Ghoul Trouble
Page 5
“Most call me Solitaire.”
Skull John scratched his chin, a movement that set the human skulls on his necklace clattering together like macabre wind chimes. “Solitaire . . . .” he said, then his eyes widened. “Ah—I’ve heard that name! More than a century ago. You’re the one they talk about, the vampire who walks in the sun.”
“Since my reputation precedes me,” Solitaire remarked, “I presume you will comply with my request for information.”
Skull John barked a laugh. “You think I should be afraid? Tell you everything you want to know? Listen, Solitaire, Day Walker or not, down here we’re the same, you and 1.1 am your equal. Cancel that. Down here, I am your superior.” He picked up Marcus’s broken necklace. “Maybe you should be the one to wear this next. To demonstrate your fealty.”
Solitaire grinned. “If you tell me what I want to know, you can maintain the delusion of your own superiority.” Goad him along, Solitaire thought. He’ll never tell me what I want to know until I force it out of him.
“All right, let’s play your game,” Skull John said. He walked back and forth in small arcs, as if sizing up the competition. Solitaire suspected that Skull John was hoping to lull him into a moment of inattention before he made his move. “What exactly do you think I know?”
“The name of the Slayer.”
“There’s a Slayer hereabouts?” Skull John asked innocently. “And no one thought to tell me.”
“I know the Slayer is here,” Solitaire said. “She would be drawn to this place. Just as you were. And I’m sure she’s dusted a few of your cronies already.”
“I come and go where I please. No concerns about this Slayer.”
“Another delusion. Fine,” Solitaire said. “Now tell me her name.”
“If I did know her name, why would I tell you?”
“Because I’m going to do you a favor, Johnny,” Solitaire said. “I’m going to kill her for you.”
Skull John laughed. “Better vamps than you have tried.”
“It’s a win-win situation,” Solitaire said. “You have nothing to lose.”
“Go home and forget about the Slayer. She’s out of your league.” He snapped his fingers. From each of the two tunnels flanking the throne chair, a hulking vampire appeared. They were large, in full demonic vampface, fangs prominent. Both wore black T-shirts, the fealty necklaces and khaki pants. Solitaire realized they were twins. “Now get the hell out of here. Kyle and Carl will show you the way.”
“Tell me,” Solitaire goaded. “What league do you have to be in to have somebody else fight your battles?”
Skull John stepped forward and displayed his own vampface and fangs. He hissed, “I stopped taking out the garbage years ago.”
Solitaire struck him with a right jab, flattening his nose. Skull John roared and charged him, arms wide. Letting Skull John’s momentum carry them both down, Solitaire rolled on his back and thrust a foot out, hurling Skull John against the wall, where several of the skulls on his necklace shattered, dribbling canines and molars.
Before Skull John could shake off the impact, Solitaire was back on his feet and in two quick strides landed a solid kick in Skull John’s stomach, lifting him off the ground. Skull John swatted one of Solitaire’s legs out from under him and grabbed his head between his hands. He tried to remove Solitaire’s head as if it were a twist-off bottle cap and never saw the uppercut that slammed his jaw shut so hard that one of his fangs shattered.
Skull John sidestepped and pulled an oil lantern off a hook and brought it down in both hands toward Solitaire’s head. Solitaire raised a forearm in time to shatter the glass housing and swat the lantern aside. It crashed on top of the wooden table and he heard a whoosh of flames behind him. He ducked low, grabbed Skull John around the upper thighs and hurled him over his head right onto the burning table.
Roaring, Skull John tried to roll off the table, even as he swatted at the flames scorching his bare back and arms. Solitaire scooped up one of the rickety chairs and smashed it over Skull John’s head as he fell from the table.
Staggering away from Solitaire and the burning table, Skull John yelled to his twin henchmen, “Don’t just stand there!”
Immediately, Kyle—or was it Carl?—whipped the black velvet cloth off of Skull John’s throne and tossed it over the flames to extinguish them.
“Not the fire, you fool,” Skull John shouted as he stumbled back to the wall.
Carl sidestepped his brother and made a move toward Solitaire, but he was too late. Solitaire grappled with the stunned vampire leader and had him in a death grip before Carl had taken three steps. Carl froze.
“Don’t just stand there!” Skull John shouted. “Waste him!”
Now both brothers crept forward.
Solitaire had a stake against Skull John’s chest before they could get their hands on him. “One more step and I dust him. Two more steps and I dust the both of you after.” He looked at Skull John’s grimacing face. “Call them off.”
“Do as he says,” Skull John whispered, just loud enough for them to hear and obey.
The vampire twins stopped, seemingly happy with the turn of events. Solitaire thought they were cautiously optimistic that they would live to bite another day. Solitaire tightened his grip just enough to assure Skull John’s full attention. “Her name?”
“Summers,” Skull John replied. “Buffy Summers.”
“Good boy, Johnny,” Solitaire said. “Anything else I should know?”
Skull John looked confused, apprehensive. “What? No, nothing.”
“I’m going to let you live,” Solitaire said. “You know why? No, don’t answer. I’ll tell you why. I need you and your goons to stay out of the picture until I’ve had my little dance with the Slayer. Not that I think any one of your crew is a match for her one on one, but your type probably likes to hunt in gangs. So, forget about it. Leave her to me.”
“Leave her to you,” Skull John repeated, but not convincingly.
“See, now I’ve changed my mind,” Solitaire said. “I guess I will kill you after all.” He pulled the stake back just enough to give the thrust some force.
“Wait! Wait! There is something else.”
“Much better,” Solitaire said, but kept the stake poised in striking position. “Let’s hear it.”
“There’s a rumor that she . . . she has a pet vampire,” Skull John said, “who watches her back.”
“A pet vampire, hmm?” Solitaire wondered why a vampire would aid a Slayer. In exchange for his life, perhaps. Even so, why would a Slayer suffer a vampire to live. Curious. “An interesting tidbit.”
“Thought you’d like that,” Skull John said, confident again.
“Yes, very good,” Solitaire said. More for the benefit of the twins, who could see him, than for Skull John, who could not, Solitaire flashed a set of impressive fangs and an equally pronounced vampiric face. “Bye-bye.”
“What—?” The stake was in Skull John’s heart that fast. Another explosion of dust followed. Then the strand of skulls clattered to the floor.
“You killed him,” Kyle said, staring dumbfounded at the skulls on the ground, the only evidence that his vampire lord had been standing there a moment ago.
“He was annoying,” Solitaire said.
Carl cleared his throat. All the time he needed to change his allegiance. “I always thought so.”
“Johnny had a bad attitude,” Solitaire said. “You boys, on the other hand, do what you’re told. Right?” They both nodded quickly. “So, spread the word to the rest of Skull John’s goons. From now on, they and you listen to me and only me. For now, I’ll keep it simple. Keep your hands off the Slayer. I doubt that will be too much of a hardship for you. Understood?” More nods. “Any questions?” Shaking heads. “Good,” he said, smiling. “Gentlemen, I think we’ve reached consensus.”
They almost smiled in relief.
“And one more thing,” Solitaire added. “Lose those stupid necklaces.”
* * *
As Xander made his way to his locker after lunch, he stopped short at the sudden realization that he couldn’t recall the content of any of his morning classes. While his body had been slouched in his usual seat in each classroom, his mind had wandered back to the previous night’s Vyxn performance. Sometimes you just can’t get a song out of your head. No big deal, he figured. Vyxn would be long gone in a few days and things would return to what passed for normal at Hellmouth central. Might as well enjoy the diversion while I can.
He glimpsed Oz at his locker, fishing a textbook out from the bottom of a pile. So Xander veered across the hallway, stopping to rap his knuckles on the open locker door. “Hey, Oz.”
“Hey.”
“See you at the show tonight?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Oz said, swinging the door shut with a clang.
* * *
Between classes, Buffy waited near the checkout counter of the library while Giles tried to pull his attention out of one of his particularly oversized volumes, a Who’s Who in the Demon Underworld, she was sure. “Anybody home?” she asked finally.
“I’m sorry, Buffy,” Giles said, with one last look at the passage he’d been reading. “Quiet patrol last night, you say?”
“Not a creature was stirring,” she replied. “I even managed to log some quality study time.”
“Really?”
“You don’t have to look so surprised, Giles,” Buffy declared. “I do read the occasional textbook lesson. Sometimes more than once.”
“No, no, Buffy, I just meant that it’s gratifying to see you’ve been able to achieve some balance in your life.”
“Good thing, too,” Buffy replied. “I got corralled into a morning pep talk with my new guidance counselor. She believes one can never study enough.”
“I would tend to agree with her—except, of course, in the case of the Slayer.”
“Of course,” Buffy said sweetly. “So, any progress on the identity of our flesh-eater? Since I haven’t seen any revivified corpses staggering around Weatherly Park, I vote we rule out zombies.”
“Agreed,” Giles said. “Willow has turned up some missing persons reports but we’ve found no references to human bones. So far, we have a solitary victim. Since all references to ghouls indicate they travel in packs, I would expect a great deal more carnage. Moreover, I found no specific references in the Watcher journals to ghouls preying in this country. However, there would appear to be any number of creatures with a taste for human flesh.”
“Terrific,” Buffy said. “We’re demon delicacies.”
“There is one in particular, a fascinating creature at least seven feet tall.” Giles reached for the ancient tome he’d left on the counter and spun it around for her to get a better look at the crude, hand-drawn picture on the open page.
She read the caption. “The Rasselu demon.”
Giles nodded and read her a short passage. “With its head and hands perpetually cast in magical flame, the Rasselu demon roasts its victims alive, then strips off and devours their fl—”
“Please,” Buffy said, holding up a hand. “I just had the mystery meat for lunch. Could we read the rest later?”
* * *
Xander and Oz sat at a table close to the stage. They had both ordered sodas, but their glasses were down to melting ice cubes and they hadn’t bothered to reorder. Even though Vyxn had not yet come onstage for their second night’s performance, Xander was having trouble focusing on the conversation. He kept looking to the stage for some sign, any sign that the band was about to begin their show.
“So Will’s not coming?” he asked Oz. He couldn’t remember if he’d already asked that particular question.
“She’s agonizing over this history paper,” Oz said. “She sees it as a challenge to her integrity.”
“You’ve offered to help?”
“Of course.”
“And?”
“Integrity again,” Oz said. “Says it’s her decision. Gotta respect that.”
“Maybe they should grade integrity on a curve,” Xander said. I wonder if Vyxn will be wearing the same costumes. “Then you would get points for good intentions.”
“Good intentions?” Oz asked wryly.
Xander nodded. “Yeah, since they’re not just for paving the road to hell, anymore.”
Oz had decided to give Willow some space, yet he still found it odd that he was sitting in the Bronze, hanging out with Xander. As good a place as any, he thought. But it was more than that. He had been thinking about the lead singer’s distinctive voice through most of the day. Coming to the Bronze seemed a good way, the perfect way, to prove to himself that it had been nothing more than his imagination adding some element of mystery, of enchantment that wasn’t really there.
The crowd cheered as the band took the stage. Oz hardly noticed that most of the patrons were male tonight. He didn’t care that the band performed the same songs in the same order with the same amount of theatrics as they had their first night. Lupa’s voice really was distinctive.
Oz realized he’d been staring at the band for quite a while when somebody crossed his line of sight. He looked up and saw Cordelia, Troy beside her. “Hello, Xander,” Cordelia said, standing practically in front of him.
“Oh, hi, Cordy,” he said, craning his neck a little to see the stage behind her.
“Figured you couldn’t get enough of the trashy bondage babes.”
“Further evidence of my bad taste,” Xander replied. “You’ll recall I used to date you.”
“Enjoy the show, Xander. Someday maybe you’ll actually get a life.” She led Troy to an empty table.
Xander didn’t bother to track her progress. “She’s gone, right?” he asked Oz without looking away from the stage.
“Definitely,” Oz said and found himself staring as well . . . until Willow stepped in front of him. Oz glanced around and saw Angel and Buffy standing beside her. Buffy was eyeing Angel curiously as he checked out the band.
“Hey, babe,” Oz said to Willow, staying focused on her with some effort.
“Hey,” Willow said, and then deflated a bit when she saw that his full attention was not forthcoming. She turned to Angel, as if to explain Oz’s faux pas. “She has a very distinctive voice.”
“Angel, you’re a guy,” Buffy said to him. “Cast your vote? Major label, independent label, wedding and bar mitzvah gigs or perpetual garage band?”
“I might be slightly outside their target age demographic.”
“Noted,” Buffy said. “Now pull the lever.”
“Aside from their obvious physical charms . . .” Angel began.
“No need to linger there.”
“Musically?” Angel asked.
Buffy nodded.
“They’re . . . competent.”
“Competent?”
Angel nodded. “There’s no flourish, no passion in their playing. It’s hard to explain. Maybe it’s just that they don’t seem to . . . have experienced what their songs are about”
“See,” Buffy said to Willow. “No reason to go gaga.”
Willow surveyed the crowd, her gaze finally settling on Oz before she looked to Buffy. “And yet, there’s a whole lot of gaga going on.” Willow pulled up a chair and sat partially in front of Oz. He noticed her and raised his eyebrows. “Oz, want to help me look for something?”
“Now?”
“Now would be good.”
“O . . . okay,” Oz said. “I’m good.”
She took his hand and looked at Buffy. “I have an idea I’d like to check. It might be nothing.”
“Okay, Will,” Buffy said. “Be careful. Angel and I will probably do a patrol through Weatherly Park before I settle down for some good old-fashioned fun with schoolbooks.” Oz and Willow left, holding hands, but Oz kept looking back
over his shoulder at the stage. The lead singer of Vyxn was whispering in some guy’s ear.
Angel was watching the band with the intense look he usually reserved for her. “Hey,” Buffy said, nudging him. “You’re not going gaga after all, are you?”
He immediately looked down at her. “No,” he said. “It’s just that her voice . . . There’s just something . . .”
“Distinctive?” Buffy asked, frowning.
“Different,” Angel said.
CHAPTER 5
For some reason Sunnydale Cemetery always seemed darker than its surroundings. This night a steady breeze rustled leaves and stirred scraps of paper around, creating enough ambient noise to keep the pair constantly throwing glances to this side or that. They were all too aware that there were real things out there to go bump in the night. Sometimes a little knowledge is a frightening thing. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Oz asked as he led Willow back to the bush in Sunnydale Cemetery where he originally found the leg bone.
“No,” Willow admitted.
“And yet, here we are.”
“But I’ve come prepared. See?” Willow said and handed Oz one of two wooden stakes she’d brought for the occasion. “I took them from the stash in the library.”
“One Slayer and we’re all set,” Oz said wryly.
“We’ve done some amateur slaying on our own, now and then.”
“This is true.”
“Besides, this shouldn’t take long,” Willow said. She crouched down and looked around the bush.
“What?”
“Confirmation,” Willow said, distracted. “Some form of identity that connects the leg bone.”
“To the shin bone?”
“I came across a police report about a missing UC Sunnydale freshman,” Willow explained. “Robert John Wallace. Reported missing two days ago. I thought maybe we’d find something to prove the leg bone belonged to him. Not that that would do Robert any good, but at least we could solve the mystery.” After a few more minutes of searching the surrounding ground, gravestones and statuary, Willow stood up straight, stretched her back and sighed. “Nothing,” she said, clearly disappointed.