"I finally managed to get the Charmes de Mort," she said out loud with mumbled satisfaction. "Now I just have to find my copy of the Antigean Book of Power Centers. I know I have it." She continued to dig. "It's the only other one I need."
Tara suddenly slapped her forehead. "I let Willow borrow it!" She picked up the phone and dialed.
"Hello?" answered Buffy's voice.
"Buffy, hi. It's Tara."
"Oh, hi," said Buffy. She seemed unsure what to say next so she added, "Here's Will."
"Tara, hey," Willow cooed. "How did you do on your Biology final?"
Tara wanted to be impatient, but with Willow it wouldn't have felt right. "It was pretty good actually." Or it would have been if I could have concentrated, she thought.
"Cool," answered Willow. "I'm glad."
"So, I was going through some of my books today," Tara said, changing the subject. "And remembered that I hadn't gotten my power centers book back from you yet."
"Oh! I completely forgot. I'm sorry - I should have gotten it back to you by now."
"It's cool," the other answered. "Is there any way I can come pick it up?"
Willow got excited. "Are you doing a spell? Something I can help with?"
Tara hated to quelch her enthusiasm. "No," she lied. "I'm just trying to put them all in some discernable order." She faked a laugh. "I guess I've been around Giles too much lately."
Her girlfriend giggled. "He does tend to have that affect on people. I even alphabetize my cds now."
"So can I come over and get it?"
Though a bit confused at Tara's persistence, Willow let it slide. "Well, it's at Buffy's house right now, actually. We started moving stuff out of our room and I'm storing most of my magic stuff over there - mom's not too keen on the whole subject."
"Oh," said Tara. Her mental reply wasn't quite so neutral.
"But listen," continued Willow. "Buffy and I just decided that we're going to have a party tomorrow night at her house, kind of an end of the school year bash. And you are most definitely invited. You could pick it up then."
"That sounds cool. I'll see you tomorrow after class. Good luck on your final."
"Thanks. You too. Bye."
"Bye." Tara hung up the phone and scowled to herself. I don't have time
for this. I need that book! All the necessary preparations are listed in
there. With that, my spell will be ready to perform.
Even at just barely 11:00 PM, Riley's eyes were beginning to droop. He hadn't felt like himself lately- not since their battle with Adam. He had been weak and tired constantly. No one knew though, not even Buffy. Riley figured she had more important things to think about.
Giving up on trying to study, Riley reached up and flicked off the light next to his bed. He expected himself to fall asleep the second his head hit the pillow.
But he didn't. Mixed with the lost energy was a frustrating restlessness, but this was the first time that it had kept him awake.
He thought about calling Buffy, knowing full well that she'd still be awake, but that would just bring questions. Was he sick? Was something wrong? Should she come over? And he didn't want her worried about it.
Riley sighed and rolled over. It was about two hours before he fell
asleep. And that's when the dreams started.
The boards in the floor upstairs creaked. Angel didn't like it. And he could hear the rats scurrying through the walls -- that problem could be rectified soon enough. Even the smell of the air bothered him.
Angel was used to change. He had lived through two centuries of it. Moving from place to place, never quite settling down. Even in Sunnydale, he had never really felt quite like he had a home.
But L.A. had been different. Angel had a place of his own, that was nothing new, but this time he had shared it. With friends. He should have known better than to get used to it.
POOF. One of those friends was gone, and suddenly he didn't feel quite so secure. Just because it was a familiar feeling didn't mean that he liked it. Then Wesley had shown up, filling a part of the breach, and things had started to get better. But, as suddenly as ever before, the place he had come to call home had been destroyed. And he had nearly lost his two closest friends that same day.
So in those moments, alone in this new and unfamiliar place, Angel couldn't help but turn his thoughts back to the first casualty of his not quite so successful life in Los Angeles.
Doyle. In his many years of life, if you could call it that, he had suffered over the deaths of many. Most of those he had caused himself. He found it ironic that the one that had not been his fault was the one that now plagued him in his sleep.
Angel was pacing the floor of the kitchen, had been for nearly two hours. He was used to guilt, but this was different. It was as though he could feel Death lurking about.
Usually when Death was around, it was because he had been cheated. Through one freak accident or another, a life that should have been claimed was not. Or so the legends said, and most of the time the legends were right. But now, on this night -- the night before the full moon, Angel noted -- Death was humming a different tune.
Shaking his head, Angel tried to clear his thoughts, something that he hadn't been able to do all day. It didn't help that he was upset and hungry. He sat down at the kitchen table and picked up the book that sat there- one of the few that had been recovered from the old building. Something fell out of it and fluttered to the floor.
Angel leaned down, and at that moment his breath would have been taken away, had he had breath. It was a drawing he had done ... of Buffy. He picked it up and studied it. The resemblance was nearly perfect, not surprisingly. When he closed his eyes he could remember every eyelash, every dimple -- every tear.
Angrily, Angel crumpled up the paper and threw it across the room. Like he needed anything else to remind him of his losses. He had drawn the picture shortly after Thanksgiving last year. Shortly after he had given up his humanity in hopes of being able to protect the one person who could make him feel alive.
Then the anger faded away, and the pain was back. Doyle had made a great sacrifice as well. But it was a sacrifice he shouldn't have had to make.
"Angel?" called Wesley from upstairs.
Angel had been so preoccupied that he hadn't even heard the door open. He scolded himself.
"Sorry I'm late," said the other man as he came down the stairs. "I woke the poor fellow, and he was none too happy, but I've got it." He held out a paper sack.
The rat problem would be taken care of another night.