Brilliant sunlight streamed through Buffy’s window as she slowly woke. To the pleasant chirping of birds, she turned her head and stretched, opening her eyes.
A brown parchment envelope lay on her pillow. She sat up as she opened it, unfolding a thick piece of matching stationery.
It was a charcoal sketch of her, her eyes closed in peaceful, unsuspecting slumber.
Left on my pillow. For me to find.
For me to know.
* * *
Dressed in an animal print velour, a small white backpack slung over her shoulders, Buffy burst into the school library. Giles was stamping books, of all things, and Cordelia, fashionable in a blue cham-bray shirt and a gray skirt, was chatting with Xander, who was perched on the back of one of the wooden chairs.
Buffy said tersely, “He was in my room.”
Giles looked up from his task and asked politely, “Who?”
She stomped over to the study table. “Angel. He was in my room last night.”
Cordelia and Xander looked shocked. His rubber stamp in his hand, Giles moved from behind the circulation desk through his office, to join Buffy at the table.
“Are you sure?” he said, clearly astonished.
“Positive,” she assured him. “When I woke up, I found a picture he’d left me on my pillow.”
Xander piped up. “A visit from the pointed-tooth fairy.”
Cordelia frowned. “Wait. I thought vampires couldn’t come in unless you invited them in.”
Giles turned to her. “Yes, but if you invite them in once, thereafter, they are always welcome.”
“You know, I think there may be a valuable lesson for you gals here about inviting strange men into your bedrooms.” Xander wasn’t joking.
“Oh, God! I invited him in my car once,” Cordelia realized. “That means he could come back into my car whenever he wants!”
Xander wore a regretful expression. “Yep. You’re doomed to having to give him and his vamp pals a lift whenever they feel like it. And those guys never chip in for gas.”
“Giles, there has to be some sort of spell to reverse the invitation, right?” Buffy insisted. She was wigged and she didn’t care who knew it. “Like a barrier—‘no shoes, no pulse, no service’ kind of thing?”
“Yeah, that works for a car, too?” Cordelia chimed in.
Giles was already in motion. “Yes. Well, I could check my—”
Xander stood as two underclassmen types wandered into the library. “Hel-lo,” he said gruffly. “Excuse me, but have you ever heard of knocking?”
One was a boy, the other a redheaded girl. The boy said, a little defensively, “We’re supposed to get some books. On Stalin.”
Xander pointed an accusing finger at them. “Does this look like a Barnes and Noble?”
“This is the school library, Xander,” Giles reproved quietly.
“Since when?” Xander asked, as if this was news to him.
Giles took over. “Yes. Third row, historical biographies.”
“Thanks,” the boy said.
He and the girl student walked past the silent group and went up the stairs to the second level.
Xander gestured for the group to ogay into the allwaybay. Together they tiptoed out, just as the boy student emerged from the stacks and said, “Uh, did you say that was . . . Hello?”
They walked down the corridor and out into the sunshine. Giles resumed. “So, Angel has decided to step up his harassment of you.”
“By sneaking into her room and leaving stuff at night?” Cordelia said bluntly. “Why doesn’t he just slit her throat or strangle her in her sleep or cut her heart out?” At a disbelieving, ironic grin from Xander, she held out her arms and said, “What? I’m trying to help.”
“Yes.” Giles spoke directly to Buffy. “It’s classic battle strategy, to throw one’s opponent off his game. He’s trying to provoke you. To taunt you, to goad you into some mishap or something of that sort.”
“The ‘nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah’ approach to battle,” Xander, the soul of helpfulness, explained.
“Yes, Xander,” Giles said, with the tiniest, most British bit of sarcasm, “once again you’ve managed to boil a complex thought down to its simplest possible form.”
Buffy was having nothing to do with banter mode. This was deadly serious stuff. “Giles, Angel once told me that when he was obsessed with Drusilla, the first thing he did was to kill her family.”
Xander got it at once. “Your mom.”
“I know. I’m going to have to tell her something. The truth?” She turned and looked at Giles.
He shook his head in deadly earnest. “No. You can’t do that.”
“Yeah. The more people who know the secret, the more it cheapens it for the rest of us,” Xander riffed, as Cordelia rolled her eyes.
“I’ve got to tell her something,” Buffy said urgently. “I have to do something. Giles, Angel has an all-access pass to my house and I’m not always there when my mother is. I can’t protect her.”
“I told you, I will find a spell,” Giles reminded her.
“What about until you find a spell?” she pushed.
“Until then, you and your mother are welcome to ride around with me in my car,” Cordelia said, full of graciousness.
Giles stayed with the topic. “Buffy, I understand your concern, but it is imperative that you keep a level head through all this.”
She was frustrated with him. “That’s easy for you to say. You don’t have Angel lurking in your bedroom at night.”
“I know how hard this is for you.” She blinked. “All right,” he admitted, “I don’t. But as the Slayer, you don’t have the luxury of being a slave to your passions. You mustn’t let Angel get to you, no matter how provocative his behavior may become.”
“So what you’re basically saying is ‘Just ignore him and maybe he’ll go away.’ ” A statement she uttered without conviction or joy.
Giles considered. Then he nodded. “Yes, precisely.”
“Hey, how come Buffy doesn’t get a snotty ‘once again you boil it down to the simplest form’ thing?” Xander grumbled. “Watcher’s pet,” he flung at her.
* * *
Jenny Calendar’s computer science class was winding up for the day.
“Don’t forget I need your sample spreadsheets by the end of the week.” Over the peal of the bell, she added, “Oh, and I want both a paper printout and a copy on disk.”
As Willow began to leave, Miss Calendar reached out a hand and said, “Willow?”
Willow stopped at her desk. “Yes?”
“I might be a little late tomorrow. Do you think you could cover my class ’til I show?”
Willow was flabbergasted “Really? Me? Teach the class? Sure!”
“Cool,” Miss Calendar said offhandedly.
“Oh, wait . . . but what if they don’t recognize my authority?” Willow fretted. “What if they try to convince me that you always let them leave class early? What if there’s a fire drill?” She escalated. “What if there’s a fire?”
Holding her coffee cup, Miss Calendar leaned slightly across her desk. “Willow, you’re going to be fine. And I’ll try not to be too late, okay?”
Willow calmed down. “Okay, good. Earlier is good.” She brightened as possibilities opened up. “Will I have the power to assign detention? Or make ’em run laps?”
From the doorway, Buffy said in a strained voice, “Hey, Will.”
“Hi, Buffy,” Miss Calendar said tentatively. “Rupert.”
Giles looked uncomfortable as Buffy ignored Miss Calendar and focused on Willow. “Willow, I thought I might take in a class. Figured I could use someone who knows where they are.”
Chagrined, Willow ducked her head and crossed over to Buffy. They left the room together, as Willow murmured, “Sorry. I have to talk to her. She’s a teacher, and teachers are to be respected. Even if they’re only filling in until the real teacher shows up. Otherwise, chaos could ensue and . . .”
* * *
Jenny Calendar wilted at the slight. Well, I deserve it. She took a breath, picked up her mail, and began thumbing through it.
Then she realized that Rupert had stayed behind. Now he crossed the threshold and entered her classroom, looking as uncomfortable as she was. It was the first time they had been near each other since he had told her to get out the night Buffy destroyed the Judge.
A little hopeful, a little flustered, she said to him, “How’ve you been?”
“Not so good, actually,” he admitted. “Since Angel lost his soul, he’s regained his sense of whimsy.”
He’s talking to me, she thought, her stomach doing a little flip. That must mean he forgives me in some small measure.
She crossed her arms as she took in what he was telling her. “That sounds bad.” And it did; her pleasure in being able to talk to him took nothing away from that.
“He’s been in Buffy’s bedroom. I need to drum up a spell to keep him out of the house.”
She reached for a weatherbeaten book on her desk. “This might help.” She handed it to him. “I’ve been doing a little reading since Angel changed.” Glancing at the cover, she mused, “I don’t think you have that one.”
He was obviously touched. “Thank you.” He opened it, scanned a bit.
As he perused the book, she tried to strengthen the whisper-thin connection. “So, how’s Buffy doing?” Besides, she really cared how Buffy was.
He shut the book, looked down for a moment, and raised his chin. Coolly, he replied, “How do you think?”
They regarded each other for a moment. Then she admitted defeat. Turning away, she said, “I know you feel betrayed.”
“Yes, well, that’s one of the unpleasant side effects of betrayal,” he returned.
“Rupert, I was raised by the people that Angel hurt the most. My duty to them was the first thing I was ever taught. I didn’t come here to hurt anyone. And I lied to you because I thought it was the right thing to do.”
She looked away. “I didn’t know what would happen.” Her voice became a whisper. “I didn’t know I was going to fall in love with you.”
They had gotten to know each other over a year ago, when she had headed a project to scan all the books into the library. Willow Rosenberg, one of her prize students, had accidentally scanned a demon into the net, and Jenny had felt it necessary to blow her cover to the extent of coming forward and identifying herself as a technopagan.
Their relationship had grown from there, and she had never faced the fact that someday she would have to tell him who she was and what she was doing in Sunnydale.
In the ensuing silence, she looked up at him. She couldn’t read his expression, and she was humiliated. “Oh, God,” she said miserably, “is it too late to take that back?”
“Do you want to?” he asked.
“I just want to be right with you,” she said softly. “I don’t expect more. I just want so badly to make all this up to you.”
“I understand.” His tone was kind, if laced with caution. “But I’m not the one you need to make it up to.” He smiled gently. “Thank you for the book.”
With that, he left.
* * *
There was baked chicken, salad, bread, potatoes. Buffy ate none of it.
Finally, Joyce said, “Okay. What’s wrong?”
Buffy was caught off guard. “It’s . . . nothing.”
“Come on, you can tell me anything,” Joyce pressed. “I’ve read all the parenting books. You cannot surprise me.”
I sure can, Buffy thought, but that was very beside the point. Her mom was her mom, after all. She was supposed to be able to tell her things.
She took a chance. Laying down her fork, she began. “Do you remember that guy, Angel?”
“Angel? The college boy who was tutoring you in history?” Joyce filled in.
That was what I told you the first time you met him, wasn’t it? Buffy thought. I just conveniently left out the part about how he had just saved my life from three vampire assassins.
“Right. Well, he . . . I . . . we’re sort of dating. Were dating.” She shrugged and smiled uneasily. “We’re going through a serious ‘off again’ phase right now.” Because he’s a demon.
Her mother gave her a knowing look. “Don’t tell me. ‘He’s changed. He’s not the same guy you fell for.’ ”
Oh, God, why did I even start this? “In a nutshell. Anyway, since he changed, he’s been kind of following me around. He’s having trouble letting go.”
Joyce’s face clouded. “Buffy, has he . . . done anything?”
“No, no, it’s not like that,” Buffy said quickly. I wish I hadn’t started this, she thought. I can’t tell her what’s really going on. “He’s just been hanging around. A lot. Just sending me notes. That kind of thing. I don’t want to see him right now. I mean, if he shows up, I’ll talk to him.” She had to say that to keep her mother from worrying. She tried to toss in casually, “Just don’t invite him in.”
Seriously, don’t invite him in, Mom, she added, like a prayer.
* * *
Willow was on the portable phone with Buffy. She was in her PJs, and she was shutting down for the night.
“I agree with Giles,” she told Buffy as she moved around her room. “You need to just try and not let him get to you. Angel’s only doing this to try to get you to do something stupid. I swear, men can be such jerks sometimes . . . dead or alive.” Firmly, she closed her laptop.
On the other end, Buffy admitted, “I just hope Giles can find a ‘keep out’ spell soon. I know I’ll sleep easier when I can . . . sleep easier.”
“I’m sure he will,” Willow said, sprinkling fish food into her new aquarium. She’d gotten it for Hanukkah. “He’s, like, Book Man. Until then, try and keep happy thoughts and . . .”
Willow lost track of what she was saying as she noticed a brown parchment envelope on her colorful block quilt.
“ ’And what?” Buffy prodded “Willow?”
Willow slowly opened the envelope. There was a piece of fishing line inside; frowning, she started pulling it out, realizing just at that moment that there were no fish in her aquarium.
Because they were all dead, and hanging from the strand of fishing line in her hand.
* * *
A short time later, Willow was at Buffy’s. Strings of garlic hung everywhere in Buffy’s room and, as the two sat together on Buffy’s bed in their pajamas, Willow kept a very tight grip on a very sharp stake.
Her frightened gaze swept the room as she said, “Thanks for having me over, Buffy. Especially on a school night and all.”
“No problem,” Buffy assured her. “Hey, sorry about your fish.”
“It’s okay,” Willow said sadly. “We hadn’t really had time to bond yet.” She wrinkled up her face. “Although, for the first time, I’m glad my parents didn’t let me have a puppy.”
The words hit home. Her eyes downcast, Buffy murmured, “It’s so weird. Every time something like this happens my first instinct is to run to Angel. I can’t believe it’s the same person. He’s completely different from the guy that I knew.”
“Well, sort of, except . . .” Willow trailed off.
Buffy looked at her. “Except what?”
“You’re still the only thing he thinks about.”
The two friends looked at each other.
* * *
Angelus watched from the shadows as Drusilla swept into the factory with a fluffy little white dog hidden behind her back. She lit up when she saw Spike, who was glowering in his wheelchair.
She carried the whimpering pup over to him, announcing, “I brought something for you.”
Spike didn’t even look at her.
“Poor thing. She’s an orphan. Her owner died . . . without a fight.” Dru grinned and slipped her hand into the top of Spike’s black T-shirt, bending down beside him. “Do you like her? I brought her especially for you, to cheer you up.” She jerked on his T-shirt.
“And I’ve named her Sunshine.” She spoke in the singsong voice mothers used with their little ones.
Still hidden, Angelus chuckled to himself as Spike clenched his jaw, Roller Boy’s irritation obviously mounting.
“Open wide,” Dru encouraged Spike. He turned his head. “Come on, love,” she cajoled him. “You need to eat something to keep your strength up. Now . . .” She waved the dog like an airplane headed for the hangar and made little growling noises. “Open up for Mummy . . .”
“I won’t have you feeding me like a child, Dru!” he snapped, pushing his wheelchair away from her.
That’s my cue, Angelus thought, sauntering from the shadows. “Why not?” he asked Spike. “She already bathes you, carries you around, and changes you like a child.” He smiled at Dru.
Ouch. If looks could kill, I’d be dust, Angelus thought gleefully as Spike glared at him.
“My Angel! Where have you been?” Dru demanded, her voice petulant and inviting. “The sun is almost up, and it can be so hurtful. We were worried.”
“No, we weren’t,” Spike said darkly, levelly meeting Angelus’s gaze.
“You must forgive Spike. He’s just a bit testy tonight. Doesn’t get out much anymore.” Dru looked pityingly at her white-haired boyfriend.
Angelus leaned forward, determined to needle Spike as much as possible. It was almost too easy, but one took one’s pleasure where it appeared . . .
“Well, maybe next time I’ll bring you with me, Spike.” Angelus matched his glare and raised it a few degrees of contempt. “Might be handy to have you along if I ever need a really good parking space.”
Spike was starting to simmer. “Have you forgotten that you’re a bloody guest in my bloody home?”
“And as a guest,” Angelus said with mock solicitousness, “if there’s anything I can do for you . . . Any responsibility I can assume while you’re spinning your wheels . . . Anything I’m not already doing, that is.” He leered at Dru.
“That’s enough!” Spike shouted. He pushed Angelus out of his face.
Angelus started laughing. He’s so easy. I can play him like a violin.
“Awww,” Dru cooed. She kissed Spike on the cheek and put Sunshine in his lap. His gaze never left Angelus as she walked away, stroking her own cheek. “You two boys . . . fighting over me and all.” She chuckled and stopped by the dining table, trailing her fingers down the center of her bodice. “Makes a girl feel . . .”
Then she trailed off, her words giving way to a frightened, childlike cry. Holding out her left hand, she began to breathe hard, as if she were in pain.
“Dru? What is it, pet?” Spike asked, alert.
She gazed into a place only she could see. “The air . . . it worries. Someone . . . an old enemy, is seeking help to destroy our happy home.”
Moaning, near tears, she clutched one of the chairs for support. Otherwise she would have sunk to the floor.
* * *
The brass bells hanging over the door to the Dragon’s Cove magic store tinkled as Jenny Calendar entered and looked around. The store was filled with beads, sun-catchers, and bottles of murky liquids containing fetal pigs, curiosities, and monstrosities. Black candles burned, glowing scarlet, and spicy incense permeated the air.
“Welcome,” the balding store clerk said. Looking and sounding vaguely Middle Eastern, he wore a white shirt and pants, an amulet, and strings of yellow beads around his neck. “How may I serve you today? Love potion? Perhaps a voodoo doll for that unfaithful—”
Cutting him off, she said, “I need an orb of Thesulah.”
Immediately he dropped his act. “Oh, you’re in the trade.” His accent disappeared, too. “Follow me. Sorry about the spiel, but around Valentine’s Day, I get a lot of tourists shopping for love potions and mystical revenge on past lovers.” He shrugged philosophically. “Sad fact is, Ouija boards and rabbits’ feet—that’s what pays the rent here.”
He went behind a case of white china decanters filled with herbs, pulled back the curtain to a spacious pantry, and started searching the shelves. “So, how’d you hear about us?”
Idly she examined a display of crystals and rune-stones. “My uncle, Enyos, told me about you.”
He glanced at her as he picked up a mahogany container. “So you’re Janna, then. Sorry to hear about your uncle.”
“Thank you.”
“He was a good customer,” he added frankly. He set the box on the glass counter. “Well, here you go, one Thesulan orb.” With a flourish he took the lid off the container, revealing a small, crystal sphere nestled in a blanket of velvet. “Spirit vault for the Rituals of the Undead.”
Jenny gave it a quick glance. It was exactly what she wanted. She handed him her credit card as he continued chattering. “I don’t get much call for those lately. Sold a couple as ‘new age’ paperweights last year.” He ran the card through the machine. “Yeah, I just love the ‘new agers.’ They helped send my youngest to college.”
His tone became a touch more businesslike as he wrote up the bill of sale. “By the way, you do know that the transliteration annals for the Ritual of the Undead were lost. Without the annals, the surviving text is gibberish.”
She looked up from signing the receipt. “And without a translated text, the orbs of Thesulah are pretty much useless. I know.” She tore off his copy and handed it to him.
“I only mention it because I have a strict policy of no refunds.”
“It’s okay.” She put her copy in her purse and he replaced the lid for her. “I’m working on a computer program to translate the Romanian liturgy to English, based on a random sampling of the text.”
He folded his hands on the counter. “Ahh. I don’t like computers. They give me the willies.”
She picked the container up and cradled it against her chest. “Well, thank you.”
She was almost out the door when he called after her, “By the way, not that it’s any of my business, really, but what are you planning to conjure up if you can decipher the text?”
She took off the lid and lifted the orb to the sunlight streaming through the window. “A present for a friend of mine.”
“Really?” He was interested. “What are you going to give him?”
In her hand, the orb began to glow. It cast a warm glow against her skin and gleamed in her eyes.
Jenny answered simply, “His soul.”