"So," Faith began, spinning the wooden chair about and sitting on it backwards. "Is it really a coincidence that you're here when I am, or were you following me again?" She laughed inwardly as she watched the expressions on Spike and Angel's faces change at the sudden question. As the initial surprise faded from Angel's face he grinned and bowed his head, his face disappearing behind the brim of his hat.

"How in hell did you-?" Spike began, an incredulous look on his face. "No, don't tell me," he said, shaking his head. "I don't want to know." Oh no, of course Spike didn't, the sly little bastard. Just trying to trick her into telling him. And it was working. Asshole.

Faith sighed. "Everytime we blunder into each other, it goes one of two ways. If it's coincidence, you're in the town first, or you get there a week or so after me. Any less than that, and it means you were trying to catch me on the plains. I travel way faster than you, and since I didn't pass you on the way here, you must've been chasing me." There, that ought to shut his mouth.

"Oh really," Spike replied, pulling a face. It wrinkled his brow, and Faith thought it looked really ugly. Like he was trying to look tough and not quite succeeding. "What makes you so sure we didn't ride in from the West?"

Faith shook her head and laughed. "Witchfinders don't last long by being stupid. You can go about five miles West from here before you hit Aztec land, which you two are neither brave enough or stupid enough to stray into." She tried very hard not to snigger as Spike faked an offended look, and Angel actually flinched. "It's pretty much the same to the South West, and the only place to the North West you could have come from is a certain town I believe both of you swore never to visit for as long as you lived. Now, quit trying to be clever and tell me why you were trying to catch up with me."

"I doubt it would come as a surprise to you that Salem Town Court has put a price on your head," Spike said, his voice suddenly serious and clear of bravado. Well no, no surprise at all. Ungrateful idiots. "A flattering price too. Tempting," he added, trying to add a little mock cheer.

Faith shuddered, suddenly guessing what was coming. "No," she said, shaking her head, a little fear showing in her expression. "Please don't say what I think you're about to say."

"I'm afraid the Tarakan Riders have taken up the contract," Spike said, his voice flat and deadly serious. "As the contract states Dead or Alive I'm guessing a lot of them will decide to join in. Three of them will arrive tomorrow. You were right Sweets, we were riding hard to catch up with you. We were also riding hard to stay ahead of them."

Faith gripped the chair back tightly. She could feel herself shaking. Tarakan Riders were bad news. "Who's coming?" she asked, the words sticking a little in her suddenly dry throat.

Angel lifted his head, so that his hat tipped back and revealed his face again. "Eight-Gun, Mr James and the Mistress are the ones you'll be expecting tomorrow," he said. "But we also ran into The Fist and The Kid in Utah last month. Overheard them talking about a big new job. It won't have taken them long to find your trail."

Spike nodded. "Probably got yourself a week before they show up." He looked Faith in the eye, wearing a sincere look that she'd rarely seen from him. "Sorry to ride in with bad news, Faith. Sure beats them showing up without warning though."

Faith reached forward and took hold of one of each man's hands. "Thanks, friends," she said, giving them a smile full of gratitude. "You are remembering though - Tarakan Riders aren't taking kindly to competition for a quarry. They see you two here, they'll assume you're trying to bag me too."

"Yeah," Spike said with a deep sigh, "Angel was kind enough to point that out two nights ago." Then he smiled. "We weren't about to leave you to fight alone anyhow. Angel's the fastest draw outside of the Mexican Provinces - well, apart from Mr James and The Kid."

Faith laughed and nodded. "Yeah I know. And you're a crack shot with a rifle. Never seen you fire one though." Suddenly she didn't feel quite so alone. It was good to know her friends would stand with her. On top of that, her jibe at Spike's rifle prowess put them back on the more familiar banter ground.

"Have you any idea how hard it is to find a decent long-bore?" Spike asked. "The last good rifle I owned was the one I had to leave behind in... that town to the North West. I'd best find me a gunsmith before sundown."

"That would be the one you rode past not two hours ago," Angel said in his Irish brogue. That was Spike, alright. All mouth, no eyes.

There was the sound of someone clearing their throat. Three heads turned to see Buffy, standing by the stairs that led down from the balcony they were sitting on to the ground floor. She was carrying a tray with a big glass jug of beer and three tankards. "Would you gents be interested in hiring tonight?" she asked with a smile.

"Depends who's for hire," Spike asked with a leer. "How much do you cost?" he asked, looking Buffy up and down. Faith found herself blushing, waiting to hear Buffy's reply.

"I'm already taken tonight," the blonde said. "Isn't that right, Faith?" Faith felt her blush become bright red as the whore grinned at her. Amused by Faith's reaction, Buffy smiled, then put the tray on the table beside them.

"You betcha!" Faith said suddenly, trying to shrug off the embarassment. It became easier as she noticed the looks she was getting from the two men. Spike's mouth was hanging open, and she could almost see in the back of his eyes the fantasies that must've been spinning through his head just then. Angel wore the same amused look he'd worn earlier when she'd confronted them about following her.

"Well then," Spike said, still sounding a little surprised, "if Faith's already snapped you up, what else does this fine establishment have to offer?" Typical Spike. Always put out if he thought he was missing something.

"Let's see," Buffy began, her eyes glazing over slightly as her voice went into a sales pitch she could probably recite in her sleep. "Harmony likes it rough and dirty. Veruca gives it rough and dirty. Amy is rumoured to have a magic touch. If you like your women a bit older and more experienced, there's Jenny; or if your tastes are a little more refined, there's Darla. We open in just under an hour, so they'll all be downstairs soon. Go and talk to them, see what you like." She smiled. Faith wondered how much effort Buffy'd had to make not to include Sheila on her 'menu'.

"Would you also have rooms for the night?" Angel asked, obviously not quite ready to deal with the choices he'd just been offered.

"We have a few guest rooms," Buffy said. "You can also negotiate for an overnight hire."

Faith started paying less attention to the conversation around her, and her mind went back to the imminent arrival of the Tarakans. It was going to be hard to play cat and mouse in this town without endangering innocents. The more people she could keep out of the firing line, the better. Then she remembered something. "Awww shoot!" she exclaimed. "The nigger!"

Spike coughed. "That sort of thing was outlawed by the Emancipation Proclamation," he said dryly.

Faith pulled a face at him, making sure there could be no doubt about how little his joke had impressed her.

"Don't let Kendra catch you using that word," Buffy said sternly. "She, um, took matters into her own... last time someone called her that. Took a lot of explaining to the Sheriff."

"Her own what?" Spike asked, sounding more than a little put off. "Her own hands?"

"More like her teeth," Buffy replied.

Spike swallowed. "So, what's she like? Apart from that, I mean. She wasn't on that list you gave us."

Buffy grinned, probably at Spike's discomfort. "She doesn't work every night. Since that incident she's not so popular, so she just helps out busy times."

Faith slammed her hand down on the table. "This is important, Spike! You must've met him. A negro in the gully that comes down onto the plains. He warned me against coming to Fort Sunshine. If he tries to warn off Eight-Gun and company they'll kill him."

"Oh yeah," Spike said. "Cordy shrieked her lungs out and scared him away. Surely he'll have the sense to stay away from the Tarakan Riders when they come through."

"I dunno," Faith said. "I don't think sense comes into it. He had a very loyal sense of duty - tried to turn me away when I was pointing a gun at him. Told me the Preacher here had told him to stop people coming to Fort Sunshine. That's the sort of dedication that'll see the Tarakans shooting him down. I think I should talk to this Preacher about him."

"Preacher Giles?" Buffy asked. "His house is just behind the church. He's a bit reclusive, rarely leaves Holy Ground."

"Is he part of our Network?" Faith asked. She knew Buffy would understand the question, and wasn't worried if the men did or not.

Buffy nodded. "If things are as bad as you make out, it's no wonder he's got people warning others away. I guess that's why he wants to stay on consecrated ground too."

Faith nodded, pleased at Buffy's astuteness. "Spike, go see the gunsmith. I'm off to talk to Preacher Giles. Buffy, when the good captain comes by to collect his lady could you ask him to stay awhiles - I need to talk to him." She got up, then hurried downstairs.

* * *

Faith pushed the door of the church open hesitantly. She didn't like being in Holy Places, not since the ritual two years ago that had made her a Witchfinder. Being on consecrated ground made her edgy. She could guess why, but it wasn't something she liked to think about. That was all past. She had a new life now. One that allowed her to atone for what she had done. Maybe one day, when she had done enough, she would be able to stand on God's ground without feeling like she wanted to run until she fell from exhaustion. In the meantime she would deal with the panic in her gut every time she had to face a priest. It was a small price to pay for a chance at redemption.

"Are you Giles?" she asked the man she found inside the church. He wore a plain burgundy suit, with a white dog collar on his shirt and a pair of finely made spectacles sitting on his nose. "I'm Faith," she muttered, her whole body shaking as she spoke to him. "Get me some balm and I'll show you who I am."

"My dear girl," Giles replied warmly, "the state you're in is more than enough proof of what you are." He took hold of her arm and lead her into the South Transept. "The Finder's Closet isn't consecrated, you'll be more comfortable in there."

"Thanks," Faith replied. "But how..." her voice trailed off. She wasn't comfortable with the way this preacher seemed to know a lot about her already. If there was one thing that really didn't sit with her, it was people having the advantage of her.

Giles unlocked and opened a small door which revealed a plain alcove set in the wall of the church. There was a simple bench on each side of it. Faith stepped inside and sat down. Almost immediately, the knot of panic in her gut eased. "Faith," the preacher began as he sat down, "you're not the only Witchfinder with a dark and anguished past. In fact, all the best Witchfinders are women who have turned away from darkness to seek atonement. I don't know what you did, and to be honest it's none of my business, but whatever it was your discomfort in the face of God is nothing to be ashamed of. If anything, it's a sign of your strength."

Faith nodded, touched by the Preacher's words but at the same time irritated by them. "That's not why I came here. You've got a ni-" she stopped and corrected herself, "a negro who sits up in the gully to the North East. He told me you told him to warn people away from this fort."

"Ah yes," Giles replied. "Mr Trick. Well, he can't be doing that good a job. His warning was lost on you." Faith rolled her eyes. This priest was an infuriating one, for sure.

"He's doing too good a job," Faith said, a little anger seeping into her voice. "He still tried to warn me off when I pulled a gun on him. If he's that good at his job tomorrow, it's probably going to get him killed."

"I- I see," Giles stammered. "What is happening tomorrow that could be so fatal to Mr Trick?"

"Has news about Salem reached here yet?" Faith asked. When Giles nodded quickly she continued. "The Salem Council posted a price on my head - they were obviously unhappy with the way I halted their attempted slaughter of innocents. The Tarakan Riders - the most vicious of the Bounty Guilds - have taken the contract. I've had word that three of them'll be arriving tomorrow. If your Mr Trick tries to turn them away, they'll fill him with lead."

"Good Lord!" Giles exclaimed. "You were at Salem? How bad was it? How many other Witchfinders were involved?" Faith cringed a little. Typical of a priest to pick up on the wrong thing.

"I was the only Witchfinder there," she replied coldly. "There wasn't time to call for others. They ran me out of town after two days. I had Washington send the army in but I'm sure they got to hang more innocent girls before order was restored." Faith wiped her eyes. They had become hot and had started to sting.

"My sympathies," Giles said quietly. "Here we seem to have the opposite problem. Too much dark magic and not enough suspicion." He removed his spectacles and pinched the bridge of his nose. "The dark energies seem to be intensifying lately," he continued. "I shouldn't wonder if this year will be the one that sees the Marshall's plans come to fruition."

"It's definitely the Marshall behind this then? I've only been here one night, and although I've heard a lot, there's nothing to say for certain." Now Faith was on more familiar ground. It would be good if this preacher could help her by giving more definite information.

"As best as I can tell, yes, it's Marshall Wilkins who is the focus of all the goings on here. He certainly doesn't emerge from the Law House during the Hundred Days each year, and the Law House is without a doubt on desecrated land. If it's not the Marshall, it's someone else inside who's never left the building."

Faith nodded. The information wasn't much more, but it helped all the same. She'd suspected the Law House was desecrated from Captain Harris's description of the effects it had on his men. Confirmation of that served to rule out some of the more obscure possibilities though. All the same, she was allowing herself to get sidetracked. She had other concerns right now. "I'll have to come back and discuss this further," she said, a hint of regret in her voice. She was starting to like this priest. "As I'm sure you can appreciate, right now I'm more worried about the arrival of three bloodthirsty killers tomorrow. I get the feeling they'll have fixated on the 'dead' half of 'dead or alive'. Nice meeting you, Preacher Giles."

"Yes, yes. Of course," Giles replied as she stood up and stepped out of the Finder's Closet. "I'll see to it that Mr Trick stays well away from those bounty hunters."

Faith smiled back at him, despite the return of the feelings of dread and insecurity. She walked slowly through the church, not allowing herself to give in to the urge to run.

"Faith!" Giles called after her. "It is not God who must forgive what you have done. You must forgive yourself."

Faith slammed the church door behind her and ran back to Buffy's in tears.

* * *

"What you're telling me," Captain Harris said with more than a little incredulity, "is that three badass bounty hunters are gonna turn up tomorrow, and I should just let them into town. Is that right?" Faith didn't blame him for being skeptical. The previous day she had praised him for his sense of duty, and now she was asking him to turn away from it.

"If you try to stop them, they'll kill you," she said, knowing full well that it would not be enough to put him off. She also knew that some of the other things she had to say wouldn't go down well, but she reckoned on persuading him if she didn't make a total screw up of this meeting.

"Miss Faith, we have two guard towers on the gate, one each side. There's two soldiers on each tower's lookout, with another eight at the base of each tower. First sign of trouble and those villains of yours can be taken down." Harris was being a little more insistent than Faith had been expecting. Maybe she didn't stand as good a chance as she'd previously thought. His belief in the virtue and invulnerability of the army was starting to grate on her too.

"If they think they'll get a hostile welcome they'll pick your lookouts off from long range. The only way you can deal with them with no bloodshed is to make sure your guards look inept until they get inside. And don't think your men can pick them off at a distance. They'll be way better shots than any of your men." Faith smiled, hoping she hadn't pushed too hard.

"You seem to have an answer to everything," Harris replied with exasperation. "Why don't I just turn over the captaincy to you?"

"Don't be like that, Captain," Faith said, squeezing Harris's arm. "These bounty hunters are coming here because of me. If I leave now they'll still turn this place over for clues as to where I went, so I may as well stay - I just want to make sure I do all I can to make sure no innocents are caught in the crossfire. Once the gunfight starts, your men are welcome to take potshots at them. But while they're on the outside, though it might not seem that way, they have the advantage."

"Great," Harris said, starting to pace. "I have to let three badasses in for a gunfight. Have you any idea how much of a shake-up of the guards I'll be expected to do after an incident like this?" He threw his hands up in despair.

"I was hoping something like that could come of it," Faith said with a grin. "I've found out some more about goings on here, and I think you need to change the shifts about a bit."

"Oh no," Harris said. It seemed to Faith that if she hadn't pushed things too far before, she probably had now. Harris looked as if he thought he'd been played. "What is it now?" he asked, resigned.

"Preacher Giles says the Law House is on desecrated ground. That's why your men come back strange after working there. A shake-up of the duty roster would give you an excuse to make sure none of your men spend more than a day at a time there."

Harris paused for a moment, his expression unreadable to Faith. All she could tell was that he was deep in thought. "Thank you," he said, suddenly and warmly. Faith congratulated herself silently. She'd known that revelation would be what swung the argument her way, if anything had. Hopefully it would mean that the only people to die tomorrow, if any at all, would be the three who were coming to kill her. "Anything else I can do for you?" Harris asked.

"Actually, yeah," she replied sheepishly. "My friend Spike - he's the blond one outside in the main room choosing himself a whore - he needs some gun oil for his new rifle. He said the gunsmith's oil was 'like crude oil, only cruder'. I figured you might have some good stuff - if you can spare any, that is."

Harris smiled. "Certainly Ma'am, I'll have Corporal Finn send some over in the morning. I don't approve of you taking on villains yourself, I think it's something we should handle. All the same, I wish you good luck for tomorrow."

Faith smiled. "Thanks Captain. Just don't let yourself get pissed at me yet," she said with a grin. "There's plenty more I'll have to shake up around here before Fort Sunshine becomes a good place."

* * *

"You're really going to go through with this?" Buffy asked Faith as they dressed the next morning. Her voice was full of angry disbelief. Born out of some form of concern, no doubt.

"It's not like I have a choice, B," Faith shot back. "Today for me it's kill or be killed. Those three badasses will be baying for my blood as soon as they're inside the walls. We can't just ask them to leave." Shit. Why did the whore have to go all mushy on her today? Certainly not the best timing in the world.

Buffy's tone changed. "Can I help? Tell me. There must be something I can do?" Now there was an interesting thought. Or an amusing one. Maybe one of the Tarakans would be scared of perfect titties. But then again, maybe there was something...

"Let me think a second," Faith said thoughtfully as she ran the various possibilities through her mind. There were still a few factors she hadn't been able to write out of the scenario yet - maybe Buffy could see to that. "If you really want to help, you can send some whores down to the Sheriff's Office this morning. Say it's an apology for the way you talked to him yesterday or something. A distraction like that should give me and the other two a chance to deal with the bounty hunters without the lawkeepers getting in the way."

Buffy nodded. "I'll send whoever's the least worn out then." She yawned theatrically. "That definitely won't include me," she said with a grin.

"Why're you flattering me?" Faith asked, blushing a little. "I'm the one who has to pay for the night. Although..." her voice trailed off. What she had to say was inevitable, she'd just have preferred to leave it a few more days. "Although I do need to keep a realistic cover. Sheriff and his boys may well know who I really am but it's good to keep up appearances. I ought to start working the floor with the rest of you." Faith smiled and looked at Buffy expectantly. "That is, of course, if you'll hire me."

"Oh!" Buffy exclaimed, more than a little taken aback. "Oh. Well, you've certainly got the skills. But are you sure you want to? We get some pretty low characters in here some days."

Faith smiled, wondering if Buffy was really motivated by concern, or if she was being possessive. "I end up being a whore almost every town I stop at," she said. "I know the sort of thing the job involves. I can look after myself, and I can fetch you in good money. Don't worry about it, B."

"If you want you can still stay with me at nights," Buffy said. "For free, obviously." Faith was touched, although more than a little concerned that she and the whore seemed to be bonding. She was in Fort Sunshine to solve a mystery, not form emotional attachments.

"I'd like that," she said with a smile. Yes, she was concerned - but at the same time she didn't seem to be able to bring herself to turn down the offer. "I'd like that a lot."

Buffy smiled warmly. "I'll have Amy look out some suitable dresses later. Greys and blues, I think," she said looking Faith up and down. "Yes, greys and blues."

Faith felt uncomfortable suddenly. She'd never much liked the idea of dressing herself up, no matter how many times she'd done it under cover before. It seemed so... dishonest. She felt an urgent need to change the subject. "Buffy, where's your sister?" she asked.

Buffy was about to tie a bonnet to her head, but her hands dropped suddenly to her sides. "I... I don't have a sister."

"You talk about her in your sleep," Faith said. "Her name's Dawn, or something like that?" She watched the colour drain from Buffy's face. She'd obviously touched a nerve here.

"Dad and Mom used to argue a lot," Buffy said quietly in a sad, flat voice. "I always wanted to escape during those times, and in the end I found a way to. I used to make-believe I had a sister, a younger sister called Dawn. I'd pretend to be the responsible grown-up, looking after my li'l sis. I think that's how I learnt to stand on my own. I guess something like that you don't let go of easily, and that's why I dream about her sometimes."

Faith winced. Buffy seemed for most of the time to be a strong woman. To see this weakness laid bare felt wrong, worse than someone sneaking a look at her naked. There was perhaps more to tell Buffy, but now was clearly not the time.

* * *

Faith, Angel and Spike watched the main gate from a balcony above the side door of the Whorehouse. Through her spyglass Faith had a clear view down the Main Street to where Captain Harris was posted on the gate. He nodded to her as he opened the wicket gate and stepped through.

Faith held her breath as she heard the signal to open the main gate and the huge portal started to creak open.

Three horses walked through the gates. Of the three, two looked fairly normal. Their riders, a man and a woman, wore clothes that were fairly sophisticated for travellers in this region. The woman wore a neat grey woollen dress, split up the front to the waist with dark slacks on underneath. Her long mousey hair was pinned up tightly. The man wore faded leather slacks and a matching leather waistcoat, with a red woollen shirt on underneath. His face was clean shaven except for his neatly trimmed moustache.

It was the other horse, and it's rider, that stood out. The horse was a fair size bigger than the other two, and the rider was around seven feet tall. He wore a loose hide jerkin and dark leather slacks. Even on the unsatisfactory view she got with her spy glass, Faith could tell that the guns at his hips were formidable. Revolvers by the look of them, they were at least twice the size of any handguns she'd ever seen. If they weren't guns she could be facing the end of later, she'd have felt obliged to make a comment about male inadequacy. As it was, they looked perfectly adequate to spray her brains over the whole town. It was their owner, Eight-Gun, who she was most worried about.

As the bounty hunters rode closer Faith and the two men ducked inside the whorehouse to avoid being seen, although there was no guarantee any of their 'opponents' would recognise Faith without seeing her face-to-face. When the bounty hunters had turned off Main Street, heading towards the stables, Faith returned to the side balcony and pulled herself up onto the roof of the whorehouse. The idea of trying to sneak a shot at Eight-Gun's back occurred to her, but even if it was a good shot she wouldn't be able to see to the other two before they saw to her. She crept along the back of the building, doing her best to be sure that as little as possible of her could be seen from the street. She was almost sure they had spotted her already, but she was also sure she could duck behind the roof before they could get a shot. Chances were they had realised this too, otherwise they would've tried it.

The jump from the roof of the Whorehouse to that of the next building - a tailor's - was an easy one, despite the tailor's having a lower roof. Eight-Gun had just entered the stables, and the other two had dismounted and left their horses tethered outside. They walked across the street to the next building along on Faith's side of the street. From Faith's memory, she was pretty sure that was the Apothecary. She heard the door swing closed as Mr James and the Mistress stepped into the store.

Faith needed to know what they were doing, but if she returned to ground level, Eight-Gun would have a chance at her as soon as he emerged. She could jump to the Apothecary roof but chances were they'd hear that. Then she ran out of decision time as she heard the Apothecary door open again.

"Mistress Faith?" a deep rich voice with a Southern accent called out. "You just show yerself, y'hear? Elsewise we'll be shooting these two pretty little herb-pedlars." Aw shit. This was exactly what she didn't need. Still, chances were they didn't know Angel and Spike were here with her. She just had to hope Spike had found a good position by now.

"Bit of a mistake you made there, Mr James," she called out. "See, if you'd done nuthin', I'd be forced to wait for you to take a shot or summin' before I could take you down. You's threatened and kidnapped now. Any o' us can have a pop at you." As she was keeping well out of sight Faith had to make do with imagining Mr James' reaction to that. Until then, his attention had been focussed on her. Now he needed to be more wary of the rest of his surroundings.

Faith dropped from the roof of the tailor's to land quietly behind it. The back door was unlocked and she slipped quietly inside.

"Mistress Faith!" she heard the voice call again, "I ain't a patient man."

As she stepped into the front of the store a short, balding man with small round spectacles accosted her, waving a small rifle at her stomach. Ah. The tailor. She raised her hands placatingly and whispered "Shh!" Then, quite deliberately, she stepped past the tailor and turned her back on him. She walked up to the door of the store and peered through the small windows in it.

Mr James and the Mistress were stood just outside the Apothecary. Both were scanning the rooftops along this side of the street, and each was holding a pistol to the head of a young woman. One captive was a blonde, the other red-head. And... Faith felt a gentle tingling at the back of her head as she concentrated on them. They were both witches. She had been hoping that was the case but not every Apothecary was staffed by occultists. "C'mon Spike!" she muttered to herself.

"I'm a gonna count to ten," Mr James shouted. "Then we're gonna shoot 'em in the legs."

There was a loud whistling noise. Mr James' gun flew out of his hand and clattered onto the ground behind him. The red-head pulled herself free of him and the blonde stamped heavily on the Mistress's foot. The two girls ran down the alley between the tailor's and their own store. Then Faith caught more movement on the far side of the street. Eight-Gun was finally emerging from the stables. He drew both of his guns and pointed them right at her. She dived to the floor as he fired his first shot. There was a terrible crash as all the glass in the door shattered and the door itself came off its hinges. Powerful guns. Not in the slightest bit inadequate. No question. She grabbed the tailor as she scrabbled to her feet, and dragged him through the back of his store. "Get out of here," she said firmly. "Stay out of his way. He won't stop to think if you're me or not until after he's shot you."

The tailor nodded and fled through the back door. Faith stepped outside cautiously. The two girls were cowering against the back of their store.

"Witches!" Faith hissed. "C'm 'ere!"

The girls both looked up in surprise, then nodded. They crept over to her.

"Faith," she said. "I'm a Witchfinder. Don't worry, you twos both wear your goodness for all to see. I ain't here to denounce you. Those bastards are here because I wouldn't denounce innocents to satisfy the Town of Salem."

The two girls smiled sympathetically, understanding. "I'm Willow," said the red-head.

"T-T-Tara," the blonde said.

At that moment Faith heard a floorboard creak just inside the tailor's back door. She swung her body about so her leg was across the bottom of the doorway just in time to trip Eight-Gun up. He fell into the dirt outside, firing two shots that created huge billows of dust as he did so.

As he rolled over Faith was on her feet and had both her flintlocks trained on him. His two huge pistols were both pointing at her gut. Up close she could see just how ugly he was. His face was covered in pockmarks and scars. The largest scar went across his right eye, which was a sickly grey colour, obviously blind. How did have have such keen eyesight then? He'd seen her through a few shitty little windows from fifty or more feet away.

"Go," she muttered to the two witches, not taking her eyes off Eight-Gun. "Hide at Buffy's." She knew 'hide' wasn't the best word, since she'd just told one of the gunmen where they should go, but it wasn't really them the gunmen were after.

"I'm thinking," she said to Eight-Gun, "that you're gonna be quite happy to just wait here with our guns on each other, 'cause of how you have two colleagues to back you up. You just gotta wait for them to come pull a gun in my back." She stepped sideways, keeping her guns and attention on him carefully. "I'm not about to wait around for that, sorry." She edged closer to the alley alongside the Apothecary, then flicked one hand in close against her waist and stepped backwards into the alley, out of Eight-Gun's view.

As she spun around to face down the alley the Mistress grabbed her and knocked the flintlock out of her outstretched hand. Faith's eyes closed as she sighed with regret and pulled the trigger of the gun she held against her waist, firing a bullet into the Mistress's gut. "Didn't want to kill any o' yous," she said as the other woman crumpled onto the floor, "but you crept up on me and didn't leave me much choice." Faith grabbed her other flintlock off the ground and returned both guns to their holsters. As she hurried up the alleyway she drew her two revolvers. She hoped her guess that Eight-Gun wouldn't follow her straight away was right. He seemed more like the head-on sort than the sneaking sort.

Faith stepped boldly into the street. Spike's display of sharp-shooting would keep the Tarakans out of the streets, particularly if they had no idea where he was shooting from. She entered the Apothecary and immediately started scanning the bottles behind the counter for what she needed. She had no qualms about helping herself, she could come back later and pay, if she survived. She jumped over the counter as she spotted what she was looking for - two of the demi-johns, one containing a liquid, the other a powder. She then hunted around under the counter and found some suitably fragile glass phials and some cloth pouches. She filled each phial with the liquid, then corked it and dropped it into the pouch, along with some powder.

She prepared five such bundles, then put each one in a special carrying loop on her belt. She found a large phial and pouch, and made a larger version. She picked it up, tossing it a few times in her hand to judge the weight, then threw it hard at the Apothecary's doorway. She couldn't hear the noise of the phial shattering from where she was, but the thick smoke that started rushing from the neck of the pouch told her that it had. She admired her handiwork until a few moments after it had completely obscured her view of the street, then headed for the back of the store.

"I hope you'll be paying for those smoke-bombs," Angel said as she left the Apothecary by the back door.

Faith's mouth drew up into a sneer. "Angel dear, you know full well that despite my appearance of being an unpredictable reformed heartless bitch, that deep down I'm really a painfully honest reformed heartless bitch. Sure I'll pay. Although I'll wager you the cost of the ingredients that the two pleasant young spinsters who own the shop are sleeping on the other side of the bed."

Angel grinned with amusement. "By 'other side of the bed', you mean the same side of the bed you and Buffy have been sleeping on, I take it. No bet."

Faith pulled a face, then took on a more serious expression. "The Mistress is out of the game. She caught me at the wrong moment, I had to kill her." She tried to show a brave face but found it impossible to hide the anguish.

Angel shrugged, but she could see the sympathy in his eyes. "You knew you'd probably not be able to avoid killing them. Least they've all got good bounties on them."

Faith pulled another face at him. "All the best bounties are on mean-assed bounty hunters. I'm insulted. Whatever the price is on my head, it's too low." She pulled her face back into a more serious look, and Angel took the point.

"Mr James is in the North of the town somewhere. Looks quite settled, I'm thinking he'll be awaiting you. Eight-Gun's picked up a limp - you knock him down or somesuch? - he headed down to the South end of Main Street. There's just the church and the Law House down there, isn't it? I'm guessing he won't find any hiding place there."

Faith nodded, then stopped with a shudder. "No, Angel. There's a school opposite the church. Shit, Angel - he'll find the school." She felt the colour drain from her face. She'd never met Eight-Gun before, but she knew his reputation. He'd do anything to those kids to get her to give herself up, then probably carry on a good while afterwards. She could not let that happen. "Angel, I'll have to leave Mr James to you."

"Not a problem. You sure you can handle Eight-Gun alone?" he asked, his voice full of uncertainty and concern. Faith wished he wouldn't do that. Always wanted to play the father-figure.

"No, I'm not," she replied. "Get Spike. Have Buffy or someone hook him up with Captain Harris and get him on one of the towers overlooking the school. I know you want to help, but I need a sharp-shooter, not a quick-draw. Sorry Angel." She kissed him on the cheek and hurried off towards the school.

She was going to have to kill Eight-Gun. Well, it wouldn't necessarily be her to pull the trigger, but he wasn't about to be stopped any other way. Persistent bastard. The Mistress and Mr James she'd stood a hope of turning away, and maybe if she'd succeeded Eight-Gun would've followed them. But the Mistress was dead, and Angel would have no qualms about killing Mr James. And now Eight-Gun was wounded. He'd be much more vicious now and would see her dead just as payback for the injury she'd done him. Right now he'd want to kill her even if there wasn't a price on her head.

She ran harder as she heard gunshots coming from the school. When she finally saw the building its main door was in tatters. As she crept through the churchyard watching the school intently, there was another shot from inside the school, then a crash as a body was thrown through the school windows. Faith gasped and squinted at the body. A woman. A nun. Eight-Gun had just shot the teacher in front of the children. She could hear the kids screaming and crying from here. Well, that made things a little easier. Faith no longer had any qualms about killing Eight-Gun.

She crawled across the last part of the churchyard and cautiously peeped over the top of the wooden fence that surrounded it. Bastard! He had the kids staring out of the windows, acting as lookouts for him. And shields, no doubt. She could just make out a shadowy silhouette on the far side of the classroom. He was standing there with a child in each arm, and no doubt his guns still in his hands. She dropped behind the fence, turning so she was sat leaning back against it. Then she saw the church door start to open.

"Giles! Stay inside!" she hissed, hoping he'd hear. She shut her eyes, trying to catch her breath properly. Only now did she realise how much she was shaking. She'd been so fixated on the school that she hadn't noticed the effects of the churchyard being consecrated before then. Shit! Now that she had noticed, it was hard to fight the effects off. She pulled three of the pouches off her belt, then a thought popped into her head. A nun had been teaching. That could mean... "Giles!" she called out. "Is the school on consecrated ground?" The door was still slightly ajar, but she had no way of knowing if the priest was still there.

"No," he called out. Well, that was one less thing to worry about. Now she just had to pull herself together enough to be able to carry out her plan.

Taking a deep breath, Faith lobbed the three pouches over the fence in quick succession, one towards the door of the school, one at the opposite end, and one straight at the centre of the building. She knew what was coming next and dived along the fence, rolling as she hit the ground. Before she came to a halt she heard the tinkle of breaking glass followed by two almost-explosions as Eight-Gun fired his revolvers.

A panicked shudder went through her as she looked back and saw the gaping hole in the fence at the spot where she had been sitting. The view across the street was mostly obscured by smoke now. Her makeshift smoke-bombs would not last much longer, so she would have to hope that the view from the school was obscure enough. She ran across the street, relief washing through her as she stepped off Holy Ground. The boost helped her carry on running unflinching as two shots were fired at her. She felt the second bullet rush past her back, and faltered a little at the thought of how close she had been to getting a shattered spine. She continued past the door to the school and flung herself round the corner of the building, a few feet beyond its entrance.

Two possibilities now. There could be another door on the other side of the classroom - if so, Eight-Gun would be trying to guess which side she was going to come in from. She tried to work out how many shots her opponent had fired, but there was a good chance he'd been able to reload at least one gun while he'd been in the school. More important to judge was how long he'd be content with keeping the kids as insurance against her trying anything, and when he'd start shooting them because she hadn't given herself up yet.

She needed to know exactly where in the room he was. If she knew that it would give her enough of an advantage to get the kids out. Any guess would not be enough - if she screwed up he'd kill her and probably the kids too. There was no way she would get to see - she needed to rely on her other senses.

She grabbed a handful of grit and stones off the ground, then edged up to the end of the wall by the entrance. The kids were quiet, that was good. She crept around the corner until she was right next to the entrance, then flung the handful of dirt at what was left of the door, and the ground below it.

She flinched as the inevitable gunshot came in reply. That had been what she wanted, not the gunshot itself, but the heavy click of the gun's hammer immediately before. If her hearing was as keen as she thought, she now had a line from the door to where Eight-Gun was standing. He'd be watching the door intently, but he wouldn't fire another knee-jerk shot.

Faith stepped into the doorway, both guns trained on Eight-Gun. "Kids, leave. Now," she said, her eyes not leaving the scarred giant. The children didn't need telling twice and rushed from their desks and out of the doorway. "Those two as well," she demanded, nodding at the two boys Eight-Gun was holding in his arms. The bounty hunter dropped them. One of the boys landed badly and whimpered, but the other fled immediately. For a moment Faith thought the injured boy was going to stay on the floor and she was going to have to yell at him, but he got up after a few seconds and limped after his classmates. "Much better," she muttered. "Just you and me now."

Faith winced as she heard booted footsteps behind her. Typical of her to go and speak too soon. "Well well well," said a voice. "If it isn't the Union Spy." Great. It was Snyder. Just as she'd gotten things under control he had to come and screw them up. "I told you women didn't get to carry guns in Fort Sunshine, so you'll just be dropping them two on the ground." Eight-Gun grinned at her. The expression only made him look uglier.

"Sheriff," Faith replied, her gaze still fixed on Eight-Gun, "My guns are trained on a ruthless bounty hunter who moments ago was holding every child in this school hostage. If I drop my guns, he will shoot me and then probably shoot you." The bounty hunter's grin widened and he nodded eagerly.

"I couldn't give a rat's turd if you were holding Satan himself at bay," the Sheriff hissed. "Just you drop them guns right now!" Shit! Why did everything have to be done the hard way round here? What she wouldn't give to run into a cooperative Sheriff every once in a while.

Faith took a deep breath and dropped her guns. Before they hit the ground she spun around and dived at the Sheriff where he was standing a few feet behind her. Her arm hooked around his waist and pulled him roughly to the side as Eight-Gun fired. A huge clod of earth flew up from about six feet behind where Snyder had been standing. As the two of them hit the ground there was an evil sounding noise of bones snapping. As she was in no pain herself it didn't take much to deduce that it was the Sheriff who had just fallen badly. Something else for him to blame her for.

She rolled off the whimpering Sheriff, at the same time drawing the flintlock that she'd not yet fired. She pointed it at the school entrance and waited for Eight-Gun to emerge.

"Dear oh dear," the Sheriff said through gritted teeth. "You just assaulted an officer of the law. Hope you weren't planning to bed that whore again tonight. We don't allow whores in the jail cells."

"I just saved your pipsqueak ass and you know it, you ungrateful vulture spoor. Not to mention the lives of all the school kids. Now shaddap before you get yourself killed."

She sat up, then rocked forward onto her feet and pushed up into a standing position, all the time keeping her gun trained on the door. Eight-Gun still hadn't shown himself. Was he planning something clever? Or was it just a simple case of waiting for her to come to him? She walked forward slowly, cautiously, and resolved to shoot him as soon as she saw him this time.

As she got closer to the school she saw him lying on the floor in a crumpled heap, both guns well out of reach. Her eyes narrowed and then she saw the tell-tale hole in a window on the far side of the classroom. She stepped into the room and saw the neat hole in the back of his head. Spike had finally been able to take a shot. Faith felt the adrenaline leave her body, and sank into one of the children's chairs. Tears of relief burned in her eyes. She just hoped Angel was okay.

* * *

Faith mopped Angel's brow as Tara bandaged his thigh. "That was careless of you," the witchfinder berated him.

"Hey," Angel protested, "I shot the bastard didn't I?" He winced and started to get up. Tara placed her hand firmly on his chest and pushed him back down onto the bed in his guestroom at the whorehouse.

"You weren't supposed to get caught up in a quick-draw shoot-out, you silly turd," Faith chided him. She knew she couldn't hide the concern in her voice, but she also knew that Angel would not respond well to outright sympathy. It wasn't his style.

"I knew he'd been injured by Spike shooting the gun out of his hand. I knew I'd be faster than him."

"He was still fast enough to shoot you in the leg. You're lucky he didn't hit bone. Just ask the Sheriff how lucky you are." Faith was genuinely angry with Angel, no matter how unreasonable it was of her. She was still more relieved than angry though.

"Yeah, I hear you went out of your way to make the Sheriff ungrateful for you saving his life."

Faith pulled a face. Now that they'd got the serious words out of the way it was good to return to the usual jibes. "I just pulled him to the ground," she protested. "I didn't know he was gonna find a way to twist his leg up behind him like that."

"You think Giles will convince him not to get you turned out of town?" Angel asked.

"G-G-Giles is a good man," Tara interrupted. "He kn-knows you saved all those children. It's not your fault there's a price on your head." She reached over and squeezed Faith's leg reassuringly. "You w-w-were trying to save innocents from a town that had turned mob." Yeah, tell her something she didn't already know. "Giles will put that ungrateful sh-sh-shit straight, you'll see."

"Sure hope so," Faith said. "Gonna be hard to stop whatever's going on here if I get thrown out."

"We think it's a Koatl'n rite," Tara said matter-of-factly. Faith's eyes widened and she turned to stare at the other girl.

"Koatl'n?" she asked, horrified. "But that's an Aztec ritual. No one knows what they involve, even the Aztecs forbid them. If you're right, then there's no way of knowing what it'll come to. I'll be fighting blind!" Faith fought down the sudden knot of panic in her chest. This was worse than being on Holy Ground. "Wait a minute. Knowledge of those rites is hard to come by. How do you know what's going on here fits the pattern?"

Tara smiled. "There's an Aztec priestess comes by here every few months, she sells us a lot of the rarer plants and herbals. She's a priestess to one of the less barbaric Aztec deities - not quite as aggressively secular. She told us about Koatl'n rites after she heard about some of the goings on. Everything that's happened here so far fits."

Faith nodded. "I think I need to have a long talk with you and your woman." Tara blushed. "If you know more than I do about the Koatl, I might well need your help stopping whoever's behind it."

Tara shivered. "Us? Fight the Koatl? We're not that powerful. Well, I'm n-n-not. W-W-Willow is. B-b-but not even she could take on the Koatl."

Faith's anxiety started to give way to impatience. "Lady, I'm not sure I could fight the Koatl either. Together, with Giles as well, we might stand a chance."

Tara nodded hesitantly. She was about to speak again when the door opened. Spike walked in, carrying the long rifle he had used to disarm Mr James and to kill Eight-Gun. "Sorry I'm a bit late for all the back-slapping," the blond man said with a wry smile. "Spotted something from the fort that I wanted to check out. Borrowed the good captain's horse and went for a little ride."

Faith shot him a sarcastic smile. "Were you planning to get to the point, ever?" Spike loved dragging a tale out when it involved him.

"You said it was five people went missing yesterday?" he asked. As Faith nodded he continued. "Hard to see from the Fort, it was only the vultures that gave it away for me." Faith swallowed, half-knowing the sort of thing that was coming next. "Five people been hanged from trees. Spread in a big circle around the Fort, each one a mile or so from the walls."

Faith grimaced and shut her eyes. "A giant pentagram drawn with five dead bodies," she whispered. "If this town wasn't cursed before, it sure is now." She bit her lip. "Tara," she said to the blonde girl, who had now finished dressing Angel's wound, "go get Buffy. She should hear about her girl from me." As Tara left the room Faith sighed and prepared herself for breaking the news to her fourth and newest friend.