VISITORS

by Laura Anne Gilman

The student teachers, pointedly ignoring the “mere students,” continued their conversation, which seemed to consist mostly of “So I said to him” and “I hear you” mixed in with “So, what do you think about the way he handled that calc test?”

  “I think we should maybe continue this conversation in the bat cave,” Buffy murmured, looking uneasily at the newcomers. They might not have been teachers yet, but they wanted to be teachers.

  Next to that, a midnight stalker that giggled at midnight was almost normal.

  Outside, the rain continued, deepening to a downpour that turned the daylight almost to night. Not that the creature cared. Its eyes, after countless centuries of living in caves, might prefer the darkness, but there was nothing to keep it from hunting in the daylight. Now it stood motionless for a moment outside the walls of the huge building, wet hair plastered down, sniffing the cool, dank air, glancing about in the dimness that was no barrier to its sight.

  Ahh, yes! The rain was sweet and full of a hundred little chirps and rustles as small things settled more deeply into the bushes. The grass was cool beneath the goat-hoof feet, the mud soothing. The creature giggled once, quietly, pleased.

  A good place, this town, yes. So full of lives, nice, rich human life forces just waiting to be drained . . .

  No. Tempting though it was to begin the stalk and torment of the prey this very night, hungry though it was growing to claim the first victim, drain the first sweet life force—no. Not yet.

  First, much more engrossing even than the hunt, there was that one human who must be studied . . . the girl who moved through the darkness with so bright a supernatural glitter and no fear at all.

  Just as she was doing now, there inside that cave of metal and brick. But she will not stay there forever. No, not forever . . .

  With the softest of giggles, the creature settled itself to wait.

  To wait, it corrected, and then later to hunt. Everything was the hunting.

  And, of course, the feeding.

  CHAPTER 3

  There was something deeply satisfying about being somewhere one wasn’t supposed to be. Ethan Rayne could think of several places on the globe where he wasn’t welcome, but none of them had quite the same appeal of this aesthetically unpleasing but supernaturally enticing town of Sunnydale.

  He breathed in the cool, slightly damp morning air with pleasure, watching the sun make its ascent over the hills rimming the eastern horizon and drying up the remnants of yesterday’s rain. Ethan wasn’t fool enough to enter the vicinity of the high school. Vampires were bad enough, but he didn’t want to encounter that wonderfully irritating little Slayer.

  “At least,” he said, smiling, “not yet.”

  Not until he had a better idea of how best to annoy the Slayer, and her stodgy Watcher.

  Oh yes. It would be a pleasant way to fill a few days, before he had to be in Los Angeles for his meeting. Always a nice little hobby, finding new ways to pester his old chum Rupert.

  Filled with that agreeable thought, Ethan stretched one last time, then turned to open the rental car’s door. But as he did so, squinting into the increasing glare, something made him pause. Caught out of the corner of his eye, a movement along the roadside, in the shrubs there . . . Alone, it was nothing. But Ethan Rayne relied on more than merely his five senses for information. And his sixth sense was feeding him a wonderfully tasty sensation of malicious satisfaction. A satisfaction emanating from whatever had just moved.

  “Well now,” Ethan said to himself once he was certain that the Whatever had moved on. “This could be interesting . . .”

  AP biology wasn’t one of Willow Rosenberg’s favorite classes. But it was interesting, sometimes, and since she’d been able to get out of dissecting the pig fetus by doing a computer simulation instead, she didn’t really mind it. She didn’t mind the teacher, either. He was maybe Giles’s age, kind of chubby cute, and a pretty good teacher in a seen-it-all way.

  But there was class, and then there was being a guinea pig.

  Behind her, Willow heard one of the boys whisper, “Think if we all turned our chairs to the left and stared at the other wall, she’d write that down, too?”

  The “she” referred to the student teacher, the “ST” as Xander called them, a dark-haired one . . . Sheila Something . . . who was sitting just to the left of Willow’s desk, taking notes. To be fair, it wasn’t like there was much else to do.

  “All right, class, let’s see who did their homework.” The teacher flicked the remote of the slide projector, and a new picture flickered onto the wall screen. It was a round segment, kind of off-white, with faint lines circling around inside. Willow frowned. Something about that cross section looked familiar. What is it . . . ?

  “Anyone? No one? Come on, people, use those brains for something other than counting the number of tiles in the ceiling.”

  Silence, broken by a new voice.

  “A unicorn horn.”

  Everyone turned to stare at the speaker—Sheila. The student teacher reddened and stared down at the floor like she wished a giant hole would open up and swallow her. But the bio teacher actually looked amused.

  “Close, but no cigar,” he told her. “This is a segment of a narwhal horn, a long protuberance that grows from the head of a—you guessed it, a narwhal. But these perfectly natural horns used to be represented as unicorn horns, and superstitious people claimed that they had magical powers. Now, who can tell me why a whale would have a growth like this?”

  Willow looked at the slide again, then at the ST, who was still blushing. I have seen that drawing before. In one of Giles’s books. It was a unicorn’s horn, she’d bet her new laptop on it.

  But how had Sheila known that? Amazed at herself, Willow asked softly, “Excuse me? The, uh, narwhal horn—?”

  “Of course it’s a narwhal horn! I’m not stupid!” Sheila blushed even more. “I just, well, I’d heard the story before, about what people used to believe. That’s all.”

  Gathering up her notes in a neat little pile, she pointedly looked away, focusing on the teacher.

  Math was bad enough, but on top of that Ms. Sanderson always looked at you the way she’d look at a particularly nasty bug.

  Or maybe it hadn’t been bad enough, Buffy thought, because now I have C. B. breathing down my neck. Helpful C. B. the student teacher, the guy who had been sitting near her for this whole class, and not because he found her fascinating in a boy-girl way. No, C. B.—and how had she ever thought he was cute?—was oh so willing to show off how well he knew math—and how well she didn’t.

  Ha, surprise, she did know this equation after all! Buffy glanced up, and C. B. gave her his patented let-me-help-you-stupid-little-girl smile. She returned it with her equally patented wish-I-had-a-stake smile. Bingo! He tensed, frowned, and turned his attention to another student.

  Score one for the Slayer.

  Score more than one, actually, because she knew the answer to the next question as well. Maybe she’d get through this lesson unharmed. And maybe C. B. would, too.

  Just then, the bell sounded, announcing the end of class and the start of her lunch break. Buffy snatched up her stuff and was out the door, escaping Math for Morons before Ms. Sanderson—or C. B.—could say a word.

  Lunchtime, she thought, used to be filled with the actual eating of lunch. And gossip. And normalcy. Not that she really remembered days like that anymore, but . . . Oh well. Deal, move on.

  She felt Xander fall into place beside her before she actually saw him, and knew without looking that Willow had joined her on the other side. Just like old times.

  “Ewww . . . I can’t believe she actually wore that in public!”

  Well, okay, except for Cordelia being permanently attached. Although she’s been . . . mellowing lately. Now there’s a thought more frightening than the Hellmouth.

  “We librarying it for lunch?” Xander asked.

  “Are we ever not?” she answered, suddenly feeling more at charity with the world
than usual. Giles would be there, nose in a book, getting her the answers. They’d find out what was stalking her, teach it some manners, and she could get back to her usual routine of slay, slay, and time out to party. Life was good.

  Or mostly good, she thought, seeing a now familiar shape walking into the library ahead of them. “What do they do, sprint? I mean, to always be in there before us?”

  This Invasion of the Student Teachers was beginning to be a major pain. They were turning up everywhere on campus, which was bad enough. But they especially seemed to be showing up in the library.

  Worst thing was, they were all so . . . well . . . nice. She knew some of their names by now: Rebecca, the one with the curves that made Xander blink, superior C. B., who as the one guy had Xander insanely jealous, and the leader of their pack, Elaine. And Miriam, of course. She of the big brown eyes, devilish grin, and severe flirting. Miriam was the alleged reason that the student teachers kept winding up here, since the library was the only place that someone in a wheelchair could move around comfortably. Other than the cafeteria. And that belonged to the fencing team in the morning, and the chess team after school.

  Gee. You’d think this was a real school or something.

  But “alleged reason,” ’cause Buffy had her suspicions about the appeal the library had for some of these unwanted visitors . . .

  Sure enough, as Buffy and friends entered the library—ta-da, there they were again, four of the six. Student Teachers on Parade.

  Willow sighed. “I used to wonder what it would be like to have a library that people used. ’Cause, the books and all.”

  “I don’t think that some of them are all that interested in the books, Will,” Buffy said dryly. “Just the book guy.”

  There at the main table, Giles had been roped into answering yet another question from one of the four STs who had set up camp there.

  “Okay, gang. Time to head for Temporary Slayerette Headquarters.”

  The four teens changed course as a group, heading for the one secure place they could talk about stuff Slayer-related—Giles’s office. As they passed, Buffy craned her neck to see past Giles and snickered. Sure enough, Miriam was batting her big brown eyes. Giles, as usual, was defining the art of obliviousness.

  “That is just so . . . ewww,” Cordelia announced. “I mean about those girls and Giles.” She sat down at Giles’s desk and pretended not to read the leather-bound book open before her. “He is way too old, and has, like, the lamest car in existence. How much do librarians make, anyway?”

  “Older men with cars and money are okay then?” Xander held up his hands to deflect three sets of glares. “Just trying to get the rules all set in my male pea brain, is all.”

  Cordelia snorted, turning a page and paying a little too much attention to it for someone claiming not to read that stuff. The others made themselves as comfortable as possible, among the odds and ends and books that Giles crammed his office with.

  “Man, you’d think Giles would take some of this stuff home,” Xander grumbled, trying to make himself comfortable without knocking anything over.

  “I think he needs it all here. For, you know, research stuff,” Willow replied, having much less trouble fitting her petite form inside the small office. Buffy, coming in last, had no choice but to take the corner floor seating. Sinking into a graceful cross-legged position, she leaned carefully back against the bookcase. Satisfied that nothing was going to fall on her head, she let herself slip into what Giles called her grounded mode. Aware of everything, but not really taking in anything specific. Way useful in really boring classes, it was the next best thing to a nap.

  “Still. I don’t see why—”

  The usual banter between her buds faded into background noise, and Buffy let her muscles relax. It was safe here. She could relax . . .

  The tiniest beep caught Buffy’s attention and pulled her out of her trance: Willow’s laptop had just finished its most recent search. A few keystrokes, and Willow was reading intently. Buffy leaned forward and tried to make sense of the web page, but it was filled with small type and large words, and Buffy gave up.

  “They need to make a bigger screen for those things,” she said to her friend. Leaning back, Buffy pulled a magazine out of her backpack and started flipping idly through it.

  “Umhmmmm,” Willow agreed, her brain obviously elsewhere.

  “We’ve lost her again,” Xander announced, and then silence fell for a few minutes, broken only by the clicks of the keyboard, and the sound of turning pages.

  “They say Leonardo’s put on weight,” Buffy finally said to no one in particular, studying a photo, “but he still kind of looks okay to me.”

  “Okay,” Willow echoed absently.

  “In a kid sort of way.”

  “Mm-hm.”

  “Give it up, Buff. She’s not hearing you. Single-track-mind girl, that’s our Willow when she’s on the trail of something big.”

  Giles had finally escaped the clutches of the last young woman at the table, the light-haired one who always mumbled her name so you could never quite catch it. Joining them in his office, he gave a pointed glare at Xander’s feet resting on the furniture. Xander hastily swung his legs down off the table and sat upright.

  “Thank you,” Giles said, moving carefully to avoid stepping on Willow, who was seated cross-legged in the middle of the floor. Reaching his desk, he evicted Cordelia with a glance, and sat down, picking up a small red-bound book and holding it open to one spot with his fingers.

  “I believe that I may have found—”

  “Got it!” Willow announced, her fingers finally stilled over the keyboard. “Oh.” She looked up. “Sorry, Giles. But what Buffy saw. It’s called a korred. It’s—”

  “A rather nasty creature out of Cornish mythology, yes. Furred, with cloven hooves and red eyes.” Giles paused. “I can see where it could easily be unnerving.”

  He seemed almost gleeful at the thought. Hurray for scholarship, Buffy thought, less gleefully. It wasn’t sounding like something that would go away with a swat on the rear with a rolled-up newspaper.

  “They’re rather, well, tenacious, I’m afraid.”

  Nothing was ever easy. Buffy’s good mood started to do the slow fade into grumpiness.

  Willow, not to be outdone in the research thing, read off her screen. “Combining a nasty disposition and an intense curiosity about humans, it is known for stalking its prey and then . . .”

  “And then what?” Buffy prodded. “Will? Giles? C’mon guys. Suspense is very bad for me at this point.”

  “And forcing them to dance,” Giles said reluctantly.

  “Dance? That doesn’t sound so threatening.”

  “To the death.”

  “Oh.”

  Cordelia opened her mouth to say something, and then shut it again with a snap as a polite cough sounded from the doorway. Giles whirled, nearly crashing right into Rebecca, who took a startled step backward. “I’m sorry,” the student teacher said in a voice that was anything but, “I was just wondering if you had a copy of the Principles of Mathematics textbook they’re using for sophomore class? Mine is a dud—it’s got a chapter missing.”

  It took Giles a moment to get the mask of “proper librarian” firmly back in place. “Yes, of course. In the back room. Just a moment, if you please,” he added to Buffy and the others. “Yes,” he repeated to Rebecca. “If you’ll come this way, I’ll get the book down for you.”

  As Rebecca, smiling, followed Giles out of the office, Buffy announced to no one in particular, “I could get to hate them.”

  “Which reminds me,” Willow said. “Something weird happened in class today, with one of the student teachers. The dark-haired one, not Elaine . . . Sheila Something? She knew the slide Mr. van Deusen was showing was a unicorn horn.”

  “Van Deusen had a unicorn horn?” Xander asked.

  “Man, I knew he didn’t date much, but—”

  “A picture of one. And he said it was a
narwhal horn, but it wasn’t. And she knew that.”

  “Willow, there’s no such thing as a—” Cordelia realized what she was about to say and stopped herself. “Is there?”

  “Haven’t the foggiest,” Buffy replied. “Not caring, either, unless it tries to make like a menace. Come on, Will, she was probably making a funny. Or showing off.”

  “Maybe.” But the redhead clearly wasn’t convinced.

  “Where were we?” Giles asked, hurrying back into the office. “Ah yes, the korred’s means of attack.”

  “Dancing you to death,” Cordelia prodded helpfully.

  “Indeed. I assure you, dying from exhaustion is not a pleasant way to go.” Picking up his book, Giles resumed his lecture without hesitation. “Although it is quite likely that a heart attack is the more probable cause of death . . .”

  “Okay, okay, I get it,” Buffy said. “Don’t wear dancing shoes.”

  “Yes. Quite. Um, however, according to this, the korred is only slightly larger than your average gnome. So I am at a loss to explain the sensation you had of something larger.”

  “Oh. Here. I know that,” Willow cut in. “It says that a korred can do that thing where it shifts mass, like, you know, a puffer fish. ’Cause size is scarier. To its victims.”

  “Hellmouth,” Xander said with a grim sort of pride. “Kind of like the Wheel of Fortune of evil creatures. You never know what you’re going to win.”

  “I would not call it evil, exactly,” Giles corrected.

  “Merely, well, malicious.” He stood behind Willow, thumbing through his book slowly and comparing his source to hers.

  Buffy shook her head. “Slight change of definitions, Giles. If it goes after humans, it’s evil. End of story. And besides, it’s giving me the creeps.”

  He glanced up at her from the book. “May I point out that ‘the creeps’ aren’t always a dependable reference?”

  “You may not. Whatever happened to ‘listen to your instincts, Buffy’? Or the ever popular ‘the Slayer should know when something supernatural is afoot’?”