“Right.” Giles smelled his hand. “Has a pungent odor, wouldn’t you say?”
“I would say,” Xander said breathily. “Okay, Teach, let’s review the material. Now that the zombies are history, and we busy bees are smearing stinky poison stuff on tree branches, and Buffy is on a field trip with the big demon on campus, we are not getting in the car and driving the long, possibly safer, way to the other side of the field, are we?”
Giles looked surprised. “But Xander, that’s an excellent suggestion. Why would we not?”
Willow smiled sadly at Xander. “Because we know, since we both grew up here, that there’s an apple orchard not far from where we stand.” She gestured with her head toward the field. “Right over there.”
“Oh, good,” Giles said excitedly. “Then we must go. We can complete our wards with the apples from the trees.”
“Except there’s a barrier there, isn’t there?” Willow asked.
“We’ll see, won’t we?” Giles replied. “First, let’s drip the candle wax onto the wards.” He gestured toward Buffy’s Slayer’s bag, which Willow had by her side. “I believe there are candles among Buffy’s equipment.”
There were. A match flared in the darkness and cast yellow shadows on Giles’s face. Xander watched as Giles pulled out a candle and began to mumble things in his Ghostbuster language of choice, which was Latin.
The stink of sulfur cut the scent of the plants as Giles began to drip the wax onto the sticks. He finished coating the first one and handed it to Willow. He coated another one and gave it to Xander, then made the other two.
“Waxing our wards,” Xander said. “Oh, to be in Malibu, waxing our boards.”
As soon as all four were coated, Giles hopped off the vault and hurried to the wall. Without a moment’s hesitation, he crossed from the wall into the field.
“We are permitted,” he said.
Xander looked at Willow. “Much joy,” he whispered. “Samhain is letting us in.”
“It is much joy. We have to save Buffy,” Willow said urgently.
“That’ll be a first.” Xander smiled at her. “Us saving her. Don’t worry, Will. You know I’m in on any crazy prank that has to do with Halloween and a violent demise of my person.”
She squeezed his hand. “My hero,” she said, and he almost believed that she meant it.
He got down off the vault. Willow scrambled down after him.
“After you, m’dear,” he said, bowing low, and she carried the Slayer’s satchel toward the wall, climbed onto it, and hopped into the field.
“We’re here,” she said nervously.
“Let me light your wards,” Giles said. “They’ll offer partial protection until we make it to the orchard.”
Then he set theirs on fire.
“We must hurry. Samhain will detect our presence. And as we aren’t fully protected . . .” Giles trailed off, looking uncomfortable, then shrugged.
“What?” Xander asked anxiously.
“Nothing,” Giles said.
“There’s a rift in the Force,” Willow said, staring at Giles. “You think Buffy’s—you aren’t sure this is going to work.”
Giles looked at both of them very seriously. “That’s correct. I’m not sure. I can’t ask you to risk your lives without telling you that. We may fail.”
Willow and Xander were silent for a moment. Then Willow raised her chin and said, “Lead on, Macduff.”
“And McDonald’s, too,” Xander said, nodding. “Let’s hit those happy trails.”
The rain did not let up as they hurried into the orchard. “Smear all the wards with the juice of apples,” Giles said. “I have sigils to draw.”
“Squiggles?” Willow repeated.
“Sacred symbols,” Giles said. “They’ll—”
He stopped speaking as something crashed, shrieking, into the orchard. The three froze and stared at one another.
Willow said hopefully, “Buffy?”
CHAPTER 10
The rain came down even harder. The field was already saturated from the earlier storm, and the ground was muddy in spots. Buffy knew she should be careful. She might turn an ankle, even break something, if she didn’t slow down.
She didn’t slow down.
A broken ankle held no fear for her, not after looking into the flaming eyes of the pumpkin king, the spirit of Halloween. It was as if Samhain was fear itself. Being near him gave her the most monster wiggins in history. All she wanted to do was escape.
Her ragged, bloodstained blouse and black shorts were soaked. Her now-ragged boots punched the muddy ground, splashing when there was a puddle to splash in. Maybe someone else would have fallen, but Buffy was the Slayer. The Slayer was agile. Buffy was—
On her butt in mud. Covered with it. Wanting desperately to make a joke, a snide comment, a wry observation.
No. Nada. Nyet.
There was nothing funny. She didn’t even have time to be humiliated by her fall. She got to her knees and glanced back down the hill toward the barn.
“Oh, God, keep him away,” she whispered, terrified, though her fear had diminished slightly as she moved up the hill.
In the darkness in front of the barn, she couldn’t make out his body at all, couldn’t see his shape. But she could see the face. The green flame spurting from the eyes and mouth of his rotting pumpkin head. She had to fight the urge to throw up.
Buffy stood quickly and started up the hill again. She didn’t go any slower, but she stared at the ground in front of her, trying to look out for muddy spots.
Then she was in the orchard, darting through the trees, arms up to keep branches from whipping her in the face. She squinted, trying to see through the darkness ahead, and realized she’d have to go through the pumpkin patch again. Still, pumpkins she was sure she could handle. Leap over them or outrun them. They couldn’t do her any real damage.
But there was that magickal barrier still to be dealt with. She couldn’t keep evading Samhain until dawn. And who was to say he’d even be gone at dawn? It wasn’t as if he were a vampire.
Buffy crashed through the orchard, not caring about the noise she was making. She didn’t even turn around to see if Samhain was chasing her now. Even if she could see the demon through the trees, she didn’t want to. Ever again.
“Sssslayer,” his voice whispered nearby, playfully.
She started, eyes darting side to side in search of him. But it was a trick. He was still behind her. But in pursuit, she was sure. He would never let her out of the field alive.
Branches snapped and apples thumped to the ground as she ran on. Her lungs sucked air in greedily, and her breath came in ragged gasps. Then she heard another soft voice.
“Buffy?”
Stunned, she stared up the hill through the trees. The night was pitch black, the rain whipped through the trees, a staccato patter on the leaves. But even through night and rain and orchard, she could see three burning points of light ahead. White-orange flame, not green.
Not Samhain.
“Willow?” she cried. “Xander? Giles?”
“Buffy?” A different voice this time. Giles.
Then she burst from the orchard on the hill and saw them, just a few yards off to the right. They looked almost comical to her, soaked with rain, hair plastered to their heads and faces, holding the thinnest, wimpiest looking torches she’d ever seen. She might have smiled. But she couldn’t, for their presence only added to her nausea.
“No, no, no!” she shouted. “I told you guys not to come in here! Majorly bad move, people. Now move it! He’s right behind me!”
As if on cue, they heard a crashing through the orchard. Still far down the hill, but they only had a minute or two before Samhain caught up to them.
“He?” Giles asked, obviously unnerved. “Then I was right? It’s—”
“Samhain, yeah, and he’s very strong, very scary, very unhappy with the Slayer, and anybody who happens to be her bud,” Buffy said. “So move it.”
&n
bsp; “We’re not going anywhere,” Xander said. “Even if we weren’t all trapped in here, which we are, which is bad, we’re not running out on you.”
“Right,” Willow agreed.
“Hear, hear,” Giles concurred.
The crashing through the orchard grew louder.
“How are those torches burning in the rain?” she asked.
“Magic,” Giles replied. “We’ve got a great deal of magic to do, I’m afraid. You see, in all this chaos, I have come up with a plan.”
“Plan? Good. Go. Quick. Talk. Speak,” Buffy babbled, taking a terrified glance over her shoulder.
“These yew sticks are specially treated. They’re wards, which will protect us from the dead and from the spirit of Halloween, but unless we want to beat him to death with them, they won’t really harm him,” Giles said.
“Good. Then we can just sit around until morning,” Buffy said happily.
“They’ll burn out before then,” Giles said apologetically. “We’ve got to destroy his physical form to stop him. At the very least. The Watcher Cassidy wrote that Erin Randall used fire for that purpose. Which means we’ve got to trap Samhain and burn the scarecrow inside which he has taken up residence. There are symbols we can use to trap him, but we don’t have time for a circle of them, and there’s still the matter of the burning.”
“Sssslayer! I’m coming for you and for your friends. I haven’t eaten a Watcher’s heart in four hundred years,” Samhain whispered on the wind, his voice echoing in the hiss of the rainstorm.
“Oh my,” Giles murmured worriedly, and pushed his glasses up.
Buffy grabbed her Slayer’s bag from Xander, glanced once at the canvas sack that Giles had brought, then rummaged through her bag until she came up with what she’d been searching for.
“A weapon?” Willow asked hopefully.
“Absolutely. Lilac Breeze,” Buffy replied, holding up a tube of lipstick.
“You keep your lipstick in your Slayer’s bag?” Giles asked, appalled.
“Well,” Xander said, jumping to her defense, “a fashionable Slayer has to be prepared for anything. Right, Buffy?”
“So right. Giles, show me these symbols,” Buffy said.
Giles held up a thin book. On the cover were the words, The Journal of Timothy Cassidy, Watcher. He opened it, and showed her a page of crudely etched designs. Sigils, Giles said they were.
Buffy hefted her bag, slung it over her shoulder, and looked up. The crashing in the orchard had stopped.
“There’s a barn down there,” she said softly. “Maybe it’s too wet to burn, I don’t know. But I’ll bet it’s full of nice, dry, fire-lovin’ hay.”
Giles’s eyes lit up. In that moment, they connected as Watcher and Slayer. Mutual respect, parallel thoughts. She could tell he knew exactly what she was going to suggest.
Which was good, because that was the moment Samhain chose to make his grand entrance.
The spirit of Halloween erupted from the orchard, razor-straw fingers reaching for Buffy’s throat, pumpkin fangs gnashing for her blood. She leaped out of the way as Willow shrieked in horror, and Buffy knew that they were all experiencing the same terror that was lancing through her. It was as if she were being electrocuted with fear.
“Buffy!” Xander called, and she glanced up in time to see him throw her crossbow toward her.
Even as she caught it, Buffy knew it wouldn’t do much more than buy her time, but time was exactly what she needed.
“Ah, Ssslayer,” Samhain said, as Giles, Willow, and Xander held up the weird ward sticks with the white burning wax on their tips. “Your friends have come prepared. Well done, Watcher. I see not everyone has forgotten me.”
“For Timothy Cassidy and Erin Randall, we’ll all see you destroyed, pumpkin king!” Giles roared bravely.
Buffy was proud of him.
Samhain was not psyched.
“How dare you call me that! I am no mere gourd, I am the demon lord of all fear, of Samhuinn, o Halloween itself!” Samhain barked angrily. “You little sticks will not burn for long. Then I’ll taste all your hearts.”
The rotted face turned to stare at Buffy with flaming green eyes.
“But you, Slayer, have no protection,” those snap ping pumpkin jaws whispered.
“Hello,” Buffy said, pushing away her fear for the sake of her friends. “Blind much?” she asked. Shi lifted the crossbow and fired a bolt right through the rotten pumpkin forehead. It passed all the way through Samhain’s head and left a gouting hole of fire behind.
The dark lord of Halloween grunted and took two steps backwards before lifting his hurting, burning head. Buffy paid no attention. The moment she’s fired on him, Buffy tossed the crossbow on the ground near Xander—obviously it wasn’t going to stop him—and crashed back through the orchard.
“Tag, you’re it!” she called mockingly to Samhain.
“I’ll be back for you when the fire burns low Watcher. You and your friends,” Buffy heard Samhain threaten.
Then he thundered after her.
Buffy only hoped that she could beat him to the barn a second time. She realized that even one hundred years earlier, when the horrors of real life had not yet begun to overshadow the horrors of legend and superstition, she would have probably been dead already. But this Samhain was far weaker even than he’d been the last time he’d faced a Slayer.
“Just keep telling yourself that,” she grunted as her boots splattered mud to either side.
It seemed only seconds before she burst from the orchard further down the hill and began to sprint through the rain. She prayed, really prayed, that she would not slip again. This time, a fall would mean her death, and the deaths of the others as well.
“Sssslayer!” Samhain hissed behind her. “The chase is becoming tiresome.”
The barn loomed ahead, huge sliding doors wide open. Buffy didn’t even slow this time, just barreled straight inside and headed for the ladder that went up to the hayloft above. She scrambled up to the loft as fast as she could, then turned and pulled the ladder up after her. If not for the prodigious strength that her calling as Slayer gave her, she would never have been able to do it.
She ducked into the hay just as Samhain came in after her.
“I ssssee you, girl,” he hissed. “This time, I see you, hiding there in the hay. My eyes are everywhere on this night.”
Buffy spun and saw it. On the sill of the huge window from which hay was lowered on pulley and cable, the window that looked down on the orchard and the field, sat a carved jack-o’-lantern.
It didn’t move. Not this one. But it stared at her.
Then it said, “I seeeee you!” in Samhain’s voice.
Buffy felt the fear creeping up on her again, spreading through her entire body. She was freezing up with terror, and she couldn’t afford that. There was a sudden shudder beneath her, and she heard scratching and sliding and knew that Samhain was climbing the post at the center of the loft, climbing to reach her. To eat her heart. To slay a Slayer.
“No!” Buffy screamed.
She jumped up, ran to the window, and kicked the pumpkin, caving in its face as it tumbled out of the barn. She glanced at the big entry doors and saw that Giles had arrived there. Willow and Xander stood behind him, holding the flaming wards. Buffy thought she could smell apples and garlic, a weird combination, especially considering her fear and the strong smell of the hay. But it wasn’t the worst thing that had ever happened to her.
That was climbing up to the loft.
Giles was using one of her vampire stakes to draw in the dirt entry of the barn, sealing the massive doors with powerful magickal symbols. Buffy remembered the designs from the journal very well, had memorized them for one specific reason.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out her Lilac Breeze lipstick. Her favorite, at least this week, but it would go to a good cause. Namely, saving all their lives. She pulled off the top of the tube, and started to draw on the windowsill, re-creating t
he symbols as best she could remember.
“Now, Slayer,” the king of Halloween whispered behind her. “You’ve nowhere left to run. Turn and face me.”
Buffy turned, dropping the lipstick. Last stop, everybody off.
“I’m assuming you know your face is on fire,” she said, her throat dry, voice cracking with fear. “But were you aware that so is the barn?”
The horrid, sickening, burning smile dripped blood as it grew wider. She was certain that he would merely laugh at her, then step forward and tear her head from her neck with those razor straw hands. But the flames were rising up the walls of the barn now—Willow and Xander had done their job—and the roar of the fire was clearly audible.
Samhain turned to see the barn ablaze.
“Watcher!” Samhain screamed. “You’re next!”
Buffy shuddered almost uncontrollably at his booming voice, the fear infecting her. It came off him in waves. Her hands shook, her teeth chattered, and she winced and shrank away from him, even though he hadn’t come any nearer.
“That’s it,” Buffy whispered. “I’m outta here.”
She turned, stepped onto the windowsill, careful not to smear the lipstick symbol, and with Samhain roaring furiously behind her, Buffy leaped out into the air, forty feet above the ground.
Anyone else would have been killed, or at least have had numerous shattered bones. Sometimes being the Slayer had its advantages.
“Uhnnffff!” she grunted as she hit the mud and rolled.
Willow was there next to her a moment later, and Giles stood above her, offering a hand to help her up. Xander was a few yards away, still working his way around the barn with his yew ward, or torch, or whatever. She didn’t know how Giles had come up with the things, but she was glad he had. Otherwise they’d be dead now.
“Sssslayer!” Samhain screamed from the window above. His rage was obvious. He was trapped, about to be burned to nothing along with the old barn.
“It isn’t over! I’ll be back next year, and I won’t give you any warning next time. No games. Just your death! Year after year after year until I’ve tasted your lifeblood, eaten your heart and soul!”
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