“Now, when you get to the airport—” Buffy started, but Kendra knew the drill.
“I get on the plane with my ticket. And sit in a seat. Not the cargo hold.”
Buffy nodded proudly. “Very good.”
“That is not traveling undercover,” Kendra reminded her.
“Exactly,” Buffy affirmed. “Relax. You earned it. You sit. You eat the peanuts. You watch the movie, unless it’s about a dog or stars Chevy Chase.”
“I’ll remember.”
They paused at the curb where a taxi was waiting. Buffy gazed long and hard into Kendra’s face.
“Thank you,” she said at last. “For helping me save Angel.”
Kendra looked amused, “I am not telling my Watcher about that. It is too strange that a Slayer loves a vampire.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Still,” Kendra relented, “he is pretty cute.”
“Well, then, maybe they won’t fire me for dating him.”
Kendra seemed to be studying her. “You always do that.”
“Do what?”
“You talk about slaying like it’s a job,” Kendra said quietly. “It’s not. It’s who you are.”
Buffy looked down at the ground. Then she looked back at Kendra.
“You get that from the Handbook?”
Kendra shook her head. “From you.”
“I guess I can’t fight it,” Buffy tried to joke. “I’m a freak.”
“But not the only freak,” Kendra reminded her.
Buffy looked into Kendra’s eyes. She shook her head and smiled. “Not anymore.”
There was an awkward silence. Instinctively Buffy moved to put her arms around Kendra, but the other Slayer stiffened and stepped back.
“I don’t hug.”
“No,” Buffy echoed, embarrassed. “Good. Hate hugs.”
She watched Kendra climb into the taxi.
She watched until there was nothing left to see.
EPILOGUE
The fire had finally died out.
Inside the church there was nothing left, only smoke and ashes and blackened debris.
It might as well have been a tomb.
Yet as twilight faded into pitch-black night, a whisper stirred the air. A voice moaned softly from the smouldering ruins of the organ loft. And a pale, sooty hand began to emerge from the shadows.
Drusilla reached down for that hand.
She grasped it tightly, and she began to pull.
Her body was in full vampire form—ripe and alive, glowing with strength and good health. Effortlessly she cleared away the scorched rubble, until at last she found Spike buried there.
His body was limp and motionless.
He was hideously scarred by fire.
Drusilla bent over him, tenderly wiping the ash from his brow. She could see now that he was still breathing. He was unconscious, but alive.
“Don’t worry, dear heart,” she whispered. “I’ll see that you get strong again.”
She felt the sudden surge of her power. With one arm she lifted Spike into the air, as if he were no more than a toy.
“Strong like me,” Drusilla promised him, carrying him out of the ash in her arms.
And she smiled.
THE CHRONICLES: EPILOGUE
Ashes to ashes . . .
Dust to dust . . .
Angel knelt beside the charred remains of the organ loft. He gathered some ashes from the floor and sifted them carefully through his fingers.
It wasn’t over. Not yet.
He knew Spike and Drusilla were still out there somewhere, hidden in darkness, biding their time. And that they’d be more dangerous now than ever.
My fault, Angel thought miserably. It’s all my fault.
He could still feel the thrust of the knife blade through his hand. He could still feel the holy water burning his chest, and the dizzy confusion in his brain, and the hopelessness of watching Buffy fight for her life but not being able to help her.
My fault, he thought again, and he choked back a cry.
Because of him, Buffy had risked her own life. Because of him, Drusilla had lost hers forever. And hadn’t he suffered enough pain and regret in his lifetime without dragging Buffy into it, too?
Ashes to ashes . . .
Love was a dangerous emotion, Angel reminded himself angrily. It weakened people, clouded their instincts, made them vulnerable.
Dust to dust . . .
It could only lead to tragedy and despair.
Oh, Buffy . . .
Slowly he got to his feet.
He moved silently through the shadows of the church and slipped out again into the night.
No, love was a luxury neither he nor Buffy could ever afford.
Not if they wanted to survive.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Richie Tankersley (Cusick) is the author of over twenty books, including two adult novels, sixteen young adult thrillers, and several Buffy the Vampire Slayer novelizations. Among the young adult titles she has written are Vampire, Fatal Secrets, The Locker, The Mall, Silent Stalker, Help Wanted, The Drifter, Someone at the Door, Summer of Secrets, Overdue, and Starstruck. She lives outside Kansas City with her two dogs, Hannah and Meg, where she is currently at work on her next novel.
A vicious shooting spree leaves Sunnydale shell-shocked. What could have sparked this random rampage? Buffy Summers can guess. Considering the prophetic dreams she’s been having, the Slayer suspects possession by an especially malevolent force. As the police follow their typical false leads, the Slayerettes start up their own research into possible paranormal causes. But when Oz’s van is discovered on the side of the road, minus one teen wolf, a distraught Willow turns on Buffy, disrupting the investigation.
The Slayer continues her search for answers, narrowly surviving an attack by a well-trained and powerful vampire who brought a gruesome death to every Slayer who crossed her path. Is this ancient creature behind the recent influx of evil? Or is there another influence . . . closer to home?
THE EVIL THAT MEN DO
by Nancy Holder
Published by Pocket Books
THE ANGEL CHRONICLES, Vol. 2 Page 15
