Buffy the Vampire Slayer 2

by Nancy Holder

  “Okay, Slayer. Just so we understand each other—”

  Buffy’s heart lurched, lagging Spike’s sudden return by what could have been a fatal second. She had been so fixed on Dru that she hadn’t heard him coming. She cocked her elbow, ready to deliver a swift and painful jab.

  “I’ll put bat-girl back in her cage and keep her there,” Spike said.

  “Right. You’ve done such a good job of controlling her so far,” Buffy interjected sarcastically.

  “In exchange for what, Spike?” Giles asked.

  “We don’t try to kill each other until hell’s zookeeper cures Dru and gets the bats back in their proper belfry.”

  “You won’t kill anyone,” Buffy countered. “Everyone in this school is off-limits.”

  “All right, for today.” Spike paused, then added, “And Dru and I get a free pass out of here when it’s done.”

  Buffy looked at him askance. “Why am I even thinking about trusting you?”

  “Make the deal, Buffy,” Giles advised, “before Drusilla bites you—or me.”

  “Okay. Deal.” Buffy had to agree. The risk of being turned into a bat-babe was too great not to give Spike the benefit of the doubt. He wouldn’t jeopardize his only hope of having Dru restored to her insane, savage self. And in the event he couldn’t confine her, Dru would turn them all into bats and the fighting odds would be even again.

  Buffy watched closely, intrigued as Spike took immediate command of the situation. He carried himself with the confidence of someone who was accustomed to giving orders and being obeyed. He showed no fear or doubt as he advanced, and his intimidating bearing cowed the animal essence that had supplanted the insipid but cunning Dru.

  “Fun’s over, love. Time to fold up your wings and take a nap in the nice comfy dark.” Spike motioned toward the open storeroom. When Dru snarled and rustled her wings to test his resolve, he whipped out a flashlight and trained the beam on her eyes. “In the storeroom, Dru. Now!”

  Buffy tensed as Dru pulled her wing over her eyes. The dramatic move was eerily reminiscent of Bela Lugosi’s Dracula in the 1931 movie, but the light had worked. She backed up.

  “Where’d he get the flashlight?” Buffy whispered to Giles.

  “The boiler room, I think.”

  He’s not a dimwit either, Buffy realized, cataloging Spike’s every move. She would just as soon kill both vampires now, but she had to honor her word. Eventually she would turn Spike to dust on the business end of her stake. It wouldn’t be easy, but she would kill him.

  “Enough with the lollygagging,” Spike said as he prodded Drusilla to the door with the light. As soon as she was inside the storeroom, he dropped the flashlight and pushed the door closed. The beast threw herself against the door from the other side, then hit it again. The heavy door bounced as Spike leaned in, trying to hold it closed. “Some help here, people!”

  “I’ll go,” Buffy told Giles. “You get Pragoh, and let’s get this circus back on the road.”

  “That cannot possibly happen quickly enough, as you Americans like to say.”

  “More or less,” Buffy said, moving toward the storeroom as Giles went to the stairs. When she added her weight to the door, Spike was able to hold it closed long enough to secure it. However, the door didn’t lock.

  “Won’t she just open the door from the inside?” Buffy asked, concerned.

  “She would if she still had her wits and her hands, her fingers and toes.” Spike shrugged. “But she doesn’t.”

  “As odd as this sounds, I hope we can remedy that.” Giles slipped his belt back on as he and the demon approached the door. “We’ve lost far too much time, Pragoh. Please, do whatever it is you do.”

  “First thing.” With a stiff bow, Pragoh turned to face the stairs. Holding up his plump arms, he closed his eyes and hummed. After a moment, he mumbled a few unintelligible words, then hummed again.

  “Can’t anyone do what they do without chanting?” Spike flinched each time Dru slammed into the door. “Damn cults and magick makers always with the incessant blathering.”

  “The cadence enhances the power of a ritual,” Giles explained. “Chanting concentrates—”

  Spike smashed the door with his fist. Giles stopped talking, and Dru stopped trying to break it down. “I just hope the ritual works.”

  Ditto that, Buffy thought.

  Giles watched Pragoh and checked his watch, his frown deepening as the minutes passed.

  “Bats now,” Pragoh said when he finished his litany.

  “What have you been doing?” Giles asked, still frowning.

  The demon didn’t acknowledge the question. He waddled partway down the corridor, where the bats had last been seen. Cupping the sides of his face with his hands, he closed his eyes again. This time he was silent.

  More minutes passed before Pragoh lowered his arms.

  “Is that it then?” Spike asked, placing his hand on the door handle.

  “Don’t open!” Pragoh waved his arms, his little eyes alight and frantic. “No bats come.”

  “Meaning?” Spike asked.

  “Power pfft!” Pragoh made a gesture of helplessness. “I call. No bats. No bats, no get better.”

  “The ill effects created by the vermin aren’t neutralized until the source animals are back inside the Hellmouth,” Giles explained.

  “No bats, no get better,” Buffy repeated. Not good, she thought. “Try calling that little orange lizard that drinks coffee—the one with the black scales on its back.”

  Pragoh stared at her then took a step back. “Did the fire dragon smoke you?”

  “Like blow smoke out of its nose?” Buffy shook her head. “No. Why? What happens if you get smoked?”

  “Fire start.” Pragoh poked the scales over his stomach. “Slow cook and all burn up inside. Pfft!”

  “Oh, now there’s a picture to savor.” Spike smiled.

  Buffy felt sick.

  Giles peered down at her. “Are you absolutely sure this fire creature didn’t . . . smoke you?”

  “In face?” Pragoh asked, patting his cheeks.

  “I’m sure,” Buffy said.

  “I can’t believe I felt sorry for it.”

  “Good thing not try to catch it,” Pragoh said, nodding sagely. “All over for you then.”

  “Yeah.” Buffy didn’t elaborate. Her merciful decision to catch rather than squash the orange lizard had almost gotten her incinerated from the inside out. However, she didn’t have time to dwell on calamities that wouldn’t happen. She had to stop the horrible things that were in the process of killing her mother and friends. “So can you call it?”

  “Can try.” Pragoh assumed the stance with his hands cupped to his face and held it for a minute.

  The fire dragon didn’t show.

  Xander knew he was in trouble when he tried to take off the vest and the zipper wouldn’t unzip. He wasn’t putting on pounds. The vest was slowly strangling him.

  Xander glanced at the utility room door. He didn’t want to leave Cordelia alone, but she hadn’t even sobbed since he had come back from a quick trip to the restroom. He had tried to comfort her and failed, and continuing his vigil wouldn’t accomplish anything either. They were both on a fast track to tombstone park unless Buffy, Giles, and Willow figured out how to save them.

  “And if I don’t want my supersecret Scooby license revoked, I should probably help.” Xander put his ear to the door, but there was only silence on the other side. He had to do something before Cordelia completely decomposed.

  The tight vest prevented Xander from bending at the waist. Getting to his knees, he used the doorknob to pull himself upright. His breathing was only slightly restricted, but it wouldn’t be long before the python effect crushed his ribs and collapsed his lungs.

  Xander looked toward the basement access door, where Buffy had gone a while ago. She could demolish most demons without breaking a sweat, but her butt-kicking prowess wouldn’t solve this problem. Slayer action against
the vest would just get his bones broken more quickly. He needed brains, and both of them were in the library.

  Xander refrained from running, but he almost passed out when he pushed through the library doors. He hadn’t realized how greatly walking fast would affect his respiration rate. Unable to fully expand his chest, he leaned on the book counter and took rapid, shallow breaths.

  “Xander!” Willow pushed her chair back and stood up. She was still clutching the kur in the blue scarf. “Are you all right? What happened?”

  Xander held up a hand to convey that he was all right. Then he waved, hoping she’d understand he wanted her to stay back. The last thing he needed was to inadvertently upset the kur. If Willow attacked, he wouldn’t be able to defend himself.

  “Is something chasing you?” Willow tightened her grip on the blue bundle, but she didn’t move toward him. “Something bad? It better not try to hurt Cutie, because I’ll have to leave or—” Her gaze snapped to the cage where Giles stored staffs, crossbows, swords, and other medieval arms. “I just might have to take drastic action.”

  Xander used precious air to force out two words. “Nothing . . . coming.”

  “Good, because Giles would freak if I wrecked the library.” Willow smiled. Then, with her protective passion for Cutie diffused, her apprehension shifted back to him. “You really are out of shape, huh? Guess you were right about the doughnuts.”

  “It’s the vest.” Breathing more easily, Xander tugged on the lower edge of the vest. “It’s getting tighter, and it won’t come off. Got any scissors?”

  Willow’s face clouded with a bewildered frown. “What for?”

  “Maybe I can cut it off.”

  Willow sneered. “Don’t you dare try to cut Cutie!”

  “The vest,” Xander clarified. “I can’t unzip it, but maybe I can cut it. It’s worth a try, right?”

  “Oh!” Willow brightened as quickly as she had turned belligerent. “There’s a pair behind the counter.”

  “Thanks.” Moving to the other side of the counter, Xander found the scissors on the shelf. He carefully placed the blades over the bottom edge of the vest. “Where’s Giles?”

  “He went to find Buffy.” Willow fussed with the scarf, then nuzzled her furry white psycho pet.

  “Why?” Xander tried to cut, but the fabric hardened where the blades touched. It was like trying to slice through an armor plate. He put the scissors back on the shelf without showing them to Willow. One glint of steel might send her into a defensive frenzy.

  “To stop her from killing the only demon in the universe that can help us,” Willow said.

  “Seriously?” Xander frowned. “What demon is that? Because I didn’t see Giles go to the basement, and Buffy’s in the basement.”

  “It’s not a big deal. I mean, Cutie’s the only thing that’s worth saving, and he’s got me!”

  “I know that makes perfect sense to you right now, Willow, but . . .” Xander hesitated to explain. Anything he said could be misconstrued as a threat, especially if the kur was sensitive to emotional states. Thanks to being choked to near death by a piece of quilted clothing, his anxiety level was extraordinarily high.

  “Principal Snyder has worms,” Willow said. “What have you got? No, wait. That’s not right. It’s more like, what’s got you?”

  “To be honest, Willow, the fact that some creepy crawly from the Hellmouth set up shop in this vest and has me in a vise grip is all I need to know.” Xander wasn’t kidding. Details about the unidentified plant or animal wouldn’t change his circumstances except to give him a worse case of critter jitters. “I’ve got to find Buffy before she kills something.”

  “I’ll go with,” Willow said.

  “That’s okay.” Xander tried to discourage her as he eased toward the doors. “Cutie’s probably a lot safer in the library.”

  “I’ll take care of him.” Oblivious to the danger she posed, Willow followed Xander out the doors. “I finished the research Giles gave me, but it was a big bust. There’s nothing online about a jat-sliver or a flitcha-my.”

  “Imagine that.” Xander couldn’t outwalk her and breathe simultaneously, so the next safest course was to say as little as possible. Willow’s enthusiastic output filled the verbal gap.

  “Giles is acting really weird, like he thinks I’ll go disgruntled employee without warning him first. I mean, I know he’s way too cautious sometimes, but he’s not usually paranoid! Unless—what if he caught something in the cafeteria this morning? A gonna-get-me bug or something. That could explain it, right?”

  “Could be,” Xander replied curtly, eyes straight ahead as they turned into the cafeteria corridor. Willow’s rambling was usually entertaining. Now he was relieved because it seemed to be calming the kur. As long as she kept talking, he had a good chance of making it to the basement alive.

  “. . . and I don’t care what my mom says, I’m keeping him. No discussion, no argument—that’s what she’s always telling me! Cutie stays or we both go. I’ve made up my mind.” Willow slowed to peer into the classroom Ms. Calendar had set up as an infirmary. “Wait a minute.”

  “I can’t wait, Willow. We have to find Buffy just in case Giles hasn’t.”

  “But everyone looks so sick.” Willow stared through the window in the closed door. “Even Buffy’s mom is lying down. Maybe we should see if they need—”

  “They need Giles, who apparently has some idea about what’s going on.” Xander wished he could ditch Willow, but Ms. Calendar was too busy to worry about a beast with a hair-trigger defense system. If provoked, Willow could do serious damage in the crowded classroom. “So let’s find him.”

  Willow murmured to the kur as she trailed Xander to the basement access door and down the stairs.

  “I hear something,” Giles’s voice said.

  “The fire thing only weighs half a pound. Its footsteps don’t clump.” Buffy looked over as Xander and Willow came down the last few steps. “Oh no. Did Cordelia—”

  “Die? Unknown.” Xander put out an arm to hold Willow back when he saw that Buffy and Giles weren’t alone. “There’s a vampire and a demon down here—with you.”

  “A necessary truce, Xander.” Giles centered his belt buckle and shoved a hand in his trouser pocket. “Pragoh here is the equivalent of the Hellmouth dogcatcher.”

  “Cutie doesn’t like him,” Willow said.

  Xander glanced back. Willow glared at the short gray demon. If it made the slightest move toward the kur, she would willingly gouge out its eyes. Normally he’d be one hundred percent behind that plan, but a catcher caught things. He assumed the cease-fire had been declared because Pragoh caught Hellmouth things. That, however, didn’t explain Spike.

  “What’s Spike doing here?” Xander asked.

  “Just waiting for a juicy Xander steak to show up,” Spike quipped.

  “He’s keeping Drusilla, the big bad bat lady, in the storeroom,” Buffy said. “What are you doing here?”

  “His vest is squeezing the life out of him,” Willow explained. “He thought you could save him, Buffy, but I guess you can’t.”

  Xander stiffened. “What does that mean?”

  “Cutie was a little nervous for a minute,” Willow explained, “but he’s not afraid anymore.”

  “Something is interfering with Pragoh’s ability to call the underworld pests back to the Hellmouth,” Giles said. “The only positive aspect of that situation is that the kur doesn’t feel endangered.”

  “There must be something we can—” Xander gasped as the vest tightened suddenly. It felt like a bear trap had snapped closed around his waist. His airways weren’t completely blocked, but his middle hurt like hell. “Too tight—” He could barely talk.

  “There’s another plus,” Spike said. “The obnoxious one’s juvenile prattle has been shut down.”

  “Did I forget to mention that verbal abuse violates our deal?” Buffy asked.

  Spike raised Buffy’s seething look of contempt with a derisive l
augh. “Just try to enforce that.”

  Xander desperately wanted to add a disparaging word or two, but he didn’t know what had prompted the vest to clamp down. His bones could only withstand so much pressure before they cracked. A couple more Hellmouth hugs like the last one and he’d be a candidate for technology that could rebuild him.

  “So what’s blocking the mojo, Pragoh?” Buffy asked.

  “You’re wasting your breath, Slayer,” Spike said. “He’s empowered to use the power, not to think about why it does or doesn’t work.”

  Xander gripped the end of the banister on the stairs to keep from falling over. His knees threatened to buckle, and he knew if he went down, he might not be able to get back up—even with help.

  Pragoh snorted with indignation. “One power work.”

  “And which power might that be?” Giles looked profoundly disturbed.

  “Put spell all around whole place.” Pragoh seemed to smile as he opened his short arms.

  “Around the school?” Giles scoffed. “At the risk of wounding your demonic pride, that did not help. I already have a binding spell in place and functioning.”

  “A spell you could break.” Pragoh met Giles’s gaze with a jutting jaw set in stubborn defiance. “No break Pragoh’s spell.”

  “Is that good or bad?” Xander asked.

  “Two things good.” The demon counted on his fingers. “All runaways and bad magick still here.”

  “Bad magick?” Buffy asked, puzzled.

  “I believe he means that, in addition to all the Hellmouth escapees, whatever’s hindering his magick is still in the building,” Giles said, “where we might be able to find it. Then the effects on Pragoh can be neutralized.”

  Pragoh nodded.

  “What’s the bad?” Since his initial introduction into Buffy’s bizarre world, Xander had learned that there was almost always a downside to offset the good.

  “We can’t break Pragoh’s spell,” Giles said. “His masters want this world preserved. If he can’t collect the Hellmouth pests and send them back, he’s made sure they’ll be confined. They’ll die here—along with everyone else in the school.”