Chapter 31: What's My Line Pt. 1
December 1, 1997 – Monday
Gateway High School
Buffy was sitting with Xander in the lounge that day, staring glumly down at her test form. Banners hung from the walls, reminding students that Career Fair Starts Tomorrow, and at a table across the room, the school guidance counselor sat sagely behind another sign which read, Vocational Aptitude Tests.
As Buffy lifted her eyes, she saw Willow come in and grab a test, then walk over to join them.
"Are you a people person or do you prefer keeping your own company?" Xander read solemnly from his test. He paused, his brow furrowing. "What if I'm a people person who keeps his own company by default?"
"So, mark 'none of the above,'" Buffy said.
"There is no box for none of the above. That would introduce too many variables into their mushroom-head, number-crunching little world."
Willow beamed Xander a smile. "I'm sensing bitterness."
"It's just, these people can't tell from one multiple choice test what we're supposed to do for the rest of our lives," Xander grumbled. "It's ridiculous."
Willow's eyes widened. "I'm kind of curious to find out what sort of career I could have."
"And suck all the spontaneity out of being young and stupid? I'd rather live in the dark."
"We won't be young forever," Willow reminded him.
"I'll always be stupid," Xander shot back. And then, when nobody commented, he added, "Okay, let's not all rush to disagree . . ."
The three glanced up at the sound of Cordelia's voice. She was heading straight toward them, test form in hand, flanked by her usual group of Cordelia wannabes.
"'I aspire to help my fellow man,'" she read aloud. "Check."
She stopped, making a decisive mark on her paper. And then she cocked her head and frowned.
"I mean, as long as he's not, like, smelly or dirty or something gross," she clarified.
"Cordelia Chase," Xander sighed, "always ready to offer a helping hand to the rich and pretty."
Cordelia regarded him with a frosty smile. "Which, lucky me, excludes youtwice!"
She moved off again, her Cordettes tittering as they followed. Xander leveled an impassive stare at her back.
"Is murder always a crime?" he asked hopefully.
Buffy glanced down the list of questions in front of her. Then she looked up with a frown. "Do I like shrubs?"
"That's between you and your God," Xander said.
"What'd you put?" Buffy asked Willow, craning her neck to see.
"I came down on the side of shrubs."
"Go shrubs," Buffy agreed, settling back in her seat.
"Okay." Then she put down her pencil, her frown deepening. "I shouldn't even be bothering with this. It's all moot-ville for me. No matter what my aptitude test says—I already know my deal."
"Yep," Xander nodded. "High risk, sub-minimum wage . . ."
Buffy held her pencil in front of him. "Pointy wooden things and magic."
"So why are you even taking the test?" Willow asked.
"It's Principal Snyder's 'hoop' of the week," Buffy said wryly. "He's not happy unless I'm jumping. Believe me, I wouldn't be here otherwise—"
"You're not even a teensy weensy bit curious about what kind of career you could have had?" Willow broke in gently. "I mean, if you weren't already the Charmed Slayer and all."
"Do the words sealed and fate ring any bells for you, Will?" Buffy snapped. "Why go there?" She stopped, shocked at her outburst. Willow's face looked positively stung.
"You know," Xander informed her, "with that kind of attitude you could have had a bright future as an employee of the DMV."
Buffy nodded, wilting beneath his glare. "I'm sorry. It's just, unless hell freezes over and every vamp, demon and warlock in San Francisco puts in for early retirement, I'd say my future is pretty much a nonissue."
Memorial Cemetery
It was usually quiet in the cemetery, but tonight a storm was threatening.
Buffy walked among the graves, every sense alert to potential danger. This would be the last stop on her patrol tonight, and she was tired, eager to get home. Dead leaves tumbled across the ground, scraping over headstones, riding a stiff wind. And yet suddenly there came a different sound—not the stealthy brewing of thunderclouds, but a closer, more distinct sound—one she'd never heard before.
Buffy stopped, listening. The sound came again—tink tink tink—and she frowned, trying to place it.
Her eyes wandered slowly over dark tombstones and shadows. And then she noticed something.
The mausoleum stood slightly apart from the other graves, rising high above them in mouldering spleendor. Buffy gazed at it for a long time, then finally she began moving toward it.
The sound was louder now. As she neared the front of the mausoleum, she could tell that the noise came from inside, and to her surprise she saw that the solid iron door was standing open. An eerie glow of light flickered across the threshold. Buffy took a deep breath and looked in.
A torch was set in the ground, and it was this light that threw its macabre shadows over the gloomy, rotting interior of the tomb. As Buffy watched, she could see a dark figure pressed close to the far wall, so absorbed in its work that it had no idea she was even there. It seemed to be intent on one of the vault doors, and as the lock finally broke, Buffy saw the thief open the vault and grab something from inside. Quickly she hurried out again. She positioned herself at the bottom of the mausoleum steps, arms folded casually across her chest as the figure came out.
"Does 'rest in peace' have no sanctity to you people?" Buffy asked in mock surprise. "Oh, I forgot—you're not people."
The vampire froze where he stood. He clutched the red velvet bag in one hand and prepared to defend himself. He didn't think Buffy had heard the second vampire sneaking up behind her. As a fireball formed in her hand, this new creature lifted its claws and poised for attack.
Buffy wheeled without warning, knocking the vampire back with a vicious, jumping kick. She threw the fireball and the second vampire exploded into dust.
"One down," she declared triumphantly, then spun, ready to take on the first vampire.
He wasn't there.
Buffy gazed at the empty steps of the mausoleum.
"One gone," she mumbled, bewildered.
She stood for several minutes, straining her ears through the night. When every instinct told her the danger had gone, she then disappeared in bright flames.
Halliwell Manor
Angel was waiting for Buffy as she flamed in. Her heart fluttered, sending warmth through her body, the way it always did when she was close to him—when she even thought about him. He didn't see her as he moved restlessly among her things, back and forth through her bedroom, picking up one personal item after another, then setting each back down again. Gingerly, he reached out toward a shelf. He ran one finger down the side of Mr. Gordo, her stuffed pig.
Buffy saw him hesitate, saw the muscle tighten in his cheek. "Does Prue, Piper and Phoebe know your waiting for me?"
At the sound of her voice Angel jumped like he'd been shot. He spun toward her, and Buffy saw with amusement that he was holding her favorite stuffed animal.
"Buffy," Angel sighed in relief. "You scared me."
"Now you know what it feels like, stealth-guy." Buffy meant to be teasing, but that edge had crept back into her voice. "So. Just dropping by for some quality time with Mr. Gordo?"
Angel looked blank. "Excuse me?"
"The pig."
Angel looked down and realized he still had her plush toy. "Oh, I, no—" Embarrassed, he quickly put it back on the shelf.
"What's up?" Buffy asked casually.
"Nothing."
Buffy tossed him a look. "You don't have 'nothing' face. You have 'something' face. So what's up?"
Angel's face grew serious. "I wanted to make sure you were okay. I had a bad feeling."
"Oh, surprise," Buffy said curtly. "Angel comes with bad news." She could see him watching her in obvious bewilderment, she could read the hurt in his eyes. "Sorry," she said quietly. "I've been cranky miss all day. It's not you."
"Can you two keep it down." Buffy and Angel turned at the sound of the voice and found Phoebe standing in the doorway. "Some of us are trying to sleep. Hello, Angel."
"Hello, Phoebe," Angel greeted.
"Sorry, Pheebs," Buffy apologized.
Phoebe nodded as she closed the door to Buffy's room before heading back to bed.
"What is it then?" Angel asked turning his attention back to Buffy.
"Nothing, it's . . . We're having this thing at school—" Buffy started
"Career week?"
"How'd you know?"
Angel shrugged. "I lurk." He then smiled as he pointed toward the door. "Besides I heard your cousins talking about it earlier. Their excited to see the results."
"Oh, right. So you know, then. It's this whole week of 'What's my line?' Only I don't get to play." Buffy hesitated, lowering her eyes. "Sometimes I just want . . ." She broke off. She gazed hard at the floor.
"You want what?" Angel coaxed her. "It's okay."
"The Cliffs Notes version?" Buffy said seriously. "I want a normal life. Like I had before."
Angel nodded. "Before me."
Silence fell between them. Buffy lifted her head and gazed into the mirror beside her bed. She could see herself so clearly, the weary young woman gazing back with sadness in her eyes.
But she was all alone there in the glass.
Angel had no reflection.
"It's not that," Buffy said carefully. "It's just, this career business has me contemplating the el weirdo that I am. Let's face it—instead of a job I have a calling. Okay? No chess club or football games for me. I spend my free time in graveyards and dark alleys—"
"Is that what you want?" Angel broke in. "Football games?"
"Maybe. Maybe not. But you know what?" Buffy could feel the self-pity building inside her, not wanting to feel it, but strangely powerless to stop it. "I'm never going to get the chance to find out. I'm stuck in this deal."
Again that hurt on Angel's face. Buffy felt sick and ashamed.
"I don't want you to feel stuck," Angel told her at last.
"Angel, I don't mean you," Buffy said desperately, trying so hard to explain, wanting him so much to understand. "You, Prue, Piper and Phoebe are the few freaky things in my freaky world that makes sense to me." She paused, took a deep breath. "I just get messed sometimes—wish we could be like regular kids."
This time he relented a little. He even managed a halfhearted nod. "I'll never be a kid," Angel reminded her.
"Okay, then," Buffy conceded, thinking quickly. "Just a regular kid and her two-hundred-year-old, creature-of-the-night boyfriend." She knew her joke had fallen flat. She watched his eyes travel to the mirror, and then slightly above it, where he seemed to notice something.
"Was this part of your normal life?" Angel asked. He reached past her, plucking a photograph from the mirror's frame.
It was a younger Buffy, a happier-looking Buffy. She was figure skating and performing a perfect arabesque.
Buffy's face softened as she took the picture from him. "My Dorothy Hamill phase. My room in L.A. was this major shrine—Dorothy posters, Dorothy dolls. I even got the Dorothy haircut." Now it was her turn to feel embarrassed. "Thereby securing a place for myself in the Geek Hall of Fame."
Angel was regarding her with interest. "You wanted to be like her."
"I wanted to be her," Buffy corrected him. "My parents used to fight a lot. Skating was an escape. I felt safe . . ." Her voice trailed away.
Angel carefully replaced the photo in the mirror frame. "When was the last time you put on your skates?" he asked, with an odd gleam in his eyes and a half-smile playing on his face.
Buffy had to think. "Like, a couple hundred demons ago."
"There's the Yerba Buena Ice Skating and Bowling Center over on Folsom Street." He took a step toward her. "It's closed on Tuesdays."
Buffy looked up at him, scarcely daring to hope. She returned his smile and took a step toward him. "Tomorrow's Tuesday," she said cautiously.
They were close enough to kiss.
"I know."
December 2, 1997 – Tuesday
Gateway High School
"You and Angel are going skating?" Willow said excitedly. "Alone?"
Buffy nodded. "Unless some unforeseen evil pops up. But I'm in full see-no-evil mode. Piper is going to drop me off and then I will flame back after."
"Angel, ice skating . . ."
"I know," Buffy agreed. "Two worlds collide."
They turned as Xander caught up with them. One look at his face told them he was severely disturbed about something.
"Wouldn't you two say you know me about as well as anyone?" Xander demanded. "Maybe even better than I know myself?
"What's this about?" Willow sounded wary.
"When you look at me, do you think prison guard?"
The two girls paused. They looked him over appraisingly.
"Crossing guard, maybe," Buffy said at last. "But prison guard?"
Xander was in full indignation. "They just put up the assignments for the Career Fair. And according to my test results, I can look forward to being gainfully employed in the growing field of corrections."
"At least you'll be on the right side of the bars," Buffy teased.
"Laugh now, missy. They assigned you to the booth for Law Enforcement Professionals."
Buffy made a face. "As in police?"
"As in polyester, donuts, and brutality," Xander said.
"Ugh."
Willow's expression brightened. "But . . . donuts . . ."
The mention of food didn't soothe Buffy at all. In fact, she was gazing off in another direction now, where they could see Giles trying to balance a foot-high stack of books under his chin.
"I'll jump off that bridge when I come to it," Buffy said. "First I have to deal with Giles. He's on this Tony Robbins hyper-efficiency kick. He wants me to check in with him now every day after homeroom."
Waving goodbye, she hurried off.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
The books were just about to fall.
As Giles tried to set them down on the library table, the whole stack tilted and began to topple over, when Buffy suddenly caught them. "Oh, Buffy." He smiled his relief. "Thank you."
Together they eased the stack down safely while Giles continued to talk. "I've been indexing the Watcher Diaries covering the past two centuries," he told her. "You'd be amazed at how pompous and long-winded some of these Watchers were."
Buffy hid a smile. "Color me stunned."
"I trust last night's patrol was fruitful," Giles went on, opening a notebook.
"Semi. I caught one of two vamps after they stole something from this jumbo mausoleum at the cemetery—"
"They were stealing?" Giles broke in.
"Yep. They had tools and the whole nine yards." Buffy paused, then asked, "What does that mean? The whole nine yards . . . nine yards of what? Now that's gonna bug me all day." She pondered this a moment longer, then realized Giles was pacing, visibly disturbed. "Giles, you're in pace mode," she scolded. "What gives?"
"The vampire who escaped, did you see what he took?"
"No, but let me take a wild guess. Some old thing?"
Giles frowned. "I'm serious, Buffy."
"So am I. I bet it was downright crusty."
Giles was definitely not laughing. There was an edge of impatience in his tone. "So you made no effort to find out what was taken?" he persisted.
Buffy looked up at him, a little surprised by his sharpness. "Have a cow, Giles. I thought it was just everyday vamp hijinks. I didn't think this was something I might have to look up in either mine or the family's Book of Shadows."
"Well, it wasn't," Giles retorted. "It could be very serious. If you'd made more of an effort to be thorough in your observations—"
"If you don't like the way I'm doing my job," Buffy broke in, hurt, "why don't you find someone else? Oh, right. 'There can be only one.' Long as I'm alive, there isn't anyone else. Well, there you go! I don't have to be the Charmed Slayer. I could be dead!"
Giles regarded her solemnly. "That's not terribly funny. You'll notice I'm not laughing."
"Death wouldn't be much of a change anyway," Buffy rushed right on. "I mean, either way I'm bored, constricted, I never get to shop, and my hair and fingernails continue to grow, so really, what's the dif?"
Giles struggled for composure. "Must we be so introspective now?" he asked gently. "Our only concern at this moment should be to discover what was stolen from that mausoleum last night."
Memorial Cemetery
Giles and Phoebe tried to keep up with Buffy as she hurried through the cemetery. It was clear to Phoebe that Buffy's feelings had been hurt—she was obviously trying to lose them.
"What did you say to her?" Phoebe questioned the Watcher.
"Buffy," he sighed. "Please. Slow down."
"Get with the program, Giles," Buffy tossed back. "We have work to do, remember?"
"You're behaving in a terribly immature manner—"
"Bingo. Know why? I am immature! I'm a teen! I've yet to mature!"
Phoebe looked back and forth between her cousin and Giles as they bickered.
Giles struggled for the proper response. "I was simply offering a little constructive criticism—"
"You were harsh," Buffy set him straight. "You act like I picked this gig. But I'm the picked. Too bad if I want a normal job."
'Something must have happened' Phoebe thought to herself. "Giles," she said. "Can you give us a moment?" Giles looked at her and then nodded as she rushed up to her cousin. "You want to tell me what's going on?"
Buffy sighed as she looked back at Giles and then at Phoebe. She lowered her voice to a whisper. "My career fair results said law enforcement. I don't want to be chasing bad guys as a day and night job, Phoebe."
"Buffy," Phoebe said with a sigh. "You don't have to do that if you don't want. Your choices are wide open to you."
"I don't know if they are," Buffy admitted.
"Buffy, they are," Phoebe said. "Prue and Piper are witches and they have normal jobs. Your mom and mine were witches and they had normal jobs to. You can to. Okay?"
"Phoebe is correct," Giles said. "While Law Enforcement would be a job that that would be suited to being the Slayer. Don't limit yourself, Buffy. Prue works at Buckland's right?" Phoebe and Buffy nodded. "And, Phoebe, your going to college, correct?" Phoebe nodded. "And Piper owns P4. Which aren't you part owner of?"
"Technicaly speaking not till she's twenty-one," Phoebe interjected. "Because of the liquor license. Unofficially, yes."
"My point, Buffy, is you can do anything you want," Giles said. "Your future is wide open to you. Don't let this one test determine your future."
"He's right, Buffy," Phoebe agreed. "Do you know what my career fair tests said?" Buffy shook her head. "Fashion designer. And you know what my major is?"
"Psychology," Buffy answered.
"That's right," Phoebe said as she smiled at her cousin. "Your future is wide open."
"Thanks guys," Buffy said as she looked at Giles and Phoebe.
"Your welcome, sweetie," Phoebe said as she wrapped an arm around her cousin.
It was then that they reached the mausoleum. "This is the place," Buffy said. She pulled open the heavy iron door and went in, Giles and Phoebe following.
Phoebe flicked on a flashlight, playing the beam all around the gloomy interior. After a moment, Buffy led her and Giles over to the vault in the far wall, where the door was still standing open.
"May I?" Giles asked softly.
"Be my guest," Phoebe said as he took the flashlight from her, then shone it into the empty vault.
"It's a reliquary," Giles explained, "used to house items of religious significance. Most commonly, a finger or some other body part from a saint."
"Note to self," Buffy quipped. "Religion—freaky."
"Couldn't agree with you more," Phoebe chuckled.
Giles turned back around, going over the rest of the wall with the flashlight. Now they could see something else they hadn't noticed before—bold letters carved into the granite above the doorway.
"Du Lac . . ." Giles read the name aloud. Immediately Buffy and Phoebe could hear the recognition in his tone along with unmistakable concern. "Oh dear . . ."
"I hate when you say that," Buffy said flatly.
"What is it?" Phoebe added.
"Josephus du Lac is buried here," he told them.
"Was he a saint?" Buffy asked.
"Hardly." Giles frowned. "He belonged to a sect of priests who were excommunicated by the Vatican at the turn of the century."
Buffy raised an eyebrow. "Excommunication and sent to Sunnydale. Must have been big with the sinning."
"Remember the book that was stolen from the library by a vampire a few weeks back?" Giles rushed on. "It was written by du Lac and his cohorts—" Frustrated, he broke off. then added, "Damn it. In all the excitement, I let it slip my mind."
"I'm guessing it wasn't a Taste of the Vatican cookbook," Buffy said hopefully.
"Not now, Buffy," Phoebe scolded her cousin. "I take it, it was a magical text?"
"Yes," he replied. It was said to contain rituals and spells that reap unspeakable evil. However, it was written in archaic Latin, so nobody but the sect members could read it."
Together they walked outside. The sun and fresh air felt good after the dankness of the tomb.
"Then everything's cool," Buffy tried to sound encouraging. "The sect is gone. Worm food like old du Lac, right?"
"Given our lives, Buffy, I doubt it," Phoebe countered with a sigh.
Buffy and Phoebe could tell that Giles Giles pensive. "I don't like it. First the book is taken from the library. Now vampires steal something from du Lac's tomb—"
"You think they've figured out how to read the book?" Phoebe questioned.
"I don't know." Giles shook his head, his eyes deeply troubled. "But something's coming. And I guarantee, whatever it is—it's not good." He looked pointedly at Phoebe. "I don't know if we will need you and your sisters. But…"
"One step ahead of you," Phoebe said. "I will get Prue and Piper and meet you at the school."
San Francisco Bus Station
At the Bus Station, a bus was just pulling in. It squealed to a stop in a huge cloud of exhaust, and the doors hissed open.
None of the passengers seemed remarkable. Inconspicuous faces in a weary crowd, they stepped off the bus and disappeared just as noneventfully through the doors of the terminal, all bound for ordinary destinations.
Except for one.
This passenger was a veritable giant, standing a good seven feet tall in his enormous boots, and carrying a hard four-hundred pounds on his massive frame.
Greasy hair tangled over his shoulders. A thick, milky cataract covered one eye. His other eye was set deep in fleshy scars and carbuncles he called a face.
His name was Octarus.
And he was on a mission.
1323 Prescott Street
A mild-mannered man was striding down the sidewalk on Revello Drive, whistling and carrying a briefcase. He had a round moon-face and a sharply receding hairline, and he wore a suit much too large for his slight build.
His name was Mr. Pfister, and he was also on a mission.
He paused for a moment in front of the Halliwell Manor, reading the name Halliwell name stenciled on the mailbox.
Then he turned and headed up the walkway of the house next door.
He climbed the stoop and rang the doorbell. He mechanically adjusted the knot in his tie. And when a tired-looking housewife answered the door, he gave her his best salesman's smile. "Mrs. Kalish?"
"Yes?" the woman answered suspiciously.
"I'm Norman Pfister, with Blush Beautiful Skin Care. I'm not selling anything, so I'm not asking you to buy." He held up his briefcase so she could see. "Just to accept a few free samples."
The woman's suspicions wavered. "Free?"
"Absolutely."
She considered this a moment before letting him in. Mr. Pfister walked past her, and she shut the door behind him.
There was no one else on in the neighborhood this afternoon.
No one to hear when Mrs. Kalish screamed.
San Francisco Airport
A 767 had just come in for a landing. As the huge jet engines revved down, the hatch opened to the cargo hold, and a baggage handler climbed inside. He was wearing a Walkman, with heavy metal blasting between his ears. He stopped for an instant and squinted into the dark recesses of the compartment as sunlight blasted in from the opening behind him.
The young man peered over toward the cargo netting. For a second he could have sworn there'd been a dark silhouette between those crates.
He busied himself with the luggage, downloading it onto the conveyor belt. He paused long enough to fake the wild motions of a guitar solo, basking in make-believe applause.
And then he thought he saw it again.
Something darting behind that netting, just out of signt.
"What the hell—" He killed the tape and started toward the shadows. "Hey!" he called bravely. "You're not supposed to be in here."
No answer. He stopped, his courage faltering.
"Come on—" he started, but never got to finish.
The blows came out of nowhere, rocking him back on his heels. He fell in a heap on the floor, moaning slightly.
From some distant spot through his pain, he thought he heard the echo of footsteps. He thought he saw a shadow fall across him, then step over . . .
Slowly he lifted his eyes.
She was standing there, silhouetted in the doorway, gazing down at him.
A young woman—tall, slim, and exotic-looking—with mocha-colored skin and tight-fitting clothes. Her forehead was high and wide, her cheekbones finely sculpted; her long black hair had been knotted at the back of her head, where it hung down her back in a thick ponytail. But it was her eyes which struck fear into the young man now—for even though he tried to look away from them, her stare seemed to hold him.
Her eyes were large and black, curiously almond-shaped. They were at the same time feline, feral, and altogether ruthless.
The eyes of a hunter. The eyes of a predator. To the young man's relief, she suddenly turned and jumped down onto the tarmac.
Her name was Kendra.
And there was much she had to do.
Gateway High School
School had been over for hours.
As soon as Buffy and Giles had returned from the cemetery, they'd called Xander and Willow to an emergency conference, and the four of them had been gathered in the library ever since, discussing the du Lac tomb.
"So Giles is sure that the vampire who stole his book is connected to the one you slayed last night?" Willow asked Buffy. "Or is it 'slew'?" she frowned.
"Both are correct," Giles said absentmindedly as he paced among bookshelves. At last he emerged from the stacks with a yellowed periodical. "And yes. I'm sure."
It was then that Prue led Phoebe and Piper into the library. "You got something for us?" Prue asked.
"I found nothing in the Books by the way," Phoebe added.
Giles motioned to the sisters to join them. Then he set the magazine down before the group. They could see now that it was aNational Geographic, published in 1921. "Du Lac was both a theologian and a mathematician," he explained. "This article described an invention of his, which he called the du Lac Cross—"
"Why go to all the trouble of inventing something and then give it a weak name like that?" Xander interrupted. "I'd have gone with 'Cross-o-matic!' or 'The Amazing Mr. Cross!' . . ." He broke off as they all stared at him.
Giles, ignoring Xander, opened the magazine, indicating a discolored photograph of the cross, while Phoebe and Willow began to peruse the accompanying article. "The cross was more than a symbol," he went on. "It was also used to understand certain mystical texts, to decipher hidden meanings and so forth."
Buffy looked up at him, frowning. "You're saying these vampires went to all that trouble for your basic decoder ring?"
Giles regarded her blankly. And then he said, "Actually, I guess I am."
"According to this," Phoebe said, still intent on the article, "du Lac destroyed every one of the crosses, except the one buried with him."
Again Buffy frowned. "Why destroy his own work?"
"I suppose he feared what might happen if the cross fell into the wrong hands," Giles replied.
"A fear we'll soon get to experience for ourselves, up close and personal," Xander reminded them.
"Unless," Piper said, "we preempt their plans."
Willow leaned forward onto the table "How?"
Piper looked to Prue. "Phoebe and I will go back to the Manor start looking for any reference to this du Lac in the Books."
"And we'll be traying to learn what was in the book before they do." Giles paused, regarding them with grim purpose. "Which means we can expect to be here late tonight—"
Willow beamed. "Goody! A research party!"
"Will," Xander admonished her, "you need a life in the worst way—"
"Speaking of," Piper said looking at her cousin. "Buffy, do you still want me to drop you off?"
"Please," Buffy said hopefully.
Prue frowned as she looked her cousin in the eye. "You're still thinking of going on your date with Angel?"
Buffy sighed. "Prue, I doubt seriously were going to stop whatever tonight. Besides I will have my cell on me. Call and I will flame back."
Prue looked at Phoebe for backup and saw from her baby sister's expression she was outnumbered three to one. She looked back at Buffy. "Alright, but only because Angel will be waiting for you."
Yerba Buena Ice Skating and Bowling Center
The ice-skating rink looked beautiful tonight.
'Like some magical place,' Buffy thought, and she smiled to herself. She was completely alone, and as she skated round and round on the ice, moonlight filtered in from the high windows, bathing her in a soft silvery glow.
Buffy breathed deeply of the cool air. She came to a stop, savoring her freedom, then took off again, picking up speed. She'd been afraid she wouldn't remember how to skate, but now she realized she shouldn't have worried. Every technique came easily back to her. She moved gracefully, effortlessly, her hair blowing gently around her face.
So intent was she on her happiness, that she didn't even feel the eyes watching her from the bleachers. Didn't even notice the cruel, scarred face that marked her every movement from the dark.
Octarus looked down at her with an evil grin. He watched as she spun into a tight pirouette and then sailed off again to the far end of the rink.
Buffy felt magical tonight. Completely transported, her heart soared with joy—something she hadn't felt for such a long, long time. She pivoted now, skating backward, growing braver, going faster. She launched into an airborne twist, but felt her balance suddenly shift at the apex. Landing hard, the momentum carried her across the ice a good ten feet before she finally slid to a stop.
Buffy caught her breath. She saw a shadow move across the ice in front of her, and she immediately looked around. "Angel?"
Giant hands clamped about her neck. Octarus lifted her like a rag doll and carried her off the ice to the rink's rubber deck, ruthlessly pinning her to the wall.
Buffy had no idea what was happening. Caught completely off guard, she thrashed and fought and wrenched at his monstrous hands. She couldn't break his grip. She could only feel it closing, tighter and tighter around her throat, and in a moment of pure panic she disappeared in bright flames. She reappeared a few feet away gasping for breath.
"Buffy!"a voice shouted.
As Octarus whipped around, Angel's fist slammed into his face. Octarus lost his grip on Buffy, and she fell to the floor, gasping for breath.
But Angel's rage was uncontrollable now. Buffy could see that his handsome face had changed into that of a vampire, and Octarus smashed a ham-sized fist straight into it. Angel went sprawling across the ice.
Jumping up again, he quickly realized he was trapped in an alcove. He gave a furious roar and bravely stood his ground, even as Octarus moved in for the kill.
Buffy sprang into action as a fireball formed in her hand. "Angel!" she yelled. "Duck!" As Angel dove out of the way she threw the fireball at Octarus and he was engulfed in flames before exploding as he was vanquished. Buffy and Angel watched as a ring dropped to the floor at his feet.
Angel knelt cautiously and picked up the ring. His anger hadn't completely cooled yet, and there was a bad cut above one of his glowing vampire eyes.
"And the Hellmouth presents 'Dead Guys on Ice'," Buffy quipped. "Not exactly the evening we were aiming for."
Angel scarcely heard her. He was too busy staring at the ring. He studied the glyphlike pattern etched there on the ring's surface. "You're in danger," he said tightly. "You know what the ring means?"
Buffy thought a moment. "I just killed a Superbowl champ?"
"I'm serious. You should go home and wait until you hear from me." Angel turned around to Buffy, suddenly noticing her pain. "Are you okay?"
"What about you?" Buffy countered. "That cut—"
"Forget about me. You're hurt." Angel could see right through her—the defiant posture, the quick smile. She was definitely shaken, but still putting on her brave face.
"Hey. No biggy," Buffy assured him. "I've been slammed by bigger sides of beef than that."
"No, you haven't."
At that, Buffy faltered. "No," she agreed. "I haven't."
"This is bad, Buffy," Angel said solemnly. "We have to get you someplace safe."
He saw the quick flash of alarm in her eyes. "You mean—hide?"
"Let's just get you out of here." Angel started to move, but Buffy stopped him, staring up at the cut on his brow.
"Wait. Your eye is all . . . Let me—" Buffy reached up to wipe off the blood. Angel backed away, lowering his head. "Come on," she scolded gently. "Don't be a baby. I won't hurt you."
She tried to coax him closer, but Angel only shook his head. "It's not that," he mumbled. "I—you shouldn't have to touch me when I'm like this."
Buffy was at a loss. "Like what?"
Angel was half turned away from her. She had to strain to hear his voice. "You know. When I'm . . ."
"Oh," Buffy said. She stared at him for a long, long time. She felt her heart ache deep within her—a rush of love and pity and understanding.
Slowly, deliberately, she drew off her gloves and placed her hands upon his vampire face. Humiliated, Angel looked away, yet strangely enough, couldn't seem to pull back. It was almost as if the gentleness of Buffy's touch held him there in place, though every instinct told him to run.
Buffy turned his face back to hers. Tenderly she ran her bare fingers along his hideous features, gazing deep into his eyes. "I didn't even notice," she whispered.
No one had ever touched him like this. Touched the shadow within him, touched the dark thing he'd become all those many years ago. Angel felt overwhelmed with emotions, feelings he'd long forgotten, feelings he never believed he could ever have again.
Buffy drew him closer. Their eyes held, their lips met . . . She melted into his kiss. And for just this one brief moment they were ordinary lovers, ordinary people, safe and happy in each other's arms.
Safe and happy while Kendra watched them.
From her hiding place in the shadows, she watched them and made her plans.
December 3, 1997 – Wednesday
Gateway High School
The first thing Buffy did was have Prue drive her, Piper and Phoebe to school. Then she showed Prue and Giles the ring.
They'd been studying it closely for some time now, comparing it to an etching he'd found in a book.
Xander and Willow were at the table, and Buffy sat nearby trying not to think about last night's misadventure. She still felt shaky, and she definitely looked the worse for wear.
"This guy was hard core," Buffy couldn't help saying for the tenth time. "And Angel was power-freaked by the ring."
Giles gave a slight nod. "I'm afraid he was not overreacting. The ring is worn only by members of the Order of Taraka."
"Hang on," Piper said. She had brought Buffy's Book of Shadows with her. "I remember seeing them in here." She flipped through the Book till she found the right page. "They are a society of demon assassins dating back to King Solomon—"
"And didn't they beat the Elks last year in the Sunnydale Adult Bowling League Championship?" Xander asked seriously.
Giles ignored him. "Their credo is to sow discord and kill the unwary."
"Bowling is a vicious game—"
"That's enough, Xander!" Giles said sharply.
Prue, Piper, Phoebe, Buffy, Willow and Xander glanced at each other. It was a tone Giles seldom used, and when he did, Buffy knew to worry.
"I'm sorry," Giles relented, "but this is not time for jokes. I need to think."
"These assassins," Phoebe asked, "why would they be after Buffy?"
"'Cause you, Piper, Prue and Buffy are the scourge of the underworld?" Willow piped up.
"So why aren't they coming after us?" Piper questioned.
"I don't know," Giles admitted. "But I think the best thing to do is to find a secure location. Someplace out of the way where Buffy can go until we decide on the best course of action—"
That did it. Buffy stumbled to her feet, officially freaked. "Okay." She held up her hands. "You and Angel have both told me to head for the hills. What's the deal?"
"I—this is an extraordinary circumstance," Giles stammered.
Prue moved to Buffy and pulled her cousin into her arms, she could see how freaked Buffy was. "Rupert, your scaring her."
"They're that bad aren't they," Piper said, not wanting to freak Buffy out more. But knowing they needed all the information they could get to protect her cousin. "They wouldn't be in the Book of Shadows otherwise right?"
"They might—they're . . ." Giles pressed a hand to his forehead, collecting himself. "They're a breed apart. Unlike vampires they have no earthly desire except to collect their bounty. To find their target and eliminate it."
Buffy felt like she was having an out-of-body experience as she leaned into Prue. She could hear Giles's voice, yet it sounded faint and faraway. She forced herself to pay careful attention.
"And Buffy is they're target," Giles was continuing. "You can kill as many of them as you like. It won't make any difference, because where there is one, there will be another. And another. They won't stop coming until the job is done."
"So even the Power of Three would be a stalling tactic," Prue said reluctantly.
Giles fixed Prue with a worried look. "I am afraid so."
Piper sighed as she looked down at Buffy's book. "That's why their in Buffy's Book. By themselves they're probably a standard vanquish. But where you vanquish one…"
"The worse of it is, they are masters of deceit," he told them. "Vampires are bound by the night, but these predators can be anywhere, any time. They can appear as normal as the next person. Just another face in the crowd."
Buffy gazed back at him, feeling cold. She could sense the deep fear beneath his logic.
"You might not ever know when one of them is near," Giles finished quietly. "Not until the moment of your death."
1323 Prescott Street
In the house next door to Buffy's, Mr. Pfister was whistling to himself.
He'd pulled up his chair in front of a second-story window, and he was looking through binoculars directly into Buffy's bedroom.
Mrs. Kalish—or at least what was left of her—was lying on the floor.
Now she was little more than a desiccated corpse. Worms crawled out of her nose and mouth, squirming their way across the floor to where Mr. Pfister kept watch.
He sat very calmly as the worms wriggled up his leg and around his waist, as they reached his right arm, which was only partially formed up to the wrist.
The nub of his arm seemed to be moving.
The nub of his arm seemed to be throbbing, undulating, as the teeming mass of slimy worms regrouped themselves, becoming his hand.
Delicately, Mr. Pfister picked up a steaming cup of tea.
He sipped.
And he waited.
Gateway High School
Buffy left the library, flanked by Prue and Piper, feeling even more shaken and vulnerable than before.
The halls were packed with people. As they shouldered her way through the Career Fair crowds, she tried to keep herself in full alert-mode.
"It'll be alright, Buffy," Piper said soothingly. "We'll find a way to stop them."
Buffy didn't hear what Piper said. Her mind was going over what Giles had said. "They can appear as normal as the next person . . .just another face in the crowd." Her whole body felt like a spring wound too tight. Her eyes darted warily back and forth, side to side, and everyone who passed her seemed a potential threat. Suddenly she pushed past Prue and Piper and ran down the corridor and around a corner and then she disappeared in bright flames.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
"I wish there was more we could do," Willow sighed. She looked down at the table, at the volumes and volumes of books she and Giles had tenaciously been searching since that morning. But now it was night, and she was feeling more than a little discouraged.
Giles looked up at her, his own face mirroring her fatigue and concern. "We're doing all we can," he assured her. "The only course of action is to decipher the contents of the stolen book."
"I've never seen Buffy like that," Willow broke in worriedly. She looked at Piper and Prue. "You said she just took off . . ."
"Talked to Phoebe, she didn't go home," Xander announced. They turned as she entered the library, a gloomy look on her face. "And her cell is turned off, it just goes to voicemail."
Giles began to pace. "Perhaps my words of caution were a bit too alarming—"
"You think?" Piper said sarcastically. Then she sighed. "But it had to be said. We and Buffy needed to know what she's up against."
"I wish we knew where she was." Willow said.
"So do I." Piper agreed. "Did you try Prue, Xander?"
Xander nodded. "So far she hasn't seen her. Of course with that new power of hers she could disappear before Prue sees her."
"True she could have flamed anywheres." Piper agreed reluctantly.
Streets of San Francisco
Buffy had spent hours sitting on top of one of the towers of the Golden Gate Bridge. Tired and cold, she had flamed to the street outside the manor. There she saw Phoebe standing in the window watching for her.
Despite her cousins being the Charmed Ones, she didn't want to put them in danger. So she disappeared in bright flames before Phoebe could spot her. She didn't realize where she had flamed to till she found herself in front of Angel's basement dwelling.
She stood there staring at his door, and then finally she knocked. "Angel?"
No answer.
She tried the door, but found it locked. Not thinking she forced the lock and went in. The place was quiet and dark, the only light spilling in faintly from the hallway behind her. "Hey . . ." she called softly.
She clicked on a lamp and looked around.
Not overly decorated, but comfortable, she decided. A desk, a chair, a table, a tall folding screen, a dresser, heavy curtains. There were exotic statues in glass cases. There was an unmade bed.
Buffy walked to the bed and sat down. Her exhaustion was catching up with her now. Her exhaustion . . . and her fear. Fighting back tears, she curled up in Angel's bed. Small and alone she lay there on top of his covers, breathing in the scent of him from his pillow.
It was a long time before Buffy finally shut her eyes.
And then, at last, she slept.
The Alibi Room
The Alibi Room was probably the seediest bar in San Francisco.
As a rule lights were kept low here—to hide both the decorand the patrons—and the bartender was a shifty-eyed bottom-dweller named Willy. He prided himself on being a small-time hustler, but he was even prouder of the fact that he moved in the underworld of vampires.
Tonight Willy was cleaning up, giving the floor a perfunctory once-over with his broom. It was after-hours and he wasn't expecting anyone, so when the shadowy figure appeared in the doorway, he got annoyed.
"We're closed," Willy scowled. "Can't you read the sign?"
The figure moved slowly into the room.
As Willy looked up and recognized Angel, his whole demeanor changed. He'd always been scared of Angel—he didn't want any trouble.
"Oh," he laughed nervously, "hey, Angel. I didn't recognize you in the dark there."
Angel didn't answer. He simply stood and stared.
"What—what can I do for you tonight?" Willy chatted, already putting distance between them. He busied himself near the bar, trying to sound casual.
"I need some information," Angel said.
"Yeah?" Again that nervous laugh. "Man. That's too bad. 'Cause I'm staying away from that whole scene. I'm living right, Angel."
Angel's voice was smooth as silk. "Sure you are, Willy. And I'm taking up sunbathing."
"Come on now," Willy's voice cracked. He swallowed hard, trying to force down his growing fear. "Don't be that way. I treat you vamps good. I don't hassle you. You don't hassle me. We all enjoy the patronage of this establishment. Everybody's happy."
But Angel was coming toward him. He was walking over to Willy with slow, measured steps, and Willy could feel danger closing in around him. "Who sent them?" Angel asked.
Willy's nerves were about to explode. "Who sent who?"
Lightning fast, Angel's hand clamped around Willy's neck. The broom clattered to the floor as Willy gasped for breath.
"The Order of Taraka," Angel said calmly.
"I tell you"—Willy's eyes bulged with panic—"I haven't been in the loop."
"Let's try again. The Order of Taraka. They're after the Slayer."
"Come on, man . . ." Willy whimpered.
"Is it Spike?"
Angel tightened his grip. He lifted Willy off the floor. Willy tried desperately to choke out a negotiation.
"Angel, hey . . . I—I got some fresh pig's blood in. Good stuff. My fence said the white cell count is—" His words gurgled in his throat. It suddenly dawned on him that Angel was only moments away from squeezing the life out of him.
"You know," Angel mused, "I'm a little rusty when it comes to killing humans. It could takea while."
"Spike will draw and quarter me, man!"
At this, Angel relaxed his grip. He set Willy back on his own two feet.
"I'll take care of Spike," Angel said.
"You know he ordered those guys," Willy broke at last, words tumbling out in a rush. "Spike's sick of your girl getting in his way."
"Where can I find him?"
"I tell you that, and I'm gonna need relocating expenses," Willy whined. "It'll cost you—"
Angel slammed his head into the counter, sending glasses, plates, pieces of food and other debris scattering across the bar and onto the floor. Angel's fingers tightened around his neck.
"It will cost who?" Angel prompted him
"Okay . . . Okay!" Willy gasped. "He and that freaky chick of his are—"
Angel squeezed tighter. He was so intent on Willy's information that he never saw the broom handle flying toward his head. Before he even realized what was happening, Angel was blind-sided across the temple. He hit the floor hard, and Willy fell in a heap at his side.
Dazed, Angel looked up. He could see a tall, exotic woman standing over him, wearing a large medallion around her neck. Her whole stance, her whole attitude radiated lethal power. She had a strange foreign accent, and her voice rang with utter contempt.
"Where is she?" Kendra demanded.
Angel kept staring. He shook his head and spit blood onto the floor.
"The girl," Kendra said. "Where is she?"
There was no doubt in Angel's mind as to who she was talking about. He answered her with calm defiance.
"Even if I knew, I wouldn't tell you."
Kendra broke the broom handle over her knee. "Then die."
Instantly, Angel rolled out of the way. He felt a sudden swish of air as the makeshift stake plunged down toward his heart. He jumped to his feet, but Kendra was on him again in a flash. Willy raced for the exit and disappeared.
There was no holding back now. As Angel and Kendra fought savagely, they moved through the main room of the club, battling their way toward the rear. The bar's storage area was basically a floor-to-ceiling metal cage where expensive liquor was locked away, and as the two of them crashed inside, bottles shattered everywhere.
Kendra glared at Angel's face. He'd transformed into a vampire now, and his eyes were full of rage. He took up a broken bottle, thrusting it at her to fend her off, and for a split second Kendra hesitated.
"Who are you?" Angel growled.
Kendra backed out of the storage area. Her eyes were wary and she was breathing hard, yet there was an unnerving coolness about her.
"I won't hurt you," Angel promised, "if you tell me what I need to know."
And then, unexpectedly, she smiled.
Angel was incredulous. "You think this is funny?" he demanded.
Without warning, the door of the storage cage slammed shut.
He watched in disbelief as Kendra bolted it. "I think it's funny now," she mocked him.
Angel leapt to the door, shaking it viciously, trying to break the lock.
"That girl," Kendra said. "The one I saw you with before—"
"You stay away from her!"
"I'm afraid you are not in a position to threaten."
Angel pressed his face to the metal gate. "When I get out of here I'll do more than threaten—"
"Then I suggest you move quickly," Kendra replied, glancing at a row of high windows that ran along one wall of the storage cage. Uneasily, Angel followed her eyes. "Eastern exposure," she explained. "The sun comes in a few hours." A smile touched her lips. "More than enough time for me to find your girlfriend."
Frustrated, Angel watched her go.
He threw himself desperately against the door of the cage—and then again and again.
But the lock held fast.
And night crept steadily on toward morning.
December 4, 1997 – Thursday
Gateway High School
Giles wasn't sure what time it was.
He only knew that it was somewhere in the wee hours of the morning, and that he hadn't left the library since yesterday. Bleary-eyed and rumpled, he talked on the telephone now while riffling through yet another book.
"Xander? No, Phoebe and I still haven't heard from Buffy. Why don't you go relieve Piper and Prue at their house so they can get back on the street."
His voice trailed away as he noticed something on one of the pages.
Something important.
"Right away," Giles replied as Xander rattled on. "I don't know . . . get Cordelia to drive you." He hung up. Quickly he moved over to the table where Willow and Phoebe had fallen asleep.
Giles shook Willow gently. She woke with a start, her voice shrill as she cried out. "Don't warn the tadpoles!"
Phoebe was startled awake by Willow's cry. "What?"
Giles stared down at Willow, he too had been startled by her outburst. "My goodness," he frowned. "Are you all right?"
"Giles? What are you doing here?" Willow asked.
"You're in the library, Willow," he told her. "You and Phoebe fell asleep."
"Oh . . . I . . ." Willow started before Phoebe cut in.
"Any word?" Phoebe asked looking up at Giles.
Giles sighed shaking his head. "No. I sent Xander over to your house so Piper and Prue can get out and search again."
"Good thinking," Phoebe agreed. "That gets someone at the Manor and both of them on the street. It's times like this I wish I had a car."
Giles turned back to Willow. "'Don't warn the tadpoles'?" He lifted an eyebrow, and Willow's expression turned sheepish.
"I—I have frog fear." Seeing the amusement on Giles's face, she added, "I'm sorry . . . I conked out."
"Please," Giles reassured her. "You've gone quite beyond the call of duty."
"Giles is right, Willow," Phoebe agreed.
"And, fortunately, I think I've finally found something," he continued.
"You did?" Phoebe asked.
Giles nodded, holding up his book. "I had to go back to the Lutheran Index. But I found a description of the missing du Lac manuscript. It's a ritual. I haven't managed to decipher the exact details, but I believe the purpose is to restore a weak and sickly vampire to full health."
Willow's eyes widened. "A vampire like Drusilla?"
"Exactly."
"What does that have to do with the Order of Taraka? The assassins?" Phoebe asked.
"I would imagine Spike called them here to get Buffy out of the way," Giles replied. "I'm sure he wants nothing to come between him and his plans to revive his lady love."
Willow looked pleased. "So this is good. We know what the deal is."
"I wish I could agree," Giles sighed. "But all we know is the goal of the ritual. We don't know where it will take place or when . . . we don't know what it entails—"
"Sounds like something the Power of Three can handle then," Phoebe interjected. "That's good that way Prue, Piper and I can try and conserve our energies for finding Buffy."
"Still this is bad," Willow said.
"No. No. We just have more work to do." He tried to smile encouragingly.
Willow gave him a strange look. "Then why are you all pinched?" she asked tentatively.
Giles stared at Willow and Phoebe, more worried than ever.
Halliwell Manor
"I can't even believe you." Cordelia's shrill voice shattered the morning's tranquility. "You drag me out of bed this early for a ride? What am I, mass transportation?"
Xander knocked loudly on the front door. "That's what a lot of the guys say. But it's just locker-room talk. I never pay it any mind."
"Great. So now I'm your taxi and your punching bag."
"I like to think of you more as my witless foil, but have it your way," Xander said as he knocked again. "Come on, Cordy. You can't be a member of the Scooby Gang if you aren't willing to be inconvenienced now and then."
The door opened and Xander and Cordelia found Prue standing on the other side. "Xander," she said. "Any word?"
Xander shook his head. "None. Giles sent us over to take over so you and Piper can hit the streets again."
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
Thirty minutes after Prue and Piper left a knock came at the front door. Looking out the window at the window, Cordelia saw a bland, balding salesman, who tipped his hat and held up a briefcase for her to see.
Blush Beautiful Skin Care.
That was enough for Cordelia. She opened the door at once.
"Good day," he said politely. "I am Norman Pfister with Blush Beautiful Skin Care and Cosmetics. I was wondering if I might interest you in some free samples?"
"Free?" Cordelia hesitated. This wasn't even her house, but the offer was just too tempting to resist. She stepped aside so Mr. Pfister could come in.
And then she closed the door.
The Alibi Room
In the back storage area of the bar, the first glow of morning light was just beginning to warm the windows.
In human form once again, Angel could feel the dangerous prickling along his skin, could feel the faint throb of panic rising inside him.
Desperately he tried to tear the metal door from its hinges.
He was running out of time.
Angel's Apartment
Angel's apartment was a cool, dark tomb.
A haven from the waking world.
Buffy still lay in Angel's bed, her body curled among his blankets, her arms wrapped tightly around his pillow. A smile touched her lips.
Now, for the moment, she was safe . . .
Safe and loved in Angel's phantom embrace.
But there was that sound.
That strange, disturbing sound as of something moving about in the apartment. A soft, stealthy sound, yet loud enough to rouse Buffy at last from her wonderful dream.
Her eyelids fluttered open.
As the axe slammed into her pillow, only inches from her neck, Buffy twisted herself away.
She leapt nimbly from the bed. From somewhere far back in her brain came the sudden realization that the second assassin had found her, and she stared defiantly into the woman's exotic eyes.
"You must be number two," Buffy challenged her, but Kendra again swung the axe.
Buffy dodged the razor-sharp blade. Kendra refused to give up.
"Thanks for the wake-up," Buffy taunted. "But I'll stick with my clock radio."
For the third time the axe started to come down—only Buffy caught Kendra's arm in midflight. To Buffy's distress, she couldn't seem to wrench the axe away—Kendra's strength was every bit as powerful as her own. The two of them were locked in a dead-even struggle, like an arm wrestling match between perfect twins. For a split second they met each other's eyes and felt an uncanny twinge of recognition.
Then Buffy took advantage of the moment. Kicking out, she sent the axe flying across the room. She swept Kendra's legs out from under her and watched as her opponent hit the floor.
But Buffy didn't expect Kendra to recover so quickly. To her surprise she felt her own legs being pinned, and in the next instant Buffy landed on the floor beside her.
Now the two of them wrestled furiously, rolling about on the floor. Kendra's blows were precise and well-aimed, but Buffy managed to elude them, one minute fighting on top of Kendra, the next minute struggling beneath her. Angel's apartment was in shambles. They smashed into his table, his bookshelf, his dresser . . .
Buffy was getting fed up.
"Come on," she warned Kendra. "Don't make me do the chick fight thing."
For a second, that seemed to confuse Kendra. Panting for breath, she gasped out, "Chick . . . fight?"
"You know—"
Buffy dug her fingernails into Kendra's hand. As Kendra cried out, Buffy jerked her violently by the hair and threw her off balance. 'Chick fight,' she thought to herself. 'Have I sunk so low?'
"Cliched," Buffy said aloud, "but effective."
But now both of them were on their feet again. They circled like animals, both gasping for breath. Buffy steeled herself. She was ready for the final offensive. She glared furiously into Kendra's eyes and prepared to spring.
"Who are you?" Kendra suddenly asked.
Buffy froze. She stared in disbelief at the strange young woman. "What do you mean who am I? You attacked me. Who the hell are you?"
Kendra glared back at Buffy. Proud and defiant to the very end. "I am Kendra," she said. "The Vampire Slayer."