How I Survived My Summer Vacation Page 10

  Not that it took much. The look on the boy’s face, in particular, had been absolutely priceless.

  I should have come to Sunnydale long before now, the shifter thought. It was really the perfect place to exercise his talents. Though, really, playing with the children had been, well, child’s play. Too easy. Not entirely satisfying.

  He’d just have to make sure phase two made up for that.

  In phase two, he got to play with the grown-ups.

  “He wanted to what with you?” asked Giles.

  It was the next day, in the early evening, not quite time for Giles to head out for patrol. Not that he’d informed Xander of this, of course. Giles was keeping to his vow to give Buffy’s friends the normal summer they deserved. A summer free from things that did more than go bump in the night.

  Giles and Angel had arranged a patrolling schedule. Giles would be out from sundown to midnight. Angel from midnight to dawn. This would provide full nighttime Hellmouth coverage without requiring the two uneasy co-workers to spend more than a few minutes together.

  A thing that suited them both just fine.

  Giles had been on his way home from the library, after another session of trying to discover what had attacked him and Jenny the other night when he’d encountered Xander.

  Make that another unsuccessful research session, thought Giles. A thing that was beginning to irritate and frustrate him. He was supposed to be good at this, after all.

  The trouble was, slim build and weird eyes just wasn’t a whole lot to go on. Giles’s books and papers provided information on a variety of topics from a variety of sources and in a variety of ways.

  Unfortunately, a breakdown by body parts didn’t seem to be one of them.

  “He wanted to hang out with me,” Xander repeated. “Like he wanted us to be best pals. I’m here to tell you, it wasn’t normal, even for Angel. I think there’s — you know —” His voice dropped. “Something going on.”

  “Yes, well,” Giles said. “Thanks very much for the tip. I’ll take the situation under advisement.”

  “Is that the same as saying you’ll check it out?”

  “Precisely,” Giles said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Xander, I’m afraid I have to be going now.”

  Giles moved toward his car, and Xander fell into step beside him, his expression plainly crestfallen.

  “You mean that’s all? No assignment? I could arrange to meet him again, pump him for information.”

  The mind boggles, thought Giles.

  “That won’t be necessary, thank you,” he said aloud. “But I appreciate the report. I’ll let you know if anything develops.”

  Giles got into his ancient CitroÊn and drove off. Angel wanting to be Xander’s best friend? Highly unlikely.

  About as unlikely, Giles thought, as an alliance between a Watcher and a vampire.

  “He said what?” Angel asked.

  “To tell you ‘hello,’ ” Willow answered.

  “You’re sure we’re talking about the same Giles?”

  Willow and Angel were standing outside the Bronze. Willow had been on her way to meet Xander when she’d spotted Angel loitering by the door. She’d invited him to join them. He’d declined. But Willow had taken the opportunity to relay the previous night’s message from Giles.

  “You know, now that I think about it, he did seem kind of funny.”

  “Giles? A laugh riot?”

  “No, I don’t mean funny ha-ha,” Willow said. “I mean funny, odd. It was like he didn’t even know me at first.”

  “Maybe he was just distracted or something.”

  “Maybe,” Willow acknowledged. “So . . .” she went on, “how’s your summer? Anything — you know — going on?”

  “Not a thing,” Angel lied. “Look, Willow, I appreciate you giving me the message, but I’ve gotta go now. I’ll see you around.”

  “Okay,” Willow said. “Hey — have you heard from —”

  But Angel was already gone.

  “This is taking too long,” Absalom snarled.

  It was later that same night, and he and the shifter were back in the main chamber of the Master’s lair. “The others are growing restless. They wish to hunt.”

  “Control them,” the shapeshifter suggested.

  With one sudden movement, Absalom lunged forward and seized the shifter by the throat. “Don’t play your games with me,” he hissed. “You promised me revenge.”

  “And you shall have it.”

  “When?”

  The shifter rippled, transforming into Angel. With a snarl, Absalom released him and stepped back. Smiling now, the shapeshifter straightened the lapel of the vampire’s black jacket.

  “Very soon now.”

  There’s something back there.

  Giles moved cautiously along the dark alley, straining his ears for the slightest sound. He was almost certain he was being followed. Had been for several blocks now.

  Just keep calm. This was exactly the reason he was out here in the first place, after all.

  Slowly, Giles moved his right hand into his jacket pocket. His fist closed around the stake he’d put there earlier.

  Try to look normal, he thought. The fact that he was prepared to defend himself was something for him to know, and the thing behind him to find out.

  Maybe I should just turn around.

  Go on the offensive. Confront the unknown entity head-on. That was almost certainly what Buffy would do. But there were differences between Slayers and Watchers. Not just the age and gender things.

  Slayers rushed in. Watchers were more cautious.

  Not to mention the fact that Giles had gotten his butt kicked last time around.

  So far, whoever, or whatever, it was behind him seemed in no hurry. That being the case, the sensible thing for Giles to do was to simply keep on going. He’d reach his pre-established rendezvous point with Angel in just a few more blocks.

  Then the whatever-was-back-there would find the odds were not in its favor. It would be outnumbered two to one.

  Giles cocked his head, listening for the sound of the footsteps. Were they coming closer? He picked up his pace, rounded a corner and headed for the only streetlight. The rendezvous point was at the end of the block, in the gap between two warehouses.

  Actually, except for the uncomfortable aspect of being followed, Giles considered the events of this evening to be a good thing. It had been awfully quiet since Jenny had left. Too quiet.

  Always a bad sign.

  Some quiet meant things were under control. Too quiet almost always meant some kind of plan was in the works. Usually of the not-human-friendly variety.

  Almost at the rendezvous point now. Giles cast a quick glance over his shoulder. The thing behind him stepped beneath the glow of the streetlight. Giles came to an abrupt and startled stop.

  But that looks exactly like —

  “You’re late,” a voice in front of him announced.

  Giles jerked his head back around. Angel stood in the shadowy entrance to the space between the two buildings.

  “What are you doing here?” Giles hissed.

  “I’m waiting for you. What do you think I’m doing?” Angel replied. “You’re the one who came up with this arrangement, you know. I’m just being a good boy, standing around, waiting to be handed the patrol baton.”

  “But —” Giles began. “But I could have sworn —”

  He swiveled his head back around. The figure behind him was still beneath the streetlight. As Giles watched, it reached into the pocket of its black leather jacket, withdrew a packet of cigarettes and shook out one. He lit it and blew a thin stream of smoke between his lips, then returned the pack of cigarettes to his pocket.

  Just some young punk in a black leather jacket, Giles thought.

  It wasn’t Angel. Had never been Angel. How could it be? Angel was standing right in front of him.

  “I apologize,” Giles said, turning back around. “I thought I saw —”

  �
�Quiet,” Angel hissed suddenly. He stepped back, out of sight. Giles caught a whiff of cigarette smoke, the sound of footsteps.

  “Out kinda late, aren’t you, Pops?”

  The punk swaggered along the street, stopped in front of Giles and blew a stream of cigarette smoke straight into the Watcher’s face. Giles held his breath as long as he could, then began to cough.

  “I think there’s someplace else you need to be,” Angel said, as he stepped out onto the sidewalk behind the kid.

  The punk didn’t back down an inch. Instead, he flicked his still-burning cigarette into the gutter. “Oh, yeah, where?”

  “Anywhere.”

  The punk laughed suddenly. “Okay,” he said. “I can take a hint. No problem.”

  He sauntered off, whistling between his teeth.

  “Follow him,” said Giles.

  “What?”

  “Follow him. I’m pretty sure he’s been following me for the last few blocks.”

  “Giles,” Angel said, his tone striving for patience. “There’s nothing special about him. Troublemakers like that are a dime a dozen. They’re the same in any century.”

  And you should know.

  “Humor me,” Giles said shortly. “I just . . . have a feeling there’s more to that one than meets the eye.”

  An idea was growing in the back of the Watcher’s mind. One he had to get to the library to confirm.

  Angel shrugged. “Okay, if you say so.”

  “Come to the library tomorrow just after dark; we can compare notes from the rest of tonight.”

  * * *

  Bored much?

  Angel had been following the guy Giles thought had followed him for at least an hour. So far, zippo.

  I’ve seen more action at the Bronze.

  There was nothing special about this kid. So far, all he’d done was blow smoke at Giles, and hassle one old drunk. He was just a not very intelligent jerk, out looking for trouble.

  And not finding much.

  Angel, on the other hand, had had enough.

  I’ve got more important things to do than follow this kid around all night.

  It was time to take a swing through the graveyard, he decided. Sooner or later, most things that wanted to cause problems ended up there. That was where the action was. Not following some kid wearing a bad imitation of his own jacket.

  Angel spun on his heel and disappeared into the darkness. Behind him, the shifter turned to watch, then smiled.

  “Gentlemen, start your engines,” he murmured. “It’s show time.”

  “Help! Please, somebody help me!”

  Angel spun around. The cry had come from behind him, in the farthest, darkest corner of the graveyard. He sprinted toward the sound and heard a shriek, suddenly cut off. Now he was close enough to see a shadowy figure, stooping over a form on the ground. He heard a sound that sounded like —

  Actually, it was probably better not to think about what the sound was.

  As if sensing his presence, the figure lifted his head. Angel caught the wink of glasses in the moonlight as it turned its face toward him.

  But that’s Giles, he thought.

  In the next moment, the figure was loping away, running low to the ground along the fence that bordered the graveyard. It vaulted over and disappeared from sight. Every cell in Angel’s body itched to give chase. But he was alone, and there was a victim to attend to.

  Angel knelt beside the figure on the ground.

  It was the punk he’d been following earlier that night. One side of his face had been smashed in. But he was still alive. He moaned.

  “Hang in there,” Angel said. “Help is on the way.”

  He would make sure of that, but he wouldn’t stick around to see it arrive. That would only invite questions he didn’t care to answer.

  Besides, Angel had a few questions of his own.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve been here ever since you left me. I saw you in the graveyard!” Angel exploded. He’d gone straight to the library, certain that was where he’d find Giles.

  Sure enough, the Watcher was at his desk, surrounded by stacks of research books. He claimed he’d been there since leaving Angel to do his share of the night’s patrol.

  “Then how do you explain what I saw in the graveyard?” Angel asked. “I’m not stupid, Giles. I don’t like being manipulated. Particularly by someone so much younger than I am.”

  “Just what, exactly, are you accusing me of?” Giles asked. His back was ramrod straight, his tone, brittle with outrage.

  “The punk you asked me to follow turns up in the graveyard with his face smashed in and you bending over him. You figure it out,” Angel said. “That’s what you’re supposed to be so good at, isn’t it?”

  “Why should I?” Giles came back. “You already have all the answers.”

  “You don’t like them, give me some different ones,” Angel said through clenched teeth. “I want an explanation. Now.”

  “I don’t care what you want,” Giles said. “You have no right to barge in here and accuse me. You, of all people. But then, you’re not a person anymore, are you? So maybe you just can’t help yourself.”

  “Last time I checked, I had a conscience, just like you do.”

  “You’re nothing like me.”

  “Hey, guys. What’s going on?” a voice said.

  Angel spun around to find Willow standing in the doorway, her face betraying her confusion.

  Giles got up from his desk and moved toward her. “It’s awfully late. Shouldn’t you be at home, Willow?” he asked.

  “Well, yeah, maybe,” the redhead temporized. “I’m sure my parents are already in bed. But I saw your lights on, and I thought maybe, you know . . .”

  Her eyes slid to Angel. “How did you get here so fast?”

  “What?”

  “I just saw you,” Willow said. “Outside the Bronze.”

  “I’ve been here for the last fifteen minutes, at least,” Angel said.

  “Just like I’ve been here for hours?” Giles muttered.

  Angel glared.

  “There is something going on, isn’t there?” Willow asked. “I can help . . . look something up, or something . . .” She came forward into the room.

  “Not necessary, thank you, Willow,” Giles said. He moved to take Willow by the arm. As he passed by Angel, the two made swift eye contact.

  “Actually, Angel was just sort of . . .” Giles’s voice faltered.

  “Paying a social call,” Angel said. He moved to take Willow’s other arm. Together, the two hustled her out of the library and down the corridor.

  “Giles and I have been trying to, uh —”

  “Get to know each other better,” Giles filled in.

  “Yeah, that’s right,” Angel said. “You know, so we could —”

  “Work together more effectively, when necessary,” Giles needled smoothly.

  “Right.”

  From her place between them, Willow’s head swiveled back and forth between them like she was following a tennis match.

  “Are you sure you guys feel all right?” she asked.

  “Perfectly,” Giles and Angel answered in unison. The group reached the door to the outside.

  “Thank you for the offer, but I really think you should go home now,” Giles said. “I’ll call you if I need you. Nice of you to stop by.”

  He opened the door.

  “But —” Willow protested.

  Angel scooted her through, out onto the sidewalk. “Sleep tight,” he said.

  The door closed with a slam.

  Together, the Watcher and the vampire walked back to the library and closed the door. There was a charged silence.

  “Okay, I’m ready to listen,” Angel said. “How can I be at the Bronze and here at the same time?”

  “The same way I can be here and in the graveyard,” Giles answered.

  “And that way would be?”

  “If we were dealing with a shapeshifter,” Giles said.
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  “How do we stop it?” Angel asked without hesitation.

  “That depends on the form it’s taken,” Giles answered. “According to my research,” he moved to his desk, picked up a book, and carried it over to the table where Angel had stationed himself, “once a shapeshifter has assumed another, er —”

  “Shape,” Angel suggested.

  “Quite,” Giles said. “Once a shapeshifter has assumed a new identity, shall we say, it has all that being’s attributes. Whatever will destroy the form the shifter takes will destroy the shapeshifter also.”

  “Sounds straightforward enough,” Angel said.

  “Not quite,” Giles countered. “Once a shapeshifter has taken on another form, it’s virtually impossible to tell it from the real thing. You wouldn’t be able to tell which was me, and which was the shifter camouflaged as me, even if we were standing side by side. They may be easy to kill in theory. In practice, they’re hard to recognize.”

  “So . . . what then?”

  “Not at all,” said Giles. “In fact, I feel it is imperative that we discover the whereabouts of this particular shapeshifter and destroy it. Think of the trouble it’s already caused. It played us both for fools —”

  “Buffy,” Angel said suddenly.

  “Exactly,” said Giles. “I think we have to assume that the Slayer is the shifter’s ultimate target. To acquire her shape, all the shifter needs is one moment of direct contact, and, given the fact that it can now assume either of our shapes, that could be quite straightforward. Our one bit of luck may be the fact that Buffy is out of town.”

  “So we’ve got to put an end to this thing before Buffy returns to Sunnydale.”

  “Exactly.”

  “And how, exactly, do we do that?”

  Giles collapsed into a nearby chair.

  “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  Jenny Calendar hit the turn signal and pulled off the freeway. It was late. It had been a long drive. And she was tired. But before she hit the bed, there was something she had to do.

  She went into her apartment, walked straight to the phone and punched in Giles’s number.

  Be there, Rupert, she thought.

  Giles moved quickly through his apartment, stuffing whatever he thought might be useful into a leather shoulder bag. Holy water. Stakes. A flashlight. A large crucifix. The meat cleaver from the kitchen. A can of soda.