Resurrecting Ravana

by Ray Garton

  “Ms. Daruwalla’s,” Cordelia replied.

  Buffy wandered over to a bookshelf with her back to the others, because she did not want them to see her face. Her teeth were clenched and her lips so tightly closed they were white. She did not want them to see her anger. It flared in her again and burned hot when she thought of Willow spending so much time with the new guidance counselor.

  What is Willow up to, spending all that time with Ms. Daruwalla? Buffy wondered. High school students weren’t supposed to hang out with faculty and/or staff between classes, it wasn’t the natural order of things. And, really, she should be here helping us. The more she thought about it, the angrier she got, until she spun around and asked harshly:

  “What does Willow think she’s doing, hanging out with a guidance counselor?” She walked over to the front desk and picked up her books. With the books clutched to her chest, she walked back toward the others, her face dark. They watched her, puzzled. “It’s like dogs mating with cats, or monkeys experimenting on scientists. It’s upside down.”

  “Whoa, Buff,” Xander said. “Your veins are showing. You look like that guy in Scanners. If your head’s gonna explode, maybe you should go out in the hall.”

  Buffy propped a fist on her hip. “What’s that supposed to mean, Xander?”

  Xander’s face wilted a bit, as if he were questioning the judgment of saying anything in the first place. “Well, it’s just that you’re . . . you’re so . . . so tight, Buffy. You’re about to explode into a bunch of Slinkies.” He turned to Cordelia suddenly and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “That was a good one, remind me to tell that one to Oz.”

  “Well aren’t you, Xander?” Buffy asked as he turned to her again. “These things are going around eating people. Doesn’t that worry you just a little?”

  “Sure it does,” Xander said, nodding. “Most things worry me, it’s a wonder I sleep at night. It just seemed you were a little overly upset about Willow seeing the most beautiful —” He gave his head a jerky shake. “Seeing Ms. Daruwalla.”

  Buffy walked over the to the table and dropped her books on it with a loud clap. “We should all be upset! Don’t you understand, Xander, these things are Hindu. Ms. Daruwalla is probably the only person of Indian descent on staff at this school.”

  “Maybe so,” Xander said. “But not the only one in school or in town.”

  Giles looked up from his book and said, “Buffy, that is a conclusion to which I do not recommend you jump.”

  “Such an economy with words, the English,” Xander said to Cordelia.

  One half of Cordelia’s mouth curled into a sneer as she said, “Oh, what do you know, Metaphor Boy?”

  “We don’t know everything about these creatures yet, Buffy,” Giles went on. “To attach Ms. Daruwalla to this so soon would be a dreadful mistake. She may very well be involved somehow, but no more so than anyone else at this point.”

  “Whatever,” Buffy said quietly. She picked up her books. “I’ve gotta go. I want to study early so I can start patrolling early. It’s a demonic jungle out —” Buffy turned toward the main doors and froze when she saw Willow walking slowly toward them, Oz a few steps behind her. There was a look of hurt on Willow’s face, though she was struggling to conceal it.

  “Giles, what were you saying? About Ms. Daruwalla?” Willow asked as she approached him.

  “Hey, Willow,” Xander said. “That’s some kickass timing. Was there any magic involved in it?”

  Surprised, Giles turned to Willow and closed his book. He tucked the book under his left arm and removed his glasses. His eyes were narrowed and crinkly in that way they got whenever he was concerned or worried. He was clearly concerned about how to tell Willow what he needed to tell her.

  “Er, Willow,” Giles said. “Come, uh, come have a seat.” He gestured toward the table with his glasses in hand.

  Buffy’s head was bowed slightly and it didn’t move, but her eyes followed Willow to the table and into a chair. What a stupid thing to do, she thought, the words hissing in her mind. Getting friendly with a demon. Her teeth crunched in her head like breaking concrete as her jaw ground them together. She’d been on her way out, but Buffy decided to stay and see what Willow had to say for herself.

  Giles quickly told Willow everything they knew about the Rakshasa. At first, Willow’s face wore an expression of great interest, but as Giles outlined the gruesome proclivities of the Rakshasa, her expression morphed into one of fear. When Giles mentioned the Rakshasa’s origins in India, Willow’s face slowly tightened in anger.

  “So, exactly what are you trying to say, Giles?” Willow asked.

  “I wasn’t trying to say anything,” he replied. “I simply wanted you to be aware of the facts we have thus far.”

  “Then what were you saying about Miss Daruwalla when I walked in?” Willow’s voice rose slightly and became somewhat shrill. “That she might have something to do with this just because she’s Indian?”

  “No, not might. We were saying she does,” Buffy said coldly. “Giles is just trying to be politically correct. What are you doing with this woman, anyway?”

  Giles frowned as he turned to Buffy. “That’s hardly relevant to —”

  Buffy didn’t let him finish. “I think it is. She gave Willow some kind of charm, didn’t she? At least it looked like a charm.” She turned to Willow. “So what’s up with that?”

  “It was just a gift,” Willow insisted firmly. She stood and took slightly sidelong steps away from the table. “You heard her. A tiny carving by her brother. He’s a very popular sculptor in India.”

  “But why would she give you a gift? A guidance counselor? Giving a student gifts? Do you know how loopy that sounds? It’s like Nazis trick-or-treating for UNICEF — it’s too wonky for words.” Buffy paced very slowly, going in the opposite direction of Willow’s cautious sidestep, their eyes locked.

  “I admired some of her brother’s statues in her office,” Willow explained, one fist clenched at her side, “so she gave me one of the miniatures he’d carved. That’s all. There’s nothing sinister about it.”

  “What were you doing in her office in the first place?” Buffy asked.

  “She invited me in for tea.”

  “Oh, yeah, like that happens every day. I suppose when you get matching tattooes and start sharing an office, you’ll say that’s not weird and unusual, either.”

  Willow’s mouth dropped open and she stopped moving. Buffy stopped as well, and they stared at one another across their imaginary ring.

  Xander stepped forward, one finger pointing upward. “Overreacting for a hundred, Alex?”

  “That’s sick, Buffy!” Willow snapped. “That’s just . . . stupid! It’s nothing like that. I talked to Daruwalla because I needed to talk to someone, and that’s her job.”

  “That still doesn’t explain why she’d give you a gift.”

  Buffy and Willow moved straight toward one another as tension thickened the air in the library, slowly at first, but picking up speed. Buffy felt a tingling sensation in her shoulder, the voice of instinct telling her to start swinging.

  Giles stepped between them abruptly. “Are you two ladies getting quite enough sleep?”

  They froze, but glared at one another unflinchingly, just a few feet apart.

  “We simply want you to be aware, Willow, of a possible relationship between Ms. Daruwalla and the problem at hand. Not likely, mind you . . . just possible.” Giles turned to Buffy. “And Buffy, I must insist you stop referring with such conviction to a relationship we do not yet know exists.”

  Willow made a startling sound — a sob that managed to claw its way out in spite of her efforts to hold it back — as she spun around and swept her books up off the table. She stalked to the front of the library. “I can’t believe you’d think that about her,” she said angrily through her tears. She stopped for a moment and looked back at them. “Did it ever occur to you maybe she’s just, like . . . a nice person?” Willow looked d
irectly at Buffy. “You don’t know what I needed to talk to her about, and you don’t care. Jeez, you . . . you’ve been chasing monsters so long, you’re becoming one, Buffy.” She continued walking, but faster now.

  Buffy’s eyes widened. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Oz jogged up behind Willow, reaching her just before she got to the door. He put a hand on her shoulder.

  “Not now,” Willow snapped, jerking her shoulder away.

  Oz stopped and watched her leave the library. He turned to Buffy with a serious look and went through the door after Willow.

  “I suddenly feel like I’m in the wrong neighborhood,” Xander said quietly.

  Giles said, “Buffy, was that entirely necessary? If you know something I don’t, I want to hear it.”

  The vicious anger was no longer trembling just beneath her skin and filling her throat with heat. It seemed to fold in on itself, getting smaller and smaller. Like that house in Poltergeist.

  “What. Ever.” She almost shouted the second word. She got her books and headed for the door.

  “Buffy, where are you going?” Giles asked.

  “I have work to do,” she said stiffly over her shoulder. She was gone.

  Giles felt a tightening in the back of his neck. It joined the tightness that already existed in his shoulders. But it was especially prominent in the frontal lobe of his brain, around which he was developing a quick headache. He knew what was causing it, though.

  He was worried about Buffy and Willow. Their behavior had been uncharacteristic. It could, of course, be caused by any one or two of the dozens of problems teenagers faced every day, but he was not certain, and that was what worried him.

  Tom Niles and Delbert Kepley, Mrs. Truman and Miss Gasteyer, Lena Tesich and Miriam Webber — all of them such good, longtime friends, so close they probably knew everything about each other. But did they know something was wrong before the killings? Were there signs of trouble before the end? Or did it happen suddenly and without warning, that change in a person, suddenly deciding to kill someone you love? Actually doing it in some horrible way, and then running off and hiding in a place where you are . . . eaten.

  Giles rattled his head a little to shake it of the mental imagery. Oz was with Willow. He was a smart boy, but would he see the possible connection between the work of the Rakshasa and the sudden animosity between Buffy and Willow? He just might. Buffy, on the other hand, was alone. I should have warned them, Giles thought.

  “Xander, could you go find Buffy?” Giles asked. “I’d like you to stay with her for a while.”

  “Stay with her?” Xander asked. “Uh, I don’t know . . . she didn’t look like she was going out to find company when she left here, Giles.”

  “This is important, Xander. I’m afraid Buffy and Willow may be in trouble.”

  Giles said firmly, “So far, three people have been eaten by the Rakshasa. But don’t forget those same three people first killed their closest friend for no apparent reason. You saw the way Buffy and Willow just behaved. I’d like you to keep an eye on Buffy, Xander.”

  “Uh, wait, whoa, hold on.” Xander scooted his chair back and stood. “Let’s say something is wrong, that it’s got something to do with those Roxannes, or whatever you call ’em. What if Buffy doesn’t want an eye kept on her? I mean, don’t forget, she’s a Slayer, y’know?”

  “What are you afraid of, Xander?” Cordelia asked, unable to keep a crust of contempt off her words.

  He walked slowly around the table. “You wanna know? Huh? Okay, I’ll tell you, if you wanna know.” His head dipped a couple times, as if he were swallowing pills dry. “I’m afraid of Buffy getting worked up by them and taking it out on me, that’s what I’m afraid of. I mean, you’ve seen her in action, right? She’d put me in a coma, I’d wake up just in time to have a mid-life crisis.”

  “Please, Xander, just do the best you can,” Giles said. “I’d go myself, but I must continue reading. Knowledge is a great weapon, and at the moment, we’re virtually unarmed.” He opened the book again and turned toward the front of the library.

  “What am I supposed to do?” Cordelia asked.

  Giles turned back to her with a momentary look of confusion. “Whatever you like, I suppose.”

  She thought about it a moment. “I’d like to go dancing.”

  “Sounds delightful, Cordelia, enjoy yourself,” Giles said as he walked hurriedly to the front desk and went into his office.

  Cordelia stood and took her purse and books off the table. “You have no idea how happy it makes me to know that I’m not needed around here. If I was, it would be, like, I’m one of you, or something, and then I’d have to hang myself from a ceiling fan.” She turned to Xander. “Well, in spite of your lameness, I guess I’ll go with you. Just in case you need some protection.”

  Chapter 12

  THE DARKNESS AROUND BUFFY BREATHED, EVEN THOUGH the things inside the darkness did not. Dogs barked up and down the street, some forlornly and some with a viciousness typically reserved for certain marauding neighborhood cats. A car alarm went off somewhere. Glass broke in the distance. Sounds that were normal, sounds that even in the dark of night were probably nothing to worry about. But she could not be sure.

  Buffy ignored them. They were distractions. She listened for the sounds beneath them, the sounds that hid between other sounds. And they were everywhere. Buffy considered herself a veteran when it came to patrolling. But she’d never had a night like tonight.

  Some were just coming up out of their graves when she found them, and others dropped down out of the trees. But it wasn’t just their activity that bothered Buffy. They were getting very bold.

  The first ones Buffy had encountered that night had been wandering along the sidewalk, peering into mailboxes and then crushing them and knocking them into dark yards. A male and female appeared out of the misty darkness, their dark clothes crusted with mud and bits of grass, the ridges and creases of their vamp faces perfectly etched in deep shadow and the slightly yellowish glow from the streetlights above. They’d been so busy laughing and talking and looking into mailboxes before the strutting guy knocked them off their posts that they hadn’t noticed her at first. “You expecting a package?” Buffy had asked before roughing them up and sending them on their way with a couple quick sticks of the stake.

  The cemeteries teemed with them. They gathered in alleys and whispered their secret plans as they licked the remaining smears of blood from their teeth. But they walked the streets, too, as if they planned to do some shopping or had just gotten out of a movie, fangs glimmering wetly as they tilted their heads back and laughed or grinned dangerously. And none of them flinched when she brought out her stakes, as if their confidence were great enough to steady their gaze and ease their minds.

  It’s like vampire’s night out, Buffy thought. She imagined a sign at the city limits: Vampire nite! No cover charge for vampires! Bring your mummy and get a free Bloody Mary!

  But it wasn’t funny. Something was up.

  Could they know about the Rakshasa? Buffy wondered as she crossed the street to the next cemetery’s pedestrian entrance on the other side. And if they do, how much do they know? Maybe I should start quizzing them before I stake ’em. She shook her head slightly. Mmm . . . nah.

  The cemetery’s pedestrian entrance was a regular-size doorway in a large, ten-foot-tall stone wall.

  Buffy froze a few feet from the stone doorway. She heard a soft, gritty sound above her, the sole of a shoe on wet cement. Half a heartbeat later, the sound was behind her. Buffy spun and threw herself toward the sound, punched, and connected with a flat stomach that gave way beneath her knuckles.

  A sound burst from Xander like a tuba dislodging an obstruction as he stumbled backward and landed on his butt on the sidewalk.

  Buffy and Cordelia rushed to him from different directions and knelt on either side of him.

  “Xander!” Buffy said with a horrified squeak in her voice. “I’m so sorry! When
did you get so quiet?”

  “He usually never shuts up long enough to be quiet,” Cordelia muttered.

  Xander groaned and leaned forward with his arms crossed over his belly.

  “Jeez, I’m glad that wasn’t any harder,” Buffy said.

  “Harder?” Xander barked in a voice like grinding metal. He tried to say more, but gave up and went on groaning.

  “Don’t you dare throw up on me,” Cordelia said sternly.

  A minute or so later, Xander’s breathing had stabilized and he was able to talk without sounding like the emergency brakes on a train. “I’ll speak up next time,” he said. He got to his feet slowly and walked in a circle, trying to straighten his body out.

  Buffy heard the sound again — shoes crackling grit against a surface of concrete or stone — overhead. She looked up and took a stake from beneath her jacket almost in the same second.

  A female hunkered atop the stone wall, hands dangling between her knees, fangs bared in a broad, black-lipped grin. Then she was a blur, coming down at Buffy.

  Buffy took half a step back and plunged the stake forward the instant she heard the feet hit the sidewalk. The female was vaporized before she could make a move, or even a sound.

  “C’mon, let’s get away from this zombie Holiday Inn, okay?” Buffy said. She walked fast across the street and Xander and Cordelia tried to keep up. Xander was still hunched forward slightly and held a hand to his stomach, but he didn’t lag behind.

  “Are you late for a very important date?” Cordelia asked.

  “I don’t want to be so close to the cemetery if you’re here,” Buffy said distractedly. She looked over her shoulder at the cemetery across the street. “Too much activity. I can’t be expected to talk to you guys and battle the Denizens of Hell, can I?”

  A low rattling sound came from up the sidewalk — the plastic rumbling of a Big Wheel being driven by a child.

  Buffy stopped and turned around. “Look, Xander, I’m really sorry I hit you, but what are you doing here, anyway?”