Resurrecting Ravana (28 page)

“Yep,” Buffy replied.

“Well, uh . . . will we be armed?” he asked, more cautious this time.

“Oh, yeah, we’ll be
armed.”

“And where is this going to take place?” Cordelia asked suspiciously.

“Well . . . let’s wait till we get to the library.” Buffy remembered how easily she had been fooled by the shapeshifting Rakshasa before, and wasn’t comfortable talking about anything important there in the hall.

The library was empty except for Willow, who was already working diligently in Giles’s office. She was seated at his desk with a mortar and pestle, grinding something into a fine powder. When Buffy and the others came in, she stopped and shook her right hand, wincing.

“This gets a little hard on the wrist after a while,” she said.

“Did Giles tell you about our visit with Miss Lovecraft?” Buffy asked her.

Willow nodded. “And about the old bus station.”

“Bus station?” Xander asked. “If the current one is any indication, the old one must be spectacular!”

Buffy told them all about the experience she and Giles had with Phyllis Lovecraft, and about where she had led them afterward.

“She pulled a knife on you?” Xander asked, amazed. “She sounds crazy.”

“Tragic,” Oz added quietly.

“Yeah,” Buffy said. “That’s what I thought. Tragic.”

Xander nodded as he backpedaled. “Well, yeah, of course . . .
tragic.
But also crazy.”

“You’d know,” Cordelia muttered.

Buffy said, “We don’t know anything about this Lloyd Kaufman.”

Xander chuckled. “Sounds like a geek.”

“Again,” Cordelia said, “you’d know.”

Xander turned to her, frowning. “Hey. I’m trying to listen to Buffy here, okay?”

They heard a clatter by the doors, and a moment later, Giles entered the library carrying a long bundle wrapped in blankets under his right arm. He put it on the counter and it clunked heavily. He was wet from the rain and droplets of water clung to the lenses of his glasses. He removed a handkerchief from his pocket, took the glasses off, and dried them.

“This storm is getting worse,” he muttered. He put his glasses back on, returned the handkerchief to his pocket, and asked, “Have you filled them in, Buffy?”

“Pretty much,” she replied, as the others filed out of the office behind her.

He looked down at the powder in the mortar, then at Willow. “How is it coming?”

“Almost done,” she said with a smile.

“Good. I brought the alcohol and the ground owl’s bones. They’re out in the car.”

“Owl’s bones,” Xander muttered, nodding his head slowly, thoughtfully. “Where, um . . . where do you get something like that?”

“Fortunately, I happened to have some at home,” Giles replied.

“Ah. Sure. Of course. Who doesn’t?”

Giles turned to Willow again. “Have you memorized the incantation?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty short. But are you sure it’s okay if I do it in English?”

He patted her shoulder reassuringly. “It will either work or not, Willow. We don’t have time to translate.” He turned to the others, his eyes moving from face to face. “I’m afraid we have quite a dangerous task ahead of us. Buffy and I are obligated to confront it. That is our job. You, on the other hand, are obligated in no way whatsoever, and I want you to know you are free to —”

“You haven’t told us what we’re doing yet,” Willow said. “How can we know if we’re uncomfortable with it if we don’t know exactly what it is?”

“I’m uncomfortable with it already,” Cordelia said. “I mean, I don’t like the sound of it. And besides, I . . .” She looked around at the others self-consciously. “Okay, so I have a hair appointment this afternoon. And I’m proud of it. I know that sort of thing means nothing to you people, but it’s important to me.”

Xander tilted his head back and rolled his eyes. “Can’t you reschedule with Froi?”

“Are you kidding?” Cordelia asked, turning to him. “He has a waiting list as long as the 405 freeway! And besides . . .” She fluffed a hand through her hair. “I don’t want to die with my hair looking like this!”

“Look, nobody’s going to die,” Buffy said. Her words didn’t sound as confident as she’d meant them to. “I mean . . . well, you’ve all done this kind of stuff before. It’s just that this time, we’re going to be in unfamiliar territory.”

“We don’t know the layout of the building inside,” Giles said. “And from the outside, it doesn’t look structurally sound, so the building alone could be a threat. A weak floor or beam could potentially do us more harm than the Rakshasa.”

“I don’t know,” Willow said. “I think I’d take a concussion or a broken bone over being eaten.”

Buffy frowned and turned to Giles. “Is there a chance they’ll do that? I mean, I thought they, you know, set people against each other, waited till one killed the other and then ate the survivor.”

“That’s strictly for entertainment,” Giles repied. “You might say it’s like . . . like the difference between going to a movie theater or watching a movie at home on television. One is more expensive and more trouble, but far more enjoyable. The other is convenient.”

“So, uh . . . which one are we?” Xander asked. “The cineplex or Cinemax?”

Giles continued: “The Rakshasa enjoy manipulating people, making them turn on one another. The setup, the anticipation . . . it helps get the digestive juices flowing for the upcoming meal. But they will eat at any time, whether it’s to satisfy hunger or simply in the act of defending themselves. They will eat anything they kill . . . and they will kill anything that threatens or offends Ravana.”

Buffy suddenly felt a little nauseated. “You mean,” she said, “when they were in my . . . my bedroom —”

“Had you not acted quickly,” Giles said, “or not been a Slayer . . . yes, Buffy, that might have been your fate.” He looked at the others. “That’s why I warned you all earlier. We have no way of knowing how many Rakshasa we’ll be facing inside that bus station, but I suspect quite a crowd.”

“Then you’ll need all the help you can get, right?” Xander asked.

Giles nodded ever so slightly and said, “Well, that may be true, but, uh, I can’t ask you to —”

“So why is this any different than all the other times we’ve helped you?” Willow asked, smiling. “The more the merrier. Count me in.” She went back to work with the mortar and pestle.

“I’ll play,” Oz said with a nod.

“Me, too,” Xander said. He turned to Cordelia.

She stared at him a moment, then snapped, “I’m thinking, I’m thinking!”

“I expect it to be quite dark in there,” Giles said, “so I stopped by the hardware store and got each of us a long, heavy Mag-Lite flashlight. Not only will they provide light if we need it — although it might be a good idea to use them only if absolutely necessary to avoid being seen — they’re sturdy enough to serve as weapons.”

“Whoa-ho-ho, swing back sweet chariot,” Xander said, holding up a hand. “You mean . . . we’re gonna go in there armed with . . . with flashlights? Are we gonna . . . I don’t know, what . . . shine those things to death?”

Giles turned to the desk and said, “Excuse me, Willow.”

She stood and took the mortar and pestle over to a table.

Leaning forward, Giles slowly unwrapped the blankets from the bundle he’d carried into the library. The others moved in close around the desk to watch. Even Willow stopped what she was doing and joined them. Within the blankets were seven long objects individually wrapped in towels.

“There are seven here,” Giles said. “I brought an extra in case —”

“Am I interrupting anything?” a quiet voice asked.

Everyone turned to the doorway. Buffy smiled warmly when she saw Angel leaning into the office. She’d lost track of time. It might not’ve been dark out yet, but with the sewers between school and his mansion, and the blacked-out windows in Oz’s van, Angel could get around — carefully — before sunset.

Giles’s eyebrows rose high above his glasses. “In case Angel shows up.” He handed each one of them a towel-wrapped object, and they began unwrapping them.

“Holy silverware, Batman!” Xander blurted with genuine awe and surprise.

“Wow!” Willow said.

Oz smiled and muttered, “Cool.”

Frowning, Cordelia said, “I’m gonna get a hernia.”

Each of them unwrapped a long sword in a leather sheath, some black, some brown, and a couple the deep black-red color of dried blood.

“All but one are scimitars that differ slightly in design and length,” Giles said, “but weigh no more than three pounds. They all have grips designed to accommodate two-handed use, but are balanced enough to be swung with just one hand, if you so choose.”

Xander removed the sheath from his sword, put it on the counter, and marveled at the gracefully curved, gleaming steel blade. He moved it slowly through the air, this way and that, and with each sweep, he made a humming-buzzing sound with his mouth. He turned to Cordelia, held the sword as if he were about to strike her down, and made a muffled, heavy breathing sound, as if he were breathing through a tube. Then, in a voice as deep as he could manage, he said, “I . . . am . . . your father, Luke . . . now go clean your room.”

Cordelia gave him a withering look. “Aren’t you late for a convention, Trekkie-boy?”

He lowered the sword and shook his head. “Oh, no, no, that’s ‘Star Trek.’ I was doing Darth Vader, from
Star Wars.”

“Sounded more like Ed McMahon from ‘Star Search,’ ” Cordelia sneered.

“Hey, there’s a big difference between —”

Angel cleared his throat loudly as he went to Buffy’s side. “I think I came in the middle of this movie.”

“Don’t worry,” Buffy said, still unwrapping her sword. “I’ll catch you up on the plot on the way over there.”

“Over where?”

“I’ll tell you that, too, I promise,” she said, smiling up at him. As usual, Buffy’s voice lowered in his presence, became almost secretive, as if everything she said to him was meant to stay just between them. It happened automatically; she couldn’t help it.

Giles approached Buffy as she inspected her sword.

“It’s a little different than the others,” he said. “I thought it was more . . . you. It will do more damage because it’s heavier, and I knew you could handle that, and it has a double-edged blade.”

A bloodred groove ran down the center of the silver thirty-six-inch blade. The blade itself ended in an arrowhead-shaped tip with a diamond cutout in the center. The crossbar was formed by a down-turned steel horn that came out each side of a flat, brushed steel skull. The dark, wooden grip extended from the top of that skull and ended in a smaller, but three-dimensional, solid steel skull pommel with red eyes and an up-turned horn growing from each side.

“This is incredible, Giles,” Buffy said.

Giles nodded. “Isn’t it? It was a gift from a friend. Specially made for me.”

“Really? Then it’s . . . important to you. What if something happens to it?”

“In your hands, Buffy, I have great faith that nothing will. Except, of course, for the slaying of Rakshasa.”

Still trying out his sword in slow motion, Xander asked, “So, do we get to keep these things?”

“You most certainly do not,” Giles answered abruptly without missing a beat. “These swords come from my personal collection.”

“You collect these things?” Cordelia asked. Her arms were stretched out, elbows locked, and the scimitar lay across her open palms. She looked at it as if it were a dead snake.

Giles shrugged absently, looking a bit sheepish. “Swords have been an interest of mine since boyhood. But an expensive hobby, I’m afraid, which is why my collection is a small one.”

“Why swords now, in particular?” Angel asked Giles.

Buffy said, “I’ll tell you on the way.”

Angel sighed, frustrated. “This better be a long trip.”

“Before we go,” Giles said, his voice raised slightly so all of them could hear, “I think it would be a good idea for you to spread out here where you’ll have more room and get used to the feel of your weapon. This will require you to think and act quickly, so let’s prepare as much as we can.”

“I’ve got work to do first,” Willow said, returning to the mortar and pestle on the table.

Xander went to Cordelia’s side and put a hand on her back. “C’mon, I’ll help you get acquainted with that thing.”

Cordelia pulled away from him and met his eyes. “Is that supposed to be some kind of joke? Because if it —”

Xander raised his free hand in surrender and said, “No, no, I swear, I was being serious! I meant it just like it sounded! Really!”

She eyed him for a moment, looking for any sign of insincerity. “All right,” she said hesitantly. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going along with this thing.”

“Hey, you don’t need Froi,” Xander said as they moved away with Oz. “As sharp as these things are, I could do your hair right here.”

Buffy and Giles joined Willow at the table. Angel followed a step behind Buffy, looking impatient and uncomfortable.

“What’s cooking, Betty Crocker?” Buffy asked.

“Ravana cream pie,” Willow replied. “I hope.”

“You hope?

“While there seems to be plenty of material available on Ravana and how to resurrect him,” Giles said, “we were unable to find anything on stopping or undoing that resurrection. I found a melting potion that seemed vaguely appropriate, but still very uncertain at best. Then Willow made a few suggestions.”

“And he actually liked them,” Willow said, smiling at Buffy over her shoulder.

“She suggested we add an active ingredient from another potion,” Giles explained, “and a catalyst from still another. Of course, there is no way to be certain until the moment of truth, but I think the resulting dissolving potion will be quite effective.”

“So she’s turning into quite a witch, huh, Giles?” Buffy asked.

Giles put a hand on Willow’s shoulder. “Willow is an excellent
student
of magic, Buffy. There’s a tremendous difference.” Willow didn’t smile.

The piercing clang of blades clashing sounded from the library.

“Good God!” Giles exclaimed before rushing out of the office. “No contact! No contact!” he shouted. “Just get comfortable with their weight, so you can swing them.”