by Mel Odom
“But you don’t think that’s true?” Willow asked.
“No. I saw my grandfather do amazing things with sick people. I know my father believed it, too, but he wouldn’t admit it. He doesn’t much like being wrong.”
“No one does.”
“But he knew he was wrong about my grandfather. When Lok was released from the hospital, he went to live with my grandfather.”
“Why?” Willow asked.
“I didn’t know for a while. My mother and father fought over the decision. Lok was the firstborn son. By rights he should have learned my father’s business, but my mother had Lok sent off with my grandfather. Every summer, we got to spend weeks at my grandfather’s house.”
“Your grandfather took Lok?”
“To protect him from the ghosts. Grandfather said that Lok was one of the special ones, ones who would walk with ancestors, and who would be most abused by the guei for things left undone.”
A chill gusted over Willow again, no longer held at bay by the blanket. “Was your grandfather able to protect Lok from the ghosts?”
“While Lok lived with my grandfather, he never again was catatonic.”
“Wow. That must have made a believer out of your dad.”
Jia Li shook her head. “My father still does not believe. He only knows that he lost so many years with his firstborn son. Lok lived with my grandfather till three years ago when my grandfather died.” Wetness gleamed in her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Willow said.
“That’s why there is so much tension between my brother and father. They hardly know each other, and their views of the world are so different.”
“Has . . . has Lok had any catatonic episodes since . . . he came back to live with your family?”
“No, but his mind wanders. Father gets furious at him, which makes Lok very angry in turn. Mother has told my father that when Lok’s mind wanders he is seeing things that have to do with the restless spirits. Then they argue, which is something I’ve seldom seen them do. It doesn’t help that Lok has taken such a strong interest in witchcraft.”
“He has?”
Jia Li nodded. “From after the time of my grandfather’s passing, Lok has sought out the Yao people around Shanghai to teach him of the old ways. The things my grandfather would not teach him.”
“What things?” Willow asked.
“I don’t know, but when my father found out about Lok’s interests, that’s when he made the decision to move our family to California. He wanted to get Lok away from their influence.”
Oi-Ling’s terrified voice called out from the window. “Jia Li, Jia Li! Come quick! There is something in the closet!” Then she spoke rapidly in Chinese.
Willow started to get up, but Jia Li waved her back down.
“It’s nothing,” Jia Li said, rising easily to her feet and starting toward the door. “Only our brothers scaring her. Oi-Ling has a very active imagination and they know it. I’ll be right back.”
Willow sat on the small porch and looked out into the empty parking lot. The Rongs’ family car hadn’t returned. Do they know where to look for Lok?
Curious, and wondering how strong her own powers could be, Willow leaned more closely to the small pond and looked into the water. While Buffy had been gone over the summer, she’d taught herself a lot of things and been surprised how easily the craft came to her.
She peered into the pool, staring past the quick, darting movements of the fish. Pale green illumination dawned at the bottom of the pool, spreading up through the water. She raised her hands above the water, amazed at the amount of light shining onto her palms.
When she blinked, movement appeared in the water and she knew it wasn’t the fish. Her heart rate increased and a throbbing started at her temples.
Lightning blazed through the water in a heated rush and the scene cleared, letting her see Lok. Still, his face was blurry, as if it were riding the ripples across the pond’s surface.
Look more deeply, a quiet, cold voice ordered from inside Willow’s head.
Willow panicked and stopped herself short of screaming, then realized she couldn’t make a sound, couldn’t even breathe. Whatever force held her kept her tightly under control. She strained against it, but couldn’t break it. Her face dipped closer to the fishpond, then she could see Lok more clearly, and she could feel the dark magic swirling around him, threatening them both.
Chapter 8
WILLOW SQUINTED AGAINST THE HARSH GREEN LIGHT streaming from the fishpond. No, the voice whispered into her mind. You will see! Her eyes opened more widely and the pain ground into them. Lok was on his knees, his face lit by a patio torch shoved into the ground beside him. Willow got the impression that he was surrounded by earth. Perhaps he was inside a cave, but it felt like a grave. She wanted to tear away from the scene, feeling somehow that it had gone way past the little scrying attempt she’d been after. But she gazed at the unfolding events in hypnotic fascination.
Lok chanted fiercely, cords standing out on his neck. His voice was just beyond Willow’s ability to understand, but she heard the fiery cadence of it. He held his hands out, stretching his palms toward the rough earthen wall before him, beseeching and demanding. Perspiration shined his face and gathered in the corners of his eyes. His eyes dilated in fear or excitement.
Suddenly, the earthen wall cracked in front of Lok. Great chunks of earth and rock shot from the wall in successive blasts. Miraculously, or by design, none of those airborne missiles touched Lok.
Skeletal hands, possessing only shreds of decayed flesh, pushed through the opened fissure and flexed. Long fingernails prized at the edges of the crack and pushed out, ripping more rock free. Then a face pressed at the fissure. The yellowed parchment skin drew tightly against the hollows of the skull. The high cheekbones split the weathered flesh, and enflamed eyes sat back deeply in the sockets. A rictus of yellowed ivory showed between prune-wrinkled lips. Empty places showed where teeth had come out. White-gray hair blazed with reddish dust hung to the shambling creature’s shoulders.
Lok held a talisman before him, but it was too far away for Willow to recognize. The creature stepped from the fissure in the wall and swiveled its head stiffly to bring its baleful glare to Lok. Without hesitation, the creature started for Lok.
He knows not what he does or what he awakens, the voice whispered in Willow’s head. The words shivered into her mind like chipped ice. He must be protected from them, as he has always been protected. Otherwise, they will have him forever, and this I will not allow.
In the fishpond, the creature lumbered for Lok. It bent swiftly and grabbed up a rusty miner’s pick from the rocks strewn across the cave floor.
You will protect him.
Black spots caused by the pain hammering Willow’s temples spun into her vision. Her chest was suddenly too tight to cry out in pain. How . . . how am I supposed to find him?
You will find a way.
In the depths of the fishpond, the shambling dead thing raised the pickax. Lok remained before the creature on his knees, beseeching it, holding up the talisman.
It’s too late! Willow screamed inside her own head.
The dead man held the pickax as high as he could, then brought it sweeping down. Lok lifted his hands and tried to shield his face. The pick pierced his palms, nailing them together, then drove into his head hard enough to shatter his spinal cord. A crimson tide of blood splashed over Lok’s ruined features.
Willow screamed, but the sound of it was trapped inside her own head. She went completely blind and deaf, on the edge of passing out from the pain.
It is not too late yet. But soon it will be. What you have seen is that which will be unless the course is altered. You cannot let this happen. There are powerful forces here, things which need more done for them than Lok can help with.
I don’t know what to do, Willow insisted.
We all have unfinished tasks, Willow. Rest is never easy and seldom welcome for those of us who work wi
thin the world. You know, for you are one of us.
The cold inside Willow’s head spread, numbing her body. For a moment she felt as though she were adrift on a freezing, black sea. Then someone touched her arm. She opened her eyes and took an involuntary deep breath.
“Willow.”
Cautiously, pain still racking her temples, Willow gazed up at Jia Li’s worried face. She felt coolness at the corner of her mouth and her jaw. I’m drooling on myself! Embarrassment mixed with the strong fear filling her. Then she realized her head was touching the edge of the fishpond, only inches from going inside.
“Are you all right?” Jia Li asked.
“Sorry,” Willow said, pushing herself up on leaden arms. “I don’t know what happened there.” Hesitantly, she gazed into the water. Only the goldfish swam there now, occasionally kissing the surface.
“Perhaps you should go home and get some rest,” Jia Li suggested.
“No, I’ll be all right. Thanks.” Willow rummaged in her purse and brought out a tissue to wipe away the drool. She checked herself in her compact, surprised at how pale she was.
“Let me get you a glass of water.”
“I need to ask you a favor,” Willow said.
“What?”
Willow hesitated, trying to think of a way to ask what she was going to and make it sound legitimate. “I need to see Lok’s room.”
Jia Li drew back and shook her head. “I don’t know—”
“Maybe there’s a clue there.”
“A clue?”
“I don’t know,” Willow said. “Maybe a matchbook or an address book. Something that might give us an idea of where he’s gone. I don’t think your parents checked there.”
Jia Li caved quickly. “Okay.”
Winded, battered and beaten, Xander watched Chris fake one way, then dribble the ball back behind his body and streak to the left. The guy guarding him tried to keep up but was definitely outclassed.
“Get him! Get him! Knock him on his ass!” the guy guarding Xander yelled, breaking off to give chase to Chris.
With the winning bucket on the line, the big man guarding Dave had no choice but to sink back into the lane, intending to cut Chris off. When Chris pulled up and left the ground, obviously going for the game-winning twelve-foot jumper, the big man left the ground, too, spreading his arms wide. Chris double-pumped and heaved the ball toward the goal.
“No!” Xander yelled, stumbling forward, watching as the basketball arced way too high to hit the rim. He hurt all over. Fighting vampires and playing basketball all in the same night—file under Never To Be Done Again! He pushed himself hard, wanting to get under the goal to attempt another rebound. Usually all he got was a sharp elbow in the face, but a couple of times he’d successfully wrapped the ball up for important turnovers. He’d never be Dennis Rodman, he realized, but the saving grace was he’d never be Dennis Rodman.
“Allez—” Chris shouted, falling back from the defender.
Then Dave was there, sailing through the air like he had wings. He shot up after the basketball, caught it in both big hands, and shoved it through the basket. “—oop!” He hung onto the rim for a moment as the ball drained through the metal links, a big grin splitting his face.
The three street ballplayers cursed and spat.
Xander stood up and clasped his hands together behind his neck to open his chest more. He breathed deeply. “Thank God.”
Dave dropped from the rim, landing lithely even after all the full-court ball. “Pay me !” he roared. Sweat rolled off him, drenching his clothing, but his movements remained loose and easy. “Stuck it in your eye and broke it off, little wannabes!”
The three street ballplayers bristled at Dave’s words.
Xander walked over to Dave and spoke quietly. “You know, Dave, we beat them in basketball, but maybe we’re not quite ready for them to go postal on us .”
“Them chumps don’t wanna go down that street,” Dave declared, looking at the street guys. “I know that ain’t happening.”
Xander turned and kept the other team in sight. They bickered among themselves for a little while, then reached into their pockets and shelled out the cash in wet, crinkly bills. Xander breathed a sigh of relief, mopped blood from his bleeding nose with his shirt, and returned his attention to the vampires gathered on the bench at courtside.
Five of them sat on the bench or leaned against the chain link fence. The three guys were hard-faced and the two girls looked vampish—in the sexy, non-blood drinking way.
Maybe we can just pack it in and get out of here, Xander told himself. He glanced at the drugstore and Giles’s car. The Watcher was nowhere in sight. Where the hell is Giles?
Dave slapped a twenty-dollar bill in Xander’s hand, startling him. “Thanks, X-Man. We couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Yeah,” Chris added, grinning, “the way you stop a basketball pass with your face—man, you gotta see it to believe it.”
“Thanks, guys,” Xander said, conscious of one of the vampires standing up by the bench. “I mean that, really.”
“Hey,” the vampire called. “You guys want a chance to double your money?”
Chris and Dave swapped looks, obviously drawn into the possibility.
“Look,” Xander said, “we really should call it a night.” And I can’t see vampires out for just a game of basketball. These guys are not my idea of good losers. Talk about taking your basic pound of flesh . . .
“Give you two to one odds,” the vampire said, shrugging out of his coat and flashing the uniform top of a rival high school. He threw it to one of the girls. “Unless you’re afraid you got no real game.”
“Oh, we got game,” Dave said. “Got so much game you guys aren’t even gonna get in the game.”
“You know,” Xander said to Chris and Dave, “maybe we need to dial the testosterone level back down a notch here.” He watched the street guys, noticing how they pulled crosses from under their shirts and quickly headed out. They know the score. “We really don’t need another game tonight. I mean, we all got jobs in the morning, right?”
“You have school in the morning, Xander,” Chris said. “Dave and I get to sleep in tomorrow.”
If those vampires have their way, you’re going to be taking a dirt nap tomorrow. Xander looked at the court exit, noticing how far away it suddenly seemed.
“Me,” Dave said, “I want another game. Kinda reminds me of why I stuck it out through high school.”
The vampire in the basketball jersey grinned. He motioned to his two friends. “Let’s do it then.”
The vampires all wore basketball jerseys. Xander didn’t know if they had actually been players for the other high school, or if they’d stolen the jerseys from bodies of past victims.
Play began explosively with Dave hitting the top-ofthekey jumper to get control of the ball. Xander glanced back at the drugstore, wishing Giles would get there. The only thing keeping Xander on the court was thinking that Chris and Dave were going to end up as vampire munchies without him. Of course, staying there could make him only one more munchie.
The three vampires played down and dirty, fouling with elbows and knees, showing obvious skill at the game. And because of their vampire strength, all of them could jump as high as Dave even though they were inches shorter.
“Man,” Chris said during a brief huddle with Dave and Xander as the vampires retrieved the ball after Dave had swatted it out of bounds, “I never saw guys that could move like this.”
“I know. They’re only five points behind us.” Dave studied the vampires, breathing heavily, sweat dripping from his face. “What I want to know is if they’re so good, why the hell ain’t we heard of them before?”
“Because you’re hearing of us now.” The lead vampire had LOOMIS printed on the back of his jersey.
Chris and Dave glanced at each other, and only Xander understood it was the vampires’ keener sense of hearing that allowed them to hear the conversation.
/> “Yeah,” Dave said. “Lotta good that’s gonna do you. Two more buckets and you clowns are toast.”
“You know,” Xander said, holding his hands up, “just a thought here, but maybe calling them clowns is a notgood idea.” He was beginning to hope that maybe they were vampires just out for a game. Stranger things had happened, right? I know from strange.
“Clowns,” Dave insisted. “You guys ain’t got what it takes to hang.”
“Dee up,” Loomis taunted. “You’ll be surprised to see what we got.” He grinned.
Silently, Xander slipped the cross he’d stuck into his pocket for patrol into his hand. He panted raggedly, drenched in his clothing despite the cool air.
The three vampires stuck a hand into a brief huddle. “What time is it?” Loomis bellowed.
“Game time!” the other two vampires yelled. And when the three of them turned back, their faces had morphed, revealing their true natures.
“Damn!” Chris swore. “Am I just getting tired, or did they just turn really ugly?”
No, Xander thought bitterly, this whole situation just turned really ugly. He kept the cross hidden from sight.
The three vampires broke, and suddenly they were everywhere, dribbling, shooting, and stealing the ball. Xander had no hope of keeping up with them. Chris and Dave quickly lost ground. In less than a minute, the game was over and the humans never had the chance to score another point. The two vampire girls broke out into a cheerleading exhibition that would have broken Olympic records as they flipped and jumped out onto the court to congratulate their guys. The two girls had their fangs out, too.
“Looks like you guys are the losers,” Loomis roared, taking a platinum blonde into his arms.
“I’m hungry,” the girl whined, nipping at his neck playfully.
Loomis laughed. “This is Tandy. She’s always hungry.” He shrugged. “Me and the guys wanted to play a game, but the girls made us promise we’d get them something to eat after.” He smiled, tossed the basketball up and punctured it with a sharp-nailed finger. The sudden detonation echoed over the basketball court. “Dinner; now, that’d be you.”