“Who sent them?” Angel asked.
Willy’s nerves were about to explode. “Who sent who?”
Lightning fast, Angel’s hand clamped around Willy’s neck. The broom clattered to the floor as Willy gasped for breath.
“The Order of Taraka,” Angel said calmly.
“I tell you”—Willy’s eyes bulged with panic—“I haven’t been in the loop.”
“Let’s try again. The Order of Taraka. They’re after the Slayer.”
“Come on, man . . .” Willy whimpered.
“Is it Spike?”
Angel tightened his grip. He lifted Willy off the floor. Willy tried desperately to choke out a negotiation.
“Angel, hey . . . I—I got some fresh pig’s blood in. Good stuff. My fence said the white cell count is—”
His words gurgled in his throat. It suddenly dawned on him that Angel was only moments away from squeezing the life out of him.
“You know,” Angel mused, “I’m a little rusty when it comes to killing humans. It could take a while.”
“Spike will draw and quarter me, man!”
At this, Angel relaxed his grip. He set Willy back on his own two feet.
“I’ll take care of Spike,” Angel said.
“You know he ordered those guys,” Willy broke at last, words tumbling out in a rush. “Spike’s sick of your girl getting in his way.”
“Where can I find him?”
“I tell you that, and I’m gonna need relocating expenses,” Willy whined. “It’ll cost you—”
Angel slammed his head into the counter, sending glasses, plates, pieces of food and other debris scattering across the bar and onto the floor. Angel’s fingers tightened around his neck.
“It will cost who?” Angel prompted him
“Okay . . . Okay!” Willy gasped. “He and that freaky chick of his are—”
Angel squeezed tighter. He was so intent on Willy’s information that he never saw the broom handle flying toward his head. Before he even realized what was happening, Angel was blind-sided across the temple. He hit the floor hard, and Willy fell in a heap at his side.
Dazed, Angel looked up. He could see a tall, exotic woman standing over him, wearing a large medallion around her neck. Her whole stance, her whole attitude radiated lethal power. She had a strange foreign accent, and her voice rang with utter contempt.
“Where is she?” Kendra demanded.
Angel kept staring. He shook his head and spit blood onto the floor.
“The girl,” Kendra said. “Where is she?”
There was no doubt in Angel’s mind as to who she was talking about. He answered her with calm defiance.
“Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you.”
Kendra broke the broom handle over her knee. “Then die.”
Instantly, Angel rolled out of the way. He felt a sudden swish of air as the makeshift stake plunged down toward his heart. He jumped to his feet, but Kendra was on him again in a flash. Willy raced for the exit and disappeared.
There was no holding back now. As Angel and Kendra fought savagely, they moved through the main room of the club, battling their way toward the rear. The bar’s storage area was basically a floor-to-ceiling metal cage where expensive liquor was locked away, and as the two of them crashed inside, bottles shattered everywhere.
Kendra glared at Angel’s face. He’d transformed into a vampire now, and his eyes were full of rage. He took up a broken bottle, thrusting it at her to fend her off, and for a split second Kendra hesitated.
“Who are you?” Angel growled.
Kendra backed out of the storage area. Her eyes were wary and she was breathing hard, yet there was an unnerving coolness about her.
“I won’t hurt you,” Angel promised, “if you tell me what I need to know.”
And then, unexpectedly, she smiled.
Angel was incredulous.
“You think this is funny?” he demanded.
Without warning, the door of the storage cage slammed shut.
He watched in disbelief as Kendra bolted it.
“I think it’s funny now,” she mocked him.
Angel leapt to the door, shaking it viciously, trying to break the lock.
“That girl,” Kendra said. “The one I saw you with before—”
“You stay away from her!”
“I’m afraid you are not in a position to threaten.”
Angel pressed his face to the metal gate. “When I get out of here I’ll do more than threaten—”
“Then I suggest you move quickly,” Kendra replied, glancing at a row of high windows that ran along one wall of the storage cage. Uneasily, Angel followed her eyes.
“Eastern exposure,” Kendra explained. “The sun comes in a few hours.” A smile touched her lips. “More than enough time for me to find your girlfriend.”
Frustrated, Angel watched her go.
He threw himself desperately against the door of the cage—and then again and again.
But the lock held fast.
And night crept steadily on toward morning.
CHAPTER 10
Giles wasn’t sure what time it was.
He only knew that it was somewhere in the wee hours of the morning, and that he hadn’t left the library since yesterday.
Bleary-eyed and rumpled, he talked on the telephone now while riffling through yet another book.
“Xander? No, I still haven’t heard from Buffy. I think you should go to her house and check on her . . .”
His voice trailed away as he noticed something on one of the pages.
Something important.
“Right away,” Giles replied as Xander rattled on. “I don’t know . . . get Cordelia to drive you.”
He hung up. Quickly he moved over to the table where Willow had fallen asleep at the computer.
Giles shook her gently. Willow woke with a start, her voice shrill as she cried out.
“Don’t warn the tadpoles!”
Giles stared down at her, startled by her outburst.
“My goodness,” he frowned. “Are you all right?”
“Giles? What are you doing here?”
“You’re in the library, Willow. You fell asleep.”
“Oh . . . I . . .”
“‘Don’t warn the tadpoles’?” Giles lifted an eyebrow, and Willow’s expression turned sheepish.
“I—I have frog fear.” Seeing the amusement on Giles’s face, she added, “I’m sorry . . . I conked out.”
“Please,” Giles reassured her. “You’ve gone quite beyond the call of duty. And, fortunately, I think I’ve finally found something.”
“You did?”
He nodded, holding up his book. “I had to go back to the Lutheran Index. But I found a description of the missing du Lac manuscript. It’s a ritual, Willow. I haven’t managed to decipher the exact details, but I believe the purpose is to restore a weak and sickly vampire to full health.”
Willow’s eyes widened. “A vampire like Drusilla?”
“Exactly.”
“What does that have to do with the Order of Taraka? The assassins?”
“I would imagine Spike called them here to get Buffy out of the way,” Giles replied. “I’m sure he wants nothing to come between him and his plans to revive his lady love.”
Willow looked pleased. “So this is good. We know what the deal is.”
“I wish I could agree,” Giles sighed. “But all we know is the goal of the ritual. We don’t know where it will take place or when . . . we don’t know what it entails—”
Willow’s face fell. “So this is bad.”
“No. No. We just have more work to do.”
He tried to smile encouragingly, but Willow gave him a strange look.
“Then why are you all pinched?” she asked tentatively.
Giles stared at her, more worried than ever.
“By George, I think he’s got it.”
Smiling triumphantly, Spike watched as Dalton closed the du Lac manu
script. With the transcription complete at last, he took the sheet of paper and swept over to Drusilla.
“The key to your cure, ducks!” Spike announced.
He gazed at her adoringly—the pale, consumptive wraith that was Drusilla. She was propped up on a velvet couch, her Tarot cards laid out on her lap, and Spike pressed close to her.
“The missing bloody link!” he went on. “It was—”
“Right in front of us,” Drusilla added.
Weakly she took his hand. She led it to one of the cards.
The image Spike saw there was of an angel. But an angel that was falling, plummeting through the sky to an all but certain doom.
Drusilla raised her strange, dark eyes.
“The whole time,” she finished.
CHAPTER 11
The neighborhood was just beginning to waken.
It was still very early, but Xander and Cordelia were already parked in front of Buffy’s house, making their way up to her porch.
“I can’t even believe you.” Cordelia’s shrill voice shattered the morning’s tranquility. “You drag me out of bed this early for a ride? What am I, mass transportation?”
Xander knocked loudly on the front door. “That’s what a lot of the guys say. But it’s just locker-room talk. I never pay it any mind.”
“Great. So now I’m your taxi and your punching bag.”
“I like to think of you more as my witless foil, but have it your way.” The door was locked, so Xander began trying windows, searching for a way in. “Come on, Cordy. You can’t be a member of the Scooby Gang if you aren’t willing to be inconvenienced now and then.”
He found what he was looking for. Unlatching the window, he climbed inside.
“Oh, right,” Cordelia rolled her eyes. “’Cause I lie awake at night hoping you tweekos will be my best friends. And that my first husband will be a balding, demented, homeless man—”
She broke off as Xander opened the door.
“Buffy could be in trouble,” Xander said seriously.
“And, what, exactly, are you going to do about it if she is?” Cordelia asked. They were standing in the living room, and Cordelia scanned the furnishings with a practiced eye. “If you hadn’t noticed—you’re the lameness. She’s the superchick or whatever.”
“At least I’m lameness that cares. Which is more than you can say.” Xander wasn’t kidding now. He turned away from her and headed in the other direction. “I’m going to check upstairs.”
Pouting, Cordelia stayed behind. She started to take another quick inventory of Buffy’s living room when she was startled by a knock on the front door.
Looking out the window at the top of the door, Cordelia saw a bland, balding salesman, who tipped his hat and held up a briefcase for her to see.
Blush Beautiful Skin Care.
That was enough for Cordelia. She opened the door at once.
“Good day,” he said politely. “I am Norman Pfister with Blush Beautiful Skin Care and Cosmetics. I was wondering if I might interest you in some free samples?”
“Free?”
Cordelia hesitated. This wasn’t even her house, but the offer was just too tempting to resist.
She stepped aside so Mr. Pfister could come in.
And then she closed the door.
In the back storage area of the bar, the first glow of morning light was just beginning to warm the windows.
In human form once again, Angel could feel the dangerous prickling along his skin, could feel the faint throb of panic rising inside him.
Desperately he tried to tear the metal door from its hinges.
He was running out of time.
Angel’s apartment was a cool, dark tomb.
A haven from the waking world.
Buffy still lay in Angel’s bed, her body curled among his blankets, her arms wrapped tightly around his pillow.
A smile touched her lips.
Now, for the moment, she was safe . . .
Safe and loved in Angel’s phantom embrace.
But there was that sound.
That strange, disturbing sound as of something moving about in the apartment. A soft, stealthy sound, yet loud enough to rouse Buffy at last from her wonderful dream.
Her eyelids fluttered open.
As the axe slammed into her pillow, only inches from her neck, Buffy twisted herself away.
She leapt nimbly from the bed. From somewhere far back in her brain came the sudden realization that the second assassin had found her, and she stared defiantly into the woman’s exotic eyes.
“You must be number two,” Buffy challenged her, but Kendra again swung the axe.
Buffy dodged the razor-sharp blade. Kendra refused to give up.
“Thanks for the wake-up,” Buffy taunted. “But I’ll stick with my clock radio.”
For the third time the axe started to come down—only Buffy caught Kendra’s arm in midflight. To Buffy’s distress, she couldn’t seem to wrench the axe away—Kendra’s strength was every bit as powerful as her own. The two of them were locked in a dead-even struggle, like an arm wrestling match between perfect twins. For a split second they met each other’s eyes and felt an uncanny twinge of recognition.
Then Buffy took advantage of the moment. Kicking out, she sent the axe flying across the room. She swept Kendra’s legs out from under her and watched as her opponent hit the floor.
But Buffy didn’t expect Kendra to recover so quickly. To her surprise she felt her own legs being pinned, and in the next instant Buffy landed on the floor beside her.
Now the two of them wrestled furiously, rolling about on the floor. Kendra’s blows were precise and well-aimed, but Buffy managed to elude them, one minute fighting on top of Kendra, the next minute struggling beneath her. Angel’s apartment was in shambles. They smashed into his table, his bookshelf, his dresser . . .
Buffy was getting fed up.
“Come on,” she warned Kendra. “Don’t make me do the chick fight thing.”
For a second, that seemed to confuse Kendra. Panting for breath, she gasped out, “Chick . . . fight?”
“You know—”
Buffy dug her fingernails into Kendra’s hand. As Kendra cried out, Buffy jerked her violently by the hair and threw her off balance. Chick fight, she thought to herself. Have I sunk so low?
“Cliched,” Buffy said aloud, “but effective.”
But now both of them were on their feet again. They circled like animals, both gasping for breath.
Buffy steeled herself. She was ready for the final offensive. She glared furiously into Kendra’s eyes and prepared to spring.
“Who are you?” Kendra suddenly asked.
Buffy froze. She stared in disbelief at the strange young woman.
“What do you mean who am I? You attacked me. Who the hell are you?”
Kendra glared back at Buffy. Proud and defiant to the very end.
“I am Kendra,” she said. “The Vampire Slayer.”
CHAPTER 12
Buffy stared.
Kendra stared back.
The two of them continued to circle each other, fists raised and ready. For a long moment there was only the ragged sound of their breathing.
“Let’s start again,” Buffy said at last. “You’re the who?”
“I’m the Slayer,” Kendra replied.
Buffy was speechless. The young woman across from her radiated poise and intensity. There was a faintly regal air about her. And it was way obvious she didn’t take anything from anybody.
Still, the whole thing was totally ridiculous.
“Nice cover story,” Buffy told her. “Here’s a tip—try it on someone who’s not the real Slayer.”
“You can’t stop me,” Kendra returned. “Even if you kill me, another Slayer will be sent to take my place.”
Buffy was running out of patience. “Could you stop with the Slayer thing? I’m the damn Slayer!”
“Nonsense. There is but one—and I am she.”
; Again Buffy lapsed into silence, totally baffled by this turn of events. Kendra was so annoyingly earnest, she couldn’t help but wonder . . .
“Okay,” Buffy relented, almost reluctantly. “Scenario: I back off. You back off. You promise not to go all wiggy until we go to my Watcher and figure out what this is all about.”
Kendra frowned. “Wiggy?”
“You know—no kicko, no fighto?”
Kendra paused, considering. Then she stood back, folding her arms across her chest. “I accept your scenario.”
They still didn’t trust each other. With suspicion and more than a little contempt in their eyes, they let down their guard at last, but each continued to silently assess the other.
At last Kendra said, “Your English is very odd, you know.”
“Yeah, it’s something about being woken by an axe. Makes me talk all crazy.” Buffy paused, then added, “So you were sent here?”
“Yes, by my Watcher.”
“To do what, exactly?”
“To do my duty,” Kendra informed her. “I am here to kill vampires.”
* * *
Angel looked up at the window high on the wall of the storage area.
Sun was streaming through the barred glass, spilling light into the room.
He could hardly breathe now.
Buffy . . .
Huddled in a corner, he tried to draw into himself, tried to put even an inch more distance between himself and the morning.
He thought of Buffy. He wondered if she was safe; he cursed himself for his helplessness.
The sun angled across the floor, leaving him only a small patch of safety. With every passing minute, it crept closer.
Angel was sweating. His body was wracked with pain.
He closed his eyes and tried to envision the darkness.
CHAPTER 13
Giles paced restlessly in front of Buffy and Kendra, trying to make sense of the situation.
“Your watcher is Sam Zabuto, you say?” he asked this new Slayer.
Buffy watched with interest. Kendra seemed strangely subdued in Giles’s presence, almost subservient. Even her voice held a touch of reverence as she answered his question.
THE ANGEL CHRONICLES, Vol. 2 Page 10