Buffy the Vampire Slayer 3

by Nancy Holder

  “Look out!” Vaclav shouted.

  The wind hit it from the other direction. The truck jumped onto a curb and roared up the grassy knoll directly in front of Buffy’s school.

  His right hand on the wheel, Angel knocked Claire’s foot off the gas pedal. Then he pushed down on the brake pedal.

  The truck lurched to a stop and slid back down the hill.

  Lights were on in the school’s main building. Angel hoped that meant someone was there.

  The wind blew hard against the driver’s-side door as Angel forced it open. He grabbed the unconscious Claire to keep her from falling out.

  Vaclav clutched the crystal ball and the grimoire.

  Angel carried Claire over one shoulder, then laid her down on the dewy grass while he collected Giles. The wind slapped his face and clawed at his coat.

  In the back of the truck Buffy’s Watcher was coming to, raising himself up on his elbows and groaning. The sound was lost in the wind, but Angel could hear it.

  “Giles, can you walk?” Angel asked him.

  “How dare you!” Giles sputtered, his head lolling. “You kidnapped me!”

  Angel picked Giles up by his shoulders and put him on his feet. Giles could barely stand.

  Then Angel flung Claire over his shoulder and halfdragged, half-carried Giles toward the front door, where Vaclav stood diffidently by.

  Vaclav said, “Is this sanctuary?”

  “For no one else but you,” Angel said, “to hear Buffy tell it.”

  He pushed on the door—it whipped open hard, propelled by the wind—and pulled Vaclav inside.

  “Angel!” It was Willow, followed close behind by Ms. Calendar.

  “Rupert!” she cried.

  “Damn you,” Giles bit off. “All of you.”

  Ms. Calendar drew back. Then she said, “He must be under the influence of an anger spell. Like you said, Willow.”

  “Where’s Buffy?” Willow said anxiously. “And Xander and …” She gestured to Vaclav. “Hey, that’s the guy from the fortune-teller’s.”

  “I am Vaclav,” he said. “I seek sanctuary.”

  “You can have it, if you help us,” Angel said.

  “Who’s that woman?” Ms. Calendar asked Angel.

  “Claire Nierman. Working for someone,” he replied. “She said she was military, but she’s not.”

  Ms. Calendar paled. “If the military ever heard about the Slayer, then …”

  She trailed off as Angel gazed at her. “You have the most beautiful voice,” he said. “You’re incredible. Has anyone told you what pretty hair you have?”

  “Lust spell, definitely,” Ms. Calendar murmured.

  “And your eyes … they’re like doe eyes.” Angel was mesmerized.

  “Yes, well, gaze on them quickly. Astorrith will rip them from their sockets,” Giles proclaimed.

  “Oh my God, Giles,” Willow blurted. “That’s awful!”

  “They’re bewitched,” Vaclav told Willow. “It’s the carnival. My master tempts mortals to weakness, and then he tears their souls from them! He destroyed the woman I love!”

  “We were right,” Ms. Calendar said, nodding at Willow. She said to Vaclav, “It’s okay. We’ve created a spell that restores victims to their original states.”

  “Yes,” Willow said. “I’m no longer envious.” She flushed. “Well, no longer acting on my envy. It’s good and suppressed.”

  “We’ll do the same for you and Giles,” Ms. Calendar told Angel. “Let’s get to it, shall we?”

  “I’m sorry about your woman,” Willow told Vaclav as they began to walk. “Maybe we can help with that, too.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you lot,” Giles proclaimed, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “I stole this,” Vaclav said, holding out the crystal ball.

  “An Orb of Thesulah?” Ms. Calendar asked, growing pale.

  Angel had no idea what she was talking about. He didn’t care. Her mouth was incredible.

  “It’s the Gypsy’s crystal ball,” Willow filled in. She turned to Vaclav. “Tell us what to do with it.”

  “I will,” he promised her.

  “That’s my grimoire!” Giles said, lurching at Vaclav. “You stole my book!”

  Ms. Calendar seized it from Vaclav. “Then come and get it,” she said, turning and hurrying down the hall to the computer lab.

  Like an angry two-year-old, the drunken Giles followed.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Joyce looked at Buffy in the rearview mirror. “We need to get some help.”

  They had found Joyce’s SUV in the carnival parking lot. Her purse long gone, Buffy’s mom retrieved the extra key she kept in the magnetized box in the wheel well, and they were off.

  “Mom, no one can protect you like I can,” Buffy assured her. “I can handle this.”

  Joyce glanced from Xander to her daughter and back again.

  “Buffy, if he’s not already dead, then he is dying. We have to get him to the medical center. He needs immediate attention.”

  “No, Mom,” Buffy insisted. “They won’t be able to help him.”

  “How do you know?” Joyce’s voice was shrill. She was scared. “You’re a sixteen-year-old girl, not a medical doctor.”

  “Mom, just drive,” Buffy snapped. “I know what I’m doing. I …” She trailed off.

  The huge demon creature stood dead ahead.

  An enormous tentacle rose up into the air, curling and undulating, then whipped downward, aiming at the vehicle.

  “Back up!” Buffy yelled. “Now!”

  Joyce obeyed. Their vehicle screamed backward one hundred, two hundred, three hundred feet. But the thing rolled toward them, tentacles flapping, curving up into the sky, then coming down hard, smashing trees, crushing a bus stop.

  “Okay, stop!” Buffy ordered.

  Joyce looked at her daughter. “Stop?”

  Buffy nodded. “Yeah. I’m going to take that loser down.”

  Joyce’s mouth fell open. “Buffy, you can’t possibly do anything to that—that monster! You’re just a girl!”

  Buffy looked at her coolly. “Oh, Mom, I so am not.”

  She reached for the door handle.

  Cordelia thought she heard movement beside her. A shifting. A rustling.

  “Dear heart?” a man called from the doorway of the jewelry store bathroom. Something told Cordelia to keep her eyes closed and pretend to be unconscious.

  “Miss Chase, is it not? I’m wondering if you’ve seen my old friend Ripper. It seems his condo is gone.”

  Oh my God, it’s that Ethan Rayne guy, Cordelia thought. No one else would call Giles “Ripper.” And Ethan Rayne is completely evil.

  Is he the guy who knocked me out and tied me up? Why would he do that? Is he that into pearls?

  Then she heard the same growl she had heard just before everything went black. Adrenaline flushed through her and she began to panic.

  Stay calm. Stay …

  He bent over her. She could feel his shadow move across her.

  “It’s all right. I know you’re awake,” he said. “You may as well open your eyes.”

  She debated.

  “Come on,” he urged her.

  She opened them.

  “Oh!” He smiled down at her. “I didn’t think you were awake. But nice to see you, all the same.”

  Damn it!

  He reached a hand toward her mouth. “Now, if I tear this off, will you scream?”

  She shook her head.

  “Because if you scream, I shall be very cross with you. And you don’t want to see me cross, do you?”

  She shook her head again.

  “Very well, then.”

  He gathered up a corner between his thumb and forefinger, and pulled.

  Yow! It hurt!

  She screamed.

  Still filthy but much calmer, Giles sat at Jenny Calendar’s desk with a cold pack against the lump on his forehead while she set down a fizzy glass of Alka-Seltzer bes
ide his grimoire. He was bare-chested, and he had redrawn the symbols he had inflicted upon himself for the summoning of Astorrith with blood she had fetched from the science lab. Angel informed them both that it was pig’s blood, which, to Jenny’s way of thinking, was too much information.

  Himself again, Giles was preparing to send Astorrith back into his—its—own dimension.

  “And the spell you used is called a Weakening Spell, you say.” Rupert’s voice was calm. His horrible fury had dissipated.

  Jenny was very relieved by the change in him. He had been like a man possessed; she knew of what she spoke. She hoped never again to see Rupert act like he had today.

  “Yes,” she told him. “Willow and I prepared it.”

  “I was her guinea pig,” Willow confirmed shyly, looking up from her job of drawing the pentagram on the floor.

  Jenny could tell that the spell had worked on Angel, too. He’d said nothing about his lusty behavior, but it was obvious he was embarrassed.

  Claire Nierman was still unconscious. They had yet to learn who her real superiors were. But Rupert had advanced the theory that she was working with Ethan. Vaclav had told them about Ethan’s alliance with Professor Caligari, which had surprised Giles not in the least. Nor Jenny. Leave it to Ethan Rayne to work so many angles that they collided with one another.

  Jenny hated him. He was once responsible for her own demonic possession. She was not a violent person, but she did believe in justice. And if she ever had the chance to deal some justice in Ethan Rayne’s direction …

  “I’m ready,” Giles said. He drank down his Alka-Seltzer and rose, bringing the grimoire with him. He had to clear his head before beginning the ritual to send Astorrith out of their dimension.

  Vaclav moved from the student desk where he’d been sitting and flanked Jenny as she stood outside one of the points on the pentagram. Willow got up from the floor and stood on her other side.

  Rupert cleared his throat, walked to the center of the five-pointed star. He opened his grimoire and began.

  “Baal! Cthulhu! Jezebel! I call upon thee!”

  “Will this work?” Vaclav whispered to Jenny.

  She nodded. “I hope so.”

  He hesitated, and then he said, “Pardon me, but are you by chance of Gypsy blood?”

  She blinked. Swallowed. Ticked her glance toward Willow and Angel, to see if either of them had heard.

  “No,” she said firmly.

  “Ah. My mistake.” Vaclav turned his attention to the ritual.

  Rupert was shouting.

  “Minions of Astorrith! I summon thee!”

  “Buffy, get back in this car!” Joyce shrieked at her daughter through the open driver’s-side window of her SUV. Had Buffy lost her mind?

  Seemingly oblivious to the horrible danger, Buffy was swaggering—that was the only word for it—toward the creature that had nearly smashed in the top of the SUV more than once.

  The monster zeroed in on her child like a huge cat spying a mouse. Bizarre, horrible noises emanated from it.

  Standing in the whipping wind, girl and nightmare regarded each other.

  Joyce was so terrified she could barely think. Somehow she managed to put the car in drive and drove it forward, toward Buffy. It was a miracle; she was so numb she couldn’t feel her foot on the gas pedal.

  Buffy flung wide her arms. “You want me?” she cried. “Come and get me!”

  The monster squealed again as it began to bend forward, tentacles flapping. From the center of its head, its mouth opened, revealing a raging fire.

  “Buffy!” Joyce screamed. She pushed back the door latch and prepared to leap out.

  Except that she couldn’t. The wind was blowing directly against the car. It pushed hard; the SUV rocked; it began to tip on two wheels. The wind threw her out of her seat. As she lay sprawled on her side, she hit the button on Buffy’s armrest to close the windows.

  The monster lurched forward, its tentacles undulating. It flapped two of the tentacles toward her daughter, who moved into a prizefighter’s stance.

  Joyce sat back up and laid on the horn.

  Buffy waved her off as if to say, Don’t bother. I can handle it.

  Sobbing, Joyce floored it, burning rubber, zero to sixty in—

  The monster’s tentacles were smoking. Its mouth was boiling flame. And all of that came crashing down on her baby, who didn’t move a muscle as it rushed toward her.

  She screamed again as Buffy was engulfed and—

  —the creature vanished.

  Vanished.

  And the wind died with it.

  Joyce braked, flung herself out of the car, and ran to Buffy, who lowered her arms, straightened her knees, turned, and strutted toward her.

  As Joyce threw her arms around her and began to sob, Buffy said proudly, “See? Piece of cake.”

  “I didn’t mean to scream,” Cordelia told Ethan as they sat with their backs against the door to the bathroom. His bizarre dog-thing, Manufacturer, really liked her. It was laying its creepy head on her thighs, and she was letting it, because Cordelia Chase had a plan. Her hands were taped together, yes, but she could still move her fingers. While she was pretending to pet the dog, she began slipping her fingers into her front pants pocket …

  … where the box cutter was located.

  “It was like getting a free lip wax,” she continued, “but still …”

  She wondered if he realized that she had managed to gather up the dog’s chain, too. And that Manufacturer couldn’t raise his head from her thighs even if he wanted to.

  “Hush,” he said, cocking his head. “Listen.”

  “What?” Pet, pet, pet, inch, inch, inch.

  “Listen. The wind is gone.”

  But there was something else:

  The calliope. She heard its eerie … no, scratch that … its beautiful, haunting melody.

  It was calling to her.

  She said to Ethan, “I have to get back there. All my prizes are waiting for me. I can give her pearls for rolls of quarters.”

  He regarded her with a quirky grin.

  “Well, I’ve never been one to turn a hostage away,” he said.

  Astorrith was gone, sent back to the dimension from whence it came. Giles quickly washed all trace of acarna from his body, found a light gray Sunnydale High T-shirt in the lost-and-found, and rejoined the others in Jenny’s computer lab. Jenny herself was studying the crystal ball of Madame Lazabra.

  Giles wondered if she would forgive him for this one.

  Willow was standing at a whiteboard. She had made some headings in blue marker:

  CALIGARIUS.

  ETHAN RAYNE.

  VACLAV/SANDRA.

  SPELLS.

  SOULCATCHERS.

  HELL DIMENSION.

  BUFFY?

  XANDER?

  CORDELIA?

  CLAIRE/MILITARY?

  When Willow saw Giles, she smiled hopefully at him. They were all looking to him for answers, even Angel, who stood silent and apart from the others. Giles just hoped he could provide some. His head hurt and he was deeply worried about Buffy, but he had to focus.

  Walking to the whiteboard, he took the dry-erase marker from Willow. Everyone settled in for a strategy session; he, in turn, looked at Vaclav.

  “Tell us everything you know,” Giles said. “Leave anything out, and we will deny you sanctuary. Are we clear?”

  “Yes,” Vaclav said anxiously.

  Willow raised her hand. “First of all, our friend Xander Harris has been really sick ever since he went to the carnival.”

  “Does he like to eat?” Vaclav asked. “My master may have tempted him with food. Gluttony. The Tricksters often poison it.” He looked down, ashamed. “They enjoy inflicting harm on others. It’s what nourishes them.”

  “I … He said he didn’t eat anything,” Willow said. “But we’ve all been under these terrible spells.”

  “If he has been poisoned, what can be done to make him well?” Gil
es asked intently.

  “He is human, yes?” Vaclav asked.

  Willow blinked. “Yes.”

  “Then he must be put in the glass coffin in the freak show,” Vaclav said. “It is ancient, as are many of us. Well, I’m just two centuries. The coffin is what keeps us all alive. Heals us, if we are injured.”

  “So that’s why that woman was in the coffin?” Willow asked. “To make her stay young?”

  “Or to heal her?” Giles asked quietly.

  Vaclav’s lower lip trembled. “She was brought back from near death. But not completely.”

  “What do you mean?” Giles said, tapping the end of the marker against his finger.

  There was a long pause. Then Vaclav said hoarsely, “Her mind was gone. It happens. They can still be useful.” His chest heaved and the stillness in the room stretched into what Giles surmised was a moment of silence to acknowledge the girl’s suffering. And Vaclav’s own.

  He loves her, Giles realized. And if that was why Vaclav had decided to betray Caligari, Giles was glad of his suffering. No, that was wrong. Glad that he had a reason to help.

  Then Vaclav cleared his throat and said, “For most of us, it works. It will probably work on your friend.”

  “Probably?” Willow looked from Vaclav to Giles and wondered if he had the ability to explain that probability away.

  “What keeps your master alive?” Ms. Calendar asked.

  “Souls,” Vaclav replied. “He collects them. You can see them in the crystal ball. He preys upon your weakness, and then once he rips your soul from you, you go there. To be tormented.” He shivered. “You cannot let him capture me! He’ll send me there!”

  “We’ll do everything in our power to keep you safe,” Giles said.

  “How are we going to get Xander into the glass coffin?” Willow fretted.

  “We’ll have to find him first,” Giles said gently.

  Angel pushed away from the wall. He still thought it was awfully convenient that Vaclav had “just happened” to run into him.

  “I’ll do that. I’ll look for him and Buffy. And Cordelia.” Angel gestured with his head to the unconscious Claire Nierman. “I’ll take her truck.”

  Giles nodded. “Yes. Good idea. Willow will tell you how to perform the Weakening Spell. Perhaps it will cure Xander’s sickness as well.”