Night of the Living Rerun by Arthur Byron Cover

Author:Arthur Byron Cover
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon Pulse

CHAPTER 8

The black raincoat she’d borrowed from Giles was much too big for Buffy, but at least it had a hood and protected her somewhat from the continuous rain. Though she was on the verge of becoming totally out of breath, she continued running toward the gallery, where she hoped to prevent MacGovern/Mather from obtaining V.V. Vivaldi’s Moonman statue.

She ran through an open shopping center, across a small park and through a ritzy neighborhood. Normally when she had this great a distance to make across Sunnydale, she broke down and asked Giles for a lift, but right now he was running a temperature of a hundred and four and was taking a cold shower in the boy’s locker room. Xander’s job was to take care of Giles, while Willow was surfing the Net hoping to find some kernel of information about Prince Eisenberg, The Eibon, V.V. Vivaldi, or anything else that might prevent tonight’s events from becoming an absolute rerun of the past.

Buffy hated prophecies. Especially this one. Normally she didn’t like to admit to herself that she needed help—even when she knew she did—but she had no problem making an exception in this case. It was too bad Angel wasn’t around. He often showed up whenever he was afraid she would get in over her head, but tonight he was nowhere to be seen. She supposed even a conscience-ridden vampire had a social life; that is, if he wasn’t out raiding a blood bank somewhere.

At least the raincoat was doing its job. Without her boots, though, her shoes were soaked, and her feet felt wrinkled to a wormlike state by the wet.

Her Slayer instincts were doing their job, too. She knew the Hummer following her belonged to the Churches. They were good at their work too. Every time she took a shortcut or deliberately went down a narrow alley impossible for them to get their jeep through, they always picked her up a short distance down the line.

Buffy had the distinct suspicion the Churches might be more heavily involved in this affair than they’d intended. She also wondered if they were aware of the other set of headlights—belonging to a van—following them. Probably. They were undoubtedly used to occasional media attention by now.

Even so, if she couldn’t prevent the Moonman from being stolen, then her task was to keep the four former worshippers of the Despised One from doing a reprise of their “unsavory” dance. She figured that if she could prevent one major element of the original incident from fitting into its proper place, then the entire prophecy might wash away with the smog and pollen in the storm.

Buffy was just a half-mile from the gallery when she finally spotted MacGovern/Mather. He was drenched. He shambled down the center of the street, which tonight was devoid of traffic thanks to the terrific storm; everybody with a semblance of common sense—or no bodily repossessions—was staying home.

She was glad to be able to slow down. Her heart was beating so hard that she was surprised he couldn’t hear it, even over the frequent thunder.

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