Buffy very nearly screams.

She quells the instinctive urge to wrench herself out of Dracula's grasp, which turns out to be a very good thing; they're twenty feet above the pavement by the time her stunned brain registers what's happening. Then she panics, and digs her fingers into Dracula's ribs so hard it must hurt even his undead flesh, absolutely terrified that he's going to drop her. She's fallen from this height once before and it hadn't ended well.

Dracula tightens his hold on her, his arm like a steel band around her waist. Panic abating slightly, she opens her mouth to ask him just what he's playing at – but it turns out to be a colossally bad idea. She takes a breath to berate him and swallows a mouthful of freezing air the wrong way, and descends into a fit of coughing.

Eyes streaming, feeling like she's hacking up a lung, it's all Buffy can do to keep her balance when they land a few seconds later, right in the middle of an old oak tree. The tree's icy limbs are slippery and they creak and groan under the sudden weight of two bodies, but the oak is ancient and massive; it holds them, and they manage not to slide off.

"A little warning next time!" she admonishes quietly. Quietly, because it's getting late and she doesn't care to explain to whoever owns this tree what she's doing up it with a vampire at this late hour. Or any hour. "What's so special about a tree?"

"Through the window," Dracula replies, near-silent. Buffy's keen hearing picks it up easily and she follows his gaze to the window in question.

It's on the second floor of the building beside their tree, slightly lower than their branch. They have a good vantage point to peer inside. The room beyond is large and brightly lit. It's practically devoid of furniture with only a loveseat and a couple of folding chair clustered in one corner, and a few tables dotting the space. Mostly, the room is full of canvases. Some with half-finished paintings on them, some blank, others just the wooden frames waiting to be stretched and primed, they line the walls, leaning in stacks of three or four so only slivers of color and shapes are visible over the top of the ones in front.

A woman stands in the center of the room, half-obscured by the easel she's working at. The canvas is angled away from the window so Buffy can't see the painting. Whatever it's of, it's massive; nearly as tall as the artist herself.

The woman is pretty, with a round face and red-brown curls that gleam copper in the light. Her expression is one of intense concentration. Obsession, Buffy thinks as she watches her work. From this distance, it's difficult to make out the exact color of her eyes, but they dart back and forth across her canvas like lightning, quick and assured.

Buffy tilts her head back to catch Dracula's eye. "Please tell me we're spying on this poor woman for a reason," she implores.

Dracula is so pale and still above her, his face might as well be carved out of stone. For a long moment, Buffy thinks he isn't going to answer her. She nudges him with her boot. "Hey, you still with me?"

"Her name is Mina," Dracula says finally. "She was once my wife."

Buffy's mouth falls open in surprise. "Seriously?" She swivels her gaze back to the window. "Okay, wow, not what I was expecting. How does that work, exactly? You mean she was part of your harem, or whatever, back in magic land?"

Dracula makes a noise of derision. "There was no harem. There was only Wilhelmina."

"When you came here, why did she stay behind?" Buffy asks.

"There is always a price," Dracula utter softly, his accent thicker with emotion. "We argued. She believed me to have changed from the man she had married. Our dispute was full of rage and passion. We went our separate ways. Soon after, I found my way here, to this world. It was some time before I realized that I could not go back. Mina was lost to me forever." He tears his eyes away from the window to look down at Buffy with dark eyes. "Until now."

"The curse," Buffy says, understanding dawning on her. "That's your angle. If I break it…"

"Mina will remember herself," Dracula finishes. "She will remember who I am to her."

"What if she's still pissed at you?" Buffy challenges.

"A likely scenario," Dracula concedes. "Mina…she is like the sun. Bright and full of fire. It is still better to be hated by her than to be forgotten." He turns his gaze back to the window. "She does not deserve this fate."

Buffy looks back at Mina. Her lip is caught between her teeth as her brush flows steadily across the canvas in front of her.

"She looks happy," Buffy points out.

"She is a shadow!" Dracula snarls. "A marionette! Doomed to paint the same inane pictures over and over and over again…ach!" He closes his eyes, relenting slightly. "She is trapped here, and I do not know how to break this curse."

He's absolutely heartbroken, Buffy thinks, and she's only half-shocked by the notion that the infamous Count Dracula has a heart to be broken in the first place. The slayer handbook did not cover this, but really, what's new there?

She hesitates, fighting an internal battle. After a long moment, she rests a comforting hand on Dracula's shoulder as they continue to watch the oblivious Mina paint on.

The next day at work, Buffy drags.

Once again, she'd left Dracula's castle as the sun was rising, and after two nights of no sleep, her exhaustion has caught up to her. She drinks approximately an entire pot of coffee before bundling herself up like a mummy and stumbles back out into the cold. She considers calling in sick, but she doesn't want it to look like she's just doing it to avoid Graham.

Ugh, Graham. She'd almost forgotten about that lovely little slice of awkward.

She detours into Granny's to inhale a plate of waffles and ponder the situation. A part of her wants to shake Graham and scream 'What were you thinking?!' but by the time she finishes off her breakfast, she's resolved to take the higher ground. She isn't in a place to judge Graham's personal life choices, and she's not a prude, so who cares if he's sneaking around with Regina? It's not like Buffy has any right to police who he dates, or who Regina dates; even if the mayor is Henry's adoptive mom. It totally sucks that he lied about it, but Buffy's got bigger problems to deal with right now.

She repeats this mantra to herself as she enters the station. She's early again, but Graham's already in his office. He looks up when she enters, but she turns away pointedly and drops into her chair with extra emphasis, and he takes the hint.

Okay, so maybe it's the middle ground.

They manage to coexist in blatant avoidance for the next several hours. There's filing to be done, and then more coffee to drink (until Buffy finally cuts herself off on caffeine for the day), and then the phones pick up with a series of mundane complaints that don't actually require physical action, but successfully keep them both busy until about noon. So far, Graham has only exited his office once (ostensibly to use the restroom, but on the way back, Buffy sees him throw back a couple of ibuprofen from the first aid cabinet) and Buffy has kept her eyes glued to her computer screen. He catches her eye as he swallows the pills, but Buffy's busy uh-hmm-ing on the phone and he drops his gaze and gives up, returning to his office.

But not five minutes after she hangs up the phone, he re-emerges with an air of agitated determination.

"You're upset," Graham tells her, stopping directly in front of her desk. He's close enough that she has to crane her neck to look him in the face, so she rolls her chair back while she tries to come up with an appropriate reply.

"You've been avoiding me all morning," he continues. "Since you saw me leaving Regina's last night."

"Since you lied to me, you mean?" Buffy corrects. "If I was avoiding you, I wouldn't be here. I'm just not in the mood to talk to you right now."

"I want to explain," Graham persists.

"Really, really not interested. I don't care if you're dating Regina, Graham. I'm not even that mad at you for lying, I'm just annoyed that you made me an accomplice to your…your shenanigans!"

"Shenanigans?" Graham repeats, and wow, okay, as it turns out, Buffy might be a little more upset about the whole situation than she's admitting, because the faint smile that Graham is trying to suppress over her choice of vocabulary is irrationally making her want to hit him in the face.

She stands up hurriedly and grabs a stack of paperwork to occupy her hands. Now that they've broken the awkward silence thing, she can go file it in his office.

"I think you're more upset than you're letting on," Graham pushes, hitting the nail on the head. Buffy's fingers tighten reflexively, crumpling the edges of the folders. "Can we talk about it, please?"

"Graham," Buffy sighs, making an effort to relax her hands, "it's fine. We can just pretend last night never happened, okay? Let's just go back to being friends – co-workers – friendly co-workers – whatever."

"Friends. And I don't want to pretend – I don't want you to – "

"To what?"

"You don't know what it's like with her!" Graham bursts out. "I don't feel anything! Can you understand that?"

"Yes," Buffy says sincerely. "I totally understand unhealthy relationships. But the only person who can fix yours is you. Me lecturing you isn't going to help."

"I don't want you to look at me the way you are now," Graham admits, eyes downcast.

"Why do you care how I look at you?"

"Because…"

And yes. Afterwards, Buffy realizes that she should have seen it coming from a mile away, but in the moment? She really can't think about anything except how much she doesn't want to be having this conversation, so when Graham leans across the desk and cradles her face in his hands and kisses her, Buffy is completely taken aback.

After a stunned second, they pull back simultaneously.

"What the hell was that?" Buffy demands at the same time Graham says, "Did you see that?"

"See what?" she asks suspiciously, squinting at him. She doesn't think he's drunk, but he's staring past her into nothingness and his eyes do look a little glazed. She snaps her fingers. "Earth to Graham."

Graham shakes his head, jolting himself out of whatever had caught his attention. "I'm sorry, I…" he trails off helplessly. Buffy arches an eyebrow and waits for the rest of his sentence. "I just need to feel something," he says finally. He looks pained, and there's still something in his eyes that Buffy doesn't like the look of. He's clearly rattled, and not just because of the kiss.

A wave of exhaustion rolls over Buffy as she rubs a hand across the back of her neck and wonders what she's done to deserve the week she's been having.

"I'm going home," she announces finally. "We can talk tomorrow, okay? About…all of this." She waves a hand vaguely, meaning Regina, you lying to me, that kiss, this crazy cursed town we're supposed to be protecting.

"Buffy – "

"Tomorrow," Buffy repeats firmly. "I need sleep. I'm too tired to deal with this right now, but I promise we can talk about it tomorrow. I'm not going to start avoiding you, Graham, but I think we both could use a night to get our heads on straight. Okay?"

She doesn't really wait for an answer. She's got her parka on and half-way zipped by the time she's finished speaking, and finally he just nods, and she's out the door before he can get another word out.

The churning feeling in her gut feels a little like relief, and a lot like guilt.

She really does go home. She takes a 30-minute power nap, eats a sandwich, brushes her teeth, and feels somewhat human again. Picking up her coat from where she draped it across a chair-back, something in her pocket clinks against the wooden spindles and she remembers an idea she'd had the night before.

Checking the time, she thinks that school must still be in session.

"Pssst! Henry!"

Henry's head whips around. When he spots her, half-hidden behind a shelf of encyclopedias, his entire face lights up in a huge, megawatt grin. "Buffy!" he cries delightedly.

"Shhh!" Buffy hisses, and beckons him closer.

"What are you doing here?" Henry whispers, crouching down beside her. "Are you hiding?"

"What? No!" Buffy scoffs. "I'm the deputy sheriff – I'm checking on the safety of the school."

"Then why are we whispering?"

"Because we're in the library, duh." Buffy gestures around at all of the books. She's not a book snob, per say, but she can't keep some of her disdain out of her voice when she pronounces the word 'library.' The Storybrook Elementary and Middle School Library is lackluster, to say the least. "I wanted to talk to you," she continues before Henry can ask the dozen questions she can see bubbling to the surface. "It's Top Secret."

Henry's eyes widen. "Is this about Operation Cobra?" he asks breathily.

"Not exactly," Buffy hedges, "but there's definitely some crossover."

"Then what is it?" Henry demands impatiently, forgetting to lower his voice in his excitement.

"Shhhh," Buffy hushes him again. Henry looks chastised. "This is important, okay?"

He nods solemnly. "Okay, I'm listening."

"Okay." Buffy takes a breath. She's never really had to give anyone 'The Talk' before who hadn't already stumbled headfirst into the knowledge. Hopefully Henry's willingness to believe in curses and magical forests will make it a little easier. "This world is older than you know," she begins, reaching back into her memory for the rehearsed speech Giles liked to give the newbies. "Before there were humans, demons walked the earth – this earth," she clarifies. "Not fairytale land."

"The Enchanted Forest," Henry corrects her automatically, and then what she'd said sinks in. "But I thought this world doesn't have magic!"

"This town might be magic-free, no whip, but the rest of the world is full fat mojo," Buffy confirms. "But getting back to the vampires, demons, and forces of darkness – they're real. They're scary. They're very dangerous. I want you to be careful, okay?"

"You think there are vampires here? In Storybrook?"

"I know there are," Buffy says firmly. "At least one. I have a truce with him at the moment, but you still need to be careful. Here, I have something for you. For protection." She pulls a crucifix out of her pocket and holds it out to him.

Henry takes it, letting the chain slip through his fingers until it dangles off of them. He holds it up, studying the silver cross. "Do these really work?" His tone is skeptical, and Buffy tries not to roll her eyes. That's the part he finds far-fetched?

"It won't kill a vampire, but it might slow one down."

"I'm not Catholic," Henry tells her solemnly.

"Doesn't matter, neither am I – you can wear it under your shirt and no one will see it and ask questions, 'kay?"

Henry puts it over his head immediately.

"How do you know about all this?" he asks.

"It's a long story."

Henry gives her a look that says not good enough.

Buffy relents. "Before I came to Storybrooke, it was my job to fight them," she explains. It's bound to come up sooner or later. She might as well just come clean now. "I'm a Vampire Slayer."

"Woah!" Henry breathes. "That is so cool!"

"And secret. Very, very secret. It's like a whole secret identity thing. Okay? Don't tell anyone."

"I won't!" Henry says vehemently, shaking his head, and then another thought occurs to him. "Can you take me with you to hunt vampires?"

"Nope!" Buffy says, standing up hurriedly. "Not until you're like, fifteen, at least. And – " she continues loudly over his protests " – I have a truce, remember?"

Henry pouts, but nods.

"Two more things you need to know about vamps," Buffy tells him, eager to distract him from this latest loss. "Number one: never verbally invite anyone inside of your house. Vampires look like normal people most of the time, but they can't cross the threshold unless they're invited. Got it?"

Henry nods again. "What's number two?"

"Number two is, vampires can't go out in the sunlight. They'll fry."

"Everyone knows that," Henry says, deflating slightly.

Buffy is saved from having to defend herself by the bell that signals the end of the period. "I gotta go," she says quickly. "Don't tell anyone I was here. Top Secret, remember?"

"Got it," Henry says firmly.

Buffy grins at him, ruffles his hair, and stealthily exits the library.

She rounds the corner and nearly collides with someone going the opposite direction.

Buffy sidesteps just in the nick of time and throws out a hand to catch the other woman's elbow before she topples over. She manages to stay upright, but the movement knocks an armful of paintbrushes to the floor.

"Oh!" the woman cries out in surprise.

"Sorry!" Buffy apologizes quickly, and stoops to pick them up. "I wasn't looking…"

"…where I was going," the other woman finishes her own apology in tandem, seeming not to notice that Buffy has trailed off and is staring at her.

It's Wilhelmina, the painter. Mina, Dracula's long lost love.

"Hi!" she says sheepishly, still grappling with the fallen brushes with one hand as she sticks out her free one to shake. "Wilma Murray. The art teacher."

"Buffy Summers," Buffy says in polite bewilderment, and shakes her hand. What are the odds? she thinks, amazed. Then again, leprechauns and coincidences… "I'm Henry's – I mean, I'm the new – I'm new," she settles on finally, and winces at her own awkwardness.

Mina – Wilma - whatever her name is – laughs. "I know who you are," she assures Buffy as she shoves the reclaimed bushel of paint brushes into the large pocket on the front of her paint-splattered denim apron. "It's not very often we get new people in Storybrooke."

"So I've heard," Buffy agrees with a chuckle of her own.

"I'm sure you're so tired of hearing it by now, though," Wilma correctly guesses. "Sorry."

"It's just a little weird, you know?" Buffy says, as though she's just come to the realization. "It seems like no one can remember the last time someone new moved to town…or left. That's weird, don't you think?"

"I suppose," Wilma agrees slowly. "I've honestly never thought about it. Storybrooke is a small town." She shrugs. "I guess people like what they're comfortable with."

"I mean, I lived in a really small town back in California, but people came and went all the time," Buffy presses, eager suddenly to get someone to admit that something is wrong with the town.

"Oh, you're from California?" Wilma interjects. "I'd love to visit the West Coast! There's a fascinating art scene out there!"

"You should totally go," Buffy encourages her. "Teachers have the summer off, right? Take a road trip!"

"Maybe," Wilma says noncommittally.

Sensing the conversation slipping away, Buffy scrambles for something to say to keep Wilma's attention.

"My mom used to own an art gallery, actually," she tells her. "Are you a painter, sculptor…?"

Wilma visibly brightens. "Oh, that must have been amazing!" she says sincerely. "I paint, mostly."

"Abstracts? Still life?" Buffy wracks her brain, trying to come up with the right terms. "Nudes?"

Wilma laughs. "All of the above, at one time or another. Right now I'm going through a figurative phase, but there aren't a lot of people willing to model for me. Small town, right? Hey – " She pauses, a spark of excitement in her eye. "Do you think you might like to sit for a portrait sometime? It doesn't have to be nude!" she hurries to add when she sees Buffy's startled expression. "You can think about it, if you want."

"Um, okay," Buffy says, still surprised. "Yeah, I'll think about it."

"I can show you around my studio, let you see some of my work before you make up your mind?" Wilma offers.

It's the perfect in, all wrapped up in pretty paper with an elaborate bow on top. Buffy would be an idiot not to seize the chance to investigate further. Plus, Wilma's nice and Buffy doesn't have many friends here yet. And maybe one day, after she deals with this curse business, they can bond over the perils and pitfalls of dating vampires.

"How about Saturday?" Buffy suggests. "We could meet for coffee before?"

Wilma beams at her.

Graham doesn't show up for work the next morning.

She gives him an hour before she tries calling his cell phone. It goes straight to voicemail. She wants to believe that he's simply overslept, but as the minutes tick by, that scenario becomes less and less likely.

Is he avoiding her? She can almost believe that possibility (yesterday was Awkward with a capital 'A') but he had been the one who wanted to talk in the first place. Had he changed his mind? Maybe. Buffy chews anxiously on a hangnail while she considers it. In the end, she dismisses is. Graham's a decent guy, poor relationship choices aside. She's known enough not-so-decent guys to be able to tell the difference. If he was going to fake being sick to prolong their inevitably uncomfortable conversation, he would call.

Right?

She plays a round or twelve of darts to clear her thoughts and try to figure out what to do.

It's mid-afternoon when her phone finally rings, and she accidentally sinks her next dart into the board and the drywall beyond, halfway up the shaft. She leaves it there and digs her phone out from under the jumbled mess of papers on her desk. The caller ID reads 'MMB'.

She answers the call with as much cheerful energy as she can muster. "Hey, what's up?"

"Buffy? I'm worried about Graham," Mary Margaret begins without preamble.

"Yeah, me too," Buffy says, but she's surprised to hear that her roommate is on the same page. "Have you seen him? He didn't show up today."

"He was just here at the school," Mary Margaret explains. "He seems…weird."

Buffy frowns. "What did he want?"

"He kept asking me all of these questions, about how we – he and I – knew each other, and for how long…And he was burning up, Buffy. I think he has a fever, I told him to go home and rest but I don't know if he will. His behavior was very erratic. Did he say anything weird at work yesterday?"

Buffy considers, briefly, telling Mary Margaret about the surprise kiss, or about Graham's secret relationship with Regina, but she's not sure how to phrase it so it doesn't sound like there's something going on between her and Graham (which there isn't) and that's really not the point right now.

"We sort of argued," she admits instead.

"About what?!"

"Nothing, it was stupid. I…found out something personal about him, and he was embarrassed," Buffy explains, skirting the actual facts. "And I was really tired, so I kind of snapped at him. But we said we'd talk about it today. He seemed okay when I left."

"I don't know," Mary Margaret says, worry clear in her voice. "Maybe you should check on him?"

"What did you guys talk about, exactly?" Buffy asks.

"Just what I said – he asked me all of these questions, talking about past lives…I said he must have read Henry's book." She laughs a little on the other end of the line.

The book.

God, I'm such an idiot, Buffy thinks. Not once since her epiphany about the curse has she thought to take a closer look at Henry's book. Giles would be incredibly disappointed in her.

"I'll try his phone again," Buffy says into the receiver.

Mary Margaret lets out a sigh of relief in a giant woosh. "Okay, I'll let you go. Talk tonight?"

"Yeah, okay. And hey – don't think I didn't notice those flowers this morning!" Buffy teases, but when she hangs up, her face is serious. Her spidey sense is tingling, and she's willing to bet the entire shoe department at Nordstrom's that whatever is really going on with Graham is somehow tied to Henry's and Dracula's curse theory.

She goes to consult the resident expert.

As it turns out, Henry's assistance isn't needed for her immediate problem – before she reaches the door to the mayor's mansion, Graham walks through it. Buffy eyes him critically as he approaches. He's tense, and that wild look is back in his eyes.

"Howdy, partner," she says faux-nonchalantly. "Fancy meeting you here. Again."

"That's not why I was – " Graham stops himself and takes a breath. "I needed to talk to Henry about my heart. About everything that's going on, I mean."

"Yeah," Buffy agrees sagely, "ten-year-olds usually give the best romantic advice."

"Not that," Graham insists. "I mean my heart." He clutches at his chest as though to illustrate his point. "She has it. She must. That's why I can't feel anything." He's close to tears as he says this.

"Did Henry's book tell you that?" Buffy asks, a strange feeling passing over her. There's no need to ask who 'she' is.

"Yes, it – wait, you believe me?" Graham looks at her cautiously. "You believe in the curse?"

"Yeah, yeah, evil queen, enchanted forest, no magic," Buffy summarizes impatiently with a wave of her hand. "I'm just a little fuzzy on the details, which is what I was coming to talk to Henry about, but right now I am totally distracted by that wolf."

She points. Graham swings around wildly. Across the street, a wolf with bi-colored eyes raises its head to look at them before trotting off.

"It's the wolf from my dreams!" Graham tells her excitedly. "It's trying to help me find my heart."

"I told you I wasn't drinking when I flattened that sign," Buffy grouses, but he's already running down the street after the wolf, so she follows.

The wolf leads them to a cemetery.

"Surprise, surprise," Buffy mutters under her breath. Graham doesn't notice. He's staring at the symbol adorning the crypt they've been led to. Inside a circle is a pair of stylized antlers, like some sort of stone crown. "Graham?"

"My heart. It's in there," Graham confirms. He pulls a flashlight from his pocket and looks at her. "I have to look in there."

"Obviously," Buffy agrees. "Hold on – " She tries the door, finds it to be locked, and gives it a short, sharp push. It swings open without much protest, and she darts through ahead of him, on the alert for any lurking danger.

The tomb is empty.

"It's got to be here somewhere," Graham insists, scanning the walls. "There's got to be a hidden door. A lever. Something."

Buffy eyes the sarcophagus in the center of the crypt. "Do you think," she starts to say, but stops abruptly when a noise outside catches her attention. "Oh, crap," she says out loud, but it's too late.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Regina yells, staring at them through the open door.

"Nothing!" Buffy says hastily. "What are you doing?"

"Bringing flowers to my father's grave." Regina fixes her with an acidic glare, that only turns fouler when she sees Graham with her.

"Don't blame her," Graham says, pushing past Buffy. "It's my fault."

"Yes," Buffy agrees, trying to stealthily elbow him into silence. "The sheriff thought he heard something in here. We were investigating. Might have been an animal."

"Really?" Regina asks, looking at Graham with one eyebrow raised.

"Uh, yes. But it was…it was nothing."

Buffy tries not to groan. Graham is worse at this than she is.

"You don't look well, dear," Regina tells him, adopting a worried expression. "Let's take you home." She grabs his arm and starts to pull him away.

Graham yanks his arm away from her. "Regina, I…I don't want to go home. Not with you."

"Oh?" Regina says. "But you'll go with her."

"What?" Buffy squawks. "That's not – we're not – what?"

"It has nothing to do with her," Graham says, shaking his head. "You know, I've realized that I don't feel anything Regina. And I know now it's not me – it's you."

"So, you're leaving me for her?"

"I'm leaving you for me," Graham counters. He's surprisingly calm now.

"Graham, you're not thinking straight."

"Actually, for the first time, I am. I'd rather have nothing than settle for less. Nothing? Is better than what we have. I need to feel something, Regina, and the only way to do that is to give myself a chance."

"Graham – "

"I'm sorry. It's over."

Regina looks at Buffy. "I don't know what I ever did to you, Miss Summers, to deserve this. To have you keep coming after everything – "

"Oh my god, shut up," Buffy pleads. "This is not about me. This is about you, not letting go when someone clearly doesn't want anything to do with you anymore!"

Regina stares at her. "Excuse me?"

"You're poisonous, Regina," Buffy tells her point blank. "It's no wonder everyone runs away from you."

Regina lashes out. She has good aim and her anger lends her strength, but Buffy catches her fist easily.

"Not a good move," Buffy advises, still holding Regina's hand captive. She glances sideways at Graham. His face is pale beneath the scruff. Regina's breathing is harsh and angry in the hush of the cemetery. Buffy slowly uncurls her fingers and releases her. Regina falls back, clutching her hand. "Don't try that again," Buffy advises her, and turns on her heel to stalk off across the graveyard.

Graham catches up to her in a couple of long-legged strides. "Are you alright?" he asks lowly.

Buffy doesn't answer at first, but when they pass another crypt, she pulls him abruptly behind it, a finger to her lips. "Shhh," she whispers, and beckons him to follow her as she silently picks her way back through the cemetery towards the Mills crypt.

They tip-toe around the side, Buffy straining her ears for a sign of any activity within. Very cautiously, she leans in to peer through the door that Regina left slightly ajar.

Oh, I so totally called it about the sarcophagus, she thinks smugly, and straightens with a triumphant grin.

"Come on," she tells Graham, and pulls him in after her by the front of his leather jacket.

His feeble protests splutter out at the sight of the eerily-lit staircase leading downwards into the belly of the tomb where the sarcophagus had been resting. Buffy gestures to the stairs, and he nods. They move forward together and begin the descent.

It's not far down, and then there's a long hallway, with ornate patterning on the floor and empty sconce holders lining the walls. Graham moves like a shadow beside her, silent and ghostly. At the end of the hall, Regina's back is silhouetted within a curtained alcove, and she's removing a small chest from what looks like a wall of safety deposit boxes.

Despite their best efforts at stealth, Regina hears or senses them. She spins around suddenly, and Buffy is alarmed to discover that she is holding a heart in her gloved hand. It's glowing a bright, bloody red. It looks like it's made of crystal or stone, but Buffy knows, just by looking at it, that somehow, in a magical world kind of way, that it's the real deal. That's Graham's heart in Regina's hand. That's Graham's heart.

Beside her, he makes a soft sound like a whimper. Regina's eyes are still wide with surprise, but she recovers quickly.

"You've made a terrible mistake, Miss Summers," she tells Buffy grimly. "You should never have come to Storybrooke." She lifts the heart high, turning it to study the effect of the light.

"Give it back, Regina," Buffy says coldly.

"This?" Regina asks, pausing for affect. "This heart belongs to me."

"It belongs to Graham."

Regina gives the heart a squeeze, and Graham doubles over, clutching is chest with a groan.

"I think it's mine," Regina muses, watching him gasp for breath as her fingers dig into the organ. "Mine to keep…and mine to di – "

She doesn't finish the words dispose of, because at that exact second, Buffy punches her square in the face and she goes down like a sack of potatoes, out cold. The crystalline heart tumbles from her grasp and lands at Buffy's feet, unharmed.

Buffy looks up at Graham, who's staring back at her with wide eyes.

"Oops?"