VISITORS

by Laura Anne Gilman

  “It’s just that we had made plans to go to the movies that night, all of us”—no need to tell her that it would be Oz’s last night of freedom before he went into the doghouse—“and I was really looking forward to it.”

  The Little-Old-Overworked-and-Highly-Responsible-Me thing was always a good bet. Her mother looked like she was relenting, just a little, and Buffy moved in for the kill. “It’s not like I’m slacking off, or anything. Really. It’s just that I need this break. It’s not like I don’t hold down a full-time job already. One, I might add, with horrible hours, no health benefits whatsoever, and absolutely no pay.”

  She paused, sidetracked by that thought for a moment, then decided that now was definitely not a good time to bring up the question of an increase in her allowance. “This was supposed to be the one night I got to dump it all in someone else’s lap for a couple of hours and just be a teenager. You know, complete and total lack of responsible behavior? Can’t you hire someone to help out? There’s got to be someone who’s good with that kind of socializing lurking around, right?”

  Joyce Summers tried to be patient. She tried to be understanding, even with the added burden of being the Slayer’s mom. But she wasn’t perfect. And so she fell back upon the age-old cry of parents everywhere, in every generation.

  “Buffy, honey, I’m not made of money. I can’t afford to hire anyone to help me out. So I’m afraid that I’m going to have to insist.”

  “But Mom,” Buffy began again, spearing a piece of salad with unnecessary vigor.

  “No, Buffy. That’s final.” Joyce sighed, finishing off her own salad. “Honestly, you’d think I was asking you to chop off your own head or something. I’m not asking for an entire day out of your life—just an evening. A few hours. And you can even bring your homework with you, so after we get everything set up, you can get some studying done as well before the press arrives.”

  Ouch. Bringing the grades thing in is fighting dirty. Buffy took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. This was her mother. This wasn’t an enemy. This wasn’t a battle.

  “Mom. I’m trying. I’m busting my butt, in fact. You know that. And my grades are going up, so can’t we ease up on the twenty-four/seven study thing?”

  “No.” Joyce tried to smile. “Tell you what. How about a bribe? You come help me out this one time, and I won’t say a word about your study habits all that weekend.”

  Buffy chewed a mouthful of chicken and considered the offer. She’d make her mom happy, suffer for an evening, miss a night out with the gang, yeah, but a weekend free of mom nag? “Make it an entire week, and you’ve got a deal.”

  “Don’t bargain with me, young lady. I haggle with art dealers who’re tougher than half a dozen vampires every single day.”

  Her mom was joking, but Buffy knew that tone of voice. It meant she’d pushed her about as far as was safe. Another whine, and the bribe would probably go the way of five-and-a-quarter disks.

  Some times, even the Slayer had to back off. A little.

  The moon was a pale sliver low in the sky, clouds scudding across it lazily. Buffy strode through the cemetery, Mr. Pointy swinging in a loose grip by her side. In a weird way, using the stake Kendra had given her made her feel . . . tougher. A little more able to deal with the weight of being the Slayer.

  “Okay, none of that feeling-sorry-for-your-self stuff,” she warned. But it was an easy thing to fall into. Will had promised to patrol with her, so they could do the study-talk and walk, but her best bud had bailed on her to watch the Dingoes practice yet again: the Battle of the Bands, as Willow had reminded Buffy at least five times today, would take place at the Bronze at the end of next week.

  Oh no, she’s not obsessed, Buffy thought. Not much.

  Not that Buffy blamed her. Much. Hanging with your sweetie, even if he was totally involved in his music, beat stomping through the dead zone any night.

  They’re just lucky the Battle’s set for a non-full-moon night. Otherwise there’d be that whole Teen Wolf thing to worry about. Gee, that would make the band really stand out, wouldn’t it? Except—

  She froze in midthought. There it was again—that cold prickly thing along the back of her neck that had been tailing her the previous night. Not the feeling she got about vamps, but ooky nonetheless. Buffy waited a bit, and it faded slightly.

  Great, now I’m hallucinating. “I’m sorry, Giles, couldn’t stake a thing ’cause I was jumping at shadows.” Not a good way to start the morning report, no.

  Not that there was going to be much to say. So far, the night had been a total bust. Not a vamp in sight, not even stupid ones. Just that weird feeling of being watched. And even that got majorly old after a while.

  Much more of this, and she was going to start getting not jumpy, but downright bored.

  Not that this is something I would be unhappy about. Mom’s right: Bored is good. In small doses.

  As Buffy moved on, she had an image of her mother, waiting up like she was on a date or something. If only! The social life was definitely in dormant stage right now.

  A crackle of sound off to the left made her freeze. Something was watching her! Jumping up on a low monument, Buffy scanned the surrounding tombscape. Nothing moved, not even a stray cat skulking through the underbrush.

  Geez, where is everyone? The mall? Is there a sale on I didn’t hear about?

  Shopping reminded her of the normal, everyday world. And that made her think of her mother again. Dinner, while good in a food category, had been a major ordeal for both of them. After they’d settled the question of the opening, things had pretty much fallen apart on the conversation side. How much can you talk about before you get to the subjects marked Do Not Mention in big red letters? Those subjects being Slaying, Slaying, and the ever popular Slaying.

  Finally, her mother had practically booted her out of the house to go on patrol.

  Which is just too weird. I think I liked it better when she didn’t know. Kinda—

  Something rustled right behind her. Buffy swung around into a fighting crouch, stake raised and ready for business—

  But there was nothing there.

  “Man,” a voice said, “you are getting seriously wiggy.”

  Buffy jumped with a yelp and almost staked Xander.

  “Hey, hey, hey! Down with the big splinter, Buffster. It’s just me.”

  “You almost were wearing this!”

  “Yeah, well, sorry. But I figured Will had Oz-ed out on you, which meant that you would obviously need company. And here I am, keeping-company boy.”

  “Cordelia dumped you, huh?”

  “Sale at Neiman Marcus. Safer to hunt vamps than be around her right now. Uh . . . speaking of which, how is the vamp-hunting business?”

  “Nothing. Nada. Except . . .”

  “Except?”

  Buffy shook her head. “I don’t know. Like you said, wiggy. But . . .”

  “But?”

  “But I just can’t shake the feeling . . . what, I don’t know . . .”

  “Hey, Buff, take pity on me, okay? Will you please finish a sentence?”

  Buffy ran a hand impatiently through her hair. “I would if I knew what I was talking about! Xander, all I can be sure of is this: Something is out there. But right now, I don’t know who—or what—that something might be. And—”

  They both froze, then whirled. Something was definitely there for a second, though they couldn’t see it clearly in the darkness, something big and seriously unnerving. And then it . . . giggled. A high-pitched, definitely not friendly giggle.

  “What . . . ,” Xander got out.

  “Don’t know,” Buffy said grimly, getting a firmer hold on her stake and moving forward to find out.

  But it—whatever it was—was already gone.

  CHAPTER 2

  Willow glanced about her with a contented little sigh. Silence on all sides. Cool. She had always liked the school library in the morning. It was quiet, with nobody here to make her feel even mo
re awkward than normal. There was that nice, friendly smell of undisturbed books.

  Besides, ever since Giles had taken over, this particular corner of the school had started feeling more home than home.

  She spent more time here than home, that was for sure. And Xander was right, they needed a fridge. For sodas. And stuff.

  Xander. A weird little shiver raced through her just then, and Willow told herself sternly, “Stop that.” She was past that. Over. “Oz is my boyfriend. He makes me happy. And Cordelia really cares about Xander. I think . . .”

  No. Stop it. Be happy with Oz. Sweet, totally unflappable Oz.

  Oz and his band. Seemed he spent more and more time with them . . .

  “Battle of the Bands,” she reminded herself. “Only that. You get him back afterward.”

  With that, Willow took a sip of the herbal tea Giles had started stocking for her. Nice, but . . . She sniffed longingly at the scent of the Earl Grey rising from his mug across the table. What if . . . ?

  “No, Willow,” Giles said, coming back just in time to reclaim his mug. “I would prefer not having to explain to Buffy why I allowed you to get your hands on caffeine.”

  He stopped, the cup halfway to his mouth, and did a slight double take. “What are you researching there, Willow?”

  “Nothing.”

  Of course Giles wasn’t going to fall for that. He’d been around them too long to be put off by an innocent voice. Even from her. The Englishman moved quickly around to look at the screen over Willow’s shoulder. She hastily minimized the browser, but he had already seen enough.

  “Willow, I thought that we had discussed this.”

  “You said you wouldn’t loan me the books. You didn’t say I couldn’t do research on my own.”

  He gave a long-suffering sigh. “I do wish—”

  But before the Watcher could go into one of his famed lectures, the doors swung open and Buffy Summers stalked in, followed closely by Xander and Cordelia.

  “We got problems, Giles,” Buffy began.

  “Big problems,” Xander agreed. He jumped up on the counter and perched there, legs swinging, while Cordelia sat at the table beside Willow. But Buffy couldn’t settle, pacing restlessly.

  “There was something in the cemetery last night,” she told her Watcher. “I mean, something more than the usual. Something not of the undead family. A big, nasty something. I couldn’t see it clearly, but it was doing the menacing thing behind me. Stalkerish. And it, well, it giggled.”

  “Hyena giggle,” Xander added, then shut up when Buffy and Giles glared at him.

  “Seriously wiggy giggle,” Buffy continued with a shudder. “And it was giving off some really bad vibes. Hungry vibes.”

  “Interesting,” Giles murmured. “Definitely not a vampire?”

  Despite her agitation, Buffy almost smiled. Giles was on the trail. Nothing made him happier than having some new weirdness to look up. She made a bet with herself, not glancing at him, then looked up suddenly. Sure enough, one hand held his glasses while the other was stuffed into a pocket. Classic Giles Think Mode.

  “Not,” she said. “Emphatically not.”

  “Didn’t you see anything?” Willow asked.

  “Nothing more than a shadow. I mean, I felt it, more than anything else. I’d been feeling it all night. And a little last night, too. Like I said, it was stalking me. But keeping out of range: this thing was definitely playing hard to get.”

  “But it made no move against you?” Giles pressed. “No overtly hostile act?”

  “I’d say stalking’s a pretty hostile act.”

  “And giggling? Sounds just like a freshman,” Cordelia said with a sniff.

  “Do you mind?” Xander asked her. “We’re trying to have a serious bad-guy discussion here.”

  “Much as I am loathe to admit it,” Giles cut in, “I must agree with Cordelia.”

  “Really?” Cordelia perked up, then remembered this wasn’t a Cool Thing and began examining her nails.

  “Yes. Well. Buffy, while I trust your, ah, ‘spidey sense,’ as you call it, there is no indication that—”

  “Giles. Humor me, okay?”

  “Right.” He was suddenly all business. “We shall assume that this newcomer is of supernatural origin, based on your reaction to it, Buffy, and work from there. What do we have?”

  “Giggle,” Xander offered.

  “Stalking tendencies,” Willow added, already typing in key words for the search engine to use.

  Giles nodded. “And a predilection for nighttime hunting.”

  Xander blinked. “Predi-huh?”

  “It likes the night,” Willow translated.

  Cordelia glanced up from her nails. “And that makes it different from the rest of Sunnydale how?”

  There was a moment’s silence. Then Giles said, “Well. I suggest that all of you go on to your classes. I will do some research on . . .”

  He paused, and Buffy continued, “Things that go giggle in the night. Right.”

  The lunchroom was serving meatloaf again.

  “The question, of course,” Xander said, dubiously poking the . . . stuff on his plate with a spoon, “is, ‘Meat of what?’ And why did they make a loaf out of it?”

  It was raining outside, a gray, dismal dripping, which sort of spoiled the joys of going off campus.

  “This . . . this is enough to drive a guy out into a tornado, just so he could get a Micky Dee’s.”

  “Eww.” Cordelia sniffed. “Don’t eat it. Don’t even play with it. Why did you buy it, anyway?”

  “Scientific curiosity?”

  He offered her a spoonful, and she shrieked and jumped up, smacking him on the shoulder.

  “Xander. Leave her alone,” Buffy ordered, poking at her own meal. She paused. “Did I just say that?”

  “Say what? Hey.” Oz appeared out of the seventh period crowd of mostly seniors, leaned over Willow’s shoulder, and nuzzled her neck affectionately.

  “Hey!” She smiled happily up at him. “Didn’t think you were going to show.”

  “Busy time. We’re doing that practicing thing, all lunch and free.”

  “Is it helping?”

  “So far . . . it’s not hurting. Except, maybe, my hands.” He gave a brief demonstration of air guitar, ending with a wild riff. “Taking a break, letting the fingers heal.”

  Cordelia slid back into her seat before Oz could take it, giving Buffy the cover needed to reach across the table and steal one of Xander’s fries. “Do you know there are musicians all over the place? At least,” she added, “musician wannabes. I mean, did you see the bunch over in the corner?”

  “Krazy Klowns,” Oz supplied. “That’s the band name,” he added hastily before Xander could comment. “Hey, look, the Battle of the Bands is open to any high school bands in the county. Awards, you know? Might be media coverage. Local paper, anyhow. Maybe even . . .” Oz shrugged, a little too casually. “Well, it’s just a rumor, but there might even be a few record execs around.”

  “That is so cool!” Willow exclaimed.

  “Rumor, only. But hey, it all means, yeah, we’ve got some wannabes, some garage bands who shouldn’t have left the garage. But we’ve also got some pretty tough competition. You know, like the White Star Express or the Wizard Cats? And just now, I had to practically push my way through Don’t Quit Your Day Job.” He shrugged again. “So it goes.”

  “You guys think you’ve got a chance?”

  “Not a bad chance. Not a good chance. Chance.”

  “Good thing it’s not on a full moon,” Cordelia noted. “It’s not, is it?” she added, looking at Willow.

  “Nope. We checked that.”

  “Anyway,” Oz said, “gotta go.”

  “Go? You just got!” the redhead protested.

  “Sorry. Deven’s already got a bug up his butt about me missing practice three nights a month. We’ve got to use every minute.”

  Frowning unhappily, Willow watched Oz weave his way back t
hrough the crowd.

  “That’s the bummer of having a boyfriend in a band, Will,” Buffy commiserated.

  “Yeah, well.” But then Willow brightened. “It’s not like we don’t have stuff to keep us busy, too. Like this stalker thingy. That’s busy-making.”

  “Ooo, lots of fun there, Will,” Xander cut in, pulling his fries away from the Slayer’s reach.

  “She’s right, though,” Buffy said, making a face at him. “We need to deal with this. ’Cause I’m not going to spend my nights looking over my shoulder for some creepie when I’m supposed to be staking the ghoulies.”

  “Aren’t ghouls, like, dead things that eat flesh? Not drink blood?”

  Everyone stared at Cordelia, who got seriously defensive. “What? You were all doing the Research thing. I needed something to read.” She paused. “And, you know, Giles has got some seriously gross books in there.”

  Willow pushed her tray away and leaned forward across the table. “Okay. If it’s a night hunter, like Giles thinks, at least we’ve got, like, time to deal with it. Right?”

  “Right,” Xander agreed.

  “Not necessarily,” Cordelia cut in. “I mean, just because that’s the only time Buffy’s seen this thing, whatever it is, doesn’t mean that’s the only time it’s out. Maybe it’s after Buffy, so it’s out when she is. The better to catch her.”

  “Thanks, Cordelia. That’s an idea I could have lived without.”

  “Gee, defensive much? I mean, you go around killing things, why shouldn’t things come around trying to kill you?”

  “Cordelia!”

  That came from Xander and Willow as one.

  “Sorry,” Cordelia said, not looking very. “But think about it—”

  “Shh!” Willow hissed, as two of the student teachers—the tall, skinny girl and that one guy in their group, a moderate hottie if you overlooked the teacher-wannabe thing—brought their trays to the unoccupied space at the end of their table.

  “Is this space taken?” the guy asked.

  “Um, no.” Willow shot a helpless glance at the others, as if to ask, Well, what was I supposed to say?