by Ray Garton
Then Mila laughed. The laugh burst out of her explosively, as if she’d been trying to hold it in. “I’m sorry, Willow, I’m not laughing at you. I just . . . I am surprised to find that you believe in Hindu mythology.”
“But I . . . I thought it was a religion.”
“It is a religion. It just doesn’t happen to be my religion.”
“You’re not Hindu?”
“Much to the chagrin of my parents, no, I am not. I have all these statues of Hindu gods and demons only because my brother made them and gave them to me. He is a devout believer, and I think the things he carves are beautiful, but I do not believe in any of the gods or demons they represent. I suppose you could call me an atheist with a Hindu background.” She smiled, but her smile melted when she saw the way Willow was staring at her.
Willow’s eyes were wide and her jaw slack. “You mean you don’t believe in any of it?”
“No.”
“So, if I told you that the Ravana statuette is supposed to be able to resurrect Ravana, you wouldn’t believe in that, either?”
Mila laughed. “No, of course not.”
“And you don’t believe that the Rakshasa could be revived, either?”
“No. Why?”
Willow sat beside Mila on the bed. “So you’d never try to resurrect Ravana and the Rakshasa, because you don’t believe in them?”
Mila laughed so hard she fell back on her bed, and so long that tears rolled from her eyes. “Of course not!” she said, her words coming sporadically through her laughter. “I would do no such thing!”
Relief rushed through Willow. Mila couldn’t possibly be involved in the killings if she didn’t even believe in the very creatures doing the killing. Unless, of course, she was lying. But Willow couldn’t believe that. Mila could not have faked so much genuine, teary-eyed laughter.
So Mila was okay, but now she thought Willow was a lunatic.
“I hope I haven’t offended you by laughing so hard at your questions,” Mila said as she wiped leftover tears from her eyes. “But you caught me off guard, Willow. What on earth would make you ask such things?”
Willow ignored the question and stood, saying, “I’ve really gotta go.” She headed for the door.
“Wait, wait!” Mila called, getting off the bed and following Willow. She laughed a little more as she followed Willow through the hall and to the front door. Still smiling, Mila asked, “Aren’t you going to tell me why you asked those questions?”
“Well, as a story, Mila, it’s a bit longish.”
“You’re not going to go back out there, are you? Let me put on some clothes and drive you home.”
“No, I’ll be all right,” Willow said. She opened the door and looked outside. “See? It’s stopped.” She smiled. “I’m really sorry for bothering you so late.”
As Willow started down the walkway, Mila leaned out the door and called after her. “But what about those questions you —”
“It’s really not important, and I’m late already. I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”
Willow hurried down the concrete stairs and to the sidewalk in front of the building. She stopped and looked in both directions, trying to work out the shortest route to the closest telephone, which was in front of the Handi-Spot Market. She would have used Mila’s, but Willow wanted to be able to speak freely to Giles.
The rain that had fallen so violently earlier had been reduced to a weak but chilling sprinkle; the moisture formed a thin mist that floated through the glow of streetlights like a ghost. But lightning flashed in the distance, followed by a muted crack of thunder. It could start pouring again any second. That didn’t matter.
Willow turned right, and at the corner of the block, she made another right.
She didn’t want to wait until tomorrow to show Giles everything she’d found on the Internet, especially now that she could tell him Mila was not a part of their problem.
At least two blocks ahead of her was a group of people walking in her direction in the middle of the road. Caught between the streetlight overhead and its reflection on the wet pavement, they were black figures that melded into one single shadow.
Just to be safe, Willow crossed to the other side of the street.
Giles’s mind was preoccupied, but he was paying enough attention to his driving to notice the group of pedestrians that suddenly stepped into the intersection from nowhere as he passed through a green light. He slammed on his brakes and the Citroen DS wobbled, nearly going into a swerve.
The pedestrians were dark figures that stood motionless, living shadows in the intersection, faces shrouded by darkness until the last instant, when Giles’s headlights flared in their faces.
The sudden light glistened on their saliva-slick fangs and created shadowy lines where their batlike faces creased.
There were five of them, two males and three females, but Giles’s car struck only one of the males. He flew over the hood and slammed face-first through the windshield, which broke into a million tiny sparkling pebbles, and landed on Giles. The vampire’s clawed hands clutched Giles’s shoulders and pressed him hard against the back of the seat. The car jerked to a sudden uncomfortable halt as Giles put all his weight on the brake pedal, and the engine died.
The vampires outside closed in on the small car in a semicircle while the one inside grinned at Giles.
“You should watch where you’re going,” he said, his breath like warm, rotting meat in Giles’s nostrils. He slapped a hand over Giles’s forehead and pushed his head back as far as he could, then opened his mouth and leaned toward Giles’s exposed throat.
Chapter 14
NO SELF-RESPECTING WATCHER WOULD LEAVE THE house without at least one stake on his or her person. Giles was no different. He usually kept a stake or two in each of the side pockets of whatever tweed jacket he was wearing, and there were always a few in his briefcase. As the vampire pressed Giles’s head back to expose his throat, Giles calmly removed one of the stakes from his pocket.
The creature opened its mouth, bared its fangs to bite, and Giles stabbed the stake upward, into the vampire’s chest. Into its heart. The vampire vaporized just a couple inches from Giles’s face, causing a stir in the air that he felt on his cheeks.
Giles sat up, but the back of the seat remained where it was. A male and female grinned at him through his side window. The other two females stood in front of the car, giggling.
“Car trouble?” the male vampire asked with a deep, stupid-sounding laugh.
Giles jerked his head back reflexively when the vampire put a fist through the window, then pulled it back out. Giles turned the ignition key and gave the old machine a couple pumps of the gas pedal. The engine started, and Giles was about to run over the two vampires in front of the car. It wouldn’t kill them, but it would mess them up for a little while, long enough for Giles to drive on, because he just didn’t have time for them. But before stepping on the accelerator, he heard a familiar voice.
“Giles!” Willow called.
He looked out the broken window, and he could see Willow up the street, running toward him. He could see her because the vampire that had been standing at the window an instant ago had turned to look at Willow as well. The vampire released a low growl of pleasure as it watched Willow get closer.
Giles moved quickly, stake still in hand. He pushed the car door open and swung both legs out, about to get up and out of the car.
“You just stay where you are,” the vampire said. He stabbed an elbow backward, directly into Giles’s face.
Giles was unconscious before his back hit the seat.
“What’s going on?” Angel asked, as they walked toward the school.
“Exams are next week. I’m not ready for ’em. Nothin’ new there.”
“How’s your mom?”
“Oh, she’s got some weird woman driving her crazy to exhibit some collection she’s got.” Buffy frowned and stopped walking.
They’d encountered several vampires on
their way to the school. If Buffy hadn’t climbed a tree and come down with several thick, broken branches with sharp ends, they would’ve had no weapons. She was tired and hungry and just wanted to go home, eat something, and go straight to bed.
“What’s the matter?” Angel asked.
“That’s Giles’s car up there!” she said. She broke into a run and Angel followed her.
Giles’s car was parked in the middle of the intersection, headlights on, driver’s door open. Two figures were moving toward the door while two others struggled several feet away. A scream cut through the quiet night, and Buffy recognized it immediately: Willow
Buffy’s teeth clenched as she picked up her pace and thought angrily, Just what am I supposed to do now?
Willow was fighting her assailant’s embrace, screaming, jerking her body back and forth. Finally, she brought her knee up hard between the vampire’s legs and broke away from him when he doubled up in pain. Willow backed away several steps, but turned and ran when the vampire recovered and lunged after her.
“Hey, fangboy!” Buffy snapped.
The vampire stopped and looked at her, then smiled and turned his whole body toward her as she quickly closed the gap between them. He smiled lewdly.
Buffy drove the broken branch into his heart without even a few seconds of violent preamble, and pulled it out to use again. She was already on her way to the Citroen, branch still clutched in her fist, when the vampire disappeared into fading dust.
Holding the branch between her teeth, Buffy grabbed the heads of two of the vampires and pulled hard. Caught off guard, they both flew backward and landed roughly on the pavement.
Giles’s legs dropped out of the open door where they were standing and his feet hit the road, while his torso was still propped up on the car’s seat. He was unconscious. At least, Buffy hoped he was unconscious . . . and not dead.
She saw the stake in his hand, leaned down, and snatched it up. She spun around and sent it home into one of the female vampires, who was just about to pounce on her. The vampire was gone in the blink of an eye and Buffy looked around for the others, whom Angel had already taken care of. The only other person she saw was Willow, jogging toward her.
Angel was already on one knee beside Giles as Buffy came over and knelt at her Watcher’s side.
“He’s just unconscious,” Angel said.
Giles’s eyes snapped open wide for a moment, then narrowed to a wince as he tried to get up. Angel helped him to his feet, then Giles leaned against the car and covered his face with a hand.
“Good Lord, my face hurts,” Giles rasped in a rough, dry voice.
“Giles, I’m out of stakes,” Buffy said. “Can you believe that? I mean, it’s like vampire rush hour in this town. I’ve gotta go to the library to get some more.”
“I . . . I still feel dizzy,” Giles said. “I don’t think I should drive.”
“I can drive,” Willow offered as she joined them. “If there’s room for me?”
Buffy didn’t answer, nor did she look at Willow. She suddenly felt tense.
“Of course, Willow,” Giles said, walking slowly and cautiously around the car.
Willow hurried to Giles’s side. “What happened?”
“Well, if I remember correctly, I assaulted a vampire’s elbow with my face.”
Buffy leaned into the car and pulled the seat back into its upright position, then scrambled in to the back and looked up at Angel. “You coming?”
“No, you go ahead. I’ll see you later.”
“Okay.”
Willow started the car.
“I’ll be back out in just a few,” Buffy said.
No one spoke during the short drive to the school. The small car felt smaller and more uncomfortably close than usual. Buffy was overly aware of Willow sitting in the front seat and it made her tense. It made the air tense.
“What’s that you said about a statuette?” Giles asked. He was seated at a table with them in the library, three large, fat books stacked in front of him. He still had not recovered thoroughly from his encounter with the vampire.
Willow had called Oz as soon as they got to the library and told him to come over. He’d arrived minutes later with Xander.
“It’s needed to resurrect Ravana,” Willow said. She walked slowly around the table, where she’d put her bag upon arriving. She was too nervous to sit still, too suspicious of Buffy to stop watching her carefully. Willow didn’t know why she felt that way, but it wouldn’t go away. The only light was provided by the table lamps. The rest of the library was dark.
Willow told them all about the statuette and the six smaller Rakshasa figures.
“Wait,” Giles said, gently rubbing the side of his face. “The Rakshasa are already here.”
“That means someone has already started summoning the demon,” Xander said uncertainly. “Um . . . right?”
“Somewhere here in Sunnydale,” Giles whispered. “But where? And who?”
Buffy pushed her chair back and stood as she said, “Well, I’m drawing a big blank on the where part. But I don’t think the who is such a big mystery.” She looked at Willow for a brief, cold moment. “Is it?”
“Hey, Buffy,” Xander said quietly, cautiously.
“Buffy!” Giles started. “I think you’re both being affected by the Rakshasa. It’s —”
“That’s the other thing I wanted to tell you,” Willow addressed her friend, ignoring Giles. She stopped walking and leaned her hands on the tabletop, glaring at Buffy. “Promila Daruwalla is not involved in this. She’s not even Hindu! She’s an atheist. She doesn’t believe in gods, singular, plural, or otherwise. Mila couldn’t possibly be doing this.”
“That’s what she told you?” Buffy asked. Her voice trembled with anger and she could feel her heartbeat in her throat. It was unnerving, completely out of her control, and growing worse. “And you believe her, of course.”
“I’d be an idiot not to believe her,” Willow said. “And if you’d been there, you would’ve believed her, too.”
At that moment, Buffy stopped noticing her building anger, and instead fell into it. It swallowed her. Suddenly, there was nothing other than the anger . . . and Willow across the table from her. Her vision blurred slightly as the whispering voices from her dream hissed in her mind, but clearly now, not muddied by memory, but as clearly as if she were having the dream while wide awake . . .
She’s the part of your life that doesn’t work . . . a draining force, taking and taking from you . . . never giving back . . . a stone around your neck . . . sucking your energy, your goodness, your life force from you like a vampire sucks blood . . . emptying you . . .
Willow heard the voices, in her head and her heart.
The shadow that darkens your life and stunts your emotional and social growth . . . the source of all your problems . . . the cause of all your trouble . . . you never got in trouble in your life before you met her . . . your life was calm and ordered . . . then she came . . . and brought trouble, problems, chaos, evil . . . she is what is wrong with your life. So kill her. Kill her. Kill her. Kill her.
Willow found herself mouthing the words silently, along with the suddenly clear voices reciting them in her mind. Kill her.
Adrenaline hummed beneath her skin, and a feeling of great excitement swelled in her chest. It was not a bad feeling. Not at all.
Willow picked up a chair and lifted it over her head, where it collapsed into its folded position.
Buffy was already on her way across the table when Willow threw the chair. The rounded metal edge of the chair’s back hit Buffy in the forehead. It knocked her off the table, and skittered over onto the floor.
Willow saw nothing but Buffy on the floor, trying to get up. She heard nothing but Buffy’s groans of pain. To Willow, there was nothing, and no one, else in the room. Just Buffy, and those two words.
Kill her. Kill her.
Kill her. Kill her.
The hissing voices remained unfazed by the
pain in Buffy’s head. But the pain did not go away, either. For a moment, the library darkened and Buffy thought she was going to lose consciousness, but that passed. The pain remained. It swirled in her head, pressed on the backs of her eyeballs, oozed into her ears and made them ring like cathedral bells. She struggled up onto her side, then onto her feet, but swayed with a fit of dizziness. When the dizziness subsided, Buffy lifted her head just in time to see Willow diving at her from the table.
Xander and Oz had already shot to their feet as Giles shouted, “Girls! Stop this!”
Buffy stretched out both arms, caught Willow, and threw her aside. She slammed into a couple of empty chairs, but was back on her feet in a heartbeat, coming for Buffy with teeth bared.
Giles still felt a bit dizzy when he stood, but his pain was forgotten as he watched Buffy and Willow fight. His heart thundered in his chest and his throat tightened with fear, because he knew Buffy would kill her and he was beginning to understand why.
Buffy punched Willow in the face so hard, Willow collapsed to the floor like a sack of laundry. Buffy pounced on her like a cat on an old, tired mouse. Straddling Willow, she raised her fist, and brought it down fast and hard on Willow’s face once, then again. She put both hands on Willow’s neck and pressed hard with her thumbs on her throat. Willow moved slowly, but raised her hands and clamped them on to Buffy’s throat, doing the same to her. Gurgling sounds came from their blocked airways, but they did not stop, or even weaken their grasp on each other.
Xander and Oz closed in on Buffy, one on each side, grabbed her arms and tried to pull her off Willow. With a sweep of her arms, she knocked them off her like a couple of pesky flies. Xander slid across the table and knocked over a chair on his way to the floor, and Oz slammed his back against a large shelf of books with a pained grunt.
On the floor beneath Buffy, Willow gagged as she tried to fill her lungs with air as she continued to choke Buffy.
Her face turning red, Buffy grasped Willow’s wrists and jerked her hands away from her throat. Gasping for breath, she raised her fist to continue beating Willow, whose lower lip and left cheek were already swollen and bleeding.
