by Nancy Holder
“He was weird, Giles. Woo-woo weird,” Buffy assured him. “And Stephanie was flirting with him.” Buffy closed her eyes and shook her head at the grossness of that. “She couldn’t stop staring at herself in the mirrors. She kept talking about how beautiful she was.”
Xander snorted. At the stereo glares from Buffy and Willow, he said, “Sorry. All women are beautiful.”
“Then this morning, she picked that fight,” Buffy said, ignoring Xander. “She told Cordelia that she was the new school hottie and Cordelia was over.”
Willow’s eyes got huge. “You’re kidding! I missed all that?” She caught herself and lowered her voice, sounding more serious. “I mean, I missed all that. Oh my God, no wonder Cordelia’s declared war on her.”
“I dunno,” Xander said. “That’s a little overly, don’t you think?” He held out both hands as if he were weighing things. “Why not just laugh in that snotty, spoiled rich-girl way she has and flounce off, making Stephanie feel like a worm beneath her stiletto heel?”
“It was actually kind of a compliment for her to bother being mean to Stephanie,” Willow countered. “It does take some effort.”
“Guys, hello, we are talking about Cordelia, right?” Buffy asked pointedly. “Missing a chance like that to slaughter someone in public? I don’t think so.”
Willow shrugged. “All I’m saying is, it’s obvious that Cordelia is light-years more gorgeous. I mean, right, Xander?”
Xander flushed and rocked back in his chair. “Hah, I guess. If you’re into superficial prom queens with bad breath who make people feel like punctured worms.”
“Back to the Rising,” Buffy said.
“Yes.” Giles activated, picking up a big, dusty book and kind of waving it at her. “I’ve been researching carnivals. Specifically, Caligari’s Traveling Carnival.”
“That would be the one,” Buffy said. “What’d you find?” She took a seat beside Willow. Willow smiled faintly and turned her attention back to Giles.
“Nothing.”
“Well, then it’s certainly worth mentioning,” Buffy drawled.
Giles scratched his forehead with his thumb. “But that’s not to say there isn’t anything. Merely that we haven’t found it yet.” He waved a hand at the leaning tower of knowledge. “We have quite a few books to peruse.”
“And also to look through,” Xander added.
“What did Angel find last night?” Buffy asked. Since he didn’t find me?
“The carnival was locked up tight. There was a gate across the entrance that you ran through. He hopped the fence and looked around, but found nothing out of the ordinary before it was getting close to dawn and he had to leave. Then he phoned me.”
“Did Angel find my missing vampire?”
“He didn’t mention it. However, as you know, he can be quite laconic.”
“He can?” Buffy asked, having had no idea there were going to be hard words in the conversation.
“Taciturn,” Giles explained.
I gotta read more.
“Right,” she said brightly.
As Willow took a dusty book off the stack and passed it to Buffy, she said, “My father used to talk about running away to join the circus.”
“As have I,” Giles muttered.
Buffy raised a brow as she traced the picture of a demon on the front cover of the book. It seemed to her that a lot of people talked about running away to join the circus. It was the universal Anywhere But Here destination.
“I would rather be electrocuted,” Xander said. As the others stared at him, he said, “What? Clowns.”
“The clowns were wicked scary,” Buffy agreed, shivering all over again.
“But they weren’t real,” Willow ventured. “Were they?”
“I don’t know. They seemed to be following me in the fun house. And there was that moment in the forest.”
“Computerized robots?” Xander asked. “Like in The Terminator?”
“Or like Ted, that robot my mom was dating?” Buffy added.
“Or demonic minions of some sort,” Giles said. He set down the book he was holding and pondered the large stack beside Willow. He picked up the first, muttered to himself, and set it down. He went through about half the stack.
“Ah, perhaps this one,” he said, hefting a book bound in black. He began flipping through thick pages covered with large, heavily decorated lettering.
“This is a diary from the Rhine Valley in the mid-1500s,” Giles announced. “Look here.”
He pointed at a page. “Did your Professor Caligari look like this?”
She looked down at a tall, thin man wearing an eye patch and a robe with a hood.
“Two eyes,” she said. “The resemblance isn’t so much. But it’s just a drawing.”
“A woodcut, actually,” Giles said. “This is reputed to be Hans Von Der Sieben. Hans of the Seven. Seven what, I have no idea. He held some kind of occult gatherings for noblemen. No peasants allowed. No one spoke of what happened there, on pain of death.”
“I’m guessing they weren’t quilting bees,” Xander ventured.
Giles continued. “This diary was written by a Germanic princeling named Jakob Wilhelm, who claimed to have witnessed one of the gatherings. It was he who made the woodcut. I vaguely recalled it as you began to describe your Professor Caligari.”
“Not my professor,” Buffy protested. “I flunked out of fun house.”
“What does Jakob Wilhelm say?” Willow asked.
“About Hans of the Shriners?” Xander riffed.
Giles said, “I’ll translate as I go. ‘What transpired at the gathering was a terrible abomination. I pray God I may forget the rending of souls from their bodies. It was unspeakable.’”
Giles stopped reading.
“And …?” Buffy prodded.
Giles shook his head. “He says nothing more.”
“He unspeaks,” Xander said.
“Nonspeaks,” Buffy shot back.
They both smiled at Giles, whose head was bent over the book as he studied the page.
“There are no more entries after this one. I researched Jakob Wilhelm. As far as I can ascertain, he disappeared right after having written it and was never heard from again.”
“So unspeakable that he didn’t speak of it,” Xander said.
“Or was prevented,” Giles replied.
“Gulp,” Willow murmured.
Giles whapped the book shut, making Buffy jump. Dust powdered the air. “However, so many of these old texts are gross exaggerations. People twisted the truth to obtain an end result. For example, during the Spanish Inquisition, several noble families were accused of heresy so that the church could take their lands.”
“Maybe we could get someone to accuse Snyder of heresy so they could seize the school,” Xander said.
“We’ll have to continue researching. However, I suggest we go to the carnival,” Giles said, setting the book down. There was more dust. He brushed it off his jacket lapel without even looking. “As a group. We stick close together, and see what we can find out.”
“I’m probably being grounded tonight,” Buffy informed him, “for the same reason that I was late.”
Giles thought a moment. “Perhaps I can help with that. Give your mother a call and explain that Principal Snyder misrepresented what occurred.”
“And you can tell her that he lied about it,” Xander added helpfully.
“My mom told me she’d be in a meeting until five,” Buffy said. “Something about a bank loan. She said not to call her unless it was an emergency.”
“Very well. We’ll wait until five,” Giles said.
Buffy sat next to Willow, who smiled and scooted her chair over. Across the table Xander drummed his fingers and hunkered forward. “Okay. Gimme some books. I’m in.”
Buffy was impressed. Xander was not big on the research, but he always did his share. Even though she had turned down his invitation to go to the Spring Fling together, he had her back. A be
tter friend was never born … unless her name was Willow.
At five on the dot, Giles made the call. Buffy’s mom was amazed, as always, at how much Sunnydale High looked out for its students. She liked Principal Snyder a lot less since “that gang on PCP” (i.e., Spike and his lackeys) had ruined Parent-Teacher Night, so it was easy for her to believe that the rodent-eyed jerk had totally busted Buffy for something she didn’t do. She asked to speak to Buffy on the phone. Joyce told her thoughtful child that their shopping trip was still a go, scheduled for Saturday morning, and Buffy could hang with her friends this evening.
Much joy.
Plus …
Giles got a second call.
“Angel’s going to meet us at the carnival,” he announced as he set the phone in its cradle. “At the Tunnel of Love.”
Buffy beamed with happiness. Her guy, carnival. It was almost like she was a normal girl.
CHAPTER FOUR
Elsewhere, in Sunnydale …
In the lavish hotel suite he currently occupied under the name C. Haos, the tall, dark-haired sorcerer smiled rather unpleasantly at the even taller, darker warlock he had just defeated in a game referred to in America as “twenty-one.” Sunnydale was quite the hot spot for gambling. The humans gambled. The demons gambled. One assumed that was because gambling was a vice, and vices were little bits of evil. The Hellmouth’s vibrations drew and increased evil of all sorts. The forces of darkness loved Sunnydale.
Witness the newest arrival. Who would have expected it? What a treat, the actual carnival of Professor Copernicus Caligari, legendary in the history of planetary and dimensional evil.
“Malfaiteur, old … man, you know how it goes,” the sorcerer said as he gathered up the playing cards. “I won. And to the victor go the spoils. So, until I release you, you’re bound to me.”
Le Malfaiteur scowled. His black eyes narrowed and he clenched his teeth together hard. “You ’ave cheated,” he said in a French accent. “There’s no way you could ’ave gotten that last hand.”
“The twenty-one with the ace and the queen of hearts?” Mr. Haos asked, snapping his fingers. The very card materialized between his fingers, and he grinned as he flicked it toward Le Malfaiteur. “Because you had hidden the queen underneath your chair?”
Le Malfaiteur’s purplish eyelids flickered, but he remained silent.
“So it’s true,” Haos gloated. “You did cheat. You French, you never played fair. It’s because you’re lazy. Your entire nation is a testament to the perils of laziness. You once ruled vast colonies. Now they’ve all gone their merry ways, and you’ve become a nation of dressmakers.”
Le Malfaiteur twisted his mouth in an ugly smile. “As you are English, I could point out that the sun ’as set on your empire as well. But it does you no good to insult my native land,” he informed his foe. “I ’ave no loyalty to France. My only loyalty is to the black arts.”
As Haos applauded, the queen of hearts vanished, to reappear as dozens of copies on the table. Gleefully, he made a show of scratching his chin as he regarded his vanquished opponent. “Nevertheless, you did cheat. Let me see. What shall I do with you? Darling,” he said over his shoulder, “do you have any ideas?”
Modeling the floor-length Italian leather coat C. Haos had just given her, Claire Nierman glided forward like a vampire—although she was all-too-deliciously human—and put her arms around his neck. She leaned over him in a tantalizing mist of perfume, brushing her lips across his cheek.
“Whatever you do to him, do it fast,” she said. “You’re due at the carnival.”
Her lover tilted his head so that her lips could slide to his earlobe. “Thank you for that reminder, darling,” he said. “You’re always so careful of me.”
“I wish you wouldn’t go there alone,” she whispered in his ear. “That place frightens me. It’s dangerous.”
“It is indeed,” he said. “You’re quite right. I oughtn’t go there alone.” He grinned across the table at his defeated opponent. “And I won’t.”
With a wave of his hands, he began to recite a very powerful spell.
Le Malfaiteur recognized it at once. “Attends!” he protested, scooting back his chair and jumping to his feet with feral sleekness. “I am a fellow sorcerer! You cannot debase me so! You cannot do this to me!”
“Oh yes, I can,” his enemy informed him. “And I will.”
He continued to chant.
The transformation took place.
“All right,” the victor said cheerfully. “We’re off, then.” He rose from his chair. “I suppose I ought to chain him up.”
“Y-yes,” Claire whispered in a strangled voice, backing away from what C. Haos had wrought. “Good idea.”
“Now, about this attraction,” Giles said as they putted along in the Gilesmobile at about two inches per hour. Buffy wondered if he would ever buy a grown-up car. She kind of doubted it. He loved this bucket of bolts.
But who cared? She was moments away from seeing Angel.
Or maybe hours, at the rate they were going. …
“Buffy,” Giles said, looking across at her. “I was discussing the attraction.”
“Um, I know he’s a vampire,” she began, feeling guilty. Clearly, she had not been paying attention to something he thought was important. “But y’know, he has a soul, and—”
“Whatever are you talking about?” he asked, blinking at her.
“‘Attraction’ being another term for ‘ride,’” Willow said loudly—and nick-of-timey—from the backseat. “A ride such as the Tunnel of Love.”
“Oh.” Buffy closed her eyes and leaned back against the seat. “Right.”
“Angel said that he noticed people acting strangely after they’d been on the … ride. They’re highly charged, sexually, that is, to the extent that they’re, ah, extremely inappropriate,” Giles continued.
“Well, it is called the Tunnel of Love,” Xander said, sitting next to Willow. “People ride it so they can make out and stuff. Some people get tired of closets … of closeness in other places.”
“Yes, well, I daresay we will all keep a level head at this carnival tonight,” Giles said.
“On guard we shall be,” Xander said. “Like sentries.” He flashed a snappy military salute.
“Hey. Listen,” Buffy said. She cracked open her window.
It was the calliope.
The tune was jaunty, but beneath it was a coldness that ran down Buffy’s spine.
“Angel heard it as well, when we were at the Lucky Pint,” Giles said.
“Calliope music, the new music of the bar set,” Xander said. “It’s got a certain zest.”
It was like putting makeup on a corpse before a funeral. Like someone smiling at you with a knife hidden behind their back …
“It’s wiggy,” Buffy said.
“Ya think?” Xander asked. “What’s not to like, Buff?”
“I don’t like it either,” Willow said. “It makes my skin crawl.”
“Indeed,” Giles said slowly. “Mine as well. But not yours, Xander?”
“Well, it may be creepy to some, but actually, it summons images of tasty treats such as peanuts, popcorn, and Cracker Jack, thus making me hungry.”
“Everything makes you hungry,” Willow teased him.
“Except food.” Xander leaned forward and said to Buffy, “You said they had hot dogs on a stick?”
“We probably shouldn’t eat anything there,” Giles reminded him.
“Then we should have stopped at the Doublemeat Palace for dinner,” he retorted. “I’m starving.”
“Xander, it’s not even dinnertime,” Willow said. “I told you to eat more mystery surprise at lunch.”
“Yeah, well, I was too busy gawking at all the drama,” he said. “Plus, mystery surprise …” He trailed off. “Even I have standards when it comes to my federally funded school lunch program.”
Buffy thought to ask about the drama—part of the fun of detention was being forced to eat
lunch with the other prisoners, so she had spent most of her time fending off David Hahn—but she was too lost in the anticipation of what lay ahead in her immediate future:
I am meeting Angel in the Tunnel of Love.
Then they were there. The section of the clearing in front of the carnival had been transformed into a grassy parking lot.
“Hey, that’s Carl Palmer, Mariann Palmer’s brother,” Willow said, pointing to a guy sliding a piece of paper beneath the windshield wiper of a nearby Volvo station wagon. “I saw him coming out of the copy store yesterday. He had just gotten another batch of missing-person flyers. You know, for Mariann.” She leaned forward. “Didn’t you say you staked her last night?”
Buffy sighed, watching Carl as Giles rolled down his window and handed a parking attendant some money. There were dark circles under Carl’s eyes. He looked like an old man, not a kid one year younger than Buffy.
“Yeah,” she said softly. “God, I wish I could tell him to stop looking for her.”
“I know,” Giles murmured, pausing a moment to watch Carl too. Then he convinced the car to move forward toward an empty space. “But you do understand why you can’t, yes?” His voice was kind, gentle.
“I do.” Occupational hazard, keeping uncomfortable secrets like this one.
“I wonder what it would be like, to wonder your entire life what happened to someone you care about,” Willow said. “I so don’t envy him.”
“Agreed. He is to be pitied,” Giles murmured, turning off the engine.
Because I didn’t save her, Buffy thought. I failed. So many times, I don’t get it done. …
Giles turned to her. “Are you all right?”
She pressed her lips into a little smile and bobbed her head. “I’m good,” she said, but her voice was scratchy. She cleared her throat and reached for the door handle.
They joined the masses of Sunnydale citizens moving toward the entrance.
“So far, typical carnival,” Xander said, “not that we usually have carnivals in Sunnydale. Except for our own lame school carnival.”
“It’s fun,” Willow protested. “I always win a cake at the cakewalk.”