Buffy the Vampire Slayer 3

by Nancy Holder

  But I would have liked to say good-bye to Buffy.

  The ground shook and he thought, What now?

  He wasn’t ready for what he saw: a glowing swarm of oval lights, rising into the sky and arcing across the face of the moon like a phalanx of comets. Darting and shimmering. Dancing and rejoicing.

  Souls. Liberated.

  Buffy did it.

  Angel did something he very rarely did: He smiled.

  Around him, his attackers stopped and stared. A trio of albino poisoners spat venom on the sidewalk; as it sizzled, they slunk away, casting anxious glances over their shoulders at Angel, who let them go.

  Weapons dropped. Vampires darted back into the shadows.

  The fight was over.

  There might be some mop-up, but the good guys had won.

  She did it, Angel thought again.

  But did she survive it?

  His answer walked out of the smoke, slowly at first; then, as Buffy Summers the Vampire Slayer saw him, she ran to him. She whispered, “Angel,” and put her arms around him.

  And his soul soared.

  EPILOGUE

  It was really over. Giles, Ms. Calendar, and Le Malfaiteur had cast runes, searched for portents. The carnival was gone. The nightmare, ended.

  “It’s so weird how no one, like, notices,” Cordelia said as she admired her new choker. And her pendant. And her earrings. “I mean, saltwater pearls this big are so rare.”

  The Yasumi company had richly rewarded Cordelia for foiling a robbery and saving the life of the salesclerk, whom Cordelia had gone back to and untied. She had her picture in the paper, which caused her no end of grief because she had a scratch on her cheek. Giles told her to wear it proudly because it was a symbol of her bravery in battle.

  “Oh, please,” she had sneered.

  “It is remarkable,” Giles said of the oblivious after-state of the little town still swimming in denial. “I think we are able to remember what happened because of the magicks we used.”

  “Or we’re just lucky that way,” Buffy said with a sigh.

  He, Buffy, Willow, Cordelia, Xander, and Ms. Calendar were standing in the clearing where the carnival had stood. It was gone now, all trace … and all memory of it. Not a single person beyond their small company had any recollection that Professor Copernicus Caligari’s Traveling Carnival had come to town. As there had never been any permits or articles about it in the paper, there was no proof that it had ever been there.

  No one remembered the crazed swath of destruction caused by Astorrith. Giles’s condo was said to have burned down because of a gas leak. While it was being rebuilt, he was staying at a nearby hotel, and Ms. Calendar was helping him shop for new clothes and kitchen things.

  Buffy thought he looked great in his new Dockers and loose-fitting sweater. But it was obvious he felt like he wasn’t decently clothed. He kept tugging at everything and muttering under his breath.

  But of the carnival of souls: All anyone remembered was a terrible storm, and some deaths. One of them had been the bludgeoning of Anita Palmer, Carl and Mariann Palmer’s mother.

  Carl was in custody for the homicide, and under suspicion for his sister’s disappearance.

  Giles had promised Buffy he would try to help him get out of it. But she wasn’t sure Carl wanted out. He didn’t recall why he had killed his mother, but he knew that he had.

  She felt so sorry for him.

  If I can explain it to him, I will, she decided.

  Joyce Summers’s memory was also blank. Which made things ever so much easier for the Slayer.

  Witness the brand-new kick dress she was wearing!

  As for Vaclav … they didn’t know exactly what had happened to him, but they were glad he had helped. They had a moment of silence for him. And then they moved on, just as Sunnydale had.

  As for the chaos … no one remembered much of that, either. The dead were buried with reasonable explanations for their passing. Car accidents, mostly. There really weren’t very many deaths—by Sunnydale standards.

  Life was back to normal … by Sunnydale standards as well.

  “Well, we’d better go to school,” Buffy said to the others.

  Giles drove them back. They trooped into the auditorium where they had once died a thousand deaths in a talent show. Giles, almost literally.

  They found seats and settled in. Jenny Calendar sat next to Giles, and they smiled at each other.

  The Hahns were there too, in amazingly nerdy sweaters with moose faces on them. They sat beside each other in the center of an otherwise empty row, the outcasts they had always been … or nearly always.

  Principal Snyder came out to a mixed chorus of boos and cheers. Like the others, his face was undamaged. Well, except for its natural appearance.

  “How can he not remember that I saved his immortal soul?” Xander kvetched. “That is so unfair.”

  Snyder held out his hands for silence. The students all settled down.

  “I’m happy to announce the results of our student council fund-raising survey,” he relayed, with an expression that was anything but happy. He actually looked like he was chewing glass.

  “We’re going to have a blood drive.” He huffed. Then he threw down the clipboard. “This is idiotic. We’ll have a carnival, just like all the other schools.”

  “This is so inappropriate,” Cordelia said. “He has no clue.” Then she brightened. “Ooh, carnival! I’ll be the queen!”

  Buffy exchanged weary glances with the others.

  Willow said quietly, “You know, even with the lust spell, Angel was never attracted to Cordelia.”

  Buffy blushed. “Wow. That’s true.”

  “Score one for Dead Guy,” Xander said grumpily.

  “Participation will be mandatory,” Snyder went on.

  It always is, Buffy thought.

  She whispered to Willow, “Anywhere But Here.”

  Willow thought. “Tuscany, John Cusack, riding mopeds.”

  “Good,” Buffy complimented her.

  “Your turn,” Willow said.

  Buffy cocked her head. “Graveyard, Angel, smoochies.”

  Willow frowned slightly. “That’s not Anywhere But Here, Buffy. That’s here.”

  Buffy smiled. “Yeah. It is.”

  ONE THING OR YOUR MOTHER

  FOR PATRICIA A. BEYER AND HER MOTHER, JEWELL PELLEGRINO

  MY WATCHERS

  Patricia and Fred. Their sons, Matthew and Paul. Matthew’s wife, Beth. Vivian. Her mother, Ollie. Her daughters, Debra and Donna. Their spouses and children, Bill, Michael, Justin, Chris, and Derek. Madeline and Bob. Their daughters, Elizabeth and Katherine. Anna. Heather. Samantha. Her husband, Sean. Their children, and my godchildren, Katey, Maggie, and Jack. Allan and Candy. Their daughters Christiana and Carolina. Fred and Marianne. Their son, Freddie. Tony. Vanessa. Cappiello. Tara. Art. Brett and Jenn. Jolene. John. Maura. Patrick. Emily. Cara.

  To you, these names may not mean anything. To me, they mean the whole world. They are my family, my friends, the people who made me who I am, and who, one way or another, made this project possible.

  Special thanks to Katherine for the title. To Heather, for always helping me find my way when I’m lost. To Emily, for the opportunity. To Cara, for her careful editing. And to my mother, Patricia, and my grandmother, Jewell, for being nothing at all like the villain of this piece. I, too, know how lucky I am.

  Joss Whedon is a genius. His work inspired mine, long before I had the chance to write about Buffy Summers. I am also indebted to the writers of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and to the actors who brought their characters to such dazzling life.

  Finally, David. He teaches me daily that there is nothing love cannot accomplish. Whatever I am, whatever I might achieve, it means nothing without his constant patience, understanding, support, and selfless devotion.

  Thanks, guys.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Three to one wouldn’t normally be considered the best odds to take in a fight.
Of course, the math changed a bit if the “one” in question happened to be Buffy Summers. Technically, she was the Vampire Slayer. But the fine print of her unwritten contract with the powers that be didn’t distinguish between vampires, demons, witches, ghosts, or any other purveyor of paranormal power that happened to make its way to Sunnydale, California, Buffy’s home, and one of only a few cities on the planet whose claim to fame was being situated on a Hellmouth. Sunnydale’s tourist brochures would never highlight this particular piece of trivia, because Buffy and a few of her closest friends were among the handful of folks who even knew what a Hellmouth was, let alone that its proximity to the quaint Southern California town made it a magnet for all things evil.

  “Tell me the truth,” Buffy said as she landed a solid kick to the chest of one of her assailants that sent him crashing into a really lovely marble headstone. “You got that jacket at David Lee Roth’s yard sale, didn’t you?”

  The vampire on the receiving end of her barb was too busy trying to pull himself up to find a witty retort. Buffy briefly considered pulling her favorite stake out of her jacket pocket and finishing him right then and there with a quick lunge and thrust. Unfortunately his buddies, whom she had already dubbed Tweedle-Dumb and Tweedle-Dumber, were regrouping to lurch at her from opposite flanks. Not to mention the fact that part of her, a tiny, secret part that she rarely gave this much rein, was thoroughly enjoying pounding these three losers to a pulp. The adrenaline coursing through her veins—and pushing her enhanced strength and fighting skills to their limits—had already worked her up into a satisfying righteous rage. Though the three punching bags she was currently working weren’t really the source of her anger, she decided that for now she could settle for making them suffer a little for Angel’s betrayal and his perverse sense of revenge before sending them off to their dusty and final oblivion.

  “Come on, guys,” Buffy taunted, backing up a little to keep Dumb and Dumber in her peripheral sightlines. “I get that you’re new to this whole ‘creature of the night’ gig, but I know you can do better than this.”

  Dumb decided to feint to his right, a move he telegraphed as clearly as if he’d written Buffy a memo beforehand, complete with a color-coded diagram of their fight. As she shifted her weight to counter, Dumber charged Buffy’s back, throwing his whole weight into his attempt to knock her to the ground before baring his fangs and going in for a good long gulp of Slayer blood.

  That was certainly the plan, anyway.

  Unfortunately for Dumber, it took more than what had probably been in life the frame of a slight accountant to knock Buffy off her feet. Instead, she took his weight and used his own momentum to send him flipping over her back, feetfirst, into Dumb, who had unintentionally lined himself up perfectly to receive the full force of his accomplice’s misguided efforts. Had this particular move been attempted by the Van Halen wannabe, it might have been a different story. He had a good fifty pounds on his buddies, and as strong as Buffy was, her petite frame was hardly invincible. Lucky for Buffy, strength wasn’t everything in these nightly death matches. Speed and skill counted for much more than brute force, as she had learned again and again in the years that she’d been slaying vampires.

  As Dumb and Dumber were busy untangling themselves from each other, poor David Lee Wrong had finally come to his senses and regained his feet. Instead of jumping back into the fight, he seemed to be seriously considering the better part of valor, also known as making a run for it.

  Oh, no, you don’t, Buffy thought as he turned to find his escape route. Without pause, Buffy grabbed her trusty stake and sent it flying through the air, straight through his back and into his heart. Though she couldn’t see the expression on his face, she did hear a faint “Bummer, dude,” as what had begun as dust quickly turned once again to dust, exploding into a million tiny fragments with a satisfying whoosh.

  Unfortunately, the sense of minute accomplishment that usually followed the death of a vampire did nothing to assuage Buffy’s anger. She turned back to the idiot twins who remained, fully prepared to finish the fight, hoping against hope that in the process some of the feelings she’d been struggling to wrestle into submission would find release.

  For the moment, both Dumb and Dumber were staring in disbelief at the untimely defeat of their compatriot.

  “Sorry, guys,” Buffy said in the world-weary tone she often adopted when confronting newly risen vampires. “I know you haven’t had time to read the handbook or attend any of the meetings, but here’s how this works. Whoever makes the rules decided a long time ago that if vampires like you were going to treat this planet like an all-you-can-eat buffet, there would be at least one girl in every generation—that would be me—born with the strength and skill to balance the scales a little bit.” Taking the bull by the horns, Buffy rushed the two vampires and, grabbing Dumber firmly by the lapels of his rayon-blend suit jacket, lifted him off his feet and tossed him atop Dumb before continuing.

  “So, much as I regret raining on your parade,” she said, punctuating her remarks with a swift kick to Dumber’s side, which sent him rolling off Dumb, “it’s my sacred duty to see to it that stupid”—another kick—“ugly”—a good stomp—“bloodsucking losers like you”—a final kick to Dumber’s backside—“never have a chance to hide from the light of day.”

  Neither of her remaining foes was putting up much pretense of a fight any longer, and though Buffy hated to see this come to an end, she knew it was long past time. Grasping an overhanging branch, she pulled it from its resident tree and snapped it in half. With less ceremony than she would have liked, she thrust the first half through Dumber’s back. As he exploded into dust, she turned on Dumb, who had risen to his knees.

  “That sucks,” he said weakly, already sensing the inevitable.

  “Tell me about it,” Buffy replied, finishing him off with the second half of the branch.

  Buffy’s rage ebbed ever so slightly as she placed her hands on her knees and caught her breath in the lonely cemetery.

  It did suck.

  It sucked more and harder than anyone in the world could possibly imagine.

  The battle had been good. But that was little comfort. The battle she needed to fight right now was with her former boyfriend, Angel, the man who had taught her both the meaning of love, and the definition of tragedy.

  She should have known it would never work. Truth be told, she had known. He was a vampire, and she was a Slayer. It was classic “Do not enter” territory.

  Angel.

  A vampire, yes. But not just any vampire. As foul and demented a demon as had ever walked the earth, he had once delighted in the infliction of exquisite pain on anyone unfortunate enough to cross his path. It was ultimately a camp of Gypsies who had found a way to make him pay by giving him back the one thing that could make him truly regret his violent ways: his soul. By the time he had first met Buffy he’d had over a hundred years to wrestle with that soul and come to terms with the only choices before him. He could remain in the shadows of the world eking out a meager existence, or he could re-enter the fight on the side of the good and somehow try to redeem himself. He had made the harder choice. But with Buffy by his side, redemption had slowly begun to seem possible. Long before they had admitted their love to each other, he had proved time and again that he would always be there for her, protecting the Slayer when he needed to, supporting her whenever he could, and always fighting beside her through the worst the world could throw at her.

  So in what universe was it fair that actually loving Buffy was the thing that destroyed him? The curse that restored his soul came with a little-known caveat: If he ever knew real happiness, the soul that was meant to torment him would be taken from him. He had known happiness, and Buffy had known it with him, ever so briefly. And now Angel was gone. Worse than dead. A demon now wore his face, and since his transformation a few weeks ago he had done everything in his power to taunt, terrify, and torture the girl who had risked everything to love him.


  It was like a bad dream that just wasn’t ending.

  Every time Angel had confronted Buffy since that fateful night when her world had changed forever, she had come closer to accepting the unacceptable. Angel was dead, and she was going to have to find it within herself to kill the monster that now roamed Sunnydale in his guise. And she had almost reconciled herself to that fact. Until a few days ago, when two frustrated ghosts, James and Grace, who had shared their own star-crossed affair over fifty years ago, had possessed Buffy and Angel in an attempt to resolve their own issues.

  Buffy could have done without the bad drama that was their last moments on earth. But she couldn’t deny, even now, the unutterable joy that had washed through her when Angel had pulled her into his arms, talking only of love and forgiveness, and sealed that bond with the deepest and most passionate kiss they had ever shared. How much of what she had felt had truly belonged to James and Grace, Buffy would never know. What she did know was that feeling Angel’s love again, even briefly, had made it harder than ever to accept the fact that what she’d once had was now gone forever, and for her and Angel there would be no fairy-tale reconciliation.

  Taking a quick scan of the rest of the cemetery, Buffy decided that she’d probably seen all the action this particular location had to offer for the evening. She still had hours of homework waiting for her before she was going to be able to get some sleep. Finals were only a few weeks away and despite her best efforts, her classroom performance had been seriously subpar this semester. With a sigh, Buffy turned away from the neat rows of headstones and trudged toward the cemetery exit.

  She had to admit that the last few nights her patrols had been particularly fruitful. She’d bagged more than a dozen newly risen vampires. In the days past, this would have been cause for pride, if not a small celebration. Now the victory seemed strangely hollow. Buffy had decided a long time ago that there needed to be something, not much, but a little something more to her life than being the Slayer. She wanted a place she could call her own, a tiny garden inside of her that she could quietly tend and fiercely protect from the rest of her life. She’d found that and more in loving Angel. But now, Angelus had made it perfectly clear that he was taking special care in his plans to crush the heart and spirit of the Slayer before he took her life. Passing through the cemetery gates, her footsteps directed toward home, Buffy wondered idly if the recent increase in numbers of undead rising from their graves meant that Angelus was considering a new tactic: raising his own personal army to help him take on Buffy.