Xander caught up with Willow and Buffy as they joined the reluctant morning saunter toward Sunnydale High. He was wearing his wacky plaid pants, and he smiled brightly and said, “Well, good morning, ladies. And what did you two do last night?”
“We had kind of a pajama-party-sleepover-with-weapons thing,” Willow informed him.
“Oh,” he said rather wistfully. “And I don’t suppose either of you had the presence of mind to locate a camera to capture the moment?”
Buffy smiled faintly. Willow was too on purpose to even register a reaction. “I have to go. I have a class to teach in about five minutes and I have to arrive early to glare disapprovingly at the stragglers.”
Then her face fell as she spotted Jenny Calendar walking briskly across the lawn in her clunky black heels and wispy dress. “Oh, darn. She’s here. Five hours of lesson planning yesterday down the drain.”
Willow trudged off. Buffy kept her attention focused on Miss Calendar as she murmured to Xander, “You know what? I’ll see you in class.” She moved away from him and intercepted Miss Calendar. “Hey.”
“Hi.” Miss Calendar looked surprised, a little on guard, a little hopeful. “Is there something . . . did you want something?”
Buffy took a breath. “Look, I know you feel badly about what happened and I just want to say . . .” She trailed off. I can’t do it, she thought. I can’t pretend I forgive her. “Good. Keep it up.”
The hurt on Miss Calendar’s face made Buffy feel ashamed. So did her words. “Don’t worry. I will.”
“Uh, wait. Um . . .” She pulled it together. And she said something that was true. Gazing steadily at the Gypsy, she said, “He misses you. He doesn’t say anything to me, but I know he does. I don’t want him to be lonely.” She paused. “I don’t want anyone to.”
It was a moment. Their moment. Miss Calendar softened, relaxed. “Buffy, you know that if I have a chance to make this up—”
“We’re good here.” As long as it’s not about her and me, I can deal. “Let’s just leave it.”
* * *
Giles was talking about some flyers with a couple of students. “Yes, so, could you hang those up? Thanks so much.” He brightened as Buffy approached.
“Buffy, so how was your night?”
“Sleepless,” she said honestly. “But no human fatalities.”
“I found a ritual to revoke the invitation to vampires,” he announced.
Cordelia stepped up with total relief. “Oh, thank goodness. I actually had to talk my grandmother into switching cars with me last night.”
Giles blinked in astonishment at Cordelia, then continued on with his explanation. “The ritual is fairly basic, actually. It’s just the recitation of a few simple rhyming couplets, burning of moss herbs, sprinkling of holy water—”
“All stuff I have in my house,” Buffy drawled.
“Hanging of cross . . .” Giles went on.
They walked.
* * *
Do they count if you hide them? Willow wondered, as she finished nailing a crucifix in place and covering it with her plaid bedroom curtains.
She said to Buffy and Cordelia, “I’m going to have a hard time explaining this to my dad.”
Buffy frowned slightly. “You really think it’ll bother him?”
“Ira Rosenberg’s only daughter nailing crucifixes to her bedroom wall?” Willow nodded with weary affection. “I have to go over to Xander’s house just to watch ‘A Charlie Brown Christmas’ every year.”
Buffy grimaced. “I see your point.”
“Although it is worthwhile to see him do the Snoopy dance,” Willow allowed, this time with affection but no weariness.
Cordelia, who was wandering around Willow’s room, piped up. “Willow, are you aware that there are no fish in your aquarium?”
Willow whimpered. Buffy stepped in.
“You know, Cordelia,” she said, “we’ve already done your car. Call it a night if you want.”
“Right. Thanks. And you know I’d do the same for you if you had a social life.” She picked up her coat from Willow’s bed. There was an envelope beside it.
A brown parchment envelope.
“Oh.” She picked it up and handed it to Willow. “This must be for you.”
Willow and Buffy exchanged looks. Nervously, Willow opened the flap and pulled out the by now familiar stationery. She opened it. She tensed and looked hard at Buffy. “It’s for you,” she said meaningfully.
Buffy opened it. It was another sketch by Angelus, this one a perfect likeness of her mother, asleep. Or not asleep . . .
“Mom,” Buffy blurted.
* * *
Angelus was waiting at the side of the driveway when Buffy’s mother finally drove up. She wasn’t even out of the car when he approached, holding the door open through the opened window as she turned off the engine.
“Mrs. Summers,” he said in a rush, pouring on the anguish, “I need to talk to you.”
She was polite but wary. “You’re . . . Angel.”
He beamed, shutting the door for her. She was carrying a bag of groceries, which he did not offer to carry. It would slow her down, just a little, if she needed slowing down.
“Did Buffy tell you about us?”
“She told me she wants you to leave her alone.” Her voice was firm, her look steady. A good mom. How nice.
“I can’t,” he said, smiling. “I can’t do that.”
Joyce did not smile back. “You’re scaring her.”
“You have to help me,” he said in a rush. She brushed past him and he whirled around to keep up with her. “Joyce, I need to be with her. You can convince her. You have to convince her.” He talked fast, aiming for slightly incoherent. Whatever gets the job done.
It was working. Her voice was less steady as she stopped and looked hard at him. She was getting scared.
“Look, I’m telling you to leave her alone.”
He pushed harder. “You have to talk to her for me, Joyce. Tell her I need her.”
“Please. I just want to get inside.”
She moved around him, practically about to break into a run. Angelus had to work not to chuckle.
And then, as he caught up, he “accidentally” bumped her grocery bag. It tumbled out of her arms, oranges rolling like pool balls. “You don’t understand, Joyce.” He gathered up one or two. “I’ll die without Buffy. She’ll die without me.”
She bent to retrieve her groceries, froze, and looked at him. “Are you threatening her?”
“Please, why is she doing this to me?”
Her fear was mounting. “I’m calling the police, now.”
She got up quickly and took the porch steps quickly. Her shaking hands fumbled with her keys; she was trying hard to get the door open, but she was too freaked to do a good job of it. Joining her on the porch, Angelus smiled as he watched her awkwardness. It was time to deliver the final blow.
“I haven’t been able to sleep since the night we made love,” he said sadly. Her head whipped toward him. Gotcha. “I need her. I know you understand.”
She was stunned. Speechless for a beat. Then she got the door opened and darted inside, calling, “Just leave us alone.”
Now I’ll go in for the kill—
But as he tried to cross the threshold, his way was blocked by an invisible barrier. He gasped in surprise.
Buffy and Willow were walking down the stairs. Willow had a spellbook open, and she was reciting an incantation in Latin.
“His verbes, consenus rescissus est.”
Buffy stared at him with pure hatred on her lovely face. “Sorry, Angel,” she said. “I’ve changed the locks.”
She slammed the door in his face.
* * *
In the darkened school computer lab, Jenny sipped her herbal tea and typed another command, her gaze glued to the screen as she waited to see what happened next. She was startled when Giles appeared in the doorway with a gentle, “Hello.”
“Oh, hi.” She cleared the screen as she smiled at him.
He ventured into the room. “You’re working late.”
“Special project,” she tossed off, crossing her legs, so very pleased to see him. She added softly, “I spoke to Buffy today.”
That clearly pleased him. He came up to her and sat on the corner of her desk. “Yes?”
She picked up a pencil for something to do, and murmured coyly, “She said you missed me.”
“Well . . . she’s a meddlesome girl.” Which, for Giles, was as much as admitting that it was true.
“Rupert,” she began, and he looked at her. It’s not time to be sidetracked, she reminded herself. “Okay, I don’t want to say anything if I’m wrong, but I may have some news. Now I need to finish up here.” She gestured to her keyboard. Then she called up her courage and asked, “Can I see you later?”
“Yes, yes,” he said. He gazed at her. “You could stop by my house.”
Her smile was mildly flirtatious. “Okay.”
“Good.” He broke into a wide grin, ducked his head, and took his leave. In the doorway, he turned back to look at her once last time.
Jenny smiled after him, and went back to her work.
* * *
The proprietor of the Dragon’s Cove magic store had just turned off the neon Open sign when someone came in through the door.
Damn, he thought, barely glancing at his female prospective customer as he blew out some of the burning candles. “Sorry, honey. We’re closed.”
Then he turned and really looked at the vampire who stood in the glare of the streetlights with a wriggling white dog in her grasp.
She glided into the store. He thought he was going to wet his pants.
He stammered, “Wh-what do you want?”
“Miss Sunshine here tells me you had a visitor today,” she said pleasantly, quietly. Staring off into space, she added, “But she worries.” And then she turned her full attention on him, and his blood ran cold. “She wants to know what you and the mean teacher talked about.”
He knew in that moment that one way or another, he would tell her.
* * *
Like any good computer person, Jenny lost track of time as she continued working on translating the annals for the Rituals of the Undead. She sat in the darkened room, oblivious to everything except her keyboard and her screen. As she hit Select All and pressed Save As, she fiddled anxiously with a pencil and talked to the screen.
“Come on, come on,” she murmured.
The right-hand side of screen began filling up with new text. She skimmed it and, in that moment, she knew she had it. “That’s it!” She allowed herself a joyful laugh as she copied her achievement onto a diskette. “It’s going to work. This will work.”
Can I code or not? she thought happily, as she started a printout. She rolled on her chair over to the old-fashioned tractor-feed printer and watched the characters printing.
Then she raised her line of sight just slightly and jumped up in sheer fright.
Angelus sat at a desk with a smile on his face, watching her.
“Angel.” She struggled not to panic as she slowly backed away. I’ll just get to the door, she told herself. I’ll make it to the door. “How did you get in here?”
“I was invited,” he said innocently, shrugging as if it were obvious. “The sign in front of the school? Formatia trans sicere educatorum.”
Jenny said breathlessly, “ ‘Enter, all ye who seek knowledge.’ ”
He chuckled and got to his feet. “What can I say? I’m a knowledge seeker.” Holding out his hands, he started walking toward her.
Her panic level rose, but she kept herself composed. “Angel,” she tried, “I’ve got good news.”
“I heard.” He sounded as if he were speaking to a child. “You went shopping at the local boogedy-boogedy store.”
The glow on her desk attracted him. He picked up the crystal sphere and his voice dropped. “The orb of Thesulah. If memory serves, this is supposed to summon a person’s soul from the ether, store it until it can be transferred.”
He held it up. “You know what I hate most about these things?” he asked pleasantly. Then he hurled it against the blackboard, shattering it dangerously close to her head. Jenny ducked and screamed.
He laughed. “They’re so damned fragile. Must be that shoddy Gypsy craftsmanship, huh?”
She made herself move, made herself glance over her shoulder, in search of the doorknob. Oh, God, he’s going to kill me, she thought. Then, I can’t panic. I cannot.
He turned his attention to her computer. “I never cease to be amazed how much the world has changed in just two and a half centuries.”
She reached the doorknob. It was all she could do to keep from screaming.
The door was locked.
“It’s a miracle to me,” he told her, wide-eyed. You put the secret to restoring my soul in here . . .” Savagely, he flung the computer to the floor. The monitor smashed against the linoleum and burst into flames. “And it comes out here.” He ripped the printout off the printer. “The Ritual of Restoration. Wow.” He chuckled. “This brings back memories.”
He tore it in half.
“Wait! That’s your—”
“Oh. My ‘cure’?” He grimaced an apology as he kept ripping. “No thanks. Been there, done that. And déjà vu just isn’t what it used to be.
“Well, isn’t this my lucky day.” He held the pages over the burning monitor. “The computer and the pages.” He set them on fire and dropped them. Then he crouched low over the flames and made a show of warming his hands. “Looks like I get to kill two birds with one stone.”
Her heart was thundering. She was so terrified she was almost blind. Go, go, she told herself, and she started edging toward the next door, which was parallel with Angel. But then he turned to her, in full vamp face, and drawled, “And teacher makes three.”
I have to make a run for it now, she thought, racing for the door. He sprang up and caught her easily, and she screamed. With the supernatural strength of his kind, he flung her toward the wall. With bone-crunching force, she hit the door, and slid down it even as the momentum of the impact pushed it open.
She was momentarily dazed, but the adrenaline in her system propelled her on. Slowly, he advanced. Her forehead bleeding, she got to her feet, panting with fear, and flew down the corridor.
“Oh, good,” Angelus said dangerously. “I need to work up an appetite first.”
She raced for her life, her heels clattering as she reached the first set of swinging doors in the corridor. Then she ran to the right, past the lockers, and to the exit.
The door was locked.
She doubled back and saw his shadow looming through the panels of glass in the double doors. She took another exit. Down the breezeway she ran, arms pumping, looking back to see him shortening the distance between them. Light and shadow played on his monstrous features.
Like a quarry run to ground, she was forced to another entrance into the school. For a few horrible moments, she thought that door was locked too, but it finally gave way under her frantic pushes.
She lost time and he was practically on top of her by the time she got the door open. He growled like an animal, anticipating the kill. She slammed the door in his face and ran on.
The bright overhead fluorescents cast an eerie, cold blue glow over the two of them as she lost more ground. Then she saw the janitor’s cleaning cart and pushed it at him. It slammed into him and he was flung over it, landing hard on the floor.
While he was down, she took the nearby flight of stairs. On the landing, gasping for breath, she looked over her shoulder as she darted past a semicircular window—streetlamps and passing cars, the unsuspecting and uncaring normal world of suburban night—and ran right into him.
How? she thought, but then all other thoughts fled. Her eyes widened as he put his chilled fingers to her lips, urging her to silence. His laughter was inhuman. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t blink. Couldn’t breathe.
Rupert—
“Sorry, Jenny. This is where you get off,” he said in a low, gentle voice. And then he grabbed her head and twisted.
* * *
Her neck made an interesting crack.
Her lovely body tumbled to the floor.
A little winded, Angelus took a couple of deep breaths, and then he cocked his head.
Invigorated, he said, “I never get tired of doing that.”
Without another glance at the dead woman, he moved on.