She saw the silvery flash across his throat.

She heard the sickening rip of flesh.

Even Angel grimaced as Octarus clutched his gaping wound. The giant gazed down at Buffy in both shock and betrayal, and then lumbered toward her once again.

Buffy moved out of his way. He staggered past her, out onto the ice, somehow pathetic now in his determination.

Buffy watched in grim silence. She felt Angel come up behind her, felt the pressure of his body as he leaned against her.

And then Octarus collapsed.

Without a word, he dropped heavily to his knees and fell facedown on the ice.

"He's passing under our feet," Drusilla murmured dreamily. "Right now."

She gazed down at the Cyclops card in front of her. With thin, pale fingers, she turned it over, then looked up at Spike.

"No worries," Spike assured her, trying to hide his concern. "We're close to decoding the manuscript.

We just need a little more time."

Of course, he wasn't fooling her. No one knew him like Drusilla did, and now she lay a cold hand gently upon his brow.

"Time is ours," she whispered, stroking his cheek, smoothing away the worry. "It brings the Slayer closer tothem."

Together they stared at the remaining Tarot cards.

The Worm and the Jaguar.

CHAPTER 7.

Angel knelt cautiously beside the fallen giant.

His anger hadn't completely cooled yet, and there was a bad cut above one of his glowing vampire eyes.

He heard Buffy limp up painfully behind him.

"And the Hellmouth presents 'Dead Guys on Ice'," she quipped. "Not exactly the evening we were aiming for."

Angel scarcely heard her. He was too busy staring down at the ring on Octarus's finger. Lifting the massive hand, he studied the glyphlike pattern etched there on the ring's surface.

"You're in danger," Angel said tightly. "You know what the ring means?"

Buffy thought a moment. "I just killed a Superbowl champ?"

"I'm serious. You should go home and wait until you hear from me."

Angel let Octarus's hand drop back down onto the ice. He turned around to Buffy, suddenly noticing her pain.

"Are you okay?"

"What about you?" Buffy countered. "That cut-"

"Forget about me. You're hurt."

He could see right through her-the defiant posture, the quick smile. She was definitely shaken, but still putting on her brave face.

"Hey. No biggy," she assured him. "I've been slammed by bigger sides of beef than that."

"No, you haven't."

At that, Buffy faltered. "No," she agreed. "I haven't."

"This is bad, Buffy," Angel said solemnly. "We have to get you someplace safe."

He saw the quick flash of alarm in her eyes. "You mean-hide?"

"Let's just get you out of here."

He started to move, but Buffy stopped him, staring up at the cut on his brow.

"Wait. Your eye is all . . . Let me-"

She reached up to wipe off the blood.

Angel backed away, lowering his head.

"Come on," Buffy scolded gently. "Don't be a baby. I won't hurt you."

She tried to coax him closer, but Angel only shook his head. "It's not that," he mumbled. "I-you shouldn't have to touch me when I'm like this."

Buffy was at a loss. "Like what?"

He was half turned away from her. She had to strain to hear his voice.

"You know. When I'm . . ."

"Oh," Buffy said.

She stared at him for a long, long time. She felt her heart ache deep within her-a rush of love and pity and understanding.

Slowly, deliberately, she drew off her gloves and placed her hands upon his vampire face. Humiliated, Angel looked away, yet strangely enough, couldn't seem to pull back. It was almost as if the gentleness of Buffy's touch held him there in place, though every instinct told him to run.

Buffy turned his face back to hers. Tenderly she ran her bare fingers along his hideous features, gazing deep into his eyes.

"I didn't even notice," she whispered.

No one had ever touched him like this. Touched the shadow within him, touched the dark thing he'd become all those many years ago. Angel felt overwhelmed with emotions, feelings he'd long forgotten, feelings he never believed he could ever have again.

Buffy drew him closer. Their eyes held, their lips met . . .

Buffy melted into his kiss. And for just this one brief moment they were ordinary lovers, ordinary people, safe and happy in each other's arms.

Safe and happy while Kendra watched them.

From her hiding place in the shadows, she watched them and made her plans.

CHAPTER 8.

The first thing Buffy did the next morning was take the ring to Giles.

He'd been studying it closely for some time now, comparing it to an etching he'd found in a book.

Xander and Willow were at the table, and Buffy sat nearby with an ice pack on her knee, trying not to think about last night's misadventure. She still felt shaky, and she definitely looked the worse for wear. If Angel hadn't been there to battle Octarus, Buffy knew she might very well not have survived.

"This guy was hard core, Giles," she couldn't help saying for the tenth time. "And Angel was power-freaked by the ring."

Giles gave a slight nod. "I'm afraid he was not overreacting. The ring is worn only by members of the Order of Taraka. They are a society of demon assassins dating back to King Solomon-"

"And didn't they beat the Elks last year in the Sunnydale Adult Bowling League Championship?"

Xander asked seriously.

Giles ignored him. "Their credo is to sow discord and kill the unwary."

"Bowling is a vicious game-"

"That's enough, Xander!" Giles said sharply.

The three friends glanced at each other. It was a tone Giles seldom used with any of them, and when he did, Buffy knew to worry.

"I'm sorry," Giles relented, "but this is not time for jokes. I need to think."

"These assassins," Buffy asked him, "why would they be after me?"

"'Cause you're the scourge of the underworld?" Willow piped up.

Buffy made a face. "Yeah, but I haven't been that scourgy lately."

"I don't know," Giles admitted. "But I think the best thing to do is to find a secure location. Someplace out of the way where you can go until we decide on the best course of action-"

That did it. Buffy stumbled to her feet, officially freaked.

"Okay." She held up her hands. "You and Angel have both told me to head for the hills. What's the deal?"

"I-this is an extraordinary circumstance," Giles stammered.

"You're saying I can't handle this?" Her voice sounded frightened. "These guys are that bad?"

"You might-they're . . ." Giles pressed a hand to his forehead, collecting himself. "They're a breed apart, Buffy. Unlike vampires they have no earthly desire except to collect their bounty. To find their target andeliminate it."

Buffy felt like she was having an out-of-body experience. She could hear Giles's voice, yet it sounded faint and faraway. She forced herself to pay careful attention.

"And you are the target," Giles was continuing. "You can kill as many of them as you like. It won't make any difference, because where there is one, there will be another. And another. They won't stop coming until the job is done."

He paused, fixing her with a worried look.

"The worse of it is, they aremasters of deceit. Vampires are bound by the night, but these predators can be anywhere, any time. They can appear as normal as the next person. Just another face in the crowd."

Buffy gazed back at him, feeling cold. She could sense the deep fear beneath his logic.

"You might not ever know when one of them is near," Giles finished quietly. "Not until the moment of your death."

In the house next door to Buffy's, Mr. Pfister was whistling to himself.

He'd pulled up his chair in front of a second-story window, and he was looking through binoculars directly into Buffy's bedroom.

Mrs. Kalish-or at least what was left of her-was lying on the floor.

Now she was little more than a desiccated corpse. Worms crawled out of her nose and mouth, squirming their way across the floor to where Mr. Pfister kept watch.

He sat very calmly as the worms wriggled up his leg and around his waist, as they reached his right arm, which was only partially formed up to the wrist.

The nub of his arm seemed to be moving.

The nub of his arm seemed to be throbbing, undulating, as the teeming mass of slimy worms regrouped themselves, becoming his hand.

Delicately, Mr. Pfister picked up a steaming cup of tea.

He sipped.

And he waited.

Buffy left the library, feeling even more shaken and vulnerable than before.

The halls were packed with people. As she shouldered her way through the Career Fair crowds, she tried to ignore the pain in her knee and keep herself in full alert-mode.