The silence in the kitchen was deafening. Angel propped himself up on his elbows, gave Fred a cocky grin, and looked around in confusion. "Where am I?" he finally asked, a distinct Irish brogue flavoring his voice.

Cordelia crouched down by him. "Angel? Are you all right?"

Angel's eyes tracked down to the cleavage-baring neckline of her shirt. "Just fine, dearie. Do I know ye?" He touched his forehead as if it was hurting him.

"Don't you remember me? Cordelia?"

"Of course," Angel said, still in that brogue. "Delia. How could I forget?" He smiled charmingly.

It occurred to Wesley just then that Angel had the look of a man who'd awakened to find himself in bed with a stranger and was trying to cover up the fact that he had no idea what her name was.

"Cor-delia," corrected the Seer. She looked up at Wesley, who looked at Giles, who looked mystified. "Angelus?" Cordelia mouthed at her friend. Wesley shook his head. Whatever had happened to Angel, it didn't appear he'd lost his soul. The vampire was acting out of character, certainly, but not . . . well, mean.

"Maybe another body-switcher," Wesley mused, almost to himself. "You remember Marcus, Cordelia?"

Whatever Cordelia was going to say was interrupted by a slight moan from Spike's prone figure. Tara slipped off her barstool to kneel beside him.

"Dear God, I've the most beastly headache," complained the blond vampire without opening his eyes. His voice sounded different. It was his accent- it was smoother, more cultured, like Giles' or Wesley's.

"Are you all right?" asked Tara.

Spike opened his eyes and blinked, rubbing his forehead. "No, I'm awful, simply . . ." As he looked Tara full in the face, he blinked again, then stared, transfixed. ". . . exquisite," he finished.

"Uh . . ." commented Tara.

"Forgive me, Miss," said Spike as he scrambled indelicately to his feet. "I don't believe I've had the privilege of making your acquaintance, and I very much desire to. My name is Harding, William Harding." He held out a hand.

Tara accepted it hesitantly and stood to her own feet. "Tara. T-Tara Maclay."

"Miss Maclay. It is indeed an honor." Spike kissed her knuckles. Tara looked wide-eyed at Willow, who was staring open-mouthed and speechless at the scene unfolding before her. "I confess that when I awoke, I thought I must be in Heaven, to have an angel ministering to me."

"Giles?" squeaked Tara.

Xander raised his hand hesitantly. "I'm going to go out on a limb and say something seriously strange is going on here."

A few minutes later, both vampires were sitting on the lobby couch while the humans stared at them. Angel was alternately taking inventory of the women and glaring challengingly at the men. Spike, on the other hand, was trying to make himself as small as possible and looked like he'd have been blushing if he'd been capable of it.

Giles approached Angel. "You say your name is Liam?"

"That's right," said Angel defiantly. "Liam O'Connor. And who might you be?"

"My name is Rupert Giles, and believe it or not, we've known each other for a number of years."

"Not likely," Angel sneered. "I don't know any English. I don't want to know any English."

"Barbarian," muttered Spike.

"What's the last thing you remember, Liam?" asked Giles.

Angel-or rather, Liam-looked at him stonily for a moment, but apparently decided to play along. "I was at a tavern, having a good time. The bartender threw me and a friend out. Then I woke up here."

"Hm," was Giles' only comment. He moved to Spike. "What is your name?"

Spike stood and proffered a hand. "Mr. William Harding, at your service, sir."

"William?" asked Buffy as Giles shook his hand. "As in William the Bloody?"

Spike, or William, looked greatly offended. "I beg your pardon, young lady, but I object to that sobriquet very strongly."

Everyone stared at him. William sat back down sheepishly. Giles continued with his line of questioning.

"What's the last thing you remember, Mr. Harding?" The Watcher decided to adopt a more formal mode of address for this incarnation of Spike.

William paused a moment before answering. "The last thing I recall is leaving a dinner party at Sir Geoffrey Wyckham's residence."

Wesley had a sudden inspiration. "Angel-Liam, I mean-what year is it?"

"1753," answered Liam without hesitation.

"How do you mean?" asked William. "It's 1880."

Buffy, Wesley, and Giles all looked at each other, then withdrew. The others gathered around them across the lobby from the vampires.

"I take it you two are aware of the significance of those dates?" Wesley asked Giles and Buffy.

"1753 was when Angel was turned. 1880 was when Spike was turned," answered Buffy. "The last things they remember are the nights they were turned into vampires. I remember Angel telling me he was drunk the night he met Darla." She glanced over her shoulder at the vampires. "That's not exactly how I pictured human Spike, though. I mean, so much for Mr. 'I've always been bad.' He's kinda . . ."

"Wesley?" supplied Xander.

"That's the word," agreed Buffy.

"I beg your pardon!" protested Wesley, sounding for all the world like William. Then he blinked. "Oh, dear."

"So they've forgotten all about being vampires?" asked Willow.

"It would appear so," said Giles.

"And they think they're human?" asked Willow.

"That would be my guess," answered Giles, sounding just a little uncertain.

Anya decided to confirm it. She walked over to the couch and asked point- blank, "Do you two think you're human?"

Liam smirked. "What else would we be, precious?"

"I believe I'm offended," sniffed William.

The former demon went back to the group. "They think they're human, all right."

"This is all kinds of bad," declared Cordelia. "Vampires thinking they're human could lead to seriously wrong things, and is Angel staring at my butt?"

Anya, standing beside her, looked over her shoulder. "Either yours or mine. Hard to tell."

Xander immediately stepped behind his girlfriend, hiding her hinder parts from Liam's appreciative gaze.

"So what's causing this?" Buffy was asking.

"A spell?" ventured Wesley.

"We could try a general reversal spell," began Willow, but was swiftly cut off when Giles and Wesley both said, "No."

"If it isn't a spell, that could be very dangerous," said Wesley.

"I agree," concurred Giles. "Especially seeing as a spell is what gave Angel his soul."

"Definitely don't want to mess with that," added Cordelia.

"Even if it is a spell," said Wesley, "it's safest to know exactly what kind of magic this is, and what went into the spell, before trying to reverse it." He thought a moment, and his face twisted with distaste. "I do hope it isn't Wolfram & Hart."

"Oh, this is the sort of thing Lindsey McDonald would've thought was really funny before he converted to the Light Side of the Force," said Cordelia. "Actually, he'd still think it's funny."

"It doesn't seem their style somehow," mused Wesley.

Cordelia snorted. "Yeah, their style is more, 'Want to mess with Angel? Torture Cordy!'"

Meanwhile, back on the couch, William was examining his clothing with a dissatisfied expression. "Most unseemly for a gentleman of my station," he muttered.

Liam, meanwhile, stretched comfortably. "You don't look like a gentleman of any station to me. And what does it matter, anyway?"

"I beg your pardon." William looked Liam over. "I suppose you find this all amusing."

Liam shrugged. "No reason not to. Besides, there are some lovely-lookin' women to be had here. Don't ye agree?"

William's moony gaze returned to Tara. "None holds a candle to Miss Maclay, in my opinion."

"Not bad," agreed Liam, looking her over. "Nice set of titties on her."

William stiffened. "Behave like a gentleman, you Irish oaf!"

"Why would I want to, you English pig?"

"Cur!"

"Pansy."

William was getting more and more heated. "What do you know of gentlemen, anyway? You look like a half-dressed vicar at a funeral, and your hair sticks straight up."

Liam surveyed William's head with amusement. "You might want to take a look at your own hair before you go criticizin' mine. It's all white. You look like a wee baby lamb."

"How dare you!" William spluttered. "My hair is-ow!"

Liam had yanked a single hair from William's head. "Take a look for yourself."

William examined the peroxide-bleached hair, then reached up to pull another. It turned out to be white, too. So did a third hair.

"Good Lord!" he whispered. "I'm an old man!"

The human contingent was startled out of its collective huddle as William leaped to his feet and began rushing around the room. Liam sprawled out on the couch, laughing fit to kill.

"A mirror!" cried William. "I need a mirror!"

"Uh, Spike-William, I mean, that's not exactly going to do you much good," said Willow, but William was beyond listening. He finally spotted a hanging mirror and made for it, only to discover his distinct lack of reflection. He blinked, looking from the humans to their reflections in the mirror, searching for his own, and coming up dry, even when he reached out to touch it.

"Is this some sort of trick?" he asked.

Giles was the one to speak up. "There are some things you need to know, William."

Liam, curiosity piqued by William's antics, had also wandered over and was puzzling over his own missing reflection. "I remember stories my Ma used to tell me about demons and vampires. They never reflected in mirrors, either."

"Actually, that's not completely true," said Anya. "Demons usually have reflections. I mean, not all, of course-Sivo demons don't reflect in mirrors, only in pools lit by the moon, and G'naush demons don't reflect at all, or even have shadows, which is probably because they're the ugliest things on Earth and nothing wants to reflect them. But vampires don't have reflections, which is why you two don't have them."

Liam and William both stared at her.

"At least she broke it to them gently," murmured Wesley to Giles.

"We're vampires?" asked Liam. He looked intrigued rather than alarmed.

"Stuff and nonsense," declared William. "There's no such thing."

"I'm afraid it's true," said Giles. "The year is 2001, and both of you are still alive. Undead, rather."

"Where are we?" asked Liam.

"America," said Buffy. "Los Angeles. Which I guess didn't exist when you two were alive. Did it?"

"America," breathed Liam. He smiled. "So I finally made it out of Galway."

"This is preposterous!" William protested to Giles. "I have no idea what your intentions are, sir, but it is the scientific age, and vampires simply do not exist. It's impossible."

"It's true," said Tara.

That got William's attention. He moved in front of her. "Miss Maclay, I can see that you are a young lady of virtue, and I mean no disrespect, but I believe you might have been misled by persons of questionable character."

"I haven't," said Tara. "I've known you for two years, and you've been a vampire the whole time."

"You would swear to this?"

"I would."

William considered her. "Then, loath as I am to do so, I must take you at your word, strange and impossible though it may seem. Yet, who am I to judge what is possible? As Hamlet said, 'There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.'"

Willow and Xander traded a look. Spike-quoting Shakespeare?

"America," repeated Liam. " 'Tis strange, but I believe you. This place-I don't remember it, but it seems somehow familiar."

"It doesn't to me," said William, very stiff.

"That's because you've never been here before, thank God," said Cordelia.

"You seem familiar, too, sweeting," Liam said, giving her the once-over yet again. "We know each other, do we?"

"Yes, and most profoundly not in that way." Cordelia gave him a warning glare.

William, meanwhile, returned his attention to Tara. "My dear Miss Maclay, a ghastly suspicion has been growing in my mind, and I trust to your virtue and discretion to provide me with a truthful answer, though I fear to hear it."

"O-okay," said Tara, very afraid.

"Am I an old man?"

Buffy turned away, not caring to hear Tara's answer to William's query. The situation held no amusement value for her. She hugged her arms around herself, wandering back into the lobby.

"Buffy." It was Giles' voice. "Buffy, you should get some rest."

The Slayer turned to face him. "Rest? Dawn's out there, Giles. We have no idea where she is, who's taken her, or what she's going through, and now Angel and Spike are both missing half their marbles. All that, and you're telling me to rest?"

"Yes, I am," said the Watcher. "I know you can force yourself to sleep when you need to, and you need to right now. We'll investigate, learn what we can. If we can figure out what has been done to Angel and Spike, and how, it's possible we'll find a clue to Dawn's whereabouts. When that happens, you'll need to be at your best." Giles stepped closer. "I'll work with Wesley on this. We'll find out what's happened."

"Wesley?" asked Buffy dubiously.

"Yes, Wesley. He's worked closely with Angel for two years; in all probability, he understands vampires-and Angel, in particular-better than I do. Furthermore, green as he may have been in Sunnydale, he's shown a different side here."

Buffy put a hand to her forehead. "I know. I know. It's just . . . it's Dawn, Giles. If anything happens to her, I don't think I . . ." She couldn't finish.

Giles set a hand on her shoulder. "We won't let her come to harm, Buffy."

Buffy nodded. "Maybe you're right. I'll lie down for a bit. Call me if you find anything out, okay?"

"I shall." Giles watched as Buffy climbed the stairs, then returned to the others.

At the top of the stairs, Buffy looked both ways down the hall. After a moment, she moved on impulse to the right. Soon, she found herself in Angel's suite.

The Slayer wandered through the rooms, taking stock of the subdued décor, the perfect neatness. Some things hadn't changed. Looking in his closet, though, it appeared some things had. Buffy noted that his wardrobe had grown to include color. She smiled as she fingered a royal blue button- down and imagined he must look good in it.

The bed caught her attention. She remembered being sixteen, chased by the Order of Turaka, and terrified. Only in Angel's apartment, resting in his bed, had she felt safe.

Her shoes were left on the floor as she climbed onto the bed and curled up against the pillows, pulling one of the blankets to cover her legs. She breathed in the clean, masculine scent around her and closed her eyes. Then she opened them again. There was a different scent here, something not Angel. Something perfumed and feminine.

Something Cordelia.

Buffy remembered Angel picking up the other girl, carrying her up the stairs. He must have laid her in his own bed to rest. Unbidden, the image of Angel laying Cordelia down on this bed, tucking her in, brushing her hair back with his hand and kissing her forehead, came to Buffy's mind.

Does he take care of her when she's hurt or afraid? Does he hold her when she's in pain? Does he watch over her, shadow her home, watch to make sure she's safe?

Does he love her?

Stop it, Buffy finally admonished herself. It's his life now. She's in it. You're not. Didn't both of you know it had to be this way? It's been over for more than two years. You've moved on; so has he.

Besides, she's truly alive, unlike certain people I could mention. She's still got the fire. Why would Angel even look at you now?

Stop it.

Buffy threw the cover off her legs and stood. No more torturing myself with this, she decided. She left Angel's room and went to find another, preferably a room without ghosts.

END CHAPTER 6