A black SUV backed up into the driveway at the end of a quiet, suburban street. At the top sat a small, detached house, and in front of that a sizeable garden that contained neatly mown grass and little else. A middle-aged man and woman stepped out of the front seats, the former then opening the back door, unbuckling the seat belt on the booster seat, and lifting out a young boy.

"Are you going to go and help mommy buy some stamps at the post office?" he asked.

"Yeah!" the child replied, nodding vigorously.

"That's my boy." The man gently lowered the child to the floor and gave his wife a quick kiss on the cheek. She took the child's hand in her own, but didn't even make it as far as the pavement before the boy started to pull away.

"Daddy, wait!" the boy shouted excitedly. He pulled a plastic, cheap-looking locket from his trouser pocket and held it out in the palm of his small hand. "Santa said it will keep you safe from bad things."

The man pursed his lips dramatically as he knelt down to take it. Despite its simplicity he looked it over with a sincere interest. "I guess we'll have to write him another letter to thank him, won't we?"

The boy nodded his agreement before happily bounding back toward his mother, and the two of them began to make their way in the direction of the local shops. The man stood at the bottom of the driveway, waving at the other two until they were out of sight.

Next he hurried to the back of the car, popping the boot open and taking out the two shopping bags filled with gifts. The post office was only a five minute walk away and he knew he needed to get the Christmas presents hidden away from prying eyes quickly.

After moving through the front door and carrying on straight up the stairs, he came to a sudden halt on the top landing. He stood and listened, slowly turning his head across the hall. He couldn't make out a noise coming from any of the rooms, but he was sure he'd heard something. After placing the locket down on the small corner table and taking one last look across the doors to each room, he moved into the master bedroom. The sliding door covering one half of the large wardrobe gave a small squeak as he pulled it open, and he had to hold back the large number of clothes that hung from the railings while he stashed the two bags safely out of sight in the back corner.

Even though the door squeaked once more as it slid shut, the man thought he'd heard that noise again – a quiet hissing sound that had stopped just as soon as it started. He moved back into the hallway and scanned over the doors to the guest bedroom, his son's room and the bathroom, his eyes holding on the latter. The door stood slightly ajar, and he questioned whether it had been that way a moment ago. He walked softly as he took his time to approach it, but he could hear nothing apart from his own breathing, no matter how intently he listened. Remaining cautious, he kept as much distance from the door as possible whilst letting the tip of his shoe push it the rest of the way open.

His eyes instantly set upon the slightly ajar window, and he laughed out loud at himself when he realized the sound must have been the wind whistling through the small opening. Already feeling much more relaxed, as well as a little foolish, he crossed the bathroom at his more usual pace and closed the window fully.

Turning to leave, he found himself freezing again, though that time with good reason. The bathroom door had silently pushed closed, and the reason slithered across the floor in front of it. Its body stretched across the door, carrying on around the corner of the room to lead straight to the head that watched him with interest. Its small, red tongue darted out of its mouth and it hissed loudly, and at once the man knew exactly what he had heard earlier.

His eyes widened and his heartbeat hit full speed within seconds. The snake continued to slither around the edge of the room, making its way toward him, and he kept his eyes on it as he very slowly sidestepped toward the door. The snake moved slowly, but so did the man, desperate not to startle it. He didn't even dare lift his feet, instead letting them slide cautiously along the floor much like the snake.

He'd just reached the halfway point to safety when the snake lashed forward, fangs bared, and he instinctively jumped away. The back of his legs connected with the edge of the bathtub and suddenly he was falling, his hands flailing through the air as they tried in vain to find something to keep him upright.

The back of his head bashed against the tiled wall, the impact enough to dizzy his senses, and he let out a small moan of pain. His hands moved down as he tried to push himself back up, and his breath caught in his throat as he realized that the base of the bath wasn't as hard, flat or still as it should have been. Instead the rough, bumpy surface writhed beneath him, and he swallowed hard, having to gather all his courage before he could force himself to look down.

A series of loud screams erupted from his throat, each one directly following a deep bite from one of the array of snakes pooled beneath him. He tried to stand, but the long, scaly reptiles had already wrapped themselves around his arms and legs, their combined weight fastening him in place. He could do nothing but panic and whimper as a thick, dark-green snake slithered up his arm, hissing softly into his ear as it coiled around his neck. As the bites continued to litter his body he couldn't even scream for help, the hold that continued to squeeze tighter around his neck forcing him to remain silent.

----------

"Take a look at this!"

Buffy felt more than a little preoccupied as she sat at an empty table in The Magic Box – the name Giles had convinced himself would be a good fit for his new business venture. In absolutely no mood to try and point out ingredients she'd never heard of to demanding customers, she had positioned herself as far into the back corner of the shop as physically possible.

The first hour of her Saturday morning had been spent in her dorm room, but she had quickly become too agitated with the small talk offered up by her room mate. She needed to think, and she couldn't do that with the girl constantly chattering into her ear. Her home was also currently off limits, for obvious reasons, and she had little desire to talk to anyone, leaving her options pretty much restricted to one.

She had suspected Giles would be too busy dealing with customers to pay her much attention after the initial greeting, but as he placed a newspaper firmly down in front of her she realized that might not be the case after all. As much as she knew she needed to do concentrate on the previous night, she couldn't help but feel that a temporary distraction from her own thoughts wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing. It's not like she'd been getting far anyway; the endless cycle of short questions – best summed up as, what, why, and how – had been taking up most of her brain's processing power, leaving little left over to come up with any concrete answers.

She read the front page headline before shooting Giles a questioning look. "If you're worried I have a secret urge to start a snake collection, don't be. Like I've been telling my mom for the past decade, it's puppy or bust."

"What? No. Read it." Giles pointed her at the second column of the article, but couldn't contain himself for long enough to allow Buffy time to even get through the first sentence. "A man was found dead in his bathtub, his entire body swollen up and bleeding from snake bites."

"Yikes." Buffy released a shudder, and she would have wrapped her arms around herself had they not already been there to help keep her knees pulled up close to her chest. If she had tucked her head down as well then she suspected even Giles wouldn't have noticed her curled up in the corner. "I'm guessing there's more to this than forgetting to close a cage?"

"That's just it – the family don't own so much as a single pet, and none of the neighbours have snakes either."

"So where did they come from?"

"Exactly!" His loud outburst turned the heads of several of the nearby customers. Giles offered them a bright smile, waiting for them to turn away before leaning over toward Buffy, his voice becoming an energetic whisper. "The police found no sign that there had been snakes inside the house at any time whatsoever, yet the autopsy revealed poisons from an incredible variety of different species. The majority of which were from snakes that aren't even indigenous to this country."

"So we're thinking supernatural?" Being far from a huge fan of snakes, she already found herself disliking the sound of the latest Sunnydale shenanigans.

"It looks that way. But there's more."

Buffy frowned. "There is?" she asked weakly. She felt pretty certain that an army of magical snakes should have been enough of a worry for one week, and it wasn't as if she didn't already have her own issues to deal with. Or technically just the one, she mentally corrected herself, but it wasn't exactly a small one. In fact it was approximately five and a half feet worth of a – most likely – seriously pissed off Slayer.

"This makes the third death in as many days. I didn't say anything earlier because I wasn't sure if there was any connection, but now I am certain there is something afoot."

"More snakes?"

"No. The first death was a woman found lying on her bedroom floor, every bone in her body broken as if she'd fallen from the top of a skyscraper. And the other..." Giles frowned, pausing for a moment before continuing. "I suppose the other one died of old age."

Buffy rose a sceptical eyebrow. "OK, I have to say, that last one? Not really making me go 'ooh' with the creep factor."

"He was thirty one years old. Yet every organ in his body turned from being perfectly healthy to – to useless in less than a day."

"Oh." She realized the link between the three deaths might be tenuous, but even for the Hellmouth all three happenings in the same week seemed just a little too coincidental. "OK, well I'll look into it. Maybe I should start with the families? See if they can shed some light on anything? You know, any known enemies, that sort of thing."

"Yes, that's probably a good idea. We should look into this as a priority, just as soon as Faith gets here."

"No!" She received a wide-eyed look from Giles. "I mean we don't need to bother her. And – and who knows when she'll show up. She could be hours. Days even."

Giles looked at his watch. "Nonsense. I'm sure she'll be here shortly."

"Right, but – but there's no time to waste." Buffy uncurled and slid to her feet, already eagerly backing her way toward the exit as she continued. "I'll just go and get started. I mean the sooner we get to the bottom of this the better, right? If someone is dying every day then we have to act now."

Giles seemed to consider her words seriously for a moment before giving her a short nod. "Yes, I suppose you're right, but promise me you'll come back as soon as you find anything?"

"You bet."

The shop bell rung out, and Buffy had to slam her mouth shut before she let out a shriek. She awkwardly spun around with little grace, her body trailing some way behind her neck, and she was only able to relax once she'd set her eyes on the newcomer. "Willow. Oh thank God." Her heart was beating about three times as fast as it should have been, and it took her a while to notice Willow's curious look. "I mean: thank God, you're just in time."

Willow's confusion held in place. "Just in time for what?"

"New case, hot off the press. What do you say, a little injection of danger to brighten up the weekend?"

Willow look over Buffy's shoulders, first on one side and then the other. "Where's Faith?"

"How should I know?" Buffy replied immediately. It came out more aggressive than she'd intended, and Willow seemed a little taken aback.

"Sorry, I didn't mean anything by it. It's just that, well, the two of you have been spending an awful lot of time together lately – not that I mind." A small smile crept its way over Willow's face. "I was even thinking of getting you little matching t-shirts. Maybe with a five on each, cause, you know, when you're next to each other there'll be the one five, by the other five, and-"

"Look, are you in or not?" Buffy asked curtly, cutting off Willow before her babbling could waste precious escape time. Giles had made her all too aware that Faith really could show up at any moment, and she did not have any strong desire to see her. Well perhaps that wasn't entirely true, but she needed time to figure things out first. Whatever she was going to say to Faith, she needed to actually be able to form words in front of her. Preferably even entire sentences.

"Of course, Buffy." Willow's eyes moved to Giles, and Buffy caught sight of the questioning looks they shared but said nothing of it.

"Then can we please just go?" Buffy didn't wait for Willow to reply or lead the way, instead scooting around her and pushing out through the shop door.

----------

Faith sat alone at the kitchen table, any signs of life minimal. Despite the fact it was closer to lunch than breakfast, she had barely managed to drag herself out of bed only twenty minutes earlier, and doing so seemed to have used up what little energy she had recovered from her sleep all in one go. Her face rested limp against her cradling hands, propped up by the elbows placed either side of a cereal bowl. Inside, two largely untouched Weetabix were slowly dissolving away into the milk, leaving behind nothing more than a soggy mush. Her stomach refused to let her eat anything, and the one bite she had attempted to take had left her gagging the second the spoon brushed against her tongue.

She had no idea what she was supposed to do. At first she'd simply lay awake in bed, hoping that sooner or later the doorbell would ring and she'd hear Buffy's gentle voice float up the stairs. She'd hardly expected Buffy to come offering any grand declaration of feelings toward her, but she'd hoped the girl would be at least willing to pretend than nothing had happened. As time ticked on and she had still found herself alone, she had become increasingly convinced that nothing of the sort would happen. It was difficult not to come to the conclusion that Buffy would sooner stay away from her own home than risk having to talk to her, especially when the evidence was practically slapping her in the face.

That realization had left every part of her feeling numb, but in some small way she preferred that to the alternative. She hated that she'd been so weak the previous night. Weak enough to give into her desire, and then weak enough to completely break down. Even when things had been bad in the past she hadn't felt so helpless. She'd still had the strength that came with being the Slayer, along with some slither of control, however meager, and she hadn't thought that anything could take that last bit of her away. But Buffy had managed it with ease, and Faith was left trying to run on empty.

"So how does it feel to finally reach eighteen?"

Faith hadn't noticed Joyce's entrance, but then again she probably wouldn't have noticed somebody pulling her seat right out from under her. She didn't flinch though, instead remaining frozen in place. "Good," she mumbled into her hands, her lips barely moving enough to form the word.

"Can I have that once more with even less enthusiasm?" Faith lifted her head to look at Joyce blankly. "What's wrong?" Joyce asked, frowning. "Didn't you have a good time last night with your friends?" Faith continued to stare in silence, and Joyce clarified, "At the Bronze? Buffy mentioned they were throwing you a party."

If Faith hadn't been late, if she hadn't been watching some stupid TV show, she'd have been at that party. She wouldn't have been alone with Buffy, she wouldn't have kissed her, and everything would still have been OK. "I did something stupid," Faith quietly admitted.

"Bad stupid or just the regular kind?"

Faith was fairly certain her stupidity deserved a scale of its very own. She might not have deserved much in life, but she had at least earned that. "Depends who you ask."

"And if I ask you?"

Faith's shoulders felt far too heavy to shrug. "I thought... I thought something was there when it wasn't," she offered vaguely; she could hardly tell Joyce she'd put the moves on her daughter.

"Aah. I think I know what this is about." Faith sat up straight, the only energetic motion she'd managed all morning driven by the sudden worry that she might have given too much away. "A boy?" Joyce asked, sounding like she'd already decided on the answer.

"Right. Yeah," Faith said, releasing her held breath.

"You asked him out and he said no?"

"Something like that."

Joyce offered her a small smile and moved around the table to sit beside her. Her hand stroked small circles on Faith's back. "Well if you ask me that's his loss. And just because you're eighteen now it doesn't mean you're running out of time. There'll be plenty of other opportunities out there; just you wait and see."

"Not like this one." Faith knew she could flaunt her stuff and have her pick of just about anyone, but she didn't want other people. She didn't want other opportunities. She needed Buffy.

But she would never have her, and that small, simple fact felt like a scalding hot skewer had been driven through her chest. Tears were running down her face again, and she didn't struggle as she was pulled into a hug, arms wrapping tightly around her. She closed her eyes, weeping quietly in to the shoulder of Joyce's sweater.

She didn't care that, even having just turned eighteen, she was being rocked back and forth as reassuring words were whispered into her ear. She felt so lost. Scared. Everything around her was sinking, and it felt like she needed to cling to every small comfort she could get just to stay afloat.

----------

Three interviews, of sorts, had lead Buffy and Willow to the Sunnydale mall – along with gaining them a large helping of suspicion from the husband of the first victim. Buffy could understand that poking about over dead people might be seen as a little strange by some – OK, by everyone that wasn't her – but at least it looked to have paid off. None of the victims had any resentful associates to speak of, but they did all have one thing in common. The day each of them had died they'd been to the Sunnydale mall with their children. And to visit Santa's Grotto, no less.

"It really does just look like a piece of cheap junk," Willow said, looking over the small object with disgust.

Buffy had persuaded one of the children to fetch the plastic locket for her once the boy had become distraught shortly after telling her about Santa's promise of safety for the owner.

Willow tutted disapprovingly. "Who would be cheap enough to put a curse on this thing? I mean I'm not saying everyone needs to use the Hope Diamond, but come on, they couldn't even stretch to fool's gold?"

It was obvious they had reached the mall even before it came into view. It was one of the Sunnydale hotspots on any given weekend, but with Christmas fast approaching Buffy was pretty sure that the entirety of the population were out in shopping force. Her and Willow were still a hundred feet from the entrance and already they found themselves having to weave a path through the rabble.

"Hello? Am I talking to myself here?" Willow asked, raising her voice.

Buffy looked back over her shoulder. "Sorry. You said something about... diamonds?"

"Guess so," Willow mumbled to herself. "Buffy, is everything OK? You seem a little off."

"I'm fine."

"Well that was entirely convincing. Also, I can't help but notice that every time I say Faith's name you get grouchy."

Buffy hadn't overlooked the fact that Willow had brought up Faith on several occasions since they had left the Magic Box. "Look, Willow, can we just concentrate on the thing currently murdering children's parents right before Christmas if that's OK with you?"

"See. Grouchy." Willow's lips flattened innocently when Buffy shot her an irritated glare.

Buffy sighed and turned away, striding on toward the mall entrance, and Willow had to hurry to keep up with the increased pace.

"Is this about what happened on her birthday?" Willow called forward.

"What?" Buffy blurted out. She stopped instantly and turned, her eyes already wide in horror.

Willow frowned. "The no-show at the Bronze?"

"Oh." Buffy felt every muscle unclench. Get a grip, she told herself; she had no reason to believe Faith would have told anyone. "Right, that. Yes. No."

"Which?"

"What?"

Willow shook her head. "You're not making a whole lot of sense."

Buffy's hands ran through her hair, cupped around the back of her neck, and then fell helplessly to her sides again, all part of one slow, drawn out motion as she tried to wrap her head around the problem. Keeping everything to herself was starting to take its toll, and her stress levels seemed stuck on a constant elevation. She opened her mouth ready to test the waters but then had to step back out the way as a group of teenagers pushed between them. Once they were gone she found Willow still waiting expectantly, but her slight twinge of bravery had already passed. "Let's get to Lapland."

----------

While Willow mulled around outside the tent enveloping Santa's grotto, she spotted a security guard heading toward the tent entrance. She glanced worriedly at where Buffy had already vanished inside – after cutting in at the front of the queue – and then quickly moved in to intercept. "Excuse me," she called out as she ran over to him.

The guard stopped to face her, and Willow smiled nervously at him. "Is something wrong ma'am? Can I help you?"

"Hi. I, emm, yes, I just, err, I-I have a few questions."

There were several moments of awkward silence whilst each of them waited for the other to speak. "OK, sure," the guard said finally. "About what?"

"Err... about... umm..." Her mind blanked, and she was quickly becoming too flustered to think straight. Her eyes darted around, but other than the tent and the long queue formed around it there was little around to give her inspiration. "Santa's grotto. Is it... safe?"

"Safe?"

"Right, safe," she said more firmly, her confidence beginning to return as she latched on to a subject. "I don't want to bring my chil-sister here if it's not. I mean does anybody even vet the Santa? What if he's no good? What if – if he's so bad that he makes children realize Santa doesn't exist? Huh? Do you... provide compensation for that sort of thing?"

Despite her bumbling, the guard seemed to take her question seriously. "Well the Santa's are always brought in through registered agencies, if that makes you feel any better. Lately they've been from that new place over by the industrial estate just out of town. Well, apart from today – nobody turned up so one of the middle management is filling in." The security guard smirked and nodded happily to himself. "You should have seen his face when he got the news. Not happy to be spending his entire day listening to kids, I'll tell you that much. Serves him right though – the pompous jerk won't even let me finish early on Christmas Eve."

"Well that's good – the proper agencies thing that is, not the... But what about the tent?"

"The tent?"

"Is it washed regularly?"

The guard gave her a sceptical look, but Willow interrupted before he could speak.

"Hang on a minute, so are you saying the Santa in there now isn't the same one as yesterday?"

"That's right."

"Or the two days before that?"

"Like I said, the guy's just filling in for today."

"Oh." Willow's eyes wandered over to the tent. "Uh-oh." She could tell that Buffy wasn't in the right frame of mind to be all that cautious about her approach. She began to step away as her words came out more rushed. "Well thanks for the help, but I should really be-"

She stopped mid-sentence as the near side of the tent bulge outward, and a second later the material lifted out as a large ball of red and white flew from inside. Santa hit the floor back-first and rolled over two and a half times before coming to a stop face down. His head lifted up slightly, he let out a small groan, and then he collapsed straight back down to the floor.

Buffy appeared shortly after, ducking her way out of the tent, and Willow immediately waved both hands up in the air, hoping to catch Buffy's attention before she could do any more damage. Once she had it, Willow shook her head wildly, causing Buffy to stop and her eyebrows to peak questioningly. She didn't know the exact words Buffy mouthed at her, but the pointed finger toward the downed Santa gave Willow the general gist, and once more she shook her head, offering Buffy a glum smile to go along with it.

Buffy's eyes widened in horror, and her mouth opened in a small 'oh' as she looked along the queue of families. Several of the adults in the queue looked just as mortified as Buffy, while others were definitely edging more toward irate. A small girl suddenly started sobbing, and once she had it didn't take long before the rest of the children joined in. The festive lights that hung down from around the perimeter twinkled brightly in the background as the chorus of cries easily engulfed the large area of the mall, drowning out the faint Christmas music that came from within the tent.