Xander's car was parked just outside the cemetary. As the other Scoobies scattered, Mozell regarded it narrowly, then said, "Okay, I still hold the Champion Hoopty Award for that Skylark I used to drive, but you're in the top ten, hon."

"It runs--most of the time," said Xander. "Unless you want to wait around out here for me to open the passenger door, you're going to have to get in first and slide across--I can only open the passenger door from the inside."

"You're in the top five. I'll slide." Mozell climbed in and slid over to the passenger side. As Xander got in, she looked around and said, "There's a surprising lack of fast food wrappers in here." She picked up several cellophane wrappers and stuffed them in a crumpled paper bag. "Snack cake wrappers--yes."

"They're cheaper. Say, do you believe in a Higher Power?"

She looked at him. "Are you talking religion, or major corporation owners?"

He thought. "Religion--of any sort."

"Well, yeah. I'm Southern Baptist. If I became an athiest or aganostic, I wouldn't have to worry about Jesus or God--my mother would get me first."

"Since you do believe, how about saying a prayer that this sucker starts? I think we got all the nearby vamps, but they tend to drift."

Mozell obligingly looked up at the (peeling) ceiling. "Oh Lord, please let this hunk of junk get us safely to somewhere public, where we're less likely to be eaten."

"Good enough." Xander turned the key, and the engine stuttered, then caught and ran--roughly, but it ran. "Hey, that was pretty effective. Maybe I need to attend a service at your church some day." He put the car in gear.

As they drove off, she said, "Fat chance. Not that you wouldn't be welcomed--though me showing up with a single male who was this much younger than me, and not a relative, would probably have them committing the sin of gossip. No, it's just that I have a feeling that it's gonna be hard enough for me to get back where I came from, and I'll have you guys helping me..." She gave him a look. "I will, won't I?"

"I'd be really surprised if you didn't."

"Good. Then, I hate to think of how much trouble it would be for you to get back home."

Xander sighed. "So what's so great about home? It would sort of be nice to have to deal with just ordinary crooks and terrorists and politicians for a change."

"Be careful what you wish on yourself. Anyway, I might be wrong. I have a feeling that my boss knows a lot more than he lets on--and he lets on to knowing a good deal of weird crap."

"Who would this be?"

"His name is Ephraim Tempest, and he's--odd. He's the one who insisted that I get up like something out of a Poppy Z. Brite novel. He runs this shop called Esoterica, and it sells things that are supposed to be sort of magical. I've never actually seen any of them work, but..." She paused. "Wait a minute--I got in the box, the box brought me here. I have seen some of them work. Man, he's even weirder than I thought."

Xander was turning into the parking lot of a rather beat up looking bar. "This place isn't known for it's exotic mixed drinks, but it's cheap, and I think they can manage something sweet and alcoholic."

Mozell was looking around. "And the motel is just on the other side of the lot."

"That's not the one I meant. It's kind of, um, low rent."

"I can live with that. In fact, the more money I can save, the better. I'll use all the locks, and jam a chair under the door knob, and if the sheets look too grungy, I'll sleep on the floor. Let's go get buzzed. I think I'll be able to deal with this version of reality much more easily with a few under my belt." They went inside, going directly to the bar. Xander was pulling out his wallet as he walked. "I said I'd be buying my own."

"I heard ya. That's not what it's for," Xander replied.

As they approached, the stocky, stubbly man behind the bar zeroed in on Xander and said, "You. Let's see some..."

"ID." Xander held his license up before the man's eyes. "For about the twentyth time. When are you going to quit asking to see it?"

"When they change the law." He looked at Mozell. "Lady, did you know your kid was coming in a place like this?"

"Mister," she said dryly, "did anyone ever tell you how dangerous it was to make a comment about a woman's age? He's not my kid--he's my lover." Xander blinked. The bartender blinked. "What? You think I'm not good enough to catch a young hottie like him?"

"That I will not touch with a ten foot pole. What can I get for you?"

"Mudslide."

"A what?"

She sighed. "Mai Tai?"

"That's one of those with the itty-bitty umbrellas, right?"

"Well, the alcohol is more important. Can you make a vodka Collins?"

"What's that?"

She put a hand over her eyes briefly. "I should have known better than to ask for anything mixed with more than water, soda pop, or a fruit juice. It's a carbonated lemonade with vodka."

The man's face brightened. "I can do that!" He looked at Xander. "You?"

"Beer, I guess."

Mozell shook her head. "Xander, I think the kind of night we're having calls for something a little stronger, don't you?"

"Maybe so. I'll have what she's having."

The bartender nodded. "Have a seat, and our vivacious cocktail waitress will bring it to you."

As they sat down, Xander said, "Vivacious cocktail waitress. I didn't know he was so sarcastic. The only one I've ever seen here looks like she just got through doing a hard stretch in maximum security for physically altering someone with her bare hands."

"I take it you haven't been trying to chat her up."

"Hey, I still have some survival instinct left."

The woman, sporting more tattoos than Mozell had ever seen on any two Marines or sailors, brought their drinks. She figured it was a good thing that Xander hadn't tried to schmooz the woman, since the waitress winked at her. Mozell took a sip of her drink, then coughed. "That is strong!"

"Really? I've never had anything but the beer here."

"Well, this looks like the sort of place that people come to do their serious drinking--not their social drinking."

Xander took a sip, and smacked his lips. "Hey, that's pretty good. I wonder if Buffy and Willow know about these things?"

"Willow drinks?"

"I think her and Buffy snuck some wine once."

"Well, Buffy's going to discover the joys of beer at college. Unfortuanately it's going to have some odd side effects."

"I don't think she'd become an alcoholic."

"Nooo, not an alcoholic. There's going to come a moment when she tells you that you smell good, though."

This time it was Xander who almost choked on a sip of his drink. "You sort of enjoy messing with people's minds, don't you?"

She shrugged, but smiled for one of the first times since she'd started the evening. "Some. It keeps me marginally sane." He was gulping his drink. "I'd slow down on that if I was you."

"Why? You don't have to worry about me driving you if I get drunk."

"Maybe not, but you can get..."

"Ow!" He clutched his forehead.

"Brain freeze headache."

"Owowow."

"Yeah."

"I'd better take more alcohol to ease the pain." He raised a hand to the waitress. "Nother of the same, please--double."

"I don't think it's Buffy we need to worry about becoming an alcoholic. What the hell. Miss Waitress Lady, you might as well bring me the same as what he's having." She looked back at Xander. "I'll just have to stagger a few yards. I've never been so drunk I couldn't do that."

The drinks had arrived, and Xander had started on his second one. "I will escort you."

"It's across the lot, Xander."

"Uh, Mozell? You do remember what you sort of popped in on when you first arrived?"

"Right. Escort service will be appreciated."

The waitress was passing by, and gave them a curious look. "So, which one of you is the escort? I hear there's good money in that."

"It's him," said Mozell, straight faced.

"Are you desperate, or what?"

"Hey!" said Xander.

"No offense, dude," said the waitress. "I mean, you're kind of cute, but she's not so bad herself. She ought to be able to get a date without paying for it."

"This way I don't have to deal with the whole 'relationship' bullshit," said Mozell.

"Ohhh." The waitress nodded, then walked off.

"You have something against relationships?" Xander crunched an ice cube.

"You know, people have been shot for doing that. Luckily, I do it, too." She fished out a cube and bit it. "Not really. I've just never been in what could be considered a relationship. I'd think you, of all people, could understand the attitude, though. I mean that biology bug teacher, the mummy girl, Cordelia..." Xander was staring at her. "Have those happened yet?"

"Yes, they have, and how the hell do you know?"

"Let's not get into that right now. It's the whole diferent layers of reality thing. I mean, with all the demons you deal with, you believe in different dimensions, don't you?"

"I pretty much have to." The waitress had brought the drinks, and he grabbed his, taking a swig. "It doesn't make me any more comfortable with the concept."

"Well, don't worry about it. I'm harmless."

"You beat a vampire over the head with a lit torch, and set his hair on fire."

"Okay, I'm harmless as long as you're harmless."

"You're a tiny bit scary, and I've dealt with the best." He drained his drink, and waved at the waitress again. "I think I need another."

"You have to drive," she reminded him.

"So? You think that drunk driving is the most dangerous thing you can do in Sunnydale?"

Mozell picked up her glass. "Have her bring me another, too. No point in waiting--might as well stock pile."

An hour later the bartender accepted money from both Xander and Mozell, and watched as they wove their way toward the door, offering each other mutual support. The waitress came and leaned on the bar. "Damn. There's about a dozen glasses on their table."

He gave her a sour look. "There wouldn't be if you cleaned up more often."

"No, I mean if they get in a car and a cop catches them, and they say where they were..."

He shrugged. "They're going to the motel--I heard 'em."

"But suppose just one of them stays, and the other goes home?"

He gave her a jaundice look. "Have you ever known a drunk couple to separate once they head for that motel?"

She thought about it, then snickered.

The clerk watched as the woman, squinting carefully, signed the motel register. The young man who'd come in with her was more or less draped over the counter. Both smelled strongly of lemons. He looked at the register, and said, "You've only signed for yourself, Mrs. Mozeby."

"That's because I'm a Miss, and he's not staying," she said, pronouncing the words carefully. "I would've taken a single, if you'd had any left."

The man frowned. "Actually, I do have one, but since you two are together, I assumed..." Xander had rolled over so that he was lying with his back on the counter, feet still on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. The clerk reached for the cash register. "I can transfer you, and give you a refund..."

She waved. "Too much trouble. The difference in price isn't all that much."

The clerk was examining Xander. "I have a coffee pot in back. Would you like to get him a cup?"

"Not much point. You know what you get when you feed coffee to a drunk?"

"What?"

"An alert drunk." She grabbed the front of the boy's shirt and pulled, trying to get him upright. He must've been pretty solid, because she grunted, without budging him an inch. "C'mon, Xander, you've got to help."

"I think I'll just stay here for awhile," he said vaguely.

"You promised to escort me to my door, and I'm holding you to it. I think you'd be able to fight better drunk than I could sober. Besides, I don't think that the clerk wants you cluttering up the office. Move it." This time when she pulled he slowly rose to his feet--and started to continue over. He'd have ended up on his face, on the floor, but she stepped quickly in front of him and got her shoulder under his arm. "Oof. Straighten your knees, straighten your knees!" He managed. "Can you remember how to walk?"

"It involves moving one foot after the other, right?"

"Close enough. Say," she turned her head to look over her shoulder at the clerk. "Can you get the door? I don't want to drop him."

The clerk held the door open while they staggered out, then shut the door, shaking his head. *No need to worry. If there were ever two people too drunk to screw, that was them.*

At least one of the couple wasn't quite as drunk as the clerk thought. Mozell had consumed about two-thirds as much as Xander, but given her smaller body mass, it had pretty much the same effect. Still, when she got to her room, she managed to prop him against the wall while she unlocked and opened the door. He was slowly beginning to slide down, but she grabbed his arm again, barely managing to hold him up. "You better come in and sit down for a minute."

She managed to get him inside, and turned and locked the door--knob, deadbolt, and chain. Xander was swaying, looking around the room. "This isn't my apartment."

"Nope."

"It's better than my apartment--smaller, but better."

"Geez, Xander, couldn't you get, like, government housing, or something?"

"My place is cleaner, though." He swayed again. "I think I'd better sit down."

"Good idea."

"Is there a chair?"

She looked around. "I'll be damned. No wonder this place is so cheap. Sit on the bed, then."

"Okay." He fell across the bed, face down.

"Crap." She prodded his shoulder. "Xander?" *snore* "Oh, lord. I'm not going to be able to wake you up, am I?" *snufflesnort* "Didn't think so." She examined him. "Your face is against the mattress. I guess I'd better try to keep you from suffocating." She went to the other side of the bed, grabbed his shoulders, and strained backward. Somehow, she managed to drag him a few inches forward, so that his face was clear of the mattress. She leaned against the wall to catch her breath. "It's just as well. You might have remembered how to start the car, and then you would have driven, and I couldn't have that on my conscience. Well, I need to lie down, too, so..." She looked at the carpet. "Ooo. I lied when I said I'd sleep on the floor." She cocked her head at Xander. He snored. She sighed. "What the fuck."

The first thing Xander was aware of was the taste in his mouth--lemon, sugar, and crap, if he was any judge. Then he was aware of the crick in his neck. His head seemed to be dangling off the edge of the mattress. He'd been pretty damn exhausted in his life, but he couldn't recall ever being so tired that he couldn't get into bed straight. And thirdly he noticed that he seemed to be paralysed. Well, maybe not PARALYSED, but he couldn't move his legs. There seemed to be a weight over them.

He somehow managed to lift himself to his elbows, and looked back over his shoulder. He was, indeed, laying across a bed (A bed, not his bed), and the weight across his legs was the legs of the woman who was sharing the bed, lying at the normally accepted angle. Careful not to move any more than necessary, Xander looked around. This looked like a motel room--a cheap motel room. *What on earth did I do last night? Let me think... We went to raid that nest of fledges, and things got kind of hairy, and... Oh, yeah! That weird box thing showed up, and she was in it. I was supposed to drop her off at a motel, then go home...* He closed his eyes. *Until about a half-bottle of vodka got in the way.*

"How's the head?"

He looked back. She was regarding him sleepily.

"The neck hurts worse than the head."

"Sorry. I was afraid that if I put you on a pillow you'd either smother, or drown in drool."

"Could you move your legs? I think mine are going to sleep."

"Sorry." She sat up, moving back against the headboard, and curling her legs up.

Xander turned over and sat up, regarding her warily. "Exactly how drunk was I?"

She shrugged. "For you, I don't know. I've never seen you drink before. On a scale of one-to-ten, with ten being black out unconscious, I'd say at least an 8.5."

"And so I just slept here?"

"It seemed safer."

"I slept here--with you?"

"Looks that way."

He hesitated. "Did we sleep together, or did we... sleep together?"

She looked amused. "You don't remember? Damn. I must not have been very good." He turned beet red. "I'm sorry, I couldn't resist that. Nothing happened."

"You must've been almost as drunk as I was, so if I can't remember, how can you be sure?"

"The evidence. I'm still wearing my panties, you're still fully clothed, and I don't hurt in significant places."

"Look, I haven't had a lot of chances, but I've never been accused of being rough."

"It's not that, oh Innocent One. It's just that if I'd had intercourse, I'm pretty sure I'd know it. I was a virgin when I climbed in that box, and I'm still one. Besides, I don't get drunk enough to lose chunks of time, and I remember pinning your legs down with mine when I went to bed."

"That's a relief."

"Thank you."

"Um, no. I mean..."

"I know what you mean. Don't sweat it. And thank you for not laughing out loud when I told you I'm a virgin. The more I think about it, the more I'm sure I should have just taken a job flipping burgers somewhere. My boss was awful interested in that." She looked thoughtful. "You know, it might have been better if I wasn't. I think that one of the main reasons I got the job was because I'm still intact. It wasn't just the boss and stock that was creepy, it was the clientel, and the place itself. There was this little room in the back..."

She described the room and it's contents to Xander, then went on to tell about finding the dried blood drop in the bowl, and investigating, "...and this black glow started up. How can a glow be black? I got out of there, and that's about when things went to Hades in a handbasket."

Xander was frowning. "What did you say the guy's name was?"

"Ephraim Tempest. And I thought I had a funny name."

"What did he look like?"

"Tall, lean. Maybe early forties, but he could have been older or younger. Kind of good looking, but he always had an expression that was sort of like," she sing-songed, "I know something you don't know'." Her voice returned to normal. "He really seemed to enjoy his work."

"What about his eyes?"

She frowned. "Now that's a funny thing. You know, I never could decide what color they were. Sometimes they looked blue, sometimes they looked green. I know that hazel eyes can do that, depending on what color you wear, but he always wore black, and I don't think that could account for his eyes looking brown sometimes. I would have assumed he was just affected, and used colored contacts, but I think I saw more than one color a shift, when I knew he hadn't been out of my sight long enough to change contacts."

"And his name was...?"

She gave him a peculiar look. "Are you still drunk? I told you--Ephraim Tempest."

"Did you ever see ID?"

"I... No. I was the one asking for a job, so... Why?"

"Because given your description, the name itself, and most particularly the weird shit that's happened, I'm thinking that he might be someone the Scoobies have had dealings with before."

"Who?"

"Ethan Rayne, and that could mean some serious shit."