Disclaimer: see Prologue.
Angel sat by the roaring fireplace, a strikingly incongruous thing for California in the springtime, book in hand, but not really reading. As usual, he was thinking about a certain blonde slayer and what she might be doing that particular evening. His musings were interrupted by a loud thump followed by an indignant sounding “Hey!” coming from somewhere in the garden. Cautiously, he stood to make his way over to the curtained exit when a brunette teenager burst through it. Angel blinked quickly twice in succession in surprise, as if the girl might actually be a figment of his imagination and vanish any second.
“Faith?” he queried in barely disguised incredulity. She gave him a tight smile and opened her mouth to respond, when Cordelia and Oz came stumbling through the curtain, panting for breath and looking a little pissed off. Cordelia launched into one of her famous tirades without a hitch.
“Okay, boy do I have a bone to pick with you, slayer-chick. That’s right, you!” she followed up, as if someone else in the room would respond to that rather specific title. “First of all, could you lay off the phys ed teacher impression? I’m a senior. I don’t take gym anymore, not that I ever really did, but did we have to run that fast? I mean, climbing fences - ugh - might be fine for you, but some of us have a reputation to uphold! I had to ditch my shoes! Do you have any clue how expensive those shoes are?” Faith raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Oh, okay, that’s IT! Giles is buying me a new pair of black leather spikes.”
“Giles? What does he have to do with any of this?” Oz asked, bewildered, from his seat on the stone floor of the mansion where he had deposited himself to catch his breath. The barefoot Cordelia turned to pin him with her eyes.
“Hello? You think Faith actually has any money? Please, if she did she could at least get herself a pair of shoes other than those. . . boots. . . which, by the way, are so grunge-era, you should really get yourself a pair of Nikes or something. . . I mean, Giles is a Watcher, right? He must have some Watcher-money set aside for emergencies-”
“Emergencies?!?” Oz couldn’t keep the laughter out of his voice. . . this was too weird.
“Yes, emergencies! I haven’t had a pedicure since Saturday!” With twin expressions of confounded amusement, Oz and Faith cocked their heads to get a better look at Cordelia’s immaculately burgundy-polished toenails. “Oh, good, look at them why don’t you! This is embarrassing enough as it is-”
“Hey.” Angel broke in, a look of utter confusion written across his features.
“What do YOU want?” Cordelia blustered, and Angel raised his eyebrows.
“I live here.” The statement seemed to shock the three out of their mood, and their expressions turned somber. Cordelia put a hand to her mouth.
“Oh, God, Angel. . .” she whispered, and Faith took up the explanation while Oz picked himself up off the floor.
“Angel, we need your help. . . back at the library.” The vampire looked wary.
“What do you need my help for? Did Giles send you?” The three teens exchanged a look.
“Angel, Giles. . . he. . . and Buffy. . .” Faith struggled with the words, not knowing what to tell him exactly.
“We don’t know what to do,” Oz said quietly. “They’re. . . not talking or moving, they’re. . . like zombies, but without the violence.” A look of fear crossed Angel’s face, replacing the confusion.
“Buffy and Giles are like this?” he questioned hurriedly, walking over to the couch to grab his jacket.
“Xander and Willow, too.” Cordelia added. Angel froze, looking at her. If it wasn’t just the slayer and the Watcher who were targeted. . . he shook his head, striding back to the trio at the doorway.
“Come on, let’s go.” he ordered stiffly. Oz and Faith turned and followed him readily, and Cordelia let out a strangled whimper. They turned back to look at her, all three sets of eyes moving from her face to her bare feet simultaneously. Faith rolled her eyes and sighed, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Cordy. . .” Oz began, and Angel closed his eyes briefly before interrupting the boy.
“Come on, I have a car.” The Slayer, the Werewolf, and the May Queen looked at him in surprise. “What?”
“You have a car?” Faith asked in disbelief.
“Yes, I have a car.” Angel retorted defensively. Oz just shook his head and the four of them headed out to the front of the mansion. After a while, Cordelia stopped to yell at the group’s backs.
“Hey, how come I’ve been stuck driving everyone around then!” When they ignored her, she let out a feminine growl of disapproval and climbed into the backseat.
“I told you, it’s BAD.”
Angel closed his eyes and counted to ten, teeth clenched. Getting specific information out of any of these kids was like pulling teeth.
“Really, Angel, we told you they were zombies. . . how much worse can it get?”
Scratch that. Pulling teeth is much, much easier. “How long, approximately, did it take for the memory loss to be more or less total?”
“Not sure. . . Willow had forgotten about me picking her up for school today, I think. . .” Oz trailed off, hoping he could be more helpful. Angel looked peeved.
“So maybe twenty-four hours? Does that sound about right?” Angel looked in the rearview mirror and mentally cursed. Oz was nodding thoughtfully and Cordelia was shaking her head in response to the question. He gripped the steering wheel tighter and looked at the slayer beside him. “Faith?” She cracked her gum loudly and shrugged.
“I dunno, Ang, they were all pretty much gone when I got there, ‘cept for B.” He sighed.
“Okay, maybe twelve hours, does that sound more accurate than twenty-four? Guys?” Another glance in the rearview.
“No, more than that, I think,” Oz said quietly.
“Way less than that, more like five hours,” Cordelia offered.
Angel wanted to cry. Instead, he pulled up to the high school parking lot and slid into a spot. He stopped the car and got out, helping Cordelia out of the backseat, and slammed the door rather hard. Turning instinctively to help Faith out of the passenger’s seat, he jumped a little when he saw her sprawled comfortably on the hood of the car. He inhaled and exhaled purposefully.
“Come on, let’s go in.”