by Nancy Holder
Beside Buffy, Willow caught her breath. Buffy shot her a glance as Willow looked away. Her redheaded buddy was so gentle. It took a toll on Willow to see the things being Buffy’s friend made visible.
The assistant raised a hand and brought it down, an awkward gesture that meant “follow me.”
He led the laughing, uneasy crowd into a dark tunnel, past a row of little partitioned rooms that reminded Buffy of prison cells. The occupants were separated from the patrons by a wall of glass, and Buffy was glad. Because she needed some distance from what she was seeing.
There was a man whose body ended at his waist and a woman with a full beard and a very hairy back. Also, a guy who was double-jointed and could turn himself into a human pretzel. And a girl who turned into a leopard.
“It’s done with mirrors, at least in her case,” Giles explained.
Some of the freaks looked very sad. Others, as if they were bored. Maybe daydreaming of Anywhere But Here. Anyone but who they were.
There was a “pinhead,” which was a man with a normal-sized body but a very tiny head, and a guy with the beginnings of a third arm growing out of his chest. He looked straight at Buffy and winked.
Buffy pushed against Angel’s chest, and he held her, kissing the crown of her head. Then her temple, then her cheek.
Glad of the comfort, she squeezed his hand.
It got worse. It got very gross.
Then, just when Buffy didn’t think she could handle any more, the bad went away. The assistant led them into a room called Fairyland. Half a dozen little people—of the human variety—were dressed in ballerina tutus and caps made to look like flower petals. Holding cheap plastic light-up wands, they swooped around the room on wires. Music box music tinkled in the air.
Seven more little men were dressed like the Seven Dwarves, and they were kneeling before a glass coffin with their heads bowed. Inside the coffin lay the figure of a young girl with brown hair, her arms crossed over her chest. Her face was ashen; her lips, blue.
Buffy knew her dead people, and the woman looked real. As in, real dead.
She looked at Angel, who shook his head and whispered, “Heartbeat.”
Buffy gave her one last appraising look before she walked from the room with the others.
“Well, that was disgusting,” Xander said, as they trooped through the exit and rejoined the crowds. “Especially that last part.”
“That was the good part,” Willow argued. “Fairies.”
“You are a twisted woman,” Xander told her. “Those people were dwarves, Willow. Where does a carnival find twelve dwarves?”
“Little people,” Willow corrected him.
Xander said, “Okay. Sorry. Meanwhile, who thinks Snow White was dead?”
“She wasn’t dead. She had a heartbeat,” Angel said.
“We should pay close attention to what Angel has to say on this subject, because he’s had a lot of experience creating dead bodies,” Xander continued.
Angel did not smile.
“Okay, but she looked awful,” Cordelia said. “She needed more blush, at least.”
Buffy stopped listening as her senses jogged up to high alert. She knew they weren’t alone. Not alone, alone, of course, since they were surrounded by people. But alone in the sense of they weren’t the only people interested in the conversation they were having.
Without missing a beat, Buffy whirled around and ran back through the exit. She saw someone in the shadows creeping away. No problem for the Slayer, who put on a burst of speed and threw her arms like a lasso around—
“Principal Snyder!” she cried, instantly releasing him.
“Summers, what are you doing?” he demanded, straightening his tie.
“Oh. I thought…um…”
“No thinking,” Principal Snyder snapped. “Thinking is bad.”
He grabbed her arm and marched her through the exit, where Giles and the others all looked extremely busted as Snyder stopped and glared at them.
“What are you people doing here together?” he demanded.
“We’re…on a field trip,” Giles replied, then fell silent.
Willow stepped into the breach. “For the research,” she finished helpfully. “Did you know that in the Middle Ages, people watched morality plays, um…” She looked back at Giles.
“To learn about being good, moral people,” Giles concluded. “We’re looking for cross-references in symbols and icons to show the continuity from those days to these…days of learning about morality.”
“Fascinating,” Principal Snyder said, in a voice that added, so not. “This is what happens with budget cuts.”
“And you’re here for?…” Giles added. “The fun?”
“I’m here because in the last three days truancy has gone up sixty-eight percent, and I know this carnival is to blame.”
Giles looked puzzled as he pushed up his glasses. “But how can that be, seeing as the carnival just arrived?”
Snyder scowled at Giles. “What do you mean? They’ve been here since last Friday.”
There was a beat as everyone took that in.
“No,” Cordy said, glancing at the others. “Tonight is opening night.”
“Are you on something?” Snyder challenged her.
Giles waded in. “I think what Cordelia is trying to say, is that this is the first time any of us has been to the carnival. So she’s surprised by the truancy rate.”
“No,” Cordelia said again, and Xander grunted through clenched teeth, “Cor-de…lia.”
Willow jumped in. “She’s not surprised by the truancy rate,” she told their rat-headed principal, “um, because we have discovered during our research that most traveling…shows…promote truancy and job absenteeism.” She stared wide-eyed at Giles, who nodded, urging her to go on. She took a breath. “And it gets worse over time. It’s called the Running-Away-to-Join-the-Circus Effect.”
She nodded emphatically.
Everyone else nodded too.
Except Snyder.
“You honestly believe that,” Snyder said, looking at each of them in turn. They all nodded some more.
“Then I’m going to declare this whole place off-limits to students. Any student caught on these grounds will be personally expelled by me.”
“That’s a good policy,” Giles agreed. “I’m entirely in accord.”
Good thinking, Giles. Buffy silently congratulated him. If banning the carnival could keep kids away—
“I’m not sure you can enforce that,” Cordelia said. She looked at the others as they made silent pleas for her to shut up. “What?”
No one said a word, just kept looking strained.
“No carnival on school days, then,” Principal Snyder amended. “I’m sure I can enforce that.” He looked pleased with himself. “So enjoy the carnival tonight. Tomorrow, it’s forbidden territory.”
“You got it,” Xander assured him. “After tonight, we shun the carnival.”
Then Buffy heard someone else shuffling away just behind her. She looked at Giles, who was looking at Principal Snyder, and said loudly, “Oh, gee, I think I heard”—she searched for a name—“Jonathan. The other member of our research…club. We lost track of him,” she explained to the principal. “And so, I must go and find him.”
She dashed back into the freak show. It was dimly lit, and a large crowd was coming through, but she thought she saw the heel of a leather shoe disappear around the next corner. It resembled the shoes their Quasimodo guide had worn.
“Coming through!” she cried, but there were too many people. Unless she wanted to create a disturbance, there was no way she could plow through fast enough to catch up with the owner of the shoe.
Frustrated, she turned back and rejoined the group out in the breezeway. Except for Principal Snyder, they were all there, looking bewildered. Except for Giles. Giles was jazzed.
“Find anyone?” Willow asked.
“Thinking maybe our freak show tour guide,” Buffy replied.
<
br /> “I thought for a minute that he might be the guy in the fortune-teller tent,” Willow said. “But he was all ewww.”
Buffy said to Giles, “Why are you smiling?”
“Because something wicked this way has come,” he said. On her look, he elaborated, “Principal Snyder thought this carnival has been here nearly a week. But it opened just tonight as far as we’re concerned.”
“Yeah, so he doesn’t get out much,” Buffy said.
“Because, for starters, who would let him out?” Xander asked.
“We can ask people when they think the carnival came to Sunnydale too,” Willow suggested.
“Excellent thinking,” Giles told her.
She smiled, looking pathetically grateful.
The informal survey got a mix of answers ranging from two weeks ago to one week ago, to tonight.
“And it’s weird that it opened on a Wednesday,” Willow said. “Don’t things open on Friday nights? The beginning of the weekend?”
“Boys and girls, I’d say we have Rising liftoff,” Xander said and then burped. “I have to go,” he said. “I’m not feeling so well.”
“The carnival’s due to close soon,” Giles said, checking his watch.
“You have a nice watch too,” Willow murmured. “Because you have a job.”
Giles apparently didn’t hear her. He said, “Willow, tomorrow I want you to research anything unusual in the last two weeks—if, as Principal Snyder has insisted, the truancy rate has gone up, and also if there have been any unusual occurrences.”
“I’ll check the usual places,” she told him. “School records, police reports, internal memos.”
“Very good.”
“I’m thinking Angel and I really should go check out the Alibi,” Buffy said. Angel sidled up to her again and laced his fingers through hers.
A sudden crescendo of calliope music blanketed their conversation. The notes were hollow and cold. The tune sent ice-water fingers up Buffy’s spine, and she actually felt her heart skip a beat. Cordelia touched her chest as if she were having the same reaction, and Willow wrapped her arms around herself.
“Look,” Willow said, pointing.
A spotlight beamed a blue-white circle at the topmost car of the Ferris wheel. A figure in black rose from the seat and spread its arms wide. The figure was wearing a black cape. Long white hair flowed over its shoulders.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” cried a voice Buffy knew. It was Professor Caligari again. By the reverb, she assumed there were loudspeakers scattered throughout the carnival grounds.
“I am Professor Copernicus Caligari!” The figure in the Ferris-wheel chair bowed from the waist. “Thank you so much for coming. The carnival is now closed for the evening. Please come again tomorrow!”
The crowd around them hooted and cheered.
Cordelia muttered, “Talk about your freaks.”
Willow said to Buffy, “Do you think he looks like the guy in the woodcut?”
“I don’t know. The woodcut is pretty basic,” Buffy replied.
“Maybe the one we saw in the freak show was a robot,” Cordelia ventured. “Or someone dressed up like him.”
As Buffy stared up at him, something passed in front of her eyes. It was like light glinting off something metallic, or a camera flash. She shielded her gaze by raising her arm across her face.
And then it was gone.
She glanced at Angel, who raised his brows and said, “What?”
“Did you just see…,” she began, and then she couldn’t remember what had just happened.
She thought a minute.
“Yes?” he prodded.
“Nothing.” Nothing had happened. “I just felt funny for a minute. I’m okay now.”
“Then let’s go to the Alibi,” he said.
“You got it.” Buffy smiled at him. To Giles, “We’ll walk with you guys to the exit.”
They joined the lazy stampede. Buffy searched the faces of those around her. A couple was arguing. A boy in a stroller was crying. Nothing too out of the ordinary there, when you considered the noise level, the amount of people, and the expense of food and souvenirs. People even argued and cried at Disneyland.
Of course, I kept my cool all night, even with Angel here, she thought proudly. I’m the Slayer. I know how to maintain.
“Wonder if Willy will be in a talkative mood,” Angel said.
“If he isn’t, I’ll kick his ass until he is,” she told him. “I’ll kick all their asses.” She flexed her biceps. “I’m in great shape.”
He laced his fingers through hers and smiled hungrily.
Beside her, Xander slowed and covered his mouth. “It’s getting worse.”
“Well, if you’re going to vomit, for God’s sake, do it here,” Giles said loudly. “And not in my car.”
“Giles, that-that’s mean,” Willow said, rushing to Xander’s defense.
“Yeah,” Cordelia said. “Cold much?”
Saying nothing, Giles stomped toward the exit.
“God, Giles,” Buffy said slowly to his retreating back. She frowned. Then she said to Cordelia, “Maybe you should take Xander home. My watcher has PMS.”
“Buffy,” Willow murmured.
“What?” Buffy tossed her hair. “Does he think he can treat my friends that way?”
“I guess he does,” Xander said weakly.
“Well, he can’t,” she finished. “I won’t put up with it.” She raised her chin. “I don’t know why I have to have him around anyway. I don’t need a baby-sitter.”
“Woof. You go, girl,” Xander said.
“Are you okay?” Angel asked her.
She blinked. “Never better.”
“Because you seem…like you need a good kiss.” He smiled at her and held out his arm.
Smiling back at him, Buffy scooted into his embrace and trailed her fingers down his arm, putting her hand in the back pocket of his pants.
Meanwhile, Cordelia looked hard at Xander. “What is wrong with you? Are you going to vomit?”
“I don’t know,” Xander said, gasping.
“Do you need some water?” Willow asked.
Xander shook his head.
Giles huffed all the way to the parking lot, muttering to himself. Buffy scooted up a little so she could hear what he was saying.
“…lazy girl. Kendra, on the other hand, listened to me, performed her duties admirably. But Buffy…she just goes on about it however she pleases. God, she’s driving me mad…”
Buffy froze. Her breath caught.
“Buffy, he doesn’t mean it,” Willow murmured, drawing close to her friend.
“Who cares?” Buffy shot back, glaring at the back of Giles’s head. “Who the hell does he think he is? He has no idea what it’s like to be me. Where does he get off judging me?”
“Buffy, um, not so loud,” Willow said.
Buffy snickered. “Really, Willow, what could he do to me? Nothing. What is he? Nothing.”
She sauntered off with Angel in tow.
Forking off from the others, Xander and Cordy walked through the parking lot toward her car. As he opened the passenger-side door, she caught it and said, “Don’t throw up, okay? These seats are leather and oooh…”
“Gee, Florence Nightingale, I’m loving your concern. Maybe you should just tape my mouth shut,” he said irritably.
“Oooh,” she said again. She walked on steady feet toward the candy-apple-red classic Porsche 911 in the parking lot. It gleamed like the heart in the Tunnel of Love. It was beautiful. So beautiful.
Silver flashed before her eyes; it was probably the chrome detailing…
“You need beautiful things. There’s just not enough to satisfy you, but you have to try,” said a voice inside Cordelia’s head.
She was dizzy from wanting the Porsche. It was hard to stand there and stare at it without owning it.
“God, I would kill for a car like that,” she breathed.
“I’ll just bet you would,” Xand
er said dryly.
“Yeah,” she said, balling her fists. She smiled to herself. “I would.”
Chapter Seven
Tears streamed down Stephanie Hahn’s cheeks as she ran for all she was worth. Something was wrong; something was terribly wrong….
“Steph, will you slow down?” David demanded as they burst out of the forest, just a few feet north of the graveyard. “I am breaking into a sweat!”
“Oh my God, I totally ruined my life,” she groaned. “How could I say those things to Cordelia Chase? What was I thinking?”
“That you’re hotter than she is? Because you are,” her twin insisted, coming up beside her. “What is your rush?”
“It’s ten,” she said. “It closes at ten.”
She heard it then, the reedy, sweet call of the calliope, playing up and down her backbone, running along her forehead. Soothing, beckoning, promising…
It will be all right if I can get there in time. It was so stupid that we had to go to that stupid chess-club meeting. Something is wrong, but it will be okay if I can get back to the carnival. It will be okay.
He said I was beautiful. He told me I was the fairest in the land…
…the man in the mirror. If he can tell me that again, I’ll be all right.
She didn’t know why, but she did know it was true. Down to her bones, she knew that the carnival would make it all right.
And not just the carnival….
She put on a burst of speed, as she had last night when those…gang members were chasing them. That girl from school had saved them. It was all a mishmash now. She couldn’t remember most of it.
I was pretty. But I’m not anymore!
She was in an agony, and it hurt down to her soul. She used to be pretty, but her face had melted into what she saw in the mirror now. Hour by hour, she had watched her beauty fade. It had made her shake. Made her sick.
Until she had realized what to do: Come back to the carnival, and it would be all right. It was like a voice whispering: “Just come back. Come back. You are lovely.”
She dashed through the carnival parking lot, winding her way around the cars, hot tears in her eyes as she mentally willed the calliope to keep playing, please, keep playing….
