"I don't know the face," Drusilla mused, with only a cursory glance at her tablet and Wesley's image. "But he knows me."

She had sat down on the platform and remained there with her knees to her chest, perfectly still. Waiting for something. Or someone. She wasn't sure. The pixies didn't want to tell her what was going to happen next. She didn't much like surprises, unless they were pretty presents or hearts in boxes.

"How does he know me, hmmm?"