was nice meeting you.' Tara said. 'And... I'll be seeing you tomorrow, I suppose.'

'Bye now,' the Host said.

With that, they were gone.

Whistler breathed out; a long, explosive breath. 'Whoo. Now that's gonna be one hell of a combination. Psycho vamp, terminally shy witch, and klutzy kid sis. /That's/ gonna be one for the Powers.'

'You're telling me,' the Host said. 'But like I said, it ain't over till...'

'...the fat lady sings.' Whistler completed.

He frowned. 'I wonder who the fat lady /is/, anyway?'

---

End

---

Copyright 2001 Imran Inayat