Principal Snyder handed her a pen. Willow began to look worried.
“The program starts at four, and the children have to be home by six,” he instructed.
Buffy stared down at a long list of names.
Xander and Willow stared at each other, and then at the pens Principal Snyder handed each of them.
They signed.
“I can’t believe this,” Xander grumbled, as the threesome headed into the school lounge. “We have to dress up and the whole deal?”
“Snyder said costumes were mandatory,” Willow sighed.
Buffy forced a rueful smile. “Great. I was going to stay in and veg. It’s the one night a year that things are supposed to be quiet for me.”
“Halloween quiet?” Xander shot her a quizzical look. “I figured it would be a big old vamp scare-a-palooza.”
“Not according to Giles. He swears that tomorrow night is, like, dead for the undead. They stay in.”
“Those wacky vampires.” Xander shook his head. “That’s what I love about ’em. They just keep you guessing.”
He stopped at the drinks machine while Buffy and Willow found a table. Dropping in some change, he waited for his soda to come out, but nothing happened.
He hit the machine with his fist. He gave the machine a few choice insults. Then he hit it again.
“Harris!” A voice boomed out.
Xander looked up to see a large meaty hand descending on his shoulder. It belonged to Larry, a mean-tempered moose of a jock, and not one of Xander’s personal favorites.
“Larry,” Xander said casually. “Looking very cromag as usual. What can I do you for?”
Larry glanced over to where Buffy and Willow were sitting. The two girls were engaged in a private conversation, totally unaware of the attention they were getting.
Larry leaned in closer to Xander. “You and Buffy—you’re just friends, right?”
Xander was quick. “I like to think of it less as a friendship and more as a solid foundation for future bliss—”
“So she’s not your girlfriend?” Larry broke in impatiently.
“Alas, no.”
“You think she’d go out with me?”
“Well, Lar, that’s a hard question to . . . no. Not a chance.”
“Why not? I heard some guys say she was fast.”
Xander could feel himself bristling. “I hope you mean in the ‘like the wind’ sense.”
“You know what I mean.”
Larry was actually leering at him now, and Xander’s anger erupted. He grabbed Larry by his T-shirt, pulling him down to eye-level. “That’s my friend you’re talking about,” Xander said.
Larry was not impressed and definitely not intimidated. In fact, Xander’s outburst not only amused him, it pumped him up for battle. With a cocky smile, he stretched himself to his huge fullness.
“Oh, yeah? What are you going to do about it?”
Xander stood his ground. “I’m going to do what any man would do about it,” he stammered. “Something . . . damn manly.”
With one massive heave, he tried to shove Larry into the soda machine but hardly budged him an inch. Grimacing, he saw Larry draw back a fist and aim it at his face, and Xander bravely steeled himself to be mutilated.
But the blow never came. At the last second, another hand suddenly intercepted, grabbing Larry’s wrist, snapping it back from Xander’s face. In a flash, Buffy spun Larry around, pinned his arms behind him, and slammed him hard into the drinks machine.
A free soda dropped out.
“Get gone,” Buffy said.
As Larry scurried away, she picked up the Dr. Pepper and gave a pleased smile. “Ooh. Diet.”
And then it dawned on her that Xander hadn’t moved. Hadn’t said a word. That he was just standing there staring at her in total shock and disbelief.
“Do you know what you just did?” he finally exploded.
Buffy thought a minute. “Saved a dollar?”
“Larry was about to pummel me!” Xander exclaimed.
“Oh, that.” Buffy brushed it off. “Forget about it.”
Xander glared at her, positively fuming. “I will,” he snapped at her. “Maybe fifteen, twenty years from now. When my rep for being a sissy-man finally fades.”
Buffy’s mouth opened in surprise. “Xander—”
“A black eye heals, Buffy,” he threw at her. “But cowardice has a nearly unlimited shelf-life. But thanks. Thanks for your help.”
As Xander stomped off, Buffy and Willow exchanged knowing looks.
“I think I just violated the guy code,” Buffy confessed. “Big time.”
She took her seat again as Willow sighed and nodded.
“Poor Xander. Boys are so fragile.” Then, brightening, Willow asked, “Speaking of—how was your date last night?”
“Misfire.” Buffy frowned. “I was late due to unscheduled slayage. Showed up looking trashed.”
“Was he mad?”
“Actually, he seemed pretty un-mad. Which may have had to do with the fact that Cordelia was drooling in his cappuccino.”
Willow gave her a reassuring smile. “Buffy, Angel would never fall for her act.”
“You mean that ‘actually showing up, wearing a stunning outfit, embracing personal hygeine’ act?”
“You know what I mean. She’s not his type.”
“Are you sure? I mean, I don’t really know what his type is.” Buffy sounded frustrated and a little sad. “I don’t know his turn-ons and turn-offs or his idea of the perfect evening. I’ve known him less than a year and he’s not one to over-share.”
Willow listened sympathetically. “True. It’s too bad we can’t sneak a look at the Watcher Diaries and read up on Angel. I’m sure it’s full of fun facts to know and tell.”
Buffy stared at Willow. Watcher Diaries! In the back of her mind she could feel her thoughts spinning, a plan already beginning to form.
“Yeah, it’s too bad,” Buffy said casually. “That stuff is private.”
“Also, Giles keeps them in his office. In his personal files.”
Buffy’s voice lowered, a conspiratorial whisper. “Most importantly,” she said, “it would be wrong.”
CHAPTER 3
The library was empty.
As Buffy and Willow peeked through the library doors, they couldn’t hear a single sound from inside.
The two girls looked at each other.
Then, slowly, Buffy began tiptoeing into the room, leaving Willow to stand guard at the open doorway.
The diaries would be in Giles’s office, Buffy reminded herself, so that’s where she headed now. In and out again, no problem at all. She was so intent on her mission that she didn’t even see Giles emerging from the book cage behind her.
“Buffy,” Giles said. “Excellent.”
Buffy jumped as though she’d been shot. She spun around to face him, her voice unnaturally shrill. “Nothing! Hi.”
She could see Giles staring at her, giving her one of his odd looks. And then he shrugged, his mind going neatly back on track.
“I wanted to talk to you about tomorrow night,” he said, carrying a stack of books over to the table. “As it should be calm, I thought we might work on new battle techniques—”
Buffy cut him off. “You know, Giles, you’re scaring me now.” She glanced back toward the door. “You need to have some fun.”
She moved deliberately closer as he began sorting through his books. And then, as slyly as she could, she motioned Willow to come in.
Willow’s eyes widened in alarm. She shook her head adamantly and mouthed no!, but Buffy only motioned again, more insistently this time. Resigned, Willow took a deep breath and started working her way into the library, creeping silently behind Giles’s back.
“There’s this amazing place you can go and sit down in the dark,” Buffy rushed on, trying to hold Giles’s attention. “And there are these moving pictures. And the pictures tell a story—”
Giles raised an eyebrow in her directio
n. “Ha, ha. Very droll. I’ll have you know I have many relaxing hobbies.”
“Such as?”
“Well.” He’d been leafing through one of the heavy volumes, but now he stopped, obviously struggling for an answer. “I’m very fond of cross-referencing.”
Buffy shook her head at him. “Do you stuff your own shirts or do you send them out?”
Without warning Giles closed the book he was holding. He took one step, as though to go to his office. Panicked, Willow froze in her tracks. Buffy’s mind raced, determined to keep him occupied.
“So, how come Halloween is such a yawner?” she asked quickly. “Do the demons just hate how commercial it’s become?”
It worked. Giles looked at her.
“Well, it’s interesting—” Giles began.
Willow was almost to the door of his office now. As Giles started to pick up his stack of books, Buffy grabbed the one on top, moving off to his other side to divert his attention.
“But not, I suspect, to you.” Giles frowned suspiciously, taking the book away from her. “What is it you’re after?”
Again Willow froze. They were definitely caught this time, she just knew it.
“Well, of course it’s of interest!” Buffy insisted passionately. “I’m the Slayer! I need to know this stuff! You can’t keep me in the dark anymore!”
Again Giles started to pick up his stack of books. Buffy grabbed his arm.
“Look at me when I talk to you!” she blurted out.
“Buffy,” Giles was beginning to sound annoyed, “I don’t have time to play games—”
“Ms. Calendar said you were a babe!”
Giles stopped. Buffy smiled. From the other side of the room, Willow rolled her eyes, giving Buffy a “shame on you, that’s so low,” expression.
For a long moment there was silence.
Then at last Giles looked back at Buffy, his calm demeanor obviously flustered. “She said what?” he asked softly.
Willow slipped into his office and began gathering up the diaries.
“She said,” Buffy stammered, “you know, that you were hot. A hunk of burning something or other. So. What do you think of that?”
“I, well . . .” Giles took off his glasses and began fiddling with them. “Um, I don’t—a burning hunk of what?”
“You know,” Buffy made a face, “gross as it is for me to contemplate you grownups having smootchies, I think you should go for it.”
Relieved, she saw Willow and the diaries slip out of the office and head swiftly for the door. Mission accomplished. Except Giles was still staring at her, and she still had to escape.
“Buffy,” he said, slipping his glasses back on, “I appreciate your interest, but—”
“I’ve overstepped my bounds!” Buffy agreed quickly. “It’s none of my business. My God, what was I thinking? Shame. Shame. Gotta go.”
She bolted from the library and disappeared down the hall, leaving Giles to gaze after her in complete bewilderment.
Several minutes crept by.
“A babe?” Giles mumbled to himself.
And then he smiled.
“I can live with that.”
Safe in the women’s restroom, Buffy and Willow sat side by side on the sinks, huddled over the Watcher Diaries. They’d never seen anything quite so fascinating, and as Willow flipped slowly through the books, Buffy suddenly rested her finger on one of the pages.
“Man,” Buffy breathed, “look at her.”
What they saw was a detailed drawing of a woman. An incredibly beautiful woman with long dark hair and a flowing eighteenth-century gown.
“Who is she?” Willow asked.
“It doesn’t say. But the entry is dated seventeen-seventy-five.”
“Angel was eighteen,” Willow mused. “And still human.”
Buffy gave a tight smile. “So this was the kind of girl he hung around. She’s pretty . . . coifed.”
“She looks like a noblewoman or something,” Willow noted, “which means being beautiful was sort of her job.”
“And clearly, this girl was a workaholic. Willow, I’ll never be like this . . .”
Willow heard the mixture of hurt and longing in Buffy’s voice. “Come on,” she said reassuringly, “she’s not that pretty. She’s got a funny waist. See how tiny it is?”
Buffy gave her a withering look. “Now I feel better. Thanks.”
“No, really,” Willow tried to redeem herself, “she’s like a freak. A circus freak. Yuck.”
But Buffy wasn’t listening. Instead her mind was flowing back, back into some long-ago mysterious past where Angel had been young and mortal.
“It must have been wonderful,” Buffy said dreamily. “To put on some fantabulous gown and go to a ball, like a princess, to have servants and horses and yet more gowns . . .”
Willow hesitated. “Yeah. Still, I think I prefer being able to vote. Or I will, when I can.”
The bathroom door opened, jarring Buffy from her reverie. She looked up to see Cordelia sweeping over to the mirrors.
“So, Buffy,” Cordelia pulled lipstick out of her purse and leaned in to check her reflection. “You ran off and left poor Angel by his lonesome last night. I did everything I could to comfort him.”
Buffy’s tone was grim. “I bet.”
“What’s his story, anyway? I mean, I never see him around.”
“Not during the day, anyway,” Willow mumbled.
Cordelia stopped doing her lips. She turned to Buffy now, almost reluctantly. “Please don’t tell me he still lives at home. Like he has to wait until his dad gets home to take the car?”
Buffy shook her head. “I think his parents have been dead for, um, a couple hundred years.”
“Oh, good. I mean—what?”
“He’s a vampire, Cordelia,” Buffy said flatly. “I thought you knew.”
Cordelia stared, taking this all in. Then she calmly put her makeup back in her purse.
“Oh. He’s a vampire. Of course. But the cuddly kind. Like a Care Bear with fangs.”
“It’s true,” Willow insisted calmly.
Cordelia crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “You know what I think? You’re trying to scare me off because you’re afraid of the competition.” She paused, then added smugly, “Look, Buffy, you may be hot stuff when it comes to demonology or whatever, but when it comes to dating, I’m the Slayer.”
She turned and flounced out of the bathroom.
And Buffy watched her leave, not wanting to admit how deeply these words had stung.
CHAPTER 4
Even though Ethan’s Costume Shop was musty and rundown, it was stocked with every sort of costume imaginable.
Today the place was packed. Kids of all ages rummaged through hangers and shelves, through boxes and bags, searching for that one perfect Halloween costume. The supply seemed endless.
Buffy walked up and down between rows of clothing and hats and masks, searching for something to wear. No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t seem to muster any Halloween spirit. She moved almost mechanically through the mass of excited shoppers, wishing someone would just cancel Halloween this year, or at the very least, wishing she could just spend it in bed.
She glanced up as Willow came toward her, and she tried her best to sound enthusiastic. “What did you find?”
“A time-honored classic,” Willow said proudly.
She watched as Willow pulled a costume from a bag. The package read Ghastly Ghost, and it showed a person covered with a large white ghost sheet, complete with eye holes, ghostly smile, and the word boo stenciled across the chest.
“Willow,” Buffy managed to hide her amusement, “can I give you a little friendly advice?”
Willow looked worried. “It’s not spooky enough?”
“It’s just, you’re never going to get noticed if you keep hiding,” Buffy tried to explain. “You’re missing the whole point of Halloween.”
“Free candy?”
“It’s co
me as you aren’t night. The perfect chance for a girl to get sexy and wild with no repercussions.”
“I don’t get wild.” Willow’s eyes grew wide and solemn. “Wild on me equals spaz.”
Buffy firmly disagreed. “You’ve got it in you, Will. You’re just scared—”
She broke off as Xander walked over. She could tell he was still mad at her, and Willow eagerly took advantage of the opportunity to change the subject.
“Hey, Xander. What did you get?”
He opened his shopping bag. He pulled out an orange plastic machine gun.
“That’s not a costume,” Buffy informed him.
“I’ve got some fatigues from the Army surplus at home,” Xander explained. And then, in a poor attempt at Schwarzenegger, he added, “Call me the two-dollar costume king, baby.”
Buffy took a deep breath and plunged in. “Hey, Xander, about this morning. I’m really sorry—”
“Do you mind, Buffy? I’m trying to repress.”
“I promise I’ll let you get pummeled from now on.”
Xander paused. He could never stay mad at anyone for very long.
“Thank you,” he said at last. “Okay. Actually, I think I could have—”
He broke off, realizing that Buffy’s attention had wandered far away from the matter at hand.
“Hello?” Xander prompted her. “That was our touching reconciliation you just left.”
“Sorry,” Buffy murmured. “It’s just . . . look at that.”
Xander and Willow both turned around. They followed the direction of Buffy’s gaze to the wall at the back of the store.
The red gown was draped over a mannequin. Fashioned in an elegant eighteenth-century style, it hung to the floor in flowing folds of satin and lace. The front of the skirt showed a narrow swath of pink, decorated along each side with small dainty bows, while even more delicate lace accentuated the low square neckline and cascaded down from the sleeves.
Willow drew in her breath.
It looked exactly like the gown in the Watcher Diaries.
Buffy seemed to be mesmerized. Without taking her eyes from the dress, she moved slowly, almost cautiously, toward it, Willow and Xander following.
“It’s amazing,” Willow whispered, while Xander firmly shook his head.
THE ANGEL CHRONICLES, Vol. 2 Page 2