It was the buzzing that caught Buffy’s attention. There she was, trying very hard not to glare at the Justicar, wishing she had a moment to talk to her Watcher alone, and there it was, a soft, persistent buzz, registering at the very limits of her hearing, setting her teeth on edge. Giles could clearly hear it too; he looked up and round just as she did, his already worried expression creasing into deeper lines as he caught the unfamiliar sound.

"… so until, or unless I decide there is a case to answer here …" Miss Dimwithy paused in her speech to frown at the subject central to it. "Mr Giles? Are you listening to me?"

"Hmm?" He was pulled back to immediate matters by the question. "Yes, I – oh -" His eyes went wide with alarm. "Get down!"

The sizzle of fire followed the command; the faint buzzing shifted into a mind numbing bombardment of sound and the air was suddenly filled with the whir of wings and the dart of compact, flaming bodies. The Justicar, reacting with admirable reflexes, ducked into a startled crouch, barely in time to avoid the globe of fire that careened through the space she’d previously occupied. Pandemonium erupted. The Scoobies, more than used to responding to such demands without question, immediately ducked and scattered. Buffy, by now on full alert, turned and pushed the police woman behind the suspect safety of the counter. Giles, who’d stepped back and to the side to avoid the miniature fireball, cursed and dived forward again; one of the mini-demon things had landed right on top of the precious books laid out on the counter.

And its feet were burning.

All of it was burning, in fact. Buffy caught a glimpse of it as she hastily snatched up an order book and used it to beat out the flames that were threatening the back shelves. The thing was small, no more than a foot tall, although the wings that sprang from its back were at least twice its body length. She got an impression of dark, glistening skin, gleaming eyes set in a bulbous head, gleaming teeth, long, taloned tipped fingers, and fire. Lots of fire. Whatever these things were, they came red hot and wreathed in flame.

Giles’ curse became a grunt of pain as he knocked the creature away with a sweep of his forearm. It flew backwards off the counter, arched its wings and came back again with determination, forcing him to lift the volume he’d just grabbed hold of so that he could swat the thing away again. The book was heavy, its cover was fireproofed and it was being wielded with furious strength. The creature gave a startled yelp, its wings lost lift and it tumbled straight to the floor – where Anya, who’d sensibly grabbed for the fire extinguisher, promptly doused it with foam.

Buffy didn’t have time to celebrate that particular victory. She was already using the now scorched order book to fend off a second creature, which had swooped in to sink flaming fingers into her hair. She shrieked as she shook it off, spinning round to thwack at it in panic. Detective Zaherne took half a step forward to help her – and then leapt back as it spat another of those miniature fireballs in her direction.

Elsewhere in the shop, similar dramas were being played out. Xander had grabbed up a carved statue and was swinging it like a baseball bat while three of the flaming creatures flittered around his head. Tara was fending off two more, her hands hastily lifted to conjure a magical shield that sparked blue and purple as the creatures tried to breach it. Willow had pounded up the stairs, seeking refuge up on the balcony. She too was casting spells to defend herself, flares of green and gold knocking away a fiery assault as she rummaged desperately in the bookcases.

Miss Dimwithy, pursued by another of the creatures, raced for the door – not in search of escape, but so that she could reach the bag she had left there. She ducked sweeping talons, dodged another fireball, groped into her luggage – and pulled out a wicked looking, long bladed sword, which she proceeded to wield with far greater effectiveness than Xander and his makeshift bat.

Giles, meanwhile, was scooping the precious Tageris back into its box so that he could stow it safely under the counter. As safe as it could be, given that bits of the shop were now burning merrily. Anya was on the warpath; having disposed of one invader, she’d scrambled angrily over the counter and was now attacking anything and everything that might be on fire with copious squirts of foam.

Buffy finally managed to hit her attacker with enough force to send it tumbling, then shrieked a second time and grabbed for the Detective, pushing her out of the way as a sudden bombard of fireballs headed for them both. The two of them stumbled into Giles as he straightened up – an impact which would probably have sent him flying if he wasn’t a lot stronger than he looked these days. It was a little like smushing yourself straight into a wall, although walls don’t generally let out an oof of startled breath and then reach to steady you with supporting arms. Somewhere – above the buzz of flame-filled wings, the angry shrieks of the creatures and Xander’s desperate curses, she could hear someone chanting.

"… hear my words, and work my will. Dismiss this wreaking, dispel this evocation. Cast back the summoned spirits to whence they came. Banish all spirits not wholly of this world, all those claimed by other realms. So mote it be…"

"Willow, no!"

Tara’s cry came a second too late. The spell was unleashed – and a shimmer of power rippled across the shop, along with a sudden billow of heat and the stench of burning sulphur. The magic erased each of the imps it passed, wiping them away in the blink of an eye. Which was exactly what it was supposed to do, except that - as the enchantment crossed the counter - it wiped Buffy, Giles and the dark haired policewoman out of existence in exactly the same way.

"Oh goddess," Willow reacted, her eyes going wide in dismay. She froze in place, caught in her casting pose on the balcony, her hands raised to shape the power, little trails of sparkling light spiralling up from her fingertips. She hadn’t meant – she’d only been trying to … Panic surged through her, a wave of shock and horror that numbed both mind and body alike.

Xander, who’d earlier dived under the balcony steps to help Anya deal with an imp that she’d cornered there, had just used his makeshift weapon to firmly thwacked the foam soaked creature out into the main body of the shop. He’d been in perfect line of sight to see the disaster happen – the imp he’d just ejected had been the first caught as the spell was released. A carved and now somewhat charred statue hit the floor with a clatter, abandoned as its wielder charged over to the counter and looked around in panic. "Where are they? Where did they go? Willow – " He turned to stare up at the young witch in wide eyed alarm. "What did you do?"

"I-I don’t know," she said, staring at the now empty space behind the counter. "I just – I wanted to – I – oh god."

"Bring them back," Xander demanded fiercely. "Whatever you did, just do it again and bring them back."

She wanted to. She wanted to wave her hands and say ‘hey presto’ with a self conscious grin, bringing her friends back in the blink of an eye. But she wasn’t entirely sure what she’d done and she didn’t know if she could reverse it. This wasn’t just a miscast, an embarrassment of power that had got a little out of hand. She’d gone way over the top with this one.

And she’d only been trying to help.

"I-It’s not that simple," she heard Tara say from somewhere under the balcony. "That was an incantation to dispel, n-not invoke. You can’t just reverse a counterspell. I – it doesn’t work that way."

"So how does it work?" Xander demanded. "What do we have to do?"

"That will probably depend - on the spell it countered in the first place" The blonde haired Englishwoman’s voice was a little breathless. She was still fencing with the remaining imp, which had somehow managed to stay out of the area the spell had covered. It was darting here and there, spitting miniature fireballs and forcing her to dodge and duck defensively. A deflected fireball careened into the nearest set of shelves and sent it tumbling. Pottery figurines, resin skulls and a selection of herbal pillows scattered across the shop floor. "Just – give me a minute – here."

She took a step back, reassessed the creature’s darting flight – and then lunged forward, skewering the thing with a determined jab of her sword. It gave an odd, keening shriek and dissolved into a shower of burning embers.

"That’s better," she decided briskly, lowering the weapon and turning her attention to the other occupants of the room. "Now then – having dealt with that, perhaps one of you can tell me what’s going on?"

Xander was still staring distraughtly at Willow, who was staring equally distraughtly at the spot which – only a moment before – had been occupied by three people. She couldn’t see Tara from where she was standing, but she didn’t need to. She could feel her, feel her looking up at her with an equal mixture of anger, concern, and disappointment.

She almost wished she’d banished herself along with her friends.

"Some lowlife whose entrails I ought to eviscerate dumped a swarm of fire imps on us." Anya announced angrily, striding over to douse the glowing remains of the creature with a squirt of foam. "Which I am sure Giles didn’t include in the insurance cover, and certainly won’t be a risk identified in the fire inspection report. There’ll be paperwork to complete. Claims to be made. Which would be a lot easier to do if little miss witch up there hadn’t screwed up her spells and made my business partner disappear." She gave the remains one more furious squirt and looked across at the Englishwoman with an aggressive glare. "Who exactly are you, anyway?"

"An –" Xander waved mollifying hands in his fiancée’s direction. "Sweetness. Don’t start, please. We have a problem here. A real problem. Buffy’s gone. Giles is gone. And that – policewoman? She’s gone too."

"Well, I know that," Anya snorted, waving the cone of the now exhausted extinguisher to emphasise the thought. "It’s gone where that’s the problem." She gave the still frozen Willow an irritated glance. "Giles was right. You do need more practice. And study. And control. We’re lucky you didn’t banish the rest of us too."

Willow was too distraught to react to the disdain underlying the ex-demon’s words. She’d thought the spell would be easy. A standard banishment for spirits summoned from other realms. It had come to hand so quickly, the answer to the simple bestow what I need that she’d managed to cast in between shielding spells. Okay, so the book it was in had been lurking on Giles’ strictly with caution shelf and she hadn’t stopped to study it. The imps had been threatening her friends. Someone could have been hurt.

Only – now she stopped to think – had she specified what she wanted to get rid of? Had she phrased the bestow to ensure that it was only the imps that would be affected?

Banish all spirits not wholly of this world, all those claimed by other realms …

Willow shivered, all the way down to her soul. Buffy, it might be said, was no longer wholly of this world; she’d been dead and she’d been brought back, pulled from whichever hell dimension had claimed her. And Giles …

"Oh goddess." If anyone in the room could have been said to be claimed by other realms, it would the man-turned-demon who – technically speaking – was now prince of one. The policewoman, sandwiched between him and Buffy, must have just been caught up in the effect … The witch responsible finally moved, dropping to sit on the top of the steps, feeling stunned and shaken. "What have I done?"

"Severely miscalculated, I would say." Miss Dimwithy walked briskly down the steps and across to the counter. "Your abilities are clearly very impressive, but your use of them seems completely irresponsible." She carefully placed her sword on the countertop, turned, started to say something more and then stopped, her eye caught by something amongst the wreckage of one of the displays. There was smoke curling up from some of the tumbled artefacts, which were lying in a pool of foam. The whole shop was full of smoke and foam in fact; Anya had been determinedly extinguishing anything that looked as if it might have caught fire.

"Does this shop have security cameras?" the Englishwoman asked warily. Anya gave her a puzzled look.

"Of course not," she answered. "They were far too expensive - and the salesman was fat and smelt of fish. Why? Do you think we should?"

"Not necessarily – but someone clearly did." Miss Dimwithy pounced, snatching up a damaged skull and turning it to reveal the gleam of technology it had concealed. A quick twist of her wrist disconnected the trailing transmitter aerial. "I think your little invasion was being observed." She paused, staring down at the now inactive device. "Someone watching a Watcher. How appropriate – and how very curious."

"Ah – miss?" Xander gave her discovery a wary glance. "Any other time I’d think that really important but – right now? I-I’m way too focused on ‘Buffy and Giles gone.’ We have to get them back."

"Yes, yes, of course." Miss Dimwithy turned to put the skull down on the counter next to her sword. "The missing parties are a far more urgent problem. I have an investigation to conduct, and it’ll be a little difficult to do so with the Watcher concerned in a different dimension entirely. Now," she considered, leaning forward to look over the counter, "can we be certain that they haven’t just been vapourised?"

"No," Willow denied, looking up from her huddle to stare at the woman in horror. She’d not considered that possibility. "The spell wouldn’t have – I didn’t – it was to banish the things. Nothing more."

"So where did the spell send them?"

That was the problem. She hadn’t sent them anywhere. She’d just sent them away. "I – I don’t know."

"Oh great." Xander slumped back against the counter with a sigh of despair. "They could be anywhere. Facing anything."

"Don’t be ridiculous." The Englishwoman frowned at him impatiently. "This young lady may be powerful, but it’s my understanding that magic obeys certain rules. She was attempting to eject the invaders – so wherever they came from? That’s likely to be where they all ended up. Isn’t it?"

Willow nodded miserably. It was the most likely destination.

"At least they won’t freeze to death," Anya offered with an attempt at cheerfulness. "Those things were fire imps. Wherever they came from, it’s going to be hot."

Willow’s stomach churned at the thought. What if she’d sent her friends straight into a blazing inferno? Buffy might be strong, but she was still human. Still flesh and blood. She’d burn. And so would that policewoman - the innocent bystander, caught up between the Slayer and her Watcher as the banishment spell hit them both. Giles too, most likely. Stripped down to bare steel in a fury of flame. The three of them might already be dead.

Technically, that would be murder.

And she’d be the one responsible …

"The w-walls between the worlds had been breached," Tara said, moving across to stand at the bottom of the steps and look up at her lover with sorrowed sympathy. "By what ever – or w-whoever had summoned the imps in the first place. The b-banishment should have worked to restore the disturbance – closing the breach and sending the creatures home."

"There’s a but in there," Xander realised. "A good but, or a bad but?"

"A good one," Willow realised, grasping at the lifeline Tara was offering her. "The balance would have been restored if just the imps had gone. But by sending the others through as well …"

"The balance will have swung the other way," Tara completed, nodding in agreement. "If we can pinpoint that imbalance, we can use it to re-open the breach. If we do that, then – "

"Then the three of them will just pop back here as if they’d never gone," Willow capped with relief. "Of course. We just need to – oh." Cold reality crashed down with a vengeance. Opening dimensional gateways was difficult at the best of times and this wasn’t even a gateway. It was a minute hole, through which the imps had been summoned, and which she had torn into potentially unstable shreds by unthinkingly pushing three souls through it. She’d already messed this up, and she couldn’t be sure that she wouldn’t do so again. "Tara, we can’t. It’d be too dangerous. We’d need a focus. Something to help stabilise the process, something that would allow us to re-open the breach without creating a dimensional rift."

The Eye of Harmony might have been the perfect thing – if Salamiel hadn’t corrupted it. And it if wasn’t firmly sat on Giles’ finger, wherever he might be right now. A brief flicker of hope washed through her, then died away again. She had no way to reach him, let alone alert him to what she might be trying to do. Besides, the one time she’d suggested they might usefully study the magic of the Eye he’d practically had a panic attack.

No, to successfully re-open this doorway, she was going to need a different kind of key …

The shop door opened. The bell above it jangled brightly as a slim teenager bounced in from the street.

"Hey, everyone," Dawn announced brightly. "So what’s been going on?"

"Whoa," Buffy registered, teetering on the edge of an impossible drop, her arms flailing for balance and her feet scrabbling for purchase on crumbling stone. Giles cursed softly, hastily reaching out to grab the back of her jumper and pull her onto safer ground. She threw him a look of decided gratitude, taking a moment to calm the sudden pounding of her heart. "Long way down."

"Long way up," the dark haired policewoman noted worriedly. All three of them looked up - then down, then up again. They were standing on what seemed to be a slender spur of rock, thrusting out from the side of a vast cliff-face. Similar spurs jutted out above, around and below them, a shattered giant's staircase leading down into fire filled darkness and up into nothing at all. The platform which supported them was barely four feet wide at the rockface, tapering to a jagged width no more than a foot across and less than nine feet away. Heat wafted up from below, a searing dry heat, filled with a hint of flame. Even the surface of the rock was hot, almost at blood heat, as Buffy found out when she put out a hand to steady herself. Giles took a wary step forward, making room for the two women on the widest part of the platform, then tugged off his glasses and stared worriedly out into the vast open space ahead of them. Buffy wondered what he could see out there. Her Slayer’s gifts might include good night vision, but these days he could probably see much further than she could. Better too, in the dim red light.

All she could make out were lights dancing in the distant darkness, little darting flares of brightness painting patterns of movement in the air, just like swarms of fireflies.

"Where the hell are we?" Detective Zaherne wondered bemusedly. She’d pre-empted Buffy’s own question by seconds; Giles glanced back at them both with grim concern.

"Good guess," he said. "But – uh – I - I don't think we've shifted that far. Those imps were more elemental than d-demonic - so we could be somewhere in the elemental planes. Between earth, air and fire by the looks of things."

Buffy nodded, deciding to take his word for it. This was much more his area of expertise than hers – although she doubted he’d ever been here before. It certainly didn’t feel like a hell dimension as such, although she couldn’t exactly put her finger on the difference. They certainly weren’t in Malador. Malador was cold.

"Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?" the policewoman asked, reaching to unbutton the top of her blouse. Buffy wished she could do the same. The air was smothering. Every breath pulled red hot razors across the lining of her lungs..

"Bad," she decided, then - "Way bad!"

One of the swarms of fireflies had danced closer, close enough to make out what they were inside their shimmering spheres of light. They weren’t fireflies at all. They were more of the burning impy things – and they were diving in to the attack. Buffy instinctively struck out as one lunged at her – only to pull back with a cry of pain as the contact seared her skin and set her jumper ablaze.

"Get down," Giles ordered brusquely, responding to the sudden assault with a dissuading flare of steel. "Don't let them dislodge you."

It was good advice. Buffy immediately hunkered down, as did the policewoman, who somehow managed to compress her elegant height into an equally defensive crouch. The two of them huddled together, pressed close to the rock and anchoring each other as diminutive flaming fingers reached to snatch at their hair and clothing. The beat of scorching wings was terrifying; for one heart-stopping moment heat danced around them with screaming fury – and then it was driven back by a sweep of gleaming blades.

"Damnit," their defender swore, half in anger and half in pain. Buffy risked a glance up; Giles was swatting the things away with determined effort, but there were just too many of them. They swarmed around him like angry bees, darting in between the deadly slash of steel to rake burning talons across exposed skin and rip at his clothing. She saw one sliced through, its body combusting into tumbling embers as the two halves fell away, and another wing back with a protesting shriek as a blade cut across reaching claws. Another fell, and then another – but the rest just danced in closer, trying to grab hold, trying to unbalance him, threatening to tumble him from the ledge.

"Giles!" The terror of losing him started to lift her to her feet, but she had to quickly duck down again as the imps swarmed in around her.

"Stay down, Buffy." His order was breathless. The air was so hot it was stifling. "You can’t fight these things. Not without some kind of weapon."

"I don’t have a weapon," she muttered in frustration, twisting into a seated position and lashing upwards with her boot. The kick sent an imp spiralling into the gulf below.

"I do," the detective beside her realised with sudden revelation. She reached into her jacket and pulled out a decidedly menacing looking gun. Buffy blinked. She hadn’t realised the woman was armed. "Let’s see what I can do with this."

She cocked the slide, turning to sit as Buffy had done, her back planted firmly against the heat of the rock wall, and fired three shots in rapid succession. The sound of the gun thundered out into the abyss, echoing and re-echoing across the distance. Three imps shattered into fiery debris – and the rest fled in alarm, whistling and keening as they scattered into the dark.

"Bloo-dy hell," Giles swore, carefully uncoiling from the startled, hands over his head crouch that he’d dropped into as the first bullet had whistled past him. He turned to stare at the markswoman in disconcerted astonishment. "Confound it, woman! A little warning wouldn’t have gone amiss." He was sufficiently rattled to slip into a more earthy vernacular than he might otherwise employ. "Those things are bloody dangerous!"

"Says the man with foot long knives sprouting from either wrist," the Detective reacted, sharing the thought with Buffy, whose response was a pained grin. She’d never seen much point in guns, no matter how many times Riley had tried to explain the skill that was needed to master them. Even the best efforts of the Initiative had only served to demonstrate how useless the average bullet was when dealing with demons, the undead and the general forces of evil. That had been pretty neat shooting, though. Nothing at all like the macho posturing that the commando guys had employed. Three shots, three hits, and every one aimed for maximum effect. "You weren’t in any danger, Mr Giles," the Detective was saying somewhat pointedly. "Buffy may know how to wield a stake and you may be able to slice and dice, but I know guns. And how to use them. I’ve won awards for my marksmanship. I hit what I fire at. And I wasn’t firing at you."

He recovered his composure with a determined effort. "I’m sure you weren’t," he said, although he didn’t look entirely convinced. He was having difficulty catching his breath, which wasn’t surprising given the searing heat of the air and the demands of the fight. Buffy could feel the moisture being sucked out of her; she’d be drenched in sweat, but the air was so dry it was evaporating before it had a chance to coalesce. "Buffy? Are you all right?"

She grimaced unhappily. "I got a little cooked, but I’m okay. Giles – what happened? One minute we’re in the shop, next thing there’s these flaming imps and – zap we’re here. Wherever here is. Were those impy things some kind of trap?"

"No." Giles straightened up and his anxious expression dropped into one of wearied disappointment. "They were sent to attack us, not entrap us. I hate to say it, Buffy, but – Willow happened. Her intent was admirable – but in banishing the imps, she somehow managed to banish us with them." His brow furrowed in annoyance. "How many times do I have to tell her about focus and control?"

"At least once more," the policewoman muttered with feeling. "Do these sort of things happen to you often?" she asked, reholstering her weapon with care.

Buffy heaved a huge, heartfelt sigh. "Too often," she complained with a roll of her eyes. "Well," she immediately corrected, "not this, exactly, but – stuff. You’re certain it was Willow?"

"I saw her do it," Giles answered gloomily, turning to stare out at the emptiness and somehow managing to stuff his hands in his pockets while keeping his blades still partially unfurled. She wondered if he realised what he’d done. The habitual gesture, so typically Giles despite its demonic accoutrements, conveyed any number of things; his annoyance at Willow, his self annoyance at not having been able to make her understand his concerns, his anxiety over the situation she’d put them in, his frustration over not being able to do anything about it – and more than a little disconcertion that she’d been able to do it in the first place. Buffy frowned affectionately at him, knowing that he’d be busy berating himself for letting all of this happen – despite the fact that it wasn’t his fault, and it wasn’t exactly Willow’s either. Her best friend clearly didn’t have total control of her power, but it was no good worrying about that now. What they did have to worry about was whether she had enough power and control to bring them back.

"You think she can – figure out how to undo it?" she asked. He sighed.

"We can but hope." His pause was a discomforted one. "We – ah – are somewhat limited in our options."

Buffy looked up. Looked down. The void was dark and overwhelming in its depth. The wall behind her was practically sheer, not to mention being almost too hot to touch. Climbing – in either direction – was out of the question. Waiting around in this heat was likely to kill them. And as far as she could see, the only other option was to jump …

"We have options?" Detective Zaherne was drawling with distinct skepticism. Buffy wrapped her arms around herself to quell the sudden shudder that had caught at her soul. Jumping wasn’t an option. She’d jumped – once. It might have been to save the world, and it certainly saved her sister, but she most definitely wasn’t going to do it again.

Not unless she absolutely, positively had to.

"Not many." Giles must have spotted the shudder; he threw her a distraughtly sympathetic look, then pulled his right hand half out of his pocket so that he could glance down at the ring that adorned it. "There is – I suppose …"

"No," Buffy interrupted forcefully, realising where his thoughts had taken him. A very dangerous place, where he was concerned. "No. Not an option, Giles. Not even – not unless .. You couldn’t, anyway," she defended, a little surprised at her own vehemence. The thought of Malador – of returning to it, however briefly – sent a cold shiver down her spine, despite the clawing heat. It was too soon for him to go back. He wasn’t ready. He might never be ready. She knew she wasn’t. "You said we’d have to – research the door thing. Have one. To open, that is. Otherwise we risk doing a Glory, right? Don’t want to do that. Not even here."

"No," he agreed softly, and she sensed his relief – and a hint of his shame at feeling it. Feeling that he was letting her down somehow. Well, that was nonsense for a start. Okay, so maybe it was an option, but it was a very slender one, and if it turned out to be the only one – then she’d have to ask and he’d probably deliver, no matter what it cost him. Which was precisely why she wasn’t going to.

Ask, that is.

Besides, Willow would come through.

She was ‘summon you back from the dead girl.’

Calling them back from a little jaunt like this was going to be child’s play.

"Willow’s become that powerful?" Wesley questioned, a worried look on his face. Angel was looking just as concerned; it took a lot of power to move something the size of a man any distance within a single dimension. To throw three people out of one world and into another altogether was serious mojo indeed – and it sounded as if the young witch hadn’t entirely been in control of the process. Giles smiled, a little sadly.

"She was. She may be again. Given time. Plenty of practise – and a little more self discipline and control. Don’t look so worried, Wesley. Willow learned her lesson. But - that came later. Back then, she still thought she was the one in control. That the solution to a problem caused by the misuse of magic was simply to apply more of it." He sighed, softly. "I really wished she’d listened to me."

"So does she," Sky pointed out, giving him a sympathetic smile. "But – I don’t know, honey. If Willow hadn’t done what she did … It’s hard to unravel the ‘what ifs’ and the ‘might have beens.’ In some ways the things that happened that day set everything that followed into motion. And, despite what we all went through, I think it all worked out pretty well in the end."

"Am I supposed to understand this conversation, or have we entered the Slayer/Watcher twilight zone here?" Sky didn’t mean to sound quite so irritated, but she was hot and she was uncomfortable and she felt totally out of her depth. She was also fighting down a sense of overwhelming fear and a desire to panic – both completely understandable reactions in the circumstances, but not emotions she was inclined to surrender to. She’d faced armed suspects, and dealt with near riots with equanimity. She’d be damned if she’d lose her head over something as bizarre as this.

The space above and below her was vast. It gave the impression of going on forever – as did the cliff face, which made the Grand Canyon look like a half dug ditch. The rock surface was so dark it was almost black, although in places it was laced through with veins of glistening colour. The patterns they made shimmered faintly in the gloom, giving the surface just enough definition for the eye to follow it up, and up with dizzying effect. Sky had only tried that for a moment or two; the impression of being loomed over by an infinite weight of rock had almost made her lose her balance. The worst part of the whole experience was the heat. It wasn’t just hot; it was unbearably hot. The air held the kind of heat that should have had sweat blossoming across her skin as if she were a popsicle left too long out of the ice box. It wasn’t, of course. The atmosphere was so dry that any sweat her body was producing was evaporating almost before she could feel it. She was having to blink more than usual, fighting to keep her eyes moist – and her nose and throat felt as if they were being scoured by red hot sandpaper. She’d have felt cooler standing in the middle of Death Valley at midday.

"I think we missed the twilight zone," Buffy sighed, slumping back against the rock wall. "This is definitely Outer Limits territory. And, no – you weren’t supposed to understand any of that. Giles – you think it would be any cooler if we went higher?"

Her Watcher looked up – and up, tilting his head back to consider the rising wall of rock with narrowed eyes and a thoughtful frown. "It might," he allowed warily. Sky shuddered, wondering how he could stand there like that, how he could face the overwhelming weight of the rock without having to fight for balance.

"So can we climb?" Buffy twisted round to look up, then hastily slammed her eyes shut and pressed herself back against the wall while she regained her equilibrium.

"I doubt it," Giles noted dryly. "I wouldn’t recommend it, either. Moving any distance would probably lessen Willow’s chances of retrieving us – not to mention the fact that you and the Detective should consider conserving your strength as much as possible. Physical exertion in this kind of temperature will simply encourage the onset of dehydration and bring on heat exhaustion."

"He’s right," Sky agreed, already beginning to feel woozy from the heat. "Wait a minute. Buffy and me? What about you?"

"I don’t know," he answered matter-of-factly. "I’m certainly feeling the heat, but I doubt it’s affecting me as quickly or as strongly as it is you. The Grigori appear to have a certain – tolerance – when it comes to extremes of temperature. Hot or – um - cold," he concluded a little uncomfortably. Sky felt Buffy suppress a shudder, and she found herself wondering why.

"It’s okay," the Slayer said, smiling at her mentor with quiet sympathy. "You can’t help being ... well, it’s hardly your fault, is it."

"I suppose not," he agreed, and heaved a sigh that came straight from the heart. "You should … save your strength," he suggested. "Try not to move or talk. We should give Willow every second we can."

"Good plan," Buffy muttered, slumping down and tilting her head back to rest it against the rock . Sky did much the same; her limbs felt heavy, her eyes were raw and every breath was becoming an effort.

Even so, she went on studying the figure in front of her, watching the Watcher as he turned to stare out into the darkness again.

"I’m sorry, Detective Zaherne," he said softly, clearly aware of her scrutiny. "I tried to warn you. I tried to make you walk away. Life in Sunnydale …" He sighed a second time. "Let’s just say – it can get - complicated - from time to time."

Buffy reacted to that with a soft snort. Sky felt inclined to do the same. Complicated? She’d been in Sunnydale less than three weeks, and so far she’d had a near fatal run in with vampires, been attacked by creatures from a nightmare, transported to another dimension entirely and was currently sitting on the edge of an fiery abyss in the company of a self styled vampire slayer and a man who’d been forcibly transmuted into some kind of demon.

Complicated didn’t even begin to cover it.

"There’s no need for apologies," she said, although she knew he was being sincere in offering them. "I’m not the sort to back away from challenges. If I were," she added, a little pointedly,"you’d probably still be in jail."

He tugged his hands from his pockets and shot her a distressed look, the blades at his wrists unfolding like a matched pair of elegant fans. Even in the unspeakable heat, Sky felt a startled shiver ran down her spine. She could have sworn she’d seen a hint of violet light flare in his eyes, just as he turned.

"Ah, Giles?" Buffy asked hastily, intervening with either very clumsy dissemblance or a shrewdly thrown life-line, "who was that – woman, in the shop? Why was she asking all those questions?"

He didn’t answer her immediately, continuing to consider Sky with disturbing intensity. She didn’t think she’d overstepped a line, but she had the feeling she’d just walked a little closer to one than he might be willing to allow.

"Miss Dimwithy?" he queried eventually. Buffy nodded.

"Uhuh."

The challenge in his eyes faded into weary resignation, and he looked away, back into the vastness of the abyss.

"She’s a Justicar. She’s supposed to ask questions. That’s what they do. When they’re not administering justice, that is."

"The Council’s justice?" Buffy reacted, sounding decidedly sceptical about the entire concept. ""Do they even know what that is?"

"That … depends."

"On what?"

"On how you measure it. And what you measure it against." His words were soft, threatening another of those quiet sighs. "Ours is a very old and dedicated order, Buffy. You may not think much of the Council, but it – and the organisation that supports it – has existed for hundreds of years. It has a long history, it cherishes its traditions, and it’s underpinned by a number of firm and fundamental principles. The Justicars were established to ensure that those principles remain properly observed. They work with the Council, rather than for it; administering our laws and acting to protect and preserve the integrity of the order."

"Watchdogs for Watchers, huh?" Sky observed, wondering if trying to fan herself would cool her down, or simply use up energy she couldn’t spare. She didn’t know anything about this ‘Council’ of his, but she understood the need for self regulation. That was why every police force had an office of Internal Affairs.

"In a manner of speaking." Giles was abstractedly unbuttoning his waistcoat as he spoke. Demon or not, the heat was clearly beginning to get to him, too. "They’re charged with investigating concerns, determining rights and assigning rewards or punishments. A member might flout tradition, defy the Council, and even question history, but – when it comes down to it? There are limits. And there some things that the order must address – if it is to survive as an order."

"Like what?" Buffy asked suspiciously.

Giles chuckled softly, a sound with very little humour in it. "Things that threaten the safety or stability of the order, for one thing. Selling its secrets for personal profit. Using its knowledge for personal aggrandisement or gain. Abusing the privileges it extends – when it extends them. Things like that. And then there are the more serious concerns. Like violating the Watcher’s oath. Betraying the order." He paused for a moment then added, very quietly: "And collaborating with, or joining the forces of darkness."

"None of which you’ve done," Buffy protested indignantly. "Have you?"

This time his chuckle was a little more genuine, a warm reaction, both to her instant leap to his defence, and the suddenly anxious question that followed it. "Not - recently, no. The trick is going to be convincing Miss Dimwithy of that. Justicars tend to be somewhat – dogged in their investigations. Lying to her is not an option. And the material evidence – " He lifted his left hand, turning it so that the edges of his blades caught and reflected an echo of the fire that burned somewhere an infinite distance below them. " – does rather count against me, don’t you think?"

Ouch, Sky thought, seeing the steel at his wrists glint in the semi-darkness. She knew only too well how appearances could deceive and how easy it was to jump to conclusions when presented with apparently damning evidence.

"No," was Buffy’s immediate rejoinder, followed by a more honest, "well, maybe – but only when you don’t know the why – and the how, and the whole ‘hey, last minute rescue, redeemed by an angel’ bit. Just because technically you’re a Prince of Hell …"

A what? Sky reacted bemusedly. She was only just beginning to get her head around ‘vampire’ and ‘demon’. Somehow she’d imagined that something claiming the title ‘Prince of Hell’ would be a little more – scaly. With horns perhaps. And bat’s wings.

Buffy had trailed off, staring at her Watcher with anxious eyes. "You really should have sent in that report, shouldn’t you," she said. He nodded.

"Yes. Yes, I should. Although – doing so might have attracted equally unwelcome attention. You know," Giles considered dejectedly, "I’m not sure which is worse. Standing here, knowing there’s nothing I can do to prevent the two of you dying of heat exhaustion, or being back in the shop, trying to decide how to tell a Justicar that – these days – I’m actually a – demon." He completed the final word with a gulp. Somewhere in the middle of that sentence the heat shimmered world around them had shimmered even further – and resolved itself into the shapes and contours of the Magic Box. They were more or less back where they started – except that Sky and Buffy now had their backs pressed up against the counter, and he … He was standing defensively in front of them, with both sets of wrist blades fully extended.

He also happened to looking directly at Sarah Alice Dimwithy – whose mouth was dropping open in horrified astonishment.

There was a moment of stunned silence. Giles stood frozen in place, like a rabbit caught in looming headlights, any chance of preparation and careful explanation pre-empted by his own, undeniable declaration. The look that chased across his face was pained; a look of abject realisation that acknowledged utter catastrophe. His exclamation was heartfelt.

"Oh – bugger."

 To be continued …

 Long Sea Crossing-Chapter Three. Part A-Five. Disclaimer:This story has been written for love rather than profit and is not intended to violate any copyrights held by anyone - Universal, Pacific Rennaisance, or any other holders of Hercules: The Legendary Journeys or Buffy the Vampire slayer trademarks or copyrights.
© 2005. Written by Pythia. Reproduced by Penelope Hill