“Shut up! Shut her up!”
Oz sprawled across Willow and clamped a hand over her mouth.
With Oz’s weight pressing on her chest and his hand blocking her mouth and nose, Willow couldn’t breathe. She stopped struggling, but she didn’t give up. She couldn’t escape the controlling power of the Hovan Tarot deck, but maybe she could dampen the effects.
“Are you going to be quiet?” Justine asked.
Willow nodded and gulped air when Oz took his hand away. As Justine moved toward her with the deck, Willow closed her eyes and whispered, “As the river flows let the mind be open to the sea. As the river flows let the mind be open—”
Oz pried open Willow’s clenched fist and Justine slipped the charmed Tarot deck into her hand.
* * *
From the hazy, but quickly-solidifying dungeon in the Devil painting, Oz was helpless to stop his actions against Willow.
He had found himself trapped in a bizarre dual reality when he had awakened that morning, simultaneously aware of his real surroundings and the world within the painting. His mind spanned the stream of consciousness that bridged his body and the painting, allowing him to perceive both realities even though the painting wasn’t present in the motel room.
Willow’s squeal was muffled as he clamped his hand over her mouth. Her large eyes widened in angry fear as she fought. He had always worried that his wolf-self might someday hurt Willow. He had never expected to turn his human hand against her.
His only consolation was the hope that Willow understood he had no choice. From the moment he had lured her out of the library, he had tried to break free of the heavy chains that bound him—and failed. Now, he retreated into the torment of the Devil card to escape the torment of the role he played in Willow’s capture.
Enraged, Oz shrieked and struggled against the manacles and chains that bound him. Cold metal cut into his wrists and ankles. The pain focused his thoughts and he realized that his connection with reality was fading at an ever-quickening rate. He gazed beyond the horned demon perched on a high ledge toward the opening in the walls that enclosed him. Black moss grew in grotesque abandon from cracks in the damp stone. The stream of light pouring through the small window mocked him like the devil creature guarding it.
Like the wolf that consumed him three nights a month, there was no escape from the Devil’s dungeon.
He had learned to cope with the wolf rather than letting it control his life. Now Justine had stolen his future, one that might have been bright. In spite of the artist’s intent to rip off his mind with the Tarot reading, the truths and conclusions revealed by the cards had been incredibly accurate.
Oz remembered it all in detail. He replayed the reading in his mind to keep himself from going mad with grief.
His identity card had been the Knight of Wands. “Black knight on an unknown quest,” Justine had said.
Quest for what? Oz wondered again as he had last night. He didn’t want anything more than to be with Willow and play music. He already had that.
Justine had drawn the Six of Swords as his second, covering card—success in spite of his anxieties. That had struck him oddly at the time. He wasn’t anxious about anything more earthshaking than missing a chord during a paying gig.
Then the Devil card had shown. Discontent and an inability to control his needs and desires—according to Justine. Oz had to discount the card’s implication. He had adjusted to the werewolf. He could adjust to anything.
Except losing Willow.
Oz peered through the still fuzzy dungeon walls into the motel room and stared at the woman he wanted more than anything, including the musical success foretold by the Eight of Pentacles that represented his life’s work.
Willow’s expression became increasingly remote as Justine proceeded with the Tarot reading that would siphon her persona and will into the Tower painting.
There, Oz realized, Willow would be alone in the midst of a chaotic storm.
Anger and despair surged from deep inside him. Oz shook his imagined fists, but the chains and manacles continued to hold.
The Devil laughed.
Oz forced himself to calm down, but the rage was a reminder of the dual nature depicted by the Two of Pentacles. Justine couldn’t possibly know about the wolf, which made that particular element of the reading all the more fascinating.
Having the moon card turn up had startled him, until Justine’s interpretation put it into proper perspective regarding his artistic abilities. The one thing he was committed to besides Willow was music. Success was relative. As long as he could play and get by, he’d be happy.
Now he might not get the chance to achieve those modest goals.
A shiver ripped through Oz’s psyche. Staying sane in the confines of his Tarot prison depended on his unshakable belief that Buffy and Giles would find a way to release him.
And Willow.
The hell Justine had created in her painting was nothing compared to the hell of knowing he had inadvertently betrayed the one person in the world he would gladly die to save.
CHAPTER 10
Buffy had no idea what time it was as she raced through Sunnydale toward the Golden Lantern Motel. Late, she realized as she turned onto the main avenue and crossed to the other side of the street. The artists’ display booths, locked up or stripped of pictures and crafts, lined the deserted sidewalks like skeletal sentinels. All the stores were closed, although small groups of people still wandered in and out of clubs and restaurants. Buffy hoped everyone else was safely tucked in at home or hotel.
“Buffy!” Anya called above the screech of tires. She stopped her car in the middle of the street, cranked the wheel, and parked at a skewed angle a few feet away from the curb. Her scowl was dark enough to protect a vamp from the sun.
Annoyed, Buffy just wanted to get rid of the lovesick girl. So did Xander at last report, and she was pretty sure Giles wouldn’t disapprove of a tiny fib that kept Anya at town’s length. Anticipating the question, Buffy answered, “I haven’t seen Xander . . . lately.”
“He’s probably at the Bronze with that artist.” Anya shoved the gearshift into park when the car started to roll. “I’m looking for Willow.”
Buffy was suddenly wary. “What do you want with Willow?”
“To help me cast a slow death by putting a rapid aging spell on Justine. Instant wrinkles and long life.” Anya smiled and shifted again. “And she said I’d be sorry.”
Buffy was off and running before Anya clipped a bumper steering away from the curb.
The motel was on the opposite side of Sunnydale from Giles’s place. The closer she got, the more she feared she was too late. She never expected to barrel around a corner and see Oz and Willow walking toward her.
“Willow!” Buffy stopped, taking a deep breath of relief. “Where have you—” The words died in her throat as the catatonic couple simply parted to walk around her. “You’re obviously not just out for a midnight stroll.”
Buffy whirled, then sprang as the light changed. She jumped in front of Willow and Oz, her hands outstretched as they stepped off the curb into on-coming traffic. “Stop!”
A car whizzed by, horn blaring.
Recognizing the same automaton state as Xander’s, Buffy yelled and pushed her friends to get them moving in reverse. “Back! Back!”
Willow and Oz stepped back onto the sidewalk and kept backing up.
“Halt!” Another wave of relief washed over Buffy when they obeyed. Their response time was better than Xander’s, which would make navigating back to the library a lot easier. “At least I had a practice round with Xander,” she muttered as she moved behind the pair.
“Buff—”
“Will?” Buffy turned the girl to face her. “Did you just talk?”
“Ho-van.” Willow’s intense struggle to speak didn’t show in the void of her expression and eyes, but she squeezed the word out of a mouth clamped shut by tense muscle and rigid bone.
“Hovan,” Buffy r
epeated. “What does that mean?”
“New.” Willow swallowed. “Deck.”
“Deck? Like in boat? Redwood?” Buffy paused. “Tarot! Which is so obvious.”
“Cree . . . ate.” Sweat coated Willow’s brow. “F-fat.”
“Create fat?” Buffy paused. “Or, okay, you probably mean ‘fate’—unless Kali’s got some twisted anti-weight-loss agenda,” she hurried along, sensing that Willow was losing her limited vocal powers.
“Kah-li. Per-fect or . . . or-der.”
“Got it. Kali’s perfect order.” Buffy turned Willow back around. She didn’t want to tax her strength. They had a long trek across town. The sooner Giles had Willow’s clues the sooner he’d figure out what evil mojo Justine had used to turn her friends into remote-control dummies.
* * *
Seated at the table, Giles wrote down the words Willow had transmitted to Buffy. “Fate?”
“That’s what she said. Well, actually, she said ‘fat,’ but considering the events of the past few days, I’m going to go with ‘fate’.” Buffy finished positioning Oz and Willow against the base of the upper book level and stood back. Giles had moved Xander to the floor, where he sat canted to the left against the stairs. “Sit!”
Willow and Oz sank into sitting positions on the floor without hesitation. The effect would have been comical if not for the seriousness of their condition and Justine’s unknown scheme. Giles turned his attention back to the riddle.
Fate? He wrote the word again, then again. “Yes, I think that’s the logical conclusion to draw.”
“Maybe. Talking at all was a major effort.” With the zombie brigade secured, Buffy sat down beside the librarian.
“Create fate.” Giles stared at the words.
“There was one other thing,” Buffy said. “Something about ‘Kali’s perfect order.’ ”
“Kali?” Giles grabbed his notes and doodles regarding the mysterious deaths that had occurred in towns Justine had visited across the state.
“So what’s going on?” Buffy asked. “In your opinion based on what I’m sure is brilliant deduction.”
Giles didn’t respond for a moment. He needed more time to puzzle through the new information, but Willow’s absent state indicated his earlier theory was correct.
“Justine has been participating in these community art festivals throughout the state,” Giles said. “Three people have lapsed into comas and died in each town she’s passed through in the past two months. Eighteen deaths plus four unfinished paintings equals twenty-two.”
“Twenty-two what?” Buffy frowned, confused. “Deaths or paintings?”
“Both.” Giles rose and began pacing, a habit that helped him to think. “If my assumptions are correct, and I believe they are, given their—” He gestured toward the catatonic crowd on the floor. “—condition, there are twenty-two Tarot paintings. The Major Arcana, to be more specific, which may explain Willow’s reference to the ‘new deck.’ ”
Buffy’s eye flicked to the Tarot cards spread across the table. “That’s the twenty-two power cards in the ancient Tarot, right?”
“Yes.” Giles nodded, impressed with Buffy’s recall. “I think Justine is empowering the paintings with the conscious essences of real people. Somehow she’s managed to transfer her victims’ emotional and mental processes.”
Buffy straightened. “The Tarot readings.”
“Most likely.” Giles sighed. “For what purpose, I can’t say just yet, but the victims slip into comatose states and die when the transfers are complete.”
* * *
Willow stared, transfixed by the white lightning snapping around the gray stone tower visible beyond the transparent library wall. So this is what it feels like to be in two places at once . . . mentally speaking. The double-exposure factor made her nauseous.
Thunder rumbled through the fading library, drowning out the sound of Giles and Buffy’s voices. The noise had kept her anchored, and she struggled to subdue a fresh surge of panic. Having an anxiety attack wouldn’t help. Buffy and Giles now knew what was happening with Justine’s paintings, and she had total confidence that the trusty librarian would also figure out why. So I’m not going to let a little thing like having my mind drained into a horror film set get me down . . . yet.
In that regard, staying mad would help a lot.
I’ve got a lot to be mad about, too, Willow thought defiantly. Xander hadn’t faded out immediately after his reading. Neither had Oz, although he had lost touch faster than Xander. So the whole steal-somebody’s-brainwaves process must be speeding up, and that can’t be good.
Willow didn’t want to dwell on the bad, which wasn’t totally illogical . . . for a disembodied person watching screaming skeletons throw themselves off a massive stone tower in a demon-powered Tarot card. Where I am but I’m not . . . thanks to Justine’s magic deck.
Willow had quickly figured out that the entrapment process had two insidious phases. Touching Justine’s Tarot deck did a lot more than prime the cards for a specific reading. It created a psychic link that allowed the artist to take control of the subject’s physical actions. The actual Tarot reading initiated the transfer of the subject’s mental capacity into one of the paintings.
The reading had been interesting, though . . . aside from triggering the mind whoosh. She had been too busy adjusting to life inside a painting to really analyze all the subtle aspects revealed in the cards. Now seemed like a good time. The methodical exercise would keep her occupied, so she didn’t turn into a deranged idiot before Buffy and Giles put her mind back where it belonged.
Although Willow knew she didn’t have physical substance within the painting, it felt like she did. She perched on a rock and concentrated, trying to remember each Tarot card and Justine’s interpretation.
Justine had dealt the Page of Swords first, which Willow knew was her personal Tarot ID for the reading. Even though she was female and not male, she did wear offbeat clothes and she was diplomatic and understanding . . . Even her rebellions—which were few and far between—were mild.
The Two of Swords was trickier to pinpoint, Willow mused. Based on her research, it indicated a tense relationship. The only relationship she could even remotely describe as being tense was with her parents. They saw her relationship with Buffy as a negative influence, and they were shocked to learn she was dating a musician. They didn’t understand her, at all.
The next card was too on the mark, Willow thought uneasily. Judgment was a Major Arcana card. It was also the fourth and last of Justine’s paintings—the one the artist hadn’t found a victim for, yet.
Willow flinched when a lightning bolt cracked and struck nearby. A second strike sent an electrical shock through the ground and into her foot. “Ow!”
She stood up and jumped aside just before a third bolt turned the rock into melted slag. This isn’t real, Willow reminded herself as a series of lightning strikes kept her moving toward the tower.
Willow didn’t have a problem with being destined to blend her mind with the Universal as the Judgment card had indicated. However, being blended with a Tarot card was not the mind meld she would have chosen. Still, the accuracy of Justine’s reading was eerie.
The cards that followed Judgment had sent conflicting messages; Ace of Cups for the beginning of a great love, while the Star combined spirit and an unconditional love.
Has to be Oz, Willow decided as she reached the base of the massive stone structure. The cut stones were huge and eroded. Almost like they’ve been exposed to decades of acid rain, she thought as she inspected the rough, crumbling surface.
Thunder rumbled in the distance. Willow turned to see a dark storm front rolling across a flat landscape. The ground in the wake of the driving rains turned to steaming liquid.
On the tower above her, a partially decomposed corpse screamed and plunged to the ground. Willow realized the effects of caustic rains and body bombs would not be pleasant, even if her corporeal form was merely a figment of
her imagination. She scrambled around the base of the tower and ducked through a narrow opening into a dark, damp chamber with seconds to spare before the storm arrived.
Determined to stay steady and sane, Willow sat still in the dark. She forced her mind back to the Tarot reading, her only anchor in the surreal world of the Tower card.
The Six of Cups probably didn’t have anything to do with Oz. The card foretold of new knowledge and opportunities. No problem there, but it also indicated that her happiness would come from things in the past. Willow was absolutely certain that everything that made her happy was in the present.
A spectacular barrage of lightning impacted on the tower. A web of pale blue and gold energies cascaded down the interior walls like a sparkling net.
Immediate circumstances excepted . . . which I really don’t want to dwell on.
The Major Arcana card Strength gave her some hope, though. It indicated that by refusing to give in to fear, she was using the “force of her character” to overcome a material enemy. At the moment, character didn’t seem like a very effective weapon against the power of the artist’s Tarot.
Justine the stupid or pathetically naïve, Willow thought with disgust, who doesn’t get that Kali wants to obliterate everything. Emphasis on everything.
The stone walls vibrated as thunder boomed directly overhead, showering Willow in dust and debris. She shivered.
Willow frowned . . . or the equivalent of a virtual frown because she didn’t really have a mouth, she just thought she did.
The Fool reflected what her family thought of her. Translate that as parents—again. Are they right? Willow wondered. Are the decisions I’ve made thoughtless and bad? She hadn’t just been thinking of herself when she decided to delay early college admission. Buffy needed her right now . . . as a friend and an undaunted defender of good against evil. So did Giles and Xander and Oz!
Still, in reflection, Willow realized that leaving the Slayerettes behind would leave a gaping hole in her life. What good is scientific success and a happy marriage—like the Sun card predicted—if the world is overrun by evil? Not a whole lot.
Doomsday Deck Page 8
