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They stood staring at each other. Hesitantly, she added, "One of us has to go here."
"I know."
Still neither left. Then Angel bent his head to kiss her. She kissed him back, willing warmth into his cold,
soft lips, thrilling at the tenderness of his kiss. She put her arms around his neck and allowed herself this
moment, even if she never saw him again.
Xander demanded, "What's going on?" He was obviously dying of curiosity . . . and jealousy, Willow
had to admit to herself, but she bet herself an extra hour of surfing on the Net tonight that he would not
succumb and turn around.
"Nothing," she assured him, acting as lookout.
"Well, as long as they're not kissing." He laughed uncomfortably.
Willow said nothing, only smiled as her best friend, the Vampire Slayer, lost herself in Angel's arms.
* * *
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The kiss ended. Buffy looked up at Angel and asked gently, "Are you okay?"
He seemed to struggle for words. "It's just . . ."
Her eyes welled. "Painful. I know." Then she summoned the courage to say what must be said, "See you
around?"
She turned and walked away.
And pain played over the face of Angel, born into the night as Angelus, as he watched the Slayer go. But
her mark was on him: the cross she wore around her neck the cross he himself had given her had
burned deep and hot into his chest.
As his love for her burned deep and hot into his soul.
THE SECOND
CHRONICLE: REPTILE
BOY
PROLOGUE
It was not a quiet night for the Slayer. A high-pitched wailing rose incessantly around her, reminding her
of some demon, vampire, or other monster in the chocolate box that was the Hellmouth, begging for its
life.
And echoing this thought, Xander asked, concerned, "Is she dying?"
He and Buffy lounged on Buffy's bed on either side of Willow, who sat on the floor clutching a cow doll
as her friends braided her hair and stared in wonderment at the TV.
And on said TV, thanks to the glory of cable and its many offspring, the fringe channels of the night
what music they make! the three stared without much comprehension at an Indian woman as she
warbled in a very personally meaningful way into her telephone.
Buffy said in awe, "I think she's singing."
Xander ran with that. "To a telephone, in Hindi. Now that's entertainment." He stared. "Why is she
singing?"
Willow, wide-eyed, solved the puzzle. "She's sad because her lover gave her twelve gold coins but then
the wizard cut open the bag of salt and now the dancing minions have no place to put their big Maypole .
. ." she gestured, as if searching for the right word, "fish thing."
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"Uh-huh," Xander said, still staring. "Why is shesinging?"
Buffy was likewise stumped. "Her lover? I thought that was her chiropractor."
Willow never took her eyes off the screen. "Because of that thing he did with her feet? No. That was
personal."
The piercing singing was apparently in no danger of approaching a grand finale. Xander said, "And we
thought 'cause we didn't have any money or anyplace to go, this'd be a lackluster evening."
Willow brightened. "I know! We could go to the Bronze, sneak in our own tea bags, and ask for hot
water."
Xander smiled faintly. "Hop off the outlaw train, Will, before you land us all in jail."
Buffy cut in, "I, for one, am giddy and up. There's a kind of hush all over Sunnydale, no demons or
vampires to slay, I'm here with my friends," she leaned toward the TV, "so how does the water buffalo fit
in again?"
* * *
Across town, there was no singing in a sprawling, two-story California stucco mansion. The stillness of
the night was shattered as a pretty girl crashed through the door on the second story, flung herself over
the balcony, tumbled to a vast expanse of manicured lawn, and ran for her life.
A hooded figure darted from the ruined door onto the balcony, looked down, and ran back into the
house. Within seconds, several dark figures in hooded robes emerged from other windows and doors
like malevolent wraiths and chased the fleeing girl.
Panting with fear and exertion, the girl bolted into the woods. She ran fast, but her pursuers were faster.
They were closing the gap between them as she darted under tree branches and flew over roots. Under a
large tree, she fell and rolled, then got to her feet and heaved herself up onto a stone wall with all her
might.
As she dropped down to the other side, three hooded figures clambered over the wall right behind her.
She flew through the graveyard now, the moonlight highlighting the nightmarish setting and the names on
the stones.Home free, she prayed, as she passed a strange, pyramid-shaped crypt.I am goingto live.
Then suddenly, another robed figure stepped out from behind a monument and grabbed her. She
screamed and struggled against him.
"Callie," the figure chided her. "Callie, where are you going?"
It was Richard, the good-looking blond boy who had enticed her to the frat house with the promise of a
good time. "The party's just getting started," he continued easily.
Then, as the other figures caught up to them, he threw her into their arms. They began to drag her away.
Tears rolled down her cheeks as she struggled for her life.
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Richard looked around to make sure they had not been seen. Then he put on his hood and slowly
followed the others as they returned their prey to her prison.
CHAPTER 1
The night of Hindi telephone wailing was over.
The day of Sunnydale High wailing had just begun.
"Ha-ha ha-ha, oh, mmm. See?" Cordelia demonstrated for one of her Cordettes. Cordelia was holding a
magazine folded open to a particular section. She explained to her faithful follower, "Doctor Debbi says
when a man is speaking, you make serious eye contact and you really, really listen. And you laugh at
everything he says." Again, she demonstrated: "Ha-ha ha-ha ha-ha."
Eager for details, Willow asked Buffy as the two headed downstairs, "You dreamed about Angel
again?"
"Third night in a row," Buffy said, somewhere between embarrassed and eager to share.
"What did he do in the dream?" Willow prodded.
Buffy grinned dreamily some might say goofily. "Stuff."
"Ooh, stuff," Willow said excitedly. "Was it one of those vivid dreams where you could feel his lips and
smell his hair?"
Buffy nodded. "It had surround-sound." She sighed. "I'm just thinking about him so much lately."
When she returned from summer vacation in L.A. with her father, she had told Angel she had moved on
"to the living." It had been a lie, of course. She was afraid of her future. If she couldn't protect herself,
how could she ever protect her friends? She had been cruel to him, pushing him and Willow, Xander,
and even Giles away because she had finally managed to kill the Master, but in doing so had died at his
hands herself. "Technically," as Giles would put it. The Master had bitten her, and then she had drowned.
But shehad died.
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