Immortal

by Christopher Golden

  Tergazzi, a minor demon who made a small fortune twice a year stealing and then reselling arcane artifacts on the black market — and then lost it all in Vegas — was at the bar, along with half a dozen other regulars.

  “I’m tellin’ ya, Terry,” Willy said to the demon, “ya gotta love this town. I mean, with all its faults, it’s still a beautiful place to live.”

  “That’s why I always come back,” Tergazzi replied. “I mean, let’s face it, it ain’t for the company!”

  They both laughed.

  “Plus,” Terry went on,“I don’t worry so much about hiding my face here. Sure, I cover up and all, but not like in other places. People ’round these parts are so used to looking the other way, or just not seeing what’s in front of ’em . . . well, as long as you behave and steer clear of the Slayer . . .”

  The diminutive demon shrugged and scratched the green, wrinkled flesh at the top of his head, right between the twin ridges of horns that ran down the back of his scalp.

  “An’ I don’t say this above a whisper much,” Willy told him confidentially, “but I think that Slayer does a world of good, keeping out the riffraff, y’know? I like paying customers, demons who ain’t too big for their britches, y’know?”

  “Absolutely,” Terry agreed, and raised his beer mug in a toast.

  “Yeah,” Willy said absently, gazing around his place. His place. “Life is good. Life is —”

  He raised both eyebrows and stared as Angel and Xander walked through the door together. Then Willy shook his head and sighed and picked up a rag to wipe down the bar.

  The new arrivals said nothing but scanned the place for trouble before they walked over to the bar. Willy shot them a glance that let them know he was a little pissed off that they’d come in late enough that the place was busy. They both glared back, and Willy had the idea it was important, and maybe he should keep his mouth shut for once.

  He nodded to the right slightly, then wiped the bar in that direction, moving down and away from the regulars sitting at the bar. The vampire and the punk kid sat down just a few seats away from Tergazzi. Willy saw the demon’s pointed ears move slightly, like a dog’s, and he knew Terry would hear the conversation, but there was nothing to be done for it. And, anyway, Terry pretty much looked out for himself.

  “What can I do for you boys tonight?” he asked, in the same friendly voice he used on everyone who came in.

  “I’ll have a beer,” Angel said, playing along.

  “And a Shirley Temple for your sidekick,” Willy replied, grinning.

  Xander frowned, stared hard at Willy. “Don’t make me have to hurt you, Willy,” he said in a low, dangerous voice.

  Willy figured he’d been practicing. Kind of like De Niro in the mirror in Taxi Driver.

  “Sure, kid,” Willy agreed. “No doubt. Coke?”

  “Yeah.” Xander nodded agreeably.

  Willy drew Angel’s beer from the tap — Guinness, as usual — and set it down on the counter as he grabbed a glass for the kid’s Coke.

  “New game in town,” Xander said quietly. “Veronique. Connected to some kind of demon called the Triumvirate.”

  “She’s out to breed, and quickly,” Angel added, glancing around. “And she’s the one who’s been digging bodies up lately.”

  “We need to find where she and her buddies are crashing,” Xander said. “And we need to find out now.”

  Willy screwed his mouth up, thinking. He slid Xander’s Coke across the bar and then scratched his chin. After a long minute, he looked around the room, trying to figure out if any of the mooks who were in there would have any leads for these boys.

  “What’s in it for me?” he asked, pretending to wipe the bar down again.

  “An even hundred,” Angel told him.

  Willy nodded thoughtfully. “Tell you what,” he said. “I got nothing. Not a damn thing. But you leave me fifty, and I’ll see what I can find out. I get you a location, you cough up another hundred, and we’re square.”

  Angel thought about it, but it was the kid who answered.

  “Twenty now,” Xander said, sliding the bill across the bar. “Another Benny when you’ve got answers.”

  Willy smiled. “Deal. And the Coke’s on the house. But you still have to pay for the beer.”

  Angel reached into his pocket and dropped a five on the bar, even though he’d only had a few sips of the beer. The two of them were getting up, about to leave, when Tergazzi moved a couple of seats closer to them.

  Willy glared at him. What’re you up to, Terry? he thought. Willy knew he had a good thing going with Angel and the Slayer and all, but he also knew that Buffy might beat him within an inch of his life if the need arose.

  “Pardon me, gentlemen,” Tergazzi said politely. “I couldn’t help overhearin’ your conversation, and I think I can help.”

  Angel glared at him.

  “You know where we can find Veronique?” Xander asked under his breath.

  “No,” Terry replied, shrugging.“But I get around, y’know? Pick things up here and there. Valuable things. Sometimes magick things. Books, too. And I think I may have a book in my collection that would interest anyone who planned to go up against Veronique.”

  Xander rubbed his hands together.“Maybe we can do business after all, then.”

  But Angel wasn’t as trusting. As Willy watched, the vampire’s hand snapped out, and his fingers closed around Terry’s throat. Angel leaned in close, and Tergazzi’s back was to the room. To the others in the bar, it would look like nothing more than a bit of private conversation.

  “Don’t screw around, demon,” Angel snarled. “We don’t have time for it.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Terry rasped.

  “Then let’s go,” the vampire replied.

  The three of them left the bar together.

  * * *

  Oz drove the van, and Giles rode shotgun, with Buffy, Willow, and Cordelia in the back. The pall that had hung over them earlier remained, and they spoke surprisingly little. There was a gravity about their work that night that was unusual. When Buffy rose out of the dark blue funk she was in long enough to recognize it, she took the blame upon herself.

  It isn’t just Veronique, and it isn’t all this mysterious bodysnatching and breeding stuff. It’s me. And Mom. And the fact that they all know what’s going on, and nobody had any clue what to say or do about it.

  It would have been so much easier for her if they’d found what they were looking for.

  But they didn’t.

  Still, they made the rounds, hoping against hope that their search would lead them to the hidden lair of the little family of vampires that Veronique was putting together. Logically, they began by checking places that had housed similar gatherings in the past. The ruins of the factory, where Spike and Drusilla had held court for so long, were silent save for the rats and the echoes of the evil that had been perpetrated there. Beneath the surface of Sunnydale, in the warren of maintenance tunnels — and others whose purpose had never been quite clear — the hovel that had been headquarters to the Master showed no signs of recent occupation.

  When they stood in the broken church that had crumbled into a hole in the earth during a quake many years before, and looked around at the cold stone and shattered walls, Buffy had shivered. She had died there, right in that room. Only for a few seconds, but death . . . there was so much about it she was beginning to believe nobody really understood. Yet that was not the sole reason for the chill that ran through her. That place was also where the barrier between Earth and Hell was the thinnest.

  They didn’t stay longer than necessary.

  After that, they were a bit more random about their choices, though never without logic. A place big enough to hold a large group of vampires and yet isolated enough that they could come and go in relative obscurity. They drove by the old Sunnydale Twin Drive-In, long since closed down, and checked out the big cement bunker that had once doubled as concession stand and pro
jection booth.

  Nothing.

  They actually broke into the old Bairstow place, a mansion not far from Angel’s, which had been vacant for half a year.

  Nothing.

  They checked the rusted-out cannery down by the docks off Shore Road and an empty warehouse that stood right next to it.

  Nothing.

  Though it was getting late, they drove through the old downtown section of Sunnydale, where there were a number of condemned government buildings, ready to be torn down, but they all seemed locked up tight. At the old courthouse, which stood at the end of the block, they’d seen something moving inside and had completely overreacted, going in hard and fast with stakes raised and crossbows drawn. But all they found were several frightened squatters, a couple of junkies, and a homeless family whose child shrieked with fear when Buffy kicked in the door.

  Giles gave them fifty dollars and suggested they hide it from the junkies.

  As they drove along the street again, it became clear that they were likely to find similar situations in each of the buildings, at least until the city council finally demolished the half block.

  It was after ten o’clock when they finally agreed to call it a night and head back to the library. At least until they could come up with a secondary list of locations to search. As Oz pulled into the driveway, it was, as usual, Cordelia who put voice to the despair they were all feeling.

  “Well, that was useless,” she grumbled. “I could have used my time better just about anywhere. Maybe Veronique left town? I mean, if she’s as classy as she sounds, she’ll have figured out by now how tacky this whole place is to begin with.”

  “Now, there’s something we can hope for,” Buffy said, scowling at Cordelia. “I didn’t see you coming up with any ideas.”

  Cordelia looked appalled. “Yeah. I’m just so well-versed in the dives and crackhouses of Sunnydale, Buffy. I’m going to be offering a walking tour starting next week. Here’s an idea. Wait till she shows her face again, and then torch her. I mean, obviously, a stake isn’t getting the job done. Maybe some fire would —”

  “Do nothing,” Giles said bluntly. “From what I’ve read, it’s been tried.”

  “You’re the expert,” Cordelia said emphatically. “I’m the girl who gets cranky without beauty sleep.”

  “That explains a lot,” Buffy sniped.

  “Don’t start with me,” Cordelia replied angrily, then she fluttered her hands. “No, I don’t even have time for that. I’m going home and going to bed. Have fun storming the castle, or whatever it is you people do in the library when the research runs dry.”

  With that, she turned and went to her car, slipped behind the wheel, and drove away. The four of them stood in the parking lot for a few seconds, watching the embers of her taillights burn low and then wink out in the dark. Willow was the first to speak.

  “So . . . research?” she asked.

  “That’s on the Giles agenda,” Buffy admitted, then turned to look at Willow and Oz. “But in some ways, Cordelia’s right. I don’t know how much more any of us can get done tonight.”

  Oz raised one eyebrow slightly. “But you’re staying. Doing more research.”

  “That’s the job,” Buffy admitted.

  “Yes, and we’d best get on with it.” Giles sighed. “Perhaps I shall make yet another angry call to London.”

  “I can’t believe the council hasn’t come up with any more than we have,” Buffy grumbled.

  “Well, that’s not precisely true,” Giles admitted. “They have provided records of a great many of Veronique’s escapades in the past, but nothing that reveals the nature of the Triumvirate or their intentions.”

  For a second, it appeared as though he might say something more, but then Giles turned and headed for the library. “Damn it,” he muttered angrily.

  Buffy knew he was frustrated; they all were. But only now did she begin to realize how angry Giles was becoming. She understood. The knowledge was his specialty, and he wasn’t coming through. It wasn’t his fault, but she knew it would be useless to tell him that. Instead, she watched him go, then turned back to Willow and Oz.

  The two of them exchanged a look, and Willow nodded.“We’ll stay,” she said. “That way, Oz can drive you home after.”

  Buffy thought about protesting, but she just didn’t have the energy. And she wouldn’t mind the ride, either. Not tonight. She was tired, and frustrated, and afraid.

  “Just another hour,” she said. “After that, I think my head will explode.”

  “Whatever you need us to do.” Willow reached for Oz’s hand and twined her fingers with his. “I was thinking as we were driving around that we haven’t cross-referenced all notations about tripartite demons to see if any of them might be additional names for the Triumvirate. That’s a place to start, at least.”

  “Giles will be happy,” Buffy said.

  Willow looked troubled. “I just wish I’d thought of it sooner.”

  “We’ve had our hands full,” Oz reassured her.

  “Still do,” Buffy said.

  Together, the three of them walked into the school and down the corridor to the library. Giles was at the end of the hall, and they saw him push through the double doors of the library. Buffy saw him tense and pause with the doors held open.

  Somebody’s here, she thought, and quickened her pace. The others kept up right behind her.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” Giles demanded as they came into the library behind him.

  Buffy reached around to the rear waist of her belt for the stake she had stashed there, just in case. But then she saw who the intruder was and left it there. With a quizzical look on her face, Buffy studied the girl. Behind her, Willow gave her the name to go with the familiar face.

  “Damara?” Willow said, her voice soft, almost conspiratorial.

  The girl — a Sunnydale student whose older sister had once roomed with Pepper Roback — could not possibly have looked more alone and lost and afraid, sitting there in a chair at the study table, hugging herself and looking up at them with wide eyes. Terrified eyes.

  “Oh, thank God you’re here,” Damara whispered. “I was so scared.”

  “Of what?” Willow asked immediately. “Damara, are you in danger?”

  Buffy narrowed her eyes and tilted her head slightly to one side. “I have better questions. Like, what the hell are you doing here?”

  The girl blinked, shocked, and seemed to inch back farther into her chair, as if that were possible.

  “Buffy, I really don’t think —” Giles began.

  But Buffy wasn’t done. She walked over toward Damara and stared at her closely.

  “All right, then,” the Slayer said, “answer Willow’s question. What are you afraid of?”

  Damara glanced at the floor. “Vampires,” she whispered. “They’re after me. First it was Pepper, my sister’s old roommate. Now it’s some other woman I’ve never seen before. But I know she’s a vampire. I saw what her face looks like. I mean, really looks like. I never believed the things they said about you, Buffy. Never gave you much thought, really. But now —”

  Buffy sighed. Never gave you much thought. That sounded like Damara, all right. “What things?” she asked.

  Damara shrugged. “Stuff. You know what stuff. Monsters, all of that. Around school, y’know? And it’s no secret that you guys hang out here. I figured it must be kinda safe, and if I hid here tonight, maybe you’d show up in the morning. I only got here myself a little while ago. And I’ve been doing some thinking. I want to leave Sunnydale. Go live with Tanisa in L.A. I’m gonna call her as soon as . . .”

  The girl’s voice trailed off, and she looked around the room. “Is there a phone in here I can use?” she asked, her tone desperate and tense.

  Giles raised his eyebrows and looked at Buffy. She didn’t know what to think now. She shrugged.

  “Right over there,” Giles told her, pointing into his office.

  Damara thanked them all
profusely and went into Giles’s office. She picked up the phone and dialed. The first thing Buffy noticed was that she only dialed seven numbers. If memory served, Tanisa Johnson had moved to L.A., which would have been eleven digits.

  Buffy frowned and moved toward the office door.

  Damara turned to look at her, phone clutched to her ear. Slowly, the scared rabbit look drained from her face and was replaced by a smile.

  “It’s me,” Damara said, her voice strong and clear as she spoke to whoever was on the other end of that phone line. “They’re not all here, but feel free to begin any time you like.”

  Buffy sensed Giles, Oz, and Willow moving into a kind of odd waiting formation behind her. They had all realized something was not right. Not at all.

  Then Damara tore the phone out of the wall, and they knew it for certain.

  “Veronique,” Buffy said flatly, her voice betraying none of the anger she felt, none of the frustration that made her want Veronique dead perhaps more than any other creature she had ever faced.

  Damara snarled, and her fangs seemed to thrust from her open mouth, her face contorting into the ugly countenance of the vampire.

  “Oh, no, I’ve been discovered,” Damara said dramatically. And then she laughed, and Buffy knew she was absolutely right.

  The Slayer held out a hand, and Oz slapped a stake into it. Behind her and to her left, she heard a familiar click as Giles nocked a bolt into the crossbow and prepared to fire.

  “Something’s funny?” Buffy asked.

  Veronique’s smile disappeared. “Not really,” she said. “You’ve been quite a nuisance to me, Slayer. Taking this girl, your peer, was my way to find out more about you, figure out where I might track you down. But I have suffered enough aggravation that I don’t find it very amusing at all.

  “What I do find amusing is the look of fury and sadness and defeat that will be on your face tomorrow morning.”