Ghost Roads

by Christopher Golden

  “Guys,” Willow said softly. “Maybe, ssshhhhh?”

  Huffing, Xander held the boat on a steady course. Soon, they heard Giles splashing about and quietly calling for aid.

  “Giles?” Xander said softly, his voice thrown back at him by the fog. He couldn’t see much above him, but he knew the huge ghost ship was up there. From far off, he thought he could hear dead men singing.

  “Here!” Giles said, a bit too loud.

  Then he was there, materializing out of the fog, his head bobbing above the surface of the water.

  “You look like a drowned rat,” Xander said, as he helped the Watcher aboard the tiny boat.

  “Yes, pleasant to see you as well,” Giles said.

  “Uh, Willow, maybe it’s time to seal that breach?” Cordelia suggested.

  “No!” Giles snapped, turning on them. “You can’t send the Dutchman back yet. There are still two people alive onboard that ship. At least, they were when I saw them last.”

  Willow looked at Giles. “The Gatekeeper said the breach was already a questionable size. I really had to fight to buy some time to save you.”

  “Then fight harder,” he told her.

  Xander shook his head. “There’s no time, Giles. It’s nothing but dumb luck that you fell out of the sky. We never would have found you otherwise.”

  “I didn’t . . .” Giles began to protest. “They made me walk the plank. Said something or other about feeding me to their ugly old lady.”

  “Well, we’re just lucky that they did,” Willow said, nodding emphatically.

  Xander was about to speak up, when a strong wave lifted the boat. But instead of passing beneath it, the wave caught the boat up and began to carry it along. When it finally passed, they came to rest once more on a calm sea, shrouded in fog.

  Then the water began to chum.

  They heard the sound of something huge breaking the surface, water tumbling off it. When Xander looked up into the fog and darkness, he saw an enormous green-black tentacle pass in the air above their boat.

  “The Kraken,” Giles whispered.

  “The ugly old lady,” Willow said, her voice without inflection.

  Xander wondered if it would be now. If it was time to die.

  Then, from above, the clanking of rigging and the whisper of ghostly sails came down to them, and the singing of dead men became incredibly loud. The fog seemed to flee from the rotting hull of the Flying Dutchman as it lowered itself to sit on the waves, and skeletal buccaneers began to leap from the deck into the water.

  “Ah, Rupert Giles,” said a voice that chilled Xander to the bone. “If I’d known ye’d bring yer friends along, I’d have pushed ye overboard hours ago!”

  The dead seamen began to swim toward their boat.

  The Kraken raised itself up out of the water a hundred yards away, so huge it was visible through the fog.

  Cordelia began to cry.

  Willow opened her mouth and began to chant, and Giles laid his hands on her back, as though to give her more than his moral support. It was as though he were giving her part of himself, part of his energy.

  “Can she do it?” Xander asked Giles, as the dead men swam closer.

  One of the skeletons grabbed the edge of the boat, and Xander used his foot to shatter the bones of its fingers. He kicked another in the head, rocking the boat and causing Cordelia to scream.

  Willow’s voice rose. She was panicking. The spell was beginning. Beneath the water, the breach far below began to glow. But even without Giles’s answer, Xander had already figured out that it was going to be too late.

  “No!” roared the Captain of the ghost ship suddenly. “You can’t be here! Get out of here! What are you trying to do?”

  “For my father!” screamed a weak but defiant voice.

  “Giles,” Xander said, pointing. “Look!”

  On the deck of the Flying Dutchman stood Jean-Marc Regnier, the Gatekeeper. Somehow he had used his power, used the ghost roads, to appear onboard the ship. Blue magickal energy danced around his hands and shimmered where the rotting corpses that were the ship’s crew tried to attack him.

  “Great Beast, I call thee, I honor thee, I worship thee!” cried the Gatekeeper. “Take me, now, swallow me down and let my sacrifice be your sustenance.”

  “What in God’s name is he doing?” Giles whispered.

  “If you don’t know,” Xander said bluntly, “then we have no idea.”

  Cordelia reached out for Xander’s hand, and he gripped it.

  The Kraken sprayed water as it submerged again. The little boat rose on an enormous wave and nearly tipped them out. Water flowed in, but the boat righted itself. A tentacle whipped out of the water not far from them. The Kraken was moving beneath the ocean, moving under them.

  “OhGodOhGodOhGod,” Cordelia muttered.

  “He’s calling it,” Willow said, her voice revealing her astonishment. “He’s going to let it kill him so it destroys the ship.”

  “But he can’t!” Cordelia said, panic rising even further. “Without him, the whole thing will . . .”

  “Willow!” Xander snapped. “Bind that breach! Do it now!”

  Once again, Willow raised her voice. She was sweating, shuddering, and Xander realized for the first time just how much all this took out of her. There was a price to be paid for all this use of wards and spells, and it was taking its toll on Willow. And this was the biggest one of all.

  Still, she went on.

  “But the Gatekeeper . . .” Cordelia began.

  “Is gone,” Giles said flatly.

  Xander looked up to see that it was true. Jean-Marc Regnier was no longer on the ghost ship’s deck.

  Then the Kraken’s tentacles shot from the water, wrapped themselves around the Flying Dutchman, and began to pull the rotting vessel down into the depths.

  Regnier had bought them time.

  Willow made good use of it.

  When the ship was half submerged, Willow completed the binding spell. The water did not swirl, but the breach far below the surface glowed brighter, and the two horrors from the Otherworld were sucked back down to their watery grave . . . down into the breach.

  “Poor Vinnie,” Giles murmured mournfully. “And there was another fellow, too.”

  Willow collapsed, unconscious, by Xander’s feet. Cursing, he lifted her up so her head was not on the floor of the boat and pushed her hair away from her face.

  “You did a great job, Will,” he said. “You kicked some serious booty.”

  Almost instantly, the fog began to clear. The lights of the shore came into view, and all of them were astonished at how close they had been. With Giles now steering and Cordelia hugging herself in silence at the prow, they headed for home.

  * * *

  In Boston, the Gatekeeper lay in the Cauldron of Bran the Blessed. He had barely made it back to the house alive, and now he wondered how long he would have to remain in the Cauldron before its healing properties rejuvenated him again. At the very least, he knew it would be hours.

  He rose up on his elbows as a huge bellowing shook the windows. Down in the yard, the Dutchman flickered, two men newly drowned lying on its deck. The Captain roared as the Kraken embraced the bow, gorging itself on wood and ghost. The cronelike figurehead struggled down its gullet.

  “For you, Father,” Jean-Marc whispered, and gave himself up to the waters.

  * * *

  On the road again, the horizon promising dawn.

  Angel studied the sky thoughtfully, then said to Buffy, “Oz is right. We could make better time if we split up. And we have a better chance of success. You can move during the daylight and at least half the night. I’m slowing us down.”

  She looked away, and he knew she agreed with him. He also knew she didn’t want to do it. He understood. Neither did he. But the time had come for hard decisions.

  “It’s just that you’re unprotected when you sleep. We can watch over you, make sure no one gets to you.”

 
; As gently as he could, he said, “It’s not me you should be worrying about right now.”

  “I always . . .” she began, then trailed off. She didn’t need to say it. He always worried about her, too.

  “You’re the Slayer,” he reminded her. “You’ve got to do the right thing. I’ll get moving as soon as the sun goes down. I’ll catch up with you.” He grinned lopsidedly. “Maybe I’ll even beat you there.”

  “Hah. Try it,” she shot back, fighting hard to smile for him. He smiled back, awed by her, proud of her, and cupped her chin. He couldn’t help the soft kiss he gave her. When she closed her eyes and breathed in hard, he wanted to kiss her again. Wanted to give her so much more. Knew he could not.

  “I’ll find you,” he promised her.

  “Angel.” Her voice broke. She looked down, took a breath, looked back up at him. “You will.”

  “I will.”

  “Okay.” She turned to Oz. “Let’s saddle up. We’re taking Angel to the next town and then we’ll keep going.”

  Oz nodded. He said, “How about I drive?”

  Angel got into the back and gestured for Buffy to join him. She joined him and said, “When I find this guy, I’m going to gut him.”

  “I’ll hand you the knife,” Angel told her.

  She sighed.

  Oz drove.

  * * *

  “Oh, he’s so plump, Spike, and I want a treat,” Drusilla said. “Such a pretty lit’l boy. I want to eat him up.” She smiled at Jacques, who was sitting in his usual spot on the table in their hideaway. His blood ran cold at the sight of her gleaming eyes and white teeth. Even in her human form she terrified him. She was not only evil, she was crazy.

  “Just one bite,” she pleaded. “I won’t take it all. He’s young. He won’t even miss it.”

  “No, pet,” Spike said patiently, lighting up a cigarette and taking a deep drag. He flicked his silver lighter shut and put it in the pocket of his duster. “Not one drop. I know you. We’ve got a bit of a self-control issue, don’t we?”

  “Spike,” she pouted, as he drew her into his arms. She studied Jacques over her shoulder. She licked her lips for his benefit. She was toying with him, and she knew he knew it. “He’s been here for days and days, with his ruddy cheeks and his baby fat. It’s more than I can bear.”

  Jacques’s heart beat wildly. He had watched these two together. Spike could never deny Drusilla anything for long. If she wanted to suck his blood, Spike would eventually let her. And he knew she would kill him, just for sport. Just to make Spike angry. Jacques would never see his father and Grandmama again. And the world would fall apart, because there would be no new Gatekeeper.

  “One lit’l sip,” she begged, entwining her hands in Spike’s white-blond hair. “Just one. I shall be ever so careful.”

  “Well . . .” Spike chewed the inside of his lip.

  She held up her forefinger. “One.”

  He sighed. “It’s a bit off, you know. He’s a special boy, the only boy who’ll get us what we want. We don’t want to waste him, poodle.” He stroked her cheek. “Once we have the Spear, you can have all the chubby lads you want.”

  “But we don’t have it yet, and he’s here now.” She kissed him and sat on his lap. “And I want a treat.”

  “Listen, mate,” Spike said to Jacques without looking at him. “My baby’s got a yen to bite your neck. My night will go a lot easier if I let her. So let’s be a sport, eh?”

  Now he did turn and look at Jacques, who glared at them both. She pulled out of Spike’s arms and flicked her fingers at Jacques in that mad, fierce way of hers, cooing at him as if he were some kind of baby animal to be coaxed into drawing near.

  “Come on, come on,” she sang. “It’s all right, darling boy. It’s all right.”

  “Don’t you touch me, you crazy witch!” Jacques yelled, eyes beginning to fill with tears.

  He leaped off the table and charged her, ramming into her midsection with his head. She slammed to the floor, laughing, as he pummeled her with both his fists. He had never hit a girl or a woman before, but she was neither. She was a demon. He knew all about vampires. His father had taught him. They were evil, and they all deserved to die.

  So he showed her no mercy, ramming his fists into her stomach and chest as hard as he could, but all she did was laugh. Then she covered her face for a moment, and when she pulled her hands away and grabbed him, she wore her true face, the hideous features of a vampire.

  “Naughty child,” she snarled at him as she flung him onto his back, straddling him, coming in for the kill. “You must be punished for your bad manners.”

  Jacques forced himself to remain silent, glaring at her.

  Spike hurried over and caught her wrists, saying, “Relax, love. Don’t want to get carried away and damage the merchandise.”

  She struggled to free herself. ’I was polite. I asked nicely. There was going to be tea afterward, but now I don’t think I have the spirit left to bake scones.”

  “All the same, love, let’s have a bit of decorum, all right?” Spike said. Then he pushed Drusilla off Jacques and clamped his hand over the boy’s mouth.

  “And you. You’d best take care. Spear or not, I’ll gut you myself if you misbehave.” Spike regarded him levelly. Jacques believed every word Spike said, and nodded.

  “Dru, I’ve got to go out,” Spike murmured. He wagged a finger at her without taking his eyes off Jacques. “But no bloody taste tests, all right?”

  “Oh, tempter,” she whispered. “Mean Daddy.”

  He patted her. “Be a good girl, then.”

  She turned her hand palm up and held her nails at Jacques’s throat as she gestured for him to rise.

  “I killed a Slayer in just this way,” she hissed at Jacques. “I can take you just as easily.”

  She stared at him, and he began to feel his will melting away. He was lost in her eyes, losing track of his thoughts. She was hypnotizing him. All he saw were her eyes. All he felt were her sharp nails.

  He had a sense of walking, but he wasn’t even sure of that. Of a door closing. Of being made to sit.

  Of death, very close at hand.

  * * *

  “Si,” Spike said, through the front door of the deserted saloon he’d co-opted for this meeting.

  “It’s Brother Enoch,” someone murmured furtively.

  “About time,” Spike flung back as he opened the door. “And you’re not my brother, you silly sod.”

  Two hooded figures trooped into the room. Spike tried to hide his irritation. Really, what was the point of meeting in secret if these blokes ran about in their ridiculous costumes? He and Dru might as well put on velvet-lined capes and evening clothes. He’d always fancied that Lugosi look, but there were so few occasions to dress these days. Perhaps for dinner, one of these nights . . .

  Perhaps tonight, if these two didn’t have some good news.

  “Tell me what I want to hear,” Spike said. “Such as, the Spear’s outside in the Beemer and you’re ready to swap.”

  Brother Enoch cleared his throat. “I have the honor of introducing you to my immediate superior, Brother Lucius,” he said in an officious voice.

  “So you’re the big noise around here. Yeah, I’m charmed.” Spike took the man’s measure as the newcomer flung back his hood. Nice bones. Big veins. Oh, and blue eyes and black hair. Good look, if you were Superman.

  “Vampire,” the man said dismissively, “we need further reassurances that the boy is in your possession, and that he is unharmed.”

  Spike blinked and cocked his head at Brother Enoch. “Have you been telling tales out of school, B.E.? Didn’t you tell him we gave you the boy’s coat and a recording of his voice?”

  Spike fluttered his fingers at the new idiot. “I was under the impression you lads could read vibrations off clothes, or some such. Magickal DNA tests. You know it’s his coat.”

  Brother Lucius looked unimpressed. “Which is no proof that you actually have the heir in y
our possession.”

  Spike looked down his nose at the man. “Well, it’s a damn sight more impressive than ‘Yeah, we’ve got the Spear in the back room,’ which is all we’ve gotten from you.”

  A muscle twitched in Brother Lucius’s cheek. Spike noted it, filed it away. On its own it didn’t signify, but maybe it would fill in a blank or two later.

  “So maybe when we have a bit more proof that you’ve got the Spear, we’ll have something to discuss,” Spike said, walking toward the door. “But I’ve got to say, back Stateside we call this situation a ‘Mexican standoff.’

  “And what usually happens is that the guy who draws first, dies.” He smiled pleasantly. “And I’m already dead, theoretically.”

  His smile vanished as he opened the door. “To cut to it, gents, I don’t feature me and Dru putting up with this crap much longer.”

  Brother Lucius drew himself up. “Now, just a minute. Do you have any idea—”

  Spike stifled a yawn. “Who you are? How many Sons of Entropy badges you’ve collected?” He felt for his pack of cigs and pulled one out. He lit it, and slowly pulled the smoke into his lungs. Held it, blew it out just as slowly. “Between Dru and me, we’ve bagged three Slayers. As I understand it, your fearless leader has put one and only one out of her misery. So.”

  He gestured for them to leave.

  “Don’t let it slam on the way out, right? And have a pleasant evening.”

  Brother Lucius was livid. “You—”

  “—won’t regret this one whit,” Spike said. “In fact, it’s the most fun I’ve had in days.”

  “Brother,” Brother Enoch said softly, “perhaps we should . . .”

  Brother Lucius swept past him in a fury of indignation. Brother Enoch glanced pleadingly at Spike, who winked at him.

  “Tell the old boy not to get his knickers in a knot,” Spike said. “We’ve got the brat, and he’s alive and well. When you come through, we’ll come through.”

  “Yes. Thank you,” Brother Enoch murmured.

  “But you’d best hurry things along. We’ve been talking about changing him. We’ve always wanted a son.”

  He shut the door in Brother Enoch’s face. For perhaps five full minutes, he stood thoughtfully, smoking, playing out various scenarios. He had no idea why this was taking so bloody long. Still, he was British, and used to the slow wheels of bureaucracy. But that didn’t make him any happier about things.