“People are dying, Rupert,” Ms. Calendar said anxiously.
“We haven’t forgotten,” Giles assured her.
“At least their problems are over.” Spike punched the door when Dru slammed into it again. “Dru could be a ghastly bat forever, being immortal and all.”
Buffy held back a quip about justified fate and focused on the problem. “So how do we find the bad magick? We don’t even know where to start.”
“Actually, I have a theory.” Giles slipped into intense mulling-it-over mode. “It’s possible that the magick hindering Pragoh’s power attracted the vermin in the first place. Something induced the creatures to leave the Hellmouth, and nothing else adequately explains why an infestation hasn’t happened before in the months since the Master weakened the barrier.”
“Amy Madison,” Buffy said. The young witch was the only student Buffy knew with the power to counter a demon’s magick.
“She’s absent,” Willow said. “With the flu, the real flu. Fever, throwing up, feeling yuck.”
Buffy glanced at Ms. Calendar. “Have you—”
Ms. Calendar quickly set the record straight on her magickal abilities. “I can cure hiccups and leg cramps. I can’t disarm a demon.”
“Well, someone did something,” Giles said, exasperated.
“It wasn’t me!” Willow exclaimed, flustered. “I’ve just been reading a few books about spells and potions and . . . and stuff. Strictly dabbling. I mean, not real magic that could actually do anything—”
Buffy wasn’t surprised that the ultra-smart techno-whiz was investigating the magical arts. Knowledge was power. Willow’s mind was one of the Slayer’s greatest assets.
Giles didn’t dismiss Willow’s dabbling as unimportant either. “An amateur spell might be responsible. The most simplistic incantation or ritual could be increased by magnitudes of power this close to the Hellmouth.”
“Really? Whoa!” Willow blinked. “But I didn’t do any magick. Honest.”
“Oh! Oh!” Xander hit the banister with the heel of his hand. “Michael.”
“Michael Czajak?” Buffy asked.
“He was muttering . . . while he looked for . . . his charm.” Xander explained in halting phrases between labored breaths. “Didn’t hear what—”
“If Michael believes the gold medallion has the magickal power to protect him,” Giles concluded, “he might cast a spell to find it.”
“Makes sense to me,” Buffy said.
“Assuming that’s what occurred,” Giles went on, “Michael’s spell would have to be satisfied in order for the magickal interference to end.”
“Meaning the spell will be broken when Michael gets his charm back?” Buffy asked.
Giles nodded. “Theoretically, yes.”
Pragoh agreed. “No more bad magick.”
“Except that we don’t know what happened to the medallion,” Buffy pointed out.
“Is it a gold sun studded with red and green stones?” Spike asked.
“Yeah. Do you have it?” Buffy tensed. She didn’t have time to spar with the vampire.
“No, but Drusilla did for a few minutes this morning, before the bats attacked.” Spike hesitated, then added, “She said the bit burned, like an ‘aching heart.’ ”
Buffy had no idea if Drusilla’s gibberish meant anything, but at least Spike also thought the circumstances were too dire for games.
“A lost heart, perhaps?” Giles mused.
Spike shrugged. “ ‘The longing wiggles.’ She said that, too.”
“An odd choice of metaphors,” Giles said.
“Where amulet now?” Pragoh asked pointedly.
Buffy shared his impatience with the literary riddles, but it was disconcerting to be thinking like and working with a certified Hellmouth demon. Having the same goal doesn’t mean we’re playing by the same rules, she reminded herself.
“Drusilla dropped the medallion in a box.” Spike motioned toward the stairs. “The short guitar player from that Dingo boy band took it upstairs.”
“Oz?” Xander looked up. “Harmony took it. . . .”
Buffy sympathized with the difficulty Xander had speaking and asked yes or no questions. “Harmony took it where? To the high-dollar table?”
Xander nodded.
Buffy didn’t remember seeing it, but she hadn’t looked at the items in the display cases.
“Uh—I found Michael’s amulet stuck to my sweater.” Willow shrank back slightly. “But I gave it away.”
Chapter Seven
As Willow trudged up the stairs behind Giles and Ms. Calendar, she cast a wary glance back. Buffy and the kur-hunting demon were too busy helping Xander to harm Cutie—for now. Spike had stayed in the basement to make sure bat-Dru didn’t break out of the storeroom. It was weird, but the vampire didn’t seem so scary—maybe because Willow and Spike both had to protect the one thing they loved most in the world.
Of course Drusilla had fangs and could fight back if she had to. Cutie was soft and cuddly and totally vulnerable without her.
But there wasn’t an immediate threat, and Willow relaxed as she hugged the kur. The warm fuzzies wasn’t just a sappy saying. It was exactly how she felt when Cutie felt safe and purred, like toasty mush.
“And you have no idea what became of the necklace, Willow?” Giles asked.
“I told Brad it belonged to Michael,” Willow answered, annoyed. She was so wrapped up in Cutie, she hadn’t followed every nuance of the discussion in the basement. The idea of finding Michael’s medallion was unsettling, but since the kur wasn’t in imminent danger, she put it out of her mind.
“Did Brad say he’d give it back to him?” Ms. Calendar stepped out of the stairwell and moved aside.
“He said he wanted to give it to his girlfriend.” Willow hurried past the computer teacher. Xander stumbled into the corridor after her with Buffy and Pragoh supporting him on either side
“Brad Corelli has a girlfriend?” Buffy released Xander’s arm but held her hand up for a moment in case he started to fall.
“He’s been dating Cheryl Saunders for a month.” Nudged by a twinge of kur anxiety, Willow moved across the hall.
“House plants,” Xander said breathlessly. “Devon and Oz helped her—” He leaned against the wall, gasping for air.
“Where is Brad?” Buffy asked. “We need to know if he gave the necklace to Cheryl or Michael.”
“I’m not sure Brad will be able to tell you,” Ms. Calendar said. “He’s literally taken root at a desk. I haven’t seen Cheryl.”
Buffy pulled a wad of paper towels out of her waistband. “I can search the cafeteria for the amulet, on the off chance it’s still there.”
“Some of these kids don’t have much time.” Ms. Calendar’s voice was tight with urgency.
Willow began to inch away. She felt bad that so many people were sick, but they weren’t her problem. Cutie was feeling nervous again, and she had to keep him away from the ugly gray demon.
“Given the number of people that have been in contact with Michael’s amulet, it would appear the charm is working its way back to him. Eventually it will succeed.” Giles looked at Ms. Calendar. “Is Michael in the infirmary?”
Ms. Calendar nodded. “Drifting in and out of consciousness and wasting away to skin and bones.”
Giles turned to Buffy. “Sweep the cafeteria for the necklace, but do it quickly. If we lose its trail, perhaps we can backtrack it from the boy.”
Willow felt a surge of fright when a small orange and black lizard darted out the basement door and skittered between the demon’s legs.
Pragoh jumped suddenly and started stomping his wide foot. The lizard leaped to avoid being flattened.
Cutie screamed in Willow’s head, transmitting the same terror she had felt in the basement. The kur wasn’t afraid of Pragoh. He was terrified of the fire dragon.
“Stop!” Buffy yelled, and bopped Pragoh on the head. She pulled the startled demon back before he injured the fire
dragon. “Are you trying to get us all turned into Easy-Bake ovens?”
“Not cook me,” Pragoh said.
“Of course.” Giles commented on the demon’s casual assertion as a matter of interest. “Pragoh would have to be immune to the creatures to be effective, wouldn’t he?”
“Don’t like fire dragon,” Pragoh explained.
“Don’t care!” Infuriated, Buffy pushed Pragoh back against the wall.
The fire lizard had been nearby the whole time they had been in the basement, and it hadn’t smoked anyone. It hadn’t even tried to smoke her when she had reached for the pot to trap it. The lizard had run away instead. And it hadn’t used its deadly defensive mechanism when Pragoh had just tried to squash it. She felt confident the fire dragon wouldn’t attack unless smoking was the only way to avoid being caught or killed. At the moment it was sitting up on its haunches a few feet away, watching.
“Everyone would probably be safer in the infirmary, Giles.” Buffy glanced at Xander. Every breath he took seemed harder to draw than the last. “Where’s Willow?”
“Run away.” Pragoh pointed down the corridor. “Kur don’t like fire dragon.”
“Don’t blame him.” Ms. Calendar opened the classroom door, and Giles waved her inside.
“I know how to handle the lizard, Giles,” Buffy said, “but you’d better take Pragoh with you. I don’t want to get smoked by mistake.”
“Understood. A hand here, please, Pragoh.” Giles kept a wary eye on the lizard as he and the demon helped Xander hobble into the classroom.
After the door closed behind them, Buffy headed down the corridor. The lizard seemed to be tracking her movements, and she hoped it would follow her. Ms. Calendar’s mug was still half full, which was more than enough cold coffee to keep the little guy occupied until Pragoh called it back into the Hellmouth.
Provided we get his magick working, Buffy thought as she strode through the cafeteria doors. The floor was still covered with black splinters and shards. With so many bizarre beings on the loose, she wouldn’t have been surprised if the black ball had reconstituted itself like liquid metal, Terminator 2–style. She was relieved to discover it had not.
The coffee mug was where she had left it, on the table with the other art pieces her mom had brought in. Buffy tensed when the little lizard leaped onto the table, but it ignored her and clamped onto the mug. As she stepped back, she noticed the slogan the lizard’s body had covered earlier: PARTY PAGAN.
“May we all live to party another day,” Buffy said as she turned. The potted plants were on an end table one aisle over from CDs and old records.
Buffy’s alert gaze flicked over everything as she walked. An animal that looked like a purple armadillo-porcupine combo with boar’s teeth and three horns burrowed in the orange blanket where Xander had first hidden his vest. She realized that if she had left it there, he might not be facing a slow death by crushing, but she shook off the pang of guilt. For all she knew, the purple creature had poison quills that killed instantly.
The leather skirt she had stashed in defiance of Snyder’s rules was still tucked in the stack of shirts, but she didn’t want it anymore. Even after all the Hell-mouth horrors were gone, she wouldn’t be able to wear it without imagining that something vile was swimming through her veins, chomping her white blood cells, or turning her hair into cactus spines and seaweed.
A puddle of gray slime was devouring the brim of a Razorback baseball cap someone had left with the artificial flowers, baskets, decorative planters, and garden tools. The rows of potted ivies, philodendron, and ferns on the end of the table looked undisturbed, but that didn’t mean the leaves weren’t crawling with flesh-eating mites or pod-people spores.
Finally, convinced that nothing but hell beasts were wandering the rummage sale aisles, Buffy headed toward the exit. The unexpected snoring sound rising from behind a stack of boxes brought her to a sudden halt. At first, unable to tell if a person or a critter was making the noise, she approached with extreme caution. Even when she saw the toe of a sport shoe, she didn’t let down her guard.
“Cheryl?” Rising on her toes, Buffy craned to look over the boxes.
“Ummmmm.” The girl was lying on her side with her hands pillowing her head. A brown, gold-flecked flat worm with a million tiny legs was wrapped around her neck. She appeared to be asleep.
“Cheryl?” Buffy called softly. “Can you hear me?”
“Uh-huh.” Cheryl rubbed her nose with her finger, but she didn’t open her eyes.
“Did Brad give you a necklace?” Buffy crossed two sets of fingers. “A gold sunburst?”
“Uh-huh.”
Buffy didn’t see the medallion, but the girl might have put it somewhere before the millipede hit her with the Rip Van Winkle whammy. “Can I borrow it?”
“Don’t have it.” Cheryl frowned.
“Where is it?”
“Brad has it.”
Buffy couldn’t be sure the girl had understood the question and took a stab at a follow-up. “You gave it back to Brad?”
“Uh-huh.” Cheryl turned her head and began snoring again.
Buffy stepped back from the boxes to think. Brad was rooted to a desk in the infirmary, but Willow had told him the necklace belonged to Michael. Since Cheryl didn’t want it, he might have decided to do the right thing and return it. If not, the infirmary was still the best place to look. Everyone from the rummage sale who showed symptoms had been isolated in the classroom, including Michael. Given the medallion’s steady progress back to him, the protection charm had to be there too.
Buffy was hesitant to leave Cheryl, but the girl was sleeping peacefully and wasn’t in pain. Even if the millipede was draining her life force or turning her into a moron, moving her wouldn’t arrest the process. The disturbance might make her condition worse. Buffy decided to let her sleep and went back to the infirmary alone.
* * *
Despite the nonaggressive academic facade Giles maintained, he was neither squeamish nor weak. He could not hold his own against the Slayer, but his combat skills were much more advanced than anyone knew. His wealth of knowledge was invaluable, but it was not all he had to offer. He believed that one day the sudden and unexpected implementation of his physical abilities during battle would be crucial to victory.
Nothing, however, had prepared him to deal with children and friends who were dying of horrid and excruciating demonic infections.
“Are the ambulances coming, Mr. Giles?” Joyce asked, her voice weak and hoarse.
“Yes,” Giles lied. “They’ll be here soon.”
“So thirsty—”
“Ms. Calendar has some water up front. I’ll get some for you. Just lie still.” Giles smiled, but the sight of Joyce’s cracked lips and oozing green sores was deeply disturbing.
Although he was quite enamored of Jenny Calendar, he had always found Joyce Summers attractive. It was a purely aesthetic observation he kept private, not only to avoid being teased but out of respect for Buffy’s mother. He liked her, and it pained him to see the woman’s loveliness violated by a species of hellish algae. More distressing was the undeniable fact that Buffy would be devastated if her mother died, perhaps to the point of dysfunction.
Giles tried not to think about the consequences of failure as he moved toward the front of the classroom to get a moist towel and some water for Joyce. Jenny had set up a headquarters of a sort at the teacher’s desk. From there, she rationed first aid and other supplies and delegated tasks to the volunteer teachers who had not been frightened off by the three deaths. No one else had died, but all the afflictions were worsening at an alarming rate.
Giles paused to peer down at Michael Czajak. Curled into a fetal ball on the floor, the boy was oblivious to the plagues and pestilence his seeker spell had unleashed. He did not know for certain that Michael was responsible, but it seemed likely. The protective amulet’s relentless journey from person to person back to the boy was hard evidence to ignore. And, Giles had
to admit, he wanted to believe it. If Michael’s spell wasn’t the catalyst, there probably wasn’t time to locate the source before everyone inside Sunnydale High perished.
After quickly tending to Joyce, Giles had no luck trying to backtrack the amulet from Michael. The few students he questioned had not seen the amulet or couldn’t answer.
Cutting a diagonal across the room, Giles could not help but gawk at Principal Snyder as he went by. The malicious man’s contented smile was a maddening side effect of the brain bores drilling through his scalp. It seemed terribly unjust that the worms pumped a numbing substance into Snyder to counter pain while Joyce and the students suffered.
Jenny was not at the desk, and Giles took a moment to check on Xander in the corner behind it. The boy was pale and shaky, but still on his feet. Xander had tried stretching out on the floor, but the vest had reacted to the external pressure by squeezing harder. The vise effect was alleviated somewhat when Xander was vertical. Giles suspected the vest was infested with hive-mentality creatures that worked in concert—toward what end was unknown and irrelevant, given that Xander was being strangled in the process.
“How are you doing, Xander?” Giles remembered too late that speaking required more air and effort than Xander could safely expend. “I’m sorry. I’m sure Buffy will be back any moment with the amulet.”
Fighting to keep air in his lungs, Xander didn’t react.
“There she.” Pragoh looked toward the door when Buffy entered. The demon stood beside Xander, concealed in a yellow rain poncho Jenny had found in the teacher’s desk. The hood slipped off his horned head when he turned.
Giles pulled Pragoh’s hood back up. Several people in the room remained conscious. No one needed to see a being that couldn’t be explained away as a mutant pathogen.
“Let’s hope she’s had some success.” Even as Giles said the words, his hopes were dashed. As Buffy came toward them, he could see that she wasn’t holding a gold necklace.
“Where fire dragon?” Pragoh scrunched up his pug nose and sniffed.
“Safe from you, binging on caffeine,” Buffy said.
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