Revenant

by Mel Odom

  The vampire snarled and turned from Giles.

  Torquing his body, rolling his arms and shoulder so he could put as much weight into it as possible, Xander threw the trash can lid. The heavy metal lid sailed across the distance and thudded into the vampire’s face, knocking him backward.

  Off-balance, the vampire released Giles and fell on his butt. His face was broken and blood-smeared, smashed in from the trash can lid. The lid caromed from the alley wall, waffling like an out of control UFO from an old Lost in Space episode, and clanked to the ground a few feet from Xander.

  Giles retreated, frantically searching for a weapon.

  “That hurt,” the vampire snarled, pushing at his face as he got up. The dead flesh gradually resumed the shape it was in. “Time to die.” He rushed at Xander.

  Xander swept the trash can lid from the ground and flung it Frisbee-style at the pavement in front of the vampire’s feet. Dented up as it was, the trash can lid proved hard and unwieldy to throw. Still, the lid clanked against the ground, kicked out a small shower of sparks, then arced back up into the vampire’s ankles.

  The vampire tripped, falling facedown onto the pavement in front of Xander. Knowing he couldn’t leave the unconscious mother and her young son to their fates, Xander dove on the stunned vampire, locked his hands around the mop handle and wrenched it free from under the creature’s body. The fall had snapped the mop handle off, leaving little more than a foot intact.

  On his knees, both hands wrapped around the wood, Xander waited till the dazed vampire rolled over onto his back. The hellish eyes gazed up at Xander, and Xander knew the grin he was wearing was the last thing the vampire was going to see. Xander brought the stake down, pushing on through the vampire’s heart.

  The vampire opened its mouth to scream, then promptly turned to dust.

  Xander turned his face away from the noxious clouds, breathing hard and covered with perspiration despite the chill that hung over Sunnydale. He staggered to his feet and headed for Giles. “Are you all right?”

  “Well,” the Watcher said. “I’ve certainly been better. Did you get him?”

  “We got him. He’s dust.” After helping Giles to his feet, Xander walked over to the little boy. The mother was only unconscious, a bruise already forming on her chin.

  “My mommy,” the little boy sobbed. “He hit her.”

  “I know,” Xander said calmly as he hunkered down on the other side of the woman and took the little boy’s hand. “But it’s going to be all right. I promise.” He pulled the boy’s hand in front of his mother’s face. “See? Your mom’s breathing fine. Feel her breath? She’s going to be okay. She’s just sleeping now. She’ll wake up in just a little while. Until then, we’re going to get some help for her, okay?”

  The little boy quieted a little and nodded. “I knew everything was going to be okay when I saw you.”

  Xander was stunned. “You did?”

  “Uh huh.” The little boy touched the white star on Xander’s blue shirt. “I read all your comics. The bad guys never win when you’re around.”

  Suddenly, Xander understood. “I’m not that guy. This is just a tee shirt.”

  “It’s okay.” The little boy still held onto Xander’s hand with one of his but used the other to brush his tears away. “I know all about secret identities and how important they are. I guess you didn’t have time to change all the way into your costume before you came to save me. But don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody.”

  The complete trust Xander saw in the little boy’s gaze unnerved him. He couldn’t use his voice for a moment. He swallowed hard. “I’m going to need to go find help. I’m going to leave you with my friend for a second.”

  “No!” The little boy looked up at Xander. “Please. My mommy has a cell phone in her purse. You can call 911. She won’t mind, honest.”

  “I’ve got it,” Giles said, picking up the woman’s purse. He took the phone out and made the call, telling the dispatcher that there’d been a mugging.

  Quietly, the little boy stepped over his mother and nestled inside Xander’s arms. Xander suddenly felt awkward and inept, but at the same time there was a sense of satisfaction and well-being.

  Xander looked up at Giles. “It’s going to go on, isn’t it?”

  “The fight against darkness and all the evil things that dwell in it?” Giles’s gaze turned soft and sympathetic. “Did you think it was going to end on graduation day?”

  “I don’t think I’ve been thinking much past graduation day,” Xander admitted.

  “You’ve been inadvertently caught up in something, Xander. And once you’re in it, it doesn’t let go.”

  “So there’s always something out there for me,” Xander realized.

  “Yes, well, I suppose that is one way of looking at it,” Giles admitted after a moment. “You have to remember that whatever it is waiting out there, it isn’t waiting with your best interests in mind.”

  “That’s cool,” Xander said. “It probably sounds pretty sicko, but it’s kind of nice to know that something’s out there.”

  “Something’s always out there for all of us,” Giles said. “It’s just that most people don’t realize that.”

  Willow stood in front of the Topaz Dragon restaurant in downtown Sunnydale. The restaurant closed its doors at nine sharp during weekdays, and with this being Easter Monday and a long weekend for some people, business was a little quieter than normal.

  An amber neon dragon blazed on the sign in front of the restaurant, rearing in fierce glory. Fire blew from its nostrils every few seconds, captured in red, pulsing neon light. The landscaping in front of the restaurant was beautiful, designed and primarily cared for by Mrs. Rong. In between vampire hunting and homework and seeing Oz, Willow had helped out in the gardens a few times.

  A police cruiser whipped by with its lights on and siren going full-blast, startling Willow. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence in the town, so it only worried her for a moment even after the confrontation at the Emerald Lotus Cemetery.

  She took another deep breath and released it, then glanced around the well-lit parking lot. Okay, there’s nothing there. Let’s go.

  She kept her purse open so she could easily get to the stake inside. The flight of stairs at the back of the Topaz Dragon led up to the floor where the Rong family lived.

  When they’d moved into the building, Mr. Rong had built a tiny receiving area before the front door, then put in a postage stamp-size rock garden with a small pool stocked with colorful goldfish. Pots held camphor trees, bleeding hearts, tulips, and jasmines. Oriental lanterns hung from the thatched roof. People who were impressed by the restaurant, Willow often thought, would be so blown away by the residence few of them ever got to see.

  Soft, golden light seeped through the delicate windows on either side of the door. Willow stopped and took a deep breath. I could really be stepping over my boundaries tonight. The Rongs were a private family, and usually guests had to be announced well in advance.

  Willow pressed the doorbell, listened to it bong cheerily within, then waited nervously.

  The lantern by the door flashed on. Mr. Rong opened the door but left the screen door closed. Surprise registered on his face. “Good evening, Willow. Is something wrong?”

  “No.”

  Mr. Rong gazed out the door, looking carefully to both sides. “Since I did not know you were coming, I thought perhaps there had been some trouble.”

  “No. Look.” Willow reminded herself to breathe. It wasn’t that the Rong parents were especially harsh, but she knew with them working at the restaurant all day and taking care of three small children that they depended on their schedules being observed. “I’m really sorry about coming by so late.”

  “Yes.” Mr. Rong consulted his watch. “It is ten twenty-five. I would think you would be home with your studies.” He looked back at her. “If you were up at all. School comes early.”

  Not as early for me as it does for Jia Li. Willow knew f
rom past experience that her friend got up at six every day to help her family get the daily menu started at the restaurant. Of course, Jia Li didn’t spend a lot of nights out staking vampires or stalking whatever new ghastly ghoulie decided to wander through Sunnydale.

  “I had some questions about some homework,” Willow began, feeling absolutely awful about lying. It was so hard to do, and got worse every time it had to be done. And then there was all that remembering of who was told what and when.

  “Homework?” Mr. Rong repeated.

  He knows I’m lying! Everyone always knows when I’m lying! Panic tightened Willow’s throat. “Actually, that’s not true.”

  “It isn’t?”

  “No. I feel really bad about this, but Jia Li seemed kind of nervous about going out to the cemetery today. I just wanted to make sure she was all right.”

  “She is quite all right. Thank you. But you should get along home now.”

  “Husband,” Mrs. Rong called, approaching from the hallway behind Mr. Rong. “Who is at the door?”

  Mr. Rong answered her, then they had a short conversation in Chinese. Mr. Rong seemed unhappy about the outcome, but took his hat from beside the door and clapped it onto his head.

  “My wife,” Mr. Rong said, “feels that your presence in our home tonight might serve as a balm for our oldest daughter. So please enter, Willow.” He held the door open.

  Willow stepped into the home, not knowing whether to feel invited or not. Only a vampire would have known for sure, she thought.

  “I am going down to help with closing the restaurant,” Mr. Rong said. “Good-bye.” He went down the steps.

  “My husband,” Mrs. Rong said affectionately, leading Willow through the immaculately kept house, “still doesn’t completely understand his daughter’s heart even after all my counseling, which he wisely takes.”

  The living room just off the foyer was beautifully furnished in black and red sofa and lacquered table. Dozens of butterflies decorated the furniture and vases, and were pressed under glass picture frames on the wall.

  Mrs. Rong paused at the door of the bedroom Jia Li shared with her five-year-old sister. She smiled gently at Willow. “My eldest daughter was disturbed by tonight’s visit, though my husband might not acknowledge it. I think she wouldn’t mind a little company.”

  “Thanks,” Willow said. “I knew she looked really upset tonight.”

  Mrs. Rong looked at her curiously.

  “I mean, she looked really upset in school today about tonight. That’s what I meant. Really.”

  “Of course. She is lucky to have a friend like you who cares so much.” Mrs. Rong knocked on the door.

  Jia Li answered and there was another brief conversation Willow didn’t understand except for her own name. Then Jia Li opened the door.

  “Hi,” Willow said, smiling. “Surprise.”

  “Only for a short time, though,” Mrs. Rong admonished. She left them.

  “Did I come at a bad time?” Willow asked.

  Jia Li wore a jade nightgown and robe. “No. I’m just surprised that my father let you in.” She opened the door and stepped back.

  Willow entered the bedroom, familiar with the cramped space all neatly kept, and the narrow alley between the two beds. A computer, table, and chair filled one corner almost to overflowing. The only light came from a small reading lamp on the headboard of Jia Li’s bed.

  In her bed, swaddled in stuffed toys, five-year-old Oi-Ling looked at Willow with animated interest. Like her sister, her coal-black hair was carefully brushed back and she wore a jade nightgown.

  “Hi,” Oi-Ling said cautiously. Her English wasn’t quite as good as her older sister’s, and she always acted shy around Willow. But she loved the games they sometimes let her play on the computer.

  “Hi,” Willow said. Both sisters looked at her expectantly. “I get the feeling I interrupted something.”

  Jia Li held up a familiar book as she sat on the edge of the bed. “Where the Wild Things Are. Oi-Ling likes the monsters.”

  “Ah.” Willow looked at the little girl and sat on the bed beside Jia Li. “That used to be one of my favorite books, too.” Until I learned there really were monsters out there who weren’t very friendly.

  Acid metal suddenly thumped to life out in the hallway, coming from a room farther down. Willow was so tense she jumped a little.

  “Lok,” Jia Li explained with a sigh. “He is mad. Again.”

  “Oh,” Willow said.

  “If my father were here now, Lok wouldn’t be so rude.”

  “I can tell Mommy,” Oi-Ling volunteered, starting to get out of bed.

  “No,” Jia Li stated firmly, taking her sister up in her arms and putting her back into bed. “I am certain Mommy already knows. We shall mind our own business.”

  Oi-Ling grumpily lay back in the bed. “Lok is being mean.”

  “Lok is troubled,” Jia Li said. “We must try to help him through this time.”

  “I’m surprised he’s home,” Willow said, “after your dad sent him out of the graveyard tonight.”

  Jia Li looked at Willow sharply. “The graveyard?”

  Oooops! Willow felt hot embarrassment color her face.

  “You were there?” Jia Li asked.

  Willow only hesitated for a moment. It was easier to tell the truth, wasn’t it? “I was there. But only for a little while. Hardly any time at all. Not spying, not doing anything at all creepy. Just curious after everything you told me earlier today. And I wanted to make sure that you were okay.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

  Willow searched Jia Li’s face. If she’s mad, at least she’s not too mad. “In case, you know, your ancestor rose from the grave as a hungry ghost.”

  Oi-Ling laughed. “Silly Willow. Guei are made-up stories like in my book.” She slapped a small hand down on Where the Wild Things Are.

  “Right,” Willow said, then shifted her attention back to her friend, “but I still wanted to be there for you.”

  The acid metal riffs continued to assault the hallway. Mrs. Rong passed by the open doorway and started banging on a door farther down the hallway. She called out Lok’s name several times.

  Lok snapped back at his mother. Willow might not have understood the words, but she understood the tone. The music level increased.

  “Lok is being really mean tonight,” Oi-Ling stated.

  Jia Li looked terribly embarrassed, and Willow guiltily wished she’d gone to see Oz at the Bronze instead. Some days it didn’t pay to be a caretaker. Well, actually, hardly any days does it pay.

  “You saw what happened between my brother and father?” Jia Li asked.

  Willow nodded. “He seemed pretty upset.”

  Mrs. Rong continued to call her son’s name.

  “Lok was upset,” Jia Li admitted. “And he still is. He says he is angry at our father, but I know it is something more.”

  “What?” Willow asked.

  Jia Li appeared uncertain and kept glancing out toward the hallway. “I know my father must seem like a traditionalist to you, but Lok believes more in the old ways than my father.”

  “Old ways?” Willow asked, suddenly feeling a little creeped out.

  “Lok believes in the guei,” Jia Li said. “And when he found out about our ancestor a few days ago, he became very excited.”

  “Why?”

  “Because—” Jia Li started, then stopped when a door suddenly opened and the music thundered into the hallway.

  Mrs. Rong’s voice raised sharply, and Lok’s name was repeated a number of times. Finally the music stopped. He yelled back at his mother in what Willow knew was a disrespectful tone. In the next instant, Lok strode by the bedroom door and shot Willow and Jia Li a hot, angry glance. He stopped and leaned into the doorway.

  “Willow,” he barked, eyes bright and hard under his scarlet-tipped hair, perhaps even not quite sane. “Hope your family wasn’t one of those connected to the mining operations that killed
my great-great-great-great granduncle, because they’re all going to die. Their money isn’t going to be able to save them.” Then he was gone.

  Willow glanced back at Jia Li.

  “Lok,” Jia Li said softly, “believes the guei can be raised to claim vengeance on those who caused his death.”

  Chapter 5

  “TWO BLOOD CONES,” BUFFY ADDRESSED THE CONVENIENCE store clerk politely. Seeing the guy’s look of confusion, she held up two fingers. The clerk stood in the semi-gloom filling the establishment. Well into his forties, gray flecking his hair and eyebrows, the man had heavily pockmarked pale, leathery skin. His eyes were blue with enflamed pools of pusyellow around them. He wore a gray coverall and a stained white butcher’s apron that covered him from chest to knees. Most of his attention was on the closedcircuit television over the counter that showed a blackand-white cowboy movie.

  Papers advertising various sales covered the ironbarred windows, held up by gray duct tape that covered the cracks in the glass. Buffy knew the papers were there more to block view from the outside than to draw new business. Set in the older section of Sunnydale, the convenience store was a squared-off cinderblock eyesore that melted into the city’s shadows. No cars were parked in the lot, and the gas pumps all had NOT WORKING signs on them.

  “Don’t have no blood cones,” the clerk said apologetically. He pulled an unfiltered cigarette from his pocket, stuck it between his lips, and fired up. Smoke wreathed his head.

  “Sure you do.” Buffy smiled. “That guy has one.” She pointed at the biker standing by the video game arcade. The biker lapped at his scarlet-drenched snow cone with slow deliberation. The other six guys playing the games with him laughed.

  “That’s Razz-Apple Appeal,” the clerk said.

  Buffy glanced at the photo ID on the guy’s coverall. The picture was of a happy twenty-something-year-old guy who was probably toast. “Look, Ernie, I came here for a blood cone. I’m going to have a blood cone.”

  “Fine,” the man said. He turned the crank on a handpowered icemaker and filled a cup with shaved ice. When it was full, he shoved it under a flavor pump clearly labeled RAZZ-APPLE APPEAL, thoroughly soaked it, then handed it to Buffy. “There you go. A blood cone. That’ll be three bucks.”