“Might as well.” Anya shrugged. Her eyes narrowed. “If I don’t keep busy I might strangle the next man I see.”
* * *
“Your mother called this morning. Have you spoken to her?” Giles shoved a pile of books aside to make room for Buffy and her take-out bag at the study table.
“I left a message on the gallery answering machine. Mom must have run out of volunteers.” Buffy popped the plastic lid off a steaming cup of coffee and blew on it. She had patrolled until just before dawn and needed the caffeine jump-start even though she had slept for a solid two hours. Even a Slayer couldn’t keep going indefinitely without sleep.
“That would seem to be the case. She called looking for you and Willow.” Giles glanced over his shoulder. Willow and Oz sat at rigid attention. Xander was stretched out on the floor. “I told her Willow was . . . busy.”
Buffy unwrapped an English muffin stuffed with sausage.
“What is that?” Giles recoiled slightly.
“Breakfast.”
Giles looked appalled.
Buffy shrugged. “I can’t cope with failure on an empty stomach. I didn’t find the paintings.”
Although she had sent a dozen undead troublemakers to the happy dusting grounds, there was no trace of Justine or the Tarot paintings. She and Angel had covered a lot of territory, but without a lead, a thorough search of the extensive warehouse district and underground network just hadn’t been possible.
Frustrated and worried, Buffy looked at her friends. “How long have they been like that?”
“Hours,” Giles said. “Oz and Willow slept for a while.”
“How could you tell?”
“They closed their eyes.” Sighing, Giles avoided looking at his temporary roommates. “Xander slipped into a coma sometime during the night.”
The muffin lodged in Buffy’s throat. She forced it down. “How long does he have left?”
“A matter of hours.” Giles shuffled through his notes. “The absorption process seems to be accelerated in Oz and Willow. They’re declining much faster than Xander. There is good news, though—if you want to call it that.”
Buffy frowned. “That bad, huh?”
“That depends, actually.” Giles shifted in his seat. “I found a fairly detailed account about Hovan Ramos in an old monastery text. His notes were never found, but he confided in a monk who was sympathetic to the plight of the Romani.”
Buffy ate and listened as Giles explained. Hovan had created Justine’s Tarot deck, which had been empowered by Kali at a European site similar to the Hellmouth six centuries ago. The deck allowed Justine to take control of an individual’s mind and transfer the mental and emotional energies into the paintings.
“Hovan resented the persecution of the Gypsies,” Giles said, “and planned to use the deck to elevate his people to positions of power, wealth, and respect.”
“Which didn’t happen.” Buffy stuffed her litter into the bag and set it aside. “Why not?”
“Because he realized that keeping his bargain with Kali would be cataclysmic.” Giles eyed Buffy pointedly. “She wanted ‘perfect order’ in exchange for her help.”
“A little peace and quiet would be a relief.”
A wry smile softened Giles’s grim expression. “No doubt, but as I explained to Willow, perfect order is not possible until everything is eliminated—beginning with free will and ending when the universe ceases to exist.”
“When there’s nothing left but . . . nothing?” Buffy’s eyes widened.
Giles nodded. “Kali will have achieved her cosmic purpose when the universe is a complete void. If events progress naturally, she cannot escape the underworld until the end is imminent several billion years in the future.”
“And she’s getting tired of waiting, right?” Buffy arched an eyebrow.
“Yes, apparently.” Giles leaned over a dusty tome that was open on the table. “Hovan deduced that once Kali’s Major Arcana deck was finished—”
“The paintings,” Buffy interjected for clarification.
“Yes, the paintings.” Giles adjusted his glasses and went on. “When all twenty-two have absorbed a psyche, the deck can be used, as I surmised earlier, to determine rather than predict the future. Hovan figured out that Kali had no intention of honoring her part of their pact. She planned to subvert his free will to her own, then use the psyche-powered Major Arcana to accelerate the destructive process.”
Buffy blinked. “Huh?”
“Use the empowered Tarot paintings to speed up the end of the universe.” Giles looked up. “By several billion years.”
“And I thought I was impatient.”
“Unfortunately, so is Justine.” Agitated, Giles sipped his tea and grimaced. “Cold. Anyhow, I suspect her art show itinerary was calculated to conclude in Sunnydale . . . near the Hellmouth. Although Kali cannot physically breach the Hell-mouth’s weak barrier between this world and the underworld, she is quite capable of projecting her will onto Justine. Just as she empowered the Hovan deck Justine uses to snare her victims.”
Buffy paused, stricken by the implication. “So Kali’s original plan to make nothing out of everything has only been delayed for six hundred years.”
“I’m afraid so.” Giles leaned back and sighed.
“But I don’t have ‘universe ends’ penciled into my organizer.” Buffy joked to mask her anxiety. Stopping diabolical plots to end the world had almost become routine. Keeping the universe up and running wasn’t how she had planned to spend the weekend.
Giles smiled. “Not an everyday occurrence, even on the Hellmouth.”
Buffy sat bolt upright. “Justine doesn’t know!”
“Come again?” Giles started.
“Justine doesn’t know that Kali will be in control of her mind and the doomsday deck!” Buffy jumped up. “Justine is sinister and selfish, but she’s not stupid enough to let some goddess with a bad rep take over her brain. She’s after glory.”
“Yes, that goes without saying.”
“Oh.” Buffy frowned, annoyed.
“Not that it wasn’t an astute observation,” Giles added. “It was quite . . . astute.” He quickly turned his attention back to the book. “This reference concerning the Judgment card is rather disturbing.”
The mention of Justine’s final Tarot painting jarred Buffy. She still had to find the paintings to stop Justine from completing Kali’s deck. She scooped up the remains of her breakfast to toss them in the trash.
“ ‘The battleground where good must prevail,’ ” Giles muttered.
“Prevail.” Buffy stopped halfway into the office. “So it’s possible to win? From inside the painting?”
“That’s the logical interpretation.” Giles flipped off his glasses. “I suppose it will depend on the emotional strength of the last donor. Hopefully, Justine hasn’t initiated the final transfer, yet.”
Buffy wasn’t thinking about an unknown fourth victim. She looked at Xander lying comatose on the floor, at Willow and Oz sitting like stone statues. All of them were on a one-way trip to the cemetery—and not to help her patrol. “What about getting them out?”
Dust wafted into the air as Giles turned the pages in the book. “This passage is somewhat vague, but it suggests that the captive minds might escape if the paintings are destroyed before the transfer processes are complete and the last card is empowered.”
“Then I’m going to find them.” Buffy lobbed the bag into the wastepaper basket by Giles’ desk and turned to leave.
“Wait—” Giles’ sharp tone brought the Slayer to a lurching halt. “I think it would be prudent to try and narrow the realm of your search . . . rather than blindly stumbling about.”
Buffy couldn’t argue that after her fruitless efforts last night. “I’ll call my mom to see if Justine showed up at her display. If not, she can keep an eye out.”
“Yes, good, but . . . there’s another catch.”
“There always is.” Buffy returned to the t
able and sat back down.
“Xander, Willow, and Oz must be physically present when the paintings are destroyed,” Giles said. “If the bodies aren’t in proximity to the pieces when their mental essences are released, the energies will simply dissipate.”
“Good to know. Is that the last ax in your bad news arsenal or is there more? Such as, can we still stop Kali if Justine finishes the Major Arcana deck?”
“No.” Giles’s blunt response sent a chill up Buffy’s spine. “When Kali’s deck is completed, Justine, acting as the dark goddess directs, can seal the fate of anyone—even kill a Slayer—just by dealing the cards.”
CHAPTER 12
Playing gallery secretary had gotten old fast. When Anya had stepped outside and missed a call, the answering machine had picked up. After that, she let the technological marvel handle the duty while she worried.
About Xander.
No one had seen him in two days!
Is Xander avoiding everyone, or did he run off with that woman? Or has something bad happened to him? All of the above? None of the above?
Anya paced back and forth in front of the registration table. Joyce hadn’t been back for hours and she was tired of being stuck. She had thought about just walking out, then decided against it. If something turned up missing or broken because she had left the gallery unattended, Buffy’s mom would blame her. Not that she cared, but defending herself would be more trouble then hanging out awhile longer.
“Hello, dear,” a cheerful voice said.
Anya whirled to see an elderly woman enter carrying a cardboard box. Smiling, the gray-haired woman stooped to shove it under the registration table.
“There you go.” The woman put a hand on her bowed back as she straightened up. The box contained neat piles of brightly colored ribbons with gold lettering. “Arthur’s Trophy Shop did quite a nice job on the awards, didn’t they?”
“Terrific.” Anya had no idea what she was talking about and didn’t care. Joyce didn’t care what live body was watching the store as long as someone was. The woman was breathing, which qualified her for taking over the boring task. Anya grabbed the chance to escape and hurried toward the door. “I’m late. Gotta go!”
“But—but I’m not supposed to stay here!” The old woman started after her, waving frantically.
Anya bolted down the street leaving the flustered woman standing in the gallery doorway. The crackers and cheese she had found in Joyce’s small office refrigerator had taken the edge off at noon, but now she was suddenly famished.
Acute anxiety always makes me hungry, Anya thought as she ducked into a small restaurant that specialized in chicken. She slipped into a booth by the window and stared out at the Saturday crowd browsing through the displays. Xander was out there somewhere. Where? Frustrated, she struck the table with her fist.
The waitress inhaled sharply. Her voice squeaked when she spoke. “Something to drink?”
“Iced tea and a broiled chicken sandwich.” Anya sagged when the woman fled. She felt rotten, like someone had put her heart in a vise and squeezed the life out of it. Falling in love was a design flaw in the human species she could happily have done without.
Xander had made it clear that he wasn’t interested in pursuing a romance with her, but he knew what she had been and accepted it—to a degree. He also understood that adjusting to being human and learning the social dos and don’ts was hard! She actually appreciated his brutal honesty when he was talking to her, which he currently wasn’t.
Anya sighed, propped her chin, and stared out the window. Feeling sorry for herself aggravated the hunger that twisted her stomach. Anger was so much more satisfying than angst, but neither emotion was accomplishing anything.
There was, she realized, only one thing that would soothe the ache in her wretchedly human heart. As soon as she finished her late lunch she was going to keep looking for Xander until she found him and settled things once and for all.
Whether he likes it or not, Xander is mine!
* * *
Justine flicked on her flashlight and scanned the underground cavern. It was dimly lit by several camp lanterns. The only sound was the drip of water that seeped from the rock and overflowing natural catch basins eroded into the rough walls. Patches of phosphorescent lichen and spongy mosses softened the hard stone surface, creating an ambience of eerie foreboding that suited her plans. The cave was damp and uncomfortable, but she only had to stay one more night.
Kali’s destiny deck would be finished before dawn. And tomorrow the world will be mine, Justine thought as she turned off the lamps.
A card table and two folding chairs dominated the center under the high, domed ceiling. A cot covered with a sleeping bag stood against one wall beside an overturned crate. A lamp and battery-operated clock sat on the makeshift nightstand. The paintings were lined up along the far wall.
Justine paused to study them. The eighteen pieces she had finished before arriving in Sunnydale shimmered with the life forces imprisoned within them. The final four paintings remained in various stages of progress. They would not be complete until the last card, Judgment, absorbed the emotional essences of her final victim. All four of the powerful Major Arcana cards would be empowered in the same instant. Then nothing can stop me from doing or having anything I want.
After turning off the last light, Justine used the flashlight to lead her to the narrow entrance. Guided by a Tarot reading, she had come to Sunnydale several months before. The cards had left nothing to chance. Sunnydale had to be the last stop on her bizarre journey and the grand finale had to take place underground. She had explored the maze under Sunnydale for days before she finally found the crevice that led to the hidden cavern.
When Justine exited the natural corridor that connected the cave to a network of man-made tunnels, she turned off the flashlight and set it on a broken timber. Permanent light fixtures were spaced along the route to the exit. Only half the bulbs were burning, but the power was always on. Apparently, city maintenance crews still used the submerged access way. Consequently, she moved warily just in case someone came down to fix a broken water pipe or junction box.
She didn’t need any surprises, not when she was this close or this tense. She had experienced some apprehension since the last Tarot reading had revealed the only obstacle in her way—the Queen of Wands. Justine had no doubt that Buffy Summers was the blond woman who would determine whether she succeeded or failed.
She had no intention of failing.
Justine paused when she reached the ladder under a trap door, which opened into the basement of an old, vacant building on the perimeter of the downtown area. A back door on the ground floor opened into an alley. Once she controlled Buffy’s mind and actions, it would be easy to slip away unseen.
Justine smiled, pleased with her solution to the Queen of Wands problem. The unknown threat Buffy presented would be neutralized when she touched Hovan’s deck. Even better, Buffy’s dynamic personality would empower the last, most powerful card—the Judgment painting. Once again, the Tarot indicators and her interpretation had been accurate. Free will had determined how she would act to turn a potential problem into an asset. She didn’t expect any trouble.
Willow’s remarkable resistance had been a fluke. In retrospect, Justine wished she hadn’t chosen Xander for her first Sunnydale subject. In every other town, the friends and families of the donors had rushed the victims to psychologists when they began to disassociate or into hospitals when they became comatose. Of course, the transfer process took a lot longer in the beginning, and she had been long gone by the time the maladies became apparent. She had had no way of knowing that Xander’s best friends would make a connection between her and his condition and start investigating! Their tenacious curiosity had shaken her at first. Then she had realized that using Oz, Willow, and Buffy for the remaining three cards was the best and safest way to eliminate the interference.
Justine climbed into the basement and hurried up the staircase to th
e first floor. She peeked through a grimy window to make sure no one was lurking in the alley, then darted through the door. Once outside, she took Hovan’s deck out of her pocket and palmed it. When she found Buffy, she could easily shove it into Buffy’s hand before she knew what was happening.
And then she won’t be able to do anything without a direct order from me.
Taking a deep breath, Justine casually walked out of the alley and surveyed the busy street. Hundreds of people were wandering the streets, browsing the artists’ displays. Finding one blond woman in the crowd wasn’t going to be easy. Unless Buffy is looking for me! That was entirely possible, since her friends were steadily declining into comas.
Justine turned to walk toward her own display, the most likely place Buffy would go to find her. If she didn’t find her there, the next logical spot to check was her mother’s art gallery.
The milling crowd jammed the sidewalk, forcing Justine into the cordoned-off street. Her pace was slowed by having to weave around parents pushing baby strollers or chasing unruly toddlers. Elderly couples took their time, while teens on Roller Blades whizzed by. Irritated and distracted, she didn’t see Xander’s friend Anya until the woman was on top of her.
“Where’s Xander?” The young woman’s chest heaved with barely contained fury.
Justine frowned, recalling the woman’s rude remarks to the reporter the first night of the art show. She had questioned Xander to find that he wasn’t particularly fond of the woman, either.
“Anya, also known as bad news for boys,” Xander had said.
“Sorry. I don’t know.” Annoyed by the delay, Justine tried to move on.
“Wait! I just want to know where—” When Anya’s hand flashed out to grab her, Justine instinctively raised her arm. Anya’s fingers closed around her hand—and Hovan’s deck.
“No!” Justine gasped as Anya froze, her mind captured by the power of the enchanted cards. Stunned, Justine just stared for a moment. She did not know how to undo the spell or even if it could be undone. On a freak quirk of fate, she would have to use this miserable girl to empower the last paint-ing—not Buffy.
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