Here Be Monsters, page 11
“Thanks for the light.”
Then, holding her torch up like she was doing her best imitation of the Statue of Liberty, the Slayer moved forward into the darkness of the basement.
Hold on. I’m coming, Mom.
CHAPTER 11
Suz was in a portrait gallery. It made no sense at all. Portrait galleries were for museums, not people’s houses. Unless maybe you were royalty or something.
Is there royalty in Sunnydale?
She didn’t think so.
But at least now she understood where the strange light she’d noticed from outside had come from.
Each portrait was illuminated by a long cylindrical brass light. One on the top. One on the bottom. They cast arcs of light up or down onto the canvases, highlighting a face, a hand. Leaving the rest in shadow.
What is with this place? she wondered.
In spite of her desire to get other kinds of answers, she moved closer. This was her greatest asset, her biggest drawback. The thing that nobody had ever really understood about her.
Her curiosity.
And it almost always got her into trouble.
It wasn’t so much a desire to rebel that made Suz Tompkins incapable of coloring inside the lines, but a desire to know more about the nature of boundaries. How far could something, someone, be made to bend?
There was really only one way to find out.
You had to push until either the thing you leaned against gave way. Or you did.
Drawn to what she saw on the walls, Suz moved to stand in front of the largest of the paintings. It was the portrait of a soldier.
Confederate, she thought. The artist had even painted the rebel’s red flag streaming out against a blue sky in the background.
“Handsome, isn’t he?” a voice said. Suz started. She whirled around, instantly assuming a battle crouch.
Is there a limit to my stupidity? she wondered.
She’d trailed Buffy for blocks, successfully broken into the house after her, then left her back exposed. So much for curiosity. It had killed the cat.
It can just as easily kill you, you know.
Not that she’d go without a fight, of course.
The question was, would she have to? Suz studied the woman in front of her through narrowed eyes.
She was big, that much was for sure. But she looked big and soft. She was dressed up, like she’d just come from a funeral parlor, or the opera. Basic black and pearls. Suz already knew that she was quiet. So quiet she hadn’t even heard her come into the room.
When was the last time somebody’d managed to sneak up on her? Suz couldn’t remember. But it had to be years now.
The woman didn’t look like she was about to attack. She just stood there. She’s not so tough, Suz thought. Even though there was a lot of her. If I have to, I can take her down.
She allowed herself to relax, just a little. Keep her talking. Find out what makes her tick, she thought. She’d talked herself out of plenty of tough spots. There was no reason to think she couldn’t do the same with this one. Besides, she had to figure the woman wanted something from her, or she’d have raised the alarm by now.
Suz turned back to the portrait, keeping her body loose, weight poised over the balls of her feet just in case she had to run. She kept her voice easy as she answered.
“I always like a man in uniform. Who was he?”
The woman stepped up beside her. Suz shifted one gliding step away, but the woman in black made no attempt to follow. Instead, she stood still, gazing at the portrait.
“My husband. But I’m forgetting my manners,” she went on, before Suz could even think of a comment. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Zahalia Walker.”
She extended one hand.
“Suz Tompkins,” Suz mumbled. What have I gotten myself into? she wondered. And how soon could she get back out?
She shook the hand the older woman offered. The fingers were soft and limp, like clutching a handful of cold spaghetti.
“So,” Suz said. “Was that your husband’s Halloween costume or something?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Zahalia Walker snapped. Her accent might be as Southern as it could get, but the tone sounded exactly like Suz’s own mother when she was pissed about something. Which was pretty much all the time.
Just what I need. A scolding from Miz Scarlett.
“We had that portrait commissioned as soon as he enlisted. It was finished the day before he left home.”
“And that would have been in—”
“Eighteen sixty-one.”
I had to ask, didn’t I?
She was doing it again. Asking one more question. Why couldn’t she just leave well enough alone?
Either this woman was totally insane, or she was a first-rate con artist playing some weird game that was all her own. As far as Suz could tell, she was absolutely serious. The expression on her face hadn’t changed at all.
Remind me never to ask you to play a game of poker, Suz thought. Not that she and this woman were likely to be doing much socializing.
“Being made an officer was his proudest moment,” Mrs. Walker went on. She shifted her gaze from the portrait to Suz, her eyes suddenly sharp. “After the birth of our sons, of course.”
Suz felt a strange prickling sensation travel across the surface of her skin.
Sons.
Don’t do it, she told herself. Don’t ask. You don’t really want to know.
Oh, but she did, she thought. Wasn’t this the reason she’d followed Buffy in the first place?
“Twins?” she heard herself say aloud.
“Why, yes,” Zahalia Walker answered, her Southern accent becoming even more pronounced. She smiled, displaying a mouthful of gleaming white teeth. “Did you know my boys?”
Did, Suz thought. Past tense. What on earth had Buffy done?
“I don’t think so.”
“Oh, but I think you did,” Zahalia Walker countered. She took a step closer. Suz shifted back. “I think that’s why you’re here tonight. You’ve come to cheer the Slayer on. I won’t ask how you got in. It really doesn’t matter. The fact that you’re here at all could be considered a violation of the terms of the trial. In which case, I’ve already won.”
Trial? Abruptly, the prickle on Suz’s skin turned into a thing that crawled. This woman was insane.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you?”
Once more, Zahalia Walker smiled. Then, before Suz had time to blink, one hand shot out to grip her elbow. Hard. She discovered that the fleshy, white fingers that had felt so useless just a moment before had the strength to press skin down to the bone.
Suz lashed out with her free arm, only to have it gripped and held as tightly as the other one was.
“In that case, there are all sorts of things that you don’t know about, sugar,” said Zahalia Walker.
Before Suz’s horrified eyes, the woman’s forehead folded, and her eyes turned yellow. Her teeth became . . . something Suz didn’t really want to explore.
Things like this aren’t supposed to exist. They can’t exist!
“But you will,” Zahalia Walker whispered through her long, sharp teeth. “I promise.”
* * *
All right. What now?
The basement echoed with the clomp of Buffy’s boots as she explored. She was moving along the basement’s perimeter. Her left hand holding the torch, her right brushing against the wall. She’d decided to be organized.
It was a little like taking one of the aptitude tests she dimly recalled from grade school. In a total-body-experience kind of way.
“If you wanted to determine what was inside this shape, how would you do it?” she could still remember the guidance counselor asking. She could also remember taking the yellow number-two pencil in her hand, tracing the shape of the triangle over and over. Start at the outside edge. Work your way in.
Miss nothing. Find my mom.
Unfortunately, the only things she’d found so far were more dust. And more dark.
How long have I been walking?
“Mom?” she called out. “Mom, can you hear me? Where are you?”
What if I can’t find her?
Buffy began to walk faster, the fingers of her right hand scraping as she ran them against the basement wall. She held her torch a little higher, extending it out, trying to see a little farther into the darkness. Her ears strained to hear any sound. The sense of urgency grew with every step she took.
Mom! Where are you?
“Mom!” she called again. “Mom, answer me!”
No answer. Silence.
Buffy reached a corner, turned left. Began to run.
Why couldn’t her mother answer? Was she injured? Dying? What if Buffy couldn’t get to her in time?
If she failed. If she lost.
Stop it! she told herself fiercely. Just stop it.
Now was hardly the time to wallow in self-doubt. She could do that any night of the week, down at the Bronze.
Couldn’t things have been easy, just this once? Why did her life always have to be so hard? A simple vamp staking. Now that was a thing she always understood, one she could really go for right about now.
Without warning, the fingers of Buffy’s right hand extended into empty space as the basement opened out. Buffy pivoted swiftly, acting on pure Slayer’s instinct, her right hand searching for the wall.
Before it got there, a hand snaked out of the darkness, seized her by the wrist, and dragged her forward.
* * *
“No!” Willow sobbed.
Angel took one look at the redhead’s pale features and decided enough was enough. He pulled Giles aside.
Going to Giles wasn’t necessarily his first choice, but if ever there was somebody who’d learned when what he wanted came first and when it didn’t, Angel had to figure he was the guy.
“I don’t like this,” he said in a low voice. “It’s not getting us anywhere. All we’re doing is torturing ourselves, Willow most of all. I don’t think she can take much more.”
“Yes, well, for once I actually agree with you,” Giles nodded. “The question is, can we get her to release the spell? I don’t have to tell you how determined she can be.”
No, you don’t, Angel thought. Willow’s tenacity in the face of danger had impressed him more than once.
“What about Oz?”
“Good thought—”
“All right!”
Angel and Giles both turned their attention back to the group before the fire at the sound of Xander’s enthusiastic voice.
“It was a vamp,” he explained. “She dusted him. That’s two for our side. What are you guys doing over there? You’re missing all the best parts. There’s no instant replay on this, you know.”
“It’s not a game,” Angel said. “Not for Buffy.”
“I know that,” Xander came right back. “You don’t have to act like you know everything just because you’re older.”
“Stop it!” Willow cried, staring into the bowl. “Don’t fight. It only makes things worse. My head . . . it hurts so much.”
“Willow,” Giles said urgently. He moved to kneel beside her. “I know you want to watch out for Buffy, but are you sure you should go on? The spell is already a serious drain on your energy. Trying to maintain it could . . . injure your mind.”
Willow’s eyes never wavered from the image of the Slayer. “If Buffy can keep going, then so can I.”
Not a fair comparison, Angel thought.
“Will,” Oz said. “Buffy’s the Slayer. You’re you. Not equal things. You should listen to Giles.”
“Later,” Willow said through gritted teeth. “Not yet. Please, Giles.”
“Very well,” Giles said. “But next time, I make the call.”
“What’s that?” Xander asked suddenly.
“It looks like—” Oz said.
“No, it can’t be,” Willow interrupted.
“It doesn’t make any sense,” Angel said.
Giles snorted. “Since when has that stopped her?”
In the air above the water, an image of Cordelia Chase was forming.
* * *
“I know what you are,” Suz said. “You’re a vampire.”
She was trying to hang tough, but it was difficult. First she’d been dragged by her hair into the living room. Now the thing that called herself Zahalia Walker was tying her to a sofa.
“Very good,” Zahalia said, as she gave the rope one last vicious tug. Suz tried to ignore the way it dug into her legs, cutting off circulation. The vampire mother grinned, exposing that truly revolting set of teeth. “Are you frightened?”
Think about it.
Suz was only human, after all. Which was more than she could say for the thing looming over her.
“Try revolted. Just like I was by your boys.”
“Don’t you talk about my sons that way,” snarled Zahalia Walker. “They were fine boys.” A look of cunning appeared in her beady yellow eyes. “They were good to me,” she went on. “They always brought their food home to meet their mother. The last two looked an awful lot like you. Maybe they were friends of yours.”
Suz could feel her body start to shake. Anger. Disgust. Horror. She’d been right. She’d known it. Leila and Heidi were dead. But not even in her worst nightmare would Suz ever have conjured up this end.
What did it feel like to have the blood drained out of you?
Not a great time for her curiosity to surface, she thought. Particularly since she was all too likely to find out the answer.
“I’m going to enjoy watching you die,” she said. “If Buffy doesn’t kill you, I will.”
The vampire mother threw back her head and roared with laughter. “And how will you manage that, I wonder? No, no. Don’t tell me. I just love a good surprise. That’s the only reason you’re still alive, honey. You’re my own special little surprise package for the Slayer.
“Of course, the surprise will be that you are alive.”
Oh, God, Suz thought. She began to writhe against the ropes that held her.
The vampire mother laughed once more. She reached for Suz’s head, held it still.
“Don’t worry, this won’t hurt a bit,” she promised.
Suz felt something sharp and hot pierce her throat.
And then the darkness swallowed her.
CHAPTER 12
“Cordy?”
Buffy stared at the figure that was slowly materializing out of nowhere before her, illuminated by the light of her fitful torch.
The torch was definitely a little worse for wear after Buffy’s recent encounter with the vampire. She’d had to use the end of the torch to dust it when the vamp refused to release her other arm.
Actually, the torch wasn’t the only thing a little worse for wear. Cordy had also looked better. From what Buffy could see. She was tied to a chair. Or actually, a throne. Held in place by ropes crisscrossing her chest and wrapped around her wrists. On her head rested a beauty queen crown. She was dressed like she was going to a prom.
Her head was dropped forward, her chin resting on her chest. And staining the pale fabric of her pale formal dress was . . .
Blood.
No! That’s not the way it happened! Buffy thought.
Cordelia had been tied up like this the time Marcie Ross had kidnapped her, determined to make Cordy pay for what she’d done.
Or, more specifically, what she hadn’t. Which had been to notice Marcie was alive. Marcie Ross had literally turned invisible, her fellow students at Sunnydale High had ignored her for so long.
But it didn’t end this way, Buffy thought. Cautiously, she moved forward. Buffy had rescued Cordelia moments before Marcie had made good on her threat to give Cordy a brand new look. Courtesy of the business end of a scalpel.
Slowly, Buffy reached out and eased Cordy’s face up. Her eyes were closed, as if to deny the fact that Marcie had been more successful this time.
New eyebrows arched up into Cordy’s forehead. A series of fine lines like two new sets of lower eyelashes had been etched into the hollows beneath her eyes. The corners of her mouth curved up, up, up until they met her cheekbones.
She looked like a mutilated clown.
Without warning, Cordelia’s eyes flew open. Buffy jolted back a step, releasing her hold.
“Look at me,” Cordelia said, her voice raspy but just as sharp as ever. “This is all your fault. You didn’t stop her in time.”
“But I did,” Buffy protested. “I did stop her. Don’t you remember?”
I didn’t lose. I won.
“Then how do you explain this?” Cordelia asked.
You tell me.
“What’s that?” Cordelia asked suddenly.
“What’s what?”
“That thing behind you.”
Buffy spun around. Something was rolling toward her out of the darkness of the basement.
Something of the severed head variety. It bumped against her legs and stopped, face up.
“Xander?” Buffy said.
What in the hell was going on?
She’d prevented this too, hadn’t she? Xander hadn’t actually become the victim of Ms. French, substitute biology teacher, a.k.a. the man-killing She-Mantis. She of the ability to literally make guys’ heads spin.
Though that probably had to do with the fact that she was taking them off at the time.
But I won this fight, too, Buffy thought. What is this? Some sort of twisted Buffy Summers, This Is Your Life?
“So I lost my head over her.” The mouth in Xander’s head spoke easily, despite the lack of vocal cords. “Whaddaya want from me? I’m a guy. Stuff like this happens to us all the time.”
“Not literally.”
“Oh,” Xander said. “Does this mean I went too far?”
I’m beginning to have a bad feeling about this, Buffy thought. A really bad one.
Could Nemesis strip her victories from her, one by one? Leave her with nothing but her fears?
What else was I afraid of screwing up? she wondered.
Come to think of it, what hadn’t she been afraid she’d screw up?
“Hey,” a new voice said.
It was Oz.
I had to ask, didn’t I? Buffy thought as he half-walked, half-crawled into the light.
