“Too bulky. I prefer my women in spandex.”
Buffy stopped in front of the gown. Gingerly she lifted one hand, about to touch the dress, when a man suddenly approached them from a rear doorway.
Ethan Rayne was the owner of the shop. Tall and unassumingly dressed, there was still an air of understated sophistication about his clothes and a quiet hint of elegance about the man himself. His eyes reflected a devilish sort of glint. His smile was soft and somewhat secretive, and when he spoke, his voice held just a trace of British accent.
“Please.” He stopped beside Buffy. He reached out for the gown. “Let me.”
Buffy shook her head in wonder. “It’s—”
“Magnificent,” he said. “I know.”
Carefully he removed it from the mannequin. Almost reverentially he held it up to her.
“My,” Ethan Rayne murmured. “Meet the hidden princess.”
And indeed, Buffy seemed magically transformed. Even Willow and Xander, the two who knew her best, couldn’t help staring in silent awe. She was stunningly beautiful.
“I think we’ve made a match,” Ethan purred. “Don’t you?”
As though emerging from a spell, Buffy stepped away and reluctantly shook her head. “I’m sorry. There’s no way I can afford this.”
“Nonsense,” Ethan soothed. “I feel quite . . . moved to make you a deal you can’t refuse.”
Buffy’s whole face brightened. “Really?”
Again she pressed the gown to her heart; again she turned back to the mirror.
Ethan Rayne smiled.
CHAPTER 5
The old factory had long been abandoned.
It sat within thick shadows in a dark, dangerous part of town, and no one had ventured inside its cavernous walls for years and years.
Only the rats had been brave enough to infest its ugly, rotting interior.
Until, of course, the vampires came.
“Here it comes,” said Spike.
The room he stood in was washed with pale blue light. This light glowed from a bank of televisions lining one wall, and it threw everything into eerie distortion, including Spike’s white hair and the delicate bones of his face. As Spike watched intently, an identical image suddenly flickered to life on every single screen.
The image was Buffy.
The recording was of her fight in the pumpkin patch.
Spike watched the film with single-minded concentration. Behind him stood the vampire who had taped it, who had hidden himself last night where Buffy couldn’t see.
Now on the television screen, Buffy was falling onto the jack-o-lantern, crushing it beneath her. Now she was getting up again, now she was hurling a smaller pumpkin at her attacker.
“Rewind that,” Spike said. “I want to see it again.”
Yet he couldn’t stay still to watch it. He paced the room restlessly, keen eyes narrowed, his senses absorbing every detail of the tape.
“She’s tricky.” Spike sounded amused, almost pleased. “Baby likes to play.”
The video ran again. This time Spike noted the part where Buffy used the wooden sign to stake the vampire.
“See that? Where she stakes him with that thing?” Spike’s admiration was obvious. “That’s what you call resourceful.”
He paced. He paused.
“Rewind it again.”
A voice spoke behind him then. A soft silky voice, a haunting blend of dreamy seduction and childlike innocence.
“Miss Edith needs her tea,” the voice said.
Spike didn’t need to turn around to know that Drusilla had wandered in with one of her dolls, that she was standing there, swaying slightly, clutching it tight against her chest. And it didn’t matter how many centuries he’d spent adoring her—each time Drusilla came near him, it was love all over again.
“Come here, poodle.”
As always, his voice seemed to change when he spoke to Drusilla, growing protective somehow, almost tender. Yet even as he welcomed her, he kept his attention focused on the video and on Buffy.
Drusilla wafted over to him. He slipped his arms around her frail shoulders.
“Do you love my insides?” Drusilla murmured. “The parts you can’t see?”
“Eyeballs to entrails, my sweet. That’s why I have to study this Slayer. Once I know her, I can kill her. And once I kill her, you can have your run of Sunnyhell and get strong again.”
“Don’t worry,” Drusilla assured him. “Everything’s switching. Outside to inside.” She opened her mouth, growling softly at his neck. “It makes her weak.”
Spike’s head came up at once. He proceeded with caution. “Really. Did my pet have a vision?”
“Do you know what I miss?” Drusilla pouted. “Leeches.”
“Come on,” Spike urged, laughing softly. “Talk to daddy. This thing that makes the slayer weak. When is it?”
“Tomorrow.”
“But tomorrow is Halloween. Nothing happens on Halloween.”
Drusilla shook her head. “Someone’s come to change it all.”
She tilted her head back into the shadows.
“Someone new,” she whispered.
Ethan’s Costume Shop had closed for the night.
The last customer had finally gone, but the store was not quite deserted.
A tall figure moved silently into the back room.
A tall figure wearing a long, hooded black robe.
Ethan Rayne stopped beside an altar. One by one he lit the black candles that encircled it.
Directly in front of him, in the very center of the circle, was a marble bust of a woman. Her features were beautiful and serene. Kneeling before her, Ethan began to speak, squeezing his hands tightly closed, then opening them again.
His palms began to bleed. They bled thickly and freely, from stigmatalike wounds on his hands.
“The world that denies thee, thou inhabit,” Ethan chanted. “The peace that ignores thee, thou corrupt.”
He dabbed his blood upon his eyelids. He smeared a bloody cross upon his forehead.
“Chaos,” he murmured. “As ever, I am your faithful, degenerate son.”
He knew the true power of the statue.
He knew it, and he called upon it now.
For the back of the statue was quite different from the front.
It wasn’t beautiful, nor was it peaceful to look at.
It was a hideously horrifying male visage.
A mask of pure evil.
CHAPTER 6
Halloween day dawned crisp and clear.
There was a feeling of unrepressed excitement in the air, and classes let out early so that student volunteers could go home and change into their costumes.
Buffy stood in her bedroom, gazing silently at her reflection in the mirror.
She was wearing the gown from Ethan’s Costume Shop, and for a moment she almost wondered if she’d actually stepped back in time. Her hair—a brunette wig—was piled elegantly on top of her head. Held in place with an old-fashioned comb, it still fell loose in a few stray tendrils that curled around her face. Around her neck hung a lovely jeweled necklace, making her throat seem all the more delicate. Even to herself she looked like something from a fairy tale. She’d never felt so beautiful.
Like the woman in the diary, she thought. Like the women Angel had loved . . .
“Where are you meeting Angel?” Willow’s voice floated out from the bathroom, bringing Buffy back to earth.
“Here. After trick-or-treating. Mom’s gonna be out.”
“Does he know about your costume?”
“Nope. Call it a blast from his past. I’ll show him I can coif with the best of ’em!” Buffy smiled at her reflection, then added, “Come on out, Will. You can’t stay in there all night.”
“Okay,” Willow sounded resigned. “But don’t laugh.”
“I won’t—”
Buffy’s words caught in her throat. As Willow emerged from the bathroom, Buffy stared at her friend’s amazing transf
ormation. Willow was wearing makeup, and her hair was pinned in a casual upsweep. A clingy dark, midriff-baring top, leather miniskirt, knee-high boots—Willow was a total rocker babe. Totally gorgeous. And obviously totally miserable.
“Wow.” Buffy was practically speechless.
Willow took one look at her plunging neckline, grabbed her ghost sheet, and turned back for the bathroom.
“Will,” Buffy reached out and stopped her. “You’re a dish. I mean, really—”
“But this just isn’t me,” Willow argued.
“That’s the point! Halloween is the night that not you is you, but not you, you know?”
Willow was still pondering this as the doorbell rang
“That’s Xander,” Buffy announced. “You ready?”
Willow paused, gave a deep sigh. “Yeah. Okay.”
She tried to smile, but Buffy wasn’t fooled. Willow reminded her of a deer caught in someone’s headlights. She clamped her arms tightly around her exposed midriff. Terror supreme.
“Cool!” Buffy reassured her. “I can’t wait to watch the boys go nonverbal when they see you.”
She ran downstairs and opened the front door. True to form, Xander was wearing his low-rent army costume—camouflage pants and jacket, tank tee, aviator sunglasses—and carrying his plastic gun.
He stepped up to Buffy and saluted. “Private Harris. Reporting for—”
And then his words choked off. As he got a close-up look at Buffy, his mouth dropped open and his hand fell to his side.
“Buffy.” He bowed his head. “My Lady of Buffdom. The Duchess of Buffonia. I am in awe. I completely renounce spandex.”
“Thank you, kind sir.” Buffy curtsied. “But wait till you see—”
“Hi,” Willow said from the staircase behind them.
Expectantly they both turned.
Willow was standing there, covered head to toe with her ghost sheet.
“Casper,” Buffy finished lamely.
Xander stared at Willow’s costume, trying to come up with a compliment. “Hey, Will,” he said brightly, “that’s . . . that’s a fine boo you have there.”
Willow hung her head.
She could feel Buffy’s disappointment as the three of them went out the door.
CHAPTER 7
Outside Sunnydale High, kids were being dropped off by the dozens, screaming and shouting and waving their trick-or-treat bags as they stampeded into the building. Inside, the hallways swarmed with fierce little demons and goblins, while students valiantly tried to separate them into manageable groups.
“Where’s your bodyguard, Harris? Curling her hair?”
Xander heard Larry coming before he actually saw him. When he turned around, Larry was swaggering toward him, dressed as a pirate and brandishing a plastic sword. Featuring baggy shorts, T-shirt, fake scars, and eye patch, Larry’s costume was even less inspired than Xander’s.
Xander glared at him. Larry made a sudden jerking movement with his sword, and Xander instinctively flinched. Laughing, Larry walked off.
Xander lifted his machine gun and took careful aim at Larry’s back. His finger itched on the trigger, but after several seconds, he lowered the gun again in disgust. Even with a plastic toy, he couldn’t quite bring himself to shoot.
Farther down the corridor, Principal Snyder was leading a small group of children over to Buffy. As she quickly scanned their eager faces, she couldn’t help noticing that there was a vampire among them.
“Here’s your group, Summers.” Principal Snyder gave her his usual sneer. “No need to speak to them—the last thing they need is your influence. Just bring them back in one piece and I won’t expel you.”
Buffy returned his look with one of her own. As he walked away, she leaned over to the kids with a smile.
“Hi,” she began, then noticed Principal Snyder standing a few feet away. Scowling at her.
Around the corner, Oz was kneeling on the floor by his locker, carefully inspecting his guitar. Glancing up, he saw Cordelia marching up to him in a skintight leopard leotard, cat ears, mittens, and drawn-on whiskers.
“Oz. Oz.”
Oz waited, calmly assessing her.
“Cordelia,” he finally said. “You’re like a great big cat.”
“That’s my costume,” Cordelia returned impatiently. “Are you guys playing tonight?”
“At the Shelter Club.”
Cordelia raised her chin haughtily. “Is mister ‘I’m the lead singer I’m so great I don’t have to show up for a date or even call’ gonna be there?”
“Yeah,” Oz deadpanned, standing up. “You know, he’s just going by Devon now.”
Cordelia wasn’t amused. “Well, you can tell him that I don’t care, and that I didn’t even mention it and I didn’t even see you so that’s just fine.”
Oz continued to stare at her. He gave a slight nod. “So what do I tell him?”
“Nothing!” Cordelia exploded. “Jeez, get with the program.”
Furiously she stalked off, leaving Oz unimpressed and completely unperturbed.
“Why can’t I meet a nice girl like that?” he mumbled to himself.
Standing up, he turned and bumped right into Willow, who was still covered with her ghost sheet.
“Sorry,” Oz said, trying to untangle himself.
“Sorry,” Willow replied, trying to help him.
“Sorry.”
“I’m sorry.”
Flustered, Willow moved on. Oz stood and watched her a moment, then headed off in the opposite direction.
At the end of the hallway, Xander was lecturing his own little group of trick-or-treaters.
“Okay,” Xander informed them officiously. “On sleazing extra candy. Tears are the key. Tears’ll usually get you a double-bagger. You can also try the old ‘you missed me’ routine, but it’s risky. Only go there for chocolate.” He paused, letting his instructions sink in. “Understood?
The kids all nodded.
“Good.” Xander straightened and squared his shoulders. “Troops, let’s move out.”
Within minutes, Xander’s group had joined the others outside. While student volunteers hurried to keep up, costumed children raced eagerly from house to house, their delighted squeals and make-believe screams echoing through the neighborhood. They were all having so much fun, time practically flew by, and before they knew it, the streets had grown darker and spooky with shadows.
As Buffy’s weary group returned from a house, she couldn’t help noticing their dejected expressions.
“What’d Mrs. Davis give you?” she asked them, concerned.
They opened their hands to show her. They were holding brand new toothbrushes.
Buffy sounded indignant. “She must be stopped.” She herded the kids together and steered them down the sidewalk. “Let’s hit one more house. We still have a few minutes before we’ve got to get back.”
Perking up, the children ran off again, leaving Buffy to smile at their enthusiasm. She was glad she’d been roped into doing this, after all—the evening had turned out to be much more fun than she’d ever imagined.
She had no way of knowing that the fun was about to end.
That at this very moment, in the back room of Ethan’s Costume Shop, a black-hooded figure was kneeling before a row of black candles, reciting an incantation.
“Janus, hear my plea.” Ethan Rayne spoke the words, but he spoke them now in Latin. “Take this night as your own. Come forth and show us your truth.”
Buffy felt an inexplicable shiver go through her.
At the house on the corner, kindly Mrs. Parker came to the front door, smiling and handing out candy to the group of giggling monsters. Willow waited patiently for them at the end of the porch. The wind was starting to pick up, and the chill in the air had grown noticeably sharper. She huddled into her ghost sheet, wishing she’d dressed warmer underneath.
“Trick or treat!” the children shouted.
“Oh, my goodness,” Mrs. Parker beamed at th
em. “Aren’t you adorable!”
In the costume shop, Ethan picked up the statue, his hands leaving bloody prints upon the stone. His face dripped with sweat, his body trembled feverishly. And then, again in Latin, he chanted, “The mask is made flesh. The heart is curdled by your holy presence. Janus, this night is yours!”
Buffy ushered her kids quickly down the block. A sudden gust of wind sent a second, deeper shudder down her back. She stopped, frowning.
Something wasn’t right.
At the house on the corner, Mrs. Parker was looking down at the plastic pumpkin in her hands. She shook her head in utter dismay.
“Oh, dear,” she mumbled. “Am I all out? I could have sworn I had some candy left.”
In Ethan’s Costume Shop, the candles went out.
The only light now was the one emanating from the hideous statue, casting a sickly green glow through the shadows.
Ethan Rayne lowered his hood.
A satisfied grin spread slowly across his face.
“Show time,” he whispered.
CHAPTER 8
Mrs. Parker looked down at the trick-or-treaters clustered around her. Miniature demons, vampires, gargoyles, and witches—they were all staring at her and at her empty candy container.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Monster,” Mrs. Parker sighed, playing along. “Maybe I—”
She never got to finish her apology. Without warning, a slimy green hand caught her by the throat and yanked her forward. As she tried desperately to scream, she could see that the hand belonged to the make-believe gargoyle.
Except he wasn’t make-believe anymore.
Where a costumed child had stood only seconds before, there was now a real gargoyle. As horribly real as the rest of the creatures swarming over her porch.
Willow couldn’t believe what was happening. “Let her go!” she cried, trying to reach Mrs. Parker.
A horned demon deliberately blocked her way. As the demon turned and attacked the gargoyle, Mrs. Parker was finally able to break free and scramble inside to safety, locking the door behind her.
“What—” Willow mumbled. “What’s—”
She tried to back off the porch. She felt dizzy and weak and strange. Stumbling, she gasped for breath. Her eyes grew wide with terror. The next instant she fell to the ground, her body limp and lifeless beneath its sheet.
THE ANGEL CHRONICLES, Vol. 2 Page 3
