RETURN to CHAOS

by CRAIG SHAW GARDNER

  “Bryce!” she called. “Where are you? I need you!”

  But there was no sound from among the garbage bags, no noise save the breathing and the heartbeats of the two humans before her.

  “Bryce!” she called. “Gloria!”

  There was nothing. Naomi was alone.

  This wasn’t supposed to happen. Her servants were supposed to be there for her.

  The boy took a step toward her. Could he sense her fear? She was stronger than he was! She could destroy him in an instant.

  The boy smiled. There was a sharpened piece of wood in his hand.

  It won’t happen like this!

  Naomi took a step away.

  “I’ll destroy you all!” she cried.

  And then she ran.

  Chapter 15

  GEORGE COULD NOT STOP LOOKING AT THE CRYSTAL. No doubt when his nephew had been in the room, Ian had thought he was using the gem to try to foretell the future. But all he could see in the facets before him was his past.

  Deep in the stone, over and over again, it showed him what had happened before.

  No! Don’t let them nearer! Don’t let them!

  George closed his eyes. For years, the elders had foretold of a great danger. And the forces of darkness did appear to be shifting, the supernatural gaining power. George and his brother Stephen had seen the signs. They knew the teachings, they knew how the teachings had changed. Together, they volunteered to defeat the evil that was to come.

  The two of them had gathered the likely spells, checked the portents to determine the most auspicious date, and figured what they thought to be the safest course to dispel the growing danger to the world. At last it had come down to the choice between two different spells. They argued for weeks over the best path to take: a spell of light and crystal, which would seal the dark forces away, much, George guessed, as the great vampire called the Master had been trapped beneath these very streets; or a darker, older spell, which would send the dark things reeling back into those places from which they first came. The second spell was the more decisive of the two, but that second spell called for blood.

  Stephen had been the talented one, the one with the true facility for magic. George was more the scholar, his own spells often halting and clumsy. He would succeed more often than not, but even he admitted that his conjurings spent more time going around the barn than entering through the front door.

  Stephen was the one who would oversee the spell, so Stephen’s judgment won out in the end. They would use the magic derived from light rather than blood and attempt to entrap those forces that would do them harm. Once bound, the elders might find a way at their leisure to banish these things forever. It had seemed so logical at the time.

  No! Don’t let them nearer! Don’t let them!

  So, on the vernal equinox nearly a year ago, they had begun. Neither one of them had known it would be so hard.

  Only after the spell had begun did they realize they had made a bad choice of location. The ancient point of power was weak, the connection with the darker things far too tenuous. Still Stephen plowed forward, trying to ensnare the dark forces in his web of light.

  And Stephen had managed to strengthen the connection, but by doing so he forged a link that allowed the dark things—the ten thousand demons of legend—to enter the mortal, material world and destroy the spellcaster.

  No! Don’t let them nearer! Don’t let them!

  George! George!

  There were three levels of Stephen’s spell. First, a connection, second, a strengthening, and third, the seal through which the dark forces could not penetrate. George and Stephen’s three sons had assisted Stephen’s plans, weaving secondary spells of strength and protection, and all had gone well, until the great white light Stephen had produced changed, deepening from yellow to orange to darkest red.

  “What should I do?” George called. The light surrounded them, so strong it was almost blinding. George could barely see his brother, only a few feet away. His nephews, perhaps a score of paces distant, were totally lost to view.

  “Hurry!” Stephen had called. “Begin the third part of the spell!”

  And then the light had brought the others. Stephen panicked.

  “They’re all over me! No! No! Don’t let them nearer! Don’t let them! George! George!”

  George had to do something. The first spell would not work. He knew the other, darker spell by heart. He had made all the preparations in case they might be needed. He would push the demons back. He would banish them forever!

  He needed blood. In the last desperate moment, he opened his own veins.

  But as he made the cut, Stephen seemed to break free of the things.

  “No!” his brother called. “I can turn them back! I can complete the spell! George! What are you—”

  It was too late. George’s spell had already been set in motion.

  The two spells together seemed to create a moment of vacuum, a moment when the things might reach out a final time.

  The red light was gone, but Stephen was surrounded by flame. He scream lasted only an instant. In an instant, he was consumed.

  The spells righted themselves. Something in the combination had worked. The dark things had been banished, at least for a time. But all that was left of Stephen was a charred corpse.

  And all that was left to George was his brother’s final scream.

  The blood—George’s blood—was not enough.

  The demons were repelled. But not before they had killed Stephen and left George to relive the moment over and over again.

  The scream—his brother’s final agony, seemed to reverberate from the stone. It hid the future. It hid the signs. It hid everything.

  George had wanted to save them all. He never imagined the second spell would lead to his brother’s death.

  The three boys had been blinded by the spell. Only Stephen had seen George make the cuts. And Stephen was gone.

  No one else had to know. George knew, and he would bear the burden until he took what the two brothers had tried to accomplish and succeeded at last. The responsibility, and the risk, would all be his. But he would succeed at any cost.

  It had been nearly a year since his brother had lost his life, a year for George to master not one spell, but two, and he would use whichever of the two would ensure defeating the dark forces. He owed it to his brother, and to the world.

  So he sent the boys to gather the necessary items, and to perform the preliminary incantations. Even now, Tom, the most talented of the three, was working on an incantation that would bind the Hellmouth in such a way that any demon seeking to pass through the gate would be destroyed. As the spell became more complex, Ian and Dave would join in. Then, tomorrow night, George would begin the final preparation.

  There were other tasks that required his attention. But he could not pull his gaze from the stone. Why didn’t the gem show him what was to come?

  George looked up from the accusing crystal.

  Someone—or something—else had entered the room.

  He looked to the shadows.

  “What are you doing here?”

  The shadows took form—a tall man, with dark hair, an aristocratic nose, a cruel smile. No, George reminded himself. Not a man.

  A vampire, who called himself Eric.

  “You know you wanted to see me,” Eric said.

  George realized that he did. Eric was an emissary from the darkness. He had found George in Wales, after the accident. Somehow, he had found George again.

  George was fascinated by this creature. By understanding him, he would come to know what he was to fight.

  Eric chuckled. “I’m the only one who isn’t frightened by you.” He shook his head. “Most of my kind have left town. I’ve never seen such an exodus. Only the fools, or those too self-involved to see—only they stayed behind.”

  George was an elder in the oldest sect upon the face of the earth. He might be curious about this creature, he might even be able to use him
, but he would not be intimidated.

  “So which are you,” he asked, “self-involved or a fool?”

  Eric raised his right eyebrow in amusement. “I am neither, which is why you talk to me now. Only I realized there is no running away from you. Only I have followed you here to see this to the end. Your spell, while originating at the Hellmouth, will blanket the whole world.”

  “That is true,” George admitted.

  “It is amazing the wisdom you can gain from a few hundred years of existence,” Eric replied calmly. “You should try it some time.”

  “My kind has passed wisdom down for thousands of years, and we will not rest until your kind is driven from the earth.”

  “Really? Then you aren’t considering my earlier offer?” Eric’s smile broadened to show a bit of teeth. “Everything I’ve told you so far is true. It’s all a matter of survival. You guarantee mine, and I will guarantee yours.”

  “That sounded like a threat,” George bristled. “I will not be stopped by the likes of you!”

  “Georgie, Georgie, Georgie. You haven’t been listening. I have no objection to your spell. The ancient magics will seal the Hellmouth for a hundred years. They will also guarantee the status quo for those who are prepared.”

  Eric stepped farther into the light. His eyes glowed red beneath the overhead bulb. “Think of it, George. There are certain changes that are too great. To cut all the supernatural off from the world might be as disastrous as allowing this evil to spawn. Your people’s way is one of balance. You are a part of that balance, and so am I.

  “There is something in this very town that proves my point. What is the Slayer if there are no vampires? Pretty boring, let me tell you. Leave a little mystery in the world. She’ll thank you for it.”

  “So you are doing this to benefit the Slayer?”

  “You know why I do this.” The vampire spread his arms wide. “This is my moment,” Eric crowed. “There were always those above me. I knew there would be a time when I would rise to the top.”

  Perhaps, George thought, the same might be true for me.

  With a sudden clarity, he realized how much he wished for that—all the other elders humbled, realizing at last that only he was right.

  “There will be benefits for both of us,” Eric continued. “An alliance between us will allow you to control the Hellmouth for a hundred years, destroying anything that might pass and anything that might challenge me for mastery of the night. I only wish to survive, and perhaps to prosper a bit. Even though the evil will be contained, the power will remain, a power that will sustain me, and I will be king in this small domain.

  “Perhaps the Slayer will kill me then. All I ask is a chance. And to get that chance, I must make sure that you succeed. The Slayer might have helped you fight back the forces of darkness. But I can attack them from the inside, subvert them, protect you completely.”

  George was surprised. Before, Eric had only spoken of knowledge. This was a new offer. “Protection? I will have to think about it.”

  Eric nodded. “You and I know it is almost time. Answer me tomorrow.”

  The vampire faded back into the shadows.

  George stood, but there was no longer any sign of the creature.

  There were too many questions here and no time to find answers. George did not want to see his brother’s death over and over again. At any cost, he had to succeed.

  He looked to the table and stopped. The gem had changed.

  The stone was red, the color of blood.

  This would be the spell then—the banishment, not the containment. Not that he would tell his vampire “ally.” Whatever service Eric provided could serve as some atonement for all the rest he’d done—a last act of sacrifice before George destroyed him.

  Blood was the way.

  The gem would not lie.

  Xander felt Cordelia shiver in his arms. It looked like she was on the verge of tears.

  “I don’t think we should go out there,” she whispered.

  Whatever was going on outside that doorway sounded extremely violent. If Dave was anywhere near as good as Ian, he knew how to take care of himself. But who knew what he was facing?

  “I think we have to,” Xander replied. “Two people went out there because you sent them there.”

  “Xander Harris!” Cordy sputtered. “I didn’t . . . I mean, I wouldn’t . . .” She stopped. “It’s gotten quiet.”

  She was right. The shouting and banging and growling had gone away. It probably hadn’t lasted a minute. But it had sounded awful.

  “I can’t stand it,” Cordy said. “I’ve got to look.” She grabbed Xander’s hand and rushed up the stairs.

  They found Dave on his knees, attending to a fallen Barb.

  “We heard something out here,” Xander said. “What happened?”

  “A vampire,” Dave said.

  “Naomi,” Barb whispered.

  “Naomi?” Cordelia asked incredulously.

  Xander could see the marks on the other girl’s neck. “It bit Barb.”

  “She didn’t get very much blood,” Dave explained. “Barb will be all right.”

  “Very much blood,” Cordelia whispered. She looked horrified.

  Dave looked up at her. “Why did you bring us out here? Did you know this was going to happen?”

  “N-no. I—I—” Cordelia sputtered. “I don’t remember!”

  Dave stared at her for a moment before nodding. “No, you do not. There is great evil here. If there is time before the spell begins, we’ll talk to my Uncle George.”

  Xander had other ideas. “Well, okay, but first we have to talk to a couple of friends of ours. It’s time for Buffy and Giles to help us figure out what’s going on.”

  Gloria strolled down the alley once the human kids were gone. The place was actually beginning to feel homey. Sure it was filthy, it smelled, it was full of rats. But it was their filth, their smell, their rats.

  Tonight, she guessed she just felt good about being a vampire.

  She and Bryce had gone off to a little hidey-hole she knew—a hidey-hole that even Naomi hadn’t found—and there she had taught Bryce some very important lessons, things that were both nice and nasty. That was one advantage of being a vampire—the nasties were of a more varied sort. She had certainly enjoyed it, and she thought Bryce had too, even though he wasn’t exactly the talkative sort. Oh well. Gloria did enough talking for two, anyways.

  And they had done it all right under the nose of know-it-all Naomi.

  Gloria giggled. “Naomi says this. Naomi says that. I wonder what Naomi would say if she knew what we were doing? Hey, Brycie?”

  Bryce lumbered into the alleyway. The shuffling creature was many things, but he wasn’t fast. Ah well, Gloria thought. In some things, slow is good.

  She had had some trouble convincing the big lug to leave this alley, even though her hiding place was only a block away. He had appeared uncomfortable. He had grunted, hesitated, urged her back toward the alley.

  “Ah, Brycie,” she had cooed. “You just aren’t comfortable away from home?”

  But still he had followed. And once Gloria had him in her lair, he hadn’t made a single move to leave.

  “Didn’t we have fun, Brycie?” She had already asked the question a dozen times, but it was worth asking again. “Gloria had fun. You may not be much to look at, but there’s a spirit deep inside there. Gloria knows.”

  Bryce made a choking sound.

  Gloria stroked his matted hair. “Was her little muck monster afraid? Naomi’s nowhere around. She never missed Gloria. She never missed Bryce. She’ll never know.”

  “Hu—hu—hu,” Bryce managed.

  Gloria clapped her hands. “Are you trying to tell little Gloria something?”

  Deep within the hair and filth, she thought she saw Bryce nod his head. “Hu—hurt.”

  “A word? Gloria thought you didn’t have any words. See what being with Gloria can do for you? Already you’re talking!”
>
  Bryce nodded again. “Hurt. Hurt Naomi.”

  “Really? Yes. I think we can hurt Naomi.” She clapped her hands again. “Gloria has an idea! I think we’ll pretend to serve her for awhile. Be real nice to her. Gloria can do that. But Brycie says to hurt her, then we’ll hurt her. Nobody talks to Gloria like that!”

  “Hurt,” Bryce mumbled one final time, then shambled back into his place behind the dumpster.

  Gloria supposed she should go to her place, too. She was supposed to be watching Cordelia. After all, Naomi said so.

  Gloria would have her little life, but it did no good to make Naomi angry. At least until she could help Bryce with his little wish. Except Gloria would make it even better. She wouldn’t just hurt Naomi.

  She wanted to kill her.

  Chapter 16

  IAN!” TOM CALLED FROM THE OTHER ROOM.

  What was it now? He’d barely gotten back to the rented cottage, and already his brother was shouting for him.

  Not that their uncle could bother to lend a hand. He should have been supervising all of this, but he spent almost all his time staring at that crystal of his. Uncle George had always been a man of moods, but since their father had died, and especially since they had come to Sunnydale, all of his moods had been bad. Ian and his brothers had taken to keeping out of his way unless they absolutely had to talk to him, and their uncle hadn’t objected.

  So, until the real spell began on the following evening, it was up to Ian and his brothers to get things moving. He had come back with the latest bundle of merchandise that his uncle had wanted for his incantations, mostly arcane herbs from a store tucked very far out of the way. Apparently you could find anything in California, as long as you knew where to look. He’d be eternally grateful to Oz for showing him around.

  In fact, Ian had already told Oz to pop on by. Not everybody had to be as secretive as his uncle. And with any luck, they could at least pass Oz’s lycanthropy problem by their uncle. Maybe Uncle George couldn’t fix it now, but once they’d dealt with the Hellmouth, a werewolf-reversal spell would be a relatively simple matter.