Ghoul Trouble

by John Passarella

  “Not so loud,” Lupa cautioned as she sat at the head of the table. “She’s still the brave little soldier.”

  Nash gnawed patiently on a dismembered hand, snapping off finger joints after she’d picked them clean, then tossing them into the overflowing bowl. She nodded her head toward the closed door with a look of disgust. “No way is that one ghoul material, I say.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Rave said, finishing a long strip of thigh meat.

  “What?” Nash asked.

  “You’re forgetting,” Lupa explained. “The ceremony doesn’t have to be voluntary. After the transformation it won’t matter anymore. She’ll be one of us, part of the troupe.”

  Nash licked her clawed fingers. “The glam one,” she said. “The brunette with the hot temper. She’s the better choice, is what I think.”

  “This one fell into our claws,” Lupa said. “She may not be the Slayer, but she doesn’t let her fear consume her. There’s a strength within her. I can sense it.”

  “Nothing but trouble, I say,” Nash replied.

  “Well, we need to increase our number,” Lupa continued. “We can use a new keyboard player. So it might as well be her. Besides, if she causes too much trouble, we can always kill her later. For now, I need her alive.”

  Carnie grinned. “Ah . . . Slayer bait.”

  “You really think the Slayer will come for her?” Rave asked.

  “We’ve seen the Slayer’s circle of friends,” Lupa said. “Imagine each and every one of them as a chink in her armor. They will lead her to us and she will sacrifice herself for them.”

  * * *

  Xander felt as exhausted as Oz looked. They had been searching Sunnydale for most of the day and well into the evening for any sign of Willow. For what it was worth, Willow’s parents had reported her disappearance to the police. Sunnydale’s finest had, of course, mentioned a twenty-four-hour waiting period even though they understood that, yes, it was completely out of character for Willow Rosenberg to just drop out of sight. Eventually they would go through the motions, put out an APB—if they even did that sort of thing for missing persons—hand out flyers and check bus terminals. Officially, they’d probably chalk her up as a runaway teen. Xander wondered if the police would ever admit to themselves, deep down, that Willow had probably run afoul of the unexplained phenomena that plagued Sunnydale. More likely, however, they had convinced themselves—for their own peace of mind—that Sunnydale’s history of death, destruction and disappearances was, really, not all that uncommon.

  Oz and Xander had checked all the usual haunts and all the places where the various Hellmouth denizens had, at one time or another, caused problems. They had even driven to the UC Sunnydale campus in Oz’s van and shown Willow’s picture around.

  Now Xander leaned against a tree in Weatherly Park and massaged his feet through his sneakers. “My blisters have spawned little blisters of their own.”

  Oz stood there with his hands stuffed in his pockets and just shook his head. “Go home. Get some rest.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m okay. I’m good.”

  “No offense, Oz,” Xander said. “But you look like hell.”

  “I’ll grab a coffee.”

  “At this point, you’d have to inject the java right in a vein,” Xander said. “Besides, remember what Giles said. We who fit the young-men-who-get-eaten profile should not be out wandering alone at night. We won’t do Willow much good in a stew pot.”

  “Any suggestions?”

  “We go home. Grab a couple hours shut-eye. Start all over again.”

  “I don’t know—”

  “Look, Buffy and Angel are out by now, looking for Willow,” Xander said. “The Slayerette flag will be flying at all times.”

  Oz sighed, giving in to the exhaustion. “Okay.” They started toward Oz’s van, which was at the far end of the park. “But just a few hours.”

  * * *

  “What’s the deal on this Solitaire guy? Should I be worried?” Buffy asked Angel. Since she’d told him about Solitaire’s contact with her mother and Giles, Angel had been quiet and thoughtful. The longer he remained quiet on the subject, the more nervous she became.

  They were patrolling Sunnydale Cemetery, on the assumption that whoever or whatever had dropped Robert John Wallace’s femur and high school ring there might return to the scene of the disposal. Afterward, she and Angel planned to revisit Weatherly Park, specifically the site of the bone pit. If the flesh-eaters were responsible for Willow’s disappearance and Buffy managed to get her hands on them, she had no doubt she could convince them to take her to Willow.

  “I’ve been trying to remember what I’ve heard about him,” Angel said.

  “So you never ran into him yourself?”

  Angel shook his head. “A vampire called Solitaire roamed across Europe. He traveled alone, seeking and killing powerful vampires. Many vampires feared this obsession of his. But that period predates me by over a hundred years. All I’ve heard are the legends—rumors really.”

  “Killing vampires, huh?” Buffy said. “Surprised nobody reported him to the Slayer union? That’s our job.”

  “He challenged them to duels. One on one,” Angel said. “I really can’t recall anyone talking about him for over a century. Guess I assumed he’d finally met his match, picked the wrong fight.”

  “Maybe this is a different bad guy,” Buffy said.

  Again, Angel shook his head. “It’s either him or somebody imitating him. Since we’re talking about a vampire here, I tend to believe the former. Challenging Warhammer to a duel certainly fits his pattern.”

  “Warhammer, not a vampire,” Buffy reminded him.

  Angel shrugged. “Say he’s looking for a new thrill. Maybe he became bored dueling vampires, which would account for his dropping off the underworld radar. Warhammer was the toughest fighter in the biker gang. Solitaire sought him out. Probably considered it a light workout, a sparring match.” Buffy stopped. Angel turned to her. “What?”

  “I just realized it’s been too quiet lately,” she said meaningfully.

  Angel caught her meaning. “Skull John.”

  “Even money Solitaire took him out.”

  “He certainly would have drawn Solitaire’s attention. And you—” Angel said, concerned. “From what he told Giles, your reputation apparently precedes you. You’re the main event”

  “So . . . while I’m trying to find Willow, this Solitaire guy is lining me up in his crosshairs.”

  “No, it’s personal with this guy,” Angel said. “He won’t strike from a distance. He’ll want you to see it coming.”

  “Great, maybe he’ll send an RSVP,” Buffy said and sighed. “Regrets only.”

  “He’ll bring it to you,” Angel said. “But you’re not alone. You know that.”

  Buffy kissed him lightly on the lips. “Ah, my guardian Angel.”

  * * *

  Oz might have caught a few winks in between all the tossing and turning. Thoughts of Willow in jeopardy had fended off his attempts to sleep, to get some rest He’d forced himself to stay in bed, restless, for a couple hours. Finally, he couldn’t wait around any longer. He’d climbed into his van and had driven across town with no particular destination in mind. Just searching, endlessly searching with no clue where to go next, but at least he was doing something. Then even that wasn’t enough. He pulled over to the curb, outside the entrance to Weatherly Park, where he and Xander had searched just hours ago. The location brought home the futility of the search. This is nuts!

  He stepped out of the van, slammed the door, and soon found himself pacing on the sidewalk, trying to think of something he hadn’t done, someplace he hadn’t searched. With a frustrated sigh, he sat on a bench next to a pay phone, elbows on his knees, hands pressed against the sides of his head.

  He breathed deeply, several times, trying to get control of himself.

  That’s when he realized something else had been bothering him.
And it only took a moment to put a name to it Vyxn. The band should be the last thing on his mind. Yet, there it was, like an itch under his skin he couldn’t quite scratch. He was missing their show. Their last set would almost be over by now . . . and that was driving him crazy. Withdrawal was a term that came to mind. Of course, Cordelia would probably chalk it up to raging male hormones.

  To take his mind off of Lupa and the rest of Vyxn, Oz decided to check in with Buffy, see if she’d found any clues to Willow’s whereabouts, even though he was sure she would have contacted him with any new information. Regardless, it was something to take his mind off of Vyxn. Then he’d call Xander and arrange to pick him up at his house to renew their search.

  Oz put change into the pay phone slot and dialed Buffy’s number, only to have her mother answer. He was about to leave a message with her when she stopped him midsentence. “Oh—wait, I think that’s her now.”

  A moment later, Buffy picked up the phone. “Oz, I’m so sorry. We haven’t been able to find anything new. This is driving me crazy, so I can only imagine how you must feel. Have you and Xander had any luck?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Have you guys managed any sleep?”

  “Does tossing and turning count?”

  “Not as much as it should, unfortunately,” Buffy said. “Giles keeps reminding me to keep up my strength. That goes for you guys, too.”

  “Buffy,” Oz said. “Thanks.”

  “We’ll find her, Oz,” Buffy said. “Willow is nothing if not resourceful and not just because of that whole Wicca power thing.”

  “I know.”

  Before he could hang up, Buffy said, “Giles dug up a reference in Arabic folklore about desert dwelling flesh-eaters. It describes ghouls as female desert demons with the ability to lure men into their clutches and, apparently, right onto the buffet table. Stay close to Xander. Don’t go out alone.”

  Good advice. As soon as I pick up Xander, I won’t be alone anymore. “How is Giles?”

  “Slightly broken,” Buffy said. “They want to keep him overnight for observation. Solitaire could have done major damage, but he only wanted to rough up Giles to rattle me. I told Giles nobody messes with my Watcher.”

  “Be careful, Buffy.”

  “You too, Oz.”

  After Oz hung up the phone, he called Xander’s house, only to discover that Xander had left home over an hour ago with a vague reference to the Bronze. Mention of the Bronze brought the itch back. Since Xander had already gone to the Bronze, Oz would have to drive there to pick him up. He might even catch the last song or two. Maybe get that itch out of his skin. It was a weak rationalization, but he didn’t have much choice anyway.

  Halfway to the Bronze, he caught himself speeding, clutching the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity. He realized he was desperate to see Vyxn before their show ended. And that brought back Buffy’s words . . . ghouls, female desert demons with the ability to lure men into their clutches.

  The Bronze.

  Troy had been attacked outside the Bronze.

  Willow had likely been on her way to the Bronze to meet Oz when she disappeared.

  Moreover, Xander—even though he had agreed to wait for Oz to pick him up at home—had gone to the Bronze. Had been lured there?

  Oz no longer fought the unnatural urge to see Vyxn. He wanted to see them as soon as possible. They would lead him to Willow.

  CHAPTER 10

  Xander had no idea why he’d returned to the Bronze. He was still exhausted after little more than an hour of sleep. All he remembered was sitting up in bed with the disturbing realization that he was missing the show. He knew if he hurried, he could catch the last set and then meet up with Oz afterward. That wasn’t being disloyal to Willow, was it? If it seemed irrational, even to him, he decided it was due to sleep deprivation. Simpler to just give in to the urge . . .

  When the last song ended, Lupa addressed the crowd, which was predominantly male. “Thanks, guys, you’re great! Come see our final show, tomorrow. Now go home . . . and you’ll see us in your dreams!” She laughed and the crowd roared, including Xander.

  Xander felt even more exhausted. What little energy he’d had, had fled with the last notes of the encore. Nevertheless, he found himself rising from his chair when he caught a look from Lupa. She held up her index finger and mouthed a single word: Wait.

  The rest of the band filed backstage. Lupa stepped down off the stage and sat opposite him at the small table. She placed the wireless microphone on the table. “Well?” she asked.

  “Killer show.”

  “Definitely,” Lupa said with a wry smile.

  Again, Xander was struck by her lack of perspiration. The hot stage lights alone should raise a sheen of sweat, he thought. “It borders on boggling that I’ve never heard of Vyxn before.”

  “We’ve been around . . . forever,” she said with another mysterious grin. “At least it seems that way. So, what took you so long?” Xander arched his eyebrows in question. “You came in during our last set.”

  “Ah, I was out looking . . .” Xander sighed and turned away as a wave of guilt swept over him. “Nothing.”

  She whispered his name, took his chin in her hand and turned his face toward hers. “Tell me what’s wrong, Xander.” Her voice was strangely hypnotic, compelling.

  “I—I was worried about a missing friend,” he said. “I should be out looking for her, not sitting here with you. No offense.”

  “None taken,” Lupa said. “Who is this missing friend?”

  “Uh—Willow,” Xander said. He wanted to tell her all about it, but resisted the . . . compulsion.

  “You and Willow are close?”

  “We’re best buds from way back.”

  “You don’t say,” Lupa said. “Listen, I’d like to do something to cheer you up.”

  “Probably not possible at the moment.”

  “Come back to the dressing room,” she said. “For autographs. I’ll even see if I can dig up a demo tape.”

  “I—I really shouldn’t,” Xander said, though the idea was mighty tempting.

  “Come on,” she said. “Just take a minute or two. Besides, I think Carnie has a crush on you. Hey, we could even ride you around in our van, look for Willow. She’ll be impressed when she sees you have the entire band out looking for her. What do you say?” Lupa noticed a couple high school-aged guys lingering near the table, eavesdropping and clearly envious of Xander’s position. She glared at them. Another time they would be tempting morsels, but right now they were an annoyance. “Go home, I told you.” They mumbled something apologetic and shuffled off, like good little sheep. “What’s it gonna be, Xander?”

  It was almost as if she knew he couldn’t refuse her offer. Just a minute or two, he thought, rationalizing. Just a minute or two couldn’t hurt. “Lead the way,” Xander said, finally giving in, a giddy smile on his face.

  None of the others seemed surprised to see him enter their dressing room. Carnie winked and said, “Hi, Xander.”

  Xander noticed all the band posters that had been taped up on the walls over the years, each signed by the members of the respective bands. He even saw a Dingoes poster with “OZ” scrawled on it. The inner sanctum.

  “You’ll never guess who his best friend is,” Lupa said to them as she closed the door.

  Carnie raised her hand and said, “Who is Willow, Alex?”

  “Wow,” Xander said. “How did you—?”

  He turned around to face Lupa, but in her place was a green-skinned creature with rows of sharp teeth holding the wireless microphone in a clawed hand. Xander realized he’d found the ghouls . . . or they’d found him.

  “Simple,” the ghoul Lupa said. “Willow’s almost like a sister to us.”

  She swung the wireless mike like a club.

  * * *

  Oz had missed the entire show. He knew because a bunch of high school guys were streaming out of the Bronze as he pulled up. They looked tired and dejected. An ach
e filled the pit of his stomach. He really needed to hear them perform again. He’d lost his chance for that, so he tried to focus on his other reason for rushing to the Bronze. Xander. He’d come for Xander . . . and to find out if Vyxn was somehow responsible for Willow’s disappearance.

  Somebody familiar from school was coming out of the Bronze. Oz edged through the crowd and called out. “Hey, Jake. Seen Xander lately?”

  “You know it,” he said. “Lucky jerk.”

  “What?”

  “Vyxn, well, the singer, Lupa, invited him backstage.” Jake shook his head in disbelief. “First he hooks up with Cordelia Chase. Now this. Can you believe his luck?”

  Unfortunately, Oz had the sinking feeling Xander’s luck had taken a decided turn for the worse. “Thanks, man.” Oz worked his way against the tide, through the last stragglers to find his way into the Bronze. Almost every table was empty. Xander was nowhere around.

  Oz knew his way backstage. The corridor was dark, but navigable. He found their dressing room. Black marker on a strip of masking tape spelled out VYXN. He listened at the door, heard nothing, tried the handle and opened the door.

  The room was empty.

  I’m too late.

  * * *

  “At least we know he was here, seen talking to the band before he disappeared,” Buffy said. She and Angel had joined Oz, but the three of them combined had turned up little additional information in the search for Xander. “What did the Bronze’s manager say again?” Buffy asked Oz for about the third time since she’d arrived with Angel. “No mailing address?”

  Oz shook his head. “Rust-colored van. Tinted windows.”

  “Not much to go on,” Angel said.

  “How did he contact them?” Buffy asked.

  “They contacted him,” Oz said. “Performed a song.”

  Buffy shook her head. “And he hired them on the spot. Why am I not surprised?”

  They had driven around for over an hour, in a widening radius, looking for that van but without success. Finally they had returned to the scene of the disappearance, the Bronze.

  Buffy sighed. “I should have seen this coming.”