"I said that I know of another vampire turned human by Mohra blood. It happened two years ago in Los Angeles."

       Giles was silent for a minute, gazing at him. Then he said, "Buffy's dream . . . isn't just a dream. It really happened."

       Angel was impressed as always with the quick intelligence of the other man. "Yes," he admitted, quietly.

       "But . . . " Giles groped among the many questions whirling dizzily in his mind. "I don't understand. Why does Buffy think it was only a dream - why doesn't she remember it?"

       "That day was taken back - erased and started over - by the Oracles," Angel told him. "I'm the only one who remembers it as it was."

       "They erased the day?" Giles gave his head a little shake, as if the movement would assist his comprehension. "Why? If their purpose was to prevent something from happening, why allow you to remember?"

       "One of us had to," the vampire replied. "Otherwise we would merely repeat the same events."

       "One of you," repeated Giles. "You mean, either you or Buffy?" Angel nodded. Giles stared incredulously. "Are you saying that the Powers That Be erased an entire twenty-four hour period and started it anew just to prevent you and Buffy from being together?"

       "No. It was done to stop the Mohra from turning me human."

       "Why was that so important to Them?"

       "It wasn't Their idea," Angel said tightly. "It was mine."

       After a stunned moment, Giles sat back in his chair. "You're planning to explain that, I hope."

       Angel took another deep breath.

       Wesley stifled a yawn. He'd stayed up much too late last night going through the book he'd taken home to research Angel's curse, and working at deciphering the Nyazian Scroll as he'd been doing since arriving at the office wasn't exactly the most energizing of occupations. He glanced beside him at Fred, clicking away at the laptop.

       Gunn aimed another dart at the board. "How ya doing there, Fred?"

       "Oh, it's a simple equation, really," Fred answered brightly. The laptop sat on the only part of the desk that wasn't covered with papers or books. "The ancient Roman calendar has 1464 days in a four-year cycle. The Etruscan, Sumerian, and Druidian each have their own cycles. You work forward from the presumed day of the prophecy under each calendar, factoring in our own three hundred and sixty-five day calendar and accounting for a three day discrepancy for every four years and - "

       She stopped. "Oh. That can't be right - unless the world ended last March." She frowned at the laptop.

       Wesley smiled, but said encouragingly, "Try again, Fred. It's not as simple as it looks but I'm sure you'll get it."

       Gunn abandoned the darts and took the chair in front of the desk. "So, are we talking Armageddon - or a bad house number? Is it a bad event - or a bad guy?"

       Wes shook his head. "It's not clear on that. The Nyazian Scroll predicts the arrival or arising of the Tro-clan, the person or being that brings about the ruination of mankind."

       "So it's a two-for-one," remarked Gunn. "Isn't that nice." He made a face.

       "And I'm not sure on the translation," Wesley continued, looking down at the topmost page, which was covered with notes and words written in, then crossed out. " �Ruination' may in fact mean �purification.' "

       "Purification?" Gunn repeated. "So this Tro-clan is a good thing?"

       "I doubt that," said Wesley in a dry tone, "but it's �purification' in Aramaic, �ruination' in ancient Greek, and in the lost Ga-shundi language it means both."

       "And you don't want to make the same mistake twice." From her desk, Cordy looked over at Wesley with unmistakable meaning.

       "No," he agreed shortly.

       "What mistake?" Fred piped up, curious.

       Reluctantly Wesley said, "There was another prophecy a while back. It seemed to be about Angel and contained the word 'shanshu,' which I thought meant to die and I - sort of told Angel . . ." His voice trailed off.

       "That he was going to die," finished Cordelia.

       Fred's eyes grew wide. "Oh, no."

       Wesley hastily continued, "Then I found out it also meant to live. It meant to die and to live."

       Fred looked confused. "So - which is it?"

       "Both," Wesley told her. "In his case it meant that someday the vampire in him might die, but the human in him might live."

       "That he would be like a normal man?" she pressed. Wes nodded. "Wow," Fred breathed in awe. "What would we do if that happened?"

       Cordelia said briskly, "I'd buy him some plaid shirts and take him to the beach. The boy needs some color."

       That got a chuckle. Wesley bent over his papers again and Fred resumed typing. "There," she exclaimed after a few minutes. "That came out better." She scanned the screen; her face fell. "Oh. No, it didn't."

       All eyes trained on her expectantly. "It's still very preliminary, but . . . if these calculations are correct, this bad thing should already be here." She looked around the room. "Well, I - I guess not right here, here, but here in L.A. Let me run these numbers again.

       " �Born out of darkness to bring darkness,' " said Wesley. He looked up. "That's what the prophecy says about the Tro-clan. One of the many things it says."

       "Born?" asked Cordelia. "Earlier you said it would arise. Which is it?" She held up a hand as Wes started to reply. "Never mind, let me make a wild guess: Both?"

       Wesley smiled wryly. "The Middle English �eyrizan' and the Gothic �urreisan', both mean to appear, to spring up. There is also a reference to the Tro-clan being �boren', which is pretty plain Middle English for being born, to bear." He lifted his shoulders in a resigned shrug. "Take your pick. However this Tro-clan gets here, we can be fairly sure he, she, or it is bad news."

       "Well. Another fun day at Angel Investigations researching another prophecy of doom." Cordy stood up. "What do you say we pour ourselves a good stiff -"

       "Uh-oh." It was Fred.

       Cordy looked at her. "A good stiff uh-oh?" She fell back in her chair with a sigh. "Why do I not like the sound of that?"

       Fred sat back, worrying at her bottom lip. "Uh, remember before when I said I thought that maybe, possibly, perhaps I might have been off in my earlier calculations? And you asked Wes whether the Tro-clan was prophesied to arise or be born and he said it could be both? And we all know that the Latin for arrive is �arripare', to come to land or possibly in this instance simply to come to, as from a deep sleep - "

       An exasperated "Fred!" came simultaneously from Wesley, Cordelia and Gunn.

       Fred looked abashed. "Right; sorry. I believe that whatever this thing is, it's arriving right about - " She looked down at her watch " - three . . . two . . . now."

       There was silence as everyone looked about them nervously. Then -

       "Right," said Wesley. He rose to his feet. "Gunn, I suggest we do a little patrolling, see if we can sniff out any sign of the Tro-clan's arrival. Hopefully it was dramatic enough to attract attention without being catastrophic. Cordelia, why don't you start monitoring the police broadcasts? Fred, do the same with the news channels and radio stations. Report to me if anything comes up. I'll check back in one hour." Grabbing weapons, the two men left.

       "Should we call Angel?" wondered Fred, reaching for the remote control to the tiny television that sat in one corner of the office. She pressed the Power button and a local news station appeared on the screen.

       "No." Cordy fiddled with the controls of their radio scanner. Static blasted into the room; wincing, she turned down the volume. "Not yet. Buffy needs Angel to be with her right now; there's no point in worrying him until we have more information."

       Fred sighed. "I guess you're right."

       Angel had to smile, albeit faintly. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Giles at a complete loss for words. "Now you understand why there's no point in researching this any further. I won't put Buffy at more risk than she's already in."

       "No." At least, that's what Angel thought he said; it was more of a croak than a word. Giles cleared his throat and tried again. "No - I mean yes - that is, I understand." He regarded Angel with a respect bordering on awe.

       How many humans would be willing to make the sacrifice this two-hundred-year-old vampire had? For more than a century Angel had endured the anguish that a soul and a conscience brought with them, had borne the memory of deeds so evil they were beyond most people's imaginings, and suffered all the guilt and remorse those memories could inspire. He'd given up the only woman he'd ever loved because that love endangered his soul, and therefore her life. And then, when a miracle had occurred that allowed them to be together without fear, he'd requested that it be rescinded when he learned that it also meant Buffy's life would be shortened. And he'd done it apparently without a moment's hesitation.

       "Buffy can't know about this," Angel was saying.

       Giles frowned. "I don't like keeping secrets from Buffy," he began.

       Leaning forward, Angel interrupted, "Giles, she isn't strong enough right now to handle it." His voice was still quiet, but intense. "She's under too much stress as it is."

       "You're right," Giles acknowledged. "However, this dream she's been having. . . ." He let his voice trail off, knowing the other man would take his meaning.

       "I know," Angel acknowledged. "But first let's get her soul back in one piece, then I'll worry about how to tell her."

       Giles eyed him. "Then you do plan on telling her."

       "I don't think I have a choice," replied Angel grimly. "Sooner or later she's going to start questioning why she's having that dream."

       "You realize there's a strong possibility she won't be pleased when she does learn the truth." Giles refrained from mentioning that in his personal opinion "not pleased" wouldn't begin to describe Buffy's reaction. "Extremely upset" would probably be much closer to the actuality.

       Angel closed his eyes. "Believe me, I'm aware of that."

       (Her eyes, swimming in tears; tragic. Her broken voice. "How am I supposed to go on with my life . . . knowing what we had - what we could have had?")

       ("You won't. No one will know but me.")

       ("Everything we did - ?")

       ("It never happened.")

       ("It did! I know it did!" The touch of her hand on his chest. "I felt your heart beat.")

       (Their desperate kiss, then her frantic look at the clock. "Oh God! It's not enough time!" Her arms in a stranglehold around his neck; his arms holding her as tightly as he could, knowing that moment would have to last him a lifetime. "I'll never forget! I'll never forget!")

       Giles noted the strain on his face, the way he was massaging his forehead as though it ached, and said no more.

       The evening was calm, only a slight breeze rustling in the tree tops. Stars were beginning to twinkle palely in the east as darkness pushed the last glimmer of light over the western horizon. By contrast, the Magic Box was lit up like a birthday cake, inside the store at least. Outside, the lights were off, the blinds were down, and the door was locked, with the "Closed" sign displayed on it. Seeing the lights and hearing the sound of voices from within, a few would-be customers tried the door anyway, then when it failed to open, peered around the edges of the blinds, wondering what they were missing out on.

       Inside, the cheerful atmosphere was further enhanced by the comforting fragrance of freshly baked cookies and brewing coffee. Buffy and Angel stood together at one side of the room; Xander ambled around, aimlessly checking out new items in the display cases. Dawn watched Giles, Tara and Willow with keen interest as they laid out supplies and paced off a circle, outlining it with a blue powder.

       "Would you like another chocolate chip cookie?" Anya proffered the plate to Buffy. "I made them myself. From scratch."

       "Yes, you've mentioned that," Buffy replied.

       Twice, Angel thought but was wise enough not to say out loud.

       Buffy forced herself to be polite. "They're really good, Anya, but I'm too wound up right now to eat. Maybe afterward." She managed a faint smile.

       "Sure." Anya gave her an understanding nod. "That's smart. I should have realized your stomach would be all fluttery right now - I know mine would be in your position - and we don't want you vomiting during the ceremony, do we?"

       "No," agreed Buffy solemnly. "That would definitely not be cool." Beside her, Angel stifled a chuckle.

       Xander, standing a few feet away, intervened. "I'll have another one, Ahn." He came over and selected a cookie off the plate, giving Buffy a wink.

       Anya surveyed him critically. "No more after this one, Xander. Those pants are already getting tight. Not that I mind seeing you in tight pants but I don't want to have to sew up another ripped seam."

       Xander remembered the last - and, hopefully, only - time she'd repaired a seam, and with a sigh replaced the cookie. "You're right." He glanced over at the trio, now busily tossing crushed herbs into the circle they'd made. "When do you think they'll be ready? They've been fussing over one thing or another ever since I got here."

       Willow answered without looking up from her task. "We want to be sure we get it right this time. Besides, you were early."

       Xander shrugged. "Couldn't wait. It isn't every day one of my best buds gets magically healed." A second later he added, "You're sure this is going to work, right? I mean, positively, cross-your-heart-and-hope-to - " He stopped. "Uh, I mean, you're absolutely sure?"

       Giles glanced his way. "There are very few absolute guarantees with magic, Xander. But we've researched this backward, forward, and upside down for over a week, not to mention consulted with experts in the field, and no one could discover any reason why using the blood to repair Buffy's soul shouldn't work."

       He didn't add that obtaining the blood had cost him big time, not so much in cash, although money had also been exchanged, but in the favors he now owed to several . . . beings. Mohra blood was a rare commodity, and cost accordingly.

       Angel squeezed Buffy's hand. She looked up. "I'm okay," she murmured, in response to his inquiring look. "I just wish it were over. I can't wait to feel like myself again."

       "I know." Angel stepped closer, wrapping her in his arms. This past week had seen a rapid deterioration in Buffy. Her energy level had declined to the point where she hadn't gone on patrol the previous three nights and she'd had to force herself to do even simple tasks like fixing dinner for Dawn. She no longer came to the mansion to greet him when he woke up, and when he arrived at her place he usually found her sitting on the couch staring listlessly at the television. Although she still took a daily shower she'd stopped bothering with makeup, and her pale face made his heart ache.

       Buffy sighed and rested her head on the comforting solidity of his chest. For a split-second she was surprised not to hear a heartbeat, but then she wondered why she was surprised. He's a vampire, she reminded herself ironically. His heart doesn't beat. He doesn't breathe, either - remember? Except in your dreams. Mentally shaking her head, she closed her eyes and relaxed in Angel's embrace. His arms now provided almost the only link to normality remaining to her. Even Dawn roused only faint stirrings of emotion these days.

       Xander glanced around the room. "Shouldn't the atmosphere be a little more, I don't know . . . serious? All these bright lights, looks like we're having a party in here, not a healing whatever-you-call it."

       Willow looked up; her voice was testy. "Exactly. It's a ceremony, not a seance, Xander. We don't need shadows and gloom."

       Tara, anxious to avoid conflict, added soothingly, "We can dim the lights before we start if they're bothering you."

       "No, no," Xander said hastily. "That's all right. I just thought we needed more ambience or something." Sheepishly he went over to Anya.

       Tara and Willow stopped their activities, followed a moment later by Giles. All three surveyed the results of their labors for a moment before Giles pulled a paper out of his pocket. "Let's go over the checklist," he said. After each item had been confirmed by one of them, he stood another moment in silence, then caught the gazes of the two woman and nodded. He went over to the entwined couple.

       "Buffy, we're ready. Do you need me to go over it again with you?"

       Angel released her and she turned, shrugging. "No. I mean, it isn't complicated. You're going to cast a healing spell or something on me, then you're going to cut my arm and smear the blood on it."

       Dawn objected, "Why do you have to cut her? Couldn't you just prick her finger with a needle or something? It worked for Sleeping Beauty."

       It was Angel who answered. "Mohra blood isn't like human blood. It's thicker, for one thing. If the wound is too small or too shallow the blood won't be able to enter Buffy's system." His lips pressed tightly together, visible evidence of his dislike for needing to hurt her. Buffy patted his arm.

       "I'll be as gentle as I can," promised Giles.

       She managed a smile. "I know. Don't worry about it." She went with him over to the large circle of crushed herbs. "I assume I stand in here?" Everyone gathered around as Buffy positioned herself in the center of the circle. The pungent fragrance of the herbs around her wafted to her nostrils, and she resisted the urge to sneeze. They didn't smell bad or anything, just . . . strong.

       In the training room, a figure silently entered through the window. It remained motionless for a long minute, listening intently, then cautiously opened the door leading to the main room. It paused again, making sure it hadn't been sighted before slipping through and darting stealthily as a shadow to the concealment of a tall bookcase where it could watch unobserved. Intense eyes found the dark-haired vampire, and the intruder noiselessly edged out until he had an unobstructed view of Angel. Lips drew back in a soundless snarl, and the weapon in its hand began to rise.

       The ceremony began. Tara lit the candle in her hand. "We call on the Powers of Good, on behalf of your beloved daughter."

       The weapon halted its upward swing. The figure in the shadows craned its neck as if trying to hear better.

       Willow lit her candle. "As she has protected us, let us now protect her."

       The candle in Angel's hand flared up. "Let our love sustain body and spirit, til she is whole inside as out. As we ask, so mote it be." His tone and the expression in his eyes turned his words into a prayer.

       Giles took up the second round. "We call on the Powers of Good, on behalf of your chosen warrior."

       "As she has protected us," Tara softly chimed in, "let us now protect her."

       Willow completed the blessing. "Let our strength sustain body and spirit, til she is whole inside as out. As we ask, so mote it be."

       "We call on the Powers of Good, on behalf of your selected champion." As Angel started the chant for the third time the lights suddenly dimmed, although they didn't go out entirely. Dawn looked over her shoulder at the shadows suddenly springing to life throughout the store, and rubbed her arms uneasily. A breeze appeared out of nowhere, lifting the ends of Buffy's hair.

       Giles continued, "As she has protected us, let us now protect her."

       "Let our strength sustain body and spirit, til she is whole inside as out. As we ask, so mote it be," Tara finished, and the fourth round began.

       "We call on the Powers of Good, on behalf of our beloved friend Buffy," chanted Willow.

       Specks of glowing light streamed out of the four participants, joining together in the circle where they whirled around Buffy in a luminous spiral. She stared in bemusement as several of the sparkles landed on her bare skin with no more sensation than if they were dust motes. She could hear the voices outside the circle, but they were muted . . . far off.

       "As she has protected us, let us now protect her." Angel's dark eyes had never left her face.

       Giles continued, "Let our love and strength sustain body and spirit, til she is whole inside as out."

       Then, as a group, strongly: "As we ask, so mote it be."

       Handing his candle to Tara, Giles stepped forward and with a swift gesture slashed Buffy's upper arm. Even though she'd been expecting it, Buffy gasped at the pain and involuntarily jerked out of his grasp. Blood immediately welled up, and Dawn passed her a folded handkerchief to hold over the wound.

       Willow handed Giles a tiny vial containing a fluorescent light-green liquid. He muttered some words over it and tugged at the cork. It came free with a tiny "pop!" as the seal that had preserved the contents for almost a century was broken. Quickly Giles brushed the handkerchief away and poured the blood over the cut.

       The viscous stuff didn't run down her arm; instead, for several seconds it sat on top of the injury like some sort of transparent neon bandage. Then, slowly, it seeped into the open wound. Knowing what would happen next, Angel set his candle down on a nearby table and went to Buffy. From the hiding place, the hard eyes watched his every move.

       Buffy watched the green blood with curiosity and slight trepidation. Her arm felt warm where the fluid lay on it. Seeing the stuff ooze into her body was disquieting, but it didn't hurt. Just the opposite, in fact - the throbbing from the cut was fading.

       "Wow, that feels better already," she said, then stopped with a loud gasp. Her entire arm began to burn with invisible fire. The heat spread rapidly across her shoulders and up her neck to her head, then down the other arm . . . her chest . . . waist . . . abdominal region . . . both her legs and feet. Buffy was vaguely aware of Angel's arm around her, supporting her, but the fire within her body and mind commanded all her attention.

       Images flashed before her eyes: a long fall through a maelstrom of sounds and sensations . . . clear blue skies and warmth, and her mother smiling at her, arms wide open . . . Kendra's throaty chuckle . . . Jenny Calendar's wise dark eyes . . . peace and happiness and safety. . . .

       As suddenly as it had begun the burning stopped, and Buffy straightened up with a sigh of relief. "I'm all right," she said to the anxious friends surrounding her. She paused, assessing her condition. "In fact, I haven't felt this good in a long time."

       Glancing at her arm, she broke out in a wide grin. The slash was closing even as she looked. "I think it worked, Giles. No, I know it worked!" She laughed out loud.

       Matching grins appeared on every face. Willow hugged Tara, then turned and threw herself at Giles, who was also enduring a back-thumping from an enthusiastic Xander. Only Angel saw Buffy's face change. "Buffy?"

       Her eyes were fixed, staring at nothing. "Buffy, what's wrong?"

       She didn't answer. Once again she was awash in images and sensations. And voices. Hers. And Angel's.

       (The warmth of the sun on her back as they kissed . . . "Mmm, this is a dream. You're human for like a minute and already there's cookie-dough-fudge-mint-chip in the fridge" . . . "That time you just spent in the kitchen? That was enough time apart" . . . the taste of ice cream and warm, bare skin . . . tumbling over in bed with Angel's arms around her . . . his naked body above her . . . "No, I want to stay awake - so this day can keep happening" . . . "Sleep. We'll make another one like it tomorrow" . . .)

       (. . . "Together, you were strong. Alone, you are dead" . . . fighting a tall demon with a glowing red jewel in its forehead . . . Angel, hurt, lying in a crumpled heap . . . "I'm guessing that expression isn't because they were out of fresh o.j. at the deli" . . . "I went to see the Oracles; I asked them to turn me back" . . . "If anything, I'm a liability to you" . . . "How can we be together if the cost is your life, or the lives of others?". . ." A minute? No! No, it's not enough time" . . . "How am I supposed to go on with my life knowing what we had? What we could have had?" . . . "No one will know but me" . . . "I'll never forget, I'll never forget". . . .)

       Tears filled her eyes and flowed down her cheeks.

       "What's wrong with her?" Xander demanded. Dawn's hands clapped over her mouth; she began crying. Giles shook his head helplessly and looked at Angel. "Do you know what's happening?"

       "No," Angel said tersely. Just then Buffy gave a long, shuddering sigh and slumped against him. "Buffy? Are you all right? What happened?"

       "Oh my God." She raised streaming eyes to his and touched his face. "It wasn't a dream."

       Angel felt as though he'd been turned to stone. "What?" he choked. She couldn't mean what it sounded like she meant. Giles caught his breath, giving Angel a swift glance.

       "It really happened," she whispered through trembling lips. "All of it. You were human and we were together. I told you I'd never forget, but I did. I did - and I'm sorry. God, Angel, I'm so sorry!"

       "Huh? What's she talking about?" Xander demanded. He looked at Willow and Tara, who shook their heads; at Dawn, who though no longer crying, also looked bewildered and a little scared; at Giles, who only motioned him to be quiet. Behind the bookcase, the eavesdropper frowned in confusion.

       Angel struggled to speak. "You . . . remember?"

       She nodded, still caressing his cheek. "Everything. Kissing you in the sunlight at the beach, kissing you in your kitchen - " Her hand moved down, gently flattened over his heart. "I felt your heart beat."

       "You don't . . . hate me?" he whispered, still in shock from the unexpected suddenness of it. This wasn't at all how he'd planned on telling her. Not that he'd actually had a plan, not yet, but this sure wouldn't have been it.

       "Hate you?" Buffy gave a small sob, shaking her head. "How could I possibly hate you? You did it for me, to keep me alive."

       Slowly the intruder's weapon lowered again, until its tip pointed at the ground.

       Xander frowned. "But - you died. I mean, I don't understand anything that's going on right now, but you did die, Buffy. Remember?"

       Buffy hadn't looked away from Angel. "Six months ago, yes. But if Angel hadn't sacrificed his humanity for me, it would have been sooner. Can you ever forgive me?"

       "For what?" whispered Angel.

       More tears spilled down her face. "For forgetting. All this time you've had to live with the memories of what we had, what we could have had. You must have felt so alone. I'm sorry." Her breath caught in another sob.

       "Keeping you alive was worth every second of the pain," he whispered, then they were in each other's arms, kissing.

       Giles cleared his throat. "Er, yes. Well, er, perhaps we should, uh, start clearing this stuff away." He motioned toward the candles and herbs. A slight sound caught his ear. He turned sharply. "Who's there?"

       Buffy and Angel pulled apart and instantly looked around for weapons. Grabbing up a nearby chunk of crystal, Giles stared at the bookcases. From the shadows at the end of the row, another, shorter shadow slowly detached itself. As it emerged into the light, it revealed itself as a man; a man with long, tangled hair, wearing old-fashioned clothing and carrying a crossbow aimed directly at Angel's chest.

       "Hello, Angelus. It's been a long time."

       It took Angel a moment to find his voice. "Holtz???"

END OF PART 18