But feeling guilty had not been a priority. Finding Buffy had. Giles scoured the country in search of her, while Joyce took on what was to her the more difficult task of waiting by the phone. Jumping at every sound, imagining she had heard the door open.
As she was doing now.
How could any mother stand by, night after night, while her child was in danger? And yet that was precisely what was required of her.
She coughed again. She was tired, and her chest was very sore. Her throat was raw. All she wanted to do was sleep.
Cold, she thought glumly. And no wonder, with all this rain.
Her mind drifted back to happier times, when Buffy was little and she and Hank thought happily-ever-after applied to all marriages, especially theirs. Her ex-husband had sworn by chicken soup whenever she was sick, and he would bring her a piping-hot bowl on the wicker tray he had brought home from the Philippines. Saltines, she remembered.
Then the marriage died, rather quickly, and they were divorced. He had remained in Los Angeles. And though she knew Buffy blamed herself for her parents’ breakup, the two of them had no one to blame but themselves. They were the adults. She was the child.
Restless, feeling bilious, Joyce got up and walked to the refrigerator, mostly for something to do. She wasn’t particularly hungry. It occurred to her that she hadn’t had much of an appetite lately.
Maybe I should just go to bed, she thought. But ever since she had learned that Buffy was the Slayer, she had made it a policy not to rest until her girl was home.
She coughed again, much harder. Grabbing a tissue from the box beside her calculator, she put it to her lips. The copper taste of blood seeped into her mouth, and she daubed the tissue against her tongue.
Her breath caught in her throat as she examined it.
I’m coughing up blood, she thought. There really is something wrong with me.
The thought terrified her, not only for her sake but for Buffy’s. I can not get sick. She needs me too much.
But this wasn’t mere paranoia on Joyce’s part. The blood was real. She had never coughed blood before, and she knew that such things didn’t happen unless there was something really wrong. And suddenly she felt small and cold and did not want to be alone on a stormy night in a house in Sunnydale, with blood in her mouth and her daughter patrolling the dark for monsters to kill.
She rose and stared at the window, willing Buffy to come home. Or, at the very least, to be safe.
Buffy muttered to Xander, “Sing it with me now. ‘It never rains in Southern California.’”
“It’s our state song,” Xander said brightly.
They had been huddling with Giles under his extra-large black umbrella for almost half an hour. Buffy stood close to Xander, a stake clutched to her chest. They had run out of small talk — or at least the other two had — and Xander knew prattling could be annoying, though he had no clue why, and now they waited quietly, each with his own thoughts. Lightning flashed, and the rain poured down.
They stood there.
We look like an Edward Gorey print, Xander thought, and he was just about to share this observation — which would no doubt prompt Giles to ask what exactly Xander knew about Edward Gorey — when the mound of mud on top of Jackson Kirby’s economy-style gravesite started to move.
“Finally,” Buffy said.
She started to dart from beneath the umbrella. Giles said, “Oh, here, we’ll move,” and the threesome edged in concert closer to the mound. Rainwater sluiced down through the newly created rings of mud as the newborn vampire began to rise, like a baby chick breaking open its shell.
Or maybe not so much, Xander decided, as one pale hand burst through, followed by the other. Then the head emerged, fully vamped out — ridged forehead, wild, glowing eyes, and the feral, senseless grin of a mouth stuffed with fangs.
The demon that now inhabited Kirby’s corpse saw them and growled savagely, renewing its efforts to leave the grave. As soon as its chest was clear, Buffy murmured, “’Scuse,” to Giles.
“Mmm? Oh, yes, certainly,” he said, stepping out of her way.
She stooped down, just about to run the newborn through, when something came flying through the cemetery and launched itself at the three of them.
A vampire.
Three, actually.
They seemed to flow through the darkness and the rain, attacking quickly and viciously. Buffy, Xander, and Giles all moved to defend themselves. The Slayer sized up her opponents — one petite blond female and two males, one thin but tautly muscular, one large, swarthy, and bearded. And the newbie, who had cleared the grave, made four. With a mindless snarl, he rushed Buffy and the group from the opposite direction.
The hairy one lunged for Buffy; she dodged and shot out an elbow to the back of the head which sent him into the mud.
“I’ll take the new kid,” Xander shouted, and pulled out a stake from his jacket
Giles was likewise armed. Dropping the umbrella to the ground, he pulled out a cross as well and fended off the thin vampire as it rushed him. Recoiling, it turned as if in search of easier prey and spotted Xander, who had rushed forward to take out the newbie. The vampire grabbed his shoulders from behind. It clamped one hand on his forehead and caught him under the jaw with its other, arching his head back. Snarling, it bared its fangs.
The female vampire moved on Buffy, circling her, expertly dodging each kick and body blow Buffy attempted. Buffy swung again, and the vampire laughed.
We’re in trouble, Buffy thought, casting an anxious glance at Xander. Then she saw that the olive-skinned, bearded vamp was deliberately backing Giles up in the direction of the newborn, whose only impulse was feeding as soon as possible.
“Giles, behind you!” she cried. She feinted another side kick at the blonde, who took the bait, jumping out of range as Buffy took off in the opposite direction. Instead of aiding Giles, who was not in immediate danger — he had, like, two or three seconds before that happened — she charged the vampire who held Xander in a death grip, fully expecting the staking to be a simple matter.
But at just the right moment, the vampire released Xander and ran to the blond female’s side. Together they came at Xander and Buffy.
And Giles’s three seconds were up.
The newbie shrieked while the swarthy one pushed Giles toward him, bellowing, “Eat, brother!”
They were the first words any of the vampires had spoken since the battle began. “So, not deaf-mute vampires after all,” Buffy said as she struck the thin male in the face.
“What shall we say? You are beneath notice,” the blonde replied in an exotic accent, thrusting Buffy out of the way in order to save the thin vamp. Buffy’s back slammed into a gravestone, and she grunted as the air was expelled from her lungs. Then she popped back up into fighting stance.
The female, obviously the leader, glanced quickly at the others. “Konstantin, Ephialtes, what is wrong with you? Kill them, and be done with it. We have no time for such things.”
Buffy frowned. “Nice accent. Foreign talent. Did you check in when you came to town? Cuz, you see, the local vamps don’t let just anybody chomp people in their territory.”
“This is my territory now,” the blonde retorted.
“No, sorry, it’s really not.” Buffy jumped into the air, executed a three-sixty, and finally landed a good solid kick to the side of the female’s head.
She grunted and staggered back. Buffy took advantage by going on the offensive, pummeling her with brutal punches to her face and neck. The vampire seemed slightly off balance, but she was obviously ready for more.
Buffy glanced quickly around. Xander was once again under attack by the swarthy vampire, the one the blonde had called Ephialtes. And the newbie, Jackson Kirby, was doing its best to grab onto Giles, who ducked down just as it tried to throw its arms around him. It lost its balance, and Giles aimed his stake for its chest from his squatting position.
Good, Giles, she thought. But then Ephialtes la
shed out and drove Giles to the ground. He grabbed the Watcher’s arm and dragged him through the mud of the grave and across to the other side, where Jackson Kirby licked his chops.
Meanwhile, Xander was grappling with the thin vampire, Konstantin, his stake pointed toward the sky instead of directly at the vampire’s chest, as it should be.
Worried about her friends, Buffy almost didn’t realize how much danger she was in.
“How dare you ignore me!” the female roared, and struck out at Buffy.
The Slayer took the hit, went down on the wet ground, and rolled with the momentum. When she came up, she was only a couple of feet away from Giles.
This is harder than it should be, Buffy thought as she went to Giles’s aid. Flashes of lightning in quick succession lent the scene a strobelike effect as Buffy took Ephialtes down. She raised her stake above her head, anticipating the dusting, but then the female was there, wrenching the stake from her grasp.
“I think not,” she said.
Buffy pumped forward, her palms flattening on the male vampire’s chest as she threw her weight on her hands and brought her legs up behind her, smashing her heels into the blonde’s face.
When she dropped to her feet, she leaped over the vampires’ fallen leader and went to Giles’s aid again. Jackson Kirby was about to take a bite out of the Watcher. Giles tried to stake him, but the newborn vampire grabbed his wrists.
“I’ll take that,” Buffy said to Giles, yanking the stake out of his hand. She pushed him out of the way and ran the newbie through.
The thing that had once been Jackson Kirby exploded in a shower of ash that was immediately saturated by the rain and absorbed into the mud.
“Thank you,” Giles said politely, and went to help Xander.
“Kinda what I do.” She smiled briefly and gave the swarthy vampire, who was trying to sit up, a good, stiff kick in the head. The force sent him rolling, sprawling facedown in the mud. That, more than the kick, seemed to piss him off.
“Who is this girl?” he said to the blonde, scrambling to his knees. “How does she dare get in our way?”
“Giles, note. We need a better publicist,” Buffy sighed, and kicked the vampire in the head again. “And speaking of daring, how dare you guys spoil our evening? You keep this up, I’m going to miss Felicity.”
She whipped her arm down to dust the dude — easily done — but the blonde intercepted her with a body block to the side. Buffy sprawled but managed to trip the blonde as she charged. Then they were all down there in the mud, the dark, bearded vampire and his blond mistress, and Buffy.
The female climbed onto Buffy, who tried to force her off but without any luck. She was latched on tight. Buffy staggered to her feet, fighting to break free. Suddenly, Ephialtes loomed up before her, and she wondered if it was all over.
Which was when Giles slapped a cross on the back of Ephialtes’s neck. Without a stake, it was his only weapon, and he made good use of it. Ephialtes cried out and turned to crack Giles hard across the cheek. Then it was two on two, Xander and Giles against the two male vampires.
Buffy grunted angrily and thrust herself backward, slamming into Jackson Kirby’s headstone. The female vampire grunted, and they both tumbled down into the disturbed earth that had been Kirby’s grave.
The Slayer was on top.
“Ephialtes, Konstantin, go!” shouted the female.
Now, Buffy thought, and brought the stake down swiftly. Just before the point struck home, the vampire smiled sort of oddly and said, “Until next time, Slayer.”
Then she burst into a sodden pile of dust.
“In your dreams, moron,” Buffy spat.
She straightened, ready for more, only to realize that the other two vampires were trying to escape. Xander and Giles — bless their souls — were giving chase. Buffy joined the hunt, leaping over broken gravestones and exposed tree roots. The rain was so heavy it obscured Buffy’s vision; she narrowly missed an overhanging branch until it was illuminated by a flash of lightning.
Thunder rumbled, the bass accompaniment to Buffy’s steady footfalls in the sticky, slippery mud. The vampires were faster than Xander and Giles, and they had had a head start. When she caught up with her guys, she stopped, muttered, “Damn,” and scanned the area in case the two vampires had come with any friends who were slower.
“Two out of four’s not bad,” Xander ventured.
She gave him a look. “Don’t let it get around.”
“For good money, I won’t. Or a massage.” He flinched at her glare. “Or a quarter.”
“Put it on my tab.”
“Well, that was rather more arduous than I would have expected,” Giles said as they trudged back toward the umbrella.
“Same here. They weren’t exactly amateurs,” Buffy said. She smiled at Xander as they ducked under the tree branch at the same time. “I’m glad you showed.”
“I’m glad you’re glad. Personally, I’m freezing. I’m going to —”
At that moment, Konstantin dropped from the upper branches of the same tree and took off. Buffy couldn’t help a brief smile — I’ve got him this time — and hauled after him.
“Go, Buffy!” Xander shouted.
She pulled out all the stops, ticked at having lost him once, determined not to let it happen a second time. Boots, meet mud, she thought as her bounty from a recent mall excursion with her mother was soaked through, and she felt the cold, slimy mud seeping into her socks.
The vampire looked over its shoulder and kept going. All it had had to do to survive was stay hidden in the tree for about two more minutes. But no. That flight-or-fright thing gets ’em every time. Or fright-or-fight. Or whatever.
Feeling smug, Buffy matched its pace, then put on a burst of speed to get the job done. Lightning flashed, momentarily disorienting her, and she sailed along blindly for a moment before the ground seemed to open up in front of her. Buffy stumbled, fell, slammed against a wall of earth, and then landed butt-first in an open grave.
“Buffy!” It was Giles.
As she sputtered and fumed, he and Xander peered over the edge. Giles had pulled out a flashlight, which he was shining down at her.
“Oh, dear,” he murmured.
“Hey, no big,” she shot back. “I’ve fallen into freshly dug graves before. I just don’t know why they didn’t cover it.”
“Merely a shot in the dark,” Giles ventured, “but I don’t believe the they you refer to dug this grave at all.”
Confused, Buffy looked at him more closely. He gestured to the gravestone behind her. She turned to see that the date of death on the stone was six months old.
“Wait a minute. That means . . . someone dug him up?”
“So it would appear,” Giles agreed. “Certainly, no vampire waits six months to return to life. The hunger, never mind the condition of the body, would not allow such a thing. Add in the obvious ‘freshly dug’ quality you mentioned, and, well, it seems we have a grave robber on our hands.”
“Um, would it make me less manly if I said eeew?” Xander asked.
“Considerably,” Giles informed him.
Xander nodded. “Right. Of course. Which is why I would never. So who’d want to dig up dead bodies?”
Buffy sighed. “In this town? If we rounded up the usual suspects, there wouldn’t be any town left.”
Xander brightened. “Now, there’s a happy thought.”
Chapter Two
In her dream, it was still raining. Buffy stood in the middle of Restfield Cemetery, alone this time, and glanced nervously around. She knew that she should be bored, and confident, and she was. But something lingered in the air, in the dream mind, the flow of her consciousness, and it told her that what was to come was to be feared. So despite her outward calm, the current that flowed beneath the dream was laden with anxiety.
Dream lightning flashed, illuminating the deep open grave only a few feet away. Her feet moved beneath her, and Buffy tried to look down at them, or even at her hands
.
She couldn’t see her hands. Her subconscious mind, monitoring the dream reality, was slightly relieved. That was good. In normal dreams, you can’t see your hands.
Dream rain spattered her face. Lightning flashed again, and Buffy looked down into that hole in the ground, and she saw them there, piled one upon the other: Giles, Xander, and Oz. They were dead, eyes staring blankly, jaws slack and gaping, almost accusing her of some complicity in their deaths.
The illumination of the lightning seeped away, eaten again by the dark, and still Buffy stared in horror and revulsion, fear and guilt, at the dark pit beneath her and the bodies that lay there in the shadows. After a moment, something rustled in that empty grave, and three sets of pinprick eyes glowed red in the ebon shadows of that hole.
Buffy recoiled in horror and whispered something aloud, though she could not hear her own voice. Dreams could be like that.
Thunder boomed across the starless night sky, and in the wake of that noise, a sound more sinister and subtle reached her ears. The slippery, sucking sound of mud, the crumbling of sodden earth. Buffy spun, the grave forgotten in her dream, and saw a pair of hands thrust up through the soil of the nearest grave.
As Buffy watched in horror, Willow dragged herself from her grave, face slack and white, eyes red and bloodshot.
“God, Will, no,” Buffy whispered.
At that, Willow smiled, her skin cracking at the edges of her mouth as she did, and as her lips drew back, fresh rainwater poured out the sides and down her chin.
Buffy wanted nothing more than to turn and run, or simply collapse there in the rain among the dead and sob. But beyond Willow, something else stirred in the ground. Beyond and beyond and beyond, things shoved their way up through the malleable, sucking soil.
Immortal Page 3
