Chapter Two
Rifling through her bag, Cordelia finally came up with her car keys and purse. Buffy waited for her patiently at the head of the table. “My car’s in the parking lot,” Cordy informed the blonde needlessly as the two began to head for the door, with Buffy in the lead.
The Slayer was almost to the library’s entrance when she realized that Cordelia was no longer following her. Turning, she saw the other girl stopped only a few paces away from the center table, her wide-eyed gaze fixed upon the book cage in front and to the right of her.
“Cordelia?” she questioned. When the brunette didn’t respond, Buffy started to get irritated. Enough had happened tonight already that they didn’t understand, and Buffy was sick of being confused and scared. “Cordelia!” she called again.
Cordelia waved a hand to silence her. Her eyes remained focused on the caged area of the library, and on the dark shadows between the bookshelves inside where she was certain she had seen a slight movement.
With the overhead fluorescent lights casting their sickly glow down upon the room, the shadows weren’t too deep, and as she stared into them Cordelia began to distinguish the faint outline of something small huddling in one of the slim spaces, hidden in the darkness.
A little girl.
If she hadn’t moved Cordelia wouldn’t have even noticed her, and she felt another pang in her heart. First, the woman left to die alone in Giles office, and now… How long had she been in there? How long might she have remained there, unnoticed and ignored by them all, if she hadn’t moved? Cordy knew what it felt like to be ignored. By Xander and Buffy and their friends. By her parents.
Within her hiding place the young girl was so still now that Cordelia didn’t dare turn her gaze away for a second, for fear of losing her amongst the shadows once more.
By now Buffy had returned to her side, turning her blue eyes in the direction Cordelia was facing to try and discern what she was looking at. Xander, Willow and Oz were watching from the table, and even Giles had noticed the brunette’s fixated stare, drawn out of his contemplations by her faltered steps.
“What is it, Cordelia?” he asked gently.
“Shhh!” Cordy hissed. Ignoring their questioning looks, she took a small, slow step towards the cage, trying not to scare the girl inside.
No more movement came from the shadows. Cordelia continued her slow advancement towards the girl’s prison, keeping her own movements as unhurried and unthreatening as possible, until she stood in front of the mesh enclosure, just to the right of the locked cage door.
With her hands in plain sight, she eased herself to the ground. She now sat cross-legged on the cold linoleum, so that her face was almost at the little girl’s eye-level, and her form was less imposing. “Hi there,” she said gently, smiling tenderly into the shadows.
No reply.
Behind her she could tell that the Scoobies were confused by her actions, but Cordelia didn’t stop to explain. Her concern was for the little girl. “My name’s Cordelia. You can call me Cordy if ya like.” She didn’t ask for a name in return. She didn’t want to frighten the child any more than she had to be already.
“I go to school here. Well, not now, because its nighttime, but during the daytime I do. This is the library. It’s full of really old, really dusty books that smell funny.” She scrunched up her nose in a comical expression of distaste, still smiling. “I don’t like to read them much. They’re boring.”
Cordy’s genuine smile never wavered, her voice was soft, and her tone was rich and warm, comforting the small girl. If she looked hard enough into the darkness, Cordelia could see two round glistening eyes watching her as she spoke.
By now the others had realized that there must have been a child locked inside the book cage. Giles discreetly resumed his search for the keys, while the others stayed silent and still, not wanting to startle the child.
“Do you like to read? I never liked it much at all. But I like fairytales. Magical places and castles and beautiful princesses with lots of pretty dresses. Brave handsome knights fighting big scary dragons. It’s so exciting,” Cordelia continued on.
“You wanna know what else I like? I like dancing, and playing games, and I like to sing, but I have a really horrible voice!” she admitted with a conspiratorial grin.
“I’ll say,” Buffy mumbled in good-natured agreement, smiling a little.
Cordelia ignored her completely, but she noticed the youngster inside the cage start slightly at the quiet sound of Buffy’s voice, and quickly resumed. “And I like horses. I have a horse named Keanu. He’s so beautiful. I like kitty cats too. Do you like kitties? Ya know, one Halloween, I dressed up as a big ginger cat, with a long fluffy tail, and long whiskers! It was really cute!”
She decided to leave out the bit about everyone’s Halloween costumes coming to life and turning the children into demons and ghosts and army soldiers. Absently twirled a lock of chocolate hair around her fingers, she searched for something else to talk about.
“You have pretty hair.” The girl’s voice was quiet and hesitant, but she shifted a little closer to the edge of the shadows enveloping her tiny frame. Finally seeing movement and hearing the child talk, some of the others gasped, having not really believed that Cordelia was actually seeing anything in the dark recesses of the book cage until now.
Cordelia’s smile just widened however, and she reached up and removed her hair from its ponytail, shaking her head until the thick dark glossy mane fell in soft curls over her shoulders. “Thank you! I’ll bet you have pretty hair too. Would you like to come out and let me see it?” she asked gently.
Cordelia could sense the girl’s uncertainty and fear, and she didn’t want to push her. She smiled brightly and spoke to the young girl in an easy and warm voice that she was surprised to find was coming naturally.
There was no one to act for here, no one to impress or protect herself from. Just this little girl and something in her heart that made her want to reach out and hold her, and keep her safe.
“I promise that you’re safe. You don’t have to come out of the cage. But I’d really like it if you would come out of the dark and show me your pretty hair. No one can hurt you in there, sweetie, and these people,” Cordy gestured behind her, “they are good people, and they are my friends.”
She pointed over at the small group of her fellow teens at the center study table. “Over at the table there, the girl with the red hair? That’s Willow. And the boy next to her is Oz. The dorky-looking one is Xander,” she added with a smile.
“Hey!” Xander objected indignantly.
Cordelia grinned briefly, and heard a giggle from the shadows. She moved her hand to point behind her left shoulder to Buffy. “That’s Buffy. And behind her? That’s Giles,” she finished the introductions.
“You’re safe here. They won’t hurt you. I won’t let anyone come closer,” she vowed honestly, even as she realized that the girl had no reason to trust her either.
To her amazement and delight, she saw more movement in the shadows. Rising to her feet between the walls of her hiding place, a small dirty sock-clad foot emerged first as the girl stepped out into the light.
Dressed in dirt-smudged light yellow flannel pajamas adorned with small brown monkeys, her slim little body was swallowed by a man’s large black leather jacket. The bottom of the jacket swished around her legs just above her ankles as she inched her way along the back wall until she stood opposite Cordelia.
In the dip of her open collar rested the same silver sun-and-three-stars pendant that the woman in Giles’ office wore. Her round cheeks were smeared with dirt and still wet from recent tears. Dark circles from days of restless sleeps surrounded reddened blue eyes that glistened with fresh moisture. Her hair was dirty and limp, but a beautiful caramel brown that would have fallen in soft curls, like Cordelia’s own, down to the middle of her back.
The small girl’s hair and angelic features were exactly the same as those of the woman lying on the sofa, whom Cordy had long since guessed was the child’s mother. Clutched tightly to her chest was the ring of keys Giles had been fruitlessly searching for. She looked to be only four or five years old.
Cordelia’s smiling lips trembled and her eyes filled with tears at the sight of the drying blood staining the girl’s pajama pants, the bottom of her top, and her hands. She was so scared for this little girl, and so angry at whoever had locked her in a cold dark cage and left her mother to die in the next room. But she couldn’t let it show.
Forcing herself to keep smiling, Cordelia ignored the cries of concern that came from behind her. “See, you have very pretty hair too,” she said.
The girl’s small button nose scrunched up in a similar fashion to how Cordelia’s had, and despite her distress Cordy couldn’t help but grin at the action. “It’s all yucky and dirty,” she told the older brunette, pulling at the slightly oily tendrils.
“Well, that means when it’s clean it’ll be even prettier,” Cordelia promised. “It’ll be just as beautiful as your eyes. They’re a very pretty blue, ya know? Like a summer sky. I like summer. Do you like summer? Do you like to play in the sun?” she asked.
“It’s warm and nice.” The little girl shrugged. “Nighttime’s better. The stars are all twinkle-y, and I like the Moon, ‘coz She’s bright and pretty,” the girl said, giving Cordelia a shy crooked smile that melted her heart and almost made her forget about her concern and anger.
“Yeah, She is pretty,” Cordelia agreed, mildly surprised by the young girl’s use of the pronoun ‘She’ when referring to the moon. “You’re not afraid of the dark?” Cordy asked. Caramel curls bounced around her face as the little girl shook her head. “Wow! You’re really brave! I was always afraid of the dark. I still am sometimes.”
Cordelia paused for a moment, thinking. She was still worried about the little girl, especially now that she could see her properly, and was wondering if she had any injuries, or if all of the blood was her mother’s.
Cordelia didn’t want to ask though. She didn’t want to bring up the girl’s mother, because that would lead to questions that she didn’t think she could bear to answer. But she couldn’t leave the girl locked up in the cold book cage any longer.
“I know you’re scared, sweetie. And I know you don’t really know me. But I’m really scared too. I’m scared that you might be hurt, or cold, or afraid. Will you come out of there for me? Please? You’re safe here. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
The girl bit her lip as she took an instinctive step forward towards the warm comforting woman speaking to her. She had promised her daddy that she wouldn’t come out unless it was Angel, and she wasn’t supposed to give the keys to anyone but him.
But her daddy had always told her that she should always, always listen to her instincts. She hadn’t known what ‘instincts’ were when her daddy told her that, but he had knelt down in front of her, and placed his large rough hand over her beating heart.
“Listen here,” he had told her, then placed his other hand to her tummy, “and listen here. Heart and tummy. If these tell you something, you do it, no matter what. You trust these, okay babygirl? Because they will never lie to you.”
And right now, her tummy and her heart were telling her to trust Cordy. Her tummy and her heart weren’t sure about Cordy’s friends, especially the Slayer and the Watcher, but they were sure about Cordy.
“I’m not s’posed to come out unless it’s Angel,” she told Cordelia quietly, even as she moved a little closer to the edge of the cage.
The cheerleader’s eyes widened. Similar reactions of shock and curiosity ran through the rest of the Scooby Gang, while the Watcher stiffened in apprehension and suspicion. Oblivious to his growing concerns, Cordelia’s complete attention remained on the young girl.
“Angel? You know Angel, sweetie?” she asked.
The child nodded mutely.
Cordy gave her a genuinely warm smile, but inside her thoughts were a mess. Her instincts were telling her something. They were telling her that this little girl not only knew the ensouled vampire, but actually knew who and what he was as well.
Something in those expressive light sapphire eyes gave Cordelia a feeling that this child knew that the things that went bump in the night and the monsters under her bed were real, and yet wasn’t afraid of them.
Even so, she was reluctant to talk to the girl about vampires and risk terrifying her more if her intuition turned out to be wrong.
Taking a deep breath, Cordelia decided to go with her gut feeling, and prayed that it was right. “I know Angel too. He’s special, isn’t he? He’s not like us. And that makes him very special.” The girl hesitated, eyes wide and round, but she slowly nodded once more.
“I beg your pardon?! Cordelia…!” Giles tried to interrupt her disapprovingly, however Cordelia darted a glare at the man that instantly silenced him.
She turned back to the girl. Cordy gave her a reassuring grin. “He’s, ya know… grr,” for a second her fingers curled into pretend claws in the air beside her head and her face scrunched up again, this time in an imitation of a vampire, curling her lip back over straight white teeth and non-existent fangs, before her expression returned to normal as she finished, “isn’t he?”
The girl’s eyes grew even wider, this time with surprise, joy, and just a hint of indecision as well, even as an amused smile lit her face at Cordelia’s impersonation.
It was clear that she understood Cordelia’s meaning, and she stepped even closer to the cage’s mesh barrier. “Do you really know him, Cordy?” she asked quietly. Her intelligent gaze searched Cordelia’s hazel eyes hopefully. She didn’t ask if they all knew him, just Cordy.
Cordelia beamed. “You bet I do!” she assured her. “And we can bring him to you. Will you wait for him out here with me?”
The girl grinned back at her. Her heart and tummy were still sure about trusting Cordy. She shuffled her sock-clad feet over to the door and raised the ring of keys in her small hand, holding them up to the access slot, just inside the cage.
Slowly, Cordelia stood and also moved to the cage door, extending her hand palm up through the opening to allow the girl to place the keys into her waiting hand. The child did so without hesitation.
Rather than ask Giles, Cordelia simply tested a few of the keys until she found the right one and finally heard the click of the lock releasing.
She swung the door open, then gently extended her hand towards the little girl, and waited.
A small hand slipped instantly inside hers, and Cordelia held it tightly, reassuringly, as she led the girl out of the cage. “Thank you, sweetie,” Cordy told her, her words filled with relief and happiness. “You did great!” Still smiling, she turned to face Xander at the table, tossing him the keys to her Corvette.
“Take Buffy to get Angel. I’m staying here with her,” she informed them all, nodding her head down to the girl in question.
Both Xander and Buffy looked towards Giles in unison to see what the Watcher was making of both the situation and the command issued by the cheerleader. But Giles could only shrug in response, still too confused and conflicted by the turn of events to even think of arguing against Cordelia’s resolve.
His thoughts revolved around the tokens of Aurelius that adorned the throats of both this young girl, and the murdered woman – her mother – in his office
Buffy sighed heavily, and then beckoned to Xander with a movement of her blonde head. “C’mon, Xand. Looks like you’re driving.”
***
Angel slammed down the receiver of the phone, running a hand through his hair in frustration. Elbows leaning on his knees, he dropped his head into his hands and tried to fight back the tears that burned in his eyes, begging to be allowed to fall.
Still no answer. Not on the home phone or the cellphones. And there’d been no answer for four days now.
Angel was terrified about what that might mean.
With no answer by now, despite countless calls over the past few days, Angel knew that the family had long since left their home. The only thing keeping him from jumping into the Plymouth and speeding out of Sunnydale to find them was the knowledge that he wouldn’t know where to even start looking, if they had gone to ground.
And more than likely, they were eventually headed his way anyway.
So Angel stayed where he was, seated on the edge of his bed, worried, aggravated, and growing more and more scared with each moment that passed.
And he dialed again.
The phone at the other end of the line had just rung for the fourteenth time when Angel heard the sports car rolling up the driveway outside the mansion. Even distracted and anxious as he was, the vampire recognized the rev of the engine as that of a Corvette.
The Corvette owned by Cordelia Chase. His senses were also alerting him to the sudden presence of the Vampire Slayer. Primal instinct rose up within as the demon in him reacted to the nearness of its natural enemy.
As always though, the small part of him that was remotely human shoved away those violent feelings and the bloodlust that accompanied them, but it was harder this time. His baser demonic instincts were already too close to the surface as it was in his current agitated state-of-mind.
And this time only served to remind him of how futile it had been when he’d tried to separate man from demon in the recent past. He had tried for the sake of Buffy, her friends, Hell, even Rupert Giles. It was easier for them to think that he was one of two opposing entities within the one body – man and vampire.
But there was no separating them, because the man didn’t exist. The soul didn’t change who he was, or what he’d done. He was still a vampire, a murderous demon with all the instincts and desires of his kind. He was still capable of all the atrocities he had committed in his past, just as he was equally capable of enjoying it.
The soul just made him care.
Angel dropped the receiver heavily into its cradle on his bedside table again and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. He took several deep unneeded breaths to calm his nerve-wracked body, then angrily swiped at the moisture welling in his eyes and stood abruptly, not even bothering to avoid the debris still strewn about his bedroom as he headed for the stairs.
Shards of glass, ceramics and wood crunched under his heavy combat boots where they littered the floor throughout most of the rooms of the mansion.
Windows were shattered, furniture overturned or completely smashed, and every now and again walls bore crumbling scrapes and holes from where some piece of furniture had been thrown, or even where Angel’s fist had impacted, the force of the blows leaving deep gouges in the stone.
With no contact from the family for four days, and no way to help them, Angel’s frustration, anger and fear were taking over him. His knuckles were still raw and bloodied. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets as he reached the bottom of the staircase and stopped.
Waiting there for a moment, he realized this was the first time Buffy had come to the mansion since she had told him that they couldn’t see each other anymore. And it didn’t surprise him that the realization didn’t hurt as much as it once would have. He’d known that things between them couldn’t work ever again since he’d returned from Hell.
Angel had tried, just in case he could be wrong, but he didn’t feel the same way anymore. He couldn’t. Not when they couldn’t accept each other for what they were. Slayer and vampire. Girl and demon. A part of him still loved her, but he could never love her completely, and he could never be what she wanted him to be – human. Normal.
He closed his eyes against his thoughts. Right now, he couldn’t even feel bitter about the loss. Maybe all that he had really lost had been a fantasy, but he wished he could feel the hurt. Even that would be better than the numbness he felt about it right now. Anything to distract him from the fear and helplessness he felt at the loss of contact with the family.
Restlessness and dread had driven him to insomnia.
This was the first time in four days that he had even closed his eyes for more than a few moments, other than crying, and he hadn’t yet really allowed himself that particular luxury either. And the anxiety had grown worse tonight. He felt something, something close…
The vampire opened his eyes again as he heard the two heartbeats approaching the front door, and a low, dangerous growl escaped his throat upon recognizing the scent of Buffy’s companion as Xander Harris. The boy’s presence wasn’t likely to help his agitation. He could already feel his demon roaring beneath the surface of his outwardly human features.
Angel’s jaw tightened and his hands clenched into fists in his pockets, determined to fight back the change. He just wanted to find out what they wanted and then get rid of them. As much as he might have wished for a distraction, the truth was that if they got in his way right now he was likely to tear their throats out. He didn’t want to be thinking of anything else but the people he really cared about.
Buffy didn’t knock as she pushed open the heavy oak door and peered into the darkness beyond. “Angel?” she called out tentatively as she stepped into the foyer, with Xander close behind. The immense building was usually only dimly lit with lamps and candles anyway, but tonight there wasn’t even a fire going in the hearth to light the living area.
The dim moonlight filtering through the windows only offered enough of a glow to prevent her from running into anything as she moved to the center of the atrium. The soft echoes of her boots on the stone floor made the entire building seem empty, lifeless.
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Xander drawled quietly, Han-Solo-style. He crossed his arms over his chest, tucking his hands beneath his armpits, and started to bounce from one foot to the other in an effort to block out the bitter cold.
He heard something grinding against the stone beneath one of his sneaker-clad feet. “Huh?” Xander stepped aside and squinted down at the floor, but it was too dark to make out anything.
Angel remained silent and allowed himself a small predatory smirk at the fear he could sense emanating from the boy, and even from the strong young Slayer. He pressed himself deeper into the shadows as he silently moved around the perimeter of the room.
Calling his name again, Buffy winced, hearing a little of her fear creep into her voice. A cold shiver shot down her spine, and the fine hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as her body instinctively tensed in readiness.
She could sense the vampire somewhere in the deep shadows, but Angel was too good to allow her to know exactly where. What the Hell did he think he was playing at? One of her hands unconsciously moved to rest over Mr. Pointy.
Angel itched to toy with them some more, but he wasn’t in the mood to deal with an irate Slayer afterwards. Still, as he moved noiselessly behind them he couldn’t resist slamming the door closed with a loud crash, causing the boy to shriek as both he and Buffy jumped and spun around towards the startling sound.
“Don’t do that, Deadboy!!” Xander exclaimed. He hoped no one noticed his still slightly shrill voice, or his shaking hands, nor the embarrassed red flush of his face.
Buffy glared at Angel, though she was barely able to see his face in the dappled moonlight spilling across his pale features, and tried to force her body to relax. The vampire stared back at her without a trace of emotion, except for the small quirk at the corner of his lips.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded heatedly.
Angel’s eyes narrowed slightly as guilt warred with the demonic thrill he felt at scaring the two teens, and he growled imperceptibly at the slip of his control. He knew he shouldn’t be taking his frustration out on these innocent kids. The sooner he found out why they were here and got them to leave, the better. For them.
Probably safer too. “Sorry,” he muttered, mostly sincere, his usual expressionless mask slipping back into place. He walked across the living space, deliberately making a noise with each step now, and, after righting it from its resting place on the torn sofa cushions, he switched on the only unbroken lamp for the humans. He could see just fine in the darkness.
Buffy blinked rapidly against the sudden illumination and allowed her eyes time to adjust, then gasped as her eyes took in the sight of the trashed living area. Almost every piece of furniture was destroyed, most lying in various broken heaps of wood, fabric and metal at the bases of the walls. Small fragments of rock dusted the piles and the surrounding floor, dislodged when the items had impacted the bare stone above.
Most of the heavy drapes still hung from the shattered windows but now bore large rents and tears where the smashed panes of glass had shredded them. Personal belongings were interspersed amongst the wreckage – books, scattered papers, artworks and sculptures, weapons, a destroyed antique clock; all ripped from their rightful places and thrown or smashed in rage.
“Oh! Ugh!” Xander complained as he looked down, sounding thoroughly revolted. His face was contorted into a grimace of extreme disgust. Buffy followed the direction of his gaze, where they could now see what Xander had stepped on. “Believe me when I say I’ll be burning these shoes when I get home!” the boy continued.
Thick curved splinters of ceramic lay at his feet, tinted dark reddish brown from the dried blood that coated them, and resting within a larger splattered pool of more dried blood. The mug of pig’s blood had exploded against the stone where Angel had thrown it more than a day ago, spraying its contents everywhere.
Many of the bloody slivers were now embedded between the treads and in the soft rubber sole of Xander’s battered sneakers.
Biting back her own nausea Buffy returned her attention to the vampire still standing silently across from her and Xander. Two or three days worth of stubble roughened his chiseled jaw, his hair disheveled and without product.
His shoulders were tense, muscles corded and rippling beneath his black shirt, and though his expression was as unreadable as always, he was giving off a darkly dangerous vibe that heightened her worry. “What happened here?” she asked him softly, the worry evident in her voice.
Already unapproachable, Angel folded his arms across his chest in a move far more threatening than casual. He heard the Slayer gasp again as she saw his bruised and blood-encrusted hands. “Nothing,” he answered her gruffly. “It doesn’t concern you.” The tone of his voice warned her that the subject was closed.
Buffy blinked, incredulous. Okay, so she had told him that they had to stop seeing each other, but that certainly didn’t mean that she didn’t still care about him. When she had found him in the woods in nothing but trousers, his mind lost and animal, she had spent every moment that she could trying to help him get better.
His recovery had taken weeks. Weeks of slipping out during the night to bring him blood from the butcher, of staying with him for an hour here or there when she could get away with it, of talking to him in his feral state until one night when she stopped by he was finally becoming more lucid. After that, each time she had stopped by to see him she had found him even more coherent than the last visit.
Until finally he had almost seemed himself again. His tortured body still ached, he wasn’t up to his full strength, and both his sleeping and waking mind were haunted by nightmares of the centuries of pain and torment that he had endured, but he was getting better. And she’d realized that he didn’t need her to take care of him anymore.
So she’d walked away, because them being together was too dangerous.
But looking at Angel now, and surveying the destroyed furnishings of the mansion, perhaps she’d been wrong to leave him so soon. What if he was descending back into the madness she had slowly dragged him out of? He seemed on edge, distant.
Buffy stared into his intense obsidian eyes, seeing something wild, primal and dangerous dancing in the gold flecks that had crept into his irises, but also intelligence and recognition. She had never really been able to understand Angel’s expressions and emotions, but the signs she read in his gaze gave her hope that it wasn’t too late to help him again.
She took a cautious step closer, raising a hand reassuringly toward Angel.
Suddenly Angel was directly in front of her, his hand painfully gripping her extended wrist with an immovable strength that suggested he was far more recovered than she had believed. More than he had ever let her know.
Fear spiked in the pit of her stomach as his chest rumbled with a deadly snarl and his human features melted away to be replaced by hard angular lines, thick bone and gleaming razor-sharp fangs. His nostrils flared once as his blazing amber eyes slid from her face to the hand clutched firmly in his grasp.
“Let her go!” Xander cried out, the only thing he could do against the powerful demon restraining his friend. Now his entire frame trembled in fear. The vampire didn’t even acknowledge his presence.
“Ang–” Buffy began to whisper timidly.
Topaz orbs snapped back to her blue, silencing her protest. “Where is she?” he demanded. His voice was quiet, but so full of fury and desperation that it chilled the human children to the core.
When Buffy didn’t immediately answer him, Angel’s grip tightened, instantly bruising the delicate flesh of her wrist and eliciting a whimper from the girl. He heard bone grind together as it threatened to snap. Right now, Angel didn’t care about the pain he was causing her.
The small trickle of fear that he had enjoyed earlier was now a crashing river of terror. He barely noticed it. His senses were reeling from the familiar scent on her hand and her flesh.
Emily.
And blood. Emily’s blood.
Buffy had touched Emily. Tonight. And while there was none of her blood anywhere on Buffy, the heavy coppery scent of it clinging to her skin and clothing told Angel that a lot had been spilled. His concern and fear multiplied tenfold. What about…?
“We came to get you!” Buffy blurted out, almost desperately, pained tears slipping from her eyes. It didn’t matter to her how Angel had known why they were here, or even which of the females he was asking about. She just wanted him to let her go.
“She’s at the library!”
Just as suddenly as he had grabbed her, her arm was released, and Buffy at once stumbled back to Xander’s side, clutching her injured arm close to her chest. Angel still didn’t care. His vampiric face shifted back to human, or as close to human as Angel would ever be, and he swept passed them towards the front door.
His boots crunched heavily through the broken shards of bloodied ceramics.
“Take me there.”