“Not fun!” Willow jumped to her feet and shivered as another storm engulfed the massive edifice. The flash of lightning was visible through slits that appeared high in the stone walls. Stone walls that are moving, she realized as her eyes adjusted to the erratic bursts of light.
Willow quickly determined that she could either stand still and be crushed or climb onto the moving stone. She climbed. The instant she was clear of the floor, the stones slid together with a crash. In the next instant, the stones at the base of the new floor began to press inward.
Faced with the same two options again, Willow climbed. “Like I have a choice,” she muttered as the stones forced her upward to the pinnacle of the tower. She was being herded again, just as she had been when the lightning strikes had forced her to retreat into the tower in the first place.
Just like she had allowed herself to be bullied and manipulated in real life. Not always, but more often than she liked to admit.
Like when Principal Snyder wouldn’t take no for an answer about tutoring Percy. Willow frowned. The disturbing train of thought was set aside when it looked like she would be crushed between the last floor and the ceiling. However, as the top tier of stones moved inward, the ceiling stones recessed to reveal a dark, roiling sky. Tendrils of blue and gold lightning sprang from crimson clouds above her. Thunder rumbled and cracked, shaking the tower.
At least it’s not acid raining, Willow thought as she huddled on the stone platform high above the flat terrain that stretched unbroken toward the horizon. She waited for what might happen next, hoping there was no next.
Not very likely. Something had triggered the tower to alter itself, Willow reasoned. She hadn’t done anything that could account for it. But maybe Buffy did!
The elation Willow felt at that possibility vanished when the rock beneath her shifted and cracked. She realized the stone floor beneath her could suddenly recess back into the walls, which would leave her hanging in midair. For about a split second before I plunge to my death on the ground. Don’t think so.
Willow leaped for the wall that ringed the top of the tower just as the floor dropped out from under her. Sharp stone edges cut into her hands as she clung to the cold, damp stone watching skeletons and partially decomposed bodies emerge from the wall. One by one they dove off the tower, screaming until they impacted on the hard ground.
Willow hung on, her fingers bleeding and cramped with cold, fighting an overwhelming urge to throw herself screaming off the tower.
Instinctively, she knew that the moment she hit the ground in the Tarot world, she would die in her real life.
* * *
The taunting, accusing images were relentless in their attack. Buffy tried to run from them, but the distorted world of the Tarot shifted the landscape so she was running in circles. Haunted and hunted by the violence of her past, she fell on her knees and began digging in the sand. Since she couldn’t run from the memories that pursued her, she would bury them so they couldn’t rise to plague her again.
The dead don’t remember.
Granules of glass stung Buffy’s palms and salty tears stung her eyes. The angry apparitions drawn from her past formed a ring around her, taunting her as she worked. Sand seeped in to fill up the hole as fast as she scooped it out. Furious and frustrated, she clenched her fists and started to scream.
The sound never left her throat.
A sudden burst of insight stopped Buffy’s self-destructive plunge into insanity.
The Tarot was pitting her against herself.
Buffy drew a long, calming breath and brushed a strand of tangled hair off her face. The nature of Tarot was to create a state of self-examination that would enlighten. Or in the case of Kali’s deck, she realized, to condemn.
She couldn’t hide from herself, her past, or her future without rejecting her Slayer identity.
And being the Slayer was a sacred trust she would never abandon, even if she could.
Screeching in defeat, the images blinked out one by one.
Renewed strength flowed from an inner reservoir to re-energize Buffy’s sense of self. She did not have to apologize for or defend her actions.
But I do have to defend myself, she thought as Justine’s narrowed gaze snapped to meet hers. Apparently, the artist had just finished a couch session with her own psychic demons and was ready to fight for her survival.
Buffy braced herself as Justine advanced. Although surprised, she didn’t flinch when a gross, vaguely female countenance superimposed itself over the artist’s form.
“Kali, I presume?” Buffy asked, but she had no doubt. The dark goddess looked exactly as Giles had described her, and it wasn’t hard to understand why Kali had it in for the universe. She was clearly a contender for “most hideous” among the ugly, disgusting demons Buffy had previously encountered.
Kali was an emaciated hag with long, black tangled hair that fanned behind her in wild disarray. Piercing black eyes burned in an angular face accented by dripping, crimson fangs. She wore a necklace of skulls and carried a blood-soaked sword in one of her eight hands. Hundreds of metal bracelets jangled on her arms and shrunken heads dangled from her belt.
On a fashion scale of one to ten, Buffy gave her a retrospective eight. The “Bloodthirsty Barbarian” look hadn’t been in since the fifth century and Attila the Hun. Marveling at the bit of high school history trivia she had retained, Buffy subtly shifted her weight to repel an attack.
The image of Kali vanished as Justine snarled and lunged. Presumably untrained in combat, the artist moved with a speed and agility that caught Buffy off guard. She staggered as Justine plowed into her, recovered, and kicked. Her foot barely missed her mark as Justine jumped clear, whirled, and landed a brutal blow at the base of Buffy’s neck, which dropped her to her knees.
Reeling, Buffy shook her head, then ducked and rolled to avoid another powerful strike. Leaping to her feet, she circled her sneering opponent. Justine held her gaze, confident that she could easily smash her foe. Kali’s image had disappeared, but the powerful goddess had clearly not abandoned her pawn. She and Justine were evenly matched in a brawl to the death.
Matching Justine’s superior stare, Buffy smiled, disarming the empowered artist for a moment. She had already won the ultimate battle when she had prevailed against the darker side of her own nature. Infused with Kali’s power, Justine might win the battle of good and evil, but she could never get Buffy to surrender.
She was the Slayer.
CHAPTER 15
Behind Giles, flames and hot bits of brimstone continued to shoot out of the rift. Kali had probably created a fire wall to keep them away from the paintings, as the paintings now appeared impervious to heat and flame. Although the dark goddess could not physically breach the Hellmouth barrier, he believed her powerful rage had broken through. He could barely make out the still forms of Buffy and Justine beyond the roaring fire, but they, too, were unaffected by the inferno.
“Shouldn’t we retreat?” Anya asked.
“Yes, good idea.” Giles turned to see Willow and Oz standing where he had left them. “Willow! Oz! Run back!”
Angel was on his hands and knees, staring into the fire that surrounded Buffy.
“Get back, Angel!” Giles yelled as he ran. Ahead of him, Oz suddenly collapsed. Anya zoomed by him and Willow. Willow was walking, he noted with chagrin, but at least she was moving under her own power.
Giles dropped to one knee by Oz and quickly felt for a pulse. He was alive, but had finally fallen into a coma. A blast of ball lightning zoomed over his head. It barely missed Willow and slammed into the wall in an explosive burst of blue-white light.
“Look out!” Anya pointed, then threw herself on top of Xander, who was stretched out on the floor.
“Willow! Duck!” Giles flattened himself over Oz while keeping one eye on the dazed girl.
Willow’s response time lagged by seconds. Stumbling back toward the entrance, Angel grabbed Willow’s leg and toppled her. The spher
e of energy barely missed her head as she fell, but tendrils of electricity radiating off the supercharged projectile singed her hair.
“Down! Stay down!” Giles belly-crawled forward dragging Oz by the wrist.
Willow folded into a still lump on the floor.
Out cold or merely following instructions—literally? Giles inched up beside Angel and the fallen girl. He shook her shoulder, but she did not react. The absorption process was accelerating just as he had suspected. “Angel—”
The vampire’s tormented gaze was riveted on the inferno. On the far side of the raging fire, Buffy was on her feet, and Justine was still frozen in her chair. The showdown within the painting wasn’t over, yet.
“Angel!” Giles shouted and shook him, but the vampire had also, apparently, fallen into a state of catatonia.
“Anya!” Giles rose on one elbow. “I could use your help here.”
“I’m not leaving Xander!” Anya flattened, shielding Xander from another lightning strike.
“Of course,” Giles muttered. “Heaven forbid something should happen to the rest of us.” Rolling Oz onto his side, Giles pulled Willow to the wall first. A lightning ball detonated above him, showering him with sparks. The stone at the point of impact turned black and smoldered.
“There’s an overhang over there.” Giles pointed to a ledge beyond the entrance. “It might afford us some protection.”
“Fine.” Anya craned her neck to look. “Xander first.”
“I think it might be prudent to retrieve Oz first, don’t you?” Giles asked. Her devotion to Xander was charming, but incredibly inconvenient most of the time. At the moment, Xander was as safe as possible under the circumstances. Oz was in imminent danger.
“All right.” Anya crouched to run.
A loud boom reverberated through the cavern.
Giles looked back as a stream of molten rock and metal oozed through a break in the rock floor a few feet from Oz’s position. Just as Giles was about to charge forward, Angel struggled to his feet and clamped onto Oz’s wrist.
“Over there, Angel!” Giles waved toward the ledge on the far side of the entrance. Dragging Oz, Angel hobbled for the wall with the ground splitting open at his heels. Giles turned to pick up Willow.
“Help,” Anya grunted. She couldn’t budge Xander and blindsided Giles with big, brown eyes. “Please?”
“Yes, well—quickly, then.” Slipping his arms under Xander’s shoulders, Giles hauled him to the ledge. Leaving Anya with Angel to help get Xander under cover, Giles darted back to Willow. He scooped her slim body into his arms and turned away as a large chunk of rock crashed where she had lain.
With everyone safe and jammed into the tight indentation under the rocky overhang, Giles turned his attention back to the chaos Kali had unleashed. Screaming tornadoes ripped through the cavern slicing rock and drawing fire into swirling funnels. Ball lightning rampaged and the molten streams widened and pooled.
“Shouldn’t we just get out of here?” Anya shouted in Giles’s ear.
“No! Xander must be near the painting when it’s destroyed or he’ll die!” Giles motioned toward the paintings lined up along the wall on the far side of the cavern. A storm of fire and falling rock raged around them, but they remained unharmed.
“Great! We can’t even get near them!” Anya scowled.
“Maybe I can.” Angel inched forward.
“I don’t think so,” Giles said. “Something in this cavern is having an adverse affect on you. Buffy would never forgive me if I let you burn.”
“If she lives.” Angel’s gaze snapped back to the Slayer.
“She will.” Giles glanced toward the blazing center of the inferno. Buffy, Justine, and the Judgment painting remained in a bubble of calm at the center of the storm.
“She’s not exactly tackling this problem with her usual reckless gusto.” Anya scoffed and glared at the immobile Slayer.
“I beg to differ.” Giles allowed himself a slight smile. “Buffy is putting up rather a good fight. In fact, I daresay she’s winning.”
“Winning?” Anya arched an eyebrow, her tone sarcastic. “And you’re basing that assumption on what?”
Giles motioned toward the rampaging elements. “Kali is throwing a tempest tantrum.”
“A lot of good that does Xander,” Anya huffed.
* * *
“Don’t you ever give up?” Xander stared at the hooded manifestation of Death that had relentlessly stalked him across the barren desert for the past several hours. “Or talk?”
The Grim Reaper moved forward without a word, the cadence of its steady pace unbroken.
Xander eased out from behind the boulder where he had tried to hide. To no avail again. Death had dogged and found him without fail. No matter where or how far he had gone, it just kept coming.
“Kind of like the real thing,” Xander muttered as he moved out along the base of the ridge. Jagged peaks unadorned by brush or tree or even a blade of grass rose into a gray, cloudless sky.
Spotting what looked like the darkened entrance to a cave, Xander broke into a jog. Why bother? he wondered. The black entity under the hood would just keep coming. Until it catches me. And then what?
Maintaining a pace that put a little distance between himself and Reaper Man, Xander tried to puzzle it out. In Tarot, death didn’t necessarily mean Death. Change based on destruction, yes, but not the big end-all. Then again, this isn’t your ordinary Tarot.
Stumped, Xander slowed to a walk and glanced over his shoulder. The distance between him and the dark figure was the same. No, he realized. The distance had closed—a lot. Which means what? That I’m running out of time?
Faced with the possibility that death really did mean Death within Justine’s Tarot painting, Xander broke into a faster jog, his thoughts racing. He assumed Giles, Buffy, Willow and Oz were working on getting him out. If they succeeded, then no problem. If they didn’t, he was doomed to keep running for his life until the end of time.
Which sort of describes my real life, too. No matter where I go or what I do, I can’t get away from my real self. Present circumstances excepted, he thought, referring to his confinement in the Tarot painting. Not an acceptable alternative.
Xander stopped in front of the cave and peered inside. He couldn’t tell what lay in the total darkness beyond the entrance. Like the future that stretched before him, the interior of the cave was unseen and unknown. And it filled him with dread.
Which might explain why I don’t want to grow up and leave childish things behind. Like water balloon fights and detention for chewing gum in class or worrying about having a date for the prom. I should give all that up? For what? A mortgage and quarterly job performance reports? Xander stared into the cave for another moment, then turned away.
To find the Grim Reaper had gotten a lot closer a lot faster.
Xander swallowed hard, then froze when he realized the ridge had shifted position to effectively cut off his escape. He was left with two choices: brave the scary unknown dark in the cave or confront Death.
Oddly enough, death was inescapable regardless of which option he chose. It was just a matter of sooner or later.
As Xander gazed into the infinite black shrouded by the Grim Reaper’s hood, he was suddenly certain of one thing. Something he had avoided thinking about since his whole bizarre adventure in Tarot-land had started.
If the figure caught him, he would die.
* * *
Justine fought with the ferocity of a crazed animal. She kicked and flailed to pull free of Buffy’s stranglehold.
Exhausted, bruised, and bleeding, Buffy held on through the force of her own will. Justine’s strength and determination, enhanced by Kali, had made her more than an equal match. Although Buffy’s body didn’t physically exist within the painting, she had felt the effects of every blow, scratch, and gouge Justine delivered. The sustained struggle was starting to wear her down and the artist knew it.
Buffy flinched when Justine
raked her cheek with hard, perfectly manicured nails and her grip loosened. She let go when Justine’s teeth sank into her arm.
Justine whirled and rammed her.
Buffy lurched back, tripped, and fell. The impact forced the imagined air from her lungs, stunning her.
Crouched to attack, Justine smiled through her snarl. “Give it up, Buffy.”
Breathless, Buffy couldn’t answer. She focused on Justine’s narrowed gaze. If the artist pounced now, Buffy realized, she wouldn’t be able to defend herself. She couldn’t even move to shake off the huge blue snake slithering up her leg. However, Justine’s arrogant pause bought her precious seconds.
“You’ll exist in this hell forever, Buffy.” Justine kicked a lizard into a putrid pool of steaming green gunk. The creature screamed as it scrambled out. Its shimmering red scales were charred black and began to flake. Justine laughed. “You can’t win, Buffy.”
“Actually—” Buffy’s hand whipped out and closed around the snake. Glittering yellow eyes blinked with surprise as she hurled it into the air, then leaped to her feet. “—I can’t lose.”
Justine took an uncertain step back. “Wrong. You’re no match for Kali.”
“Probably not.” Buffy shrugged, unconcerned. “But there’s a big difference between taking on the real Kali and fighting a surrogate.”
“Kali is here.” Justine thumped her chest with her fist. “With me.”
“Which has given you a remarkable advantage, I admit,” Buffy said, “but it’s still you in your virtual body, Justine, and Kali can’t prop you up forever.” She was painfully aware that the advantage was real, but it couldn’t hurt to try and drive a wedge into Justine’s confidence. Neither one of them had a physical presence within the Tarot painting. They were both relying on the inner strength of their personalities.
“Don’t count on it,” Justine sneered.
“I won’t.” Buffy struck quickly and surely, planting a swift kick to the artist’s chest. The blow staggered the woman, but she stayed on her feet. Buffy followed through with a left hook to the jaw.
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