Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Carnival of Souls

by Nancy Holder

  “I never thought of it that way,” Buffy confessed.

  “You need to leave them behind. Handle things yourself. Alone.”

  “Alone,” the Slayer whispered, to the sweet cadence of the calliope as it now drifted through her open window.

  Because she was not on the Ferris wheel. She was in her bed.

  And someone was gazing at her through a frame of curlicues and shining stones; a face, a horrible face, stretching and shifting and glaring and staring. And behind him, David and Stephanie Hahn, strapped down, things with knives moving toward their faces….

  Buffy groaned and turned over in her sleep.

  Thursday, after school.

  Xander had been sick all day, and got to stay home. Cordelia had given him a lift over to Giles’s, where they were gathering. Buffy had walked over, but Willow had yet to show.

  And there were kittens.

  One was gray and white, and one was black, and they weighed as much as a handful of feathers.

  “And their names are?” Buffy asked as she nuzzled the black one with her cheek. Xander was lying listlessly on Giles’s couch, examining an assortment of little aluminum pouches of cat food. Cordelia was off in a corner, explaining for perhaps the two-dozenth time that she was allergic to cats. Every once in a while she would sneeze very daintily, and someone would think to mutter, “Bless you.”

  “Names? I don’t know yet,” Giles said, with a faint hint of pink in his cheeks.

  Buffy was glad things were back to better between them. She figured he didn’t know that she had overheard…what she had overheard. Maybe he’d just been letting off steam. He was under a lot of pressure. After all, he was kind of old, and out of his element.

  “How about Barnum and Bailey?” Cordelia suggested. “Since we’re on a circus theme.”

  “Carnival,” Xander corrected her. “Theme. Not a cruise.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Speaking of the carnival, any new thoughts on what’s going on?” Buffy asked.

  Giles took a pouch of Little Friskies from Xander and tore it open. “Not so far. I was up half the night with the kittens. They make quite a lot of noise.” He picked up their already-brimming dish from beside the couch and started to carry both it and the pouch into the kitchen. “They seem to have no interest in food.”

  Xander moaned. “I think I have rabies.”

  “Has either of them bitten you?” Giles asked, alarmed.

  Cordelia sneezed.

  “Bless you,” Buffy said.

  “No, but I’m, like, foaming at the mouth,” Xander said, licking his lips. “I live in Phlegm Town.”

  “Yuck. Thank you for sharing,” Cordelia said. Then she stared harder at Xander. “Is that a piece of cat food stuck to your cheek? Oh my God, Xander! Have you been scarfing their food?”

  Before Xander could answer, he was saved by a sharp knock on Giles’s front door.

  “That’s probably Willow,” Giles said. “Here.” He handed the dish and the bowl to Buffy, and crossed to the door.

  As Buffy gazed down at it and then over to Xander, Giles opened the door and took a step back as Willow sailed in.

  “Guys,” Willow said. She was out of breath. “Carl and Mariann Palmer’s mom is dead and Principal Snyder is missing!”

  “What?” Xander sat up. “That’s such great news! Not the mom part,” he amended. “That is horrible news.” He frowned. “How did she die?”

  Willow pantomimed hitting something. “Looks like a robbery. In her own house. Carl’s fingerprints are all over a flashlight that was lying next to her.”

  “Good Lord.” Giles pushed up his glasses and scratched his forehead. “Are you saying that Carl Palmer killed his own mother?”

  “That, or the electricity went out,” Xander said.

  “Or he was trying to defend her,” Buffy pointed out.

  “How can you rob your own parents?” Willow asked.

  “Ask Cordelia. She’s stealing years from hers,” Xander said.

  “Her purse was open and her wallet was empty,” Willow said. “Which doesn’t make sense, if Carl did it.”

  “Yeah, it does, if you’re, like, a drug addict or something,” Cordelia argued.

  “But he has money. He has a job,” Willow said. “At the library. Or, he did.”

  “Is he in custody?” Giles asked.

  Willow shook her head. “No. He’s missing too.”

  “Oh, God,” Cordelia said, covering her mouth. “Maybe Carl killed Principal Snyder!”

  “We can hope,” Xander muttered, then added, “Just kidding.” Then added, “Not.” Then added, “Of course I’m kidding.”

  “Well, Principal Snyder was last seen at the carnival,” Willow said. “And guess what?”

  “So was Carl Palmer,” Giles ventured.

  Her face fell. “You guessed.”

  “Principal Snyder was going to ban kids from going to the carnival on school days,” Buffy said. “And I swear that Quasimodo guy was spying on us.”

  The little gray kitten attacked Giles’s shoe. It mewed and batted at the laces. Giles exhaled impatiently.

  “Also? Listen to this,” Willow said mysteriously. “There is no record of there actually being a carnival in Sunnydale. No news articles, no permits, nothing. It just…appeared.”

  “Out of nowhere, into the here,” Giles mused.

  “Also? In the last week the crime rate has shot up. There’s been a thirty-six-percent increase in robberies, murders, and vandalism.”

  “I thought I noticed more graffiti in the graveyards,” Buffy said as she cuddled the naughty kitten.

  “Did you notice any extra graves?” Xander asked.

  “Can’t say I did,” Buffy replied. The kitten batted at her hair, and she laughed.

  “Well, we ought to investigate,” Giles said. “Go back to the carnival and see what we can find out.”

  “I can’t go,” Xander said apologetically. “I can barely move.”

  “And unfortunately I have cheerleading practice.” Cordelia sneezed. “Oh, hey, what a nice letter opener.” She picked up a shiny blade thingie off the bookcase and inspected it, eyes wide with interest. “There’s writing on it. ‘Ta-mir-o—’”

  “Please, put that down immediately,” Giles snapped. “It’s not a letter opener. It’s a sacrificial knife used in the summoning of Astorrith, who is a very powerful demon. If you continue saying those words and simultaneously cut yourself, you might very well summon him.”

  “Oh, sorry,” Cordelia said in a little voice, replacing the knife on the shelf. “You shouldn’t just leave things like that lying around in the open. What if it fell into the wrong hands?”

  “I don’t know, Giles. Until you get these little guys housebroken, you might consider some AstroTurf,” Xander said, wrinkling his nose.

  “Damn. Did one of them do his business on my rug?”

  Xander shook his head, gathering up the fabric of his corduroy pants with a grimace. “No. One of them did her business on my pants.”

  Giles balled his fists. “Those little beasts. They’re damned infuriating!”

  “Jeez, maybe you shouldn’t have pets,” Cordelia muttered.

  “Okay, that was fun. Going to the carnival,” Buffy announced, handing her kitten to Willow. “See you later.”

  “Very well, you and I will go on ahead.” Giles turned to Willow. “Meantime, you check and see if you can glean more information about Mrs. Palmer’s death and Principal Snyder’s disappearance.”

  “Oh.” Willow looked forlorn as she stroked the kitten’s back. It was curled up in her hand like a Tribble on classic Star Trek. “I can’t go too?”

  “You’d do better doing your hacking thing,” he said.

  Willow took a breath. “But…”

  Giles scowled at her. “Do you want to help or not?”

  Willow looked crushed. The kitten mewed, as if echoing her sentiments exactly.

  “Giles,” Xander said. “Will’s
always been a big helper.”

  The phone rang. With a huff, Giles rushed off to take it in the kitchen. “Yes?” he yelled.

  “God, what is his deal?” Cordelia asked. “He’s so cranky.”

  “The watcher gig is a lot of pressure,” Buffy suggested, leaning over and giving the kitten a kiss on its small, soft head. “It’s hard to keep up with a slayer. Especially me.”

  The kitten started licking the end of Willow’s chin. “Well, at least you love me,” she murmured.

  As if on cue, the cat scrabbled out of Willow’s arms and darted under the couch.

  “That’s cats. Love you and leave you,” Xander said. “Oh, say, weren’t you a cat for Halloween, Cordelia?”

  “Yes, and how lucky for me that I will never love you,” she snapped.

  Giles bustled back into the room. “Buffy, that was Willy. Two vampires are down at the Alibi, discussing the carnival. I want you to go down there right now and see what you can find out.”

  Buffy waved her hands back and forth as if she were a traffic cop telling him to put on his brakes. “Giles, I went there last night, remember? By the time I get to the Alibi, those vamps will be long gone. It’ll be a total waste of time.”

  “I disagree.” He narrowed his eyes at her.

  “Well, congratulations.” She folded her arms across her chest.

  “Aren’t you Miss Thing today,” Cordelia said. “And every day,” she added under her breath.

  “Well, yeah, actually, I am.” Buffy squared her shoulders and gave her hair a toss. “The one girl in all my generation, remember?”

  “Buffy,” Willow said quietly.

  “The one girl who is supposed to listen to her watcher, remember?” Giles said. His voice was deadly quiet.

  “Well, I would listen to you, if what you were telling me to do made any sense.”

  “Buffy,” Willow said again, a little more loudly.

  Giles took off his glasses. Xander sat up slowly, staring hard at Buffy as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  The tension in the room was rising toward the boiling point.

  Giles said, “I beg your pardon?”

  “You heard me.” The Slayer put her hands on her hips and raised her chin. “Or maybe you didn’t. So I’ll say it again. Read my lips. I’m going to the carnival.”

  “What is wrong with you?” Willow asked her. She looked at Giles. “Something’s wrong with her.”

  “I’m fine, Will. Trust me on this one,” Buffy said. “But something is wrong with Giles.” She tilted her head. “Because he is way off if he thinks he can tell me what to do.”

  “He’s, um, supposed to tell you what to do,” Willow ventured. She slid a glance toward Giles. “Aren’t you? I mean, I thought that was what a watcher was for.”

  “To guide the Slayer,” Xander put in.

  “Yeah, guide me, not treat me like his German sheepdog or whatever,” Buffy flung at him.

  “That would be a German shepherd,” Cordelia said. “My aunt raises them.”

  “No one cares,” Buffy informed her. She ticked her attention back to Giles. “Now, I’m going to the carnival. Do you want to try to stop me?”

  “How dare you,” Giles bit off. His eyes were slits. “I have turned my entire life upside down to be your watcher.”

  “Never asked you to,” Buffy said, staring him down.

  “Hey, you are way out of line,” Xander said.

  “This just in,” Buffy said to Xander. “What you think doesn’t matter.”

  She headed for the door. Giles took a step toward it, blocking her way.

  He said, “If you leave—”

  “If you don’t get out of my way, I will move you,” she said.

  They faced each other. Giles took a deep breath and let it out. Then he stepped aside, glaring at her.

  “You’re right. I can’t stop you,” he said.

  She gave him a sour smile. “You’re right.”

  She swept out of the room, opening the front door, walking through it, and slamming it in Giles’s face.

  As if on cue, both of Giles’s kittens began to mew.

  “Oh my God, Giles,” Willow said.

  “Lock up after yourselves,” Giles snapped, staring after the Slayer. “And for God’s sake, find a way to shut those things up.”

  Chapter Eight

  Giles blinked.

  He was back in the Chamber of Horrors, staring at the false mirror in the Dracula tableau.

  But he had had no intention of revisiting the Chamber of Horrors. His plan had been to investigate the games area, because both Carl Palmer and Principal Snyder had been seen there last.

  He had not run into Buffy. I ought to thrash her, he thought. Only that was absurd, of course. Take on a slayer? Not bloody likely.

  Still, his blood was up. He balled his fists as the crowds snaked past the ridiculous scenes of mayhem and violence—he’d show them violence, ultra-violence, in fact—and it was only by clenching his jaw that he didn’t rail against the girl behind him, who kept snapping her gum. A well-placed palm strike to her jaw, and he could shove her bovine face in.

  He found the mirror and stared into it. Waves of dizziness washed over him. Then more anger flooded him, overtaking him.

  “Let me out of here,” he said, pushing the girl aside.

  She stumbled and shouted, “Hey, watch it!” One look from him, and she swallowed hard and looked down.

  He pushed, shoved, and got the hell out of there just as someone said, “Call security!”

  “Idiots.”

  He stomped across the grounds, ready to mow down anyone who crossed his path, then out into the parking lot to retrieve his Citroën.

  Someone had parked a Toyota Corolla so close that he couldn’t get the driver’s-side door open.

  “Damn it!” he yelled. He pulled back his leg to kick the Corolla as hard as he could, when he suddenly remembered the black flashlight he had in the pocket of his jacket.

  He didn’t remember how it had gotten there, but no matter.

  It would smash the taillight just fine.

  The car alarm began to whoop.

  He smashed the other taillight for good measure.

  Then he climbed into his car on the passenger side and scooted over behind the wheel, dropping the flashlight to the floor.

  Hands clenched around the wheel, he scowled as he drove.

  He had given up everything he cared about to become a watcher. And for what? An ignorant, rude, arrogant American teenager.

  I could just…

  He stared into the rearview mirror. Saw his face. Saw something silver.

  He smiled like a damned man.

  Yes, he could.

  “Wow, sorry, you were really close that time,” the white-faced girl in the black hood said to Cordelia. “Want another roll of quarters?”

  “What?” Cordelia blinked and looked around. “I’m…I’m…I was supposed to be going to cheerleading practice.” She looked around. It was dark out. When had it gotten dark?

  What was that smell?

  “Well, you ended up here,” the girl informed her.

  “And I still didn’t win?” Cordelia asked her.

  The girl shook her head.

  “But I don’t remember. I…” Cordelia fished inside her purse. She had left her home this morning with a hundred dollars. It was time to make another payment to Haley Schricker, the private coach the cheerleading squad had hired.

  It was gone.

  “I spent it all here?” she shrieked. “This is crazy! Is this a dream?”

  The girl just looked at her as if she didn’t have the slightest idea in the world what Cordelia was talking about.

  “It’s because I hang out with those people,” Cordelia muttered. “Oh, I hate those guys. Something has happened and no one knows it and…”

  She felt dizzy; saw a blur of silver. She swayed and held on to the wooden post at the corner of the booth.

  “I
just have to have one of those purple glass baskets,” she finished desperately. “I need one.” She opened her purse and rooted around inside it some more.

  “You could go home and get some more money,” the girl suggested.

  “Yes.” Cordelia brightened. “Of course.”

  The girl leaned forward. “If you hurry, you’ll have plenty of time when you get back to win two baskets.”

  “Oh my God,” Cordelia said dreamily.

  “Do you need a flashlight?” the girl asked. “We have lots of them. They make great bludgeoning tools.” She reached in her apron and pulled out a long, black flashlight. She extended her arm, offering it to Cordelia.

  “No, I’m good,” Cordelia told her.

  The girl gave the flashlight a friendly little shake. “Because you might want to kill someone, to get that money.”

  “Oh. You’re right. I might.” Cordelia held her hand out for the flashlight. “Thanks.”

  The girl handed her the flashlight. “You might see something you want on the drive home. You might have to break a window, or hit someone really hard.”

  Cordelia wrinkled her nose. “You’re so clever.”

  The girl extended her arms. “That’s why I make the big bucks.”

  Cordelia stashed the flashlight in her purse.

  She gave it a pat and said, “You don’t think you could just give me one of those baskets now, do you? I could pay you for it later.”

  “You will pay for it later,” the girl assured her. At Cordelia’s perplexed expression, she said, “After you win it.” She leaned forward and said conspiratorially, “You know, you have potential. If I put a good word in for you, Professor Caligari might hire you. Let you work with me. Would you like that?”

  Cordy was thrilled. “Do you make a lot of money?” she asked her.

  “I am rewarded,” the girl replied. “I’ve worked for Professor Caligari for practically ever, and I’ve never regretted it for a minute.”

  “It sounds tempting,” Cordelia said, raising her brows.

  “It’s meant to,” the girl said.

  They chuckled together.

  “Well, you should leave now,” the girl said. “It’s nearly eight and we close at ten on the dot. Midnight on the weekends.”