Sighing, Willow set aside her copy of *Halmet* and stood to stretch. A glance at the clock told her it would be a good four hours until she could go to the girls' locker room and shower before school. Oz was fast asleep in the cage, his furry body curled in on itself, his paws and tail twitching occasionally, as if he were dreaming. A small smile came across her face as she wondered what, exactly, a werewolf dreamed about. A moan escaped him, followed by a high-pitched yelp, and her curiosity rose. Feeling a little guilty, as though she were spying, she crept toward the cage.

This had been a rough year on them all, but it was an especially rough year for Oz. Tomorrow night would be the second Blue Moon this year--an occurrence that usually limited itself to once every year and a half. The lunar cycle was twenty-nine days, while six months out of the year were thirty-one days long; thus, a full moon occasionally lent itself to appear twice in the same calendar month. This phenomenon first became known as a Blue Moon when the eruption of a volcano in the nineteenth century caused the moon to appear blue throughout the world, due to volcanic ash and dust in the atmosphere. The last time two Blue Moons had occurred in the same year was 1961, and it wouldn't happen again until 2018. It was just the luck of the Slayerettes that their senior year was blessed with this portent. It was enough to give Willow nightmares.

Nightmares were not, however, what Oz appeared to be having at the moment. His hindquarters were rocking now, just slightly, and she saw his forepaw curl and clench. Another yelp, strangled with sleep, caused her to raise her eyebrows. Was he having a . . . naughty dream? A faint blush stole across her cheeks, but she still didn't turn away.

Then her eyes widened, and she suddenly wished she *had* turned away. Oz had chosen that precise moment to roll over onto his other side, and she'd gotten a illicit glimpse of something that, in it's smaller, less . . . excited . . . state, was normally hidden by his thick fur. Not now, though. The gentle flush turned into a raging scarlet shade as her hand flew to her mouth and she whirled away, damning her curiosity.

"Think about something else!" she commanded herself, turning back to her studying. "Hamlet. Right. He and Ophelia are about to watch the dumb show . . . " she reminded herself, finding her place in the middle of Act III, Scene ii.

"Hamlet: Lady, shall I lie in your lap?

"Ophelia: No, my lord.

"Hamlet: I mean, my head upon your lap?

"Ophelia: Ay, my lord.

"Hamlet: Did you think I meant country matters?

"Ophelia: I think nothing, my lord.

"Hamlet: That's a fair thought to lie between maids' legs."

Annoyed, Willow snapped the book shut once again. This was not helping. Okay. Time to fall on Plan B. Plan B consisted mainly of raiding Giles' office for material he was loath to let her see, thinking her too young to handle any strong magick. His attitude irritated her, quite frankly. She'd restored Angel's soul, was able to call three of the four elements, had summoned her own evil Doppelganger--ooh, oh, well, maybe that wasn't the best example of her responsibility and trustworthiness. But, hey, Anya was, after all, a millennium-old demon who'd been manipulating people for, literally, centuries. The point was she was ready for the big guns. She wanted to challenge herself. And a challenge was exactly what she needed to get her mind off other, less productive, topics.

"Giles," she admonished, softly, as she found his spare key, taped to the underside of his desk drawer, after a cursory search. She opened his private cabinet, and skipped past the Watchers' journals quickly. She'd already been through most of them, and hadn't found anything particularly interesting, magickally speaking. Stuff she could do, basically, without thinking. In the past few months, she'd begun to really come into her own, as a witch. Protection spells, distractionary devices, and the occasional bit of glamour to hide an injury, seemed to be the standard Watcher spells. Well, the ones that they memorized, in any case. Everything else came from books. Books like the ones that Giles kept in this cabinet, safe from prying eyes. Or so he thought.

"Aha!" she murmured, pleased. *The Chronicles of Magus Gwallter.* Perfect to curl up with next to a roaring fire with a soothing mug of hot chocolate . . . the cold light of the library and a cup of highly caffeinated tea filched from Giles' stash would have to suffice, though.

Fifteen minutes later, she let out a cry of alarm.

*****

"Oz, wake up! Wake up!"

"Hmmm, Willow," he murmured, in a soft, sexy voice. A bedroom voice.

"Wake *up*!"

"Huh?" he opened his eyes, blinking, and took a quick inventory. Cold floor, sunlight streaming in from a high window, the musty smell of books, his girlfriend calling his name, and a very nude Oz. Yep. It was that time of the month. "I'm awake, I'm awake," he muttered, raising his head and looking around for his clothes.

Anticipating his needs, Willow called, her voice a little odd, "Card catalogue."

"Thanks," he said, retrieving his pants from atop the cabinet, and proceeded to dress behind the blankets strung across the front of the cage--a necessary homage to modesty, considering that they hadn't progressed past second base quite yet.

"Hurry," she added.

"Something wrong?" he asked, concerned. She usually wasn't so pushy, especially this early in the morning. A glance at the clock told him it was only half-past six; they had plenty of time to make their first period classes.

"Yes! Are you dressed yet?"

He came out, pulling his over-shirt on. "What is it, baby?" asked Oz, taking in her harried appearance.

Her eyes were wide, her face pale--well, more pale than it usually was--her hair disheveled, as though she'd been playing with it nervously--yep, there she went, raking her fingers through it--and her nails, which she'd been painstakingly attempting to grow out, were bitten down to the quick. "This!" she cried, shoving a book under his nose.

Catching the book, Oz examined the page she'd indicated. "Ah," he commented, seeing her cause for alarm. "Where'd you get this?" he asked.

"In Giles' office! I can't believe he wouldn't tell me about something like this!"

Oz studied the drawing that had her so upset more closely. "Well . . . there's probably a reason. Where, exactly, did you find it?"

She didn't meet his eye. "In his office." Oz didn't say anything, merely looked at her. She cracked. "Okay, okay, I found it in his private collection that he keeps locked up, but I know where he hides the key," she admitted.

"Ah-huh. Do you do this a lot?"

"Well, uh, kinda . . ." she allowed, reluctantly.

"Then why haven't you found this before?" A reasonable question.

"Well, 'cause this book is . . . new . . ." she trailed off, understanding dawning.

" . . . So maybe Giles hasn't had a chance to look at it yet. Maybe he doesn't know about it," he said, gently.

She nodded, looking rather abashed. "Okay, you're right. I guess I know that Giles wouldn't keep something like this from me . . ." She raised guilty eyes to his. "But now how do I bring it up without him knowing I was snooping?"

"I think you gotta tell him the truth."

She sighed, and, taking the book from his hands and setting it aside came into his arms, nuzzling his neck a little. "I know. Hey, good morning, by the way."

He smiled. "You're here," he agreed in his succinct way.

She pulled away, a soft smile shining in her eyes. "You're so sweet," she told him, and leaned forward to kiss him. She was surprised when he pushed her away after only a brief peck. "What's wrong?"

He was quiet for a moment, trying to find a delicate way to explain this to her. "Uh, well, uh, you know how my body is kind of a slave to the lunar cycle?" She nodded warily. "Well, your body has it's own monthly cycle, and--"

And right now she was ovulating. She flushed crimson. "Pheromones?" she asked, recalling that his lycanthropically enhanced senses included smell. He nodded, keeping her at arm length. "That would explain . . ." she began, and then, her blush deepening, trailed off, not meeting his eye.

"Explain what?"

"Nothing."

"Will, remember, no secrets?"

His tone wasn't accusatory, for which she was grateful, but it did carry a weighty, if gentle, reminder of a secret she'd kept from him once. He had a right to ask this of her, and she was obligated to respond, no matter how embarrassing it might be. A little humiliation was nothing compared to the rift that would be formed if she kept her silence. "Uh, well, uh, you were having a, uh, dream last night, and uh, I'm pretty sure it was--"

"Oh." They shared an embarrassed silence for a moment, then Oz grinned suddenly.

"What?"

He shook his head. "Just thinkin'. Wondering if I was dreaming about a were-Will." He kissed her on the forehead as she began to giggle.

*****

Dressed in fresh clothing and refreshed for the day, Oz and Willow were waiting for Giles when he arrived less than an hour later. "Hallo. I trust your night went well?"

"Yeah," Willow replied, reluctant to get down to business. Oz nudged her, and glanced meaningfully at the book on the table. "Uh, Giles? I, uh, have a confession to make."

The Watcher stopped mid-stride and turned on the ball of his foot to face her, taking in her haggard face properly. "Are you quite alright, Willow?"

Her brow creased. "No, I'm not alright. Giles, I've been sneaking into your private book collection for the past two months." She crossed her arms across her ribcage and lifted her chin defiantly. Oz, who had been watching the librarian to see his reaction to her words, slid his gaze over to his girlfriend for a moment, arching an eyebrow at her segue. Or lack thereof.

"I see." Giles took off his glasses. "And how, exactly, have you been accomplishing this? I'm fairly certain I lock that particular cabinet when it's not in use."

Okay, he was ticked. Well, he did sort of have the right, when one got down to it. She'd be mad if someone went through her locker, wouldn't she? "Uh, well, you picked a really easy hiding place for your extra key. And you never even move it."

"I wasn't aware I had to," he pointed out, his voice dangerously quite and calm.

She blushed. "I know. I'm a bad, awful person. Really, really bad. Really, really, really--"

"Willow."

"Hmmm?"

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Ya mean, other than confession being good for the soul?" He merely looked at her. Her shoulders drooped. "Okay. Well, I was snooping again last night, and I found a new book, *The Chronicles of Mage Gwallter,* and--" He twitched noticeably. And she noticed. "You *do* know!" she accused, suddenly filled with righteous indignation.

He ducked his head a little. "I haven't had a chance to look at it myself," he shot her a look, and she merely scowled, unwilling to be chastised, "but a friend of mine stumbled across it, and sent it--"

Oz blinked. "Whoa. Rewind. A friend of yours? How could they know--"

"The Council has had their eye on you for some time, Willow," Giles finally admitted. Her mouth fell open, and he went on. "I was reluctant to inform you, at least until after you'd graduated . . ." He shook his head, and raised his eyes to meet her shocked gaze. "Willow, I honestly wouldn't wish this life on anyone, and certainly the fact that you'd never have any inkling of the sorts of things you know if I hadn't originally allowed you and Xander to become involved . . . "

He shifted from foot to foot, his eyes darting around uncomfortably, until he finally spoke again. "Well, I can't say that I feel comfortable knowing that if not for me, this would never have become an issue." Before she could even open her mouth to protest, he was covering his tracks. "I do realize, however, that you are quite capable of making your own decisions, and that this must be your choice. I only wished to prolong the inevitable; a foolish gesture, I suppose . . ."

She blinked several times, and didn't quite know what to say. How was this supposed to fit into her college search? She'd been accepted, in fact recruited, by all the Ivy League schools in the States, and now obscure British universities were staking a claim? She winced at the unintended pun. Willow looked up at Giles. "But . . . did--have I met this friend, and I didn't know it?"

He shook his head. "I'd taken the liberty of sending photos-- school photos--of the lot of you. You're all so involved in Buffy's life as the Slayer . . . " He trailed off, and they all turned back to the tome lying open on the library table, where sunlight illuminated the full-page illustration of a young woman dressed in clothing which dated back to ancient Wales, circa 1377. A young woman who could have been Willow herself.

*****

"*You* were snooping around in Giles' office?" Buffy queried, raising an eyebrow, crossing her legs as they sat on a stone bench in the courtyard at lunchtime.

Willow nodded. "Well, I was looking for a distraction."

"From what?"

Willow glanced at Xander, whose attention was held prisoner by a junior wearing very short shorts. She lunged forward to whisper quickly into Buffy's ear, and pulled away from the now-slack- jawed Slayer just as Xander turned back to them, and asked, hopefully, "Ya think the Daisy Duke look is making a comeback this year?"

Buffy quickly covered with a yawn. "Uh, yeah, sure," she replied absently, not even noticing the boyish gleam in her friends' eyes. She recovered her wits, trying to keep a straight face as she met Willow's eyes. "Uh, so, uh, you look just like some dead sorceress. What's the big?"

Willow sighed. "Well, she's probably an ancestor. I'm going to get on-line tonight and trace my family tree, once I talk with my parents. But it does raise some questions."

Warming to the topic, and eager to play a part in the conversation now that he was done ogling, Xander nodded, biting into his apple. "Amy's mom was a witch, and Michael has an uncle or something who's magickally inclined, right?"

"Right. I can't really ask my parents if anyone else in the family is into the black arts, but if I can trace my family tree back to Gwallter's daughter, then . . ."

"Then what?"

"Well, at least I'll know what sort of power I'm capable of. 'Cause at first, the pencil thing was a stretch, but lately, I've been . . . almost itching to stretch out and test my boundaries. And Helygen's favorite trick, when she was young, was to levitate a stylus." At their blank looks, she clarified, "A writing tool, like a pencil or pen."

Xander looked at her more closely. "There's something else," he decided.

Willow ducked her head. "A Council member recognized the drawing and sent it to Giles. That's how he got it."

Xander shook his head. "Recognized--?"

"They want me to be a Watcher," she blurted.

The three of them fell into silence.

*****

A week later, Willow knocked tentatively on the door of the Summers' home. "Willow!" Mrs. Summers smiled, stepping aside to admit the girl into her home. Where she once would have said, "come in," she now only made the gesture, drilled into her head by a Slayer determined not to let a vampire "get her."

The redhead ducked her head shyly as she entered. "Hi, Mrs. Summers. Is Buffy home? I--I forgot to call."

"She's in her room. I think she's on the phone, anyway. Why don't you go on up? I'll bring you two a snack in a few minutes."

"Uh . . . Do'ya suppose maybe we could skip the snack, Mrs. Summers? I, uh, I'm not very hungry, and--"

Joyce cut her off with an easy smile. "Say no more, Willow. I won't bother the two of you, I promise." She paused. "Tell me one thing, though? I--I know that Buffy's upset about something. She swears there isn't anything wrong with her, but I--is it a Slayer thing?"

Willow laughed, just the tiniest bit bitterly. "Indirectly. It's about me, actually. Buffy's not in any danger, Mrs. Summers, I promise. Trust me, she'd tell you. She's lucky to have a mom she can talk to," she added.

Upstairs, Buffy was just hanging up the phone. "Will! Did you try to call? Sorry, I was on the phone with my dad . . ."

"S'okay, Buffy. Uh, can we talk?"

Surprised at her usually demure friend's abruptness, Buffy sat down on her bed. "Sure. What's wrong? The whole Watcher thing?"

Willow's shoulder's slumped. "Kinda."

"Will, you know," her friend began, as the redhead sat next to her, "you can always go to college here for a year or two, and then transfer to Oxford if you decide to take them up on their offer--"

"That's not what's bothering me. Well, right now, anyway."

"Then what?"

"Helygen's husband was a werewolf!" Willow burst out, turning wide eyes on Buffy.

"Oh."

"And do you know what 'Helygen' means in Gaelic? Willow, that's what!"

"Okay . . ."

"Well, this is disturbing! I don't like the parallels here!"

Buffy smiled. "Are you worried about freaking Oz out? 'Cause I gotta tell you, I don't think the idea of being with you forever is going to make him bolt." She frowned. "Unless, you're the bolter?"

Willow shook her head. "No! Yes! I mean, I don't know. I mean, I love Oz. I can't imagine anyone else ever meaning this much to me. But . . . it's sorta permanent, ya know? But . . . that isn't what's freaking me out right now. I mean, the whole Fate issue is *there,* of course, 'cause that's kinda scary, to not have your life be your own life? But, anyway, that's on the back burner for now. What's bothering me is that Helygen spent a lot of time looking into his 'condition.'"

"And?"

"And--and she performed a spell on him, so she wouldn't have to lock him up during the full moon--"

"That's great!" exclaimed Buffy, wondering why she'd be so upset about--

"But the spell . . . Buffy, I'd have to . . . well, we'd have to . . . you know . . ."

Oh. "Oh."

Willow got up and started to pace. "It's not like I'm not willing--but I just . . . "

"Don't want your first time to be about anything else than the two of you, together?"

Willow nodded, a small smile escaping her. "Yeah, I guess."

"Then why don't you just wait until it happens on it's own, and *then* do the spell? You guys are doin' just fine with the chains, for now." Buffy realized how that sounded, and her eyes widened. "Not that you *enjoy* the chains, but--I mean--"

"It's okay, Buffy. But, well, I thought about it, and I was gonna, but then I found out that--did you know that vampires can 'call' werewolves?"

Buffy ducked her head. "Yeah."

Willow blanched. "You *did*? Why didn't you ever say anything?!"

"Well, 'cause there isn't anything you could have done about it! And--and Angel only just thought of it, recently. We were gonna tell you, but then . . . well, a lot's been going on, you know? And besides, Angel's the only vampire powerful enough to be able to 'call' a licky-pop--"

"Lycanthrope," Willow corrected automatically.

"--That's been around when there was a full moon."

Willow shook her head, upset, but deciding that now was not the time to chew her out about it. Just as she hadn't chewed Giles out immediately when she found out he'd been keeping secrets from her. "Well, there's something that I can do about it now. The spell effectively binds him to me. I'd be his 'master,' for lack of--well, actually, no, that *is* the better word. Wolf-Oz would obey me and only me."

Buffy grinned. "I've heard that can be fun."

Willow glared at her. "Buffy, I'm serious! The idea is he'd be protected from all other types of binding, including anything a vampire could do. So . . . that kind of adds a little urgency to the equation."

Buffy nodded. "Have you two discussed sex, at all?"

She nodded. "Yeah. At Christmas, when we first got back together? Well, I set up a really romantic evening, and I was *ready,* Buffy. I mean, I wanted to, and--and he said no."

"You're kidding! *Why*?"

"'Cause he wanted it to be right, and he didn't want it to be about me proving anything to him."

Ah-ha. "So you think that he's gonna refuse again if you tell 'im about this?" Willow nodded. Buffy shrugged. "Simple. Don't tell him 'til after. Or maybe he'll never even have to know. It's not like he's real big on spells, anyway."

Willow shook her head. "I can't keep stuff from him, Buffy. I just can't. Not anymore."

"Ah. Hey, you know, why don't you stay over tonight? 'Cause I think we need to talk about this whole thing, ya know? Go home and get a bag, and come back around--ten? I'll be home from patrol by then--what? What's wrong?"

Willow shifted uncomfortably. "Could I maybe just go patrolling with you?"

Buffy winced. "Not so sure that's a good idea, Will. With Faith out there . . . well, I'd just prefer if the people I care about stay indoors after dark, for the time being."

"Oh."

"Why?" drawled Buffy, narrowing her eyes. When there was no response, she wracked her brain. "Your mom hasslin' you again?" An abashed silence was her answer. "No problem. You can stay here. You could bring your laptop and jack in to my phone line, if you want, or . . . I don't know--"

"Does your mom bake?" The question was both sudden and hopeful.

Buffy blinked. "Uh . . . she has, in the past. Not a big pastime, though." She paused. "But I'm sure she'd love a little female companionship, if you're up for it, that is. She's kinda lonely, you know, and I don't spend nearly enough time with her . . ."

Willow smiled gratefully at her friend, who bumped shoulders with her after a moment. "Go get your stuff. We'll have dinner ready by the time you get back."

---

Continues