by Nancy Holder
“We’ll take care of it,” Ms. Calendar said.
“Is middle-age weight gain catching?” Xander pulled on the edge of the camouflage fabric around his waist. “I’m gaining weight just standing here.”
Spike stood with his back against the door. He didn’t know how long they’d been under siege in the storeroom, but their ordeal was far from over. When he’d cracked the door to look out ten minutes back, a sentry bat had almost forced its way in. The other red beasts were hanging from pipes and rafters, taking a nap while they waited for their cornered prey to emerge. The bats had the advantage.
He also had to make sure Dru didn’t get out.
A potential ally of the bats, Drusilla huddled in the corner, staring at him with a vampire’s yellow eyes. However, the heavy bone that formed her demonic brow was receding. Scalloped ridges were forming in her ears, which had elongated into large, triangular shapes. Her fangs glistened against the bloodred interior of her mouth, and her nose had flattened.
In a bizarre twist of fate, his beautiful Drusilla was being transformed into one of the beasts that had bitten her.
“I smell fresh blood all packaged nice, like in tender teenagers,” Drusilla snarled. “But she’s in the cave with them, all shrouded in a dark where I can’t see.”
Spike assumed she was referring to Buffy. The Slayer’s powerful presence befuddled Dru’s senses, but he had no doubt the girl was nearby. She was always in the middle of it when mystical mayhem erupted, and something dreadful had gotten all bollixed up.
Vampires turned people into vampires. They did not get turned into bats.
“See that, now.” Dru held up her arm and touched the leathery skin flap that connected her elbow and ribs. They were growing on both sides, expanding to form membranes between her wrists and ankles. “Feathers wilt if the sparrow doesn’t fly, and now she has naked wings.”
Spike’s dead heart broke for her. She was stalked by many irrational fears in her mad mind, worrying that her hair might fall out or that she’d fade out of existence. He felt guilty now for being impatient with her crazed concerns, even though he usually suppressed it. She had once fretted that her long nails would turn into talons, but she had never imagined this.
“Your darling Dru wants her dinner, Spike.” Dru’s words slurred slightly as her mouth and chin began to change into a short snout.
Logic was all too often beyond Dru’s ability to comprehend when she was her daft and vicious self. Spike doubted his reasoning about anything would make sense to the animal personality asserting control. He tried nonetheless, more to work things out in his own mind than to convince Dru.
“Well, here’s the rub about feeding,” Spike said. “First, all your cousins are hanging between us and a way out of here. We can’t get upstairs or out the hatch into the tunnels.”
A look of total terror widened Dru’s eyes. “The wretched li’l munchers have eaten the basket!”
“It’s by your foot,” Spike said calmly, “under your skirt.”
Frantic, Dru clawed at the fabric with fingers that had fused together. When she uncovered the basket, she hooked her hand through the handle and heaved it toward Spike.
The basket smashed against the door a few inches from Spike’s head, and the contents spilled when it hit the floor. He didn’t flinch. A sudden move might trigger an attack, and he wanted to save Dru, not kill her to save himself.
Dru’s fit of temper passed. Crawling forward, she mumbled as she collected her treasures. “I can hear Miss Edith laughing, making fun of Mummy, all elbows and knees. There’ll be no bedtime torture for her tonight, and no songs until someone fetches a mouse.”
There won’t be any prey today, Spike thought, unless she wants to foul her fangs on four-legged rodents. Students and faculty were off the menu until he figured out how to counter the poison in her system. The demonic world had a plethora of bad omens and cautionary tales, but in all his travels he had never heard a word about red bats with vampirelike venom in their bite. It followed that a cure, if one existed, might have to come from the good guys.
The Slayer and the librarian were his only hope for making Dru better. Killing anyone in the school would end his chances of getting their help.
“Is that everyone?” Giles asked as he joined Buffy and Ms. Calendar outside the cafeteria. The double-size classroom across the hall was serving as a triage area and infirmary for the afflicted. Sale volunteers who hadn’t exhibited any symptoms were isolated in the next room down.
“Everyone who’s got something that can’t be missed,” Ms. Calendar said.
Not quite everyone, Buffy thought, glancing down the hall. Xander and her mother were pleading with Cordelia to come out of the utility closet. Harmony was still hiding in the restroom. As long as they stayed locked away, neither girl would pass their Hellmouth afflictions on to anyone else. Willow had shrieked, then held her breath until she turned blue when they had asked her to leave Cutie behind. She had stayed in the cafeteria, content to hold Cutie and rock. The white kur seemed to be the only one of its kind that had made it through the barrier. At least, they hadn’t discovered any others.
“How bad off are they, do you think?” Giles asked.
“I’m really worried about Principal Snyder,” Ms. Calendar said. “Buffy’s assessment was accurate. He actually does have holes in his head.”
Buffy glanced through the classroom door. Principal Snyder lay on his back across three student desks that had been pushed together. His mental capacity had undergone several downgrades in a couple of hours, from foolish to imbecilic to catatonic. The hat had been removed and put into a kitchen trash can along with everything else they knew was a source of pestilence. However, they didn’t know if they had found everything or if the contagions could be controlled.
“Possibly some kind of brain bore,” Giles muttered, studying the comatose principal from the doorway.
Ms. Calendar took exception to Giles’s pragmatic tone. “All these people are going to die if we don’t find a way to fix this.”
“Then we’ll fix it.” Buffy’s confident attitude was all bravado. She didn’t want to admit that she felt overwhelmed by the task.
Killing one huge scary thing was a lot easier than trying to identify and combat a hundred little demon thingies. A lot of the creepy critters were microscopic and invisible to the naked eye. There could be a thousand or a million different Hellmouth bugs crawling around the school. One magickal bug bomb or an enchanted fly swatter probably couldn’t exterminate all of them.
“What do we do now?” Ms. Calendar asked.
“Back to the library for me,” Giles said. “Assuming the binding spell was successful, it will keep everything locked in—”
“And everyone else locked out?” Buffy didn’t want to add police and other municipal officials to the list of pests she had to deal with.
“The Mayor agreed to honor the quarantine,” Ms. Calendar said. “I told him we could be dealing with food poisoning or a highly contagious plague.”
“The plague of a zillion wee beasties,” Buffy said.
“Which we have to kill or neutralize.” Giles turned to leave, then stepped back. “We should probably isolate Willow and the kur. Tell her I need help with some computer research in the library.”
“You’re not worried she’ll smash the screen and then rip your head off?” Buffy asked.
“She seems to function normally as long as her furry friend feels safe,” Giles said. “If you don’t threaten the kur, I’m sure she’ll agree to help. In light of that, it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to reveal that her new pet came from the Hellmouth.”
“Don’t mention that Cutie’s a demon rat. Got it.” Buffy paused, bracing herself. She wasn’t sure how to handle Willow if she became violent.
“I realize there’s a good chance of becoming infected yourself,” Giles said to Ms. Calendar, “but these children need attention. Would you—”
“Stay with them? Of cour
se,” Ms. Calendar said. There was no question that she would do whatever was necessary.
“Me too.” Joyce walked up, smiling through her worry and stress. “Since we’re quarantined, I might as well make myself useful.”
Buffy didn’t even consider trying to talk her mom out of helping Ms. Calendar. Joyce Summers never turned her back on people in trouble, and Buffy knew she wouldn’t start now. On the plus side, her mom didn’t seem to be breaking out with a corrosive microbe infection. At least, one that I can see, she reminded herself.
“How are you feeling, Mom?”
“I’m fine.” Joyce smiled to reassure Buffy and turned to Giles. “Do they have any idea why so many kids are getting sick?”
“They?” Giles frowned, forgetting for a moment that Joyce Summers wasn’t in the Slayer loop.
“The medical authorities in charge.” Joyce turned to Ms. Calendar with an irritated expression. “Do you have any hand lotion? I’ve had dry, chapped hands before, but never like this. The itch is driving me crazy.”
Giles and Ms. Calendar both looked at Buffy.
Buffy was focused on the large flakes of paper-thin skin peeling off her mom’s hand and drifting to the floor. Not just unsightly dandruff and an itch, she thought. Some of the other conditions had seemed harmless at first too. Considering how those were progressing, her mom could shed enough skin to expose the muscle. If that happened, the pain would be excruciating, and death would be a blessed relief.
“I have some cream in my desk,” Ms. Calendar told Joyce. “It’s an herbal blend, an old family recipe I make myself. I’ll send one of the boys to get it.”
“Thank you.” Joyce glanced at Buffy, frowning with maternal concern. “Do you have any symptoms, Buffy?”
“No.” Buffy answered honestly. Her mother, however, didn’t seem to realize that she was being skinned alive, like an onion—one layer at a time. “But I don’t think a cream is going to—”
“Go help Willow, Buffy,” Ms. Calendar interjected. Her gaze was as commanding as her teacher tone. “We’ll take care of things here.”
“The sooner all the medical authorities are on the job,” Giles added pointedly, “the sooner the afflictions can be cured. I’ll be in the library.”
Message received, Buffy thought as Giles hurried away. The best way to help her mom and the stricken students was to get the Scooby medics moving. “I’ll, uh, go see Willow.”
The deserted cafeteria reminded Buffy of a movie ghost town—everything had been left in place when the people suddenly or mysteriously vanished. The carefully collected, sorted, and priced merchandise waited for shoppers who wouldn’t come. The cash box on the table near the door sat unattended and in no danger of being stolen. Nobody wanted money that would burn a hole in a pocket, then eat through flesh and bone. It all seemed so normal, except for the quiet and the bright orange six-legged lizard that crawled out of a mug of cold coffee.
Buffy headed down the center aisle toward Willow, taking care not to touch anything. When she arrived, Willow watched her warily, waiting for her to make the first move.
“Giles needs you in the library,” Buffy said lightly.
“Why?” Willow eyed her with undisguised suspicion.
“For the same reason he always needs you,” Buffy said. “You’re the computer genius. I don’t have a clue how to track down some weird evil disease on the information highway.”
“A disease?” Willow perked up, intrigued. “Like demon pox or monster measles or fiend flu? That kind of disease?”
“That’s pretty close, actually. Giles thinks Principal Snyder has brain bores.”
“That can’t be good.” Willow shuddered at the gruesome thought.
“It’s not. So come on. Grab your stuff and let’s go.” As she walked away, Buffy sensed Willow’s hesitation, but she didn’t look back. Willow’s indecision only lasted a moment and she ran to catch up.
“If there are demon germs, are there demon doctors?” Willow clutched the blue scarf close to her chest. Curls of white fur gave away the kur hidden inside.
“Good question. I don’t know, but Giles might.” Buffy saw the furry rat watching her from the corner of her eye, sizing her up or trying to gauge her intent. Since being discovered might prompt Cutie to engage its defenses—a.k.a. Willow—she pretended not to notice it.
“Why is Xander talking to a door?” Willow asked as they stepped into the hall.
“He’s talking to Cordelia,” Buffy clarified. “She won’t come out. I wouldn’t either if I was turning into compost.”
“That doesn’t sound good either,” Willow said as they drew closer. She pulled the edge of the scarf up to hide a tuft of Cutie’s white fur. “Giles needs the search-and-research team in the library, Xander. Coming?”
Buffy stood behind Willow, ready to signal Xander to ignore the little beast. However, his thoughts were solely on Cordelia.
“Can’t.” Xander shrugged an apology. “I don’t want to leave Cordelia alone while she disintegrates into a disgusting heap of demon decay.”
Willow frowned. “I know Cordelia is mean and insulting and selfish, but if she’s sick, you probably shouldn’t gloat.”
“I’m not gloating,” Xander explained. “Would you kiss a mush mouth?”
“Why do you care about Cordelia’s rotting romantic appeal?” Buffy asked. Had he contracted a vigilance virus that compelled him to watch his tormentor suffer and maybe die?
“I don’t! It’s just that . . .” Xander squirmed uncomfortably. “Cordelia may be rich and conceited and convinced she’s better than everyone else, but she doesn’t deserve this.”
“Yeah, I know,” Buffy agreed with a wan smile. Despite his tough talk and the justifiable grudges Xander harbored against Cordelia Chase, he would never wish her harm.
“Are you okay?” Willow asked.
“Nothing a no-doughnut diet won’t fix,” Xander quipped.
Willow scowled. “Did you have doughnuts today? And you didn’t bring me one?”
“We’ll be in the library if you need us, Xander.” Buffy moved out, waving Willow to follow.
When they walked through the library doors, Giles was beside himself with exasperation. “There you are! It’s about time, which we don’t have much of, according to my calculations.”
Buffy and Willow exchanged a glance as he picked up a yellow pad and adjusted his glasses to read. Giles was so intensely dedicated to his duty as the Slayer’s Watcher that he didn’t realize he took Buffy and her friends’ presence for granted. They got annoyed, got over it, and got to work.
“What calculations?” Buffy asked.
“Based on the observable progression of the various disorders, everyone in the school could be dead by dawn—or permanently scarred.” Giles stole a glance at Willow. “Physically or mentally.”
“That bad, huh?” Buffy’s stomach churned with anxiety. “How do I fight bacteria from hell? We can’t get a prescription for an antibiotic from the demon drugstore. I mean, I can probably catch the orange lizard with a cup of coffee, but I can’t catch what I can’t see.”
“Unless you catch an evil illness,” Willow said. She sat down and put Cutie and the scarf on her lap. When she pulled the chair closer to the study table, the kur was hidden from view.
Buffy focused on Giles. “I can’t take out a fungus with a crossbow or stake a swarm of gnats. So what am I supposed to do?”
“Until I find a remedy, which I am determined to do,” Giles said calmly, “it might be a good idea to keep an eye on things at our makeshift infirmary, in the event a creature you can see shows itself. I doubt that all the intruders have found victims.”
“That works.” Buffy accepted the assignment with a definitive sense of relief. However, she intended to take the plan one step further to include a patrol of the school. She was the Slayer. She hunted and killed bad things. It would not go well for any Hellmouth pest that crossed her path.
• • •
�
�Do you need anything, Willow?” Giles lifted the stack of books he had selected and paused, waiting for a response.
He tried to sound casual, which was difficult when his every move was being tracked by dark, demonic eyes. Part of the kur’s face was visible in the gap between Willow and the table.
“I’m about to make a pot of tea,” Giles added.
“No, thanks. It’ll take a while to check out everything you gave me.” Willow flashed an innocent smile, which was familiar yet not to be trusted while she was under Cutie’s demonic influence.
“I’ll be in my office, then,” Giles said, “doing some research in the texts.”
“I hope you have more luck than I’m having,” Willow said. “I haven’t found a single reference to these source words anywhere online.”
“Yes, well—persevere.” Balancing the books against his chest, Giles entered his office and kicked the door closed. He set the stack down, turned on the kettle, and sank into his desk chair.
He’d be quite surprised if Willow’s searches turned up a result. The words he had supplied were meaningless, intended as busy work to keep her in the practically deserted library where the kur would feel secure—he hoped. The animal was only a threat if it felt threatened, and Giles could only guess what it would construe as a danger. He had no doubt that Willow would kill to protect it, and he didn’t have any spells to save her from the mortal world’s justice system. Preventing an incident was the best way to protect her. Of all the creatures that had breached the barrier, he suspected the cute beast might prove to be the most dangerous, and perhaps the most difficult to dispose of.
While he waited for the water to boil, Giles shuffled through the books. Finding a means of eliminating the Hellmouth pests and curing the maladies was only one of the problems confounding him. Months had passed since the Master had breached the barrier, and no underworld animal life had broken through—until today. Something had driven them to leave their supernatural environment, but what?
The question nagged, but the health of the students was the priority. With nothing to go on but rational conjecture, Giles had formulated a theory utilizing the principles of scientific method.