CHAPTER 5.

At the Sunnydale Bus Depot, a bus was just pulling in. It squealed to a stop in a huge cloud of exhaust, and the doors hissed open.

None of the passengers seemed remarkable. Inconspicuous faces in a weary crowd, they stepped off the bus and disappeared just as noneventfully through the doors of the terminal, all bound for ordinary destinations.

Except for one.

This passenger was a veritable giant, standing a good seven feet tall in his enormous boots, and carrying a hard four-hundred pounds on his massive frame.

Greasy hair tangled over his shoulders. A thick, milky cataract covered one eye. His other eye was set deep in fleshy scars and carbuncles he called a face.

His name was Octarus.

And he was on a mission.

A mild-mannered man was striding down the sidewalk on Revello Drive, whistling and carrying a briefcase. He had a round moon-face and a sharply receding hairline, and he wore a suit much too large for his slight build.

His name was Mr. Pfister, and he was also on a mission.

He paused for a moment in front of Buffy's mailbox, reading the name Summers stencilled there.

Then he turned and headed up the walkway of the house next door.

He climbed the stoop and rang the doorbell. He mechanically adjusted the knot in his tie. And when a tired-looking housewife answered the door, he gave her his best salesman's smile.

"Mrs. Kalish?"

"Yes?" the woman answered suspiciously.

"I'm Norman Pfister, with Blush Beautiful Skin Care. I'm not selling anything, so I'm not asking you to buy." He held up his briefcase so she could see. "Just to accept a few free samples."

The woman's suspicions wavered. "Free?"

"Absolutely."

She considered this a moment before letting him in. Mr. Pfister walked past her, and she shut the door behind him.

There was no one else on this quiet street this afternoon.

No one to hear when Mrs. Kalish screamed.

At the airport, a 767 had just come in for a landing.

As the huge jet engines revved down, the hatch opened to the cargo hold, and a baggage handler climbed inside. He was wearing a Walkman, with heavy metal blasting between his ears. He stopped for an instant and squinted into the dark recesses of the compartment as sunlight blasted in from the opening behind him.

Strange . . .

The young man peered over toward the cargo netting. For a second he could have sworn there'd been a dark silhouette between those crates.

He shrugged.Probably only shadows . . .

He busied himself with the luggage, downloading it onto the conveyor belt. He paused long enough to fake the wild motions of a guitar solo, basking in make-believe applause.

And then he thought he saw it again.

Something darting behind that netting, just out of signt.

"What the hell-"

He killed the tape and started toward the shadows.

"Hey!" he called bravely. "You're not supposed to be in here."

No answer. He stopped, his courage faltering.

"Come on-" he started, but never got to finish.

The blows came out of nowhere, rocking him back on his heels. He fell in a heap on the floor, moaning slightly.

From some distant spot through his pain, he thought he heard the echo of footsteps. He thought he saw a shadow fall across him, then step over . . .

Slowly he lifted his eyes.

She was standing there, silhouetted in the doorway, gazing down at him.

A young woman-tall, slim, and exotic-looking-with mocha-colored skin and tight-fitting clothes.

Her forehead was high and wide, her cheekbones finely sculpted; her long black hair had been knotted at the back of her head, where it hung down her back in a thick ponytail. But it was her eyes which struck fear into the young man now-for even though he tried to look away from them, her stare seemed to hold him.

Her eyes were large and black, curiously almond-shaped. They were at the same time feline, feral, and altogether ruthless.

The eyes of a hunter. The eyes of a predator. To the young man's relief, she suddenly turned and jumped down onto the tarmac.

Her name was Kendra.

And there was much she had to do.

CHAPTER 6.

School had been over for hours.

As soon as Buffy and Giles had returned from the cemetery, they'd called Xander and Willow to an emergency conference, and the four of them had been gathered in the library ever since, discussing the du Lac tomb.

"So Giles is sure that the vampire who stole his book is connected to the one you slayed last night?"

Willow asked Buffy. "Or is it 'slew'?" she frowned.

"Both are correct," Giles said absentmindedly as he paced among bookshelves. At last he emerged from the stacks with a yellowed periodical. "And yes. I'm sure."

He set the magazine down before them. They could see now that it was aNational Geographic, published in 1921.

"Du Lac was both a theologian and a mathematician," Giles explained. "This article described an invention of his, which he called the du Lac Cross-"

"Why go to all the trouble of inventing something and then give it a weak name like that?" Xander interrupted. "I'd have gone with 'Cross-o-matic!' or 'The Amazing Mr. Cross!' . . ."

He broke off as they all stared at him. Giles, ignoring Xander, opened the magazine, indicating a discolored photograph of the cross, while Willow began to peruse the accompanying article.

"The cross was more than a symbol," Giles went on. "It was also used to understand certain mystical texts, to decipher hidden meanings and so forth."

Buffy looked up at him, frowning. "You're saying these vampires went to all that trouble for your basic decoder ring?"

Giles regarded her blankly. And then he said, "Actually, I guess I am."

"According to this," Willow said, still intent on the article, "du Lac destroyed every one of the crosses, except the one buried with him."

Again Buffy frowned. "Why destroy his own work?"

"I suppose he feared what might happen if the cross fell into the wrong hands," Giles replied.

"A fear we'll soon get to experience for ourselves, up close and personal," Xander reminded them.

"Unless," Giles murmured, "we preempt their plans."

Willow leaned forward onto the table "How?"

"By learning what was in the book before they do." Giles paused, regarding them with grim purpose.

"Which means we can expect to be here late tonight-"

Willow beamed. "Goody! A research party!"

"Will," Xander admonished her, "you need a life in the worst way-"

"Speaking of," Buffy broke in cheerily, "I have to bail. I promise I'll be back bright and early, perky and ready to slay."

The look Giles gave her was perplexed. "This is a matter of some urgency, Buffy."

"I know," she said quickly. "But you have to admit, I lack in the book area. You guys are the brains. I'd just be around for moral support-"

"That's not true, Buffy," Xander deadpanned. "You totally contribute. You go for snacks."

Buffy glanced at Willow. Girl-thoughts and secrets flew between them.

"Sheshould go," Willow agreed. "You know, gather her strength."

Giles considered this a moment. "Perhaps you're right. There may be fierce battles ahead."

"But Ho Ho's are a vital part of my cognitive process," Xander argued.

Buffy gave him a look. "Sorry, Xand. I have something I really need to do tonight."

She hurried out of the room, leaving Giles and Xander totally bewildered.

The ice-skating rink looked beautiful tonight.

Like some magical place,Buffy thought, and she smiled to herself.

She was completely alone, and as she skated round and round on the ice, moonlight filtered in from the high windows, bathing her in a soft silvery glow.

Buffy breathed deeply of the cool air. She came to a stop, savoring her freedom, then took off again, picking up speed. She'd been afraid she wouldn't remember how to skate, but now she realized she shouldn't have worried. Every technique came easily back to her. She moved gracefully, effortlessly, her hair blowing gently around her face.

So intent was she on her happiness, that she didn't even feel the eyes watching her from the bleachers.

Didn't even notice the cruel, scarred face that marked her every movement from the dark.

Octarus looked down at her with an evil grin. He watched as she spun into a tight pirouette and then sailed off again to the far end of the rink.

Buffyfelt magical tonight. Completely transported, her heart soared with joy-something she hadn't felt for such a long, long time. She pivoted now, skating backward, growing braver, going faster. She launched into an airborne twist, but felt her balance suddenly shift at the apex. Landing hard, the momentum carried her across the ice a good ten feet before she finally slid to a stop.

Buffy caught her breath. She saw a shadow move across the ice in front of her, and she immediately looked around.

"Angel?"

Giant hands clamped about her neck. Octarus lifted her like a rag doll and carried her off the ice to the rink's rubber deck, ruthlessly pinning her to the wall.

Buffy had no idea what was happening. Caught completely off guard, she thrashed and fought and wrenched at his monstrous hands. She couldn't break his grip. She could only feel it closing, tighter and tighter around her throat, and she realized suddenly that she was going to die.

Buffy struggled harder than ever. Her face was a mask of terror. Everything was going black . . .

"Buffy!"a voice shouted.

As Octarus whipped around, Angel's fist slammed into his face. Octarus lost his grip on Buffy, and she fell to the floor, gasping for breath.

But Angel's rage was uncontrollable now. Buffy could see that his handsome face had changed into that of a vampire, and Octarus smashed a ham-sized fist straight into it. Angel went sprawling across the ice.

Jumping up again, he quickly realized he was trapped in an alcove. He gave a furious roar and bravely stood his ground, even as Octarus moved in for the kill.

Buffy sprang to her feet in an instant. She vaulted over a wooden bench and landed directly behind Octarus. As he turned around, she took to the air with a spinning wheel kick, leading with the glistening blade of her ice skate.