His voice broke off, leaving only the silence. He quickly bowed his head.

"Shhhhh," Drusilla whispered. Her features softened at his distress; she slipped her fingers beneath his chin and gently lifted his head. "Shhhhhhh . . . you'll make it right. I know."

It was the benediction he'd been hoping for. Gratefully, Spike took her hand and kissed it. And then he stood, fierce once again, and more than ready to take it out on Dalton.

"Well?" Spike demanded. "Come on now. Enlighten me."

Dalton nodded nervously, his fingers skimming over the pages of the manuscript. "I-it looks like Latin, but it's not. I'm not even sure it's a language. Not one I can decipher, anyway-"

"Thenmake it a language!" Spike bellowed, striding over to him. "Isn't that what a transcriber does?"

"Not-not exactly."

Spike grabbed him. He lifted Dalton out of his seat with one hand. Miserably, Dalton braced himself for some serious damage.

"I want the cure,"Spike seethed.

At the other end of the table, Drusilla was staring down at her cards again. As Spike prepared to let loose on Dalton, she suddenly stopped him.

"Don't-"

"Why not?" Spike retorted. "Some people find pain"-he slammed Dalton hard in the stomach, doubling him over-"very inspirational."

Before Dalton could recover, Spike grabbed him again.

"He can't help you," Drusilla insisted. "Not without the key."

Spike froze. Very slowly he turned to her.

"The key? You mean the book is in some kind of code?"

Drusilla nodded. Spike dropped Dalton in a messy heap and walked back over to where she was sitting.

And then he followed her solemn gaze down to the Tarot card she'd turned.

It was an etching of a ruined crypt. A crypt overgrown with ivy, mouldering majestically above a field of tilted gravestones.

"Is that where we'll find this key?" Spike murmured.

Again Drusilla nodded. A satisfied grin spread slowly across Spike's face.

"I'll send the boys pronto," he said.

Drusilla's eyes widened hopefully. "Now will you dance?"

"I'll dance with you, pet." Spike laughed. "On the Slayer's grave."

He lifted her into his arms. And then, as Dalton watched fearfully, Spike spun his beloved Drusilla around and around the room . . . in time to the music only she could hear.

CHAPTER 1.

It was usually quiet in the cemetery, but tonight a storm was threatening.

Buffy walked among the graves, every sense alert to potential danger. This would be the last stop on her patrol tonight, and she was tired, eager to get home. Dead leaves tumbled across the ground, scraping over headstones, riding a stiff wind. And yet suddenly there came a different sound-not the stealthy brewing of thunderclouds, but a closer, more distinct sound-one she'd never heard before.

Buffy stopped, listening. The sound came again-tink tink tink-and she frowned, trying to place it.

Her eyes wandered slowly over dark tombstones and shadows. And then she noticed something.

The mausoleum stood slightly apart from the other graves, rising high above them in mouldering splen dor. Buffy gazed at it for a long time, then finally she began moving toward it.

The sound was louder now. As she neared the front of the mausoleum, she could tell that the noise came from inside, and to her surprise she saw that the solid iron door was standing open. An eerie glow of light flickered across the threshold. Buffy took a deep breath and looked in.

A torch was set in the ground, and it was this light that threw its macabre shadows over the gloomy, rotting interior of the tomb. As Buffy watched, she could see a dark figure pressed close to the far wall, so absorbed in its work that it had no idea she was even there. It seemed to be intent on one of the vault doors, and as the lock finally broke, Buffy saw the thief open the vault and grab something from inside.

Quickly she hurried out again. She positioned herself at the bottom of the mausoleum steps, arms folded casually across her chest as the figure came out.

"Does 'rest in peace' have no sanctity to you people?" Buffy asked in mock surprise. "Oh, I forgot-you're not people."

Dalton froze where he stood. He clutched the red velvet bag in one hand and prepared to defend himself. He didn't think Buffy had heard the second vampire sneaking up behind her. As she pulled out a wooden stake, this new creature lifted its claws and poised for attack.

Buffy wheeled without warning, knocking the vampire back with a vicious, jumping kick. She grabbed him and drove his head into a tree trunk.

The vampire crumpled to the ground. Buffy plunged the stake into his chest and watched him explode into dust.

"One down," she declared triumphantly, then spun, ready to take on Dalton.

But Dalton wasn't there.

Buffy gazed at the empty steps of the mausoleum.

"One gone," she mumbled, bewildered.

She stood for several minutes, straining her ears through the night. When every instinct told her the danger had gone, she finally headed for home.

Angel was waiting for her. As Buffy started to climb through her window, she could see him inside and so she stopped. Her heart fluttered, sending warmth through her body, the way it always did when she was close to him-when she eventhought about him.

And this is the way we'll always meet,she suddenly thought-the only way we can ever meet, here in thecover of darkness . . .

Her heart wrenched in her chest. She froze there on the windowsill and watched.

Angel didn't see her as he moved restlessly among her things, back and forth through her bedroom, picking up one personal item after another, then setting each back down again. He'd never concerned himself much with material possessions; he'd learned early just how cumbersome they could become throughout the centuries. But now, as he inspected childhood toys and private treasures, a whole new picture of Buffy began to emerge. Not just that of a Slayer, a Chosen One, but that of a vibrant young woman, full of life and hopes and dreams and a burning desire to be like other girls her age.

Gingerly, Angel reached out toward a shelf. He ran one finger down the side of a plush pig, and he fought down a sudden ache in his throat.

These were things of a human world.

Things that only reminded him of Buffy's mortality.

Buffy saw him hesitate, saw the muscle tighten in his cheek. Quickly she tossed her equipment bag into the room. As it landed with a thud upon the floor, Angel jumped like he'd been shot. He spun toward her, and Buffy saw with amusement that he was holding her favorite stuffed animal.

"Buffy," Angel sighed in relief. "You scared me."

She swung her legs over the windowsill. "Now you know what it feels like, stealth-guy." She'd meant to be teasing, but that edge had crept back into her voice. "So. Just dropping by for some quality time with Mr. Gordo?"

Angel looked blank. "Excuse me?"

"The pig."

He looked down and realized he still had her plush toy. "Oh, I, no-" Embarrassed, he quickly put it back on the shelf.

"What's up?" Buffy asked casually.

"Nothing."

She tossed him a look. "You don't have 'nothing' face. You have 'something' face. And you don't have to whisper. Mom's in L.A. till Thursday. Art buying or something."

"Then why'd you come in through the window?"

Buffy stared at him. Then she sheepishly glanced back at the window. "Oh. Uh, habit. So what's up?"

The banter fell away. Angel's face grew serious. "I wanted to make sure you were okay. I had a bad feeling."

"Oh, surprise," Buffy said curtly. "Angel comes with bad news."

She could see him watching her in obvious bewilderment, she could read the hurt in his eyes.

"Sorry," she said quietly. "I've been cranky miss all day. It's not you."

"What is it then?"

"Nothing, it's . . . We're having this thing at school-"

"Career week?"

"How'd you know?"

Angel shrugged. "I lurk."

"Oh, right. So you know, then. It's this whole week of 'What's my line?' Only I don't get to play." She hesitated, lowering her eyes. "Sometimes I just want . . ."

She broke off. She gazed hard at the floor.

"You want what?" Angel coaxed her. "It's okay."

"The Cliffs Notes version?" Buffy said seriously. "I want a normal life. Like I had before."

Angel nodded. "Before me."

Silence fell between them. Buffy lifted her head and gazed into the mirror beside her bed. She could see herself so clearly, the weary young woman gazing back with sadness in her eyes.

But she was all alone there in the glass.

Angel had no reflection.

"It's not that," Buffy said carefully. "It's just, this career business has me contemplating the el weirdo that I am. Let's face it-instead of a job I have acalling. Okay? No chess club or football games for me. I spend my free time in graveyards and dark alleys-"

"Is that what you want?" Angel broke in. "Football games?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. But you know what?" Buffy could feel the self-pity building inside her, not wanting to feel it, but strangely powerless to stop it. "I'm never going to get the chance to find out. I'm stuck in this deal."

Again that hurt on Angel's face. Buffy felt sick and ashamed.

"I don't want you to feel stuck," Angel told her at last.

"Angel, I don't mean you," Buffy said desperately, trying so hard to explain, wanting him so much to understand. "You're the one freaky thing in my freaky world that makes sense to me." She paused, took a deep breath. "I just get messed sometimes-wish we could be like regular kids."

This time he relented a little. He even managed a halfhearted nod.

"I'll never be a kid," Angel reminded her.

"Okay, then," Buffy conceded, thinking quickly. "Just a regular kid and her two-hundred-year-old, creature-of-the-night boyfriend."

She knew her joke had fallen flat. She watched his eyes travel to the mirror, and then slightly above it, where he seemed to notice something.

"Was this part of your normal life?" Angel asked.

He reached past her, plucking a photograph from the mirror's frame.

It was a younger Buffy, a happier-looking Buffy. She was figure skating and performing a perfect arabesque.

Buffy's face softened as she took the picture from him. "My Dorothy Hamill phase. My room in L.A.

was this major shrine-Dorothy posters, Dorothy dolls. I even got the Dorothy haircut." Now it was her turn to feel embarrassed. "Thereby securing a place for myself in the Geek Hall of Fame."

Angel was regarding her with interest. "You wanted to be like her."

"I wanted tobe her," Buffy corrected him. "My parents used to fight a lot. Skating was an escape. I felt safe . . ."

Her voice trailed away. Angel carefully replaced the photo in the mirror frame.

"When was the last time you put on your skates?" he asked, with an odd gleam in his eyes and a half-smile playing on his face.