The scene wavered in front of them, clouding over and dispersing past them in a yellow mist reminiscent of stale cigarette smoke.

"Now what?" Ethan asked, some of the smart-assedness gone from his tone. As the fire was out, he didn't think Garoth would waste much time in possessing someone and making his way to the salad bar. He didn't mind letting other people's skins hit the fire, but his own skin was a little more valuable to him.

"You read the book," Giles said, the look on his face causing Ethan a moment of genuine panic.

"I didn't," Ethan said.

"You did, you bloody bastard. What did it say?"

"I don't remember."

"Think!"

"I don't-"

Ethan went sprawling from the impact of Giles' fist.

"Rupert, for God's sake, I can't remember. I was piss drunk," Ethan said from the floor.

"You can either tell me or I can open up your skull and dig it out myself," Giles said, picking Ethan up only to wing him back down. Then he noticed Joćo and Grilliot staring at him.

"I can believe it," Joćo said in a whisper.

"You can believe him?" Giles gestured at Ethan. "No, you can't. Don't ever believe him."

"No," she murmured. "I can believe that you and that one they called Ripper are the same person. What happened to those other people?"

Stunned by her comment, Giles could only say, "They died, however-"

"Did you kill them?" Joćo asked.

There was a long moment.

"One of them," Ethan said at last, as he wiped blood off his mouth. "Our mate, Randall. Eyghon took him over and weird stuff began happening around us. The spell to put the demon back didn't work, and Rupert panicked and sliced Randall up into lots of little tiny bits." He looked up at Joćo and Grilliot. "Remember that if Garoth should come by."

"We both panicked," Giles said, in a low, stricken voice.

"Yeah, but you're the one who did the chopping," Ethan said.

The scene was beginning to clear. They were on the main floor of a house, with stairs at the side that lead up into the dark, and a doorway underneath it that opened to an unlit room.

The furnishings were rather garish, opulent as though a Sheik's palace had exploded. Someone showing off their money had decorated the place. Someone who was colour-blind.

And someone whose parties perhaps you wouldn't want to attend. Several of the fringed lampshades had peculiar red stains, as though they'd fallen into something at some point. The leather couch had a largish crimson blotch on the seat, and a velvet covered chair was burned up the one side.

Ethan stood, looking around while keeping one eye on Giles.

"What is this now?" Grilliot queried.

"Our house," Ethan said. "Rupert's and mine, back when we knew how to live. Before we got too deep in with the demons."

"The two of you were together?" Grilliot eyed the two men suspiciously.

"If you mean were we fucking each other up one side and down the other, then the answer is yes," Ethan said.

"Just shut up, Ethan" Giles said, a little too quietly. Ethan edged around the room until Joćo and Grilliot were between him and Giles.

Joćo and Grilliot were also moving away from Giles, in small and what they hoped were inconspicuous steps, and ended up at the stairway by Ethan. Giles eyed the arrangement, and said, "I really wouldn't give him the benefit of the doubt. He'd leave you to Garoth without a second thought."

Joćo and Grilliot exchanged a look, but didn't move away from Ethan. Obviously, they'd decided they were safer by him, and Giles bit down another urge to pummel his former 'roommate'.

"This was a nice place," Ethan said conversationally to Joćo and Grilliot. "And a posh neighbourhood. Hampton, just off Southway. Upper class all the way."

"What happened to your lamps?" Grilliot eyed the stained shades.

"We had a few parties," Ethan shrugged. "Things happen."

Giles sat down in the burnt chair. His anger at Ethan was being overlaid by worry - Joyce and Buffy were heaven knew where, and in danger. Garoth might not be far behind them. In fact, he expected the demon to appear at any moment. The best course of action, he decided, would be to press on, and soon. It wouldn't be easy with Joćo and Grilliot so wary of him.

"We need to find the Druid," he said, "and for that, we need to come out of Ethan's and my memories. You've had contact with him," he said to Joćo and Grilliot. "Perhaps if you focus your thoughts on when you last saw him….."

"But that was back in the caves, when the fire was still lit," Joćo said.

"Which shouldn't be a problem," Giles said and indicated the living room they were in. "If we're able to go into my past, we should certainly be able to go into yours."

Joćo and Grilliot must have seen the logic in the suggestion, despite their apprehension over the source of it. However, they glanced at Ethan for confirmation.

"I say give it a try," Ethan said. "We don't know how long we can remain here before Garoth shows up."

Giles' hands tightened on the armrests. Damn the wanker. How could people be so easily fooled by him?

However he waited, seated, until Joćo and Grilliot looked to be deep in concentration, before getting up.

And, in a split second, he cleared the distance between the chair and the staircase. Not expecting Giles to come flying at him, Ethan had no time to react. Before Joćo and Grilliot could do anything, Giles had dragged Ethan up the stairs and into their former bedroom.

"Tell me what you read in that book or I'm going to crush your windpipe," Giles said, in a whisper intense enough to rock the figurative floors.

"Rupert, this isn't very polite," Ethan gasped, trying to disengage Giles' fingers from around his throat. His attempt was quite unsuccessful.

"Fine, then we'll wait for Garoth and I'll toss you to him myself."

"If I could remember, don't you think I'd tell you?"

"No," Giles said. "You always need to be at the point of death before you'll offer anything my way."

"Not always," Ethan managed, with a nod at the bed.

Incredulously, Giles eyed him. "Good God, man! There is something wrong with you."

Ethan stopped struggling. "Rupert, have you ever considered that, perhaps, the 'something wrong' is at your end? You've certainly had a worse time of it, in life, than I have. People die around you all the time, and the ones who don't die seem to get hurt a lot. Did you ever wonder why?"

When Giles didn't say anything, Ethan continued, "I admit to what I've done to you, but I've done it out of fear. Fear of you. You're the frightening one, Rupert. And I'm not the only one who says this."

These words were hitting home. Ethan could tell in the slight, bare loosening of Giles' grip.

"We were good here, Rupert, for a little while," Ethan said. "We made love for hours, and we didn't always use magick to make it happen. We had something between us, you and I. We had something that I don't think you've ever quite had with anyone else."

One more word, Giles thought, and he's going out the window. Just one more.

Mercifully, though, that's when Ethan finally did shut up. Not that Giles was strictly sure he could have put the man through the pane. While he was, on the surface, still furious, underneath Ethan's words were landing uncomfortably.

The silence stretched out. Whatever Joćo and Grilliot were up to down below, they were being quiet about it. They weren't coming up the stairs.

Perhaps, Giles thought, they were afraid to. Afraid of him.

"If I could, I'd tell you. I do want to get home," Ethan said tentatively.

"I have no reason to believe you," Giles said.

"No, I suppose you don't." Ethan tried to swallow, and found Giles' grasp was loose enough to allow it. "Well, my friend," he said, "Now what?"