The Harvest

by Richie Tankersley Cusick

  * * *

  The time was drawing nearer.

  The Harvest was at hand.

  Darla lit the last row of candles at the back of the church. Solemnly she stepped away from them, clutching her taper, and at the exact moment, another vampire completed his own row of lighted candles along the opposite wall. The flickering light cast a strange, sickly glow over the congregation. The two lines of candles extended all the way to the altar, to the place where their Master stood waiting.

  The chanting had begun again. Yet not quite a chanting . . . more a low, primal whisper that made the blood turn cold . . .

  Luke stepped forward and drew off his shirt. He stepped forward to the altar and knelt humbly before his Master. When the Master held out his hand Luke kissed it, and when the Master turned his open palm upward Luke kissed that as well.

  And then very gently, Luke took hold of the Master’s wrist. He lifted it delicately to his mouth, and he sank his teeth deep into the arteries and veins.

  The Master winced. He shut his eyes and felt centuries of time flowing through him. As Luke continued to feed, he reared back his head in an agony of delicious pain.

  “My blood runs with yours,” the Master said. “My soul is your province.”

  “My body is your instrument,” Luke murmured.

  Luke pulled away. The Master took one drop of blood from his own wrist, then touched it to Luke’s forehead, painting a three-pointed star.

  He faced his disciples and spoke.

  “On this most hallowed night, we are as one. Luke is the Vessel. Every soul he takes shall feed me. Their souls will grant me the power to free myself.”

  A smile spread across his face. His eyes narrowed with keen anticipation.

  “Tonight I will walk the earth . . . and the stars themselves will hide.”

  * * *

  Buffy and Xander dragged themselves wearily into the library. As Giles and Willow stared open mouthed at their disheveled appearance, it was painfully obvious that nothing good had come of their search. Still, Willow couldn’t help asking.

  “Did you find Jesse?” she asked, though deep down she was pretty sure she already knew the answer.

  Xander confirmed it with a terse reply. He wouldn’t even look at her. “Yeah.”

  “Worse,” Buffy echoed.

  She plopped heavily into a chair, her face a mixture of anger and regret.

  “I’m sorry, Willow,” she said. “We were too late. And they were waiting for us.”

  Willow shook her head. “At least you two are okay.”

  “I don’t like vampires,” Xander burst out. He aimed his foot at a trash can, kicking it in frustration. “I’m gonna take a stand and say they’re not good.”

  Buffy turned to the Watcher. “So, Giles, you got anything that can make this day worse?”

  “How about the end of the world?” he replied calmly.

  “I knew I could count on you.”

  “This is what we know,” Giles went on. “Some sixty years ago, a very old, very powerful vampire came to this shore, and not just to feed.”

  Buffy sat down at the table. She rested her chin on her hands. “He came ’cause this town is a mystical whoosit?”

  “Yes. The Spanish who first settled here called it Boca Del Infierno—roughly translated: Hellmouth.” Giles began pacing. “A sort of portal from this reality to the next. This vampire hoped to open it.”

  “Bring the demons back.”

  “End of the world,” Xander clarified.

  “But he blew it,” Willow picked up the story. “Or, I mean, there was an earthquake that swallowed about half the town. And him, too—or at least there were no more vampire-type killings afterward.”

  Giles looked thoughtful as he pulled up a chair. “Opening dimensional portals is tricky business. Odds are he got himself stuck. Like a cork in a bottle.”

  “And this Harvest thing is to get him out?” Xander asked.

  “It comes once in a century. On this night.”

  Giles stood and crossed to a chalkboard where he’d rendered several mysterious diagrams. He began to design several more as he explained.

  “A Master can draw power from one of his minions while it feeds. Enough power to break free and to open the portal. The minion is called the Vessel, and he bears this symbol.”

  He paused, pointing to a sketch of the three-pointed star.

  “So,” Buffy made an attempt at cheerfulness. “I dust anyone sporting this look, and no Harvest.”

  “Simply put,” Giles responded, “yes.”

  “Any clue where this little get-together is being held?”

  “Well, there are a number of possibilities—”

  Before Giles could finish, Xander broke in. “They’re going to the Bronze.”

  The room went silent. They all stared at him.

  “Are you sure?” Willow looked surprised, but Xander simply shrugged his shoulders.

  “Come on, tasty young morsels all over the place. Anyway, that’s where Jesse’s gonna be. Trust me.”

  “Then we need to get there.” Giles’s voice was tense. “The sun will be down before long.”

  The four of them headed out the door, but Buffy suddenly turned in another direction.

  “I gotta make a stop,” she explained. “Won’t take long.”

  “What for?” Giles asked.

  Buffy gave a secretive smile. “Supplies.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Dusk was already beginning to fall.

  The last bloodred rays of sunlight streamed through Buffy’s window, and the round ball of sun eased itself lower upon the horizon.

  “Buffy?” Joyce Summers called from the hallway.

  Buffy heard her, but she didn’t respond. She just kept rummaging through her closet as her mother finally entered the bedroom. If you are born to be a Slayer, Buffy reasoned, you have to look the part—you can’t wear just any old outfit to the Harvest . . .

  The brown jacket, she decided. The leather one. Definitely.

  “You’re going out?” her mother asked, standing behind her.

  Buffy heard the frown in her mom’s voice. She tried to keep her own tone casual.

  “I have to.”

  There was a pause. Then her mother said just as casually, “I didn’t hear you come in last night.”

  Buffy thought quickly. “I was quiet.”

  This time the silence wasn’t pleased. And it bordered dangerously on disappointment. “It’s happening again, isn’t it?” Joyce sighed.

  Buffy stopped rummaging. She straightened up, turned, and fixed her mother with a level gaze.

  “I got a call from your new principal,” Joyce went on. “Says you missed some classes today.”

  “I was . . . running an errand.”

  Buffy smiled briefly and turned back to the closet. She pulled out an old trunk, opened it, and began going through the contents. She could feel her mother’s eyes boring into her back.

  “We haven’t finished unpacking, and I’m getting calls from your principal,” Joyce worried.

  “Mom, I promise you, it’s not gonna be like before.” An edge of desperation crept into Buffy’s voice. “But I have to go.”

  “No.”

  Buffy couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Mom . . .”

  She glanced up at the window, at the thickly spreading darkness. Joyce awkwardly stood her ground.

  “The tapes all say I should get used to saying it,” she explained to Buffy, sounding almost defensive. “No.”

  “This is really, really important,” Buffy said pleading.

  “I know. You have to go out or it’ll be the end of the world. Everything is life or death when you’re a sixteen-year-old girl.”

  “Mom, I don’t have time to talk about it—”

  “You’ve got all night, Buffy. You’re not going anywhere. Now you can stay up here and sulk if you want. I won’t hold it against you.” Joyce took a deep breath and put both hands on her daughter
’s shoulders. “But if you want to come down, I’ll make us some dinner.”

  She left, closing the door quietly but firmly behind her. Buffy stared after her for a moment, then shook her head and reached down into the trunk.

  All her special things were in there—photographs, letters, her diary, mementoes from her childhood, a Teen Beat magazine . . .

  She groped along the bottom, then lifted it out. No one but she knew that the trunk had a false bottom. And no one but she knew about the secret cache that lay beneath it—the stakes and crosses, the host, the garlic, the widemouthed jar of holy water. Quickly she gathered everything up and stuffed them into a bag.

  Then, almost reverently, Buffy withdrew one particularly deadly looking stake. It fit in her hand as if it were part of it, a normal extension of her arm. This she slid carefully up into her sleeve.

  She got up and went to the door.

  She pressed her ear flat against the wood. For a long moment she stood there and listened.

  Then she tiptoed to the window and opened it.

  And crawled out into the night.

  CHAPTER 22

  “Senior boys are the only way to go,” Cordelia said with practiced ennui.

  She was holding court again—this time at the Bronze—and her groupies were gathered adoringly about her at their table on the balcony.

  “They’re just a better class of person,” Cordelia went on. “The boys in our grade? Forget about it. They’re children. Like Jesse—did you see him last night?” She rolled her eyes in half amusement, half disgust. “The way he follows me around . . . he’s just like a little puppy dog—you just want to put him to sleep.”

  She leaned forward, eyes wide with superiority.

  “Senior boys have mystery, they have . . . what’s the word I’m searching for? Cars.”

  Beside her, Raine started to speak. Cordelia instantly interrupted.

  “I’m just not the type to settle,” she explained. “If I go into a clothing store, I always have to have the most expensive thing, not because it’s expensive, but because it costs more.”

  Again Raine attempted to speak. Again Cordelia cut her off.

  “Hello!” Cordelia flashed her a lethal stare. “Miss Motormouth—can I get a sentence finished? Oh! I love this song!”

  With friends in tow, she jumped up and headed down the stairs. Within minutes she was dancing away into the middle of the crowd, smugly conscious of the male stares upon her—not to mention the envious glares from the female population. She knew she looked fantastic.

  At the door Jesse walked in, but not the Jesse that Cordelia had once known—and loathed.

  This Jesse was a new man.

  There was a cool, subtle swagger in his step—a look of supreme confidence in his eyes.

  His gaze went straight to Cordelia.

  And he smiled.

  * * *

  Outside the entrance to the Bronze, things were relatively quiet. A few stragglers lounged against the building, laughing and talking, but the sidewalk was deserted.

  At first, no one noticed them coming—the eight shadowy figures strolling leisurely up the street. Their faces were bathed in the dim glow of sputtering streetlights, and none of them said a word.

  Not even Luke.

  * * *

  Jesse made his way slowly through the crowds, circling Cordelia, his eyes never leaving her face. She didn’t notice him at first. It was the burning intensity of his gaze that finally alerted her, and then when she suddenly realized who it was, she stared at him in surprise.

  There was something very different about him.

  Something she couldn’t quite figure out, but something strangely seductive all the same.

  A slow song was playing now.

  Cordelia stopped dancing and headed off the floor.

  Suddenly he was just there, closer than ever, standing right in front of her, blocking her way. Smiling a vague, knowing smile.

  “What do you want?” Cordelia demanded.

  She wasn’t fooling anyone. Not even herself, and certainly not Jesse. Without a word he took her hand and led her back onto the floor.

  “Hey!” Cordelia objected. “Hello, caveman-brain! What do you think you’re doing?”

  He turned to her . . . gave her an irresistible smile.

  “Shut up,” he said.

  She’d never have guessed he was such a great dancer. Guiding her to the center of the floor, Jesse held her and started moving in perfect rhythm, barely touching her, his body suggestive and sensuous.

  Cordelia’s heart raced wildly. She could feel her resolve beginning to crumble.

  “Just this one dance . . .” she murmured, and pressed close to Jesse.

  * * *

  They saw the bouncer before he saw them.

  He stood at the front entrance, all authority and muscle, and tried to stop them as they headed for the door.

  “I need ID,” he told them.

  They wouldn’t answer and they wouldn’t stop. The bouncer wasn’t particularly fond of trouble, so he tried raising his voice.

  “Hey! Nobody goes inside till I see—”

  Luke had no time for threats. He grabbed the bouncer and held him face-to-face, grazing him coldly with his eyes. The bouncer didn’t seem quite so brave now. In fact, Luke could feel him shaking.

  “Get inside,” Luke growled.

  Once through the door, the vampires began spreading out, each of them heading for an exit, while two stayed behind to close off the front. Darla took the door that led backstage. Another vampire made his way to the bar, swung himself over, and stood in front of the exit. As another pushed his way toward the balcony, Luke climbed up alone onto the stage.

  Darla checked her door once again, making certain it was secure. Then she opened a fuse box on the wall and flipped the switch.

  Immediately the main lights and music went off. Surprised gasps and murmurs swept through the crowd, and as everyone looked about in confusion, a voice called out from the front of the room.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Luke announced, “there’s no cause for alarm.”

  A single beam of light still shone onstage. Confident that he had their undivided attention now, Luke stepped into the spotlight and faced the bewildered crowd.

  “Actually,” his lips twisted in a mockery of a smile, “there is cause for alarm. It just won’t do any good.”

  He saw their expressions of revulsion and disbelief. He felt their waves of weakness and growing panic coursing through his veins. He thrived on it—thrived on all of it—it only served to make him stronger.

  A terrified couple tried to get out. Luke grinned as the vampire at the door teasingly shook his head at them. His face was as revolting as Luke’s, and the couple shrank away.

  Cordelia was staring up at the stage, Jesse’s hands still on her shoulders.

  “I thought there wasn’t any band tonight,” she said blankly.

  She looked back at Jesse, recoiling in horror at the horrible change in him, at the hideous sight of his face. She tried to struggle, but he held her tightly and pulled her back into the darkness beneath the stairs.

  It was time.

  * * *

  “This is a glorious night,” Luke proclaimed. His predatory eyes hungrily scanned the sea of faces below him. “It’s also the last one any of you shall ever see.”

  There was a tense, uncomprehending moment of silence.

  Then Luke commanded, “Bring me the first!”

  He watched, sneering, as the bouncer was thrust onstage.

  “What do you guys want?” the young man asked earnestly. “You want money? Man, what’s wrong with your faces?”

  Luke grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, squeezing any further conversation out of him.

  “Watch me, people!” he shouted. And then to the struggling victim in his grasp, “Their fear is elixir. It’s almost like blood.”

  With one expert motion, Luke bit into the young man’s neck, sucking his
life out in huge, wet gulps. He could feel a warm red haze enveloping him . . . could sense his Master growing stronger and stronger with every sip, the power of the ages coursing through his Master’s veins, radiating through him like divine light . . .

  Luke continued to feed.

  After several moments longer, he pulled his head back and flung the young man’s body away.

  “Next!” he roared.

  CHAPTER 23

  There was no one outside when Buffy and the others finally reached the Bronze. Buffy struggled to get the front door open, but it wouldn’t budge.

  “It’s locked,” she told them.

  Giles looked almost sick. “We’re too late.”

  “Well, I didn’t know I was gonna get grounded!” Buffy almost yelled at him.

  “Can you break it down?” Xander asked, but Buffy shook her head.

  “Not this thing. You guys try the back entrance. I’ll find my own way.”

  “Right.” Giles glanced from Xander to Willow. “Come on.”

  “Guys!” Buffy called out to them.

  The three stopped. Buffy handed them her bag.

  “You get the exit cleared, and you get people out,” she instructed them. “That’s all. Don’t go Wild Bunch on me.”

  “See you on the inside,” Giles promised.

  As they took off around the building, Buffy began circling in the other direction. Her expression was grim and she kept her eyes on the roof above.

  It only took a minute for Giles and the others to reach the back. Xander tried the door, but it too was locked. They looked around frantically for something to open it with.

  “Damn!” Xander exploded. “We’ve got to get in there before Jesse does something stupider than usual.”

  “Xander,” Giles stopped him, “Jesse is dead. You have to remember that if you see him.” And then in a kinder voice, “You’re not looking at your friend. You’re looking at the thing that killed him.”

  * * *

  The Master was even more powerful now.

  His whole being seemed to glow with energy and light, with indomitable strength, with eternal life.

  He stepped once more to the mystical wall that confined him. He placed his hands against it and began to push.