“Yes, sir.”
“We’ve never met,” Giles went on, “but he is very well respected.”
“What?” Buffy broke in. “So he’s a real guy? As in, nonfictional?”
Giles ignored her. “What are you called?” he asked Kendra.
“I am the Vampire Slayer,” Kendra replied.
Buffy sounded irked. “We got that part. He means your name.”
“Oh.” Kendra nodded. “They call me Kendra, only. I have no last name, sir.”
Buffy rolled her eyes. “Can you say—stuck in the eighties?”
“Buffy, please.” Giles frowned. “There has obviously been some kind of misunderstanding here.”
Everyone turned as Willow came into the library. She stopped just inside the door and smiled.
“Hey—”
Before Willow could finish her sentence, Kendra advanced on her, ready to attack.
“Identify yourself!” Kendra ordered.
“Back off, Pink Ranger.” Buffy’s look was withering. “This is my friend.”
“Friend?” Kendra demanded.
“You know. Person you hang with? Amigo?”
Kendra looked annoyed. “I—I don’t understand.”
Again Buffy rolled her eyes, turning this time to Giles. “You try. I’m tapped.”
“Kendra,” Giles said patiently. “There are a few people, civilians if you will, who know Buffy’s identity. Willow is one of them. And they also spend time together. Socially.”
Kendra was taking all of this in. She understood what was being said, but she was still very much puzzled by the concept.
“And you allow this, sir?” she finally asked.
“Well,” Giles stammered, “you see—”
“But the Slayer must work in secret,” Kendra broke in. “For security—”
“Of course. With Buffy, however, it’s . . .” Giles looked momentarily at a loss. “Some fiexibiity is required.”
“Why?”
“Hi, guys,” Willow said quickly, putting an end to the discussion. “What’s going on?”
“There’s been a big mix-up,” Buffy replied.
“It seems that somehow, another Slayer has been sent to Sunnydale,” Giles added.
Willow looked from one of them to the other. “Is that even possible? I mean, two Slayers at the same time?”
“Not that I know of.” Giles took off his glasses, gazing down thoughtfully. “The new Slayer is only called after the previous Slayer has died—”
Giles’s head came up. He shoved his glasses back onto his nose.
“Good Lord,” he mumbled. “You were dead, Buffy.”
“I was only gone for a minute,” Buffy sounded defensive.
“Clearly, it doesn’t matter how long you were gone,” Giles concluded. “You were physically dead, causing the activation of the next Slayer.”
“She . . . died?” Now Kendra really did look lost.
“Just a little,” Buffy insisted.
“Yes, she drowned,” Giles explained. “But she was revived.”
“So there really are two of them?” Willow stared at Giles, who finally managed a nod.
“It would appear so. Yes.”
He sat down, stunned. He pressed one hand to his forehead.
“We have no precedent for this,” he mumbled. “I’m quite flummoxed.”
“What’s the flum?” Buffy piped up. “It’s a mistake. She isn’t supposed to be here. She goes home.” Turning to Kendra, she added, “No offense. But I’m not dead, and it’s a teeny bit creepy having you around.”
Kendra stood her ground. “I cannot simply leave. I was sent here for a reason. Mr. Zabuto said all the signs indicate that a very dark power is about to rise in Sunnydale.”
“He’s quite right,” Giles admitted. “I’ll need to contact him.”
“So what was your plan for fighting this dark power?” Buffy asked Kendra. “Just sort of attack people till you found a bad one?”
Kendra sounded indignant. “Of course not.”
“Why the hell did you jump me?”
Kendra hesitated. Then sheepishly she said, “I thought you were a vampire.”
A silent look passed around the room.
“Ooh,” Buffy quipped, “a swing and a miss for the rookie.”
“I had good reason to think you were,” Kendra justified herself. “Did I not see you kissing a vampire?”
Willow burst to Buffy’s defense. “Buffy would never do that! Oh—” Flustered, she turned to Buffy. “Except for—that sometimes you do that.” She stopped again, this time looking at Kendra. “But only with Angel,” she insisted. She thought a minute. She looked at Buffy. “Right?
“Yes, right,” Buffy said. She tried to explain to Kendra. “You saw me with Angel. He’s a vampire, but he’s good.”
“Angel?” Kendra echoed. “You mean Angelus? I’ve read of him. He is a monster.”
“No,” Giles broke in mildly, “no, he’s good now.”
“Really.” Willow gave an emphatic nod.
“He had a gypsy curse,” Buffy added.
“Oh.” Kendra stared at Buffy. “He had a what?”
“Just trust me. Angel’s on the home team now. Wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“I cannot believe you,” Kendra argued. “He looked to me like just another animal when I—”
She stopped. Noting her strained expression, Buffy eyed her worriedly.
No. No, no, no . . .
“When you what?” Buffy asked her. “What did you do to him?”
Kendra didn’t answer right away. “I . . .”
“What did you do?”
Angel’s patch of shadow had dwindled down to a mere sliver.
As he lay there moaning softly, he tried to rearrange his jacket over his head, taking what little protection it provided. In spite of that, he was literally smouldering now, and the pain was almost more than he could bear.
The stench of scorched flesh hung in the room.
As sunlight flooded the storage area, Angel prepared to die.
He was too far gone to notice when the door slammed open . . . too weak to look up when a pair of hands grabbed his legs and began to pull.
Willy dragged Angel through the dirt of the stockroom. He pulled him away from the light and into the next room, then lifted a trap door hidden in the floor.
Leaning down, he pushed Angel’s nearly lifeless body down into the sewer. Angel collapsed in the water, and as Willy lowered himself down, Spike and his minions stepped out of the shadows to meet them.
“Here you go, my friend,” Willy announced proudly. “A little singed around the edges maybe, but he’ll be good as new in a day or so.”
Helplessly weak, Angel was almost unconscious. Spike reached for him, but Willy tugged Spike’s hand away.
“Hey, now,” Willy reminded him. “We had a deal.”
Spike gave Willy a look. He pulled a wad of money from his pocket and started to peel off several bills, handing them over to Willy as he did so.
“What’s the matter, Willy?” Spike asked him. “Don’t trust me?”
Willy was quickly counting the bills. He gestured to Spike for more.
“Like a brother,” Willy responded.
Spike held the last bill up. He made Willy reach for it. And then he struck him hard across the face.
“Talk,” Spike warned, “and I’ll have your guts for garters.”
Willy got the message. “Wild horses couldn’t drag it.”
Spike unfolded one more bill. He crumpled it in his hand and dropped it into the filthy water.
“Oops,” he grinned. “Sorry—friend.”
It didn’t bother Willy to fish for his money. As a matter of fact, there was very little that ever bothered Willy. Still, after all the trouble he’d just gone to, he couldn’t help but be curious about this particular outcome.
He paused and looked up, watching Spike’s minions gather up Angel.
“What’re you gonna
do with him, anyway?” Willy asked.
Spike looked deep in thought. “I’m thinking . . . maybe dinner and a movie. I don’t want to rush into anything. I’ve been hurt, you know.”
He thrust his hands in the pockets of his black coat. And then he strode confidently away, disappearing from view around a bend in the tunnel.
The minions followed with Angel, leaving Willy behind.
CHAPTER 14
“Do you have this in raisin?” Cordelia held a lipstick out to Mr. Pfister. “I know you wouldn’t think so, but I’m both a winter and a summer—”
She broke off at the sight of the weird little salesman. He was standing there beside his open satchel of cosmetics and creams, and he was just looking at her. Not moving, not answering. Just unblinking and totally creepy.
Cordelia took a step back.
“Nine ninety-nine,” Mr. Pfister spoke at last. “Tax included.”
“You—you said that already,” Cordelia reminded him. “Do you have anything in the berry family?”
The salesman didn’t respond. He simply took the lipstick away from her and dropped it back into his bag.
“Are there more ladies in the house?” he asked politely.
“They aren’t home,” Cordelia said. His fixed expression was making her nervous, everything about him was making her nervous. “Nothing personal,” she offered, “but maybe you should look into selling dictionaries.”
She stopped as a single worm suddenly appeared from under his coat. It fell to his feet and squirmed across the floor, while Cordelia backed away with a gasp.
She looked back at Mr. Pfister, who was looking back impassively at her. No emotion, no expression. Almost like he isn’t human, Cordelia thought uneasily.
At that moment Xander came back downstairs, seeing Mr. Pfister for the first time.
“Hey,” Xander said amiably. “What’s up?”
Cordelia grabbed Xander by the arm. “He’s a . . . salesman,” she babbled. “But he was just leaving.” Feeling strangely freaked, she hid behind Xander, then looked hopefully at Mr. Pfister. “Right?”
The salesman just stood there.
“Okay,” Cordelia ran on. “Bye-bye. Thanks.”
Nothing. Xander moved to hustle him out.
“Come on, Mary Kay. Time to—”
But as Xander approached him, Mr. Pfister’s face began to ripple. To slither and squirm in the most hideous way, as though there were creepy crawly things under his skin.
Xander was appalled. He couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.
“Time to . . .” He turned to Cordelia. His voice remained calm. “Run.”
Mr. Pfister was standing between them and the front door. As the two of them bolted in the other direction, the little salesman suddenly began to shift, his human form falling away as he decomposed into thousands of slimy worms. The worms immediately streamed after Xander and Cordelia.
The twosome ran past the stairs for the back door, but now Mr. Pfister had reformed as a human and was blocking their path. They had no choice but to duck into the cellar, bolting the door behind them. At once worms began flowing through the crack underneath.
Cordelia screamed in panic. Xander grabbed an old broom and attempted to beat them off.
“Find something to block the crack under the door!” he shouted.
Frantically, Cordelia began to search. She could feel worms crawling over her, and she screamed again, trying to brush them off. At last she spotted a roll of duct tape on a shelf. She grabbed it and shoved it at Xander. “I—I don’t—do worms,” she shuddered.
Xander shoved the broom back at her. “Cover me.”
Grimacing, he quickly ran some tape around the cracks in the door while Cordelia tried to kill worms. When the door was finally secure, the two of them finished off the rest of the worms that had made it through, then waited to see if the tape would hold.
To their relief, nothing came in. For the moment, at least, the worms seemed thwarted.
Descending into the basement, Xander realized then that the door was their only way out. There were no windows down here . . . no other possible exits.
He scowled and plopped down in a chair.
“You know,” he said disgustedly, “just when you think you’ve seen it all. Along comes a worm guy.”
Breathlessly, Buffy burst into the storage room. Her frantic eyes scanned the walls, the corners, the puddles of liquor, the shards of broken glass . . .
To her dismay, Angel wasn’t there.
“Angel . . .” she murmured.
Kendra came in behind her, moving slowly about the area, carefully inspecting the floor.
“No ashes,” Kendra announced.
Buffy looked up at her. “What?”
“When a vampire combusts, he leaves ashes.”
“Yeah, I know the drill,” Buffy returned dryly.
“So I did not kill him.”
Buffy got right into Kendra’s face. Her voice was cold. “And I don’t have to kill you.”
Once again, the two of them glared at each other. They didn’t notice Willy as he stepped quietly into the room.
“Whoa,” Willy greeted them. “There’s a lot of tension in this room.”
Before he could utter another word, Kendra charged him. She slammed him to the floor and drew back her fist for a mighty blow.
Buffy caught her hand midstrike. Exasperated, she asked, “Doesn’t anyone just say ‘hello’ where you come from?”
“This one is dirty,” Kendra replied, maintaining a merciless grip. “I can feel it.”
“That’s nice for you, percepto girl. But we’re not going to get anything out of him if he’s oh, say, unconscious.”
She grabbed Willy away from Kendra. She helped him up, then she slammed him into the wall. Hard.
“Where’s Angel?” she demanded.
Willy’s voice was strident. “My bud Angel? You think I’d let him fry? I saved him in the nick. He was about five minutes away from being a crispy critter.”
Buffy shot Kendra a vicious look.
“Where’d he go? Home?” She tightened her hold on Willy, and he squirmed nervously
“Uh, he said he was gonna stay underground,” Willy told her. “You know, recuperate.”
“Are you telling me the truth?”
“I swear!” Willy could feel sweat trickling down his brow. “I swear on my mother’s grave . . . should something fatal happen to her, God forbid.”
“Then he is all right,” Kendra assured Buffy. “We can return to your Watcher for our orders.”
“Orders?” Buffy looked at Kendra as though she’d lost her mind. “I don’t take orders. I do things my way.”
“No wonder you died,” Kendra said.
“Let’s go.”
As they started out, Willy ran an appreciative gaze over their strong, slender figures. And then he had an idea.
“I have to ask if either of you girls has considered modeling,” he called out to them. They stopped abruptly, and he added, “I got a friend with a camera, strictly high class nude work—art photographs, but naked.”
The look of disgust they gave him was the first thing they’d ever shared.
Willy backed off. “You don’t have to answer right away . . .”
But the girls had gone.
CHAPTER 15
Drusilla was wasting away.
Spike could see it each time he looked at her—at her hollow eyes and gaunt face, at her pale, white skeleton hands.
He looked at her now as he sat down quietly on the edge of her bed. Very gently he stroked her brow, her ice-cold skin, coaxing her awake.
“Ah.” Drusilla’s voice was hazy. She tried to focus on Spike’s face. “I was dreaming—”
“Of what, pet?”
“Beautiful,” she murmured. “We were in Paris. You had a branding iron . . .”
Spike smiled. “I brought you something.”
Drusilla nodded, but there was no comprehension in
her eyes. She stared at the place where Spike had been, not realizing he’d stepped out of the room.
“And there were worms in my baguette,” she whispered to herself.
She looked up, frowning, as Spike suddenly reappeared. This time he had someone with him—a tall, broad-shouldered figure who was bound and tightly gagged.
Spike smiled a slow, triumphant smile. “Your sire, my sweet.”
“Angel?” Drusilla’s expression brightened. She watched as Spike threw Angel roughly into a corner.
“The one and only,” Spike assured her. “Now all we need is the new moon tonight. Then he will die, and you will be fully restored.”
He moved eagerly back to her bed. He helped her up and held her against him.
“My black goddess,” Spike murmured, reverently kissing her hand. His lips trailed slowly up her arm. “My ripe, wicked plum. It’s been—”
“Forever,” Drusilla whispered.
She smiled now, pressing him closer. Their lips locked in a ravenous kiss.
Angel couldn’t watch. Turning his head, he felt a turmoil of emotions raging inside him—the shame and disgust of what he’d done to Drusilla, the loathing of what she, and he himself, had become. The helplessness of his present situation. The fear and terrible resignation now of what his fate would surely be.
At last Spike and Drusilla drew apart. Drusilla fixed him with a coquettish stare.
“Let me have him,” Drusilla said. “Until the moon.”
Spike glanced immediately at Angel, his jaw tightening in annoyance. Angel and Dru had a past. While it was distant, during its height they’d set the Old World on fire. This wasn’t something he liked at all, yet he couldn’t deny Drusilla anything.
“All right then,” Spike finally agreed. “You can play. But don’t kill him. He mustn’t die until the ritual.”
“Bring him to me.”
Spike obligingly yanked Angel off the floor. He grabbed him by the neck and thrust him at Drusilla, who fixed Angel with a slow, cunning smile.
Gently she touched Angel’s face. While Spike stood behind her, fully enjoying Angel’s misery, she ran her fingertips deliberately down Angel’s cheeks. Angel refused to look at her, but Drusilla grabbed his chin and snapped his head around, forcing him to make eye contact.
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