Giles must have sensed her discomfort. “That was a joke, Buffy,” he said, his voice haggard. “Now, please, what’s going on?”
Buffy sighed. “Weird stuff keeps happening. Willow calls it ‘strange physical phenomena.’ Apparently it’s nothing new. It’s all happened before, scientists don’t know how to explain it, yadda yadda yadda.”
“What sort of ‘stuff’?”
“There’ve been reports of balls of fire, rain of toads—that was fun—let’s see, supposedly this major thunder is called skyquakes, which sounds like breakfast cereal.”
Buffy hadn’t mentioned Springheel Jack. And she had no intention of doing so. A guy like him was a threat and a danger, and that was sure to worry Giles. She needed her Watcher back, sure, but she needed him back in action, not back in traction.
“Bizarre that these things should all begin to happen at once,” Giles mused. “Taken one at a time, they would be odd occurrences, but nothing we couldn’t chalk up to the sort of magnetic pull that the Hellmouth has on all things out of the ordinary or unnatural.”
“But Willow says this things are natural, or at least, some people think they are,” Buffy argued.
“Well, it is true that no one has proven them to be of the supernatural, so science may simply have not had any opportunity to study them yet. Are you certain there isn’t anything else? You seem quite preoccupied.”
“I’m not the one in the hospital. When are they going to let you out?” Buffy asked. “Not that I’m rushing you. The important thing for you is to rest and get better, and try to keep your eyes open for the mad down-the-stair-pusher in case he tries again.”
“I think it’s likely to be several days, Buffy,” Giles said. “I’ll let you know when I’ve spoken to my doctors again.”
They said their good-byes and Buffy hung up the phone. Her mind was awhirl with the chaos of the past few days, and she knew there was only one way to settle it down. The dreaded R word: research. She was supposed to rendezvous with the others at the library just after dark.
With her concern for Giles battling with the weirdnesses of the Hellmouth for her attention, Buffy picked up her black bag and went to the drawer where she kept some of her supplies. The way things had been lately, who knew what they might come up against. Besides, a smart Slayer was always prepared for anything. She shoved holy water, a pair of stakes, and spiked brass knuckles into the bag along with two notebooks, her history textbook, and a handful of pens, most of which she was certain would not work.
That done, Buffy pulled her hair back and slipped a scrunchie onto her ponytail. Again, because she had no idea what to expect, she had decided to put on the workout clothes she often wore when sparring with Giles. Sneakers, navy sweats, and a baby-blue tank top, with a light sweatshirt to cover it all.
She snapped off the light as she left the room, and was halfway down the stairs before she heard her mother’s voice coming from the kitchen. And not just her voice, the sound of her laughter.
“Oh, Merrilee, it’s so nice to hear your voice!” Joyce Summers said happily.
Buffy smiled. Her mother was talking to Merrilee Moody, an old college friend who still lived in L.A. She was glad her mom kept in touch with Merrilee, whom Buffy had always liked.
“Yeah, freshman year was a blast,” Buffy’s mom said, that tone of happiness still in her voice. “What was that guy’s name, who used to walk around in nothing but a hat? Right, Moondog! You used to egg him on constantly! Don’t lie to me, Merri, I was there!”
At the bottom of the steps, Buffy turned to go into the kitchen, but what her mother said next, and the tone of her voice, stopped her short.
“Oh, I’m so glad Janet’s daughter is going to USC. Where are they going to get the money? A scholarship? Oh, that’s so nice. She’s an incredible girl.” There was a pause. “No, I don’t know what Buffy’s going to do.”
Joyce Summers’s voice had gone cold.
“Well, you know, she’s a big girl. I guess she’s got to make those decisions for herself.”
Distant.
“You know what? It’s her life, really. I try to set an example, give her the best advice I can, but after that . . .”
Buffy walked into the kitchen. Immediately her mother perked up, smiled at her. “Hi, honey. It’s Merrilee. Do you want to say ‘hi’?”
“No time,” Buffy said pleasantly, doing her best to cover the sadness that had come over her while listening to her mother’s conversation. “Gotta jet, meet Willow at the library.”
With a raised eyebrow, Joyce scanned her daughter’s clothes, then covered the phone’s mouthpiece with one hand.
“Is that really where you’re going?” she asked. “We agreed you’d be honest about things.”
“Library,” Buffy nodded, then raised her fingers to slash an X in the air above her chest. “Cross my heart.”
Joyce smiled. “Have fun,” she said.
As Buffy walked out the front door, she was barely able to make out her mother’s next words to Merrilee.
“She’s going to the library,” Joyce Summers said, her voice a bit warmer. “That’s got to be a good sign.” And then her mother laughed, but it sounded almost like a sob.
Buffy sighed. Mom had been in denial ever since Buffy had told her the truth. She just couldn’t ever truly accept the idea that Buffy was born to be the Slayer, that it wasn’t some crazy whim, and that as much of a burden as it placed on her day-to-day life and her future, she couldn’t change herself. It was what she was.
Destiny. What a bitch.
* * *
Sunnydale High was a spooky place at night. Like any other building that was usually bustling with life, with people, there was something eerie and haunting about it after dark, when all that life was gone. Lights still burned in some of the classrooms and offices, but only enough to cast shadows inside and to throw a menacing glow from the windows, like the flickering flame inside a grinning jack-o’-lantern.
Xander had been in the school after dark dozens of times. Maybe hundreds now. But he’d rarely been there alone.
He was glad he didn’t have a key. Not that it was all that fun to be standing in the dark behind the school waiting for Buffy to show with her key—and in fact it was probably more dangerous. But Xander didn’t see the relative safety of the school as all that much of a comfort. Besides, the inside of the school hadn’t always turned out to be a safe haven in past crises.
“Any time now,” Xander said to the darkness around him.
“Getting a little jumpy?” the darkness replied.
“Yaaa!” Xander shouted, and stumbled backward a few steps as Angel emerged from the shadows, a mischievous smile on his face.
“Sorry, did I startle you?” Angel asked.
Xander looked at the vampire, angry and embarrassed. “Don’t do that!” he snapped.
“Where’s Buffy?”
“Do you see her?” Xander gestured around them.
“No.”
“Then she’s not here, is she?”
Angel glared at Xander, but Xander wasn’t intimidated. He’d gotten over his fear of Angel once he’d accepted the fact that Dead Boy was really back on their side. Granted, it was like having a pit bull around who might turn rabid at any time, but for the moment, he was their pit bull.
“We’ve got trouble,” Angel said at length.
“How new.”
“You know where Dorado Road passes over Route 17?” Angel asked.
“Yeah. I’ve seen some homeless people dragging shopping carts down under the bridge there,” Xander said, remembering.
“Not anymore,” Angel said darkly. “I heard on the radio that some of them have relocated and others disappeared. The ones who weren’t fast enough probably got eaten. The ones who got away claim there’s a monster under there. And earlier tonight, a guy riding his bike over the bridge was grabbed and dragged under.”
Xander made a face. “Eaten?”
“Where’s Buffy?�
�� Angel asked, exasperated.
“What?” Xander threw up his hands. “A guy can’t express a little disgust when a fellow human being gets chomped on by some beastie?”
“It’s probably a troll,” Angel explained. “They live under bridges.”
“Whatever!” Xander rolled his eyes. “Let’s go,” he said, and began walking away.
“What about Buffy?” Angel asked, surprised.
“She’s got a whole town to worry about.” Xander turned and looked at him. “There’s a lot more going on here than one grubby little troll. Can we handle this thing, or can’t we?”
Angel considered that for a moment. “I guess if you had a weapon.”
But Xander was already moving away. After a moment, Angel caught up.
* * *
It had taken them more than half an hour to walk all the way to Dorado Road—including a few minutes to stop by Xander’s house and pick up his Louisville Slugger. When they arrived, they found the street deserted. The police had put up a detour after the attack earlier in the day.
“I’m surprised they aren’t down there with flashlights and shotguns right now,” Xander observed.
Angel looked at him oddly. “The Sunnydale police? If we’re lucky, they’ll go down in the morning, and they’ll still get their heads bitten off.”
Xander glanced at the baseball bat in his hands and sighed. “And they have guns. Great. Shall we?” He moved to the side of Dorado Road and was throwing one leg over the barrier there, prepared to slip down under the bridge that crossed over Route 17. Cars and trucks rumbled by far below, their headlights cutting the dark.
Angel grabbed his shoulder, stopped him from going down.
“You want to walk into his lair, in the dark, under the bridge, without so much as a flashlight?” Angel asked.
Xander blinked. “No?”
“No,” Angel replied.
“So?”
“Taunt him. Draw him out,” Angel explained.
“You mean tease him. Like insult his mother or something?”
Angel shook his head in disgust. “Something like that,” he said. “You stay over here, I’ll start on the other side.” He walked across Dorado Road and stood at the barrier, cupped his hands to his mouth, and shouted, “I’m crossing your bridge, you ugly bastard!”
Xander looked over the edge on his side, at the ground where it fell away and sloped down toward Route 17. Where the ground dropped past the underside of the bridge, there was only darkness. He didn’t even hear anything moving, and wondered if Angel even knew what he was talking about. It wasn’t as though he’d actually seen a troll. Could be a garden-variety serial killer as far as he knew. Or just drunken fools tumbling down the incline and into traffic. Could be . . .
“Ah, what the hell,” Xander muttered to himself. Then he raised his voice. “Hey, you skanky, stinky, ugly little . . . troll! Trip-trap, trip-trap, here I come over your bridge. Billy goat gruff is here, pally!”
He waited, watching the shadows beneath the bridge. Still nothing moved. After a long pause, he turned to look at Angel, who was still staring down on his side of the bridge.
“Dead Boy!” Xander called. “Are you sure about this thing? I mean, if you wanted to spend some quality time with me, I would’ve penciled you in, y’know?”
Angel narrowed his eyes. “I’ve told you not to call me that.”
With a deafening, furious roar, the troll leaped up from behind the barrier and landed on Angel. The vampire rolled, getting out from under the thing, and then they were up, alternately throttling and pummeling each other.
The troll was, as predicted, quite grubby indeed. Ugly. Skanky. Stinky. It wore the most ragged clothing Xander had ever seen, and where he could see its skin, it had a leathery hide, with disgusting matted fur in places and horns in others. Definitely grubby. It was not, however, and much to Xander’s chagrin, little. Not little at all.
“Xander!” Angel shouted, even as he slammed a fist into the troll’s face so hard that Xander thought he heard something crack. The troll roared in pain and anger, and brought both fists down hard on Angel’s shoulders, driving the vampire to the pavement. It raised one huge hairy foot and tried to stamp on Angel’s head. Once again, Angel was too fast.
“How ’bout a little distraction, Xander?” Angel asked, in full vampire face now.
Xander didn’t respond. He felt his hands sweating on the grip of the bat where he’d wrapped sports tape at the age of nine. Angel and the troll kept hitting one another, and it was getting ugly. Angel’s cheek was split and bloody, though probably already starting to heal. The troll was bleeding from its mouth, and Angel had snapped a kick to its gut that knocked the wind out of the thing for an instant. Angel tried to take advantage of the moment, but powerful swipes from the troll’s hands kept him back.
The fight moved along Dorado Road, onto the overpass, and Xander kept following, waiting for an opening. The blows became more and more vicious, until Angel was forced to retreat momentarily, farther along the overpass.
“What the hell are you waiting for?” Angel snarled at him, yellow eyes glowing in the dark.
The troll lunged at the vampire, and Angel grabbed it by the matted fur on its head and brought his knee up hard into its jaw. The troll stood up straight, howling in pain and frustration.
“This!” Xander said.
With the bat raised at his shoulder, his legs spread apart just like he’d always been taught, Xander stepped into the swing like he was going to smash one right out of the park. The bat whipped through the air and connected with the troll’s skull with a satisfying crunch. Blood sprayed from its thick, misshapen nose, and the Louisville Slugger snapped into two jagged pieces.
The troll, rocked by the impact, stumbled backward, clutching its face and nose. It hit the barrier over Route 17, and then tumbled right over the edge.
“And that one’s outta here,” Xander muttered as he and Angel went to the barrier and watched the troll fall end over end until it slammed onto the pavement of Route 17, where it lay, limbs at odd angles.
“Take your sweet time, why don’t you?” Angel said angrily.
Xander didn’t look up. He was staring at the dead troll. “You arguing the results?” he asked.
“So that was your plan all along?” Angel asked. “Use me as bait until you can get your shot in?”
“As far as you know,” Xander replied, straight-faced.
When he looked up, Angel was staring at him, eyebrows drawn together in anger. Xander couldn’t help it, he started to laugh. Just a chuckle at first, then a full-on giggle fit. Angel started to say something, but then the grim set of his mouth turned into a slight smile. As it did, his face changed, metamorphosing from vampire to human. Or as close to human as Angel would ever get.
Xander stopped laughing. “Man,” he said. “Do you have any idea how creepy that is?”
But Angel wasn’t listening. He had looked over the edge of the bridge again and his eyebrows were raised in surprise.
“What?” Xander asked, concerned.
“He’s getting up,” Angel replied.
Sure enough, when Xander looked down, the troll was pulling itself to its feet. Unsteadily, it glanced up, glaring at them from one hundred and fifty feet below. It opened its mouth and began to roar . . . and the roar was cut off as the troll was silhouetted in the oncoming lights of an enormous tractor-trailer.
Xander and Angel both turned away, wincing, but Xander didn’t think to cover his ears. The truck’s air horn bellowed as it passed beneath them, and the wet crunch as it collided with the troll, pulping the monster against its grillwork, was audible all the way up on the Dorado Road bridge.
In his mind, Xander could almost hear Cordelia say, “Eeee-uw!”
When they glanced back down for the final time, there was nothing left of the troll but a bit of blood. Farther up Route 17, the truck was beginning to pull off to the side. Xander didn’t envy the guy who’d have to clean off
the front of that grill.
He picked up the pieces of the broken bat and examined them carefully. After a minute, he let them fall with a clatter to the pavement.
“Damn,” he said softly.
“What is it?” Angel asked.
“Just another piece of my childhood shot to hell,” Xander said lightly. “I guess some day I’ll look back nostalgically on the slaughter of demons and bloodsuckers and stinky trolls, but somehow, I thought riding bikes and camping out in the backyard and playing ball with Dad were supposed to be the things that stay with you.”
For a long while, as they walked back toward the school, neither of them said anything. About halfway there, Angel broke the silence.
“Nice swing,” the vampire said.
“All in the follow-through,” Xander explained.
* * *
“Just can’t summon up that Willow magick tonight, huh?” Buffy asked.
Willow shrugged and stared at the computer screen. “My wand’s all magicked out, I guess.”
Oz raised his eyebrows in sympathy. “Sucks, huh?”
“Okay,” Cordelia said, her voice quaking. “You guys have been avoiding this subject long enough. How does my hair look? Really?”
Buffy studied her face, looked at her hair, which, now that she’d had it cut and styled, really didn’t look at all bad. It was shorter than usual by several inches, but it would grow back quickly. She thought about teasing Cordelia, patronizing her, but realized that the girl’s hair was sacred territory.
“It looks fine, Cordy, really,” Buffy said sincerely. “It’s a good look for you. More mature.”
Cordelia only stared at her, near tears, and tried to see her reflection once again in the glass set into Giles’s office door. “Oh, you’re just saying that to be nice. It’s horrible, isn’t it?”
“Just saying that to be nice?” Willow asked. “Buffy? To you?” She blinked, reconsidered her words. “Um, what I mean is . . .”
But Cordelia wasn’t listening.
“Let’s move on, shall we?” Buffy asked. “We’ve found references to most of the weird things that have happened, but nothing to link them in any way.”
Out of the Madhouse Page 6
