Doomsday Deck

by Diana G. Gallagher

  Willow stood up. “I need to go see him.”

  “No, Willow.” Buffy gently pushed her back down. “You’ve got a long night of heavy duty research ahead. That’s the best way I can think of for you to help Oz.”

  “Using my head.” Willow nodded. “Okay.”

  Buffy glanced toward Giles. “This whole Tarot thing reeks of bad, Giles. What else do you know about it?”

  “Not a lot, actually.” Giles motioned toward the stack of books on the far end of the table. “I’ve been reading, though. It’s widely believed that Tarot was introduced into Europe by Gypsies in the fourteenth century.”

  Angel looked up. He had his own personal history with gypsies.

  “Gypsies?” Buffy stared, an acquired reaction to the power of the Romani who had restored Angel’s soul. “So we could be dealing with a curse.”

  “Perhaps.” Giles frowned. “The Gypsies began to migrate to Europe in the late thirteen hundreds from Hindustan, where they worshiped the dark goddess, Kali.”

  “Kali.” Willow shuddered. “She’s bad, right?”

  “Very,” Giles agreed. “As legend has it, Kali was charged with maintaining cosmic order. She will ultimately achieve perfect order when the universe ends.”

  “So we might be facing a demonic plot to end the universe?” Buffy’s eyes widened. “The whole universe as in everything?”

  “Sounds like Kali’s more ambitious than your average demon,” Willow mumbled.

  “Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Giles cautioned. “A connection between Justine, Tarot, and Kali seems like a stretch, but further investigation is probably warranted.”

  “A background check on Justine wouldn’t hurt, either.” Willow moved to the chair in front of the computer.

  “And while you’re covering the research, Angel and I will go get Xander and Oz,” Buffy said. Angel was already headed toward the door. She followed him, suddenly remembering that she was also supposed to be keeping Sunnydale safe for her mom’s imported artists. The blood-starved crypt set had been awake and possibly prowling since the sun had set hours ago.

  The streets were not quiet. It was after ten on a Friday night and groups of students and work-weary adults were unwinding in restaurants and clubs. Although the art show was closed until the morning, many of the artists had lingered to talk with new friends after packing up their wares. The absence of widespread panic was reassuring, though.

  “Just how powerful is Justine’s vampire repellant?” Buffy asked Angel when they reached Oz’s house. They hadn’t encountered anyone of demonic heritage on the trip from the library.

  “Not enough to stop them from feeding.” Angel paused to scan the darkened house. “Oz isn’t here.”

  Buffy forced her mind from the thought of Angel’s acute ability to detect the scent of warm blood. No lights and no van in the driveway were another dead giveaway. “I call Oz, Oz leaves. Why?”

  Angel shook his head. “Maybe there’s no connection.”

  “Maybe.” Buffy fretted as she retreated to the sidewalk. She had no idea where Oz had gone and little hope of finding him unless he showed up at one of their regular spots. Giles’s place? The Bronze? Xander’s?—

  “Xander.” Buffy charged back down the street.

  * * *

  Willow huddled over the computer. She had finally managed to hack into the records of another California sidewalk art show that had been held in Lancaster, seventy-five miles north of L.A. two weeks ago.

  “Justine participated in this one, too.” Willow closed out of the site and started a search for the local newspaper.

  Giles sat back, chewing on the end of his glasses. “That makes six in the past two months.”

  Willow nodded, trying not to let her mounting panic interfere with the research. In each of the previous five towns where Justine’s presence at an art show had been confirmed, three people had lapsed into mysterious comas and died. “I’m checking the news archives in the local paper. Hang on a sec.”

  “This is all nonsense.” Giles set a fifteenth-century expose regarding the superstitious practices of Romani tribes aside. “Hysteria over imagined heresy.”

  “This is so not good.” Willow looked up from the monitor. “Three comatose people have since died in and around Lancaster, too. No medical reason found.”

  “Eighteen in all.” Giles rubbed his chin. “Definitely a pattern, but to what purpose?”

  Willow shook her head and glanced at her watch, wishing Buffy would get back. Preferably with Oz and Xander in tow. She didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but deadly trends never turned out to be mere coincidences when they hit Sunnydale.

  Giles stood up, distracting her from her worst case scenario thoughts. “I’m going to look for another volume.” He disappeared back in the stacks.

  As Willow started another Internet search, she heard something outside the double doors.

  “Willow!” Oz called.

  Oz! Willow charged out the doors and stopped. She checked an impulse to throw her arms around her dazed and rumpled boyfriend. “What’s going on, Oz?”

  “Come on.” Oz waved her to follow as he turned. “Xander’s in trouble.”

  “Where? What trouble? Buffy went to find you—both of you—but . . .”

  Oz didn’t look back as he rushed down the main corridor toward the front entrance. Willow followed him outside and paused as he kept going toward the van parked on the street.

  “Wait!” Willow hesitated. Something about Oz’s movement wasn’t right, like he had short-circuited his internal wiring. Still, she couldn’t just stand there and let him leave. What if he disappears again?

  Willow stepped back into the library and yelled. Her voice reverberated through the empty halls. “Giles! I’m going with Oz to help Xander! I’ll call!”

  Willow dashed across the campus toward the van. Oz pulled away from the curb a split second after she piled into the passenger seat. “So—we’re off to rescue Xander, right?”

  Staring straight ahead, Oz nodded and drove.

  Unnerved by his silence, Willow watched the pavement and the traffic whiz by. Something had obviously muffled Oz, but maybe he was taking action because he couldn’t talk! She really wanted to believe Oz was still capable of resistance. If not, maybe I’m being kidnapped by my boyfriend.

  * * *

  Giles heard Willow call as he exited the stacks and headed for the doors. “Help Xander? I thought Buffy—”

  Disturbed by Willow’s hasty departure, Giles stared down the empty corridor. Why would Willow run off with Oz when they suspected Oz was under some manner of evil influence? The question nagged until he realized that she wouldn’t. Moreover, it was difficult to imagine that even-tempered, loyal Oz’s intentions were less than aboveboard.

  Giles returned to the library and settled in at the study table to address the implications of unexplained comas and Justine’s art shows. He picked up the Tarot deck he had been using for reference and separated the cards into five piles: one for each of the four suits, Wands, Pentacles, Cups, and Swords; and the fifth for the twenty-two cards of the Major Arcana.

  Giles set the suit piles aside and spread the Major Arcana cards across the table. Then, with pen in hand and a notebook at the ready, he studied the more powerful cards in the original Gypsy Tarot deck. After several moments, he separated out the four images Willow had described in Justine’s unfinished paintings. Nothing clicked.

  He doodled in the notebook, letting his mind drift from one tidbit of information to another: eighteen people dead, six towns, four paintings, Justine. He shuffled through the suit cards: four suits, fourteen cards in each for a total of fifty-six. Twenty-two cards in the Major Arcana.

  Four paintings plus eighteen deaths equals twenty-two.

  He wrote down the equation and circled it as a theory began to form. His train of thought was derailed when the library doors blasted open.

  “Walk!” Buffy ordered.

  “What’s this?�
�� Giles frowned as Xander shuffled in. He moved slowly and stiffly, as though every awkward step was a monumental effort.

  “Xander the living zombie, apparently. He was like this when Angel and I found him.” Taking Xander’s arm, she steered him to a chair. “Sit.”

  Xander sat.

  “At least he obeys voice commands.” Buffy exhaled as Giles stepped up beside her. “Without the wonders of verbal remote control I never would have gotten him over here.”

  Giles waved his hand in front of Xander’s staring eyes. Not even a blink.

  * * *

  By the time Oz turned into the Golden Lantern parking lot, Willow knew he was fighting a desperate internal battle. He gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white and his skin was damp with sweat.

  I just can’t tell if he’s winning or losing, Willow thought fretfully. Bringing me to Justine’s motel certainly isn’t a good sign—except that she’s not here.

  No light shone from the motel room and the artist’s green dragon-mobile was gone. Willow breathed a little easier.

  So where did Justine go this late? Willow wondered as she slipped out of the van and warily followed Oz. Is Xander with her? Or locked in the bathroom or—Willow froze when Justine appeared in the darkened doorway.

  “Hello, Willow.” Justine smiled. “Come on in.”

  “Uh—no, that’s okay. We were just passing by and . . . thought you might want to go out! For coffee or—” Willow lurched, thrown off balance when Oz grabbed her arm and dragged her by Justine. She was too stunned by the betrayal to struggle.

  Justine closed the door, secured the chain, and flipped on a light. The room had been stripped of everything except the unfinished Tower painting.

  “Have a seat.” Justine patted the bed.

  Oz perched on the edge of the mattress.

  Willow stared into Oz’s glazed eyes, her heart breaking. “What happened to you?”

  “He can’t answer,” Justine said. “Not unless I tell him to. His free will—what’s left of it—has been totally subverted to mine.”

  “What does that mean?” Willow knew she was trapped. But contrary to Justine’s obvious beliefs, she wasn’t completely helpless, either. The tide of many battles often turned on information.

  And delay, she thought, sitting down so Justine wouldn’t feel threatened. Her only shot was to keep Justine talking. Until Buffy shows up—hopefully before I lose my mind, too.

  “Oz’s emotional and mental essence is being transferred into my Devil card painting. Death has almost finished absorbing Xander’s.” Justine answered with an air of arrogance, obviously confident that nothing could stop or hurt her.

  Willow clenched her jaw, trying not to let her revulsion and fear show. “Is that why those two paintings looked more finished?”

  “Yes.” Justine glanced to the single canvas left in the room. “You’re perfect for the Tower.”

  Willow didn’t react openly, but her mind reeled. Giles had said the Tower represented rapid change—based on destruction. How does that fit me?

  “That’s not possible,” Willow stated defiantly.

  Justine took the bait. “It is if one has tapped into the power of Kali—the supreme goddess of chaos.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Buffy curbed her impatience while Giles mulled over Xander’s transformation into Robot Man. She knew exactly how her Watcher felt. It had taken her a few minutes to adjust when she and Angel had found Xander stretched out in his basement. Totally spaced pretty much described his condition.

  “Apparently, Oz isn’t experiencing the same symptoms.” Giles shook Xander’s shoulder, but there was no response. The boy just sat there.

  “Beats me. I haven’t seen Oz. Angel’s still out looking for him.”

  “He came here to get Willow.” Giles snapped his head around. “To help Xander.”

  “And Willow went with him? When?” Buffy instantly shifted gears. If Oz was following the same pattern of mindless decline as Xander, she had to move quickly.

  “Half an hour ago give or take a few minutes.” A trace of panic flicked across Giles’s face. “It’s imperative that you intercept Willow before she encounters Justine.”

  “That’s not just a hunch, is it?”

  “No.” Giles followed Buffy to the library doors. “Eighteen people have died in the wake of Justine’s art show schedule over the past two months. If my suspicions are correct, Xander and Oz are slipping into fatal comas Justine induced with her Tarot readings.”

  “Why?” Buffy paused.

  “I have no idea—yet.”

  * * *

  “Kali? What’s that got to do with Tarot?” Perched on the bed beside Oz, Willow faked a puzzled look, as though she had never heard of the Hindu goddess.

  “Do you really want to know?” Justine asked smugly.

  “Yeah, I do, because—well, the idea of a magickal deck of cards is a little ridiculous. A lot ridiculous, actually.” Willow felt a tinge of triumph when Justine stiffened. Turning the artist’s own über-confidence against her might buy her time and information. Although, anything I learn won’t be worth much if Buffy doesn’t get here soon, Willow thought. Before my brain is scrambled.

  Justine glared for a moment, then smiled. “Why not? It’s an interesting tale. But be forewarned, this isn’t a story with a happy ending.”

  Willow didn’t react, but she was very aware of Oz sitting beside her. The merry spark that always lit up his eyes was gone, and except for breathing, he hadn’t moved. But he’s alive, so he’s not lost, yet.

  Justine pulled the Tarot deck from her pocket. “This deck was created by Hovan Ramos, a Gypsy and one of my ancestors. I found it hidden in my grandmother’s cellar, locked in a box with a journal he wrote six hundred years ago.”

  “Wow,” Willow muttered, more impressed than her tone suggested. Justine didn’t seem to notice.

  “Hovan was a Romani magician.” Justine played with the cards, fanning the deck, then shuffling, which Willow knew was supposed to infuse the Tarot with a constant stream of her psychic energy. “His dream was to end the persecution the Gypsy tribes suffered throughout Europe, to create a world where the Romani were the most powerful and respected people.”

  “Those wacky Gypsies . . .” Willow trailed off.

  “Yes, they were ambitious.” Justine went on. “Tarot is the Romani link to the human heart, mind, and soul; our window to all time in the universe—past, present, and future. Hovan chose it as the tool to remake the world. He made this deck, coloring each card with painstaking precision, and when it was finished, he called on Kali for help.”

  Willow shifted nervously. The Romani were extra-ordinarily gifted in the magickal arts. And apparently they’ve got connections in high underworld places, too. She did not doubt a word of Justine’s story.

  The artist’s dark eyes burned with fervor as she continued. “Kali appeared to him suspended between this world and the nether world. Her essence, however, was not barred. She empowered the deck with a wisp of her existence, preserving it against the ravages of time.”

  Willow detected a slight frown when Justine paused. A sign of insecurity? Hard to tell, she mused, but any weakness is a plus for us . . . if we know what it is.

  “What went wrong?” Willow asked. “Something did because the Romani don’t rule the world.”

  “Nothing went wrong,” Justine snapped. “Hovan never imprinted the deck with his psychic energy. He never used it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Irrelevant.” Justine smiled. “It’s mine now, along with Hovan’s journal, which gave me the keys to the deck’s power. Anyone who touches it is immediately under my control.”

  Tell me something I didn’t guess, Willow thought with a worried glance at Oz.

  “And of course, once you’ve touched the deck, I can do a reading, which begins the transfer of your essence into the chosen card. After all twenty-two Major Arcana paintings are empowered, I’ll have the ult
imate Tarot.”

  “Meaning?” Willow slipped her hands underneath her.

  “Normally, Tarot foretells what might be. The new deck of Major Arcana cards will create what will be.” Justine leaned against the dresser and glanced at the charmed cards.

  “Well, uh—what if it doesn’t create what you want?”

  “It will.” Justine caught Willow’s skeptical look and quickly explained. “Because I control the deal, I can mold the world by manipulating the fates of important people. And they don’t even have to be present!”

  “So you’ll be what?” Willow asked. “Rich? Famous? Queen of the Gypsies?”

  “Whatever I want, starting with a one-woman show at the most prestigious gallery in New York.” Justine huffed, disgusted. “Hovan was a fool not to take advantage of the opportunity.”

  The implications were staggering, but Willow had met enough demons and their power-struck accomplices to know they never did something for nothing. And usually the price is too high. A bad news detail Justine hasn’t considered . . . or doesn’t want to.

  “Unless he had second thoughts,” Willow said. “What does Kali want?”

  “Perfect order on Earth—as quickly as possible.” Justine shrugged. “Not a big deal.”

  “Very big deal.” Willow tensed, remembering something Giles had said. “There can’t be perfect order until the universe ends because, well . . . nothing is as orderly as anything can get.”

  She didn’t mention that a New York gallery show was a paltry prize in exchange for universal order.

  “Spare me.” Justine rolled her eyes and stood. “I’ve got a Tarot deck to finish.”

  “No, thanks.” Willow lunged for the door holding out hope she would escape or find Buffy racing to save her.

  “Get her!” Justine barked.

  Oz leaped off the bed and grabbed Willow around the waist as she fumbled with the chain.

  This isn’t Oz, Willow told herself, just his empty, hijacked body. She kicked and clawed at the vicelike arms, but couldn’t stop Oz from dragging her back to the bed. Okay, he’s stronger, but I’m smarter—right now, anyway. Willow screamed.