by Nancy Holder
It had recently fed.
She herself had brought it the victim, a good man completely undeserving of such a horrible death.
“Tell me, Great Empress, are they screaming in pain or in fear?” it asked, closing its eyes as it anticipated her reply.
“I—I know not.”
Its eyes opened. They were completely black. Soulless. The fires that raged within them were all that was left of the ambitious court sorcerer that Chirayoju once had been. That man, who had toiled for years to wrest the secrets of the universe from the gods themselves, had also died a vile death. But his sacrifice had been the necessary price.
That which remained was immortal. It was a savage demon that flew like a falcon over the fields and paddies of China. It was a merciless spirit that compelled fire to scorch the lands of those who dared oppose it and to burn their sons and daughters alive. It was a force above nature, commanding even the wind.
And it was something worse.
Something magnificent.
It opened its mouth wide and showed the Empress Wu its fangs. She shrank back, and it knew she feared it utterly. After all, she had seen it feed. Beautiful maidens with tiny, bound feet, who meekly submitted to their fate like the dainty peonies they were. Fierce warlords in full armor, their swords and lances drawn and slashing as it advanced on them. The soldiers always fought hard to the end. Chirayoju vastly preferred the valiant tigers to the timorous rabbits.
“If you know not if it is pain or fear, let us go together and observe them,” Lord Chirayoju said, rising.
The Empress could not suppress her shudder as it stepped down from the jade dragon throne and approached her with its hand outstretched. Together they glided from the throne room to the secret door in the lacquer panel behind the great chair. Before its great change, she had graciously taught it where the pressure plate was located and now it smiled at her as it pointed with one taloned finger at the plate and the door magically opened.
The cave entrance was narrow, and Chirayoju invited the Empress to walk ahead. It saw her terror in the stiffness of her back and the manner in which her shoulders rose as she passed in front of its cold, dead body.
It couldn’t help its smile of delight—could barely resist whipping her around and tearing her heart from her chest. But it would be a fleeting joy, and for the moment—perhaps a long moment—it needed her.
She led the way to the first chamber.
With a flick of its hand, Chirayoju illuminated the chill, evil-smelling place. This was the Cavern of Vengeance. The smallest of the three caverns, it reached as high as a dragon’s head. From floor to ceiling it was walled with human bones. These were the remains of Chirayoju’s most illustrious enemies.
The second chamber was the Cavern of Divination. It was larger, and in it Lord Chirayoju kept the treasures that had once belonged to the piles of bones in the first room. It surveyed with pride the heaps of jade, pearls, and silver—the treasure with which it had bought the Empress’s loyalty. Here, too, rested its favorite square cauldrons, where it had performed the human sacrifices that had gained it the knowledge of eternal life—the calling forth of the vampire that had taken the sorcerer’s human life. There were also heaps of dragon bones, which it used to foretell the future.
And Chirayoju had foreseen a glorious future indeed.
The screaming echoed from the third chamber, which was so immense Chirayoju could not see the far wall as it and the Empress passed through the entrance carved to resemble a great fanged mouth. The walls and the ceiling were carved into images of sorcery: monstrous tigers, dragons, and human skulls. Vast columns of ornate pillars held up the ceiling.
This was the Chamber of Justice.
Chirayoju had killed over twenty thousand of its enemies in this place. Including the sire who had turned Chirayoju, a sorcerer consort to demons and witches, into Chirayoju the vampire, the demon sorcerer.
Now Chirayoju cocked its head and listened. Agony, terror, despair, horror. The four elements of its being.
The Empress shrank back. It took her elbow and urged her forward.
Below them, in an enormous pit, five hundred men screamed as serpents and starved rats attacked them, biting and clawing, stinging, shredding. Around the perimeter, the Empress’s quaking guards thrust their spears at anyone who attempted to scrabble out of the death trap. Not that they could escape. The walls were straight and high, and by now, very slick with blood.
Chirayoju looked at the bulging eyes of its enemies. These were scholars and scribes, men who had dared write about him. Their scrolls and books had already been burned, along with their families, friends, and anyone they might have told of the dread lord that lived in Empress Wu’s mountain fortress.
“It is only pain,” it said with disappointment. Then it brightened as it gestured with its right hand. “But now it shall be fear.”
Chirayoju swept his hand over the pit. Invisible doors opened in the sides of the pit. With unholy shrieks, legions of vampires rushed from the doors into the whirling mass of human misery. Like the rats, they, too, had been starved for just this occasion.
The blood drove them mad.
As they slaughtered the human prisoners, Chirayoju watched in delight. And some envy.
It, too, was hungry.
But it was also suddenly very tired. That was the sign it had awaited.
With great anticipation, Chirayoju pointed to the ceiling.
“Let us depart, Your Majesty,” Chirayoju shouted into the ear of Empress Wu. “It is time.”
As they hurried from the Cavern of Justice, Chirayoju made a fist. The roof exploded. Chunks of rock crashed down on vampire and human alike.
The dawning sun poured into the hole.
The screaming vampires burned to dust.
Empress Wu and Chirayoju returned to the throne room. As the ceiling in the third chamber collapsed, the palace shook violently. The alarm was sounded. Earthquake! The Empress’s household was in a panic. Gongs rang. Men shouted and ran to their Empress for protection.
“What if some of them survived?” Empress Wu asked Chirayoju in a shaking, awe-filled voice as her courtiers poured into the throne room.
“I shall deal with them,” it promised her.
But it lied.
Another night fell. The enraged survivors raced through the palace. The fanged, moldy-faced vampires spared no one in their fury.
As the Empress was thrown to the gold-plated floor of her sleeping chamber, she shouted, “Chirayoju! Help me!”
But by then, Chirayoju had flown halfway across the sea.
Let great China become a graveyard, for all it cared.
Its dragon bones had spoken to it a single word.
Japan.
CHAPTER FIVE
Willow, are you all right?” her mother asked softly as she pushed the door ajar.
Lying in bed with the covers drawn to her neck, Willow kept her back to the doorway and clenched her fists. Yeah, I’m terrific, she wanted to shout. That’s why I keep coming home sick.
Sweat poured down her forehead. She was soaked. The room spun so fast she had to close her eyes or be sick, despite the oddly comforting sight of twilight darkness floating through the venetian blinds and edging across the carpet. With the night would come solace. With the darkness, she would be well again.
It was Thursday, and she’d come home sick from school again. She’d felt mostly all right on Tuesday and Wednesday, though each night she’d seemed to sleep heavily and without dreams, and still woke up in the morning feeling more tired than when she went to bed. And maybe that’s all this was, exhaustion creeping up on her.
Maybe.
But Willow thought, when she allowed herself to really think, that maybe there was more to it than that. That maybe she was going a little bit crazy. There was that voice, after all. The one that didn’t sound like her conscience at all, if she was honest with herself.
The one that wanted to hurt people.
And
not just in that frustrated way you want to push people out of the way in a crowd. No, she’d thought about it. It wasn’t that. And it wasn’t the weird urges she knew people sometimes got—like wanting to slug Principal Snyder just to see the look of astonishment on his face. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, even meek little Willow had a streak of the rebel in her. It was just buried very deep.
But this wasn’t that. This was much, much worse than that.
“Honey?” Mrs. Rosenberg persisted.
Stop bothering me! she almost screamed. Instead she counted to ten, flexing and balling her fists, taking deep breaths. With tremendous effort she controlled her fury enough to respond, “I’m just real tired, Mom. I think I’ll go to sleep.” Stupid woman. Wasn’t it obvious she was tired? She was in bed, wasn’t she?
“Okay. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Mom?” Willow called out, suddenly afraid. Something was happening to her. Something very weird.
“Yes, Willow?”
Get out get out get out.
Willow swallowed hard. “Could you shut the door, please?”
“Sure, honey.”
And lock it up tight. Because if you don’t, I just might jump out of this bed and … and …
Willow panted as the rage built inside her. She heard the door shut. She clenched her teeth. She balled her fists.
She burst into tears.
And then she laughed.
He was going to die. Of that, Xander was convinced. But sometimes the fulfillment of lust was a higher priority than survival. Witness black widow spiders—and the entire male half of the human race.
“Cordelia? The cliff says stop,” he said anxiously, hanging on to the armrest on the passenger side of her car with one hand and the gearshift housing with the other.
“Xander, don’t be a backseat driver,” Cordelia snapped as she shot toward the stupendous view of Makeout Point. The cars of other, ah, view-seekers were lined up in a row like at the Sunnydale Drive-In. Except that, unlike Cordelia, they had decided to simply admire the night sky and the lights of the town below rather than become one with them.
“Cordy,” he pleaded. “I’m so young.”
“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve been up he—” She seemed to realize what she was saying—for Cordy, a truly amazing feat—and switched gears, both in her car and in her brain. The car went faster. “I know what I’m doing.”
Xander wondered how many years of his life would fly before his eyes before he flew through the windshield. “I know you’re eager to get there and all, but gee, girl, show some self-control.”
“Oh, Xander, I don’t know why … ,” she gritted out. His eyes bulged as he realized that she was checking herself out in the rearview mirror instead of watching the bushes and trees that were bearing down on them in a blur. “Why I have sunk so low …”
He thought of all the times he had seen movie and TV stars dive out of cars, roll on their shoulders, and leap to their feet. Fire off a couple rounds, save the day. Good thing he wasn’t on TV.
“Help!” he shouted, pounding on the window.
“Xander, what is your damage?”
She slammed her foot on the brake and the tires squealed, burning rubber to within inches of the dropoff. Xander closed his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck.
“Some call it whiplash, but others pay a chiropractor fifty bucks.”
“Shut up.” Cordelia set the emergency brake and turned off the car. “And it’s seventy-five, at least where I go.” As if they’d simply pulled out of the driveway, she checked her hair and snapped open her purse. As he took slow, deep breaths, she whipped out her lipstick and carefully reapplied it.
“What are you doing?” he asked in amazement.
She regarded him with utter disdain. “Providing you with a marked target,” she shot back. “Since you’re so blind and timid.”
He blinked at her. “Timid? Moi?”
She raised her chin. “Show me otherwise, Harris.” She pointed to her mouth. “Anything to shut you up.”
He smiled and said softly, “Geronimo.”
The gray twilight was good.
The black would be better.
As the little body writhed in the bed, the spirit grew in strength and began filling her. Undulating like a serpent, it slithered into her lungs, her heart, her eyes, her brain. It cascaded into her hands. Ah, so soft and small!
It burrowed through the muscles and veins of her legs. Not strong. Not powerful.
Yet.
It moved into her face.
It smiled.
It sat up.
The moon shone on the face of the Chinese vampire sorcerer known as Chirayoju as, for but a moment, it knew itself. Its face stretched long and jade green with mold. Its eyes shifted into the almond shape of its home country. Its fangs grew long, sharp, and deadly.
Its hunger was overwhelming.
And then it was the girl again, her arms around her legs, face buried against her knees, sobbing gently from the pain and the fear.
It spoke to her: Why fight me? Power is what you desire. Strength. I have them both. I am not greedy. I will share.
“Mom?” Willow called tremulously.
Call her again and she dies, the vampire spirit promised.
Willow touched her forehead. She was burning up.
She felt like she was on some kind of very bad drug … that she had never taken. Drugs. Ever. But she was incredibly disoriented. When she looked around her room, it was as if she had never seen any of it before.
Her fever dreams were nightmares.
Groaning, she groped for her phone. She would call Buffy. Or Xander.
Something in her registered the names. Invaded, as if it were tearing her mind apart in search of something. Memorized the pictures in her mind that were attached to the names.
It knew their secrets.
Frightened, she pulled her hand away from the portable phone and cradled it against her chest. It was the hand on which she had cut a finger, and it throbbed terribly. It felt as if fire were burning deep inside it.
The blackness seeped through the gray, twilight giving way to full dark, and it both calmed and terrified her.
Cordelia came up for air and said, “Whoops, time to go.”
Xander’s face was covered with Sequin from the MAC makeup collection. He caught his breath and rasped, “Time to go?”
“I have things to do,” she said imperiously, shooing him over to the passenger side. She started the car. It purred submissively and then roared to life.
“That’s okay. Ego crushed.” He smiled to himself. “Lips crushed. Fair Trade Agreement.”
She screeched backward. “I hate it when you mutter to yourself. No.” She held up a hand. “Actually, I prefer it. When you speak in a tone that I can hear, you scare me.” She took a breath. “Most of the time.”
“Face it, Cordelia,” Xander said, patting her shoulder. “You adore me.”
She snorted and put the pedal to the metal.
Xander found many new gods to pray to.
It raised its arms as the moon washed across the girl’s face. And then, it knew itself at last in the dark night.
“I am Chirayoju. I am free. I live again.”
It walked jerkily across the room, testing the body of the girl named Willow—excellent Chinese name, little Weeping Willow!—and flexed its arms. It had pushed her deep into the thing that she would call her soul, but it could sense her there, sense both her terror and the thrill of the presence of so much power around her. It was her hunger for that power that had allowed it to use her so completely.
It arched its back and grunted. Now and then she fought, but her struggles were puny compared to its strength. Had it not threatened the entire Land of the Rising Sun?
And this land, this strange new land. Without Sanno to stop it, would Chirayoju not be a conqueror once more?
A strange box glowed on a table. Chirayoju walked to it and studied it. Co
mputer, came the word, in the tongue of this land. Images flooded into the spirit’s mind. But spirit no longer, it thought. Vampire, in living flesh!
Chirayoju looked at the computer and realized that it did not need to learn these new things; in a sense, it already knew them. Possessing this body and this girl, it was itself and yet something more. As if there could be anything more powerful, more terrifying and wonderful, than the vampire Chirayoju!
It was time to move into this world. Time to begin assuming its rightful place.
It stared down at the flimsy cast covering its newly acquired wrist, and then tore it off. No more pain. No more injury. And the cut on the other hand? The slice in the girl’s flesh where she had touched the razor edge of the sword of Sanno? Where her blood had flowed and allowed Chirayoju to take a bit of her life force and free itself? It would heal that as well.
Its host would be perfect, healthy and strong.
It found the knob of the French door to little Weeping Willow’s room and pushed it open. A sweet breeze wafted over its face. What joy it was to feel again. To smell the scented flowers—roses? It thought longingly of the jasmine in the gardens of Empress Wu’s Chinese palace. Of the beautiful Chinese maidens and strong young warriors who had done its bidding, including baring their necks to its fangs so that it might live. It had abandoned all that to cross the sea to the Land of the Rising Sun, in order to devour their Emperor and reign over his people. Flying across the water on the wings of night, Chirayoju had wept for the grandeur of its homeland—mighty China!—but it had pronounced the sacrifice worthy.
But then Sanno had appeared. King of the Mountain, warrior god.
Sanno had defeated it.
Chirayoju laughed to itself. Sanno was not here. This place was undefended.
Buffy, came the thought of the girl. And Chirayoju listened to the thought.
Nodded.
Smiled.
If this girl, this Buffy, was the only defender of this land of Sunnydale, then Chirayoju would be Emperor very quickly. Perhaps the girl, this … Slayer? Perhaps she would be a handmaiden in his new court.