CHAPTER 5
Willow, are you all right?” her mother asked softly as she pushed the door ajar.
Lying in bed with the covers drawn to her neck, Willow kept her back to the doorway and clenched her fists. Yeah, I’m terrific, she wanted to shout. That’s why I keep coming home sick.
Sweat poured down her forehead. She was soaked. The room spun so fast she had to close her eyes or be sick, despite the oddly comforting sight of twilight darkness floating through the venetian blinds and edging across the carpet. With the night would come solace. With the darkness, she would be well again.
It was Thursday, and she’d come home sick from school again. She’d felt mostly all right on Tuesday and Wednesday, though each night she’d seemed to sleep heavily and without dreams, and still woke up in the morning feeling more tired than when she went to bed. And maybe that’s all this was, exhaustion creeping up on her.
Maybe.
But Willow thought, when she allowed herself to really think, that maybe there was more to it than that. That maybe she was going a little bit crazy. There was that voice, after all. The one that didn’t sound like her conscience at all, if she was honest with herself.
The one that wanted to hurt people.
And not just in that frustrated way you want to push people out of the way in a crowd. No, she’d thought about it. It wasn’t that. And it wasn’t the weird urges she knew people sometimes got—that she sometimes got—like wanting to slug Principal Snyder just to see the look of astonishment on his face. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, even meek little Willow had a streak of the rebel in her. It was just buried very deep.
But this wasn’t that. This was much, much worse than that.
“Honey?” Mrs. Rosenberg persisted.
Stop bothering me! she almost screamed. Instead she counted to ten, flexing and balling her fists, taking deep breaths. With tremendous effort she controlled her fury enough to respond, “I’m just real tired, Mom. I think I’ll go to sleep.” Stupid woman. Wasn’t it obvious she was tired? She was in bed, wasn’t she?
“Okay. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Mom?” Willow called out, suddenly afraid. Something was happening to her. Something very weird.
“Yes, Willow?”
Get out get out get out.
Willow swallowed hard. “Could you shut the door, please?”
“Sure, honey.”
And lock it up tight. Because if you don’t, I just might jump out of this bed and . . . and . . .
Willow panted as the rage built inside her. She heard the door shut. She clenched her teeth. She balled her fists.
She burst into tears.
And then she laughed.
* * *
He was going to die. Of that, Xander was convinced. But sometimes the fulfillment of lust was a higher priority than survival. Witness black widow spiders—and the entire male half of the human race.
“Cordelia? The cliff says stop,” he said anxiously, hanging onto the armrest on the passenger side of her car with one hand and the gearshift housing with the other.
“Xander, don’t be a backseat driver,” Cordelia snapped as she shot toward the stupendous view of Makeout Point. The cars of other, ah, view-seekers were lined up in a row like at the Sunnydale Drive-In. Except that, unlike Cordelia, they had decided to simply admire the night sky and the lights of the town below rather than become one with them.
“Cordy,” he pleaded. “I’m so young.”
“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve been up her—” She seemed to realize what she was saying—for Cordy, a truly amazing feat—and switched gears, both in her car and in her brain. The car went faster. “I know what I’m doing.”
Xander wondered how many years of his life would fly before his eyes before he flew through the windshield. “I know you’re eager to get there and all, but gee, girl, show some self-control.”
“Oh, Xander, I don’t know why . . .” she gritted out. His eyes bulged as he realized that she was checking herself out in the rearview mirror instead of watching the bushes and trees that were bearing down on them in a blur. “Why I have sunk so low . . .”
He thought of all the times he had seen movie and TV stars dive out of cars, roll on their shoulders, and leap to their feet. Fire off a couple rounds, save the day. Good thing he wasn’t on TV.
“Help!” he shouted, pounding on the window.
“Xander, what is your damage?”
She slammed her foot on the brake and the tires squealed, burning rubber to within inches of the dropoff. Xander closed his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck.
“Some call it whiplash, but others pay a chiropractor fifty bucks.”
“Shut up.” Cordelia set the emergency brake and turned off the car. “And it’s seventy-five, at least where I go.” As if they’d simply pulled out of the driveway, she checked her hair and snapped open her purse. As he took slow, deep breaths, she whipped out her lipstick and carefully reapplied it.
“What are you doing?” he asked in amazement.
She regarded him with utter disdain. “Providing you with a marked target,” she shot back. “Since you’re so blind and timid.”
He blinked at her. “Timid? Moi?”
She raised her chin. “Show me otherwise, Harris.” She pointed to her mouth. “Anything to shut you up.”
He smiled and said softly, “Geronimo.”
* * *
The gray twilight was good.
The black would be better.
As the little body writhed in the bed, the spirit grew in strength and began filling her. Undulating like a serpent, it slithered into her lungs, her heart, her eyes, her brain. It cascaded into her hands. Ah, so soft and small!
It burrowed through the muscles and veins of her legs. Not strong. Not powerful.
Yet.
It moved into her face.
It smiled.
It sat up.
The moon shone on the face of the Chinese vampire sorcerer known as Chirayoju as, for but a moment, it knew itself. Its face stretched long and jade-green with mold. Its eyes shifted into the almond shape of its home country. Its fangs grew long, sharp, and deadly.
Its hunger was overwhelming.
And then it was the girl again, her arms around her legs, face buried against her knees, sobbing gently from the pain and the fear.
It spoke to her: Why fight me? Power is what you desire. Strength. I have them both. I am not greedy. I will share.
“Mom?” Willow called tremulously.
Call her again and she dies, the vampire spirit promised.
Willow touched her forehead. She was burning up. She felt like she was on some kind of very bad drug . . . that she had never taken. Drugs. Ever. But she was incredibly disoriented. When she looked around her room, it was as if she had never seen any of it before.
Her fever dreams were nightmares.
Groaning, she groped for her phone. She would call Buffy. Or Xander.
Something in her registered the names. Invaded, as if it were tearing her mind apart in search of something. Memorized the pictures in her mind that were attached to the names.
It knew their secrets.
Frightened, she pulled her hand away from the portable phone and cradled it against her chest. It was the hand on which she had cut a finger, and it throbbed terribly. It felt as if fire were burning deep inside it.
The blackness seeped through the gray, twilight giving way to full dark, and it both calmed and terrified her.
* * *
Cordelia came up for air and said, “Whoops, time to go.”
Xander’s face was covered with Sequin from the Mac makeup collection. He caught his breath and rasped, “Time to go?”
“I have things to do,” she said imperiously, shooing him over to the passenger side. She started the car. It purred submissively and then roared to life.
“That’s okay. Ego crushed.” He smiled to himself. “Lips crushed. Fair Trade Agreement
.”
She screeched backward. “I hate it when you mutter to yourself. No.” She held up a hand. “Actually, I prefer it. When you speak in a tone that I can hear, you scare me.” She took a breath. “Most of the time.”
“Face it, Cordelia,” Xander said, patting her shoulder. “You adore me.”
She snorted and put the pedal to the metal.
Xander found many new gods to pray to.
* * *
It raised its arms as the moon washed across the girl’s face. And then, it knew itself at last in the dark night.
“I am Chirayoju. I am free. I live again.”
It walked jerkily across the room, testing the body of the girl called Willow—excellent Chinese name, little Weeping Willow!—and flexed its arms. It had pushed her deep into the thing that she would call her soul, but it could sense her there, sense both her terror and the thrill of the presence of so much power around her. It was her hunger for that power that had allowed it to use her so completely.
It arched its back and grunted. Now and then she fought, but her struggles were puny compared to its strength. Had it not threatened the entire Land of the Rising Sun?
And this land, this strange new land. Without Sanno to stop it, would Chirayoju not be a conqueror once more?
A strange box glowed on a table. Chirayoju walked to it and studied it. Computer, came the word, in the tongue of this land. Images flooded into the spirit’s mind. But spirit no longer, it thought. Vampire, in living flesh!
Chirayoju looked at the computer and realized that it did not need to learn these new things; in a sense, it already knew them. Possessing this body and this girl, it was itself and yet something more. As if there could be anything more powerful, more terrifying and wonderful, than the vampire Chirayoju!
It was time to move into this world. Time to begin assuming its rightful place.
It stared down at the flimsy cast covering its newly acquired wrist, and then tore it off. No more pain. No more injury. And the cut on the other hand? The slice in the girl’s flesh where she had touched the razor edge of the sword of Sanno? Where her blood had flowed and allowed Chirayoju to take a bit of her life force and free itself? It would heal that as well.
Its host would be perfect, healthy and strong.
It found the knob of the French door to little Weeping Willow’s room and pushed it open. A sweet breeze wafted over its face. What joy it was to feel again. To smell the scented flowers—roses? It thought longingly of the jasmine in the gardens of Empress Wu’s Chinese palace. Of the beautiful Chinese maidens and strong young warriors who had done its bidding, including baring their necks to its fangs so that it might live. It had abandoned all that to cross the sea to the Land of the Rising Sun, in order to devour their emperor and reign over his people. Flying across the water on the wings of night, Chirayoju had wept for the grandeur of its home land—mighty China!—but it had pronounced the sacrifice worthy.
But then, Sanno had appeared. King of the Mountain, warrior god.
Sanno had defeated it.
Chirayoju laughed to itself. Sanno was not here. This place was undefended.
Buffy, came the thought of the girl. And Chirayoju listened to the thought.
Nodded.
Smiled.
If this girl, this Buffy, was the only defender of this land of Sunnydale, then Chirayoju would be emperor very quickly. Perhaps the girl, this . . . Slayer? Perhaps she would be a handmaiden in his new court.
Or fresh entertainment for the new pit he would dig . . .
It stepped across the threshold and was about to shut the door when Mrs. Rosenberg called out anxiously, “Honey?”
“It’s okay, Mom,” Chirayoju answered. “I just need some air. It’s stuffy in here.”
“Stay bundled up. You’ve got a fever, you know.”
“Yes, I know.”
But the fever was coming down. The possession, which had weakened this body, was now strengthening it. Chirayoju could feel its power growing along with its hunger. It had taken all this time to fully exert control over Weeping Willow’s body. Even now, it would have to give up that control at dawn. For now.
But not forever.
As for this night, it must feed, and soon.
It walked, more steadily this time, from the door to the front of the house, and from there to what was known as the street. A car flew by—remarkable creation!—and it knew it would have to have one.
It raised its face to the stars. Their light beamed down on it. A poem came to mind:
Night, absent of soul.
Gardens wither, the earth shakes.
Open, gate of death!
Chirayoju walked down the street, reveling in its freedom. It would walk until sunrise if it wished. It would walk until the feet of this child bled, and it would make the night scream.
* * *
Xander gave Cordelia a “when-did-you-get-released” look of amazement and scratched his head.
“Let me get this straight. You drove over a rock.”
“Or something,” she agreed.
“Or something. And your tire went flat. And now you want me to get out of the car and change your tire so you can go do these ‘things to do,’ which I assume have something to do with a guy who is not me.”
She said nothing. She only stared at him. Xander stared back.
Finally Cordelia said, “And your point is?”
“Is the word ‘tacky’ even in your vocabulary?” he asked her. “Let me spell it for you. N. O. Way.”
“Fine.” She glared at him. “I’ll just do it myself.” She spread her fingers as if her nails were still wet and scanned the dashboard. “The jack-thing is in the trunk,” she said to herself. “And all I have to do is, um, here!” She brightened and pushed a button. Her emergency flashers began to pulse.
Xander sighed the sigh of the truly victimized and opened his door.
“Thank you!” Cordelia called plaintively after him.
He bent back in to narrow his eyes at her.
“You know, it’s nights like these psychos escape from the nuthouse on the hill,” he said in a low, scary voice. “So if I don’t come back . . . lock your doors and close your eyes. Because the drip, drip, drip you hear will be the blood running out of my neck. And the smack will be my severed head landing on your front end.”
“Oh, Xander.” She gave him a look. “I don’t know how you can even joke about stuff like that, after all the weirdness you and your bizarro pals have put me through.”
He batted his lashes at her. “Cordy, my sweet. Lest you forget, you are now one of my bizarro pals.”
“As if.” She leaned toward him and grabbed the passenger armrest to urge the door shut. “Just go do it, okay? I’ll be nice to you or something.”
“ ‘Or something’ will do just fine.” He rubbed his hands together like a mad scientist. “Wa ha ha, just fine, my pretty.”
She let go of the armrest and threw her head back against her seat. “Oooh.”
Xander grinned and shut the door. Then he walked back toward where the jack-thing would be, muttering, “Harris, you are such a schmuck.”
* * *
The dogs of Sunnydale bayed as Chirayoju glided past their houses. Cats arched their backs and hissed. The moon itself hid behind a veil of clouds. It moved quickly, smelling fresh young blood beating through vibrant hearts. Eagerly it inhaled the aroma. After centuries of imprisonment, it was starving. Not merely for blood, but for what truly sustained it—life. The life essence of living beings.
To begin its reign of terror, though, Chirayoju knew that it would need slaves and acolytes.
And suddenly it knew where to find them. The air sizzled with the presence of other vampires, and it was so delighted its eyes welled with scarlet tears.
It raised its head to gaze at a hill above the town, and small, unmoving shapes upon the hill. They were cars.
Other shapes moved toward them, darting over the landscape like a small band of
locusts. They were vampires.
Eagerly, Chirayoju began to lope toward the hill. Up it climbed, now running, though the body was tired. It willed power into the limbs and pushed blood through the heart. This body was young, but at this rate it would wear out quickly.
When that happened, it would have to find another.
* * *
Once he had put Cordy’s spare tire on, Xander sat glumly in the passenger’s seat as she drove down the hill. Cordelia drove past a small blur of a figure on the side of the road and shook her head. “Honestly. Someone is hitching to Makeout Point, can you believe it? Don’t they have any idea how dangerous that is?”
“Who? Where?” Xander asked, looking up from sifting through the CDs in Cordelia’s glove compartment. He glanced back but saw no one.
Cordelia looked in the rearview mirror. “Am I smeared?”
He pointed desperately. “Cor, look at the road.”
“Just tell me if I’m smeared,” she demanded, turning toward him.
“No, no, you are a goddess,” he begged. “You look perfect.” He stared hard at her, doing his best to look entranced by her beauty instead of petrified by her driving. “Honest. Please, please don’t kill me.”
She rolled her eyes. “Xander, you are so superficial.”
Her foot was lead.
His life was over.
The wind whipped around Chirayoju as it glided behind the vampire swarm. There were only three of them—apparently, the other dots had been dogs—and they were scattered and unfocused, little more than ravening beasts. So had it been in China, before Chirayoju had left for the Land of the Rising Sun. And then, so had it been in Japan. Few of its kind were truly intelligent. Few possessed the ability to truly lead. And none but Chirayoju had mastered the dark arts as a vampire. The demon within the spirit was flush with pride at its achievements.
No, the others were like children to Chirayoju.
Which was to the good. They were easier to control and dominate.
Chirayoju watched as the hunt progressed. Better to call it a massed attack, for a hunt implied direction and working in concert. They swooped down on the cars, yanking open the doors and pulling out the inhabitants. A young girl with short, dark hair shrieked in terror as a female vampire with long, blond hair dragged her out of the car while another vampire, darker and larger, lifted out a boy in a leather jacket and ripped out his throat.
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