"They can appear as normal as the next person . . .just another face in the crowd."

She tried to shut out Giles's words as they echoed over and over in her head. Her whole body felt like a spring wound too tight. Her eyes darted warily back and forth, side to side, and everyone who passed her seemed a potential threat.

These are people I know,Buffy tried arguing with herself.I see them practically every day, all of them areinnocent.

But were they really?

The chaos around her began melting into a dull roar.

She moved cautiously past lockers, past mobbed tables and booths, past classmates and friends, past a policewoman chatting with students, past a pair of Cordettes minus their leader Cordelia . . .

Without warning a guy in the crowd came toward her.

In Buffy's paranoid state, he seemed to actuallylunge toward her-and he was coming way too fast.

Something's not right!

Instantly she reached out, grabbing the guy by the collar. She shoved him fiercely into a wall.

"Try it!" she shouted.

Oz knew better than to struggle. This girl was stronger than most guys he'd ever known.

So instead he just looked quizzically into Buffy's face.

"Try what?" he asked.

She stared at him. She swallowed. And then she let him go.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

"I'm still not clear on what I'm supposed to try," Oz said again, cautiously.

Buffy looked around. People were staring, and her face flushed hot with embarrassment.

"Nothing," she muttered.

She headed for the door. She threw it open and bolted outside.

Oz stared after her thoughtfully.

"A tense person," he decided.

"I wish there was more we could do," Willow sighed.

She looked down at the table, at the volumes and volumes of books she and Giles had tenaciously been searching since that morning. But now it was night, and she was feeling more than a little discouraged.

Giles looked up at her, his own face mirroring her fatigue and concern.

"We're doing all we can," he assured her. "The only course of action is to decipher the contents of the stolen book."

"I've never seen Buffy like that," Willow broke in worriedly. "She just took off . . ."

"She didn't go home," Xander announced. They turned as he entered the library, a gloomy look on his face. "I let the phone ring a few hundred times before I remembered her mom's out of town."

"Maybe Buffy unplugged the phone," Giles suggested, but Xander shook his head.

"It's a statistical impossibility for a sixteen-year-old girl to unplug a telephone."

They both looked at Willow. She nodded in silent confirmation.

Giles began to pace. "Perhaps my words of caution were a bit too alarming-"

"Youthink?" Xander threw back at him, and Willow hurried to referee.

"It's good that she took you seriously, Giles," she assured him. "I just wish we knew where she was."

Buffy had been walking for hours.

Tired and cold, she turned onto her own street and continued limping along the sidewalk till she came to her house. All the windows were dark. The shadows around her were still.

She knew she wouldn't feel safe here.

No place would feel safe tonight.

She lowered her head and kept walking. Her shoulders hunched against the chilly breeze, and her heart began that old, familiar aching deep inside-that yearning to be normal, to have a normal life.

She didn't realize where she was going, not until she stopped and found herself in front of Angel's basement dwelling.

She stood there staring at his door, and then finally she knocked.

"Angel?"

No answer.

She tried the door, but found it locked.

Forcing the lock, Buffy went in. The place was quiet and dark, the only light spilling in faintly from the hallway behind her.

"Hey . . ." she called softly.

She clicked on a lamp and looked around.

Not overly decorated, but comfortable, she decided. A desk, a chair, a table, a tall folding screen, a dresser, heavy curtains. There were exotic statues in glass cases. There was an unmade bed.

Buffy walked to the bed and sat down. Cautiously she flexed her tender knee, then began to massage it.

Her exhaustion was catching up with her now. Her exhaustion . . . and her fear.

Fighting back tears, she curled up in Angel's bed. Small and alone she lay there on top of his covers, breathing in the scent of him from his pillow.

It was a long time before Buffy finally shut her eyes.

And then, at last, she slept.

CHAPTER 9.

The Alibi Room was probably the seediest bar in Sunnydale.

As a rule lights were kept low here-to hide both the decorand the patrons-and the bartender was a shifty-eyed bottom-dweller named Willy. He prided himself on being a small-time hustler, but he was even prouder of the fact that he moved in the underworld of vampires.

Tonight Willy was cleaning up, giving the floor a perfunctory once-over with his broom. It was after-hours and he wasn't expecting anyone, so when the shadowy figure appeared in the doorway, he got annoyed.

"We're closed," Willy scowled. "Can't you read the sign?"

The figure moved slowly into the room.

As Willy looked up and recognized Angel, his whole demeanor changed. He'd always been scared of Angel-he didn't want any trouble.

"Oh," he laughed nervously, "hey, Angel. I didn't recognize you in the dark there."

Angel didn't answer. He simply stood and stared.

"What-what can I do for you tonight?" Willy chatted, already putting distance between them. He busied himself near the bar, trying to sound casual.

"I need some information," Angel said.

"Yeah?" Again that nervous laugh. "Man. That's too bad. 'Cause I'm staying away from that whole scene. I'm living right, Angel."

Angel's voice was smooth as silk. "Sure you are, Willy. And I'm taking up sunbathing."

"Come on now," Willy's voice cracked. He swallowed hard, trying to force down his growing fear.

"Don't be that way. I treat you vamps good. I don't hassle you. You don't hassle me. We all enjoy the patronage of this establishment. Everybody's happy."

But Angel was coming toward him. He was walking over to Willy with slow, measured steps, and Willy could feel danger closing in around him.

"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 takea 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.

"Youknow 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 costwho?" 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. "Whereis 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."