“It’s an old army depot,” Willow corrected him. “From World War Two.”
“That was a long time ago,” Rose said wistfully. She gazed up at the moon that was high overhead. “But it won’t be much longer.”
Before Willow could question that odd statement, the colorful lights on the Octopus blinked off, and the Ferris wheel creaked to a stop. One by one, the mammoth machines of the midway stopped spinning and went dark. The rock music faded out, and the speakers blared nothing but static. Even the calliope on the merry-go-round went silent. Lights on the poles stayed lit to help people find their way out, but the carnival was dying down.
“Thanks for coming, everybody!” Lonnie said over the loudspeaker. “We’ll be open every day from six p.m. until midnight. Come back and see us!”
For the first time that night, it was quiet in the carnival as the customers picked up their posters, stuffed animals, and dates and began to file out. Several of them waved to Rose, who waved back. In this strange, fake town, Willow thought, Rose really is a celebrity. When the carnival closed, it was almost as if she had no identity, unless she wore a stripper’s costume from the 1950s.
Although the carnies were cute, Buffy was right—they were weird.
Willow was suddenly struck by an irrational burst of fear and guilt, and she felt like running for the exits along with the other customers. But she looked at Xander making goo-goo eyes at Rose, and see realized that he would need protection. For one thing, if he came home with a grotesque tattoo, he would probably be grounded for months.
She heard cheerful whistling, and she turned to see Lonnie striding toward them. He was also dressed for going out on the town—carny-style—with a white cowboy hat, fancy rodeo shirt, silver belt buckle, clean jeans, and shiny cowboy boots. In his hand was a grimy duffel bag. Willow wondered if he thought they were going to a square dance, or maybe the gym.
“Lonnie, my man!” Xander said, trying to sound like one of the gang. He had almost perfected the carny slouch, but it would be years before he could grow the facial hair. Every time Willow saw Lonnie, he looked hairier, which was also distressing.
He put his arm possessively around her slim waist. “Hey, are we ready to party, or what?”
“We were just trying to decide where to go,” Rose said. “Xander mentioned some historical sights.”
“The truth is, our historical sights aren’t too exciting,” Xander explained. “Unless old cannons really turn you on.”
Lonnie laughed. “Sometimes they do.”
“What’s in the bag?” Willow asked nonchalantly.
He hefted and old duffel bag. “Just something to make the party even more lively. I’ll show you later.”
“You know what I like?” Rose asked with a twinkle in her dark eyes. “Cemeteries.”
Xander laughed nervously. “Is that right? Cemeteries, huh?”
“I hear this town has a really cool old cemetery,” Lonnie said.
Willow piped in, “How about the old courthouse? It’s a classic example of Greek Revivalism.”
Lonnie turned to her, his blue eyes piercing hers. “After the cemetery, okay? We’re the guests, right?”
“Right!” Xander said, shooting a warning glance at Willow. “The cemetery is dark and quiet—fine with me!”
Are you forgetting about the last time we were in that cemetery? Willow wanted to scream. But she said nothing. After all, Lonnie and Rose couldn’t be vampires, as they were up all day like regular people. They drank root beer, not blood.
“The truck’s this way,” Lonnie offered, steering the slender girl between the dark fun house and the boarded-up ticket booth. “Xander and your stuffed tiger will have to sit in back. You can sit up front with me.”
“Okay,” she said meekly. Willow really wanted to run for the hills and escape this weird double date, but Lonnie had her firmly in his grasp. Behind her, Rose giggled, and she turned to see the carny and Xander nuzzling each other as they walked.
It wouldn’t be nice to break the date now, she rationalized. There are too many other people involved.
Despite her fears, Willow followed Lonnie through the deepening shadows behind the false fronts. Twenty feet ahead of them loomed a beat-up pickup truck, and she was about to climb into it and go to a cemetery with an itinerant laborer who worked at a carnival. At least they would be in a familiar neighborhood, and Xander would be along.
This date isn’t hopelessly insane, is it?
As they neared the truck, Willow gazed at Lonnie in his white cowboy hat, and he gave her the double-dimple smile. She sure hoped he was the good guy he appeared to be.
In a small office on the first floor of a charming two-story house, a kindly country doctor still practiced medicine. The white-haired physician put on the last pieces of tape over a butterfly bandage that covered a cut too shallow to stitch. Then he covered Buffy’s entire forearm with a protective sheath of gauze and taped it down.
Dr. Henshaw smiled wearily. “That will hold for tonight, but you’ll have to come back tomorrow to have the bandage changed.”
“Okay,” she promised, glancing nervously at the watch on her opposite wrist.
“And be careful,” the doctor warned. “No physical exertion, or you could rip out the stitches. That goes for you, too, Giles.”
The librarian nodded gravely. He had a protective bandage stretched across his chest, where he had received most of his wounds. He grimaced in pain as he pulled on an old flannel shirt the doctor had loaned him.
“Those tetanus shots could also make you drowsy,” Dr. Henshaw said. “Better go home to bed. You know, in forty years of medical practice in this town, I’ve seen some strange things, but I’ve never seen anyone who had coyote bites.”
“We were in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Buffy said with a helpless shrug. “We tried to save a dog from being attacked—dumb thing to do.”
“Yes,” Giles said, buttoning his shirt. “Thank you, Dr. Henshaw, for seeing us at this late hour.”
The old country doctor stood and stretched. “Think nothing of it, Giles. You’ve helped me so many times to find obscure journals and pamphlets.” He turned to Buffy and explained, “I have an interest in holistic turn-of-the-century medical cures, and Giles is a font of knowledge.”
“Isn’t he, though?” Buffy agreed, jumping to her feet. “Thanks a lot, Dr. Henshaw, but we’ve got to get going. Past my bedtime, you know.”
The doctor escorted them to the front door. “Take a painkiller to keep the swelling down. Remember, I want to see both of you tomorrow.”
“Believe me, we’ll be very happy to be around tomorrow,” Buffy assured him.
“Yes, indeed,” Giles agreed. “Until tomorrow.”
They hurried out the door and down the steps. Buffy felt a little woozy from all the medicine, but she tried not to think about it. With a final wave to the doctor, they jumped into Giles’s car, and he started the engine.
“You’ve got to take me home,” Buffy said as she settled into her seat.
“Are you done for the evening?” the Watcher asked in horror.
“Not yet. I feel burnt out, but I’m hanging in there. I need to go home and get a weapon.”
Giles squealed the tires pulling away from the curb. “What kind of weapon would you have at home?”
“A werecoyote weapon,” she muttered. “And you’ve got to find something that will work against them too. Our usual bag of tricks—stakes, holy water, crucifixes—doesn’t do much. And don’t tell me you’re going to plug them all with silver bullets. Our friends will be hanging with them, and we’re not going to turn this into a summer action movie.”
“I’ve been racking my brain, trying to think of something,” Giles said as he tooled down the quiet, tree-lined street. “There is one possibility. I’ve never told you this, but I used to raise hounds—for the fox hunt.”
“But of course.”
“At home, I have a high-pitched dog whistle, the kind th
at humans can’t hear. I wonder if it would work on coyotes …”
“Who knows? It’s worth a try. With this whistle, you could call them over from someplace else, right?”
“Theoretically, they would come to the whistle blower. But coyotes are unpredictable.” Giles slowed down to take a corner.
“But if any of them were human, they couldn’t hear it and wouldn’t know what was going on.” Buffy pointed. “My house is coming up.”
“I know. Please be quick getting your secret weapon.” Giles coasted to a stop in front of her middle-class abode, which looked dark and slumbering this close to midnight.
Buffy slipped out the car door and shut it quietly behind her. She padded up to the front door, got out her key, and let herself in. Luckily, her secret weapon was in the dining room, which was near the front of the house. If her mom heard her at all, she would simply think she was coming home. Knowing Mom, she’ll save the lecture for tomorrow.
Less than a minute later, Buffy got back into the car. She was wearing a clean jacket and hiding something underneath it.
“Let me see,” Giles said eagerly.
Buffy grinned and held up an elegant silver carving knife with an S engraved on the handle. “I always knew the sterling silverware would be good for something.”
Giles frowned worriedly. “You’ll have to get awfully close to them to use that.”
“Every time I see these coyotes, I get close to them. We’re like a deodorant commercial.”
“Next stop, my house,” Giles said, twisting the steering wheel.
Five minutes later, the librarian came running out of his tiny bungalow clutching a brass whistle, which hung from a chain around his neck.
He jumped into the car, panting for breath. “I actually looked for silver bullets, but I couldn’t find any. Remind me to order some.”
“From the Monster’s End catalog, right?” Buffy asked. She looked grimly at her watch. “We can still get to the carnival by midnight. Go to warp drive.”
The Watcher slammed his car into gear and sped away from the house. After a few minutes of rather swift driving for Giles, they roared up to the vacant lot that was hosting the carnival. There were lights—but only a few—and only a handful of cars were parked on the lonely country road. None of the rides was running, and the place was deserted except for a few stragglers. In the dark, the odd towers, structures, and wires looked like some kind of alien prison.
“What’s the deal?” Buffy asked, jumping out of the car. She looked at her watch. “What time have you got?”
“Five minutes before midnight.” Giles also got out of the car and stared in disbelief and the silent machines and dark booths. Two hours ago, this ghost town had been bursting with screams, music, and teenage hormones. Now it was dim and drained of life, like a corpse.
She saw some kids hanging out at an old convertible, just watching the stars, and she yelled over to them, “What happened? Did this place close early?”
“Yeah, at eleven thirty!” one of them hollered back. “Stupid fire marshals.”
“Oh, man!” Buffy muttered. “They’re alone with Xander, Willow, and those other lovesick fools.”
“Thank you!” Giles called politely to the kids in the convertible. “Are there any people still working here?”
“I think most of them left too.”
Buffy gazed upward and saw the Coyote Moon hanging high in the black sky, glowing like a Japanese paper lantern. The face on it seemed to be laughing at her.
CHAPTER TEN
Just what they needed after gorging themselves on junk food all day was some more junk food, so Lonnie drove the rusty pickup truck to the Dairy Queen. Even though Willow was flush with money, Lonnie insisted on paying. Armed with swirled and dipped cones, the rambunctious double-daters headed for the cemetery, with Willow sitting in the front seat between Lonnie and Rose.
Thanks to aged shock absorbers, Xander was bounced pretty hard in the bed of the truck. But he had the stuffed tiger for padding.
Willow had to admit that she felt better after the stop for ice cream, even though her overworked stomach balked at processing it. Getting ice cream was just so wholesome that it made up for going to the cemetery. She noticed that Lonnie didn’t eat much of his dessert either.
His duffel bag sat between Willow’s feet, and she was sorely tempted to unzip the zipper and look inside. From what she could tell by poking at it with her toes, the bag contained clothes, or maybe a blanket. Yes, a blanket probably would be part of the proceedings. Willow licked gingerly at her ice cream.
On the other side of her, Rose devoured everything including the sugar cone.
“Hungry?” Willow asked.
“Always,” Rose purred. As if a curious thought had just occurred to her, she looked appraisingly at Willow. “You know, you could be half cute, if you would develop some style.”
“Other people have told me that,” Willow said. “My friend Buffy—”
“Grrrr,” Lonnie growled under his breath.
“Pardon me?”
“Nothing,” Lonnie said. “Just clearing my throat. Say, is this where we turn?”
Willow nodded. “Yes. You seem to know your way around Sunnydale pretty well.”
“You bet,” Lonnie answered with a laconic grin. “I saw it all when I was putting up posters and passing out handbills. Do you know the best way to get into the cemetery?”
“You can usually squeeze through the gate, if it’s even locked,” Willow answered with a knowing grin. Or, if you’re a Slayer, you can just jump over. “It’s the third drive on the right, behind those trees.”
As the headlights of the truck sliced through the hedges around the cemetery gates, Willow saw several other cars and trucks parked in the street. “That’s funny, there are other cars parked here.”
“Maybe other people had the same idea,” Lonnie muttered.
“Somebody’s probably having a party,” Rose suggested. “See, that house across the street is all lit up.”
“Yeah, that’s probably it,” Willow agreed. “Are you sure you want to do this—it’s not too late to see the courthouse.”
Lonnie chuckled and turned off the engine. “I’m sure. How’s your ice cream?”
“Great,” she lied.
“Good.” Lonnie grabbed his bag at her feet, opened the door, and stepped out. Warm, flower-scented air flowed into the truck cab.
Rose patted Willow’s hand reassuringly. “Don’t worry, honey, we won’t bite. Much.”
Grabbing her oversized purse, she oozed out of the car and held her hands out to Xander. “Hey, baby, we ready to party?”
“You bet!” He crawled over the stuffed tiger and vaulted out of the truck into her arms. They kissed disgustingly for several seconds, until Rose shoved him away and sauntered toward the gate. Xander loped after her like a puppy.
Willow was frozen in the truck, knowing that she had a chance to back out but only if she took it right now. Why the cemetery? Whatever happened to parking on lonely country roads?
Lonnie stuck his head in the window, and Willow jumped. “It’s such a beautiful night,” he drawled. “Come out and sit with us for a while. Howl at the moon.”
Willow laughed nervously. “It’s just my stomach—it’s a little upset from all the junk food.”
“I promise I won’t feed you anything.” Lonnie smiled charmingly.
“Okay, for a little while.” Willow opened the door and stepped out.
With Rose in the lead, the foursome walked up to the wrought-iron gate, which was already open a crack. The padlocked chain that normally held it shut was nowhere to be seen.
“Oh, they stayed open just for us,” Rose said with amusement. The gate creaked open as she pushed her body against it. Xander stumbled after her, his libido totally in charge.
“This looks like an old cemetery,” Lonnie said, his hand warm and active on Willow’s back, massaging her fears away. “Is anybody famous buried here?”
“I’m sure of that,” Lonnie said, shutting the gate behind them. “That rodeo cowboy—where might his grave be?”
“Well, if he was really famous, he’s down in the hollow, where the mausoleums are.” Willow tried not to shiver as the surveyed the bleak landscape of tombstones, gnarly trees, and little mansions for dead people. And undead, she thought, remembering the last time she and Xander had been lured to the mausoleums by dates. At least there was plenty of light, with the full moon casting a silvery glow over the spooky proceedings.
She looked for Xander and Rose and saw them on the fresh-cut lawn, wrestling playfully. As they tussled and rolled about, they looked more like two puppies than two lovers, and Willow hoped that Rose thought of Xander as a younger brother. In the next instant, that hope was dashed as the wrestling degenerated into a lip-lock and embrace—right there in the cemetery, under a full moon.
Lonnie’s hand tightened around her waist, and she let herself be dragged along the sidewalk. Despite his amorous clinch, he seemed to be in a hurry to get deeper into the cemetery—and to keep her close. Willow gazed back at Xander and Rose, who were still writhing in the dew. If she ignored reality in favor of fantasy, she could insert herself into Rose’s place. But she would still prefer someplace dry.
Without warning, the petite carny tossed Xander off as easily as if he were a bedsheet. He rolled about twenty feet down a hill and crashed into a tombstone, while Rose jumped to her feet, laughing.
She was fixing her dress as she walked past Lonnie and Willow. “He’s a frisky one, all right. Let’s go see that big white spire down there.”
Willow broke away from Lonnie to see if Xander was all right, but he came loping toward them. From the goofy expression on his lipstick-smeared face, she could tell that he was still lobotomized.
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