VISITORS

by Laura Anne Gilman

  “We are doing our jobs.” Giles bit off the words, eyes cold behind his glasses.

  “And do those jobs, Watcher and Slayer both, do those jobs entail such complete and utter inefficiency?”

  “Hey.” Willow’s voice wasn’t very loud, but it was firm. “That’s not fair.”

  To Buffy’s surprise, Panner’s angry scowl softened. “The blame doesn’t lie with you, child. You cannot be expected to deal with things of this measure.”

  Willow’s face went absolutely blank. Which was, Buffy knew, her very, very polite way of saying, “You just struck out, Mister.”

  “Go away, Panner.” It was almost a growl from Giles. “Let us work.”

  For what seemed like a long time, neither Giles nor Panner moved. Then Panner shook his head. “So be it.” He turned and stalked away. But just as he was passing through the doorway, Panner added over his shoulder, “For now.”

  Xander was the first to recover. “Geez. Some weird school buds you have, Giles.”

  “Yes. Indeed. Forget about him for now. Instead, let us sum up the current situation.”

  “Right.” Buffy began ticking off the points on her fingers. “Let’s see. There’s the korred stalking Sheila, who may or may not have a clue that she’s in danger—and may not even be in danger now that it’s gotten a whiff of me. So to speak. There’s the korred stalking me. There’s me stalking vamps, who are being noticeable no-shows this week, and no note for teacher. And, ta-da, me stalking the korred, who definitely isn’t playing well with others. Does that about cover it?”

  “Someone else may be involved,” Giles added reluctantly. “Namely, Ethan Rayne.”

  Buffy sighed. “Of course. Wouldn’t be a party without him.”

  “That creepy man.” Cordelia shuddered dramatically. “What does he want?”

  “I’m not sure. Knowing Ethan, possibly the korred. Possibly not.”

  “Oh great!” Xander said. “Just what we needed, another complication. I want one of those pads, the ones with all the colored markers, so we can keep track of who’s doing what to who.”

  “Whom,” Giles corrected absently.

  “Whatever.”

  Buffy glanced at the others. “All right, I’ll say it. The korred’s started feeding. That means it’s gonna get stronger. And once it’s strong enough . . . it’s just a matter of time before the korred gets one of the two of us it’s stalking.” She shrugged, faking nonchalance. “If it’s me, hey, no sweat. I’ve faced worse. And then that creepy little hairy stalker’ll get what’s coming to it.”

  Willow looked from Giles to Buffy. “But what about Sheila—she’s still, you know, vulnerable! It could grab her first.”

  “Good point,” Xander said. “But what can we do about it? I mean, this may be Home of the Weird, but you can’t just walk up to someone and say, ‘Hey, guess what? You’re being stalked by a crazed dance master who’s going to suck your—what is it sucking again?”

  “The life force,” Giles said patiently. “Your chi, if you will. An essence—”

  “Right. Who’s going to suck out your life force. Although,” Xander added thoughtfully, “she is kind of pretty. Tell you what: I’m willing to give it a try—ow!”

  Cordelia looked innocently at the others, shaking her hand to get rid of the impact sting. “What?”

  “So,” Giles said, “if there is nothing more to be added just now, I shall suggest that you return to your normal lives.”

  “Hah,” Buffy muttered.

  “Ah, well, yes. Buffy, I would like a few words with you. If you would.”

  “Oooh, Buffy’s got detention!” Xander chanted. “Buffy’s got detention.”

  He darted out the door just before Buffy could swat him as well, and Cordelia and Willow went with him. Buffy turned to Giles.

  “Yes?”

  “I, ah, need your help.”

  “You got it. You know that. Ah, wait.” She looked at him, suspicious. “What sort of help?”

  “Sheila. If she is unaware of what is happening . . . I must speak to her. But . . . I’m sure you can see why I cannot do it alone.”

  Buffy paused, thought it over, then burst out laughing. “Giles! You want me to be your chaperon!”

  “Well, yes. In a manner of speaking.”

  She stared at him in delight. “You’re blushing!”

  He pushed his glasses more firmly up his nose. “I most certainly am not.”

  “Are too! Don’t worry, Giles. I’ll make sure the little teacher doesn’t hurt you.”

  “Delighted to hear that,” he muttered.

  “Hey, just in time. Look who walked in.”

  “Ah.”

  He was clearly unsure how to start this, so Buffy shrugged and headed for the group of STs who were settling themselves at the long table. “Sheila, right? Mr. Giles needs to ask you a few questions.”

  Oh boy, she’s got a happy, Buffy thought. No problem at all steering her into Giles’s office. Getting her out, now, that might be a problem . . .

  Buffy perched on the edge of his desk, trying not to knock any books off it, and watched him in action.

  “Ms., ah, Humphries. Please, be seated. I’ll try not to take too much of your time. This is rather awkward, ah . . . I have a hobby, you see. Historical genealogy. I was, ah, working on a project, and I found references to a Humphries family from Cornwall. Unusual name for a Cornwall family . . . Welsh, I should say, more typically. I was wondering if you might, perhaps, be able to help me, if you knew where your family came from?”

  Stodgy but not stupid, Buffy thought. Way to go, Giles.

  “Well, I think we did come from Wales, way back when, yes. Isn’t that funny, you coming across my family!”

  “Quite. Funny stories, too. In the peculiar sense.”

  “Funny? Oh. That. Must be my family then, yeah.” The young woman leaned forward to add, more softly, “I’m afraid some of the Humphries weren’t all that, you know . . .”

  “Honest?” Buffy contributed.

  Sheila glared at her. “Things couldn’t have been too great back then. You did what you had to.”

  “Of course,” Giles soothed. “But—”

  “Look, if you’re going to ask me something stupid, like do I believe in that psychic stuff my grandfather peddled . . .”

  “You don’t believe in such things.”

  Hey, cool, Giles! You made it sound like you don’t, either!

  Sheila shrugged. “Only in the movies.”

  When Giles didn’t volunteer anything, she got to her feet. “Well, it’s been interesting. Knowing we’re in history books, I mean. If you want to know anything more about the family, stuff that’s not in the official records, just ask. Although I’m not sure it’ll be much help to your project.”

  “My project. Ah, yes. I will,” Giles assured her solemnly. “Thank you.” But as she was leaving, he added, very casually, “Oh, I might add . . . I couldn’t help but overhear something you were saying about being followed.”

  “Oh, that! Just some stupid kid. I mean, giggling? Come on!” But her voice wasn’t as steady as it might have been.

  “Of course,” Giles said, soothingly. “And it’s true that Sunnydale is a low-crime town.”

  As Buffy nearly strangled, choking down a laugh, Giles added, “Still, these are modern times. I really do doubt that you’re in any danger. But it certainly couldn’t do any harm for you to take the normal precautions that a young woman has to take these days, especially if you must be out after dark.”

  “Can’t be too careful when you’re out after dark,” Buffy agreed cheerfully. “I know I always am. Got a stake in my survival.”

  So to speak.

  CHAPTER 12

  It shivered, giggled, licked its leathery lips with delight, tasting the glow still lingering in the air around it. Oh, what fun that had been, what wonderful fun! The prey had been young and healthy, aura sparkling and shimmering in the air, full of strength. And he had danced so well,
for such a long, long while, fighting the pull of its magic before falling to his knees. And right in the cemetery!

  Young ones had so much power in them, so much vitality. When it had forced the human back to his feet, he had gone on and on for a delightfully long time again, allowing it to suck the vigor off its healthy core. But not even the best prey lasted. Shaking, shuddering, limbs limp and eyes wild and helpless, the human had at last fallen and writhed and then, ending the fun, lain still. It had drunk down the last fleeing life force then, the marrow stuff so delicious, so exciting—ah, yes!

  It had waited too long for such as this, enticed as it had been by the young female hunter. Too long, and it had suffered for it. Not been strong, not been swift as it could be. Now it felt that human’s strength flow through it, the stolen vigor making the night air itself sparkle around it.

  But one full dance, one death, one drinking of rich young life force had not been enough. There must be more dancing, more feeding!

  It would wait no longer.

  “You know,” Xander said suddenly, looking up from the ancient book lying open on Giles’s coffee table, “it can’t be healthy for us to spend so much time in school. All those florescent lights, they can’t be good for us. And I bet studying so much outside of school isn’t good for us, either. All that lack of fresh air and exercise, you know? Rots the brain or something.”

  “Xander . . .”

  “Hey, I’m looking, I’m looking.” He turned another page, coughing a little as dust rose off it. “Man, these books are so stuffy even Giles can’t read them.”

  “Thank you so much, Xander,” Giles commented from his own pile of books. “Less a case of stuffiness, and more the fact that a korred is not exactly a common phenomena, particularly not in North America. It is a creature of the earth—as in the four primal elements, not the periodic chart.”

  That got blank looks from Buffy, Xander, and Cordelia.

  “Earth, air, fire, and water,” Willow contributed helpfully. “Uh, not literally. I mean, there’s still sodium and iron and all those other things—”

  “Four symbolic elements,” Giles continued before she could get lost in her sentence. “The korred, as a creature of earth, is a manifestation of magic evolving into a physical form. Therefore, it is not a demon or otherwise truly extradimensional, and as such would generally not be unduly influenced by the Hellmouth.”

  Xander and Buffy both looked at Willow for translation.

  “He didn’t see any need to unpack these books until now,” she said.

  “Oh. Why didn’t he just say that?”

  Willow closed the oversized journal she was reading, and pushed it across the table to the “not helpful” pile, then reached for another, much smaller journal. It was one of those leather-bound notebooks, the kind without lines on the paper, that they sold as diaries and such for people who had really deep thoughts—or thought that they did, anyway. Way newer than everything else they’d been reading . . .

  Flipping open the cover to a random page, Willow stopped, recognizing the cursive scrawl.

  “Giles? Um, I think this one’s yours . . .”

  He came over to the table, taking the journal from her outstretched hands. “Good heavens. So it is. From my days at university.” He looked about at the others, explaining, “I suppose I packed this along with all the others, placing it by subject rather than by importance or antiquity.”

  Xander shrugged. “I dunno, from when you were in college? That’s gotta be antique-land by now.”

  “I think I still have a few years to go before I qualify as an antique,” Giles said dryly.

  “But this does have stuff about korreds in it?” Willow asked impatiently. “Or at least, earth magic things?” Her eyes were practically glowing as she took the book back from him.

  “Well. Yes. I took a course on ancient and contemporary agriculture-based mythologies. It was a requirement, although I had, of course, been studying that sort of thing for many years before. I, ah, I’m afraid I slept through most of it.”

  “A gut course,” Xander said, nodding. “G-man, I’m impressed!”

  “So nice to know that something in my life meets with your approval.” His lack of being impressed seemed lost on Xander, who shrugged and reached for another Dorito.

  Buffy looked over Willow’s shoulder, just skimming the words on the page. “You took good notes for a sleeping person,” she noted. “I’ve got to learn me that trick.”

  Willow began turning pages rapidly, searching for a particular word to jump out at her. “No, no . . . this is why books should come with a find-and-replace key . . . here we go! Korreds.” She paused, squinting at the page, then handed the book back to Giles. “Um, your handwriting kinda squiggles here.”

  “Right.” He unfolded his glasses and fit them back onto his nose; almost, Buffy thought, as though he was making a ceremony out of it. Then he began to read out loud.

  “‘Korred. Also known as crion, jetin, kourican, and related names.’”

  “Lot of aliases for one critter,” Xander noted.

  “’Cause a lot of different people know about it, I bet,” Buffy said, and Giles gave her a glance of approval.

  “Exactly. Not a very useful fact, though, I’m afraid.” Giles read on, “‘The korred is also said to be closely related to the spriggan.’ Again, interesting, but not precisely helpful.” He was silent a moment more, glancing down one page, then another. “Oh dear.”

  Buffy tensed. “What?”

  “I quote, ‘Korreds, not being demons, can’t really be dispelled or banished in a timely fashion.’ Now, don’t look so worried. I suppose my note merely meant that normal spells of demonic banishment won’t work. But here, I did go into a bit of korred lifestyle, as it were . . . solitary, for the most part—”

  “Good. One is one too many already,” Cordelia said.

  “They are not averse to sharing their locale with humans, but it seems that they prefer to live below sea level, in caves or even bogs.”

  “Well, that narrows it down!” Buffy said in disgust. “I mean, Sunnydale’s not exactly on a mountain or anything. And the whole place is full of underground tunnels and shafts.”

  “Which tend to be filled with vampires.” Xander pretended to be marking off a list. “Scratch tracking the critter to its lair.”

  “Wait, wait,” Willow cried. “Here’s a story about a korred . . . oh.” She looked up in dismay. “It’s not a very nice one. Seems a mother thought that a korred had stolen her baby and left a fake one in its place. A—a changeling, you know? And so she . . . beat the baby to make it confess—”

  “Never mind that,” Giles cut in kindly. “That’s merely fiction, a misunderstood fairy legend someone mixed up with stories about korreds.” He glanced at the others. “There are several more books to examine. And no moaning in self-pity, either. Xander, if you wish to go on to college, you really must learn how to do proper research.”

  “Who says I want to go on to college?”

  “‘Do you want fries with that?’” Buffy muttered under her breath.

  Giles looked about the room. Books were piled on just about every flat surface. The sun was barely filtering through the window, indicating how late it had gotten. “Well. I, ah, think it’s safe to say that we have investigated every available source.”

  “And not gotten anywhere,” Buffy complained.

  “Not quite. Granted, all the books are remarkably silent on the matter of getting rid of these creatures. But that hardly means there isn’t a way.”

  Xander stretched. “All right, korred. This here town’s not big enough for the two of us.”

  “Yeah, right,” Buffy said. “Gunfight at the Sunnydale Corral. No thanks. The cowboy look is so gone it’s already had its comeback and died again. No, I just want this thing out of town, and I want it as easy as possible . . . Hey, Giles? What about somehow tricking it into leaving town?”

  “Or . . .” he added, “perhaps we could
entice it to someplace more appealing. Willow, if you would kindly return my journal . . . ? Willow!”

  She looked up, startled. “I was just studying—”

  “Precisely what worries me. Lord only knows what I wrote in the margins.”

  With a sigh, Willow surrendered the journal. Giles riffled quickly through it, as though trying to see if she’d managed to remove any pages, then continued, “According to my notes, korreds are attracted to rocks and minerals. And I would guess that the odds are fairly high that the town Sheila passed through, when she first attracted the korred’s attention, was an old mining town.”

  “That’s right!” Willow said. “There are lots of those to the north of here. I saw a documentary once,” she added to Buffy.

  “Exactly,” Giles cut in. “So, if we could just lure it back there, to where its long-term home is . . . Assuming, of course, that we could discourage its fascination with you, Buffy.”

  “So I guess ‘Shoo! Go away!’ won’t work, huh?” Xander asked.

  The others ignored him.

  “The only other answer, really,” Giles said, “is to kill it. But, unfortunately, the books are silent on how that is to be done as well.”

  Buffy shrugged. “And I bet that staking it isn’t going to do the same ‘poof, you’re dust’ it does on vampires.”

  “No.”

  She leaned over Giles’s arm to look at the woodcut illustration. “Yeah, and that hide looks thick enough to deflect anything short of a missile launcher.”

  Xander perked up. But before he could do more than open his mouth, Giles stopped him with a stern look and a “Definitely not.”

  “But—”

  “There were too many, ah, civilians about the last time that you tried that trick. I do not want to risk more lives and awkward questions if there’s any other option.”

  “Besides,” Buffy said. “I really don’t want to get stopped by the cops with a launcher strapped to my back. Getting expelled once was bad enough—there’s no need to let that troll Snyder do a happy-feet dance on my life again.”

  Willow frowned. “How does the korred do it? I mean, get its victims to dance themselves to death?”