RETURN to CHAOS

by CRAIG SHAW GARDNER

“Actually,” Tom said. “It’s mostly time to run some errands. I think our uncle’s too busy to talk to you today. But maybe we can show you a couple of card tricks.”

  Xander and Oz piled into the back seat and the car tore away.

  Nobody had paid the slightest attention to Buffy. And why should they? She hadn’t even heard Ian’s voice. He probably wasn’t even in the car. And why should I care about it anyway?

  It hurt so much when she lost Angel. He was back, but they both agreed she needed to look elsewhere. Loving Angel was too dangerous.

  She needed to get moving, make a statement. But the vampires wouldn’t be out for another few hours. And she had promised her mother she wouldn’t burn down another school.

  She wondered if she still had that junk food back in her locker.

  Chapter 13

  IAN ENTERED THE ROOM WHERE HIS UNCLE WAS WAITing. He could see why the people from Sunnydale would be suspicious. As he got closer to what he had to do, Uncle George seemed to grow more tight-lipped. Now, unless Ian or his brothers dragged it out of him, he wasn’t even explaining things to his nephews.

  Uncle George glanced up at Ian for only an instant, then went back to looking into the divining crystal he had brought, as though, if he just looked long enough, the crystal would hold all the answers. The crystal was a small, multifaceted stone, translucent with a hint of blue. Whenever Ian had seen it, it struck him as looking very cold.

  Ian waited a moment to see if his uncle would acknowledge his presence. For their stay in Sunnydale, they had rented what had been advertised as a “furnished cottage” on the edge of town, but it was unlike any cottage Ian had seen before. It resembled nothing so much as the semidetached suburban homes around Cardiff, a boxy structure with white walls and shag carpet. The furnishings all seemed to be twenty years old, a mismatched set of plaid couches and overstuffed chairs which wouldn’t have looked out of place in a seventies American sitcom. It was the least natural home Ian had ever seen, and the last place you would think to find a Druid, which Ian guessed suited Uncle George just fine. Still, it was quiet out here. Their neighbors all appeared to be software engineers who were never home. Ideal, he supposed, if you were working on a spell to save the world. . . .

  Ian decided he’d had enough of his uncle and his crystal. “You’ve sent Dave and Tom into town,” Ian said. “But you said you need me here. Why?”

  His uncle frowned without looking away from the stone. “It is time to begin. And it is time for you to accept responsibility.”

  Ian thought he heard a hint of accusation in his uncle’s voice. “I have always been willing to share my part of the load. Especially now. You know how important this is to all of us—especially after the death of my father.”

  “I do not want to speak of your father,‘” his uncle replied without emotion. “I want to speak about what is happening now.”

  Ian winced. The death of his father, George’s brother, had affected them all. All of them felt responsible, but his Uncle George seemed to be taking it hardest of all. He wouldn’t talk about what had happened, but he was driven to change it.

  Ian peered over his uncle’s shoulder, trying to get a better view of the smoky blue gem stone on the table before them. He was not as adept at reading the crystal as his elders, but even he could see images flickering in the stone, images clearer than any he had seen before, due, no doubt, to the power of the Hellmouth. But what were these images? Green. For nature? Red stones. Blood? Aids to their uncle’s upcoming incantation? Or predictions of what would come if they triumphed—or failed?

  “And what is happening now?” Ian demanded. “You don’t seem to want to tell anybody, even your own nephews.”

  “Nonsense. We are among strangers. I simply do not wish to reveal too much—”

  “But weren’t you the one who told me that we very well may need the strangers, especially the Slayer, if we hope to succeed?”

  George finally turned to look at his nephew. “I did. So much seems to change from minute to minute. Conditions are different here. We are so far from home. But the Slayer and her friends—do you think we can get their help?”

  “Well, they have their suspicions.”

  George shook his head. “Considering the way we arrived, that is only natural.”

  Ian was glad his uncle at least realized that. He added, “But I think if we are as open as we can be, they will join us.”

  “I hope so.” George gestured at the crystal before him. “There are treacherous turns to the course we take. There are those who are pledged to stop us. It will help us greatly if we can bring the Slayer in to protect us while we finish our task.”

  “So you need—the Slayer.” Ian had a little trouble even saying her name. He swallowed. He couldn’t let his personal feelings interfere with what had to be done. “You’ve told me this before, but you’ve never explained exactly why.”

  His uncle shook his head. “This place of power—the Hellmouth—is so much greater than those I have dealt with in the past. I suppose it makes me nervous. I may have to make adjustments to the spells in order to succeed. And what if I err, and some of that which we are meant to stop breaks free?”

  “So we bring in the Slayer. But if we have such an accident, won’t it be dangerous?”

  “If we have such an accident, and the Slayer cannot stop it, it will kill us all.”

  And probably mean the end of the world, Ian thought. That was why the Druids were here, why they had thrown aside two thousand years of secrecy to reveal themselves, not only here, but all over the world.

  “And what of the others?”

  “The other groups, at the other great points?” George shook his head again. “Perhaps, if one of us fails, the others can still find ways to slow the destructive forces. Or perhaps a single error will destroy every one of us.”

  Ian was finding this conversation frustrating. He found every conversation with his uncle frustrating. “We’re really only feeding the people here small pieces of the puzzle. Why don’t we tell the Watcher and the Slayer of the enormity of our undertaking? Surely that will convince them to help us.”

  “Would it? I don’t know. There are still so many changes we may have to make.”

  “Changes?” Ian didn’t like the sound of this. “But I thought the elders agreed. We were going to repeat the spell my father devised—”

  George made a shooing motion with his hands, as if waving away his nephew’s objections. “No doubt we will, but perhaps with some minor modifications. The elders are half a world away. They do not even know of the subtle changes I already see around me.”

  George was speaking in riddles again. What wasn’t his uncle talking about? Ian was afraid he knew.

  “You are going to . . . to try the other spell, aren’t you?”

  George looked away. “I will try whatever is needed. You know how desperate the situation might be.”

  “So you say.”

  “So your father said,” George insisted. “Look, I will show you as much of this as possible, get you to see the truth, in case the same thing happens to me that happened to your father.”

  And the spell will consume you the same way it consumed my father. Ian repressed a shudder.

  “Uncle, I hope not.”

  His uncle let the slightest of smiles crease his face. “Not half so much as I do. But this must be done.”

  Perhaps, Ian thought, I’m being too critical. His uncle had a lifetime of training. He knew the dangers and what must be done to overcome them.

  “As you say,” Ian replied at last. “But about the Slayer and her friends? They know in their hearts what is happening here—and I believe it is that knowledge that will cause them to side with us.”

  But his uncle was adamant. “We can’t get too close to any of them. We may work with them, but each side will always have their secrets.”

  Surely, Ian thought, his uncle had his reasons. And Ian knew he had reasons of his own. He found it difficult—
impossible, really, to think unemotionally about anything that had to do with that young Vampire Slayer. Her image filled his mind. The way her blond hair moved in the moonlight. The strength she showed against adversity. The way her lips curled when she smiled.

  He had never been attracted to a girl in the same way as the Slayer. The more his uncle insisted on distance, the more he thought about Buffy.

  Maybe a single night. What difference did it make if the world was going to end anyway?

  “Ian?” His uncle’s voice broke his reverie. “We must begin.”

  Ian sighed. He had no time for flights of fancy. He should think of nothing but the work.

  His uncle held a piece of paper in his hand. “I will need the following.”

  His uncle had made out a list. Ian had no idea where to get most of these things in California. Perhaps he could ask Xander and Oz to help.

  Even at first glance, Ian could tell that the list was far too long. Only about half of the items listed were a part of his father’s second spell. The rest of them—

  “I recognize this plan. This is the spell that killed my father. The elders agreed that we would not follow this path again.”

  “The elders are not here! We will have a very short time to right the way. I plan to prepare both spells. I will use the other first. If that does not succeed—well, I pray that I have made better preparations against attack than the last time.”

  Ian did not feel good about this. His uncle was even keeping secrets from his family and the elders.

  There were too many secrets here.

  His uncle seemed to read his mind. “You must trust me on this. Your brothers will return shortly. The three of you will work together to prepare the spell the elders have chosen.”

  So Ian would gather the items on the list. “And in the meantime, what will you do?”

  “I will spend every minute determining if there is a way to employ the other spell in safety. Your father made too many compromises. I feel we must return to the true ancient teachings.”

  Ian didn’t like the sound of that. “The true ancient teachings? There are practices in there which we abandoned hundreds of years ago.”

  “Perhaps that was wrong. The Druids have employed great power over the years. Perhaps we must return to that.” His uncle paused, looking straight in Ian’s eyes. “I realize in so doing, I might destroy the order. But even that might be worth it, if I can save the world.”

  As sincere as his uncle seemed, Ian still had his doubts.

  “Yet, this decision—”

  “It is not your decision to make.” His uncle cut him off. He turned back to the crystal before him. “I will be in contact with the others.”

  So his uncle had ended the discussion, and Ian was bound to obey his elder. He knew it was his destiny. Dare he draw the Slayer in as well?

  He knew that was up to fate.

  Sunnydale had seemed, for the last couple of days, like a haven from the cares of the world. Even the fights with the vampires had felt more like sport than a matter of life or death. Ian realized that was because the Slayer was there. In some imaginary world that could never be, he and the Slayer might always fight side by side.

  How could that imaginary world ever come to be?

  The very thought of Buffy made sweat break out on his palms. He knew he had been avoiding her. Once or twice, he had been outright rude.

  But he wasn’t here to improve his social life. He, his brothers, his uncle—they were trying to prevent evil from overwhelming the world.

  Ian knew he would have to tell her of his feelings.

  His mind returned to this, over and over again.

  A Druid’s life was hard, his education, taxing. He hadn’t had much time for romance—a pair of flings a year or two ago—but since the crisis began, he hadn’t had time for anything.

  Perhaps he and the Slayer could have a moment together.

  For one who followed his path, that would have to be enough.

  Well, here Gloria was, back in the alley again—another night, another master plan. Cordelia had gone back into her little club. Gloria’s supposed to watch little Cordelia, Naomi says. But the Slayer’s in that club, too. Gloria saw her go in. The Slayer could recognize Gloria. Then where would Gloria be? She’d be staked in the heart, turned into a pile of dust. What good would Gloria be as a pile of dust? No good at all!

  Naomi was gone too. Gloria liked it better when Naomi was gone, when Gloria could think for herself. She’d follow Cordelia home when she left the Bronze. But that wouldn’t be for hours.

  Gloria heard a noise from the other side of the alley, and remembered she wasn’t completely alone.

  “Bryce,” she called. “Naomi’s gone. It’s safe to come out.”

  Naomi could freeze Cordelia with some spell, and it looked like she kept Bryce frozen with fear. But Gloria? Gloria was already a vampire. What else could go wrong?

  “Bryce?” Gloria called. “I think we need to get to know each other better.”

  She heard a rustling among the garbage bags.

  “That’s it, Bryce. You have to get out of your hiding place more often. Actually, what’s life worth without a little companionship?” She giggled. “Heck. I’m already dead, and I need companionship, too!”

  The thing that was once a quarterback shuffled out into the open.

  “What a nice Bryce! Poor boy, Naomi’s done such nasty things to you—you being a star quarterback and all. I bet you have some real muscles under all that grime.”

  The Bryce thing moaned.

  “Hey, we got to stick together. Otherwise, Naomi will drive us crazy.”

  The Bryce thing growled.

  Gloria smiled and strolled toward the creature. “What Naomi doesn’t know won’t hurt her, at least not yet. There are a lot of lonely nights in Sunnydale.” She giggled. “You want a little vampire love?”

  She gently pushed back the matted hair from his forehead. There were a pair of eyes in there somewhere.

  This was the first time she’d ever done anything with anyone even resembling a quarterback. Take that, Naomi, she thought.

  Hey, vampires couldn’t be choosers.

  Chapter 14

  BUFFY HAD RARELY SEEN SUNNYDALE SO QUIET. IF IT was slow the night before, tonight it was dead—no pun intended. No people, no vampires, no cars, no dogs. She was all alone out here. It was like this place had become Sleepy Hollow or something.

  And the quieter it got, the more she thought about Ian. Why? He wouldn’t even speak to her. But the way he looked at her and the way he got flustered when she was near—she knew those signs. She guessed she wasn’t as out of practice in the dating game as she thought.

  She liked the way he handled himself in a fight, too. As the Slayer, she spent too much time working on her own moves. It was nice to check out somebody else’s for a change.

  She also liked the way he’d shown up—twice now—just in the nick of time. She started wishing something would happen so Ian could show up again.

  Whoa, slow down! What are you thinking about? Girl, you’ve got too much free time on your hands.

  Buffy jumped.

  It was only a flock of birds, just down the street, over in the graveyard. But any sound would have been startling after all that silence, and the birds were making a tremendous racket.

  Well, Buffy thought, if anything is going to happen, it would happen in the graveyard. As far as the Slayer was concerned, it was Sunnydale’s action hot spot.

  Buffy walked, quickly but carefully, over to the cemetery gate, on the lookout for the usual pale faces. Vampires loved the graveyard. It was their home—at least for a lot of them. Even the Master used to live nearby, though not by choice, right above the Hellmouth.

  The Hellmouth. Buffy wondered if whatever was going on with the birds had something to do with the Druids’ spell. She certainly didn’t see any vampires. Not a single one. Which, she realized, also might have come from the Druids’ spell. That was pr
obably one of the advantages of being so secretive. People would give you credit for just about anything.

  She stepped through the gate and walked across the well-manicured grass of the all-too-familiar cemetery. She moved slowly toward the noisy birds, ready for attack. Did she catch some movement between the graves? Was it the Druids performing some ritual? Or were the dead coming back to life—like usual?

  She walked over to take a closer look.

  Hello. Things waved just above the ground, but they didn’t look human, living or dead. They almost looked like tentacles. Buffy moved forward more slowly and saw the tentacles were sprouting leaves. They were vines, or branches—vegetation of some sort—growing as she watched, a foot or more every minute. The growing vines made a soft shooshing sound as the leaves rubbed against the ground, the gravestones, and other growing vines. The softer noise had been lost under the racket of the birds, but now most of the flock was flying off, looking, no doubt, for a calmer part of town. Buffy wondered if she should do the same thing.

  This had to be some part of the Druids’ spell. Giles had mentioned they were big on nature. Maybe they would surround the Hellmouth with a wall of nature. The vines curled around the gravestones and monuments, twisted around the shrubs and trees. Yes, this sudden growth must be some sort of barrier, some preparation for the greater spell to come.

  Buffy felt the ground move beneath her feet. Small shoots were poking their way through the soil all around her, new tendrils of the massive plant that would take over the cemetery. But she was here by herself; there was no one else in danger, no need for the Slayer. She should let the spell run its course, then ask the Druids—ask Ian—what it was really all about.

  The vampires would be somewhere else tonight. It was time to go—

  Her feet stuck to the ground. She couldn’t lift her boots. She looked down and saw a web of dark green covering the leather. The tendrils had already curled over both of her shoes and were anchoring her feet firmly to the soil.

  She tried jerking her feet free, but the tiny network of vines held her ankles tight. She was trapped here. In the middle of the graveyard, the vines were covering everything, turning grave markers green, draping leafy boas over marble angels, swallowing trees and bushes whole. In a moment, the vines would cover her as well.