Charmed: Elizabeth Turner

by Brenna's Urbangirl Projects

Born with a sense of otherness, Elizabeth 'Buffy' Turner navigates her dual nature as a half-demon alongside her brother Cole, training rigorously to harness her powers while yearning for a life beyond servitude to the dark forces shaping their destiny.

11. Chapter 11: Passion and Gloom Part 1

Chapter 11: Passion and Gloom Part 1

February 9, 1998 – Monday

Halliwell Manor

Prue, Leo, and the two wedding planners were gathered in the grand foyer of the Halliwell Manor, the space alive with the bustling energy of wedding preparations. The large, ornate chandelier above cast a soft, golden light across the room, adding a touch of elegance to the proceedings. The scent of fresh flowers and faint notes of lavender from the nearby arrangements filled the air, mingling with the crisp scent of new plans and excitement.

As Piper made her entrance, descending the elegantly curved staircase with grace and poise, she exuded an air of both anticipation and authority. Her voice, clear and confident, carried through the space. "Okay, so the more traditional the better as far as I'm concerned," she said, her gaze sweeping across the room as she envisioned the ceremony. "The wedding march starts, and I come down the stairs."

The female wedding planner, her clipboard clutched tightly in her hands, looked up with an inquisitive expression. "So, no flower girl?" she asked, her tone reflecting a mix of curiosity and professionalism.

Piper hesitated, her brow furrowing slightly as she considered the question. "Uh, I don't know. Do I?" she responded, the uncertainty in her voice revealing the weight of the decision she faced.

Prue, standing nearby with Leo, seized the opportunity to offer a practical suggestion. "Well, unless you want to ask Kate down the street," she proposed, her tone casual yet thoughtful. The mention of Kate, presumably a local child with an endearing presence, brought a sense of familiarity and warmth to the conversation.

Leo, ever the one to inject humor into any situation, added with a playful grin, "Great idea. Maybe she can bring some of her fairy friends. Or trolls, even better." His comment, though light-hearted, carried an undertone of genuine thoughtfulness mixed with his characteristic wit.

The female planner looked momentarily puzzled by Leo's whimsical mention of trolls, her professional demeanor slightly interrupted by the unexpected suggestion. "Trolls?" she echoed, her eyebrows raised in a mixture of confusion and intrigue.

Piper, caught slightly off guard by Leo's whimsical comment, searched for a diplomatic way to address the situation. "Uh…" she began, struggling to find the right words to smooth over the unusual suggestion.

Prue, quick to diffuse the awkward moment, stepped in with a reassuring explanation. "Right, trolls, uh, our father's side of the family is very short," she said, her voice carrying a hint of humor as she clarified the comment in a lighthearted manner.

Piper nodded, taking a moment to gather her thoughts. "Right, let's skip the flower girl," she decided, her tone firm and final. The decision settled the matter, redirecting the focus back to the core elements of the wedding plans.

"Right," Prue agreed, her expression reflecting a sense of relief and understanding as the conversation shifted back to more practical considerations.

"Well, I think we should at least dress the banister with garlands," the female wedding planner suggested, her voice imbued with a touch of enthusiasm as she gestured toward the elegant staircase. Her eyes sparkled with creative vision as she envisioned lush, cascading garlands adorned with fresh flowers, their vibrant hues complementing the grandeur of the venue. "Maybe even carry the floral theme all the way to the altar. How many guests are you planning on?" Her tone conveyed a blend of practicality and artistic flair, eager to integrate the decor seamlessly into the wedding's overall theme.

"Uh, let me think. Fifty, sixty," Piper responded, her brow furrowing slightly in concentration as she mentally tallied the names on her guest list. The numbers seemed to float in her mind, each one representing the important people who would share in her special day.

"Sixty? Like who?" Leo inquired, his expression a mix of curiosity and surprise. His eyes darted between Piper and the wedding planners, trying to piece together the guest list and its potential impact on the event's logistics.

"Well, there's all the people from P3, friends, Darryl, Buffy, I'm sure Phoebe will want Cole to attend, dad and mom," Piper enumerated, her voice carrying a hint of uncertainty as she detailed the key figures who would be present. Each name was associated with a unique aspect of her life, and her mention of "mom" added a poignant note to the list.

"Uh, mom? Piper, I don't really think that you can count her," Prue interjected, her voice laced with a subtle edge of discomfort. The mention of their mother, who had passed away, seemed to cast a shadow over the otherwise bustling planning session.

"We'll have to if she's going to eat," the male wedding planner said pragmatically, his tone underscoring the logistical considerations that often accompanied wedding planning. His comment, while practical, also highlighted the emotional complexities involved.

"Oh, trust me, she won't be eating," Prue said with a note of finality. Her statement, though matter-of-fact, carried an undercurrent of sadness, reflecting the emotional reality of their loss.

"I thought your mother passed on," the female planner said, her expression shifting to one of sympathetic understanding. Her voice was gentle, as if she were treading carefully around a sensitive topic.

Prue nodded in affirmation. "Mmm hmm," she said softly, her gaze momentarily distant as she acknowledged the painful truth of their situation.

"Right, she did. Um, I just—I meant I hope she's there in spirit," Piper said, her voice faltering slightly as she sought to offer a comforting sentiment. Her attempt to bridge the gap between the past and the present was heartfelt, if somewhat awkward.

"Oh," the female planner responded, her tone softening with empathy. The room's atmosphere seemed to take on a reflective quality, the weight of the moment creating a pause in the conversation.

"You're right, that doesn't count," the male planner said, his pen moving swiftly across his notepad as he made adjustments. His practical approach to the situation was evident as he recalibrated the plans based on the new information.

"Now, have you thought of what kind of hors d'oeuvres you'd like by any chance?" he asked, shifting the focus back to the more tangible aspects of the event. His question was designed to redirect the discussion toward the culinary details of the reception.

"Um…" Piper hesitated; her mind momentarily blank as she considered the array of possibilities. The pressure of choosing the perfect appetizers seemed to compound the emotional weight of the previous discussion.

"Pigs in a blanket," Leo offered with a casual shrug, his suggestion coming across as a simple, down-to-earth choice. His attempt at levity was a stark contrast to the earlier conversation, reflecting his desire to keep things light amidst the planning stress.

Piper laughed, the sound a mix of amusement and relief. "Leo, I was hoping for something a little bit more elegant," she said, her tone both playful and slightly exasperated. Her desire for a touch of sophistication in the catering was clear, even as she appreciated Leo's well-intentioned humor.

"Excuse us," Piper said, her voice carrying an edge of urgency. She gently but firmly guided Leo into a nearby room, away from the bustling foyer.

"We still need to place the ice sculpture," the female planner said, her voice returning to the practicalities of the event.

The smaller, more private space was dimly lit, the quiet providing a stark contrast to the vibrant energy of the main area. "What is the matter with you? Why are you doing this?" Piper's eyes, usually so full of warmth, now held a trace of frustration as she confronted Leo.

Leo's demeanor was serious, his face etched with concern. "Because this is a disaster waiting to happen, that's why," he said, his voice steady and earnest. The gravity of his words was clear, and the concern in his eyes spoke volumes about his deep-seated worries for their upcoming event.

"Oh!" Piper responded, her frustration bubbling to the surface. "Well, keep that up and it will be," she snapped, her voice carrying a mixture of exasperation and defiance. The intensity of her response was a reflection of her deep-seated desire to ensure everything went smoothly, despite the challenges.

"Piper, I love you, and I want nothing more for you than to have your dream wedding," Leo said, his tone softening with affection. "But you are kidding yourself with this," he added, his voice laced with concern. "We don't need wedding planners. We just need us." His words, though heartfelt, underscored his belief that their focus should be on their relationship rather than on external details.

"You may not need wedding planners, but I do," Piper retorted, her voice firm but tinged with vulnerability. "I don't want to have to worry about anything. And therefore, if I have to fight a demon in the morning, I know that the flowers will still be there on time." Her desire for a stress-free day was evident, and her need for assurance in the midst of chaos was palpable.

"It's not the flowers that I'm worried about," Leo said, his expression growing more serious. "It's the guests, as in how do we explain everything to them? I mean, a Whitelighter marrying a witch is hardly traditional." His concern shifted to the broader implications of their union, highlighting the complexities that went beyond the immediate concerns of the wedding day itself.

"Obviously," Piper said, her tone conveying both acknowledgment and frustration. The conversation revealed the deeper layers of their disagreement, and the underlying tension between their desires and the realities they faced.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

Phoebe sprawled comfortably on her bed; a heap of popcorn nestled in her lap as she engrossed herself in the late-night movie marathon. The room was dimly lit by the flickering glow of the television screen, the only other illumination coming from the soft glow of a bedside lamp. The scent of buttery popcorn filled the air, mingling with the quiet hum of the movie.

On the screen, the scene from "Kill It Before It Dies" played out with dramatic flair. Sally Mae, the quintessential damsel in distress, her voice, fraught with a mixture of fear and desperation, rang out through the speakers. "Oh, Billy! Please don't leave me alone! Aah!"

Billy's response came with an almost theatrical calm, his face framed in shadows as he spoke with a reassuring tone, "Guess who?"

Sally Mae's wide, tear-filled eyes turned toward the camera, her vulnerability palpable as she asked, "Oh! Is it really over?"

"Yes, Sally Mae, it is," Billy confirmed with a solemn nod, his expression conveying the weight of the situation. The screen illuminated his face in a way that made the shadows dance, adding to the suspense.

"Really and truly?" Sally Mae questioned, her voice trembling with a mixture of relief and lingering anxiety.

"I'm here now, and as long as I'm with you, everything's gonna be A-OK," Billy assured her, his voice taking on a soothing quality meant to reassure both Sally Mae and the audience.

Sally Mae, her fear subsiding into gratitude, looked up at Billy with hopeful eyes. "Promise?"

"Promise," Billy said, his gaze steady and sincere. His words carried the gravity of a vow, meant to quell any lingering doubts.

"You're my hero, Billy," Sally Mae declared, her voice softening into a heartfelt whisper as she leaned into him.

"And I think you're swell, Sally Mae," Billy responded, his voice carrying a touch of affection. As they shared a tender moment, the screen showed them walking off together, their figures slowly fading into the darkness, leaving a lingering sense of resolution and warmth.

Suddenly, the screen flickered, and Cole's familiar form materialized amidst the glowing scenes of "Kill It Before It Dies", causing Phoebe to lean in closer, her eyes widening in surprise. "Cole?"

The apparition of Cole, looking as composed and enigmatic as ever, spoke directly to Phoebe. "Phoebe, hi. Just a little trick I learned from the demon of illusion," he said, his tone both reassuring and slightly playful. The unexpected appearance was as jarring as it was intriguing, an ethereal contrast to the ordinary popcorn-and-movie night.

"But what…" Phoebe began, her confusion evident as she tried to reconcile the surreal with the mundane.

"Am I doing in here?" Cole interjected, his voice carrying a hint of uncertainty. "Uh, I wasn't sure how you'd react. Thought this might be a safer way of letting you know I was back… for good." His image wavered slightly as if the screen itself struggled to contain his presence.

Phoebe's expression softened, and a warm smile touched her lips as she looked at the image of the demon she loved. "I would have reacted fine, Cole," she said, her voice carrying a mix of affection and relief. "Buffy has been doing a lot to win over mine, Prue, and Piper's trust and she succeeded."

"Really?" Cole asked, his gaze thoughtful as he considered his sister's evolving relationships with the Charmed Ones. His expression suggested he was processing the new dynamics and the implications for his own situation.

"Really," Phoebe confirmed with a nod. "In fact, she's helped us a couple of times, and we've helped her a couple of times since her birthday."

February 10, 1998 – Tuesday

Summers Home

Brilliant sunlight streamed through Buffy's window, casting a warm, golden glow that danced across her room. She slowly woke to the pleasant chirping of birds, the serene melody mingling with the gentle rustle of leaves outside. Turning her head, she stretched languidly, savoring the quiet morning as she opened her eyes.

Her gaze fell upon an unexpected sight: a brown parchment envelope lying on her pillow, its presence jarring against the tranquility of the moment. She sat up, curiosity mingled with a creeping sense of unease, and carefully opened the envelope. Inside, she found a thick piece of matching stationery, its texture rough and old-fashioned.

As she unfolded it, her breath caught in her throat. It was a charcoal sketch of her, rendered with exquisite detail. In the drawing, her eyes were closed, capturing her in a state of peaceful, unsuspecting slumber. Every delicate line and shadow on the paper brought to life the vulnerability of her sleep, making the image both beautiful and unsettling.

'Left on my pillow. For me to find. For me to know,' she thought, a chill running down her spine as the realization sank in. Angelus had been in her room. The intimacy of the sketch, the precision of its detail—it all pointed to a sinister presence that had watched her, unnoticed, as she slept. The thought of Angelus so close, so quietly invasive, sent a shiver through her, dispelling the warmth of the morning sun and leaving her with an acute sense of dread.

Halliwell Manor

Dressed in an animal print velour outfit that clung to her lithe frame, a small white backpack slung casually over her shoulders, Buffy shimmered into the Manor, her expression a mix of urgency and determination. "Prue?" she called out, her voice echoing through the grand, old house.

"In the kitchen," Prue's voice responded from the back of the house.

Without missing a beat, Buffy hurried through the Halliwell Manor, her footsteps echoing off the polished wooden floors. She passed through the elegantly decorated hall, the rich history of the home almost palpable in the air, before finally reaching the bright, welcoming kitchen. There, she found Prue, Piper, and Phoebe all sitting at the kitchen counter, the morning sunlight streaming through the windows and casting a warm glow on their concerned faces.

"What is it, Buffy?" Prue asked, her tone laced with concern as she noted the serious expression on Buffy's face.

Buffy set down the sketch that Angelus had left her, the parchment stark against the smooth surface of the counter. "Angelus was in my room last night," she said, her voice steady but tinged with the underlying tension of the revelation.

The sisters' eyes widened in unison as they looked at the sketch. Prue reached out to gently lift the parchment, examining the intricate details of the charcoal drawing. The sheer intimacy and precision of the sketch spoke volumes about the threat Angelus posed, his ability to infiltrate Buffy's personal space without detection. The room fell silent as the gravity of the situation sank in, each of them processing the implications of Buffy's words and the chilling message left behind by Angelus.

"Please tell me you guys know of a way of uninviting a vampire," Buffy pleaded, her voice carrying a mixture of desperation and frustration. Her eyes darted between the sisters, hoping for an immediate solution.

"Not offhand," Piper admitted, her brow furrowing as she thought. "But we'll look in the Book of Shadows."

"We'll find something, we promise," Phoebe added, her voice filled with determination. She gave Buffy a reassuring smile, trying to ease her friend's worry.

Buffy nodded, though the tension in her shoulders remained. "Okay, I need to get to school and inform Giles about this. I have my cell phone on me, so call if you find anything," she said, her urgency evident.

"We promise," Prue said firmly, her eyes meeting Buffy's with a resolute expression.

"Buffy," Phoebe said, her voice gentle but insistent as she looked at the half-demon Slayer. "Cole visited me last night. Well, not physically—he appeared on my TV. He said he's back, for good."

Buffy's face softened into a smile, a flicker of relief and joy amidst her worry about Angelus. The news of Cole's return, despite the chaos, was a welcome development. "Thank you, Phoebe," she said, her voice tinged with gratitude for the good news amid the troubling circumstances.

As soon as Buffy was gone, the kitchen seemed to fill with a renewed sense of purpose. Prue, Piper, and Phoebe exchanged determined glances before moving towards the attic, where the Book of Shadows awaited.

Sunnydale High

Buffy shimmered into the school library, her expression grim and determined. Giles was at the circulation desk, stamping books, his brow furrowed in concentration. Cordelia, impeccably dressed in a blue chambray shirt and a gray skirt, was leaning casually against a table, chatting animatedly with Xander, who was perched on the back of one of the wooden chairs, his usual smirk in place.

Buffy's abrupt entrance drew their attention immediately. "He was in my room," she said tersely, her voice edged with anger and fear.

Giles looked up from his task, his brow creasing further in concern. "Who?" he asked politely, though the alarm was already creeping into his voice.

Buffy stomped over to the study table, her frustration palpable. "Angelus. He was in my room last night."

Cordelia and Xander's expressions shifted to shock, their conversation forgotten. Giles, rubber stamp still in hand, abandoned his position behind the desk and quickly moved through his office to join Buffy at the table.

"Are you sure?" Giles asked, clearly astonished.

"Positive," Buffy assured him, her voice steady but her eyes reflecting the turmoil within. "When I woke up, I found a picture he'd left me on my pillow."

Xander, ever the one for a quip, piped up. "A visit from the pointed-tooth fairy."

Cordelia frowned; her confusion evident. "Wait. I thought vampires couldn't come in unless you invited them in."

"Once invited, always invited," Buffy said, her tone bitter as she glanced around the familiar library, now feeling like a fragile sanctuary.

Giles turned to Cordelia, his expression grave, the lines on his face deepening with the weight of the revelation. "Buffy is correct. Once you invite one in, thereafter, they are always welcome," he stated with a somber finality.

"You know, I think there may be a valuable lesson for you gals here about inviting strange men into your bedrooms," Xander quipped, his tone half-serious.

"Oh, God! I invited him in my car once," Cordelia realized with a horrified expression, her eyes wide and panic-stricken. "That means he could come back into my car whenever he wants!" The thought of such an intrusion left her visibly shaken, her usual composure shattered.

Xander wore a regretful expression, his attempt at levity unable to hide his concern. "Yep. You're doomed to having to give him and his vamp pals a lift whenever they feel like it. And those guys never chip in for gas," he added, shaking his head at the absurdity and horror of the situation.

Buffy, visibly distressed, spoke up, her voice carrying a desperate edge. "I already went to Prue, Piper, and Phoebe. They didn't know if there was a spell to reverse the invitation. Do you know if there is one?" Her voice wavered slightly, the tension in her words clear. "Like a barrier—'no shoes, no pulse, no service' kind of thing?" She looked at Giles, her eyes pleading for a solution, any way to reclaim her sanctuary.

"Yeah, that works for a car, too?" Cordelia chimed in, her face still pale from the realization. The notion that her personal space could be violated at any moment was almost too much to bear.

Giles was already in motion, heading toward his office with a purposeful stride. "Yes. Well, I could check my—" he began, his mind racing through the tomes and scrolls he had collected over the years, each one a potential key to Buffy's current dilemma.

Before he could finish, two underclassmen wandered into the library, looking lost and out of place amidst the tension. Xander stood and addressed them gruffly, his irritation evident. "Hel-lo," he said, his voice cutting through the air like a knife. "Excuse me, but have you ever heard of knocking?" His tone was sharp, a clear indication that this was not the time for interruptions.

The pair, a boy and a redheaded girl, exchanged confused glances, their expressions bewildered. The boy responded defensively, "We're supposed to get some books. On Stalin," he said, clearly taken aback by the hostility.

Xander pointed an accusing finger at them, his frustration boiling over. "Does this look like a Barnes and Noble?" he snapped; his patience worn thin by the weight of their current crisis.

"This is the school library, Xander," Giles reproved quietly, his voice carrying an undertone of frustration as he attempted to maintain a semblance of order despite the chaos that had just been revealed.

"Since when?" Xander asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm, as if the concept of library etiquette was a newly discovered notion.

Giles took over with a visible effort to control his exasperation, his patience wearing thin. "Yes. Third row, historical biographies." He gestured with a weary hand toward the section, his eyes reflecting the fatigue of managing both the everyday chaos of the library and the mounting supernatural threats.

"Thanks," the boy said, his voice tinged with uncertainty. He and the girl walked past the silent group, their footsteps echoing softly as they ascended the stairs to the second level, leaving behind the tense atmosphere of the main floor.

Xander gestured for the group to move into the hallway. Together, they tiptoed out, their footsteps muffled against the linoleum floor. As they emerged into the corridor, just as the boy student came back into view from the stacks, he called out, "Uh, did you say that was... Hello?"

The group walked down the corridor and out into the warmth of the sunshine. The bright light outside contrasted sharply with the dim, oppressive atmosphere they had just left. Giles resumed the conversation with a serious tone, his face lined with concern. "So, Angel has decided to step up his harassment of you."

"By sneaking into her room and leaving stuff at night?" Cordelia said bluntly, her words cutting through the air like shards of glass. "Why doesn't he just slit her throat or strangle her in her sleep or cut her heart out?" At a disbelieving, ironic grin from Xander, she held out her arms in a gesture of exasperation and said, "What? I'm trying to help."

"Cordelia, I'm an upper-level demon. The only way to truly vanquish me is a potion made from my flesh," Buffy explained, her voice striving for steadiness despite the unsettling nature of the conversation.

"So why didn't he just cut off some of your flesh and then make that potion?" Cordelia asked, her bluntness making Buffy wince, as if the suggestion itself was a painful reminder of the danger she faced.

"It's a classic battle strategy, to throw one's opponent off their game," Giles explained, his voice carrying the weight of his scholarly knowledge. "He's trying to provoke Buffy." He glanced at the half-demon Slayer, his gaze filled with both sympathy and strategic concern. "To taunt you, to goad you into some mishap or something of that sort." His words underscored the calculated cruelty of Angel's tactics, a cruel game of psychological warfare meant to unsettle and disorient.

"The 'nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah' approach to battle," Xander, ever the epitome of helpfulness, explained, his tone light and somewhat dismissive as he attempted to reduce the gravity of the situation to a caricature of childish taunts.

"Yes, Xander," Giles said, with the tiniest, most British bit of sarcasm, "once again you've managed to boil a complex thought down to its simplest possible form." His words carried a subtle edge of irritation, a stark contrast to the underlying anxiety of their discussion.

Buffy was having nothing to do with banter mode. The stakes were far too high. Her face was a mask of resolve and concern as she addressed Giles directly. "Giles, Angelus once told me, back when he was still Angel, that when he was obsessed with Drusilla, the first thing he did was to kill her family."

Xander got it at once, his expression darkening as he thought of Buffy's brother. "Cole."

"Or Joyce," Buffy said, her voice trembling with the weight of her fears. She turned and looked at Giles, her eyes wide with worry, the enormity of her responsibility pressing down on her. "I know. I'm going to have to tell her something. The truth?"

Giles shook his head in deadly earnest, his demeanor rigid with the gravity of the situation. "No. You can't do that. And not just because you are the Slayer, but because the reason the Source hasn't found you is because Joyce believes you are her daughter. He would never think to look for you amongst a human family. It's too risky to tell her." His words were a harsh reminder of the precarious balance they were maintaining, the threat looming just beyond their control.

"Yeah. The more people who know the secret, the more it cheapens it for the rest of us," Xander riffed, trying to lighten the mood, though his attempt fell flat as Cordelia rolled her eyes in exasperation.

"I've got to tell her something," Buffy said urgently, her voice filled with determination and fear. "I have to do something. Giles, Angelus has an all-access pass to my house and I'm not always there when Joyce is. I can't protect her." Her desperation was palpable, her fear for her mother driving her to seek any possible solution.

"I told you, I will find a spell," Giles reminded her, his tone firm yet reassuring, the promise of a solution hanging in the air.

"What about until you find a spell?" Buffy pushed, her frustration and fear a raw edge in her voice. The sense of urgency in her words underscored the gravity of their situation, the looming threat of Angelus casting a long shadow over her every move.

"Until then, you and Joyce are welcome to ride around with me in my car," Cordelia said, her voice dripping with a veneer of graciousness. She offered this solution with an air of self-assuredness, as if her car was a secure fortress against the encroaching darkness, her generous gesture an attempt to alleviate some of the mounting tension.

Giles stayed with the topic, his demeanor serious and focused. "Buffy, I understand your concern, but it is imperative that you keep a level head through all this." His voice was calm but firm, a beacon of rationality amid the storm of emotions swirling around them.

Buffy was frustrated with him, her exasperation evident in her tone. "That's easy for you to say. You don't have Angelus lurking in your bedroom at night." Her words were tinged with bitterness, her eyes flashing with the intensity of her fears and frustrations.

"I know how hard this is for you," Giles said as Buffy blinked, his tone softening slightly in an attempt to offer comfort. "All right," he admitted, "I don't. But as the Slayer, you don't have the luxury of being a slave to your passions. You mustn't let Angel get to you, no matter how provocative his behavior may become." His words were meant to be both a reminder and a counsel, underscoring the importance of maintaining composure in the face of adversity.

"So, what you're basically saying is 'Just ignore him and maybe he'll go away,'" Buffy said with a note of resignation, her statement lacking conviction or joy. Her frustration was evident, her voice carrying a weary disbelief at the simplicity of the advice.

Giles considered her words, then nodded, his face a mask of resolute understanding. "Yes, precisely."

"Hey, how come Buffy doesn't get a snotty 'once again you boil it down to the simplest form' thing?" Xander grumbled, his frustration seeping through his words. "Watcher's pet," he flung at her with a smirk, his attempt at humor falling flat amidst the tension.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

Jenny Calendar's computer science class was winding up for the day, the hum of activity gradually quieting as students packed away their belongings and prepared to leave. "Don't forget I need your sample spreadsheets by the end of the week," she reminded her students, her voice ringing out with a touch of urgency over the peal of the bell signaling the end of the period. "Oh, and I want both a paper printout and a copy on disk," she added, her tone leaving no room for ambiguity.

As Willow began to leave, her backpack slung over one shoulder and her face alight with the promise of freedom, Jenny reached out a hand and said, "Willow?"

Willow stopped at her desk, her curiosity piqued. "Yes?"

"I might be a little late tomorrow. Do you think you could cover my class 'til I show?" Jenny asked, her voice carrying a note of casual expectation. The request was accompanied by a faint smile, as if the task were as routine as asking for a coffee refill.

Willow was flabbergasted, her eyes widening with a mixture of surprise and excitement. "Really? Me? Teach the class? Sure!" The idea of taking on such a responsibility was both thrilling and overwhelming, the prospect of wielding authority in a classroom setting igniting a spark of enthusiasm within her.

"Cool," Jenny said offhandedly, seemingly unfazed by Willow's reaction.

"Oh, wait… but what if they don't recognize my authority?" Willow fretted, her anxiety escalating with each word. "What if they try to convince me that you always let them leave class early? What if there's a fire drill?" Her concerns spiraled rapidly. "What if there's a fire?" The cascade of "what ifs" reflected her mounting apprehension about stepping into a role she had never imagined for herself.

Holding her coffee cup, Jenny leaned slightly across her desk, her gaze steady and reassuring. "Willow, you're going to be fine. And I'll try not to be too late, okay?" Her calm demeanor was meant to soothe Willow's nerves, the promise of her timely return serving as a safety net.

Willow calmed down somewhat, her worries slowly dissipating. "Okay, good. Earlier is good." Her face brightened as she began to entertain the possibilities of her temporary role. "Will I have the power to assign detention? Or make 'em run laps?" The prospect of wielding such authority seemed to invigorate her, her mind racing with the newfound responsibilities.

From the doorway, Buffy's strained voice cut through the air. "Hey, Will."

"Hi, Buffy," Jenny said tentatively, her eyes flicking toward the doorway. "Rupert." She acknowledged Giles with a nod, sensing the shift in the room's dynamics.

Giles looked uncomfortable, his gaze darting between Jenny and the doorway as Buffy ignored Jenny and focused on Willow. "Willow, I thought I might take in a class. Figured I could use someone who knows where they are," Buffy said, her voice carrying a note of casual dismissal, focusing entirely on Willow's company.

Chagrined, Willow ducked her head and crossed over to Buffy, her earlier excitement now tempered by a sense of duty. They left the room together, Willow murmuring, "Sorry. I have to talk to her. She's a teacher, and teachers are to be respected. Even if they're only filling in until the real teacher shows up. Otherwise, chaos could ensue and…"

Jenny wilted at the slight, the weight of the small rebuke settling heavily on her shoulders. 'Well, I deserve it,' she thought, her self-reproach mingling with the remnants of her hurt feelings. She took a deep breath, the air feeling thick with unspoken tension, and reached for her mail. As she began thumbing through the envelopes and papers, the familiar rustle of mail seemed to offer a brief distraction from the uncomfortable encounter.

Then she realized that Giles had stayed behind. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw him crossing the threshold and entering her classroom, his posture rigid and his expression mirroring her own discomfort. It was the first time they had been near each other since he had told her to leave on the night Buffy had destroyed the Judge.

A little hopeful, a little flustered, Jenny looked at Giles with tentative optimism. "How've you been?" she asked, her voice carrying a touch of vulnerability as she sought to bridge the chasm that had formed between them.

"Not so good, actually," Giles admitted, his voice heavy with a mixture of concern and frustration. "Since Angel lost his soul, he's regained his sense of whimsy." The gravity of his words was evident, painting a picture of a situation that had grown far worse with Angel's return to his malevolent self.

Jenny crossed her arms, her gaze focused intently on Giles as she absorbed the troubling information. "That sounds bad." Her expression was one of genuine concern, reflecting her understanding of the dire implications of Giles' words.

"He's been in Buffy's bedroom. I need to drum up a spell to keep him out of the house," Giles said, his tone resolute yet tinged with worry. The urgency in his voice was palpable, the need for a solution pressing as the threat to Buffy's safety grew more immediate.

Jenny reached for a weather-beaten book on her desk, its cover showing signs of frequent use. "This might help." She handed it to him, her gesture one of both apology and support. "I've been doing a little reading since Angel changed." Glancing at the cover, she added thoughtfully, "I don't think you have that one." The book was a symbol of her attempt to make amends, her way of offering something practical amidst the turmoil.

Giles was obviously touched by her gesture, his eyes reflecting a mixture of gratitude and lingering uncertainty. "Thank you." He opened the book and began to scan its contents, his brow furrowing as he took in the new information.

As he perused the book, Jenny tried to strengthen the whisper-thin connection that remained between them. "So, how's Buffy doing?" she asked, her voice soft but earnest, a hopeful attempt to reconnect amidst the strained circumstances.

Giles shut the book, his face a mask of stoic composure. He looked down for a moment, his thoughts visibly churning, before raising his chin and meeting her gaze with a cool, detached expression. "How do you think?" he replied, his voice carrying an edge that spoke of unresolved tension and emotional distance.

They regarded each other for a moment, the silence between them thick with unspoken words and past grievances. Then Jenny admitted defeat, the weight of their shared history pressing down on her. Turning away, she said quietly, "I know you feel betrayed." Her words were a resigned acknowledgment of the fracture that had occurred between them, a recognition of the pain and mistrust that now lingered in the air.

"Yes, well, that's one of the unpleasant side effects of betrayal," Giles returned, his voice a mixture of weariness and hurt. The words hung heavily in the air, a reminder of the deep fissures that had opened between them.

"Rupert, I was raised by the people that Angel hurt the most. My duty to them was the first thing I was ever taught. I didn't come here to hurt anyone. And I lied to you because I thought it was the right thing to do," Jenny said, her voice thick with regret as she looked away. The memories of her past, intertwined with the painful truths of her present, seemed to weigh heavily on her. "I didn't know what would happen." Her voice became a whisper, barely audible. "I didn't know I was going to fall in love with you." Her confession was raw and vulnerable, a revelation of the deep, unexpected emotions that had developed amidst the chaos.

They had gotten to know each other over a year ago, during the project to scan all the books into the library computer. It had started as a professional endeavor but had evolved into something much more personal. Willow had accidentally scanned a demon into the net, an incident that had forced Jenny to reveal her true self and her identity as a technopagan. This revelation had been a pivotal moment, a turning point that had brought her and Giles closer together.

Their relationship had grown from that point, evolving from professional camaraderie into something deeper and more intimate. Yet, Jenny had never fully confronted the reality that one day she would have to disclose her true nature and the reasons for her presence in Sunnydale. The weight of her hidden identity and the secrets she carried had cast a long shadow over their relationship.

In the ensuing silence, Jenny looked up at Giles, her heart pounding as she sought some sign of understanding or forgiveness. She couldn't read his expression, and the ambiguity only deepened her sense of humiliation and regret. "Oh, God," she said miserably, her voice trembling, "is it too late to take that back?"

"Do you want to?" Giles asked, his tone gentle yet probing, an invitation for her to express her true desires and feelings.

"I just want to be right with you," Jenny said softly, her eyes filled with a mix of hope and despair. "I don't expect more. I just want so badly to make all this up to you." Her words were a heartfelt admission of her deepest wish: to repair the damage and restore the trust that had been fractured.

"I understand." Giles's tone was kind, though it was laced with a cautious undertone. "But I'm not the one you need to make it up to." His smile was gentle, a bittersweet acknowledgment of their shared history. "Thank you for the book." The gratitude in his words was sincere, yet his departure marked the end of their immediate conversation, leaving the space between them filled with unspoken emotions and unresolved feelings.

With that, he left, the echo of his footsteps a poignant reminder of the distance that now lay between them.

Summers Home

There was baked chicken, salad, bread, and potatoes, all laid out in an inviting array on the dinner table. The tantalizing aroma of the meal filled the room, but Buffy's plate remained untouched. Her appetite had long since fled, overshadowed by the turmoil she was grappling with. Each item on her plate seemed to mock her discomfort, a reminder of the normalcy she couldn't quite reach.

Finally, Joyce set down her own fork and looked at Buffy with a mixture of concern and maternal instinct. "Okay. What's wrong?" Her voice was gentle yet insistent, cutting through the silence that had settled over the dinner.

Buffy was caught off guard by the question, her carefully constructed facade faltering. "It's… nothing." The words felt hollow, a weak attempt to deflect from the real issue.

"Come on, you can tell me anything," Joyce pressed, her eyes filled with genuine worry. "I've read all the parenting books. You cannot surprise me." Her reassurance was meant to be comforting, but for Buffy, it only underscored the chasm between her real struggles and the mundane expectations Joyce had.

'I sure can,' Buffy thought, a wry smile tugging at her lips as she considered how far Joyce was from the truth. Even though Joyce didn't know that she was not her real mother, Buffy still felt a deep, maternal connection to her. She had always been her rock, her source of comfort and stability, despite the hidden truths. Taking a deep breath, Buffy decided to take a chance. She laid down her fork and turned to face Joyce, her expression earnest. "Do you remember that guy, Angel?"

"Angel? The college boy who was tutoring you in history?" Joyce filled in, her face a mask of curiosity and concern. Her reference to Angel as merely a tutor was a reminder of the façade Buffy had constructed.

'That was what I told you the first time you met him, wasn't it?' Buffy thought, a pang of regret surfacing. 'I just conveniently left out the part about how he had just saved my life from three vampire assassins.' She sighed inwardly, feeling the weight of the half-truths she had maintained.

"Right. Well, he… I… we're sort of dating. Were dating." Buffy's voice was hesitant, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her napkin. She shrugged and smiled uneasily, the smile failing to reach her eyes. "We're going through a serious 'off again' phase right now." Her attempt at casualness was a thin veil over the turmoil she felt inside.

Joyce gave Buffy a knowing look, her maternal instincts kicking in. "Don't tell me. 'He's changed. He's not the same guy you fell for.'" Her tone was tinged with the frustration of a mother who had heard this story before.

'Oh, God, why did I even start this?' Buffy thought, feeling a wave of regret wash over her. Then, with a resigned sigh, she said aloud, "In a nutshell." Her words felt like a confession, a release of the burden she had been carrying. "Anyway, since he changed, he's been kind of following me around. He's having trouble letting go." The admission was like a small crack in her emotional dam, letting out some of the stress and anxiety she had been holding back.

Joyce's face clouded with concern, the shadows of worry crossing her features. "Buffy, has he… done anything?"

"No, no, it's not like that," Buffy said quickly, her tone almost defensive. "He's just been hanging around. A lot. Just sending me notes. That kind of thing." Her words were intended to reassure Joyce, to downplay the extent of the issue. "I don't want to see him right now. I mean, if he shows up, I'll talk to him." She added that as a reassurance, even though her resolve was shaky. To further ease Joyce's worries, she tossed in casually, "Just don't invite him in."

Halliwell Manor

"Any luck with Buffy's problem?" Prue asked, her voice laced with concern as she settled into a chair at the kitchen table. The room was bathed in the warm, golden glow of the afternoon sun filtering through the windows, casting a tranquil light on the trio as they gathered around, hoping for a breakthrough.

"There is nothing in the Book of Shadows about how to uninvite a vampire," Piper said, her tone reflecting a mix of frustration and determination. She had been flipping through the ancient tome, but had found no guidance on Buffy's predicament.

"That said we did find something surprising," Phoebe interjected, her eyes sparkling with a hint of excitement despite the grim circumstances. She leaned forward slightly, eager to share the new information. "Did you know there are two kinds of vampires? There is the possessor demon, like what Angelus is known as Nosferatu." Her voice carried the weight of this revelation, the term "Nosferatu" evoking a sense of ancient dread and mystique. "Then there is another kind that comes from a Queen known as Vampirus." (A/N)

"That is interesting," Prue said, her eyebrows raised in curiosity as she absorbed this new detail. The mention of Vampirus, a name steeped in an aura of regal malevolence, added a layer of complexity to their understanding of the vampire world. "That said, it doesn't help us with a spell to uninvite Angelus from Buffy's home." Her voice was tinged with frustration, the pressing need for a solution overshadowing the intellectual intrigue of their findings.

"I'm going to expand the search to the internet," Phoebe said, determination hardening her tone. The decision to turn to the digital realm reflected the desperation to find any possible solution, no matter how unconventional. "In the meantime, I heard from Cole again today. I told him about Angelus. He's going to keep an eye on Buffy tonight." Her voice held a note of relief, knowing that Cole's vigilance would provide some measure of protection for their friend.

Prue nodded, her expression shifting as she considered the implications of the new information and the ongoing search for a solution. "Then I have time to go on my date," she said, her tone mixing casual nonchalance with the significance of her personal revelation.

"Date?" Piper questioned with a raised eyebrow, her curiosity piqued by Prue's unexpected announcement. The curiosity was evident in her gaze, as she sought to understand the connection between Prue's personal life and their current predicament.

"Last week when we were dealing with Kellman and trying to save Tom," Prue began, her voice carrying a reflective tone, "Buffy asked if I was bisexual. At first I was defensive, because that's personal, you know. But it invoked my curiosity on why she wanted to know." She paused, a thoughtful expression crossing her face as she remembered the conversation. "She told me she was bisexual. I admitted to a fling back in college, before I met Tom, with a woman. Back then I thought it was just experimentation. But when Buffy admitted she was bisexual, it got me to thinking about me and wondering if I was lying to myself. So, I got on a lesbian dating site and set up a date with a woman to figure out my sexuality," Prue explained, her tone revealing a blend of self-discovery and personal growth.

iper and Phoebe exchanged a glance, their expressions a mix of surprise and curiosity. The atmosphere in the kitchen grew warmer, charged with a blend of personal revelations and the urgency of their shared mission. The afternoon sun continued to bathe the room in its golden light, casting soft shadows and illuminating the intensity of their conversation.

"Wow, Prue," Piper said, her voice filled with genuine interest. "That's a big step. I had no idea you were going through this." Her eyes softened as she regarded her sister, sensing the weight of the decision Prue had made. "But I think it's great that you're exploring who you are."

Phoebe nodded in agreement, her eyes reflecting understanding. "Yeah, it sounds like you're really taking charge of your own journey. And it's brave to follow through with it, especially with everything else going on." She gave Prue an encouraging smile, showing her support despite the complexity of their current situation.

Prue offered a small, appreciative smile in return. "Thanks, guys. It's been a bit overwhelming, but I'm figuring it out. And it's helped me put some things into perspective, even if it's not the easiest thing to talk about." She glanced at the clock on the wall, a hint of nervousness creeping into her expression as she thought about her upcoming date.

Rosenberg Residence

Willow was on the portable phone with Buffy, her voice filled with concern as she spoke. She was already in her pajamas, the soft fabric a comforting cocoon as she prepared to shut down for the night. Her room was dimly lit, the gentle glow of a bedside lamp casting long shadows on the walls. As she moved around her room, tidying up and getting ready for bed, she felt a sense of familiarity in their conversation, even amidst the worry.

"I agree with Giles," she told Buffy, her tone a mixture of reassurance and frustration. "You need to just try and not let him get to you. Angel's only doing this to try to get you to do something stupid. I swear, men can be such jerks sometimes… dead or alive." Her voice was firm, but there was an undercurrent of weariness in her words. With a decisive click, she closed her laptop, the screen going dark and leaving her room in a softer, quieter light.

On the other end of the line, Buffy's voice carried a hint of resignation as she admitted, "I just hope Giles or Prue, Piper, and Phoebe can find a 'keep out' spell soon. I know I'll sleep easier when I can… sleep easier." Her words were tinged with a mixture of hope and frustration, the weight of her situation pressing down on her.

"I'm sure either Giles or the Halliwells will," Willow said, trying to maintain a positive outlook as she sprinkled fish food into her new aquarium. The aquarium, a recent Hanukkah gift, was meant to bring a bit of tranquility to her room. She watched the flakes float through the water, imagining the tiny fish darting around in their new home. "Until then, try and keep happy thoughts and…"

Willow's voice trailed off as her gaze fell upon a brown parchment envelope resting on her colorful block quilt. The quilt was a patchwork of vibrant colors and patterns, each square a testament to her love of eclectic, cozy things. The envelope seemed out of place against the cheerful backdrop of the quilt.

"'And what?" Buffy prodded, her voice cutting through Willow's distracted state. "Willow?"

Willow slowly reached for the envelope; her curiosity piqued. The envelope felt oddly heavy in her hand, and a shiver of unease ran down her spine. As she carefully opened it, she found a piece of fishing line inside. Her frown deepened as she began to pull the line out, her movements slow and deliberate.

It was then that the full horror of the situation became clear. The line was not empty. As Willow pulled it free, she realized with growing dread that there were no fish swimming in her aquarium. Instead, the line was connected to the lifeless bodies of her fish, each one suspended and hanging grotesquely from the strand. The realization struck her like a cold wave, leaving her breathless and horrified.

Summers Home

A short time later, Willow found herself at Buffy's house, her presence marked by the nervous energy that seemed to pervade the room. Strings of garlic, their pungent aroma cutting through the air, were draped everywhere in Buffy's room, creating a bizarre and makeshift barrier against any potential intruders. The garlic strands were haphazardly hung from the bedpost, the door frame, and even from the window blinds, their presence a testament to the seriousness of the situation.

As Willow and Buffy settled together on Buffy's bed, both dressed in their pajamas, a sense of camaraderie and shared concern enveloped them. The bed, usually a place of comfort and rest, now felt like a makeshift fortress, its soft pillows and blankets providing a small sanctuary amidst the chaos. Willow, clutching a very sharp stake with a white-knuckled grip, sat close to Buffy, her eyes darting around the room with a heightened sense of vigilance. The stake was a symbol of their fight against the darkness, its cold metal surface a stark reminder of the danger that lurked outside.

Her frightened gaze swept over the room as she spoke, her voice tinged with a mixture of gratitude and unease. "Thanks for having me over, Buffy. Especially on a school night and all." The normalcy of a school night seemed far removed from their current reality, and Willow's words carried the weight of their shared fear and the strange comfort found in each other's company.

"No problem," Buffy assured her, trying to offer a sense of normalcy amidst the tension. Her own eyes betrayed a flicker of concern, and she glanced at Willow with a reassuring smile. "Hey, sorry about your fish."

"It's okay," Willow replied, her voice heavy with sadness. "We hadn't really had time to bond yet." She wrinkled up her face in a small, sad attempt at levity. "Although, for the first time, I'm glad my parents didn't let me have a puppy." Her comment, meant to lighten the mood, also highlighted the depth of her loss and the peculiar solace she found in the absence of a more profound attachment.

Buffy's expression shifted as she considered Willow's words. "It's so weird," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "Every time something like this happens my first instinct… Well my first instinct is to run to Cole." Her gaze grew distant, lost in thought. "But since he's who knows where currently, my second instinct is to run to Angel. I can't believe it's the same person. He's completely different from the guy that I knew."

Willow's gaze softened as she listened to Buffy's troubled reflection. "Well, sort of, except . . ." She trailed off, the words hanging in the air between them, her expression thoughtful.

Buffy looked at her, curiosity piqued. "Except what?"

"You're still the only thing he thinks about," Willow said quietly, her words carrying a weight of both sympathy and melancholy. The room, filled with the harsh light of the lamp and the protective barrier of garlic, felt smaller and more intimate as the two friends locked eyes, their shared understanding and unspoken fears creating a fragile connection amidst the uncertainty.

The two friends looked at each other, the silence between them charged with the gravity of their situation and the unspoken bond that held them together. In that moment, the room, with its makeshift defenses and dim lighting, became a cocoon of solace and shared vulnerability.

It was then that Cole shimmered into the room, his sudden appearance adding a new layer of relief and urgency to the scene.

"Cole," Buffy exclaimed as she hopped out of the bed and hurried into her younger brother's arms. The warmth of their embrace contrasted sharply with the cold threat of Angelus. "Phoebe said you were back, but…"

"I had to make sure bounty hunters didn't track me to you," Cole said, his voice carrying a note of seriousness. He nodded at Willow in greeting before turning his attention back to his sister. "Phoebe told me about Angel. How he turned back into Angelus, and how he was now stalking you."

"Not just Buffy," Willow interjected. "He's stalking all of us. He was in my room tonight, Cole. I found that he had killed and strung up my fish."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Willow," Cole said with genuine sympathy. His gaze then turned back to Buffy, his expression resolute. "He's likely targeting you not only directly but through your friends. So, I'm going to be here tonight, and every night until a way is found to uninvite him. Tomorrow while you are at school, I will see if I can learn anything that can help with that."

P3

Prue and Jasmine walked outside of the nightclub, the crisp night air providing a refreshing contrast to the warmth of the bustling club they had just left. The city's lights flickered in the distance, casting a soft glow over the pavement and highlighting the quiet end to their evening together.

"So, um, I had a really good time tonight, Jasmine," Prue said, her voice carrying a mix of sincerity and slight hesitation. She glanced over at Jasmine, who was standing beside her with an open, attentive expression.

"Did you? I mean, really?" Jasmine asked, her brow furrowing slightly as she looked at Prue. "The reason I ask is that you seemed kind of quiet."

"No, it's just that, you know, I've got a lot on my mind," Prue explained, her eyes drifting to the sidewalk as she spoke. "With Piper getting married and everything. Then a friend of mine needing help with an ex she is having trouble with." She sighed softly, the weight of her concerns evident in her tone.

"Sure, 'course, if I was the paranoid type, I would be thinking it was because of me," Jasmine said, a playful yet understanding smile tugging at her lips.

"Don't be ridiculous," Prue said, shaking her head with a faint, appreciative smile. The dim streetlights caught the subtle shimmer in her eyes, highlighting the warmth in her response.

"So, how about lunch tomorrow?" Jasmine suggested, her eyes brightening with the prospect of continuing their time together.

"That sounds great," Prue agreed, her smile growing more genuine. "Pick me up at 1:00?"

Jasmine's face lit up with a delighted smile. "It's a date."

"Okay," Prue said, her voice soft and warm as Jasmine leaned in and gently kissed her. The kiss was brief but tender, a sweet punctuation to their evening.

"Good night," Jasmine said, her voice low and affectionate as she began to walk toward her car. The headlights of the parked vehicles cast a soft glow on her silhouette, adding a touch of magic to the moment.

"Night," Prue replied, watching as Jasmine's figure gradually receded into the distance. The cool breeze rustled through the leaves of the nearby trees, and Prue stood there for a moment, savoring the lingering warmth of the kiss and the quiet beauty of the night.

February 11, 1998 – Wednesday

Dragon's Cove Magic Shop

The brass bells hanging over the door to the Dragon's Cove magic store tinkled in a delicate, musical chime as Jenny Calendar stepped inside. The sound seemed to linger in the air for a moment, mingling with the rich, aromatic blend of spicy incense that permeated the store. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light, revealing an eclectic array of items that filled the space. Beads of every imaginable color and design were strung and displayed on shelves, their surfaces catching the light and casting tiny rainbows across the room. Suncatchers, glimmering with an almost ethereal glow, hung from the ceiling, spinning gently with the draft from the door. Bottles of murky liquids, some containing what appeared to be fetal pigs preserved in dark, cloudy solutions, lined the shelves, their grotesque contents a testament to the store's commitment to the arcane and the unusual.

Black candles burned with a vivid, scarlet flame, their flickering light casting shadows that danced along the walls. The air was thick with the mingling scents of incense and candle wax, a heady, spicy aroma that seemed to cling to Jenny's clothes and hair as she moved further into the shop.

"Welcome," greeted the balding store clerk, his voice carrying a soft, melodious accent that hinted at a vaguely Middle Eastern origin. He was dressed in a simple white shirt and pants, adorned with an amulet and strings of yellow beads that hung around his neck, adding a touch of the exotic to his appearance. "How may I serve you today? Love potion? Perhaps a voodoo doll for that unfaithful—"

Jenny, her patience worn thin by the urgency of her mission, cut him off with a firm but polite tone. "I need an orb of Thesulah."

Immediately, the clerk's demeanor shifted. The accent, once prominent, faded away, revealing a more grounded, businesslike tone. "Oh, you're in the trade." He gestured with a dismissive wave towards the elaborate display of mystical trinkets and curiosities. "Follow me. Sorry about the spiel, but around Valentine's Day, I get a lot of tourists shopping for love potions and mystical revenge on past lovers." He shrugged philosophically, his gesture betraying a resigned acceptance of his clientele's whims. "Sad fact is, Ouija boards and rabbits' feet—that's what pays the rent here." He motioned for Jenny to follow and went behind a case of white china decanters filled with various herbs and mysterious powders. Pulling aside a heavy velvet curtain, he revealed a spacious pantry lined with shelves that were cluttered with even more magical paraphernalia.

As he began searching through the pantry's contents, Jenny idly examined a nearby display of crystals and runestones, her gaze flitting over the glimmering surfaces and intricate carvings. The various items seemed to pulse with an otherworldly energy, their presence a reminder of the myriad forces that existed just beyond the veil of everyday life.

"So, how'd you hear about us?" the clerk asked, his tone more relaxed as he sifted through the shelves.

Jenny turned her attention back to him, replying casually, "My uncle, Enyos, told me about you."

He glanced at her with a hint of recognition as he picked up a mahogany container. "So, you're Janna, then. Sorry to hear about your uncle."

"Thank you," Jenny said, her voice carrying a note of genuine appreciation.

"He was a good customer," the clerk continued frankly, setting the box on the glass counter with a practiced motion. "Well, here you go, one Thesulan orb." With a flourish, he lifted the lid of the container, revealing a small, crystal sphere nestled in a bed of soft velvet. The orb glowed faintly, its surface smooth and polished, reflecting a myriad of colors as it caught the light. "Spirit vault for the Rituals of the Undead."

Jenny examined the orb briefly, her eyes scanning its flawless surface. It was exactly what she needed. She handed him her credit card, and he continued to chatter as he processed the transaction. "I don't get much call for those lately. Sold a couple as 'new age' paperweights last year." He ran the card through the machine with a practiced flick of his wrist. "Yeah, I just love the 'new agers.' They helped send my youngest to college."

His tone became a touch more businesslike as he wrote up the bill of sale, his pen moving swiftly across the receipt. "By the way, you do know that the transliteration annals for the Ritual of the Undead were lost. Without the annals, the surviving text is gibberish." His eyes met Jenny's with a serious, almost conspiratorial look, as if imparting a crucial piece of information that could affect the outcome of her quest.

Jenny glanced up from the receipt, her expression a mixture of determination and resignation. "And without a translated text, the orbs of Thesulah are pretty much useless. I know." She deftly tore off his copy and handed it over, the crisp paper crackling slightly as it was exchanged.

The clerk's face, lined with experience and a touch of concern, softened a bit as he responded. "I only mention it because I have a strict policy of no refunds."

"It's okay," Jenny assured him, her tone firm but understanding. She slipped her copy of the receipt into her purse, the sound of the paper rustling faintly. The clerk, with a practiced motion, replaced the lid on the mahogany container, his movements smooth and almost reverent.

Jenny picked up the orb with a careful grip, cradling it against her chest. The small, crystal sphere felt cool against her skin, its weight a comforting presence. "Well, thank you," she said sincerely, the gratitude in her voice palpable as she began to make her way to the door.

As she was almost out of the store, the clerk called after her, his curiosity piqued. "By the way, not that it's any of my business, really, but what are you planning to conjure up if you can decipher the text?"

Jenny paused at the door, her hand resting on the handle as she turned to face him. She carefully removed the lid from the orb, lifting it to catch the sunlight that streamed in through the store's front window. The orb, catching the light, began to glow with a warm, golden radiance that seemed to pulse gently in her hand. The light reflected off her skin, creating an ethereal halo around her fingers and casting flecks of brilliance into her eyes.

"A present for a friend of mine," she answered simply, her voice steady but tinged with an undercurrent of something deeper.

"Really?" The clerk's interest was visibly piqued, his eyes widening slightly as he leaned forward. "What are you going to give him?"

As Jenny held the glowing orb, its light shimmering like liquid gold, she answered with a quiet intensity. "His soul."

The words hung in the air, their gravity adding an unspoken weight to the moment. The clerk's eyes widened further, the warm glow of the orb reflecting in his gaze as he absorbed the full impact of her declaration. Jenny's expression remained calm, her gaze steady as she left the store, the orb still glowing softly in her hand, casting an enigmatic light that seemed to echo the complexity of her mission.

Sunnydale High

Xander caught up with Willow and Buffy as they joined the reluctant morning saunter toward Sunnydale High. His usual ensemble of wacky plaid pants and a cheerful grin stood out against the dreary morning. "Well, good morning, ladies. And what did you two do last night?" he asked with a grin that suggested a mix of curiosity and mischief.

"We had kind of a pajama-party-sleepover-with-weapons thing," Willow informed him, her tone carrying a hint of weariness but also an undertone of camaraderie.

"Oh," Xander said, his voice taking on a wistful note. "And I don't suppose either of you had the presence of mind to locate a camera to capture the moment?" His eyes twinkled with playful nostalgia, longing for a snapshot of their unconventional evening.

Buffy smiled faintly, the corners of her mouth lifting just enough to soften the tension in her expression. "My brother was with us all night, Xander." The brief mention of Cole added a layer of reassurance to her smile, a silent acknowledgment of the protective presence he provided.

Willow, however, was too focused on the urgency of the morning to register Xander's playful banter. Her attention was fixed on the approaching school, her mind already shifting to the responsibilities awaiting her. "I have to go," she said briskly. "I have a class to teach in about five minutes and I have to arrive early to glare disapprovingly at the stragglers." Her tone was matter-of-fact, the practiced routine of her day evident in her words.

Then her face fell as she spotted Jenny walking briskly across the lawn. Jenny's clunky black heels clacked against the pavement, each step resonating with the weariness of a long night. Her wispy dress fluttered lightly with each stride, a stark contrast to the weight of Willow's disappointment. "Oh, darn. She's here. Five hours of lesson planning yesterday down the drain." The frustration in Willow's voice was palpable, a mix of exasperation and resignation.

Willow trudged off toward the school, her shoulders hunched in defeat. Buffy, with her attention still fixed on Jenny, murmured to Xander, "You know what? I'll see you in class." She gave him a brief, apologetic smile before moving away to intercept Jenny.

"Hey," Buffy said, her voice cutting through the morning air as she approached Jenny. The greeting was casual, yet the underlying tension was evident.

"Hi," Jenny responded, her expression a blend of surprise, caution, and a flicker of hope. "Is there something… did you want something?"

Buffy took a deep breath, her eyes searching for the right words amidst the swirl of emotions. "Look, I know you feel badly about what happened and I just want to say…" She trailed off, her thoughts racing as she struggled with her feelings. 'I can't do it,' she thought. 'I can't pretend I forgive her.' Her voice faltered, betraying her inner conflict. "Good. Keep it up."

The hurt that flashed across Jenny's face made Buffy's heart sink. The words felt inadequate, and Buffy felt a pang of guilt for her harshness. Jenny's eyes held a mixture of sadness and resolve as she replied, "Don't worry. I will."

Buffy hesitated, her resolve wavering as she tried to find a way to bridge the chasm between them. "Uh, wait. Um…" She took a moment to compose herself, the weight of the conversation pressing down on her. "He misses you. He doesn't say anything to me, but I know he does. I don't want him to be lonely." Her gaze softened as she spoke, her voice carrying an earnest undertone. "I don't want anyone to."

The moment hung between them; a delicate pause filled with unspoken understanding. Jenny's demeanor softened, the guardedness giving way to a more open expression. "Buffy, you know that if I have a chance to make this up—"

"We're good here," Buffy interjected, her voice steady and resolute. She had come to terms with the complexity of the situation. 'As long as it's not about her and me, I can deal,' she thought, finding solace in the boundaries she set. "Let's just leave it."

Halliwell Manor

"Hello?" Prue said, her voice carrying a hint of curiosity as she answered the phone. The familiar ring had broken the quietude of her afternoon, and she held the receiver to her ear, her fingers curling around the handle with a sense of anticipation.

"Hi, Prue. It's Jasmine," came the voice from the other end, tinged with a note of urgency and frustration. "Uhm, can I get you to meet me at the restaurant? My car broke down," Jasmine continued, her words laced with a mix of exasperation and hopefulness as she described her predicament.

"Sure, Jasmine, I can meet you there," Prue responded, her voice steady and reassuring. The inconvenience of Jasmine's car troubles was clear, but Prue's willingness to assist was evident in her calm and accommodating tone. "Bye," she said, her voice softening as she ended the call, the click of the receiver signaling the conclusion of the conversation.

As Prue placed the phone back in its cradle, she noticed Phoebe walking past, her stride purposeful and her expression focused. "Hey, Phoebe," Prue called out, her tone friendly and casual as she acknowledged her sister's presence.

"I'm going to meet Cole, he's waiting for me at the mausoleum," Phoebe said, her voice carrying a sense of urgency. Her destination was one of the more somber locations in town, adding a layer of seriousness to her errand.

"Do you want a ride?" Prue offered; her tone imbued with a genuine willingness to help.

"Isn't Jasmine picking you up for lunch?" Phoebe asked, her brow furrowing slightly as she recalled the plan for Prue's lunch date.

"Well, her car broke down, so I'm meeting her there," Prue explained, her tone conveying both understanding and a hint of resignation. The unexpected change of plans was a minor inconvenience, but Prue's readiness to adapt was clear.

"Sure," Phoebe agreed, her acceptance coming with a nod of gratitude.

Memorial Cemetery

Phoebe stepped into the mausoleum, her heart skipping a beat as she spotted Cole amid the dim, shadowy interior. The mausoleum's cold, stone walls were etched with centuries of history, their worn surfaces catching the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the small, barred windows. A musty, earthy scent filled the air, mingling with the faint echoes of her footsteps as she moved forward.

Her face broke into a relieved smile when she saw Cole standing there, his figure silhouetted against the gloomy backdrop. The sight of him brought a wave of warmth to her heart, cutting through the chill of the mausoleum. "Hey," she greeted him, her voice soft but filled with genuine affection. As she reached him, she closed the distance between them and planted a tender kiss on his lips, the simple gesture conveying the depth of her relief and love.

"I hated worrying you or Elizabeth," Cole said, his voice tinged with regret. His expression was earnest, his eyes meeting Phoebe's with an intensity that spoke volumes. He continued to explain, his tone carrying the weight of his recent struggles. "But there wasn't a way for me to get a message to either of you. I was shimmering through various realms, so that the Source didn't know where I was." His words painted a picture of his recent efforts, emphasizing the difficulty and danger he faced in trying to remain hidden while traveling across dimensions.

"I'm just glad you're here now," Phoebe said, her voice steady but tinged with a trace of the lingering worry she felt. She reached out and took his hand, their fingers interlocking as if to anchor themselves to each other amidst the turmoil. "Buffy and I were worried sick. I mean, it's been so chaotic lately with Angelus, and having you gone like that only made things worse."

Cole's grip tightened slightly, his eyes softening as he looked at Phoebe. "I know, and I'm sorry. I was trying to make sure I could come back safely and be of help, but it wasn't easy. The Source is always watching, always trying to track me down. I didn't want to risk leading him straight to Elizabeth."

Sunnydale High

Giles was deeply engaged in conversation with a couple of students, discussing the logistics of some flyers that needed to be distributed around the school. His tone was patient and instructional as he handed over the colorful flyers, his expression one of focused professionalism. "Yes, so, could you hang those up? Thanks so much." He smiled warmly, his demeanor brightening noticeably as he caught sight of Buffy approaching.

"Buffy, so how was your night?" he inquired, his voice tinged with genuine concern and curiosity. The question was both an invitation for her to share and a chance for him to gauge her well-being.

"Sleepless," Buffy said honestly, her voice carrying the weight of her exhaustion. She glanced around briefly, her eyes betraying the tiredness that was etched into her features. "But that was partly because of Angel and partly because Cole is back and he stayed with me and Willow all night."

At the mention of Cole, Giles's interest visibly piqued. Before he could respond, Cordelia stepped into the scene, her arrival marked by an air of total relief. Her fashionable attire and perfectly styled hair contrasted with the more casual and disheveled appearance of the others. "Oh, thank goodness," she said, her voice filled with sincere gratitude. "I actually had to talk my grandmother into switching cars with me last night." Her tone implied a minor inconvenience had turned into a major concern, reflecting the seriousness of the situation from her perspective.

Giles blinked in astonishment at Cordelia's sudden appearance and her apparent relief but quickly refocused on the matter at hand. "I found a ritual to revoke the invitation to vampires," he announced with a tone of academic satisfaction, as if a significant breakthrough had been achieved.

Cordelia's relief was palpable, and she nodded in understanding. Her worry eased somewhat by Giles's revelation, she seemed ready to move past her earlier anxiety.

"The ritual is fairly basic, actually," Giles continued, his tone now taking on an informative quality as he outlined the details. "It's just the recitation of a few simple rhyming couplets, burning of moss herbs, sprinkling of holy water—"

"All stuff I have in my house," Buffy drawled, cutting in with a touch of practicality and weariness. Her statement was both a reflection of her resourcefulness and an acknowledgment of the routine nature of the ritual components.

"Hanging of cross…" Giles went on, as they began walking down the hallway together, discussing the necessary steps.

Restaurant

Prue was nestled comfortably at a corner table of the warmly lit restaurant, the soft hum of background chatter and the clinking of cutlery creating a cozy, intimate ambiance. The restaurant was a charming mix of rustic and modern, with exposed brick walls adorned with vintage black-and-white photographs and large, inviting wooden tables set with crisp white linens. The gentle flicker of candlelight added a romantic touch to the setting.

As Jasmine walked through the entrance, her presence seemed to momentarily brighten the room. The soft jingle of the restaurant's doorbell announced her arrival, and she made her way with purposeful strides toward Prue's table. She leaned in close to the waiter who was stationed by the entrance, whispering something that made the waiter nod in understanding before making his way over to Prue. Jasmine's elegant, wispy dress swayed with her movements, and her bright smile was a sharp contrast to the dimmer light of the early evening.

"Hey," Jasmine greeted Prue with a warm, familiar smile as she reached the table.

"Hey," Prue responded, her face lighting up at the sight of her date. There was a sense of ease between them, an unspoken comfort that had developed over their recent encounters.

Jasmine's apology about her car was punctuated with a graceful gesture. She leaned in and kissed Prue's hand lightly, a gesture both tender and intimate. "Sorry about my car," Jasmine said, her eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief.

"Oh, that's okay," Prue reassured her, her smile widening as she looked into Jasmine's eyes. "Not a problem."

Jasmine raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued by Prue's reaction. "What?"

"Nothing," Prue said, waving off the question with a lighthearted shrug. There was an easygoing quality to the interaction that suggested a deepening connection between them.

Jasmine settled into her chair, her movements fluid and graceful as she adjusted herself comfortably opposite Prue. "You know, I really should sell that old thing," she began, referring to her car. "But I don't know, I kind of like having something not so predictable in this day and age. Know what I mean?"

"Right," Prue said, her gaze fixed on Jasmine with interest. "So, you don't think of yourself as predictable?"

"Me?" Jasmine asked with a playful lilt in her voice as the waiter approached their table, holding a bottle of wine. The waiter's attire was impeccably neat, and he carried the wine with an air of professional elegance.

"Pardon me. Beringer, private reserve?" the waiter inquired, his tone courteous and refined.

"Yes, thank you," Jasmine responded, her attention shifting briefly to the waiter. As he uncorked the bottle and poured a modest amount into Jasmine's glass for a taste test, her eyes returned to Prue, her expression a blend of amusement and contemplation. "Predictable? Hardly," Jasmine added with a smirk, her tone suggesting that she took pride in her nonconformity.

"Right," Prue agreed with a nod, her eyes reflecting a mixture of admiration and curiosity.

Halliwell Manor

Jasmine stood on the ornate porch of the Halliwell Manor. As Phoebe approached the stairs, she greeted Jasmine with a friendly nod. "Hey, Jasmine," she said, her voice carrying a hint of curiosity.

"Hey," Jasmine replied, offering a polite smile as she shifted her stance slightly on the porch, her gaze following Phoebe as she made her way up the steps.

"What are you doing here?" Phoebe asked, her curiosity piqued by Jasmine's unexpected presence.

"I'm picking up Prue for lunch," Jasmine explained, her tone casual yet tinged with a hint of uncertainty as she glanced toward the door, clearly expecting Prue to emerge.

Phoebe nodded and headed inside, with Jasmine trailing closely behind her. "Piper!" she called out, her voice echoing slightly in the spacious room. Her concern was palpable, and she moved swiftly towards the staircase, her steps purposeful.

"Is something wrong?" Jasmine asked, her eyes darting between Phoebe and the various details of the foyer, trying to gauge the situation.

"I'm not sure," Phoebe admitted, her brow furrowing slightly as she turned to Jasmine with a troubled expression. She continued to search the space for any sign of Prue.

"What's up?" Piper's voice interrupted their exchange as she appeared from one of the adjoining rooms, her expression a mix of curiosity and mild concern. She walked into the foyer, her presence adding to the gathering of concerned faces.

"Where's Prue?" Phoebe asked, her voice carrying a note of urgency. She glanced toward Piper, hoping for an explanation.

"I don't know. At the restaurant, I guess," Piper answered, her confusion evident as she joined the small gathering in the foyer.

"Supposedly meeting Jasmine," Phoebe said, her tone suggesting that there was a discrepancy in the information they had.

"No, I told her I'd pick her up here," Jasmine said, her voice carrying a touch of frustration and concern. She looked between Phoebe and Piper, her eyes reflecting her growing unease about the situation.

"Okay, so you didn't call this morning and tell her that your car broke down and you'd meet her there?" Phoebe asked, her tone a mix of skepticism and concern as she exchanged a knowing glance with Piper.

"No," Jasmine replied, her voice tinged with confusion and a hint of defensiveness. The exchange between Phoebe and Piper grew more intense as they tried to piece together the mystery of Prue's whereabouts.

Rosenberg Residence

Willow continued her task, her hands steady as she finished nailing a crucifix securely to the wall and then draped her plaid bedroom curtains over it, creating an unconventional barrier against any potential intruders. The contrast between the rustic charm of the crucifix and the vibrant, casual pattern of her curtains gave her room an oddly protective yet personal touch. As she stepped back to survey her work, a thoughtful frown tugged at her lips.

"I'm going to have a hard time explaining this to my dad," Willow remarked, her voice laced with both resignation and a hint of amusement. The image of her father's bemused expression flashed through her mind, a stark contrast to the serene, almost sacred atmosphere she was attempting to create in her bedroom.

Buffy, who was helping with the makeshift security measures, tilted her head slightly, her brow furrowing in concern. "You really think it'll bother him?"

Willow nodded with a weary affection that spoke volumes of her long-standing routine of accommodating her father's more conventional views. "Ira Rosenberg's only daughter nailing crucifixes to her bedroom wall?" She chuckled softly, her eyes reflecting a mixture of nostalgia and mild exasperation. "I have to go over to Xander's house just to watch 'A Charlie Brown Christmas' every year."

Buffy's face grimaced with empathetic understanding. "I see your point," she said, recognizing the subtle clash between Willow's current actions and her father's traditional expectations.

Willow's expression softened slightly, her fondness for the yearly tradition shining through despite her weariness. "Although it is worthwhile to see him do the Snoopy dance," she admitted, her tone carrying an affectionate lightness.

As Willow and Buffy exchanged these personal reflections, Cordelia wandered around the room, her attention caught by something unusual. "Willow, are you aware that there are no fish in your aquarium?" she inquired, her voice carrying a note of surprise.

Willow's face fell, and she whimpered softly at the reminder of her loss. Buffy, sensing her friend's distress, stepped in to offer a solution. "You know, Cordelia," she said, her voice carrying a tone of practical encouragement, "we've already done your car. Call it a day if you want."

Cordelia, looking relieved, nodded in agreement. "Right. Thanks. And you know I'd do the same for you if you had a social life." With a half-smile, she picked up her coat from Willow's bed. The coat's fabric rustled softly as she moved, drawing attention to an envelope lying beside it.

The envelope was made of brown parchment, its texture rich and slightly coarse. "Oh." Cordelia's curiosity was piqued, and she picked up the envelope, handing it to Willow with a hint of curiosity in her eyes. "This must be for you."

Willow and Buffy exchanged a look, their eyes meeting with a shared sense of unease and anticipation. Nervously, Willow opened the flap of the envelope, her fingers trembling slightly as she pulled out the now-familiar stationery. The paper was heavy and crisp, a tangible reminder of the unsettling situation they found themselves in.

She unfolded the letter, her expression shifting from curiosity to tension as she scanned its contents. Her gaze darted to Buffy, her eyes wide with concern. "It's for you," Willow said meaningfully, her voice steady despite the rising anxiety.

Buffy took the letter from Willow, her hands steady but her heart racing. She opened it carefully, and her eyes fell upon the sketch inside. It was another drawing by Angelus, rendered with disturbing precision. The sketch depicted Joyce, her mother, sleeping peacefully, her serene expression captured in unsettling detail.

"Joyce," Buffy blurted, her voice barely above a whisper. The room seemed to close in around them, the gravity of the situation settling heavily on her shoulders as the implication of the sketch sank in.

Restaurant

Jasmine's delicate fingers gripped the bottle as she poured a generous splash of wine into Prue's glass. The rich, crimson liquid swirled and caught the light, casting a warm glow over the delicate crystal. "Oh, no, no. I have to work this evening," Prue said, her voice carrying a hint of reluctance as she lifted the glass to examine the color of the wine.

Jasmine, her eyes twinkling with a playful glint, offered a reassuring smile. "So, your photographs are a little fuzzy. Call it avant-garde," she suggested with a teasing edge, her tone light-hearted and inviting.

"Oh," Prue responded, her gaze drifting toward her phone as it rang insistently. She started to rise to answer it, but Jasmine's hand gently rested on her arm, stopping her.

"How important can it be?" Jasmine inquired, her voice a mix of curiosity and insistence, suggesting that the moment they were sharing took precedence over any incoming call.

Prue hesitated for a moment before nodding in agreement, her fingers deftly switching off her phone with a practiced flick. "What?" she asked, turning her full attention back to Jasmine.

"Can I ask you a favor?" Jasmine's voice softened, carrying a note of vulnerability that contrasted with her earlier playfulness.

"Sure," Prue replied, her curiosity piqued as she leaned in slightly, her attention focused solely on Jasmine.

"Last night when we kissed goodbye, it was, I don't know, not great," Jasmine admitted, her tone tinged with a mix of honesty and apprehension. The admission was raw, a candid reflection on their recent moment together.

"Yeah," Prue said, her response acknowledging the truth in Jasmine's words, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.

"How about we try it again, see if we can't do it a little better? Come on. What's the worst that could happen?" Jasmine suggested with a playful challenge, her voice filled with an earnest desire to improve their shared experience. The space between them seemed to shrink as they leaned closer over the table.

As their lips met in a tentative kiss, the world around them began to shift subtly. The familiar setting of the dimly lit restaurant, with its softly flickering candlelight and the ambient hum of background conversations, started to blur and waver.

Dantalian's Lair

The next thing Prue knew, as Jasmine took a step back, the familiar ambiance of the restaurant had vanished. The soft clinking of glasses and muted conversations dissolved into an eerie silence. Instead, Prue found herself standing in a dark and foreboding place that bore no resemblance to the cozy warmth of the restaurant. She was in the Underworld, an alien landscape filled with oppressive shadows and a disorienting mist that clung to the ground like a shroud.

"Where am I? I can't move," Prue exclaimed, her voice tinged with panic as she tried to shift her body, only to find it entirely immobile. Her limbs felt as if they were bound by an invisible force, frozen in place as though she had become part of the very air and darkness around her. The gravity of her predicament began to sink in, and her heart raced as she struggled against the unseen bonds that held her.

"My apologies," Jasmine's voice came, but it was no longer the familiar, soothing tone Prue had grown accustomed to. Instead, it carried a cold and dispassionate edge. Before Prue's eyes, Jasmine's form began to shimmer and distort. The once warm and inviting features of her face warped and shifted until, in a startling transformation, Jasmine's visage morphed into that of a tall, imposing male warlock. His presence was marked by an aura of dark authority, and his eyes, now a penetrating and unsettling shade, bore into Prue with an inscrutable intensity. He introduced himself as Zile, a name that resonated with an air of menacing power.

"It's true. Every bride is beautiful on her wedding day," came the voice of another, a figure emerging from the encroaching shadows. Dantalian, a name that carried a weight of ancient and sinister prestige, materialized with an air of commanding presence.

Halliwell Manor

Phoebe sat at the dining room table, her brow furrowed in concentration. The scrying tool—a delicate crystal pendulum—hung suspended above a map, its slow, rhythmic movement betraying her anxiety. The tension in the room was palpable, an almost tangible force that pressed down on her shoulders as she tried to focus her energy on locating Prue.

Piper entered the room, carrying the Book of Shadows with a determined stride. Her face was etched with worry as she approached Phoebe, her gaze flicking from the scrying tools to her sister. "Find her?" she asked, her voice a mix of hope and frustration.

"Not yet," Phoebe replied, her tone betraying her own mounting anxiety. She continued to watch the pendulum with a sense of mounting dread, each passing moment stretching into what felt like an eternity.

Piper let out a frustrated sigh, the weight of their situation pressing heavily upon her. "We're screwed," she said, her voice filled with resignation as she slumped into a chair beside Phoebe.

"Not yet," Phoebe said, though her voice lacked the conviction it might have earlier, just as Leo materialized in a swirl of orbs, his expression grim.

"Leo, what did you find out?" Piper asked, her voice a mixture of desperation and hope.

"Nothing," Leo said, his shoulders sagging slightly as he spoke. His face was a mask of frustration, mirroring the growing unease in the room.

"Okay, now we're screwed," Phoebe said, her words dripping with exasperation. She leaned back in her chair, the weight of their failure settling heavily on her shoulders.

Piper's eyes widened as she took in the gravity of the situation. "Nothing on the map, nothing in the Book. Leo, somebody must know something," she pressed, her voice rising with urgency.

"Well, the Elders support your shape-shifting warlock theory," Leo said, his tone resigned, "but they can't get a clear read on the situation." He glanced around the room, his eyes reflecting the frustration and helplessness they all felt.

"Wait, so Prue's vanished from your radar and something's jamming theirs?" Phoebe asked, her voice laced with disbelief.

"Something like that," Leo confirmed, his voice heavy with the burden of the information. "But she can't be dead. They'd be able to sense that no matter how evil is interfering."

"Okay, then what's going on? What are we up against?" Phoebe asked, her voice a mixture of concern and frustration as she tried to grasp the full extent of their predicament.

"Something powerful enough to keep us from finding her," Piper replied, her tone heavy with the weight of their grim situation. The room seemed to close in around them, the walls echoing their worries as they struggled to make sense of the challenge before them.

"Well, you knew as your powers grew, evil's would too," Leo said, his voice steady but tinged with the exhaustion of the situation. His eyes darted between Piper and Phoebe, reflecting the strain of their struggle.

"Yeah, but so powerful that we can't figure out who they are, let alone how to fight them?" Piper asked, her frustration clear. "That sucks."

"What we need to figure out is why a warlock wants Prue alive," Leo said, shifting the focus of their conversation to a more specific aspect of their problem. His brow furrowed as he considered the implications of their adversary's motives.

"Well, it can't just be for her powers," Phoebe said, shaking her head. "I mean, they wouldn't need to keep her alive to get them." Her eyes were clouded with concern as she tried to piece together the puzzle.

"Unless it's an upper-level warlock which wants…" Leo began, his voice trailing off as he left the thought unfinished, but the implication was clear.

"All of our powers," Phoebe finished for the Whitelighter, her voice taking on a grim determination. The realization added a new layer of urgency to their mission, highlighting the potential scale of the threat they faced.

"But we still have the same problem. No idea how to find her," Piper said, her voice filled with frustration. The weight of their predicament felt almost tangible, pressing down on them as they grappled with their options.

"It's too bad you vanquished that demonic bounty hunter. He could've helped," Leo said, his tone regretful. The mention of the bounty hunter was a stark reminder of the opportunities they had lost and the challenges they now faced.

Phoebe's face lit up with a sudden spark of inspiration. "Cole or Buffy could," she said, her voice filled with renewed hope. The idea seemed to offer a glimmer of possibility amid their despair.

"What?" Leo asked, his tone incredulous. "Cole is on the run from the Source, Phoebe. You want to ask him to take that risk? And Buffy is in hiding, remember? The only reason bounty hunters aren't attacking her is because she's hidden with mortals. The last place the Source would think to look. It surprises me that bounty hunters haven't attacked her when she's here." His words conveyed the enormity of their challenge, as well as the precariousness of their allies' situations.

"Do you have any other suggestions, Leo?" Phoebe said, her voice laced with frustration as she grabbed her purse. Her actions were quick and purposeful, a reflection of her determination to find a solution despite the obstacles in their way.

Summers Home

Angelus stood in the shadows beside the driveway, his posture tense and expectant as he waited for Joyce to arrive. The twilight cast a subdued, golden hue over the quiet suburban street, the setting sun bathing the scene in a warm, deceptive calm. As Joyce's car finally appeared, its headlights slicing through the dim light, Angelus positioned himself with deliberate care. He waited for the vehicle to come to a halt, his dark eyes gleaming with a mix of urgency and a malevolent charm.

When Joyce parked the car and turned off the engine, Angelus was already at her side. He hovered near the open window, his expression a blend of distress and desperation as he leaned in to address her. The air between them crackled with tension as he spoke, his voice laced with a veneer of pleading that seemed almost too rehearsed.

"Mrs. Summers," he said, his tone almost frantic, "I need to talk to you." His words flowed rapidly, as if he were trying to convey both the gravity of his message and the immediacy of his need. The air was thick with the weight of his emotional display, his gestures exaggerated to reinforce his apparent anguish.

Joyce's response was measured, her wariness evident despite her polite demeanor. "You're… Angel." Her eyes narrowed slightly as she assessed him, the recognition in her voice mingling with a touch of apprehension.

Angelus responded with a smile that was both charming and unsettling. He closed the car door behind her with a practiced ease, the movement smooth and deliberate. Joyce, burdened with a bag of groceries, seemed momentarily preoccupied with her task. Angelus made no move to help her, deliberately allowing the weight of the bag to slow her down, to increase her vulnerability, even if only marginally. The small act of omission was a calculated maneuver in his larger scheme.

"Did Buffy tell you about us?" he asked, his voice carrying a false note of concern, as though he were seeking validation for his twisted affection. His eyes followed her every move, tracking her progress with an intensity that bordered on invasive.

"She told me she wants you to leave her alone." Joyce's voice was firm, her gaze unwavering. There was an edge to her tone, a clear boundary being drawn between them.

Angelus's smile widened, revealing a hint of his true nature. "I can't," he said, his words dripping with insincere regret. "I can't do that." The declaration was made with a dramatic flair, as if his inability to comply were both tragic and inevitable.

Joyce's expression hardened, the protective instincts of a mother coming to the fore. "You're scaring her," she stated, her voice a blend of concern and command.

Angelus's demeanor shifted subtly, his urgency becoming more pronounced. "You have to help me," he said, his tone a desperate rush. He matched his steps to hers as she began to brush past him, his movements agile and insistent. "Joyce, I need to be with her," he continued, his voice rising slightly in intensity. "You can convince her. You have to convince her." His words tumbled out in a rapid-fire stream, aimed at creating an impression of incoherence that might be convincing in its urgency.

The effect was palpable. Joyce's confidence wavered, her voice trembling slightly as she stopped and turned to face him more fully. Her eyes searched his face, trying to discern the truth beneath his façade. The fear she had been trying to suppress began to show through her otherwise composed exterior. "Look, I'm telling you to leave her alone," she repeated, though her voice lacked the earlier firmness.

Angelus pressed harder, his voice now a strained whisper, as though he were sharing a dark secret. "You have to talk to her for me, Joyce. Tell her I need her." His eyes were locked on hers, filled with a desperate need that was both terrifying and seductive.

Joyce's frustration was palpable as she maneuvered around Angelus, her urgency betraying her growing fear. "Please. I just want to get inside," she said, her voice edged with desperation. She moved with a speed that suggested she was on the verge of breaking into a run, her entire body radiating a mixture of dread and determination. Her eyes flicked anxiously towards the safety of her home, her escape from Angelus's oppressive presence.

Angelus, however, was in no rush. He allowed a small, calculating smile to play at the corners of his lips. The situation was unfolding perfectly, and he found it almost amusing. As he closed the distance between them, he executed his next move with deliberate precision. With a feigned air of innocence, he "accidentally" brushed against Joyce's grocery bag. The impact caused the bag to slip from her grasp, sending the contents sprawling across the porch in a chaotic scatter. Oranges rolled away with the abandon of billiard balls in mid-play, their bright, citrusy hues starkly contrasting against the darkening evening.

"You don't understand, Joyce," Angelus said, his voice imbued with a false note of helplessness as he stooped to gather a few of the scattered fruits. His fingers brushed against the cold, textured surface of the oranges as he picked them up. "I'll die without Buffy. She'll die without me." The sentiment was cloaked in a veneer of desperation, designed to elicit sympathy while masking his true intentions.

Joyce bent to retrieve her groceries, her movements initially swift but then suddenly halting as Angelus's words sank in. She froze, her hands clutching an orange as she turned to look at him, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and disbelief. "Are you threatening her?" she demanded, her voice trembling as she sought to understand the full extent of his threat.

Angelus's response was a desperate plea cloaked in an air of tragic inevitability. "Please, why is she doing this to me?" His tone was laced with a sorrowful indignation, aimed at further destabilizing Joyce's already fraught emotions.

The mounting fear in Joyce was evident as she took a quick step back, her resolve solidifying. "I'm calling the police, now," she declared, her voice resolute as she pivoted and ascended the porch steps with a hurried urgency. Her hands shook uncontrollably as she fumbled with her keys, each attempt to insert them into the lock a testament to her growing panic. The door seemed to taunt her, its security just out of reach as she struggled to open it.

Angelus followed her onto the porch, his demeanor unchanged as he observed her frantic efforts with a predatory calm. The faint smile on his lips widened slightly, reflecting his amusement at her disarray. The moment had arrived for him to deliver the final, crushing blow.

"I haven't been able to sleep since the night we made love," he said, his voice taking on a mournful quality that seemed almost sincere. The admission hung heavy in the air, meant to strike a deep emotional chord. Joyce's head snapped toward him with a mixture of shock and betrayal, her eyes searching for some trace of honesty amidst the web of deceit.

"I need her. I know you understand," Angelus continued, his tone a mix of pleading and resignation. His gaze locked with hers, attempting to forge a connection that would convince her of the supposed depth of his feelings.

Joyce was momentarily stunned into silence, her mind reeling from the implications of his words. Her stunned reaction lasted only a heartbeat before she managed to wrench open the door. With a final, determined effort, she darted inside, her voice echoing through the air as she called, "Just leave us alone." The words were both a plea and a command, underscoring her desperation to end the confrontation.

As Angelus attempted to follow, an invisible barrier materialized before him, halting his advance with a sudden and unexpected force. He gasped in surprise, his face contorting into a mask of bewilderment as the barrier's presence became apparent. His attempt to cross the threshold was thwarted, the air shimmering with the power of the protective ward.

In the midst of this, Buffy and Willow emerged from the house, their entrance marking a dramatic shift in the encounter. Willow held a spellbook open, its pages fluttering with the movement of her incantation. Her voice rose in a rhythmic cadence of Latin, a mystical chant that filled the air with a palpable sense of enchantment. "His verbes, consenus rescissus est," she intoned, her words imbued with a sense of finality.

Buffy's expression was a study in pure, unfiltered hatred, her features hardened into a mask of resolve. Her gaze fixed on Angelus with an intensity that left no room for doubt. "Sorry, Angelus," she said, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "I've changed the locks." With that, she slammed the door shut with a decisive force.

---

Author's Note: The mention of the two different sect of vampires is both a reference to my other stories as well as a way of explaining away the difference between the two shows respective vampires. Vampirus is Charmed vampires and Nosferatu are BTVS vampires.