Immortal

by Christopher Golden

  Difficult as it was for Philip to believe it, the entire order, including his friend Jacques de Molay, were worshipers of Satan. The rituals Veronique described to him were hideous. Long had whispers gone throughout Europe about the Templars and their ceremonies, which were held behind closed doors and covered windows. Now Philip understood their secrecy.

  But still . . .

  “I cannot help but feel as though I betray Jacques, who has been like a brother to me,” Philip said helplessly.

  Veronique caressed his face. “Who is the betrayer, your majesty?” she asked bluntly. “He has given himself over to the darkness, under the guise of a servant of the church. It is not merely your right to destroy him and all the Templars, but your duty.”

  “Pope Clement will be most agitated that I did not consult him,” Philip said thoughtfully.

  “The pope might warn the Templars by bringing the question into the open. Better to take them by surprise than give them the opportunity to bury their sins deeply. His Holiness does not know how close to his heart sleeps the serpent of the Garden.”

  Philip turned to look deeply into Veronique’s eyes. She understood so well, and she did not have the weakness of affection in this instance. He realized that he was not being objective, and it hardened him to recognize this frailty.

  “You are right,” he said at last. “I knew it. I only needed to see my certain course reflected back upon me. The Templars shall be taken, and they will confess to their insidious evils, no matter what means must be employed to elicit such confessions. Then His Holiness will have no choice but to accept the charges against the order.”

  Veronique smiled and kissed him softly on the lips. She pulled Philip to her, and he felt her softness pressing against the bulk of his clothing. He thought he might crush her, though he knew such a thing would be impossible with a woman so formidable.

  “And, of course, the Knights Templar are very wealthy,” she said happily. “With their riches in your hands, you will be that much closer to the peaceful empire that is your fate.”

  “Yes,” Philip whispered into the soft curve of her neck. But he was no longer responding to her words. “Yes.”

  The peignoir slipped from her shoulders and floated to the floor. Veronique led him toward her bed.

  The fate of the Templars had been sealed.

  After she’d crawled out of bed and into the shower, then stumbled out and dried herself off, Buffy had stared forlornly into the mirror above the sink, and fretted over the black bags under her eyes. She didn’t remember ever looking so tired and haggard.

  Try as she might, she couldn’t remember ever wanting to climb back into bed quite so badly. Her worry for her mother crowded nearly everything else out of her head. And yet, after last night’s run-in with vampy little Pepper Roback, she knew she had to go to school, if only to see Giles. Plus, somewhere in the back of her mind, she seemed to remember something about a math test.

  She couldn’t even get up the energy to worry about it.

  After she’d dressed, Buffy called her mother at the hospital. Joyce told her she had to stay at least another day for observation. She sounded a little less dazed this morning than she had the night before, and Buffy was somewhat reassured. She promised to visit after school, no matter what other fun and funky reindeer games Giles had planned.

  “Oh, honey, I know you have responsibilities. I’m fine, really,” Joyce insisted. “I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”

  “You can tell me when I see you,” Buffy said flatly. “I’ll be there right after school.”

  There was a pause on the other end. “Well,” Joyce said at length, “I know better than to argue with my daughter when she’s determined. I’ll see you later.”

  Buffy smiled. She thought she heard relief in her mother’s voice. Joyce needed her but didn’t want to say it. Which was fine. Buffy had a lot of people in her life with that particular reticent quality.

  “I love you, Mom,” she said.

  “Love you, too, honey,” Joyce replied.

  After Buffy hung up, she felt a little better. She was still afraid of what the day would bring, what news they might get about her mother’s condition. But they were in it together. Whatever happened, she was going to be at her mother’s side. And she felt better just having a plan for the day. School, brain dump with Giles, then off to the hospital.

  For as much as Buffy operated on her own, under her own terms, she honestly didn’t know what she would do without her mother in her life. In fact, she wasn’t even going to allow herself to think about it. She wasn’t a fool. She knew that death came for everyone eventually. But now wasn’t the time for her mother. Joyce was much too young.

  Buffy needed her too much.

  It wasn’t until she was going out the front door for school, bag over her shoulder, that all the positive-thinking fantasies she’d been running through her mind simply collapsed in upon themselves. Her brief talk with Dr. Coleman the night before had been fruitless. She was a specialist, but even she didn’t have any idea what was wrong with Buffy’s mother. Dr. Coleman had said it was just too early to tell.

  All the strength went out of her, and for fully two minutes, Buffy simply stood there in the doorway, leaning against the frame for support.

  “Please, no,” she whispered to herself. “Give me something I can fight. Something I can protect her against.”

  When she pushed through the swinging doors into the library, Buffy was a bit surprised to find everyone still there, even Cordelia. The bell had rung for first period to begin, but everyone was just sort of sitting around, chatting or lost in their own little world.

  “Hey,” she said softly.

  “Well, look who rolled out of bed just in time to grace us with her presence,” Cordelia said, raising an eyebrow. “And I do mean rolled out of bed. Did you sleep in that outfit?”

  Before she could stop herself, Buffy actually looked down to see what she was wearing. Her brain wasn’t functioning completely, so she’d actually forgotten. Still, the outfit looked fine to her.

  “Buffy, are you all right?” Willow asked.

  That’s my witchy woman, always the perceptive one, Buffy thought.

  She was about to respond when Giles emerged from his office, looking at her expectantly.

  “Ah, good, you’re here,” he said. “A great deal is happening at one time, and I thought it best if we were all here to discuss it. There are mysteries upon mysteries here, and we’ve had no luck at all in unraveling them.”

  Buffy just sort of looked at him.

  Giles paused to glance back in concern. “Buffy?”

  “Sorry,” she said, shaking it off. “Long night.”

  “Yes, well, it seems we all had rather long nights. I only hope yours aren’t quite as colorful as the others’ was.”

  Finally, Buffy felt as though she was coming out of the brain fog her fear for her mother had formed around her. She looked at her friends, sitting around the table when they ought to be in class. Waiting for her. Save for Cordelia, they looked at her with concerned expressions. Oz tapped his knee with a pencil. Xander held a book — one of Giles’s dusty leather volumes — open on his lap, but he was looking up at her rather than at its pages. Willow was the most concerned of all.

  “Sorry, guys,” she said. “I’m a little out of it. We can deal with that later, though. Are all of you okay?”

  “Other than scarred for life —” Cordelia began.

  “We’re fine.” Willow cut her off.

  “If you don’t count the whole trapped-for-hours-with-a-bunch-of-corpses thing,” Xander added amiably. “And, hey, what’s a little abject terror among friends, right?”

  “Always been my motto,” Oz put in. “Right after ‘Fools rush in.’”

  “But you’re not alone in foolishness,” Willow assured him, and the two of them looked at each other with such adoration that it should have been nauseating but was actually rather sweet.

  “S
orry, but huh? Let’s all pretend my brain was hit by a semi, and it’s limping, dragging several bloody limbs, from the accident scene,” Buffy suggested.

  Giles stared at her oddly. “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked gravely.

  “Never said I was all right. Can we move on?”

  “Please, I’m for that,” Cordelia said snappishly. “Here’s the sitch. We cruised the deadfill for grave robbers, and we found some. They were vampires.”

  “Whoa,” Buffy said.

  “With you on the ‘whoa,’ ” Xander said, nodding.

  “We hid in a crypt and got trapped in there,” Cordelia continued. “Willow engaged in some illicit communication with dead people and then magicked us out. Can I go to class now?”

  Buffy frowned and looked at Willow.

  “Okay, Cordelia Translation Program?” she asked.

  “Pretty much accurate,” Willow replied, looking uncomfortable. “Well, except, y’know, the illicit part. I owe them a favor, though. The dead people. And we got some help from the ghost of Lucy Hanover.”

  “The Slayer?” Buffy asked, incredulously.

  Willow explained the circumstances of their meeting with the ghost, and Buffy listened in amazement.

  “Cool,” she said when Willow had finished. “Nice to know there’s somebody else on our side out there. Even if she’s already dead. But why do I get the feeling there’s more?”

  “Good that you retain some optimism,” Oz complimented her.

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “Yes, well, there is more,” Giles said reluctantly. “A great deal more, I should think. Further investigation into the phenomenon of Lucy Hanover’s presence will have to wait until this crisis has passed. We still don’t know why the vampires would want to take these corpses. Certainly, it isn’t to fulfill their hunger.”

  “Possible they have other needs,” Xander suggested.

  Even Oz shot him a revolted look.

  “I should know better by this time,” Giles sighed, and looked at Xander. “But would it be at all possible for you to contain your outbursts for five minutes?”

  Xander looked thoughtful. “It’d be an experiment.”

  Giles shook his head. “In any case, we need to discover what becomes of these bodies after they’ve been stolen. I’m certain the vampires are up to something. And it isn’t merely this that concerns me. It also appears that they are marshaling their forces.”

  Buffy blinked. “They’re what?” she asked. “Preparing for war?”

  “Not necessarily,” Giles replied. “But certainly preparing for something. I remained here in the library quite late last night and did a bit of research using the computer.”

  Now it was Giles’s turn to be the center of attention.

  “And he’s really come through it well,” Willow said. “No bruises or lacerations or any signs of hemorrhage.”

  Giles shot her a withering look, and Willow shrugged sheepishly.

  “Willow took a look at my findings this morning and then infiltrated the newspaper and police computer systems.”

  “You can just say hacked,” Xander told him.

  “Do you ever use the computer for anything legal?” Cordelia asked, her tone as condescending as always.

  “Not everyone can make their millions from setting up their own trampy Web site like you have, Cordy. It’s a gift,” Xander told her.

  Cordelia scowled.

  “I’m never going to finish with this,” Giles huffed. “Perhaps you ought to all come back later, when the town has been decimated by the forces of evil.”

  They all fidgeted guiltily. Buffy went to the table and sat down.

  “Enough, guys, come on. Giles, what’s going on? Or what do you think is going on?” she said.

  “Not only are the vampires stealing corpses, but there have been a number of live disappearances that we were unaware of, thanks to the spin control exerted by the powers that be here in lovely Sunnydale. Pepper Roback is one of many to disappear and not leave a drained corpse behind. Which would indicate that these people are not being simply murdered for food but purposefully turned. Someone is making new vampires.

  “A great many new vampires.”

  Buffy nodded, leaned back in her chair. “Yep,” she said. “Pepper Roback.”

  Giles blinked. “Sorry?”

  “Pepper’s your girl. Angel and I met up with her last night.”

  “But she only disappeared a few days ago,” Willow argued. “There’s no way she could be behind all this.”

  “Maybe she’s not behind it, but she’s in it deep,” Buffy said. “Gotta say, this one’s got my head spinning. It was definitely Pepper. She matched the description we got perfectly. But she spoke to Angel in medieval French, and she fought as well as anyone I’ve gone up against, with the exception of maybe Angel. You don’t learn to fight like that watching repeats of Walker, Texas Ranger.”

  Giles looked troubled. “Did she say anything else? Give you any idea what she and the others are up to?”

  “Not really. But it’s pretty obvious she’s got a serious crush-kill-destroy thing going with Slayers in general, and she made some comment about seeing Slayers die before.”

  “That’s impossible,” Giles sniffed.

  “She also said her name isn’t Pepper,” Buffy offered, then shrugged.

  Giles paused and looked at her thoughtfully. “Did she happen to mention what it is?”

  Buffy thought about it. Then she brightened. “I’m thinking Betty, but I know that’s not right.”

  “Not real fearsome, either, as vampire names go,” Oz noted.

  “Betty,” Buffy repeated. “Betty and Veronica! It was Veronica,” she said, then looked puzzled. “Or something.”

  “Veronique?” Giles suggested.

  “Give the man a gold star and a blueberry scone!” Buffy said.

  But Giles barely responded. He looked deeply troubled, which, in turn, had Buffy deeply troubled. Giles turned and went back into his office. They heard him rummaging around inside, and when he emerged once more, he held a slim book open in his hand.

  “Giles?” Buffy asked. “Can we assume bell, ringing?”

  “Hmm?” he said, then glanced up at her. “Oh, yes.” His eyes went back to the book, and he flipped a couple more pages. Then his finger jabbed the page. “Here it is! ‘Veronique is unique among all vampires. Destroy her time and again, and yet her malevolence remains. God preserve us and all Christian men, for she is the ultimate immortal.’”

  “But that’s not possible,” Willow said. “Once a vampire is dusted, the demon soul inside it is destroyed. Right?”

  They all looked to Giles.

  “Well,” he said, blinking and nodding his head slightly. “That is the generally accepted principle, yes. But to every rule there is an exception, yes? Apparently, even this one.”

  Giles squinted and looked more closely at the page. “There seem to be a number of cross-references here to various times in history when this creature’s existence has been documented. I remembered reading about her in my studies, but I always thought the scholars must be in error. If she does exist, she must truly be unique.”

  “Oh, she exists,” Buffy said. “In fact, the way she was talking, I got the feeling I’d fought her before. I’m having a really hard time buying all this, but if you’re right, and this thing exists, I’m betting she was the vamp I dusted at the cemetery the other night. You remember? Jackson Kirby’s undead welcome wagon.”

  “Yes. Quite possible,” Giles agreed. “Give me a moment, would you?” He began to read again.

  Buffy barely noticed. Her mind was elsewhere. All she could think about was the conversation she’d had with Angel about dying, about mortality and immortality. Buffy was only human, a fragile, mortal creature. But despite their supposed immortality, vampires were in some ways even more fragile. She could destroy them as easily as, even more easily than, they could destroy her — if she ever let them get that close
.

  Veronique was something else entirely.

  “I have a question,” Cordelia said.

  “I know we have to figure out what she’s up to,” Buffy said, ignoring her. “But even if we do, how do we stop Veronique if her malevolence remains, whatever that really means in real English?”

  “That was my question.” Cordelia sniffed grumpily.

  “You all should get on to class,” Giles said absently. “It appears I have my research cut out for me today. Shall we all reconvene here when the last bell has rung?”

  Everyone agreed, but Buffy was silent. Giles looked at her.

  “I can’t make it,” she said.

  “Buffy, this is rather —”

  “My mother’s in the hospital,” she told them, feeling her throat constrict, fighting the emotions welling up within her.

  “I’m sorry,” Giles said. “I’d no idea.”

  “Is she going to be all right?” Willow asked.

  Buffy wanted to say something positive and confident. Instead, she looked away.

  “I don’t know.”

  Paris, October 13, 1307

  In the small hours of the morning, not long before dawn, Veronique slept pleasantly upon the wide bed in her private chamber. Enfolded in her arms, draped in the gentle fabrics of her bedclothes, was the still, cold form of Collette, the beggar girl whom Antoine had brought her the night before. The girl had been quite filthy at first, but Veronique had doted upon her. Once she had been stripped of the rags she wore and bathed and perfumed, her hair lavishly brushed, she had proven quite a beauty.

  Veronique had taken care with her, not a drop of blood had she allowed to drip onto the bedclothes. Now Collette lay perfectly still, perfectly hollow, waiting to be filled with life once more. And soon enough, she would be, and Veronique would cultivate the girl as though she were a flower.

  Rather than a vampire.

  From below, there came a raucous crash and the sounds of men shouting. There followed a cry of profound agony, and Veronique’s eyes snapped open. She sat up, slipping her arm from beneath the dead girl’s head, and drew a robe about herself.