“So how do we stop Spurs from coming back for another curtain call?” Buffy asked, hoping to keep Hopscotch in the present.
Hopscotch smiled. “We don’t. You do.”
“Me? Where are you going?”
The old man gave her a crooked grin and opened a red toolbox. Slowly he pulled out a ratty coyote skin and draped it over his shoulders, putting the moth-eaten animal head on top of his own head. Buffy didn’t like the way those dried, dead eyes stared down at her.
“I’m not sticking around,” Hopscotch vowed. “I’m heading for the hills. If you fail, Spurs will come after me, but I’ll lead him a merry chase. If you stop them, you’ll break the spell, and we’ll all live free. For the first time, we’ll have control over our lives.”
“But how do I do it?” Buffy asked.
“How do I know? You’re the witch.” He started to unbutton his grimy work shirt, then stopped. “There is one more thing you should know. Spurs was buried with his grizzly bear skin, and he knows how to use it. He’s the only white man I ever seen who could turn himself into a bear. You’ve got to be the animal, and Spurs was a nasty ol’ grizzly bear, with supernatural powers.”
“Great,” Buffy muttered. “Hey, before you go, at least untie me!”
Hopscotch squinted suspiciously at her, then pulled a hunting knife out of his boot. “Turn around.”
Buffy didn’t like turning her back on the armed carny, but she didn’t have much choice. She turned and held her breath. A moment later, she felt the knife slice through the ropes, and her hands swung free.
“Thanks,” she said, glancing back at him and massaging her sore wrists.
“You might want to turn around again, unless you don’t mind seeing something really weird.”
“I’ve seen weird before.”
She had seen weird before, but never quite like this. Hopscotch stripped naked, except for his coyote skin, then from his toolbox he took a bundle of dried leaves all tied together. He struck a match and lit the bundle. In a few seconds, the truck was filled with cloying smoke—Buffy could smell sage and cedar among the pungent odors.
While he sang in a strange language, Hopscotch smudged his body with the burning torch until he looked like a grilled fish. Then the old man got down on his hands and knees and began to writhe to his own silent drums, still singing, sometimes growling. The coyote pelt rode his back like a furry parasite, and Buffy was startled to see the hairs on the pelt start to rise, as if alive. His singing grew more guttural and animal-like.
When she looked back at the man, he was no longer a man, but something in between man and beast. He twitched and growled, and his bones and muscles crackled as they changed shape. The smoke seemed to form around the writhing figure, helping him de-evolve into a wild animal. She could swear that the walls of the truck were glowing as magic filled the small enclosure.
By the time the smoke lifted, a coyote with familiar yellow eyes stood before her.
“Impressive,” Buffy said hoarsely. All she could think about was Spurs Hardaway coming back and morphing into a giant, supernatural grizzly bear.
Acting like a scruffy dog that had just stolen dinner off the table, the coyote padded to the door and waited for her to come over and open it.
“Hmmm,” Buffy said, crossing to the back of the semi-trailer. “A skinwalker might make a good boyfriend. When you need a guy, you’d have a guy, and when you didn’t want a guy, you’d have a pet.”
The coyote snarled at her.
“It was just a joke,” Buffy explained. She opened the latch and lifted the door at the back of the truck. The coyote stuck its nose out, sniffed the air, and leaped into the darkness. By the time Buffy looked out the door, it was gone.
The Slayer jumped to the ground and crouched down. She was lucky to be alive, and she knew it. She could easily be dead, if she hadn’t run into the only skinwalker who didn’t want to see Spurs Hardaway rise from the grave. She couldn’t afford to underestimate the gang of shape-shifters again—they were real, and without free will, they were dangerous.
Keeping low and in the shadows, Buffy ran to the vacant lot next door, where most of the cars were parked. She hoped that Giles had followed orders and stayed with his car, because she certainly didn’t want to go back into the carnival to look for him.
Be there, Giles! Please be there!
His boring car was there, but he wasn’t.
“Giles, you idiot!” Buffy muttered. She looked at the full moon high in the sky and gulped. It wasn’t red, only slightly pink, but Ol’ Coyote Moon looked as if she meant business.
Buffy glanced at her watch and saw that it was ten o’clock—she had been unconscious even longer than she thought. There were only two hours left before midnight, and she didn’t have a clue where her friends were or how to stop these monsters.
Somewhere a coyote howled, and it sounded as if it was laughing at her.
CHAPTER EIGHT
By ten o’clock, the Saturday night crowd at the carnival was bigger and rowdier than ever, with tons of people laughing, eating, and shrieking. Willow wondered where they had all come from. Maybe the carnies had put up posters in the neighboring towns too.
She and Xander sat outside a hamburger stand, eating a gigantic plate of greasy french fries and watching the parade along the midway. Whirling rides, bright lights, and blaring music—it was an immortal town, springing up over and over again all over the country. The carnival probably hadn’t changed much since Willow’s grandparents had gone to it, which was the eeriest thing about it.
With all the frenzied activity designed to mesmerize the senses, Xander still kept looking at his watch.
“Two more hours,” Willow said. “And looking at your watch won’t make the time go any faster.”
“Would it help if I set my watch ahead?” Xander asked, grinning at his own foolishness. “Can you believe it, Willow? It’s happening to us— a real summer romance!”
Willow sighed. “I’d rather have a romance that lasted summer, fall, winter, and spring.” And happened between us, she thought.
“But that’s not a summer romance,” Xander insisted. “A summer romance is something special, because it blazes like a comet across the sky and then fades out. The thing that makes it special—that makes everything move so fast—is that a summer romance is doomed to end.”
“How poetic. And you don’t have to take Rose home to meet your parents,” Willow added.
“They wouldn’t understand our love,” Xander declared, sounding quite tragic.
“Oh, yes they would,” Willow said with a laugh. “All too well.”
She straightened suddenly. Something in the crowd caught her eye—an older man in a totally unhip cardigan sweater and wool slacks. Before she could get a closer look, he blended into the crowd and was gone.
“What’s the matter?” Xander asked.
“I thought I saw Giles.”
Xander laughed. “Giles? At a carnival? I don’t think he goes out on Saturday night, but if he did go out, it would be to a planetarium or a slide show at the museum. Not to a carnival.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Willow admitted. “I’ve been looking for Buffy, but I haven’t seen her, either.”
“She won’t be back, not after the way she embarrassed herself. That girl is just so certain that she’s right all the time, she’ll never admit it when she’s wrong.” He laughed and slapped his knee. “What a ditz, thinking these nice people are werecoyotes!”
Willow laughed uneasily. “Yes, it is a little silly, isn’t it? Say, do you want some ice cream?” She quickly changed the subject.
“Sure.” Xander fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a wadded-up dollar bill. “See, I’ve got some money left.”
“That’s okay, I’ve got plenty of money.”
“Oh, yeah?” Xander said. “How much?”
“Three hundred dollars.”
Xander spit a french fry halfway across the midway. “You’ve got three hundred dollars? What did
you do, pawn your computer?”
“No, I played a little poker with Lonnie, Hopscotch, and the boys. I cleaned them out, as they say. I even paid Lonnie back, with interest.”
“Wow! Were they mad at you?”
Willow frowned puzzledly. “No, it was like they didn’t care. I have a feeling that they don’t really have much use for the money they make here. I mean, what are they going to do with it? They can’t own very much stuff, traveling around all the time.”
“Yeah, what a romantic life,” Xander said blissfully. “It’s almost like they’re monks—or samurai warriors—on a holy quest.”
“And what exactly is that holy quest?”
“To have fun, to bring people pleasure! What higher calling could there be?”
“I suppose,” Willow said doubtfully. She wished she were having more fun, and that Buffy were having fun with them. Waiting until midnight to go out on a date with a strange guy from the carnival was not her idea of fun, if he was a great kisser. With all the money in her bag, she and Xander could have more fun than anybody, if she could just get his attention.
He was looking impatiently at his watch again, and she knew that it was a hopeless cause. How could she compete with somebody like Rose and a summer romance?
Suddenly, she felt strong hands massaging her shoulders, and she turned to see tanned, brawny forearms. She looked up to see Lonnie’s smiling face, perfect dimples, and curly blond hair.
“Hi, Lonnie,” Xander said cheerfully. “I hear our little Willow cleaned you guys out at poker.”
“Yeah,” Lonnie said with amusement. “I always knew she had hidden talents.”
Willow tried not to blush. “Good cards and money management, that’s all. What’s the plan for tonight?”
Xander cut in, “I know I’m meeting Rose back at her trailer.”
“No, that’s changed,” Lonnie said. “I talked to Rose, and we want to double-date with you guys again. We haven’t seen much of Sunnydale, so we thought we might do some sightseeing.”
Willow didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the crestfallen look on Xander’s face. The only sights he wanted to see were on Rose’s immediate person.
“That’s great!” Willow said, trying not to sound too relieved. “At midnight?”
“We’ll try to close early tonight,” Lonnie answered. “We’ll make an announcement at eleven o’clock to say we’re going to close at eleven-thirty. We’ll say it’s fire marshals or something like that.”
“Why close early?” Willow asked.
Lonnie shrugged his perfect shoulders. “We’re a little shorthanded. There’s been an emergency, and some of our guys were needed elsewhere.”
“Was anybody hurt?” Willow asked worriedly.
He stared off into the distance and seemed to be studying the crowd. “Don’t worry your pretty little head—we can handle it. You guys just hang out around here, and we’ll find you when it’s time to go.”
“Okay,” Willow answered cheerfully. Lonnie waved and wandered off in the direction of his dart booth.
“Nice guy,” Xander muttered, “but I’m getting a little tired of double-dating.”
“Yeah,” Willow said, trying not to show how relieved she was. “I wonder what the emergency is?”
“He said not to worry about it.” Xander jumped to his feet and clapped his hands. “Hey, you’ve got three hundred dollars! That might even be enough to win a stuffed animal. Want to try?”
“Sure!”
Willow stood up and gazed into the night sky, where a lovely full moon was rising over the merry-go-round. She felt like grabbing Xander’s hand, but she knew that would be pushing it. She was content to blend into the fun-loving crowed with him.
Everything is going so well tonight, Willow thought. Why am I so worried? I can’t be concerned about Buffy. If she wants to miss out on all the fun, that’s her business.
“Come on!” Xander said, rushing off toward the games.
“Okay!” Grabbing her bag, Willow hurried after her beloved.
This stinks, Buffy thought as she loitered in a dark corner of the carnival and watched laughing teens trump past, crunching candy apples and slurping Cokes. Not only were they all having fun, oblivious to the danger around them, but time was slipping away. The Coyote Moon edged higher and higher in the night sky.
Where are you, Giles? She couldn’t go out into the bright neon and look for him, as she didn’t want the carnies to know she had escaped. She couldn’t stay put, because the chances were slim that Giles would just happen to walk past this one spot, between the ticket booth and the Porta Potties. She could stand in another spot, but her chances of finding him wouldn’t be any better.
Since his car was still in the parking lot, Buffy reasoned that Giles still had to be there, looking for her. Either that, or he had been captured and stuck in a tool chest too. That probably hadn’t happened, because the carnies had no way of knowing that Giles was with her. They would think he was just a slightly confused parent looking for his wild kids.
She hadn’t seen Xander and Willow, either, which had her twice as worried. I’m never gonna let those two out of my sight again! Whoa, girl! She caught herself. Don’t take a parental trip!
She had to do something—but what?
Amid the din of blaring music, clattering rides, and shrieking teens, she heard a gravelly voice. It was the clown on the dunking machine, taunting a customer. “You throw like a girl! In fact, you throw like my grandmother!”
Hmmm, Buffy thought.
Keeping to the shadows, she worked her way behind the rides, the food stands, and the game booths. Luckily, the dunking machine was in its own corner of the carnival, removed from the other games because it needed forty feet of throwing room. The redheaded girl was on ball duty instead of Rose, and Buffy wondered where the sleaze queen could be. Was she with Xander?
There’s no time to worry about that now, Buffy told herself.
Crouching low, she moved along the fence to the rear of the dunking booth. Most of the flimsy structure was made out of plywood and two-by-fours hammered hastily together, and she had no problem removing a board and slipping under the back wall.
She heard the gravelly voice of the clown—he was making a joke about Sunnydale boys and sheep—and she saw the back of his multicolored fright wig and striped shirt. He looked dry, which was in her favor. Next Buffy located the target disk and the mechanism it tripped. Moving cautiously in the darkness, she ran her hand along the levers and springs until she found the hinge that actually dropped the clown into the water.
He was only a few feet away, just above her. She could smell his earthy, animal odor, and he got to take a bath a lot more often than the rest of the carnies. Now that she knew all about the cult of werecoyotes, it was hard to think of any of them as being human. They didn’t even smell human anymore.
She waited until he paused in his usual litany of taunts and insults, and then she said quietly, “I want you to announce something.”
He put his hand over the microphone, looked down, and growled, “Who’s there?”
Still crouching in the shadows, Buffy reached up and shook the platform he was sitting on. “I’ll dump you if you call for help.”
“Okay, okay! What do you want?”
“Say, ‘Librarian, return to your car.’”
“Hey, come on, I’m working here!”
“Do it!” Buffy shook his platform again, and the hinges groaned ominously.
“Okay.” The clown removed his hand from the microphone and declared, “Here’s a public service announcement. Librarian, you better get back to your car. Pronto.”
He looked down and growled, “Happy?”
But Buffy was already gone. She scurried under the loose board, rolled to her feet, and dashed toward the parking lot. Usually, when they faced danger, Giles was a frazzled ball of nerves, certain they were going to get killed at any moment. She had to hope that he was nervously paying attention to everythi
ng around him.
When Buffy saw two carnies working on an air compressor dead ahead of her, she pulled out her barrettes and shook up her hair so that it fell in her face. She lowered her head and slipped past them, walking slowly. If they looked at her, she wasn’t aware of it, but she listened carefully for voices and running footsteps. When she heard none, she finished her leisurely stroll to the parking lot.
Get your Nikes in gear, Giles! We need to keep ahead of the pack. Buffy paced nervously for a few moments until she saw a familiar figure cutting across the lot. She waved, and he quickened his step.
“Thank goodness,” Giles said, clasping her hands. “Are you all right? You look terrible.”
“It’s the carnival-chic look,” Buffy answered, fluffing her stained, ratty hair. “Hey, weren’t you supposed to stay by the car?”
“Surely not all night!” Giles protested. “I knew that something had happened to you, and I had to go look. What did happen to you?”
“First something bad, then something good, I think. I found an unexpected ally.” She crossed to the other side of the car and waited for him to unlock the passenger door. “Get in, and I’ll tell you about it on the way.”
“Where are we going?” Giles asked, fumbling for his keys.
Buffy looked warily around the dark parking lot. The flashing lights of the carnival splashed off the hoods of the cars and trucks, twisting into psychedelic shapes. The music seemed distant and tinny, and it felt as if they were alone. But were they? Scrawny canines could be slinking between the oversized tires, stalking them.
“Unlock the car. Hurry!” Buffy ordered.
Giles jumped to attention and opened his car door. He started to get in just as a brown-and-white coyote bounded onto the roof of the car behind him.
“Duck!” Buffy shouted.
He dove into the driver’s seat as Buffy sprang up and slid on her stomach across the roof of the sedan. Fists flying, she smashed into the coyote as it lunged for Giles, and the impact threw them both into the car door next to theirs.
Buffy fell on top of the coyote, which twisted and squirmed desperately while trying to chomp Buffy’s jugular vein. Her crucifix necklace flopped out of her shirt, but it didn’t do a bit of good. She had to slug the canine viciously until it was unconscious and limp, something that was repugnant to her. It was so much like a dog!
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