by Nancy Holder
A puddle of gray slime was devouring the brim of a Razor-backs baseball cap someone had left with the artificial flowers, baskets, decorative planters, and garden tools. The rows of potted ivies, philodendron, and ferns on the end of the table looked undisturbed, but that didn’t mean the leaves weren’t crawling with flesh-eating mites or pod-people spores.
Finally, convinced that nothing but hell beasts were wandering the rummage sale aisles, Buffy headed toward the exit. The unexpected snoring sound rising from behind a stack of boxes brought her to a sudden halt. At first, unable to tell if a person or a critter was making the noise, she approached with extreme caution. Even when she saw the toe of a sport shoe, she didn’t let down her guard.
“Cheryl?” Rising on her toes, Buffy craned to look over the boxes.
“Ummmmm.” The girl was lying on her side with her hands pillowing her head. A brown, gold-flecked flat worm with a million tiny legs was wrapped around her neck. She appeared to be asleep.
“Cheryl?” Buffy called softly. “Can you hear me?”
“Uh-huh.” Cheryl rubbed her nose with her finger, but she didn’t open her eyes.
“Did Brad give you a necklace?” Buffy crossed two sets of fingers. “A gold sunburst?”
“Uh-huh.”
Buffy didn’t see the medallion, but the girl might have put it somewhere before the millipede hit her with the Rip Van Winkle whammy. “Can I borrow it?”
“Don’t have it.” Cheryl frowned.
“Where is it?”
“Brad has it.”
Buffy couldn’t be sure the girl had understood the question and took a stab at a follow-up. “You gave it back to Brad?”
“Uh-huh.” Cheryl turned her head and began snoring again.
Buffy stepped back from the boxes to think. Brad was rooted to a desk in the infirmary, but Willow had told him the necklace belonged to Michael. Since Cheryl didn’t want it, he might have decided to do the right thing and return it. If not, the infirmary was still the best place to look. Everyone from the rummage sale who showed symptoms had been isolated in the classroom, including Michael. Given the medallion’s steady progress back to him, the protection charm had to be there too.
Buffy was hesitant to leave Cheryl, but the girl was sleeping peacefully and wasn’t in pain. Even if the millipede was draining her life force or turning her into a moron, moving her wouldn’t arrest the process. The disturbance might make her condition worse. Buffy decided to let her sleep and went back to the infirmary alone.
Despite the nonaggressive, academic facade Giles maintained, he was neither squeamish nor weak. He could not hold his own against the Slayer, but his combat skills were much more advanced than anyone knew. His wealth of knowledge was invaluable, but it was not all he had to offer. He believed that one day the sudden and unexpected implementation of his physical abilities during battle would be crucial to victory.
Nothing, however, had prepared him to deal with children and friends who were dying of horrid and excruciating demonic infections.
“Are the ambulances coming, Mr. Giles?” Joyce asked, her voice weak and hoarse.
“Yes,” Giles lied. “They’ll be here soon.”
“So thirsty—”
“Ms. Calendar has some water up front. I’ll get some for you. Just lie still.” Giles smiled, but the sight of Joyce’s cracked lips and oozing green sores was deeply disturbing.
Although he was quite enamored of Jenny Calendar, he had always found Joyce Summers attractive. It was a purely aesthetic observation he kept private, not only to avoid being teased but out of respect for Buffy’s mother. He liked her, and it pained him to see the woman’s loveliness violated by a species of hellish algae. More distressing was the undeniable fact that Buffy would be devastated if her mother died, perhaps to the point of dysfunction.
Giles tried not to think about the consequences of failure as he moved toward the front of the classroom to get a moist towel and some water for Joyce. Jenny had set up a head quarters of a sort at the teacher’s desk. From there, she rationed first aid and other supplies and delegated tasks to the volunteer teachers who had not been frightened off by the three deaths. No one else had died, but all the afflictions were worsening at an alarming rate.
Giles paused to peer down at Michael Czajak. Curled into a fetal ball on the floor, the boy was oblivious to the plagues and pestilence his seeker spell had unleashed. He did not know for certain that Michael was responsible, but it seemed likely. The protective amulet’s relentless journey from person to person back to the boy was hard evidence to ignore. And, Giles had to admit, he wanted to believe it. If Michael’s spell wasn’t the catalyst, there probably wasn’t time to locate the source before everyone inside Sunnydale High perished.
After quickly tending to Joyce, Giles had no luck trying to backtrack the amulet from Michael. The few students he questioned had not seen the amulet or couldn’t answer.
Cutting a diagonal across the room, Giles could not help but gawk at Principal Snyder as he went by. The malicious man’s contented smile was a maddening side effect of the brain bores drilling through his scalp. It seemed terribly unjust that the worms pumped a numbing substance into Snyder to counter pain while Joyce and the students suffered.
Jenny was not at the desk, and Giles took a moment to check on Xander in the corner behind it. The boy was pale and shaky, but still on his feet. Xander had tried stretching out on the floor, but the vest had reacted to the external pressure by squeezing harder. The vise effect was alleviated somewhat when Xander was vertical. Giles suspected the vest was infested with hive-mentality creatures that worked in concert—toward what end was unknown and irrelevant, given that Xander was being strangled in the process.
“How are you doing, Xander?” Giles remembered too late that speaking required more air and effort than Xander could safely expend. “I’m sorry. I’m sure Buffy will be back any moment with the amulet.”
Fighting to keep air in his lungs, Xander didn’t react.
“There she.” Pragoh looked toward the door when Buffy entered. The demon stood beside Xander, concealed in a yellow rain poncho Jenny had found in the teacher’s desk. The hood slipped off his horned head when he turned.
Giles pulled Pragoh’s hood back up. Several people in the room remained conscious. No one needed to see a being that couldn’t be explained away as a mutant pathogen.
“Let’s hope she’s had some success.” Even as Giles said the words, his hopes were dashed. As Buffy came toward them, he could see that she wasn’t holding a gold necklace.
“Where fire dragon?” Pragoh scrunched up his pug nose and sniffed.
“Safe from you, bingeing on caffeine,” Buffy said.
“You didn’t find Michael’s charm,” Giles stated flatly.
“No, but it’s got to be in here somewhere.” Buffy quickly scanned the room. “Cheryl gave it back to Brad.”
Giles cast a glance at the boy who was being transformed into a tree. The small roots sprouting from Brad’s lower torso and legs had intertwined into a network of larger roots that had grown into the floor. Small limbs were shooting out from his shoulders and arms.
“How is she?” Buffy’s eyes locked on her mother.
“As comfortable as she can be,” Giles replied. “Finding that medallion is critical, for her and everyone else.”
“I know.” Buffy shifted her gaze to Brad. “Have you talked to him?”
“No.” Giles shook his head. “He’s too catatonic to talk or notice that he’s turning into a tree. A mercy for him, I suppose.”
“But it won’t help us.” Buffy sighed, then moved on. “Maybe Donnie Appleton can.”
“Who?” Giles frowned as Buffy breezed by him. He jotted a quick note to Jenny, asking her to take more water to Joyce, then followed Buffy.
The boy sitting next to Brad had blue fuzz growing on his arms, but he was awake.
“Can you talk, Donnie?” Buffy asked.
“Yeah, why?�
� The boy’s speech was slurred.
Buffy was blunt. “Did Brad have a gold necklace when he came in here?”
“Think so.” The boy squinted, as if trying to keep Buffy in focus. “He was mad because Cheryl broke up with him.”
“What became of the necklace?” Giles pressed.
“He threw it away. No . . .” Donnie’s brow furrowed and he scratched his head, trying to remember. “He was going to toss it, but he didn’t. He gave it to”—Donnie waved his arm, then snapped off a point—“Juan.”
Giles’s spirits sank lower as he walked behind Buffy between desks. None of the boys in the aisle appeared cognizant, but his stomach didn’t rebel until she stopped in front of a boy with dark curly hair. Black gel oozed out of Juan’s nose, mouth, and ears.
“Juan, where’s the necklace Brad gave you?”
“He can’t answer, Buffy,” Giles said, feeling nauseous. “He’s dead.”
“He can’t be dead. We have to find that amulet!” Buffy’s temper simmered below the surface, nearing an explosive tipping point. “I’m not going to let my mother die.”
“Don’t touch him!” Giles barked, and jerked Buffy back. The black sludge would be looking for a new host, but it would not be the Slayer.
“Thanks, but I wasn’t going to touch him.” Buffy’s intemperate tone softened as she explained. “I was looking for the medallion, but I don’t see it. It’s not in his hand, and there’re no bulges in his pockets—”
“Boy fall!” Pragoh yelled excitedly.
Giles snapped his head toward the corner. The short demon was desperately trying to keep Xander upright. Jenny had been on her way to Joyce, but she abruptly turned back to assist Pragoh. They couldn’t hold Xander up, so they broke his fall. Giles’s throat went dry when the teacher put her ear to Xander’s chest. She looked up suddenly, caught his eye, and shook her head.
Xander wasn’t breathing.
Jenny started mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, but she could only buy him a minute or two at best.
Buffy remained intent on the one thing that could save him. “That necklace has to be here—right here, close by.”
Giles agreed. When the amulet moved from Brad to Juan, it had drawn closer to Michael. He had no doubt it was nearby, but twenty teenagers surrounded the boy lying on the floor. They would find his protection charm, but would they find it in time to save Xander?
“Lucy Lopez found a necklace.” A girl in the next aisle sat with her arms wrapped around her knees. “She picked it up when Juan dropped it.”
“Lucy Lopez?” Giles wasn’t familiar with the name.
“Over there.” When the girl raised her arm, something undulated under her skin.
“I know her.” Buffy rushed over to a girl with long dark hair. A crusty substance had grown over her eyes. She sat perfectly still with one hand resting in her lap, clutching the medallion. Buffy pried her fingers open. “Sorry, Lucy, but I need this.”
“Amazing,” Giles mumbled as Buffy vaulted over a desk into the next aisle, where Michael lay crumpled on the floor. Lucy was sitting less than five feet away from him. His spell had worked with crude but impressive precision.
“Here’s your protection charm, Michael.” Buffy pressed the amulet into his hand and stood back. She glanced at Giles expectantly. “Now what?”
Giles exhaled. With the return of Michael’s medallion, there was nothing left but to determine whether they had succeeded.
“Let’s hope Michael’s spell is broken and Pragoh’s power works.” Giles called out to the demon as he started for the door. “Pragoh!”
Buffy hesitated. “My mother—”
“Yes, you must go to her. I’ll see to the . . . exodus.” Giles hurried up the aisle. He and the demon reached the door at the same time.
“Bad magick gone?” Pragoh asked. The demon’s squashed, pug-nosed face looked comical framed in the yellow slicker.
The next few minutes were no laughing matter, but Giles was oddly touched by the earnestness in the demon’s tiny eyes. A less complicated being than his masters, Pragoh was a pawn, blindly doing the job he was assigned without concern for the consequences—except as it affected him. He wouldn’t survive failure either.
“Let’s find out, shall we?” Giles opened the door and said a silent prayer as Pragoh stepped into the corridor.
“Try now.” Pragoh slipped out of the poncho, took a deep breath, and snorted loudly. Then, cupping his hands to the sides of his face, he closed his eyes and concentrated.
Giles didn’t know what to expect. He glanced back into the classroom, targeting the corner first. Jenny was still kneeling over Xander, trying to revive him with her own life’s breath. He didn’t detect any changes in the victims until his gaze found Michael.
The boy opened his eyes slowly and inhaled sharply, obviously surprised to see the sunburst medallion in his hand.
Giles extrapolated the boy’s future endeavors based on experience. Michael would assume, correctly, that his spell had worked. As he had learned at university, no one who discovered they had magickal power ever left well enough alone. Having no concept of the Hellmouth or the role it had played in his success, Michael would continue to explore his abilities.
And if the fates are kind, his parents will move him to Kansas, Giles thought, jumping back to avoid the stampede of Hellmouth life forms that slithered, flew, oozed, and scampered out the classroom door.
Engulfed in a swirling darkness that sparkled with specks of light, Xander felt himself being carried away. He didn’t have the energy to fight the current, but it almost didn’t matter. The pain he had felt just a moment before, like someone had parked a truck on his chest, was fading. He wanted to grab the pain, to cling to it before it was gone and the last tie to his life was irrevocably severed. Yet the lure of the darkness, of the painless nothingness, was so tempting—
Being snapped back to consciousness with his lungs bursting and his ribs bound in a vise grip was brutal by comparison.
Xander gasped, and it hurt. However, he was alive, which made the trade-off worth it.
“Xander, you’re back.” Ms. Calendar knelt beside him. “I thought we had lost you.”
Xander struggled to breathe. The vague feeling of slipping into a dark void faded away as he took in more and more air. The grip of the vest loosened slightly, and he tugged on the fabric. “Off.”
“No, wait.” Ms. Calendar lifted his hand off the vest and held it.
“But—” Xander squirmed, revolted by the idea of spending one more second wrapped in the vest. Still, the teacher was far wiser than he about many things that probably included infestations of Hellmouth germs. Every muscle in his body tensed, but he gritted his teeth and waited.
“There they go.” Ms. Calendar smiled.
Xander watched, fascinated as a transparent sheet of interconnected, paper-thin amoeba-like animals rose off the surface of the camouflage material. The colony flowed off the vest like a sheet of cellophane off a cardboard roll, and continued across the floor toward the door.
“That’s it?” Xander was still hoarse, but his chest was no longer being crushed. He patted the vest. The quilted fabric was soft and resilient. “They’re gone?”
“Yes, they are.” Ms. Calendar stood up. “Will you be okay? I’ve got to check on the other students.”
“I’ll be fine.” Nodding, Xander pulled himself into a sitting position. He was anxious about Willow and Cordelia, but he needed a minute to make sure he was all systems go.
The vest unzipped easily, but as Xander started to shrug out of it, he paused. Now that the python element had vacated, the vest was just a vest that appealed to his inner military man—and that had almost killed him. He took the vest off and lobbed it into the wastepaper basket by the desk.
Not everyone had been as lucky, Xander realized as he looked around the room. Dark streams and colorful clouds of minuscule creatures abandoned victims and drifted toward the door, along with larger bugs and beasts.
Most of the stricken people in the room showed immediate signs of recovery, including Joyce Summers. She was sitting up and talking to Buffy, but she seemed more concerned about Karl’s condition than her own.
The roots and branches Brad had grown were absorbed back into his body. A seed pod popped out of the boy’s shoe and attached itself to a hairy, mouse-size, multilegged beetle. Hitching a ride and Hellmouth bound, Xander thought as the bug skittered away and Brad keeled over dead.
Cordelia’s affliction could also be a killer, he realized. Getting to his feet too fast, Xander gripped the back of the teacher’s chair until the dizziness passed. The sickening sensation in the pit of his stomach wouldn’t go away until he knew Cordelia’s fate. He was worried about Willow, too, but the kur needed her too much to harm her.
Despite his bruised ribs and wobbly knees, Xander felt almost normal when he entered the corridor. Giles stood by the wall, watching Pragoh gather his wandering charges.
“The nightmare menagerie,” Xander said with a grimace.
“Xander! You’re all right!” The librarian’s eyes lit up, and he grabbed Xander’s shoulders. The moment of excessive exuberance passed quickly. Pressing his lips together, Giles let go and sheepishly backed off. “Did you notice Buffy or her mother?”
“Both fine, as far as I can tell,” Xander said. “I, uh, need to check on Cordelia, though. She’s just down the hall, in the utility closet. If she’s—”
“I’ll be right here if you need me. If she’s—” Giles cleared his throat. “I hope she’s not—”
“Me too.” Xander didn’t mention the enemies-with-benefits angle. “Thinking up comebacks to Cordelia’s insults keeps me sharp.”
“Do tell.” Giles raised an eyebrow.
Xander hurried to the closet, but he stood outside the closed door for a minute before he worked up the courage to knock. “Cordelia?”
“Go away!” Cordelia’s voice was weepy but strong.
“It’s alive!” Xander was so happy, the unkind quip just slipped out. “I mean—”