Immortal

by Christopher Golden

  “I know.”

  Buffy sighed at Angel’s lack of responsiveness. When he was on a mission, he was on a mission.

  They walked on until they came to Willy’s. Inside, they scanned the room as assorted creatures of the night scuttled out of range.

  Willy looked up from washing beer glasses, saw the two of them, and ticked his head to the right. At the far end of the grimy bar, someone sat hunkered over a shot glass full of amber liquid, wearing a trench coat and a fedora.

  Angel closed his eyes and shook his head while Buffy snickered. Then they walked over and flanked Fedora Man. Buffy took off the hat.

  “Good evening, Terry,” Buffy said to the top of the demon’s spiny green head. “Whatcha got?”

  “Hi, guys,” he murmured. “Please. Go away. I think I’m being watched.”

  “What do you have for us?” Buffy said, sternly.

  He shook his head. “I ain’t saying nothing, even if you tear my head off. They threatened Queenie.”

  Buffy took that in, but Angel didn’t even flinch.

  “If you don’t help the Slayer, your girlfriend’s as good as dead, anyway,” he said.

  “Are you threatening her, too?” Tergazzi asked shrilly.

  Angel said nothing. The demon looked at Buffy. “This isn’t fair. She’s my weak spot.” He made a little face. “Well, that and, you know, playing the odds.”

  “Let me tell you something,” Buffy said, taking the bar stool beside his. “You-know-who is about to do a ritual. This ritual will bring a very evil creature into this world. So evil that eventually, there won’t be any Las Vegas.”

  “No,” he breathed.

  “Or Atlantic City,” Angel added.

  “And everywhere else. And Queenie will die. And it won’t be pretty.”

  Tergazzi said, “That’s not what Veronique’s guys told me.”

  Buffy blinked in disbelief. “When you go to Vegas, do you ever win anything?”

  “I do okay.” He drew himself up. “I am a hundred and twenty-seven years old, you know. I made it this far following my hunches.”

  “Which is why you’re living in the forest,” Buffy said.

  Angel leaned over the demon. “Where are they holed up?”

  The demon stared at his drink. “I spent a lot of money on this glass of hooch. It’s good stuff.”

  “Are you hitting us up for money?” Buffy asked, stupefied. “After what I just told you?”

  He shrugged.“Us demons, we usually don’t go along with the package, know what I mean? Most of your end-of-the-world scenarios, they mean end of the human world.”

  “Queenie,” Angel said. “Vegas.”

  “Plus, I’m calling your bluff,” Buffy said. “We’ve got the Slayer card. And let’s face it. Veronique is not playing with a full deck.”

  Tergazzi sighed and threw back his liquor in one huge gulp. He coughed and sputtered, almost choking until Buffy whapped him one on the back. Then he shrieked in pain.

  “All right, all right. I heard something about the station. They were all going back to the station.”

  Buffy waited. Then she prompted, “The bus station? The train station?”

  “Didn’t sound like that kind of place. They were all moved in, like.”

  “The radio station,” Buffy said.

  He was quiet a moment. “I could use another drink.”

  Angel nodded at Willy, who picked up a fifth of something and poured it into the shot glass. As Tergazzi wrapped his scaly mitt around it, his hand — or whatever — shook. He threw it back.

  “They kept talking about the old part of town,” he said.

  Angel knitted his brows. “Old Town?” He looked at Buffy. “The old police station.”

  “Yeah.” Tergazzi moved his head up and down. “Something about the cells. I was thinking cell phones, you know, but . . .”

  Buffy turned to go. Then she grabbed Tergazzi and hauled him off his bar stool. “You’re coming with,” she said.

  He cowered away from her. “Oh, no. They see me with you, Queenie’s dead.”

  Buffy exhaled and looked past Tergazzi to Angel. “Shall I hit rewind, or do you want to?”

  “You’re the Slayer,” Angel deadpanned.

  Tergazzi raised his hands. “Okay, okay, but make it look like I’m very reluctant. Like maybe you’ve got a knife at my back.”

  “I’m the Slayer. I don’t need a knife.”

  “Point made,” he said miserably.

  When Angel, Buffy, and the still-whining little demon arrived at the police station, the stench was shocking, overpowering. Angel feared the worst: that the ritual had been completed, and the Triumvirate had been formed.

  Hell had smelled like this.

  Buffy was caught up short by it as they neared the dilapidated building. Then she gamely covered her mouth and took the lead. Tergazzi groaned and moaned until Angel glared at him. Then he shut up. Angel wasn’t sure why Buffy had insisted that he come along. Maybe it was out of pity — and to save his life.

  Pretty much everything looked boarded up, but when Buffy grabbed the handle of the back door, ready to tear it open, they were both surprised to see that it was unlocked. With a glance over her shoulder at Angel, Buffy crept inside.

  Angel made Tergazzi go next. He wasn’t going to be running off as long as they kept him between them. In silence, they followed Buffy down a long corridor with offices on either side and ended up in what Angel figured had once been the booking area.

  Up ahead, the bright beam of a flashlight swept the wall to Buffy’s right. She froze. Tergazzi took an awkward step forward, trying to halt his movement, and his foot landed on something that made a crackling noise. Angel winced and thought hard about knocking him out.

  Then Buffy murmured, “Willow’s here.”

  Angel didn’t know how she knew, but he believed her.

  “Will? It’s Buffy,” she called out.

  Tergazzi sucked in his breath, eyes wide. “We’re all gonna die,” he blurted.

  “Buffy?”

  “Yeah. It’s okay.”

  Flashlights panned the room. Then Giles, Oz, and Willow strode in. As Giles silently greeted her and Oz inclined his head, Willow said simply, “They’re gone.”

  “Damn.” Buffy glared at Tergazzi.

  “Hey, hey, not my fault,” he said, raising his hands.

  “But there’s good news, kind of,” Willow continued. She looked at Giles.

  “Yes.” He pushed up his glasses, and Angel felt a rush of impatience.

  He’s going to go on and on, he thought, and we don’t have time.

  “Who is this?” Giles asked, indicating Tergazzi.

  “He’s the guy who sold us the fragments,” Buffy said.

  “I’m an antiques dealer,” Tergazzi said.

  “Also a demon,” Buffy explained. “And a card-carrying member of Gamblers Anonymous. Or he should be.”

  Willow cleared her throat very softly. “I used a picture of Xander and Cordy and did a locator spell, and some of the text in the fragments makes a little more sense,” she murmured. “‘Earth, air, wind, fire . . .’ We’re thinking the ritual’s going to be performed in the woods.”

  “There’s a lot of woods,” Buffy said, not feeling very hopeful.

  “Indeed,” Giles said. “But the Toscano journal talks about the alignment of the stars, as I told you before. In order to see them in the proper alignment, this evening, one would have to be somewhat to the northeast and preferably at the highest elevation available.”

  “Miller’s Woods,” Buffy said instantly. “I wouldn’t call it a mountain, but there’s a pretty decent hill there.”

  “If only we could be certain,” Giles said anxiously.

  Angel didn’t want to say it, but it didn’t look as if anyone else was going to. “What else do we have to go on?”

  “So we go,” Oz said.

  “We find them, and I dust Veronique again, and in the morning, when we don’t ha
ve to worry about the Triumvirate anymore, we’ll figure out how to get rid of her for good,” Buffy said.

  “Which works in theory,” Oz noted. “But what if we don’t get there before she lets the demon loose? It would help to know what we’re fighting. Or how to fight it.”

  “We’ll just have to do our best,” Angel said grimly.

  Willow cleared her throat. They all looked at her. She smiled shyly. “I have an idea.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  They sat in a circle on the floor of the old police station, trying to concentrate in spite of the horrid stench of death within that place. Save for the demon, of course. Tergazzi stood in a corner, looking nervous and impatient. He hadn’t offered to join the circle, and Giles hadn’t asked. Summoning a frightened human spirit might be difficult if one of those doing the summoning were a demon.

  Angel was another matter. He still had a human soul.

  Giles glanced around at the others. Angel, Buffy, Oz, and Willow — so brave, all of them. Once more, lives depended on their actions. Xander’s and Cordelia’s in particular. But he allowed himself just a moment to be grateful that Buffy’s mother would be all right. She was a good and decent woman, and observing what a strong and caring mother she was to Buffy, Giles had come to care for her. He would have grieved for her.

  Even in their darkest moments, there were signs of hope. He clung to them.

  “Join hands,” he said, and they obeyed. “Clear your minds and reach out in sadness and charity to those who were horribly murdered in this building by Veronique and her followers. It is likely at least some of them are lost souls, and remain here, helpless, directionless. Reach out to them.”

  They were all silent. For his part, Giles focused on his sorrow for all those who had died there. But Willow’s suggestion was an excellent one. It was logical to think that at least one of the people murdered here would have remained behind, one of the lost. A ghost.

  It was a handicap that they had no candles. Instead, their flashlights were on, pointed at the center of the circle, providing some kind of focus for any spirit that might need guidance. Something for it to concentrate on.

  “Willow?” Giles said.

  “I am the portal,” she said. “Speak through me. See through me. My voice is yours.”

  Giles feared for her, but he approved. She was proving to be quite an adept spellcaster and had the potential for great power. She had allowed herself to be the receptacle or medium for spirits twice recently, however, and he worried that she might become susceptible to ethereal attack, to possession without her consent, if she allowed it too often. He would have to warn her of that possibility later.

  For now, however, they had little choice.

  Suddenly, Willow’s eyes went wide.

  “Oh, thank God,” she breathed.

  But it was not Willow speaking.

  “Can you help me?” asked the ghost within her. “I . . . I think I’m lost.”

  Giles mourned for the deluded spirit. He glanced at the others quickly. Buffy and Oz were staring at Willow, but Angel’s eyes were tightly closed, focused. In the far corner of the room, Tergazzi swore under his breath.

  “You know you are more than lost,” Giles told the ghost.

  Willow began to cry. “I know,” it said through her, voice choked with sobs. “I just hoped it . . . oh God. Why am I still here, in this horrible place?”

  “It’s up to you,” Buffy spoke up suddenly. “You didn’t want to believe, and it kept you trapped. You have to let go to find your way.”

  The expression on Willow’s face changed from horror and despair to fear. “I don’t know if I can.”

  “If you do not, you will remain in this place forever,” Giles said plainly. “But there’s someone who might be able to help you. And help us, as well. Someone you can speak to, can find for us.”

  Willow stared at Giles with a ghost’s eyes, and he shivered.

  “Tell me,” she said.

  It was Angel who spoke up. “Can you hear voices?”

  Willow nodded.

  “Call out to them,” Giles said. “Pass the word along. We need to speak with Lucy Hanover. She’s there, with you, wandering the paths of that world.”

  Willow’s eyelids fluttered, and her head dropped, as though she had fallen asleep sitting up.

  Buffy stared at Willow. It had been several minutes. She didn’t think she could take it anymore. Time was passing, and now they might have put Willow in jeopardy as well.

  “This is a waste of time,” Tergazzi moaned. “I just want to keep Queenie alive. Could we just —”

  Buffy glared at him, and Tergazzi shut up instantly. She glanced at Giles. “How long —”

  Willow looked up suddenly, and Buffy knew just from her eyes that it was really Willow again. She looked terribly disappointed.

  “Hey,” Oz said, moving toward her. “You all right?”

  “I think so,” she said weakly, and nodded.

  “What happened?” Buffy asked, glancing from Willow to Giles, who shook his head.

  “He went away,” Willow said reluctantly. “The ghost, I mean. I don’t think it worked. I don’t know what —”

  He has moved on.

  They all turned around. Buffy leaped to her feet, and for the first time found herself face-to-face with the ghost of Lucy Hanover. The girl’s spirit hovered slightly above the ground, her body little more than mist from the waist down. Buffy could see a boarded-up window beyond her — through her.

  For a moment, Buffy couldn’t breathe. This wasn’t just a ghost to her. Buffy saw, floating there only a few feet away from her, absolute confirmation of her fate. Lucy Hanover was a Slayer. She looked as though she might have been twenty when she died.

  And if what Willow had told them was true, Lucy was still doing her part to fight the darkness.

  “Hi,” Buffy whispered.

  The ghost smiled. I am honored to meet you, Slayer.

  “The feeling’s mutual. Call me Buffy.”

  Lucy inclined her head. You sought me out to see if I have discovered anything of the Triumvirate, she said, her voice low and keening, like a mournful whistle.

  “Yes, that’s exactly right,” Giles said, clearing his throat as he approached.

  But he didn’t get too close, Buffy noticed. She herself hadn’t moved any closer to Lucy, and she thought she understood why, at least a little. The ghost seemed so surreal, so not really there, that she was afraid if she got too close, Lucy might disappear.

  She was also severely uncurious about what it might feel like to touch a ghost.

  Ah, Lucy said, noticing Giles for the first time. She inclined her head in what might have been a ghostly bow or curtsy. You must be the Watcher. My respects to you, sir. I am at your service.

  “Wow,” Buffy heard Willow whisper to Oz behind her. “I guess Slayers really have changed.”

  “You ain’t kiddin’,” Tergazzi told her. “But no matter the century, they’re usually babes. Check out the ghost girl. She’s smokin’.”

  Buffy didn’t even bother to glare at him this time. Instead, she just ignored him.

  “Were you able to find out anything at all about the Triumvirate?” Giles asked the ghost.

  A great deal, Lucy replied, and she began to float toward them.

  Buffy and Giles both took a step back, and she instantly regretted it. The ghost noticed their reaction, and a look of sadness swept over her gossamer features. It passed quickly, but Buffy never forgot it.

  Their surroundings were awful, the place only escaping the title of slaughterhouse because the walls were not splashed with blood. Their friends, their town, possibly the human race itself, all were in great peril. And this woman, this girl, was a ghost, her shimmering, translucent form unnerving to look at, the fact of her death a harsh reminder.

  But she was still a human soul. She still felt, though she no longer had a flesh-and-blood heart. She could be hurt.

  “I’m sorry,” Buffy
said quietly.

  Lucy smiled gently. Then her face changed, her expression grim.

  I’m afraid the news is not good, she told them in a voice Buffy now realized sounded like wind chimes. I have learned precisely what the Triumvirate is, and what it plans.

  The infernal realms are vast, as you must realize. Most of the creatures that find their way to Earth are not true demons but hybrids of some sort. The Triumvirate is pure demon, but even so, it is not like others. If any of them could be said to be like the others.

  The Triumvirate was once three relatively powerless demons. When joined, however, they became an evil unto themselves. A Hell unto themselves.

  The ghost paused then, and Buffy thought she actually shuddered. Lucy was dead. The Triumvirate could do nothing to her, but even so, she was afraid.

  “I don’t think I like where this is going,” Buffy said softly.

  “The prophecies say that the shadow of the creature will damn those upon whom it falls,” Giles said. “How can that be?”

  It is worse than that, Lucy replied.

  Angel came up beside Buffy, and she stole a quick glance at him, saw the anxiety on his face. She looked over at Oz and Willow, whose expressions were filled with dread.

  A dread Buffy shared.

  The Triumvirate is a soul-drinker, Lucy whispered, shuddering again. If its shadow falls upon a living human being, or it can get a human in its clutches, it absorbs the spirit of that person. It is more than a demon, you see. For within its body, somehow, by some terrible form of unnatural physics, lies an infernal landscape of torment and horror.

  If the Triumvirate takes your soul, you are damned to spend an eternity in the Hell that exists within the creature’s own body.

  “Oh, my God,” Giles muttered.

  “Xander?” Willow said weakly. “And Cordelia. We’ve got to save them.”

  “Don’t forget my Queenie!” Tergazzi interjected, speaking for the first time since Lucy had appeared. “You gotta get her back.”

  “We will,” Buffy said.

  “What I don’t get,” Oz spoke up, “is where Veronique fits into all of this. The demon needs her, fine. But what does she get out of it?”