Xander stumbled backward as Faith pushed him further into the hotel room, slamming the door behind her. She was embracing the situation with her customary abandon, and Xander was finding it difficult to make himself understood. With a supreme effort, he finally managed to hold Faith at arm's length.

"What are you doing?" he gasped.

Faith raised an eyebrow. "Has it really been that long for you?"

"Yes. I mean no," said Xander. "I mean, I know what you're doing, I just don't know why."

Faith grinned wickedly. "Does it matter?"

The question was clearly a rhetorical one as far as Faith was concerned. Seizing Xander by the shirtfront, she pulled him close and resumed her determined kissing. Once more, he was able to break loose.

"Yeah, it kinda does," he told her earnestly.

Faith's grin grew even more wicked. "Gimme another couple seconds and it won't."

She reached out again but this time, Xander evaded her and held up a protesting hand.

"Faith, it matters," he said gently but firmly.

Her grin vanished, instantly replaced by a sneer. Faith waved her hands angrily at Xander and took a step back. "Forget you then. There're hundreds'a guys in this town, any one would beg me for—"

She turned to leave and Xander reached out a hand to her retreating back. "Wait, I didn't—"

He made to follow her, but Faith had already stopped short. He heard her sigh even though her back was still toward him.

"Sorry," she said quietly. "That's not fair. I just ..." She turned and looked Xander in the eye. "I just need this right now. Okay?"

"But I ..." faltered Xander, his resolve obviously weakening.

"I need this," Faith reiterated.

An expression of uncertainty crossed Xander's face. He seemed to be lost, unsure as to his next course of action. This display of hesitation was sufficient encouragement for Faith. Moving forward, her arms encircled his neck and she ran her tongue along his earlobe. Xander could not help but respond, but the moment was brief. Once more, he pulled away.

"Wait. Wait," he told her breathlessly. "I'm applying brakes. We should think about this, long and hard, and that was so not the phrasing I should've used right now."

"All I've done for days is think," replied Faith. "I'm done thinking. I wanna do, I wanna feel."

She took a step closer, but Xander took a step back.

"Serafina," he said, rubbing his forehead. "I ... there may be something there. I can't ... with you ..."

Faith tilted her head and regarded him dubiously. "You guys have had what, four dates? Five?"

"Almost three," Xander refuted somewhat lamely.

"That ain't a relationship," Faith said, "it's a test drive."

She took another step forward. Xander took a half-step back.

"We're friends," he said quickly.

"And?" replied Faith, irritation beginning to creep into her voice. She tried to supplement it with a small albeit tight smile.

"That's important."

Faith sighed. "Yeah, and?"

"I don't wanna lose that."

Bemused, Faith shook her head. "Who said anything about losing it?"

"But if we ..."

"This is just a thing," Faith told him. "It's physical. We do it and it's done. Nothin' changes unless we let it."

She looked at Xander and quirked an eyebrow, seeking his agreement. Xander's expression remained unconvinced but he gave a small nod. Faith smiled and took a step forward. Xander stood his ground this time, although words continued to tumble out of his mouth.

"But we—"

"Look, Xander, I'm gonna make this simple," Faith interrupted. "If you don't wanna do this, if you want me to go, just say so and I'm gone. No hard feelings or nothin' I promise. You just say the word."

She waited and watched. Xander said nothing further. With a smile, Faith also decided that enough had been said. Grabbing his shirt, she dragged him to one side. They landed on the bed with a thud.

"You know when else to use that word, don't you?" asked Faith to the metallic sound of an opening zipper.

"Sweet lion of Zion!" was the only response.

On the floor of the living room, Buffy sat cross-legged surrounded by a modest pile of colorful wrapping paper and a few empty boxes. A bright red cellophane bow had been affixed atop her head. Sitting side-by-side on the couch were Willow and Tara while Grip stood in the foyer of the house, pulling on his jacket. With a grateful smile, Dawn approached Buffy and leaned over to talk to her.

"You sure you're okay with us cutting out?"

"Big sister promise," assured Buffy. "It was sweet of you guys to change your plans at the last second."

"And miss celebrating how you're one year closer to wrinkles?" Dawn said with a playful shove against Buffy's shoulder. "No chance."

"Respect your elders," said Buffy, "lest your elders decide to spend your college fund in a dramatically inappropriate midlife crisis."

With a warm kiss on her sister's proffered cheek, Dawn hurried to join Grip. The front door closed behind them, leaving Willow, Buffy and Tara alone in the living room.

"Good birthday?" asked Tara hopefully.

Buffy waved an all-encompassing hand. "Let's just say that the three of us, where we are right now? So much preferred to where we were this time last year."

"Yes." Willow agreed emphatically. "Very yes."

"And" announced Buffy with every ounce of gravity due the situation, "I think that calls for pie."

"Again with the yes," said Willow.

Tara got to her feet. "I think I can even get a candle in it."

Buffy's face broke into a broad grin as Tara made her way toward the kitchen.

"Aren't birthdays the best?" she said to Willow with a satisfied sigh.

"You only think that when they're your birthday," said Willow.

"Well they're only the best when they're mine."

Willow considered that and frowned. "Actually, your birthdays are pretty much—"

The shrill ring of the telephone interrupted Willow's argument, much to Buffy's relief.

"Saved from your party-pooping logic!" she said as she picked up the handset. "Hello?"

From his office at Wolfram and Hart, Angel leaned back in his chair and gave a little smile. "Hey."

"Angel," replied Buffy, grinning from ear-to-ear.

As the sound of the name, Willow's eyebrows shot upward as Tara stuck her head around the corner, before fully emerging bearing a slice of pie on a paper plate. In the center of the wedge, an unlit candle did its best to stand straight and true but only succeeded in listing at a limp angle. Catching Buffy's eye, Tara motioned toward the pie, but Buffy held up a restraining hand. With a nod of understanding, Tara put the plate on the coffee table and joined Willow on the couch.

Somewhat forlornly, Willow stared at wedge. "No pie?"

"I figured we'd wait on Buffy," Tara told her. "It technically being her pie and all."

"Darn your considerations."

"Yeah," said Tara with a smirk. "I'm flawed like that."

Having moved into the foyer, Buffy took a seat on the stairs and cradled the phone against her ear.

"And that's about it as far as disasters go," she finished.

"I'm not sure I'd call a blouse a 'disaster'" said Angel.

Buffy scoffed. "You didn't see the colors. How about you guys, how's the Fang Gang?"

"I wish you wouldn't call us that," said Angel with an implied frown.

Buffy grinned and gave a little shrug. "I know."

Angel suppressed a sigh of resignation. "We're doing good," he said. "We just wrapped up a few loose ends with this case. The guys are playing Pictionary to let off some steam."

Turning his head, he peered through the window of his office. Cordelia stood in front of a whiteboard executing artistic strokes with a felt-tip pen while the others tried their best to guess what the image might represent. Obviously they weren't doing very well, given that Cordelia insistently jabbed at the board and then treated everyone to accusatory glares.

"Pictionary?" Buffy gave a low whistle. "Man, you really are evil now."

"It's practically in our name," said Angel.

Willow and Tara remained on the couch, but without a Buffy buffer the atmosphere around them was beginning to feel awkward.

"So," began Willow hesitantly. "So you think Kennedy'll be okay?"

"Oh totally," replied Tara. "I mean, it's gonna take time, you know? She's got a lot of questions, a lot to think about. But she's a toughie." She turned to Willow with a tiny grin. " I guess you know that."

"You'd think."

Another period of uneasy silence descended but before it could take up permanent residence, Tara spoke.

"Will, what's wrong?"

Eagerly, Willow opened her mouth to talk but when the right words didn't immediately emerge, she closed it again and shook her head. "Just stupid me-stuff," she said dismissively.

Reaching out, Tara took Willow's hand. "I like you-stuff," she said with a squeeze of the fingers. "Which is never stupid, by the way."

Willow returned both the smile and the squeeze, but shook her head once more. "I dunno. I guess I have a lot to think about too. But not right now." She looked at Tara and then glanced over to where Buffy was sitting. "Let's just wait for Buffy to finish up and then eat way too much. Okay?"

With a tiny frown of concern, Tara reluctantly agreed. Willow smiled again and relinquished Tara's hand, then extracted her laptop from the floor underneath the couch. Balancing it on her knees, she opened the lid and began to type. Tara watched for a moment or two and then retrieved a book from the coffee table. Finding her place, she settled back against the cushions and started to read.

Meanwhile, Angel shifted the phone to his other ear and continued his story. "It was pretty low-profile, but Gunn got interested since it was in his old neighborhood."

"Vampires" said Buffy.

"Yeah."

"Suing their landlord," said Buffy.

"Yeah. They claimed the guy was a slum lord and the place was falling to pieces. One of their roommates burst into flames when a curtain rod fell off the wall."

Buffy shook her head. "Sorry, I'm still stuck on 'vampires suing'."

"Turned out he – very literally – was a slum lord," Angel continued. "A lord of the R'neslumak dimension. He opened a rift in the basement of one of his buildings and was using the apartment complexes as staging areas for his army."

Absent-mindedly, Angel watched Lorne and Fred confer as Cordelia, felt-tip pen in hand, tapped her foot impatiently.

"He was going to attack L.A. in about two weeks," said Angel. "He could've caused some serious damage, too, but we took them by surprise and had the whole thing gutted in a couple of hours."

"And the vampires?"

"I found enough cash lying around to give 'em their security deposit back," Angel assured.

"That's it?" Buffy said, slightly indignant.

Angel leaned forward, hunching over the phone. "You think I should've given them the past few months too?" His voice was low, as though sharing a secret. "See, I said that, but Cordy was all—"

"But you let them go," Buffy interrupted.

A frown creased Angel's forehead and he sat back again. "Well yeah. They hadn't done anything wrong."

"So they're good then," she concluded stubbornly. "Good vampires."

"No," Angel replied, looking a little confused at the turn of conversation. "Just your average vampire. But I saw their place, and it looked to me like they were working the blood bank circuit. They may not be good, but I think they're at least trying not to be bad."

Angel seemed content to let the matter rest there, but Buffy was dogged in her pursuit of something more definitive. "Then it's a choice. A vampire makes the choice to be evil."

"It's not that simple," said Angel, looking baffled. "Look, what's this about?"

Buffy was immediately defensive. "Just ... I need to know what you think. Can a vampire choose to be good or bad?"

With a sigh, Angel gave the question all due consideration before providing an answer.

"A vampire is evil, bottom line," he finally told her. "I know that better than anyone. You don't get to pick a side. But you don't have to be a mindless beast either. If you want something bad enough – like, say, to not have a stake through the chest – you can compromise. It all comes out of selfishness though," he assured her, "not altruism. That's the difference."

"You're going with 'evil' then," Buffy concluded. "That's your final answer? Don't need to use a lifeline?"

"I'm feeling pretty confident," replied Angel slowly.

Buffy sat in silence, allowing the conversation to sink in. Angel waited for what he deemed to be an appropriate amount of time.

"Now are you going to tell me what this is all about?"

"I've just been thinking lately," Buffy said. "A lot."

Angel chuckled "I figured out that much."

Buffy took a deep breath and let it out in a huff. "You know," she said tiredly, "I thought things were supposed to get easier as you got older."

A sardonic expression crossed Angel's face.

"250 years and I'm still waiting for the easy part."

In his darkened hotel room, Xander was in a deep sleep. He lay on his side, hugging the pillow. Faith, on the other hand, was wide awake. She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, her expression blank. Next to her, Xander stirred, shifting his position slightly, but he didn't wake up. Still, the movement had attracted Faith's attention and she glanced thoughtfully in his direction for a moment before tossing back the bed covers – pulling them half off Xander in the process – and swinging her legs to the floor. Getting to her feet, she made her way to the bathroom.

The sound of running water from the shower did nothing to rouse Xander and he was snoring lightly when Faith reemerged, toweling off her hair. In less than five minutes she was fully-clothed and slipping on her jacket. Before exiting the room however, she returned to the bed and tossed the covers back over Xander. He muttered something unintelligible and snuggled up to the comforter.

Quietly closing the door behind her, Faith glanced first to the right and then to the left, scanning the area but not for anything in particular. She placed one hand on the railing outside the second floor room and vaulted over the barrier with no more effort than if she'd taken a step forward.

She landed easily on the ground below, much to the alarm of a couple who were about to enter their room. The young man chivalrously thrust his female companion behind him and they regarded her fearfully.

"Sorry," Faith tossed over her shoulder and strode away into the darkness. She didn't seem to have any particular direction in mind, and simply wandered wherever her feet took her.

It wasn't long before she'd left the bright neon of the commercial area behind and found herself in the darkened streets of suburbia. Crossing the boundary between one subdivision and the next the muffled echo of someone knocking upon a door could be heard somewhere not too far away. Her expression blank, Faith's stride never faltered and she never even glanced behind, not even when the echoing knock repeated itself.

A clenched fist knocked upon a plain wooden door. One knock ... two knocks ...

The door flew open to reveal Faith standing on the threshold; her features betrayed the unadulterated annoyance she felt at being disturbed.

"What??" she snapped, clearly not recognizing the brown-haired girl peering at her.

"Hi Faith!" said the teenager before her, obviously thrilled at the encounter.

Faith waited but the young girl offered nothing else, content to simply smile happily.

"What??" barked Faith for the second time, no less annoyed than she had been the first time around.

The girl appeared a little crestfallen at Faith's attitude but refused to allow it to dampen her spirits.

"Hi?" She continued to smile unwaveringly. "It's me, Hazel?"

Faith waited yet again but once more, only silence reigned.

"Great," said Faith, beginning to close her door. "Thanks for stoppin' by with that."

"Wait, wait, no!" said Hazel.

Grudgingly, Faith halted her action and threw Hazel an impatient look.

"You came to see me, remember?" prompted Hazel. "About a month ago?"

"And?" huffed Faith.

"And ... we talked. You know, about Slayers, and my powers and—"

Faith frowned. "Are you lost or something? I thought they were supposed to give you newbies a map of this place."

"I'm not lost," returned Hazel with some vexation. "I'm exactly where I wanted to be. I thought—" She took a deep breath and quickly regained her former upbeat mood. "We had a really good talk when you came to see me. I thought we could maybe talk some more."

"About...?"

"I don't know," admitted Hazel, clearly not expecting to be on the defensive. "About ... about being here, being a Slayer?

"I got a weapons class at 9 tomorrow," Faith told her sharply, shutting the door even further. "QA is after, ask then."

"Wait, what about before?" Hazel protested. "I thought maybe ... you know, we ..."

She fumbled for the correct words, but Faith's patience, essentially non-existent to begin with, had run out.

"Look I'm glad you enjoyed our little chat," she said crisply, "but I talked to hundreds of kids. You're here and that's great, means I did my job. But that's it."

"But you ..."

"That's it," Faith told her warningly.

But Hazel was not so easily dissuaded.

"And your classes? Teaching everybody?"

Faith shrugged. "All part'a the job."

"Oh."

Faith waited a moment, as though expecting Hazel to say something else, but Hazel simply remained silent as an expression of supreme disappointment invaded her features. With a frown, Faith fidgeted a little on the threshold, her hand still poised on the door knob.

"So I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" Faith did her best to sound encouraging through her aggravation. "9 AM."

"Okay."

"Okay."

Faith pushed the door shut slowly, anticipating that Hazel would open her mouth again at any second, but she didn't. With a heavy breath of relief, she heard the satisfying click of the lock. She actually got two or three steps into the room before there came another knock at the door. Puffing, she rolled her eyes but turned back anyway. Not surprisingly, it was still Hazel. She treated Faith to an appraising look.

"Ain't quite 9 yet," Faith informed her.

Blatantly, Hazel ignored the sarcasm and continued to study Faith with a critical expression. "You know," she began slowly, "I think you're full of crap."

A loud and involuntary laugh escaped Faith. "That right?"

"I think so, yeah," said Hazel with utter seriousness. "You're talking big, like none of it means anything to you, but I think it does."

Folding her arms across her chest, Faith leaned casually against the door jamb. Her face was a picture of condescending amusement. "Got me all figured out huh?"

"Oh no way," Hazel admitted fervently. "But that doesn't make me wrong. I mean, are you gonna tell me that you'd stay somewhere and do something if you really didn't want to? Like anyone could make you?"

Faith made a derisive sound by way of reply.

"Exactly," confirmed Hazel, almost talking to herself. "I think you're here because you want to be." She nodded confidently. "You want to do what's right. And this, all of this, is so totally right."

Still maintaining her silence, Faith frowned, although Hazel had gained her undivided attention.

"I've talked to a lot of the other girls, and everyone's here for a different reason," Hazel continued. "There's a lot of stuff about destinies and wanting to be all badass and whatever." She paused and stared directly at Faith. "You get it though. You really get it."

Then, for the first time since arriving at Faith's door, Hazel's eyes reflected a trace of doubt, a hint of uncertainty.

"At least ... I thought you did," she faltered.

Still, Faith said nothing.

Hazel's gaze dropped and she examined the floor. "Anyway, that was it," she said quietly. Looking up, she threw Faith a weak smile. "Thanks for listening to me and everything."

With a nod, she turned to leave.

"I hear you," said Faith to Hazel's retreating back. Hazel spun quickly on her heel, a wide grin beginning to invade her face.

"I'm not sayin' I agree or nothin'," Faith hastened to add, "but I hear you."

"Of course," Hazel was swift to reassure, although she didn't quite manage to keep the conspiratorial tone out of her voice. "I understand."

Stepping out of her room, Faith pulled the door shut. She made her way down the hall, passing Hazel in the process.

"C'mon," she said. "You can talk while I teach you how to punch stuff."

"Awesome!" declared Hazel, scurrying to catch up.

Faith chuckled. "Guess I gotta respect your enthusiasm."

"Oh heck yeah, you have no idea," Hazel told her as they walked along shoulder-to-shoulder. "You bringing me here was the best thing that could've ever happened to me, Faith. I can feel it."

"...the best thing that could've ever happened to me..." came the echo as Faith stared at the MacFadden home from across the street. Most of the windows were dark and apparently everyone had gone to bed for the night.

Prickles of sorrow crossed Faith's face and mingled with the hearty measure of guilt already there. She glanced upward to a second story window where Strawberry Shortcake curtains billowed pink, courtesy of a small amount of illumination emanating from the interior of the room. By the dim light, Faith could make out a selection of dolls and stuffed animals lined up on the sill.

"Dammit, kid," murmured Faith to herself with a shake of the head.

Looking from the window to the side of the house, Faith smiled ruefully as she took stock of Lucy's toys. Everything was as it has been earlier.

Almost.

The bike was missing.

Tilting her head, Faith frowned for a moment and then her eyes began to widen. Her neck snapped upward. The billowing curtains were a sure sign that Lucy's window was open.

In less than an instant, Faith moved into motion. A trellis snaking up one wall of the house wound past the porch overhang which led directly to Lucy's bedroom. Faith didn't even break a sweat while scaling the trellis and she slipped easily through the open window. It looked as though scaling the trellis was no problem for Lucy either, given that the bed was empty and the little girl nowhere to be found.

Faith's eyes narrowed as she clenched her fists.

"Dammit!"

Stealthily, Lucy crept along the dim and deserted hallways of Cherry Hills Elementary. She stopped at every intersection, flattening herself against the wall and peering furtively around each corner. Her movements were almost comical and completely overdone – it was clear that Lucy had learned all she knew of espionage from TV and movies. But despite this, she was utterly serious and there was no denying the earnest air with which she was carrying out her self-appointed mission. Before too long she arrived at her intended target, Mr. Kelsey's Art Class. A faint glow trickled into the corridor from the open door.

Silently shrugging off her pink cat backpack, Lucy opened the front pocket. Digging inside, she removed the folded picture that she had taken from the room earlier that day. Carefully spreading it out, she held the painting under the sliver of light and looked at it for a long and somber moment. Then, with a determined nod, she set her jaw. Refolding the drawing, she quickly shoved it back into the front pocket, not bothering to zip it closed. Instead, she opened the bag's main compartment, reached in and pulled something out. She set the backpack firmly on her shoulders, took a deep breath, gave another determined nod and snuck into the classroom.

Inside, hunched over a table with his back to the door was Mr. Kelsey, his silhouette outlined by a shimmering glow. Mr. Kelsey's concentration was so intense that he failed to notice Lucy's entrance. She crept toward him on tiptoe, her small face pale and her expression fearful, but her step unfaltering as she pushed onward. Then, with a rapid movement, she thrust out the item she had been clutching.

"Don't move dirtbag!" she yelled with all the force she could muster.

With a startled exclamation, Mr. Kelsey visibly jumped, knocking over the glowing desk lamp and nearly sending a stack of the children's pictures flying into the air. His right hand clutched at his chest as he turned to see Lucy standing before him. With a fierce expression, she brandished a large wooden crucifix in his direction. It was so large, in fact, that she had to grip it with both fists in order to keep it steady.

"Lucy!" he gasped. "You scared me half to death!"

He took a step toward her, but she shuffled a retreat while thrusting the crucifix toward him in what she hoped was an even more threatening gesture. Blinking, it appeared that Mr. Kelsey had only just realized what she was holding. He frowned in confusion but was otherwise unaffected.

"What's going on?" he asked. "What are you doing here this late?"

"I know all about you!" accused Lucy.

Mr. Kelsey's pallor blanched and a glimmer of apprehension stole into his eyes.

"N-Now Lucy," he stammered. "Let's just—"

"She doesn't believe me" said Lucy, despair beginning to creep into her voice, "but I'll show her! Then she'll know I'm a Slayer too!"

Mr. Kelsey looked utterly lost. "A what?"

Grasping the crucifix with both hands, it was with no little difficulty that Lucy managed to shrug off her backpack. "I ... I'm gonna ..."

"You're gonna get your ass back home and in bed is what you're gonna do," finished Faith.

Both Lucy and Mr. Kelsey looked toward the door where Faith was standing with her arms crossed. From her expression, she was none too happy with the situation.

"What I tell you about playin' with this crap?" she directed at Lucy.

"But Faith, it's him!" said Lucy, now brimming with confidence, all trepidation having been vanquished with Faith's arrival. "He's the monster!"

Mr. Kelsey winced a little at Lucy's charge, but Faith simply blew out a heavy sigh and went to join Lucy.

"We're leavin'" she said firmly.

Lucy refused to be so easily dismissed. "He is!" she insisted. "He acts weird and hides stuff all the time! Why don't you believe me!"

Without saying a word, Faith snatched the crucifix away and, with eyes fixed on Lucy's face, touched the teacher with the wooden cross – on the arm, the chest, the shoulder, the forehead. Lucy frowned when the contact brought about no damaging consequences. With a roll of her eyes, Faith tossed the cross onto the floor.

"We're leavin'," she said in tone that brooked no discussion.

Lifting the backpack and firmly pushing Lucy ahead of her, Faith headed for the door. Lucy's mouth opened and closed a few times, but she was still in shock and the stifled noises were little more than tokens of dissent. Meanwhile, Mr. Kelsey watched them leave and appeared to be utterly lost.

"Uhm, Miss...?" he murmured.

"Hey, sorry," Faith said without stopping. "The kid's goin' through some stuff right now. I dunno what made her latch on you but—"

"I think I do," he replied.

Breaking her stride, Faith turned and raised an eyebrow. Lucy turned too and regarded him with defiance. Mr. Kelsey seemed nervous. His gaze drifted to the floor, where he spotted a folded piece of paper. Picking it up, he spread it out and immediately recognized it as Lucy's painting. He stared at it for a moment before holding it out to the little girl with a smile. She snatched it from his hand, but he didn't seem to mind.

"Lucy's an intelligent girl," he said. "Very sensitive. She's right, I ... I have been hiding something."

Lucy tightly clutched her drawing. "See?!"

Reaching down, Faith clapped her hand over Lucy's mouth, which earned her a glare for her trouble. She waited for Mr. Kelsey to continue.

This was clearly difficult for him, but he'd already come this far. He took a deep breath. "I'm gay," he said finally.

Lucy was obviously befuddled. She looked up at Faith for an explanation, which Faith blithely ignored. Instead, she regarded Mr. Kelsey with a 'yeah, and?' expression.

"This is a small town" he explained, "and not exactly the most ... accepting of new ideas. It's hard enough to keep arts in the school budget, and if the PTA found out about who's teaching their kindergarteners ..."

Faith nodded her understanding. "Bye-bye finger painting, hello lynch mob."

"I just love my job so much," said Mr. Kelsey passionately. "The pictures the children make, their wonderful creations ... They pour so much of themselves into every line, every color. If word gets out ..."

Faith waved a dismissive hand. "Don't worry. This ends here and now."

Mr. Kelsey breathed a sigh of relief. Lucy, however, was distinctly peeved.

"But—" she objected.

"Later," Faith told her.

"You were supposed to make it better but you don't listen either!" Lucy exclaimed. She looked at the picture she was holding and her face filled with fury. "Nobody listens to me!"

Mr. Kelsey's eyes widened with fear.

"No!" he cried desperately.

But it was too late. Caught in a fit of rage, Lucy was already ripping her painting in two. As she did so, there was a blinding flash and Mr. Kelsey's despairing plea transformed into a high-pitched wail of pain. Faith and Lucy rapidly blinked, clearing their eyes and, after a moment, were able to see clearly once more. Mr. Kelsey, however, was clawing at his face and still groaning in anguish.

Faith frowned. "What the—?"

She went to take a step toward him when his head snapped up. The skin had melted from one half of his face, revealing a slick, inhuman, reddish-brown mass. He howled savagely in his anger. It was a bone chilling sound that cut through the air like a knife.

Lucy stared for a second and then turned to Faith with an accusatory expression.

"I told you so!"

Faith was utterly taken aback. "Well F me."