Buffy the Vampire Slayer - The Willow Files Vol. 2

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s

imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or

dead, is entirely coincidental.

AnOriginal Publication of POCKET BOOKS

POCKET PULSE, published by Pocket Books, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

Visit us on the World Wide Web:

http://www.SimonSays.com

For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

ISBN: 0-7434-3129-4

POCKET PULSE and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

WILLOW JUMPED WHEN HER MOTHER OPENED HER DOOR AND STRODE OVER

TO THE BED.

Before Willow could think, the older woman reached down, closed the laptop, and disconnected the

modem line. She tucked the computer under her arm. “I see what you’re doing,” Sheila Rosenberg said.

“You’re challenging me. But I willnot have you communicating with your . . . cyber-coven or what have

you.”

Willow brought her legs around and sat upright. “Coven? What happened to me being delusional and

acting out?”

“Well, that was before I talked in depth with Ms. Summers and her associates. It seems I’ve been rather

close-minded.” She waved a hand in the air.

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Willow brightened. “So you believe me?”

Her mother’s face softened, and she smiled sweetly. “I believe you, dear.” She hesitated for the briefest

of moments. “Now all I can do is let you go with love.”

Willow’s mouth dropped open. “Let me go? What does that mean? Mom?”

Her mother didn’t answer. Instead she turned and walked out of Willow’s room, shut the door behind

herself—

—and locked it.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer™

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Ghoul Trouble

(movie tie-in)

Doomsday Deck

The Harvest

The Angel Chronicles, Vol. 1

Halloween Rain

The Angel Chronicles, Vol. 2

Coyote Moon

The Angel Chronicles, Vol. 3

Night of the Living Rerun

The Xander Years, Vol. 1

Blooded

The Xander Years, Vol. 2

Visitors

The Willow Files, Vol. 1

Unnatural Selection

The Willow Files, Vol. 2

The Power of Persuasion

How I Survived My Summer Vacation,

Deep Water

Vol. 1

Here Be Monsters

Available from ARCHWAY Paperbacks and POCKET PULSE

Buffy the Vampire Slayer adult books

Child of the Hunt

Sins of the Father

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Return to Chaos

Resurrecting Ravana

The Gatekeeper Trilogy

Prime Evil

Book 1: Out of the Madhouse

The Evil That Men Do

Book 2: Ghost Roads

Paleo

Book 3: Sons of Entropy

Spike and Dru: Pretty Maids

Obsidian Fate

All in a Row

Immortal

Revenant

The Watcher’s Guide, Vol. 1

The Watcher’s Guide, Vol. 2

The Postcards

The Essential Angel

The Sunnydale High Yearbook

Pop Quiz: Buffy the Vampire Slayer

The Monster Book

The Script Book, Vol. 1

The Script Book, Vol. 2

Available from POCKET BOOKS

BUFFY

SLAYER™

THE WILLOW FILES

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Vol. 2

A novelization by Yvonne Navarro

Based on the hit TV series created by Joss Whedon

Based on the teleplays “Gingerbread” by Jane Espenson

(story by Thania St. John and Jane Espenson),

“Doppelgängland” by Joss Whedon,

and “Choices” by David Fury

POCKET PULSE

New York London Toronto Sydney Singapore

Acknowledgments

The Files

File: Gingerbread

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

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Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Epilogue

File: Doppelgängland

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Epilogue

File: Choices

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Epilogue

About the Author

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This one’s for

Robyn Fielder,

my second sister and savior.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks to Christopher Golden, Micol Ostow, Lisa Clancy, Sephera Giron, Robyn Fielder, Don

VanderSluis, and, as always, my dad, Marty Cochran, for providing the Land of Dad’s Free Rent, Food,

and Phone.

THE FILES

DAILY JOURNAL ENTRY:

Okay, so I haven’t been as good at keeping my computer journal up to date as I thought I’d be.

It’s not like we haven’t been busy around here, you know. In fact, things have been like ultra,

super-mondo busy, with stuff happening at twice the usual Sunnydale weird-rate. Think I’m joking? We

havetwo Slayers now—the new one is called Faith, and she just kind of . . . showed up one evening in

the Bronze and started vamp pummeling that same night. She’s sort of wild and, well, she doesn’t follow

orders very well—Giles seems pretty freaked a lot of the time, since his constant grown-up attempt at the

authority thing is pretty much lost on Faith. As for Buffy . . . she’s different now. I know that the time she

spent away from Sunnydale last summer had a big impact on her mind and heart, but Faith has affected

her in a different way. It’s hard to put my finger on it, but she seems half dismayed by the way Faith acts,

but half competitive, too . . . like she has to constantly prove she’s still worth something now.

Even with two Slayers, it doesn’t seem like anyone’s managed to sneak to tally past the Hellmouth’s

influence. Not long after Faith got here, this guy named Scott who was sweet on Buffy for a while lost a

couple of good friends, Pete and Debbie, to the special brand of evil influence that seeps all through this

town. Pete was so obsessed with being perfect for Debbie that he just couldn’t see beyond the illusion he

had about what was right and what was wrong, and in the end it killed them both. The whole

Scott-as-a-potential-Buffy-boyfriend thing blew up big-time when Angel came back from Hell at the

same time I nearly lost Oz.

No, the vampires didn’t almost get him, and that creepy werewolf hunter Gib Cain didn’t come skulking

back into town. I’ve thought a lot of things about myself—like sometimes I’m so dependable and

predictable that I even turninvisible— but I always thought I was at least smart and in control. I guess

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sometimes even the smartest of us, well, lose it, just mess up the best of what we’ve got going without

really understanding why we’re doing what we’re doing at the time, a whacked-out version of that urge

to push that big red button labeled “Don’t Push Me!” You know which one—it’s usually tied to the

bomb that blows up everything worthwhile in your existence.

See, this thing I had for Xander all these years . . . and, it turns out, he always had this kind of thing for

me, too, you know? But he never said or did anything, and neither did I. But then we were trying to get

ready for homecoming, and we just—

Okay, we ended up, somehow, kissing. To make it even worse, after that, it seemed like we couldn’tnot

grab a smoochie or two every chance we got, or play footsie in class, or whatever. I’m not even sure

how or why, but there it was, this . . .thing between us, except it wasn’t really athing, just a freaky sort

of delayed attraction. I tried concocting a spell to cool things off, but I never did pull it together in time,

and my Wiccan skills are still growing—they need a little, like, fine-tuning or whatever. Not long after

was when Cordelia and Oz found out about Xander and me . . . except they did it the hard way.

As in a direct eye-view when Xander and I thought we were alone.

It was pretty awful—Cordelia totally wigged and started to stalk off, but she was on these rickety stairs,

and they, like,collapsed. She fell and got impaled by a piece of metal sticking out of the floor below us,

and for one terrible moment we all thought she was dead. It turned out that she was okay, thank God,

but poor Xander—even while she was in the hospital, she wouldn’t have anything to do with him, and

now that she’s out . . . she certainly won’t forgive him. I’m really lucky, though; it took some time, but Oz

decided to give us—me and him—another chance.

I’m just so sorry to see Xander suffer like this, especially since a lot of it is my fault—sharing the blame

is the only honest thing. As for Cordelia . . . she can be so venomous to begin with, but I can’t help but

think it might have gone a little better for her if she’d had her old friends to give her support . . . well,

whatever kind of support you get from people like that, anyway. But they pretty much abandoned her

after Xander, and I guess they really reveled in their turn to lord it over Cordy—I heard there was a lot

of verbal cutting directed at her.

A lot of people—okay, adults—claim that what goes around comes around. It might sound like a bunch

of hooey, but so does a lot of stuff—like zombies, vampires, demons, and a whole host of other creepies

that make the adults roll their eyes. So what if that saying is true? Because . . . well, divine payback

scares me to death after what I did to Oz, even though he forgives me. How sad that we don’t always

see the wonderful in what we have when it’s right in front of us, or worse, sometimes we let someone

else cloud our view of what’s out there. . . .

/PRESSENTER TOSAVEFILE/

FILE: GINGERBREAD

PROLOGUE

In any other town, this could have—wouldhave—been a pleasant stroll through a moonlit park. There

was a nice, cool breeze gently ruffling the leaves overhead, the smell of freshly cut grass still lingered from

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an earlier Park District mowing, the street lamps cast a nice, inviting glow over everything, and the bugs

were singing . . . or whatever it was that bugs did on a cool, early-spring evening.

But, of course, this was Sunnydale.

Blech,Buffy Summers thought as she eyed a heavy, close-cut bush a few feet off the walkway. It was

trimmed in a decorative circular design, and its leaf-laden branches swung sideways for the second time,

an unnatural movement and sound so different from the way the wind would have shaken them that it

might as well have been a gong in Buffy’s ears. Bloodsucker? Or demon? Buffy pulled out a stake and

stepped toward it cautiously, but she stopped a few feet away. Until she knew exactly what she was

dealing with, it was safer and more efficient to let it come to her—

“Is it a vampire?”

Buffy jumped and gripped her stake as her mother strode up from the other direction and stopped in

front of her. Smiling, Joyce Summers held a brown paper bag and a thermos.

Buffy’s mouth dropped open. “Mom? What are you doing here?”

Joyce hefted the lunch bag invitingly. “I brought you a snack. I thought it was about time I came out to

watch, you know, the Slaying.”

She wanted towatch? “Mom, you know the Slaying . . . it’s kind of an alone thing.” Her gaze cut past

her mother and focused once more on the bush, the branches that were jerking around again. She slipped

past Joyce and circled it, then realized her mom was trailing after her.

“But it’s such a big part of your life,” Joyce pointed out. “And I’d like to understand it. It’s something

we could share.”

Buffy blinked. Slaying as a family activity—why did she think this was on a fast track to failure? “It’s

really pretty dull. Bam, boom, stick, poof. Not much to—”

The bloodsucker that leaped at her from behind the bush was suit-and-tie clad, nice and toothy. Buffy

shoved her mother backward as she stepped up to meet the thing’s attack. Blocking the vamp’s

downward punch, she spun and landed a solid roundhouse kick.

“Good, honey! Kill it!” Joyce shouted encouragingly.

The vampire stumbled backward, and Buffy jumped at it. Not quick enough—the thing got one of its

feet up and caught her smack in the stomach. She went over its head like a rotating bicycle wheel and

came down on her back behind it.

Her mother’s excited voice propelled her back to her feet. “Buffy—he’s over here!”

She wanted to give her mother a “look”—something along the order of “Bad Mom!” would’ve been

doable—but there really wasn’t time. She scrambled back to a fighting stance, but—

“Oh, myGod —it’s Mr. Sanderson from the bank!”

—her mother’s incredulous words wiggled into her head and cut her concentration, making her efforts

clumsy and uncoordinated. It required a double effort on her part, plus she had to take a few hard

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knocks, but she finally got the bloodsucker down with a leg sweep. In position at last, she raised her

stake—

“Are you sure you have to kill him?” Joyce asked. “He opened my IRA.”

Thrown off track, Buffy glanced at her mother in exasperation. “He’snot Mr. Sanderson anymore,

Mom. He’s—”

The thing she’d been holding down bucked and was up in an instant.

“—getting away,” Joyce finished for her.

This time, Buffydid get a “look” off to Joyce, a hard one. “Stay,” she commanded harshly, then sprinted

after the newly changed bank officer. Sanderson was fresh and awkward, completely inexperienced, and

already she was closing on him—she had no doubt that in less than two minutes he’d be dust. Still, her

mother was back there, alone and unprotected, so she had to get this over with as quickly as possible.

There was no telling what kind of mischief an unsupervised mom could get involved in around here.

* * *

Joyce watched her daughter chase after the vampire, feeling another pang of regret for the late Mr.

Sanderson, intensified when she realized she’d never even known his first name. After a moment she

glanced around and decided she didn’t like this small clearing in the park—it was surrounded by too

many hedges and trees, too quiet and isolated. Better, she thought as she shrugged a little against the chill,

to move on ahead and into the playground area. It was more open and far less likely to offer hiding

places to unsavory creatures of the night, plus just being surrounded by the children’s play equipment

made her feel better.

As if to reaffirm that, Joyce spied a toy truck a few feet in front of her. Small and battered, it was on its

side in one of a dozen mini-puddles left by yesterday’s rain, just inside the swing-set area. Somewhere

behind her, she heard her daughter’s yell, recognized it instantly as victorious—good for Buffy, she’d

vanquished that nasty vampire. Satisfied, Joyce put the lunch bag and thermos on a bench and went over

to the tiny truck, lifting the neglected toy from the water with a small smile as she straightened again.

Perhaps someone would come back tomor—

She froze.

Forgotten, the toy truck slipped from her fingers and fell to the dirt as her shocked gaze focused on what

was on the merry-go-round twenty feet away, then went to the figure on the gritty ground next to it.

“Oh . . . God,” she whimpered. Against her will, against all reason, her feet carried her closer to the

dreadful thing in front of her.

One child, a boy, lay on his side on the merry-go-round, his face serene and nearly as pale as his golden

blond hair. The other was a girl, smaller and sprawled on the ground a few feet away, shining blond curls

framing the cold, forever-silenced features of her face above a cute striped shirt.

The night surrounded Joyce suddenly, bringing not comfort but a deep, soul-chilling sadness at the sight

of these two tiny dead children, each with a hand outflung as if in supplication, palm up, and painted with

a dark and enigmatic symbol . . .

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CHAPTER 1

On patrol, Weatherly Park was usually dark and quiet, the perfect place for a beastie in munch mode to

lurk, a grand area to patrol and send that same beastie on a quick ride back to Hell. Now, however, it

might as well have been high noon—the place was filled with portable lights, noise, and people, and all of

them were running on this bizarre sort of contained energy that was half panic, half shocked numbness.

Police officers moved from squad car to squad car and then to the waiting coroner’s van, talking into

static-filled radios and stringing crime tape while a police photographer recorded the terrible deed from

all angles.

Buffy couldn’t believe it. She was accustomed to seeing vamps, even vamp children; while she’d never

gotten used to it, shehad reached a point where she could deal—she knew the cause and the culprit that

brought about the birth of a baby bloodsucker, and she knew, too, that she was not only releasing the

child’s physical form from demonic entrapment but saving others at the same time.

But this . . .

The boy was maybe eight years old, the girl possibly six. Brother and sister, without a doubt—had there

not been that obvious age difference, they looked so much alike they might have been Teutonic twins.

The shining blond hair hinted at a Scandinavian or German heritage, but the police would verify that later,

when the parents were given the terrible news that their children would never return. She hoped they’d

be able to forget the sight of the small bodies with the deathly pale skin and blue-tinged lips, that they’d

be able to remember how they’d been in life rather than in death.

The officer she’d been talking to made a final notation on his clipboard, then nodded at her and angled

away. Buffy hugged herself for a moment, then made her way to her mother’s side. Joyce didn’t even

move when Buffy walked up, just stood there, staring into space. “They said we can go home now,”

Buffy said softly.

For a moment Joyce said nothing, then her eyes met Buffy’s. “They were little kids,” she said in a small

voice. “Did you see them? So . . . tiny.”

“I saw.”

Joyce’s expression was devastated. “Who would do something like this? I never—” She choked a little

and hung her head, fighting back tears.

“I’m so sorry you had to see this,” Buffy said. She touched her mother’s arm. “But it’s going to be

okay.”

Joyce only looked at her. “How?”

“I’ll find whatever did this,” Buffy said without hesitation.

Still, it was obvious her mother wasn’t comforted. “I guess. It’s just that you can’t . . .” She paused, then

drew in a breath. “You can’t make itright.” Her shoulders began to shake.

Buffy put her arms out and pulled her mother into a tight hug. “It’s okay,” she said as soothingly as she

could. “I’ll take care of everything. I promise, Mom. Just try to calm down.”

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Thisbookisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,placesandincidentsareproductsoftheauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously.Anyresemblancetoactualeventsorlocalesorpersons,livingordead,isentirelycoincidental.AnOriginalPublicationofPOCKETBOOKSPOCKETPULSE,publishedbyPocketBooks,adivisionofSimon&Schuster,Inc.1...

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