Carnival of Souls

by Nancy Holder

  Xander swallowed hard.

  The hunter moved back into position in a jerky, automaton motion. His face grew hard, and he looked like a statue.

  I think that’s good.

  Xander freed his other hand, grabbing the chain so it wouldn’t make a sound. As the girl and the guy watched in astonished silence, he reached across and pulled the girl’s left hand free of her chain. Her right was still tethered.

  “Try it yourself,” Xander whispered.

  She tried, but nothing happened. Same with the guy.

  Xander leaned over and wrenched the guy’s right hand free. Then the guy’s left.

  Others saw and moved their hands, straining against their chains. But they were held in place.

  “How did you do that?” Snyder hissed, struggling against his own chains. Xander tried not to take satisfaction in that. It had to have something to do with the coffin, or the spells Cordelia had been talking about. Now he wished he’d been able to pay better attention.

  “There was something about a warlock,” Xander told him in a low voice.

  “Warlock? Are you insane?” Synder shot back. Xander waited to see if it occurred to Snyder that believing in warlocks was, at the moment, nowhere near the craziest aspect of their existence.

  “Not so loud,” Xander cautioned him.

  “Are you telling me what to do?” Snyder asked. His bloodshot eyes were so huge Xander half-expected them to fall out of his head. “You are a student!”

  “Shut up,” Xander told him.

  “What?”

  Ignoring Snyder, Xander broke the chain around the girl’s right wrist, and she covered her mouth with both hands as if to keep herself from crying out. Xander motioned for her to put them down. There was no telling when an evil-statue-guy might notice.

  “Oh, God, can you get us out of here?” the guy to Xander’s right whispered excitedly.

  Then their attention was taken up when the threshers banged their drums and crashed their cymbals. The noise rang in Xander’s ears, until louder screams masked it. Something—someone?—appeared in the diorama. It was another Sunnydale High School student, a beefy guy in a letter jacket who, yeah, could very well have gluttony issues. He was on his hands and knees, looking around as he screamed, and Xander didn’t blame him because it was extremely terrifying simply watching the figures in the diorama as they lost their robotlike stiffness and began wailing on the guy with their drumsticks and cymbals.

  “What’s going on? Who are you people?” the guy was shrieking.

  “Behold the wages of the sin of gluttony!” one of the hunters proclaimed, lifting the hood from the falcon on his arm.

  “Oh my God! Someone help me!” the guy screamed. “Please!”

  Xander hated not being able to help, but he did the next best thing he could: He took advantage of the distraction to slither off the black stallion and creep to the trio of riders ahead of him. He yanked hard on the chain of the guy beside Principal Snyder. The chains broke immediately.

  “Me, next, me!” Snyder demanded.

  “Shut up,” Xander said again, and he got to work.

  “You can’t just leave me here,” Claire said to Giles from the door of the computer lab.

  Willow’s forehead wrinkled. Giles commiserated; the police dispatches indicated that the riots were heading this way. It was quite possible they would overrun the school. At least they had untied her hands. That would give her a better chance at survival. But not much of one.

  “She was going to shoot me,” Vaclav reminded Giles. “Angel stopped her.”

  “Don’t be silly,” she said quickly. “I was just pretending. I would never hurt anyone.”

  “I’m sorry,” Giles said. “Lock the door behind us.”

  Then they raced down the hall and into the library, where Giles began grabbing holy water and stakes while Jenny Calendar threw together some protective amulets.

  Willow said, “What should I do? Tell me what to do!”

  And then the phone rang.

  Startled, they all glanced at it, and then Willow raced to grab it.

  “Hello?” she said, and then, “Cordelia!”

  “I’ll take it,” Giles said, dashing across the library. “Yes, Cordelia?”

  “Giles,” she whispered, the signal fuzzy and faint. “We need you. You have to come now. Le Malfaiteur knows what to do and you have to come and Xander’s messed up and…oh my God!”

  “Stay calm,” he urged her.

  “Hel-lo?” she blurted. “I am in the middle of total evil here!”

  “Yes. Who is Le Malfaiteur?”

  “He’s this warlock. He is, like, French or African or something, and Ethan Rayne cursed him because he cheated in cards, hold on, he says he only cheated because…Listen, we don’t care why you cheated! Where was I?”

  “The warlock.”

  “Yes! He used this invisible spell on us to get Xander into the coffin, only now I think Xander is dying.”

  “We believe he’s in another dimension,” Giles said.

  “Really.” There was a beat. “Well, that’s good! They don’t think Xander is dying,” she said away from the phone.

  “Okay, listen, I have all this stuff to tell you,” she continued.

  “I, as well,” Giles said. “Are you—”

  “Me, first,” Cordelia cut in. “This phone wasn’t even worth stealing. It is a piece of junk! It weighs a ton and the signal sucks and oh my God, I am being greedy! The Weakening Spell is wearing off!”

  “No, no, it’s not. You’re always greedy, remember? You’re fine. Stay with me, Cordelia,” Giles urged. “Have you seen Buffy?”

  Ms. Calendar and Willow listened as they finished putting together the supplies. Vaclav chimed in on Giles’s side of the conversation, and Willow started putting the puzzle pieces together. It was as Vaclav had told them: The carnival used magickal prisms to find people’s weak spots. Then Vaclav broke down and spilled. He had been too afraid to tell them everything, but now that Cordelia and the French warlock were on the grounds, he obviously felt more confident about sharing.

  There were seven prisms, each attuned to one of the Seven Deadly Sins. Bewitched by the mirror ball on the carousel, Xander’s gluttony had gotten the better of him. The crystal ball was the focal point for envy.

  Willow wondered what she, Willow, might have done if she had more fully succumbed to her envy. She was deeply ashamed that she had tried to hurt Ms. Calendar’s feelings, even if the computer teacher understood and forgave her.

  What might Angel have done if he got too lusty?

  Giles’s anger had raised a demon that had nearly destroyed Sunnydale.

  Vaclav said that next the carnival sucked the souls right out of people. But where did the people go?

  “But what are we to do with the prisms?” Giles asked Vaclav. “Yes, hold on Cordelia. Vaclav is going to explain things to us.”

  Vaclav hesitated again, and Willow was about to encourage him to speak up when he exhaled and said, “I’m not sure. I do know that they are somehow connected to the calliope. There have been times when one of them would be damaged, and the calliope would sound…sour.”

  “So maybe what we should do is find them and destroy them,” Willow suggested.

  Vaclav considered. “When the calliope sounded wrong, Professor Caligari would touch his chest. The way a person does when there is something wrong with his heart.”

  “So you’re saying his heart is connected in some way to these prisms?” Jenny asked. She looked at Giles. “There’s a lot of literature online about symbolic magicks. These prisms could represent the chambers of his heart. If the chambers are completely destroyed, his heart will fail.”

  “Are you hearing this, Cordelia?” Giles asked.

  “So…we find and destroy the prisms,” Willow ventured again.

  “The thing is,” Jenny cut in, “in cases like these, you usually have to inflict a lot of damage very quickly or the being can stop you. It’s a
little complicated, but…”

  Giles took up the threat. “What you’re saying is if we don’t destroy all the prisms…wait.” He nodded. “Yes, Cordelia. I’m listening.”

  Everyone was quiet. Then Giles said, “Oh, of course. Why didn’t I think of that? Thank you, Le Malfaiteur.”

  After a few more minutes, Giles said, “Yes, good, all right, we’ll try to meet you at the freak show. Yes, Jenny has a cell phone.”

  Ms. Calendar nodded.

  “Yes, it’s a lovely cell phone. Very good,” Giles went on. “No, I don’t think you’d be allowed to keep it once this is all over.”

  Giles hung up and faced the others.

  “We have a plan,” he said. “I’ll explain it on the way.”

  He, Ms. Calendar, Willow, and Vaclav took off, racing through the student lounge to the faculty parking lot. Jenny unlocked her car and everyone slid in, Giles in the front seat with her, Willow and Vaclav in the back.

  Willow stared into the crystal ball, watching Xander’s face. He was still beaten, but he was looking around at something they couldn’t see, and talking, although they couldn’t hear him.

  I wonder if he’s where the people go when their souls are stolen, Willow thought anxiously. She was so scared to go back to the carnival. Scared it would happen to her. But she would go to hell and back to save Xander. Or Giles. Or even Cordelia.

  And especially Buffy. Where is she?

  Jenny peeled out like a teenage boy and they headed for the carnival.

  Demons and people were racing all over the streets. Buildings blazed. Smoke choked the moon and screams pierced Willow’s eardrums.

  “Can you summon Godzilla?” Willow asked Giles.

  A man spotted them and waved both his arms as he ran toward them, calling for help.

  “Drive on,” Giles said quietly. “Get around them.”

  Not needing to go to hell to help, Willow thought. Hell has come to us.

  “This is what my master brings,” Vaclav yelled. “This chaos and mayhem. And then the people come to us like lambs to the slaughter. We devour their souls.” He buried his face in his hands.

  “It’s not your fault,” Willow said, patting his shoulder. “Um, not that much, anyway.”

  Vaclav dropped his hands into his lap. “I was his collaborator for two centuries. And then, when Sandra’s mind was taken…only then did I rebel.”

  “But you did rebel,” Willow said. “You’re trying to help us stop him now. That’s good.”

  “But my soul…he’ll take my soul,” Vaclav said.

  “Only if he defeats us,” Willow said.

  They shared a look.

  “He’ll take my soul,” Vaclav said brokenly.

  “Right, then,” Giles said. “On that triumphant note of optimism, let’s go through our plan one last time.”

  Willow listened carefully.

  “Le Malfaiteur has corroborated Vaclav’s opinion that the prisms, the calliope, and Caligarius are connected. We need to collect all the prisms and put them together so that they’re touching,” Giles said. “Once that is done, then we perform a Tobaic Ritual of Destruction. It’s a very ancient rite said to have been used against a number of the last pure demons who walked the Earth before humankind banished them.”

  “So, we think he’s that kind of demon, a…tobacco demon?” Willow asked.

  “It’s a sort of all-purpose destruction ritual,” Ms. Calendar said. “It works in a lot of cases.” She nodded at Giles. “That’s a very elegant solution.”

  “Thank you,” Giles said.

  “A lot of cases, but not all?” Vaclav asked worriedly.

  “There is a chance it won’t work,” Giles said. “In which case, we may simply try to smash the prisms.”

  “Then why not try smashing them first, in the rides?” Vaclav demanded.

  “Because they’re prisms,” Giles began patiently, but Ms. Calendar turned around from the front seat and said, “Believe me, we want him stopped as much as you do. Rupert’s right. The method that has the best chance of working is to gather them together first.”

  Vaclav nodded, still looking pretty worried.

  And then…

  “Wow,” Willow whispered.

  The calliope played over the landscape, and the people who had survived the gauntlet of monsters had become hypnotized again…or zombified, or whatever one wanted to call it.

  Although it was three in the morning by Giles’s watch, the carnival was in full swing. The Ferris wheel was completely restored, and shone brightly. The other attractions—rides—sparkled and whirled. The carousel creatures bobbed up and down.

  From Giles’s distant vantage point, he could see riders, and people pouring into the entrance like cows placidly walking into the slaughterhouse.

  Jenny stopped short of the parking lot, which was full of cars. People had driven here in a fog, gotten out, and were trudging slowly toward the carnival.

  As the group got out of Jenny’s car, Giles said, “Everyone, do you have the wards I made for you?”

  They were protective amulets he had cobbled together from things Jenny and he had on hand, guided by Le Malfaiteur’s instructions over the library phone.

  They all nodded. Then he said, “Jenny, your phone?”

  She took it out of a bag clanking with weapons and supplies and handed it to him. He fished into his pocket for the number of the phone that Cordelia had “appropriated” from a person or persons unknown, and dialed the number.

  It was answered on the first ring. It was Le Malfaiteur. He said, “Alors, Monsieur Giles. You are ready?”

  Giles said, “Yes,” and gestured to the others to crowd in.

  As they did so, the warlock invoked the magick spell that would cloak them in invisibility.

  They faded from sight, and then Giles was staring at trees, and streets, and other people shuffling past them.

  Quietly the four crept toward the carnival.

  “Okay, now what?” Cordelia whispered to Le Malfaiteur as she peered at Xander through the top of the coffin. He didn’t look any better.

  “I don’t know why the coffin’s not working,” Le Malfaiteur said beside her. Since they were both invisible, she couldn’t see him. But she hadn’t lied on the phone: He was tall, dark, and probably twenty-four; he had worn perfectly tailored gray wool pants and a navy blue silk shirt. And a thin silver chain, and a matching, tiny hoop in his left ear. Stylish, but with a little bit of flair.

  The warlock went on. “Maybe he had to be part of Caligari’s evil family or something. Maybe there was a spell to perform first. Ah don’t know.”

  “You don’t know? We stuck him in there and you don’t know?”

  “Shh. Someone’s coming.”

  Cordelia held her breath. Along with utilizing the wards, they had put up a closed sign in front of the freak show entrance, but some people just didn’t pay any attention or assume that rules and regulations applied to them personally.

  She looked fearfully, waiting, watching. And seeing no one.

  Hey, seeing no one!

  “You guys?” she whispered.

  “Yes. We’re here,” Giles replied.

  In the mirror maze Buffy yanked back through the mirror, equally hard.

  And whatever had hold of her, released her at once.

  “Okay, then,” she said.

  Then she saw the reflections of the seven robed men.

  She whirled around.

  They were nowhere to be seen.

  And the fun house went dark.

  “I am getting really tired of this place,” the Slayer muttered.

  “Okay, you know your jobs,” Giles said. They were standing around Xander’s coffin. Or so Giles hoped. They were still invisible. “Each of us has a prism to collect. I’ll go to the Chamber of Horrors and get the mirror.”

  “I will get the one in the Tunnel of Love,” Vaclav said. “That’s lust. Lust is what brought me under Caligari’s thrall.”

 
“Lust can be cool,” Cordelia said. She cleared her throat. “I’ll get the purple basket in the coin toss.”

  “The mirror ball in the carousel,” Ms. Calendar said. “I’ll get that since lust…is taken. That’s gluttony, right? Seriously, I’m on a diet every other week.”

  “You would never guess that,” Willow murmured. “The crystal ball is the sixth, for envy. And we already have that.”

  “So you’re going to the fun house,” Giles reminded her. “To get the mirror in the maze.”

  “For vanity, right.”

  “That leaves sloth, for me,” Le Malfaiteur said.

  “Yes,” Vaclav said. “It’s on the Ferris wheel. There is a little mirror at the top. Not all people notice it. Only those for whom sloth might be tempting.”

  “All you did was cheat at cards,” Cordelia said.

  “Ah, but when one is a warlock, it is so tempting to use magicks instead of stirring oneself to perform physical labor.”

  “Oh, I’ll bet your performance is just…” Cordelia trailed off. “How much longer will the invisibility spell last?”

  “It’s hard to say,” Le Malfaiteur confessed. “This is a magickal field. I can sense it growing stronger and stronger. Soon it will negate my magick. Your talismans will only prolong it a little while.”

  “Then we need to hurry,” Willow said anxiously. “Okay, once we’ve taken the prisms, we bring them back here.”

  “If you can,” Giles replied. “Otherwise smash them where they are.”

  Buffy ran through the dark, feet flying, Slayer senses fully ratcheted past stun to kill. She remembered the twists and turns of the maze before she got to them, ducked down, around, zooming for all she was worth.

  Then it was time to get the heck out of there.

  No problem, she thought, racing down a corridor as the crazy laughter followed her.

  Except there was a problem:

  The floor gave way and Buffy tumbled down, down, down, like Alice in the rabbit hole.

  She landed on her feet and whirled around. She was in a pit about two stories high and a football field wide. It was carved out of the earth. She could smell the mud, and something else—the distinct odors of evil—sulfur, ash, smoke, and the stench of death. The ground vibrated rhythmically; steam rose from vents in the ground and the sides of the pit. A strange, red glow revealed Caligarius; he was standing approximately a hundred feet away from her.