by Mel Odom
Willow nodded. “It’s what has to be done.” And she was always better at things that had to be done. Even if she later regretted them.
Shing stepped to the edge of the pentagram but she didn’t cross over. Her face showed concern. “You should not do this by yourself, Willow.”
“It’s okay,” Willow said. “I can do this.”
“The forces you’re inviting into this room, into yourself, they’re strong. The one who contacted you has a fierce need to save his grandchild. He may try to possess you in order to do that.”
“I don’t think so,” Willow replied.
“You’re not sure.”
Willow tried to hold her gaze, wanting to handle the risk on her own as much as she could, but she couldn’t win against Shing’s knowing gaze.
“You are the first line of defense against those spirits,” Shing stated. “If they get through you, they will be at every person in this room. The doors you open to the rooms you will visit don’t contain only friendly forces. False pride or thinking that you’re the only one who faces danger here will not help you succeed.”
How does she know so much about this stuff? Willow wondered.
“She’s right, Will,” Buffy said. “Let one of us act as your anchor.”
“Two,” Shing said.
Willow saw the look of irritation Buffy shot Shing. The chemistry there was off, but Willow didn’t know why. Of course, she wasn’t entirely sure what the job of a Spirit Guardian entailed either.
“Two,” Buffy said. “I’ll be one of them.”
“No,” Shing said. “It can’t be you.”
“Why not?” Buffy demanded.
“It must be Oz,” Shing said. “He best represents the emotional and physical motivation Willow has to fight against anything that would stop her safe return.”
Oz moved instantly, crossing the pentagram lines without touching them and sitting down in front of Willow.
“It could be dangerous,” Willow apologized.
“Dangerous can sometimes be exciting,” Oz said. “As in aphrodisiac.”
Even though the moment was serious and he’d said it without a lot of eyebrow waggling, Willow couldn’t help but be amused. Oz could be like that, could move her right out of a serious moment into fun. “You,” she said distinctly, “are a doof.”
“I’m your doof.”
“Okay,” Xander said, “the doof gets one of the seats on this wicked little ride through the Other Side. That leaves a seat open, and I’m claiming it.”
“No,” Shing said, looking at Xander. “Your presence would complicate the mix and prove distracting.”
Willow’s face colored a little at the reminder of the hormonal spark that had passed between her and Xander not so long ago.
“Then it’s me,” Buffy said.
“No.”
Buffy’s hands closed into fists and she turned on Shing. “I’d be the best choice. I’ve been friends with Willow for a long time. It only makes sense.”
“If it made sense,” Shing replied, “I would agree.”
Giles stepped between Shing and Buffy, and Willow thought that was one of the bravest things she’d ever seen the Watcher do. “If I may intercede for a moment.”
“Sure,” Buffy said coldly, folding her arms and not looking at Giles at all.
“Shing, if I may ask, who is the third person that you would recommend?” Giles asked.
“I should go,” Shing stated quietly. “I can provide guidance that none of you can.”
“Oh,” Buffy said with a trace of snideness, “that’s right. I forgot that you had intimate experience with this aspect of things.”
Willow didn’t know what Buffy was talking about, but the intensity was getting extreme. “Uh, guys?”
They looked at her.
“Calm. It’s kind of a key issue when you’re doing stuff like this. The spirits really don’t like having their jollies disrupted if they’re in a quiet place, and going in after them while you’re angry or upset is the equivalent of wearing a Kick Me sign on the first day of school.”
Shing moved closer to Buffy and spoke more softly. “You know what I’m saying is true. And I will take care of her. I swear this to you.”
Angel joined Buffy, taking her by the elbow to let her know he was there. They didn’t say anything. They didn’t have to.
Willow watched the uncertainty play across Buffy’s face but didn’t know where it came from. What is it about Shing that gets under Buffy’s skin so much? Willow guessed that it probably had to do with the way Xander was fawning all over her, but how serious could that get in two days? Then she remembered that it was Xander.
“Okay,” Buffy said, relaxing a little. “You go. But I want my friend back. Whole. Healthy. Sane. All the things I like best about her.”
Shing bowed her head, then stepped inside the pentagram.
When the swordswoman entered the protected circle, Willow felt the temperature drop to something just short of freezing.
“What—?” Willow began.
Oz shook his head. “Later. We’re okay here.”
Shing sat, carefully positioning her weapons so they wouldn’t be in the way. She took Oz’s and Willow’s hands, and Willow felt fingers so cold in her own.
Willow began chanting, drawing on the well of power that she had found within herself.
Guide to borders dark and light,
Grant to me the path I seek.
Not to wreck the barrier,
And ever wanting to be meek,
Show me to the one who needs me,
Show the one to me that I need.
Let our needs be one.
One to one.
In the past when going exploring on the Other Side, Willow hadn’t had much luck. At least, she hadn’t shown a consistent ability to succeed in contacting something or someone. But tonight, with Oz and Shing holding her hands, she lost herself completely between heartbeats.
Buffy watched the sÈance tensely. Static electricity filled the room, pulling at her hair. She reached out and took Angel’s hand, letting him be her anchor.
“Hey,” Xander said to Giles, “what’s with the worried look?”
Buffy looked at her Watcher. Giles shook his head.
“You know,” Giles commented, “she’s under. I’ve never seen anyone go under so quickly outside of an actual possession. And this isn’t exactly safe here, given the dynamics of the group inside that circle, or what’s lying out there that Zhiyong is interfering with. She could go so far into the Other Side that she can’t find her way back.”
“What do you mean she might not find her way back?” Xander demanded.
“Every time a living person crosses over to the Other Side,” Giles said, “there’s that risk. The places they find themselves in, or the people they talk to, might prove to be too much of a lure. Paradise. On the other hand, there are malevolent spirits that—”
“Giles,” Buffy said. “Perhaps now isn’t exactly the proper time for a lesson on sÈances.”
“Right.”
Buffy turned and looked at Willow. Don’t be gone long, Will. It wouldn’t be the same without you.
* * *
Willow blinked and the pentagram, Oz, and Shing went away. When she opened her eyes again, she stood high on a mountain looking down onto a slow-moving river. Verdant forest surrounded her, shading her from the noon sun.
“That is the Fuchun River,” a pleasant voice informed her.
Spinning quickly, weirded out because her previous explorations of the Other Side hadn’t included such sharp sensations, Willow stared at the man standing behind her.
He was short and small-boned, reminding Willow of a sparrow. A gray fringe of hair surrounded his head. He wore dark gray robes, contrasting with his parchment yellow skin. “I am Pak-lah, Lok’s grandfather. That is Tonglu County where I make my home these days.”
“Home?” Willow asked, confused. “But you’re—” She stopped herself.
“Okay,” Willow said. She glanced back at the river, watching the small sailboats cutting across the blue waters. Everything seemed so real.
“You came here because of my grandson,” Pak-lah reminded gently.
Willow started, jarred by the persistence of problems here when everything was the epitome of tranquillity. “Yes. You know what happened?”
“Of course. I spent much of my strength helping to protect you from the sight of Zhiyong’s lesser demons. But without you, there would be no chance for Lok.”
“I failed,” Willow admitted. “Back in the cave, I didn’t try to follow them. I should have. But something told—” She stopped, feeling like there was no need to explain further.
“You thought your friends might know where to find Zhiyong,” Pak-lah said.
“Yes. And now Jia Li is in as much danger as Lok is.”
The old man nodded. “I know, Willow. I brought you here to set this to right. When I chose you, I knew your strengths and your weaknesses.” He smiled. “I chose wisely, and for you to fault yourself in any way would be to insult my own choice.”
“I’m sorry,” Willow said.
“No,” the old man said. “I am sorry that your life had to be intertwined with Lok’s fate. But there was no other way. I protected him for many years from the ghost of his ancestor.”
“Mei-Kao Rong,” Willow said.
“Yes. It was a most arduous task. I, myself, was familiar with spirits and ghosts, now I find that I am one.” Pak-lah grinned. “Or perhaps I was a spirit or ghost who for a short time found himself to be human.”
“Why is Lok so sensitive to the guei?” Willow asked.
“It would be just as simple to explain why the sun rises in the east,” Pak-lah said. “Or why you have the gift for spellcraft or how it is that your friend Buffy is the Slayer. Some things just are. Lok is sensitive to the guei. However, Mei-Kao Rong’s hold on him is far stronger than any other ghost will ever have. Once Lok gets his ancestor properly laid to rest, he will be able to handle the burden that has been laid on him.”
“That’s good to know.”
“Time is growing short, Willow,” the old man said. “I would have my grandchildren back home and safe.”
“If we can find Zhiyong,” Willow replied, “I promise you we’ll try.”
“That is all I can ask.” Pak-lah reached out his hand. “Come, I will show you where to find Zhiyong.”
Willow took his hand and the world went away again.
Oz, tense and nervous and maybe more than a little bit scared, watched Willow. He held her hand tightly, feeling no grip at all coming back from her. The candles flickered, throwing uncertain shadows across her face.
Then she jerked and inhaled sharply.
Oz started to speak.
“Don’t call out to her,” Shing whispered. “Don’t speak. She will know your voice and listen to it when she needs to be paying attention to other things.”
Oz turned to Shing. He’d known from the very first that something was different about her. As a werewolf, even in human form, his senses were usually sharper than a normal person’s were. And his senses now were telling him Shing was anything but normal. He looked at her, silently demanding.
“She is fine,” Shing replied, her eyes focused totally on Willow. “Things on the Other Side are often not what a person would expect. Willow is finding surprises there, but no harm. Not yet.”
Not feeling a whole lot better, but having to trust Shing’s judgment, Oz turned back to Willow and watched her carefully.
When Willow opened her eyes again, she was in a graveyard. Not a cemetery, but a junkyard, a place where old used cars came to die. Stacks of smashed cars made rows ahead of her, creating a maze. The moon burned down, clear and bright, and drew hard-edged shadows against the ground.
“I know this place,” she said. “It’s McCrory’s Salvage Yard, just east of Sunnydale.” They stood just inside the front gate. A ten-foot-high wall made of hurricane fencing and sheet metal topped with barbed wire strands enclosed the junkyard. Gravel-covered one-lane roads twisted through the stacks of cars. Potholes, some of them nearly ten feet across, held pools of cloudy gray water, runoff from the limestone rocks.
“Yes,” Pak-lah replied, starting through one of the rows that lay ahead of them. He walked across the pool in front of him, not even stirring up a ripple.
“When I was a kid,” Willow said, choosing to walk around the pool because she didn’t know if she’d sink or not, “we used to tell stories about this place. You know, involving murders and ghosts and stuff.”
“This salvage yard,” the old man said, “is big enough for the spell Zhiyong is working on. And it is a nexus for power upon occasion. The Hellmouth manifests its power in different areas. The purebred demons, when working through the proper avatar in this world, can use that power at times.”
A cold certainty filled Willow. “Tonight’s one of those nights, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Kind of convenient for Zhiyong to find the bodies of Mei-Kao and the others tonight,” Willow said. She glanced up at the tall stacks of cars on either side of her, wondering how much wind it would take to topple them. Not a good thought, she told herself. Too much squishiness involved. She tried to concentrate on Pak-lah.
“This place doesn’t just hold the power tonight, Willow,” the old man said. “For twenty-four days, beginning five days ago, the power existing in this nexus can be tapped. Zhiyong knows that because Sharmma told him.”
“Zhiyong could have waited.”
“He is not a patient man.” Pak-lah turned left at the next intersection. “Nor would Sharmma let him be patient. For everything that Sharmma has given Zhiyong, wealth and privilege and power, Sharmma has also demanded. Any power that comes from without a person leaves that person vulnerable, no matter how strong. An individual must build power within himself or herself to fully attain it.”
“I know,” Willow said, talking even though she wanted to just be quiet, but she couldn’t because she was so nervous. “That’s how it is with witchcraft. Sure, there are the herbs and things, but those are just to set the mood. I tap into the power I have.”
The scritch-scritch-scritch of tiny claws on metal drew Willow’s attention. She glanced to the side and spotted a half-dozen huge rats lined up inside a burnedout car. Their eyes glowed red. One of them stood suddenly, rearing up on its hind legs, jaws open wide. Then it leaped, tail whipping from side to side and fangs flashing for Willow’s throat.
Willow dodged back frantically, trying to escape, and fell into a pothole pool without disturbing the water, just sinking into it.
Pak-lah moved quickly, but it looked like he was moving in slow motion. His forefinger darted in and touched the leaping rat’s nose.
The rat froze in midleap, hanging in the air.
Pak-lah gestured at the other rats and they all froze as well. He peered carefully at the rat stopped in midair. “One of Zhiyong’s sentries,” he stated quietly. “It is only a minor demon, but it proves Zhiyong is being very careful.” He stroked the black fur gently, then stepped back. In the next second, the rat was a yellow-green Luna moth.
When Willow looked, the other rats were moths as well.
“Given new forms,” Pak-lah said, “these minor demons will find new things to do, be more a part of the yang in the world than the yin.” He extended his hand and effortlessly pulled Willow from the pothole.
Even when Willow stepped from the pool, the water remained undisturbed. She felt her clothing, surprised to find that she was completely dry. Tentatively, she stuck her foot into the water. Her foot passed through the water and touched bottom. She felt cold but not wet. Glancing up at the old man, she asked, “How?”
“You are still a part of the flesh world, child,” Pak-lah said. “Your mind insists on certain constrai
nts. Do not fret. Only the most trained mind can enter this place and make it bend.” He stretched a hand toward the pool.
Twisting like a bashful and happy puppy, a gray tendril of water came up from the pool and threaded through the old man’s fingers. He smiled up at her. “None of this is to be feared, Willow. Only Zhiyong’s machinations on this plane are harmful.” He pulled his hand back and the tendril slid smoothly back into the pool. “Come.”
“I want to learn how to do that,” Willow said, following him.
“In time, perhaps you will. The forces that you can call on are very strong, and you are still yet growing. Be patient.”
Be patient? I really would love to learn how to do that. Willow gazed back at the pool.
Then a great roar reverberated throughout the salvage yard.
Willow’s head snapped around and she spotted Paklah standing still ahead. “What is that?” she asked.
“Sharmma,” the old man whispered. “Zhiyong has awakened the demon.” He started forward again. “We must go quickly.”
Willow ran after him. “But I already know where Zhiyong is. I can lead my friends back here.”
“There is more that must be done. Zhiyong is closer to finishing the spell than I had thought.” Pak-lah’s legs flashed under the robe and Willow had to struggle to keep up.
They ran between the stacks of dead cars, past rats that turned to moths as they passed. Willow’s breath rasped at the back of her throat. “I’ll never remember the way,” she gasped.
“You will,” Pak-lah promised. “You’ll remember the way and more.”
They turned three more times, then the old man waved Willow into hiding beside a crumpled SUV.
Eerie green light filled the open clearing ahead, coming from the eyes and mouths of seven jade-carved dragons arranged in a circle. Inside the circle of statues, the thirty-five bodies of the lost miners were carefully arranged, feet toward the statues, heads toward the center. They were dressed in black-and-white silk robes, most of them only skeletons now with bits and pieces of dead flesh and wild hair hanging off of them.
