The Evil That Men Do

  “The Urn of Caligula?” Xander asked.

  “Yeah, whatever.” Willy looked incredibly freaked. “Get rid of them.”

  “Get rid of them how?”

  He fished out a ring of keys and unlocked the padlock on his gate.

  “Just go. Figure it out on the way.” He handed Xander another set of keys. “These are for my car. The Pontiac Trans Am around the side. Has a dent from where my girlfriend was, ah, trying to park it.”

  Xander took the keys. “How do I know you’re on our side?”

  “Harris, have you seen these vampires? They are not good people,” he said earnestly.

  Xander stared at him for a beat. Then he shook his head, and ran for all he was worth.

  Chapter 18

  IN HER CAGE, BUFFY WAS WAITING FOR THEM WHEN THEY came for her. Julian and Helen were surrounded by other vampires and demons, decked out in their Sunday best, including togas, big, poofy ball gowns, and Victorian top hats. Laughing and talking, they advanced like some ghoulish Mardi Gras parade to her cell.

  Cowards. Big Mama Helen liked to threaten to take her out, but the vampire had brought a fairly decent-sized army of bodyguards with her.

  “Slayer,” Julian said, dressed like he wanted to play Pontius Pilate in the school Christmas pageant. He laid his fist over his chest, then extended his hand straight out in front of himself. “I salute you.”

  “That makes my day,” Buffy said.

  “Put on this armor.” He showed her a molded breastplate that gleamed and shone.

  “I’m finally going to look like a real superhero,” she drawled, giving the breastplate the once-over. “Nose cones and all.”

  The vampire guards tittered and Julian grinned. Helen looked pissed off.

  “Listen to me,” he said, still smiling. “If you try to escape, we will kill all your friends.”

  She took that in. Nodded, not at all surprised. They always pull the friends card on me.

  Which was why, she knew, most Slayers had no friends.

  At a signal, a tallowy, blue demon very much like the one Buffy and Angel had fried came forward and unlocked her cage. Then a vampire brought forward a bolt cutter and detached Buffy’s chains from the concrete floor.

  Both stood aside for her to exit.

  “To the arena,” Julian said delightedly.

  “Don’t I get to shower first?” Buffy grumbled as she strapped on the breastplate.

  A scream is a wish your heart breaks . . .

  Buffy’s nightmares had come true.

  “The arena” was a vast, underground amphitheater which had been recently built, to judge by the untouched quality of the stone wall and the graduated bleachers. Between the sections of bleachers, cut like pie wedges, long red runners stretched from the very top row, about a story high, down to the wall that separated the battlefield from the peanut gallery. There were a few white statues of naked people here and there, many of them dying agonizing deaths, lots of skulls — possibly real — and oversized stone vases brimming with roses and other flowers. Not Martha Stewart’s best work.

  Overhead, the rough ceiling of the cavern was lost to darkness. Torches blazed and smoked, towering over the curved rows of ghoulish spectators, some of whom Buffy recognized from the parade to and from her cell. They were eating and drinking, snapping their fingers at nervous-looking people dressed in revealing togas who dashed around like hot dog vendors at a baseball game.

  Standing below a small platform in the CENTER of the arena, Buffy was decked in the truly awesome body armor. It gave an entirely new definition to the word “uplift.” They’d also given her a thigh-high skirt that was constructed of strips of leather, and matching leather boots that came up below her knees.

  If I live through this, she thought, I’m keeping these duds for next Halloween.

  “Friends, vampires, countrymen!” Julian said above the clamor as everyone got comfy. He appeared from the side door and strolled to the center of the arena, voguing, it seemed to Buffy, in a very brief sort of toga with a purple robe that swept the sand. In his blond hair, a gold circlet of leaves gleamed as he moved. Buffy thought for a few seconds about attacking him, but guards surrounded Julian before she had a chance.

  In her Calisto clothes and a large, heavy golden crown, Helen was seated in an ornate golden chair on a platform to the far right of the arena, and there was an empty chair beside her.

  Julian continued with the warm-up. “Tonight we celebrate the birth of our dark mother! After centuries of sacrifice, we will bring her forth with the death of a Slayer!”

  The crowd went crazy. “Hail, Julian!” someone shouted. Another voice joined in, until it was a chant.

  Julian let his head fall back as they cheered his name. What a waste, Buffy thought. He really is a honey.

  “What do you think of that, Slayer?” he asked her beneath the shouting.

  She shrugged. “I’m thinking I should get a percentage of the gate, plus a cut of the T-shirt sales.”

  He smiled. “I’ve never met a Slayer like you. I truly regret the necessity of your death.”

  “I feel your pain.” She hefted the sword they had given her. Quite a weapon. Sharp. A little on the heavy side. I shoulda whacked him when I had the chance. Of course, I would have needed a stake, too.

  She scanned for wooden objects. “After all you guys die, they could turn this place into a dinner theater,” Buffy said. “No one ever gets tired of Fiddler on the Roof.”

  “To the last, scrappy and proud,” Julian said. He held out a golden goblet. “Speaking of pain, I offer you a potion that will numb your body. You will be unaware of injuries.”

  “Thanks, but I’m just saying no.” Buffy hefted the sword. “And I’m really hoping your death is chock full of fruity, delicious pain in every slice.”

  “If it had been you back in Rome, instead of Helen, we would already rule this world,” he said quietly, in a voice only she could hear. He leaned toward her. “I am an ardent lover, Buffy Summers. An excellent companion. Say the word, and I will change you here and now.”

  “Still saying no,” she said, “but if you weren’t evil and despicable, well, truth here, I would still say no.”

  “Very well.” He clapped his hands and held out his arms. “We shall worship our mother!”

  Some kind of flute music filled the room as vampire women in filmy gowns with grapes piled in their hair pranced down the runners. Then the crowd rose and sang, their arms outstretched, as vampires carried a large platform suspended on poles, and on it, a very tall statue of a sort of demon-woman with empty eye sockets and totally righteous fangs.

  Possibly Meter, Buffy thought. Or else the goddess of PMS.

  “The Slayer shall do battle until she cannot fight. Those who wish to challenge her for the sport may do so. But they are forbidden to kill her. We will cut out her beating heart and mix it with the ashes of our forefather, Caligula. And then we will feed Meter this precious bounty, and the goddess will rise.”

  Ashes? Buffy thought with alarm. Do they have the urn?

  “Monsters, demons, and gladiator vampires all await the glory of defeating the Slayer in battle. Let the wagering begin!”

  The whole place erupted into furious talking and shouting as Buffy was led by two fully armored whatevers to the left side of the arena. A large set of double gates — wooden double gates — creaked as something behind them pushed to get out.

  Buffy moved her neck in a slow circle and squared her shoulders in preparation for her first opponent. She had a thought: If they really do have the ashes, I can’t let myself die.

  Talk about pressure.

  * * *

  Xander located the Trans Am and got to the reservoir in record time. A record for him, anyway, since he had never driven there before.

  He pulled up to the gate, saw that although the two sides were pulled together, they weren’t locked, and pushed his way through. Then he drove the car past the parking lot and as close to the lakesh
ore as he could.

  He got out and stepped into the oozy mud caused by the rain. He had no idea where to look for the ashes. They could be anywhere.

  Just then, a chubby man came out of a building. He was carrying a flashlight and he hailed Xander. The name on his jacket said Jake Bitterman.

  That name rings a bell, Xander thought, on alert. Something Willow said about him. Or his wife.

  “Evening,” the man said. “May I help you?”

  “Oh.” Xander pasted on a big fake smile. “Yeah. A friend of mine dropped a pottery thingie here. A small vase, about yay big?” He gestured with his hands, carefully watching the man.

  “Hmm. Whereabouts?” Bitterman said, looking disinterested. Xander didn’t let down his guard, though.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Well, it’s a big lake. Do you know about where she dropped it?”

  She? I didn’t say my friend was a she. Xander upgraded to DefCon 3 and kept working the friendly, casual angle.

  “Not sure. I think I’ll call her on my car phone and ask for more details,” Xander said.

  The man put his hand in the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a gun. “Stop right there,” he told Xander.

  Damn it. I hate it when my gut instincts are right, Xander thought, as his heart went into high gear.

  The man turned and waved. The door slammed open. Mark Dellasandro came out first. At least six vampires trailed after.

  Xander said, as innocently as possible, “What’s going on?”

  “Willy called,” Bitterman told him. “Somehow he had the impression your people knew where the urn was left. Screwed up, as per usual. We had a couple dozen of our boys up here, still couldn’t find it.” He sounded disgusted.

  Mark ran to Xander. Xander patted the kid and eased him aside. He said to Bitterman, “What’s your deal in all of this?”

  Bitterman smirked. “Like Willy, I’m working for the new owners,” he announced. “They had me put a little something in the water a while ago.”

  Xander stared at him. Then he said slowly, “Your wife is missing.”

  “Yup.” He rubbed his hands and said to the vampires, “Said she’d clean me out if I divorced her, so . . .” He shrugged carelessly. “Julian explained that I had to make a sacrifice to activate the Madness Potion. Best news I had since the bitch filed the separation papers.”

  Mark looked up at Xander and whispered. “But I put the potion in the reservoir.”

  “Let’s spread out,” Bitterman said to the vampires. “If we don’t find the urn in the next, oh, ten minutes or so, we’ll send for more reinforcements. The Games have already started, and if the Slayer’s heart stops before we get those ashes down there, there’ll be hell to pay.”

  As they were herded toward the lake, Xander whispered to Mark, “Giles was surprised that that small of an amount of the potion made everybody nuts. It looks like source Bitterman was what caused all the ruckus. Do you understand what I’m saying?” He touched the boy’s shoulder. “You’re not to blame.”

  “So if I had drowned, the curse wouldn’t have been lifted,” Mark said. He burst into tears as he stumbled forward, pushed by a vampire.

  “Looks like,” Xander muttered to himself. “And it also looks like we have a new contestant for ’Let’s Make a Sacrifice.’”

  The excitement was at fever pitch by the time Buffy faced her third opponent, a clanking giant armed and armored to the gills, which puffed and gasped beneath its eyes. The onlookers kept betting, changing their bets, exchanging money.

  Soon the giant’s head lay at her feet, and the crowd thundered with applause and whistles.

  Buffy’s worn sword was replaced with a fresh one. Blood of various colors smeared her leather-covered shield.

  More combatants were paraded out, sometimes singly, sometimes in pairs. Defeating each one in turn, Buffy was beginning to tire.

  After another hour or so, Helen gestured to Buffy. “You see how it was for me? Night after night, for over a year?”

  “You mean, just like how it is for a Slayer?” Buffy shot back.

  Helen looked irritated. Julian patted her hand and she drew away from him.

  “No worries, beloved,” he said. “Tonight, all will come right. We shall begin a new golden age of evil.”

  “If we get the ashes,” she retorted.

  Hear that, Mable? They are ash-free. Buffy could have danced all night . . . or maybe for thirty seconds.

  He chuckled. “We will. Willy has assured me that our pigeon is flying to the roost this very moment. The boy knows where they are.”

  Willy? Huh? Buffy was puzzled. Boy? What boy? Mark?

  “Let’s make this more interesting,” Julian went on. He clapped his hands and said, “Bring out the prisoners.”

  Buffy’s lips parted as Willow and Giles were paraded into the amphitheater. Both were chained. Both had been beaten.

  Willow looked at Buffy with hollow, frightened eyes.

  “Where’s Cordelia? Where’s Xander?” Buffy called to Giles.

  Giles shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  Julian grinned. “The boy’s on an errand,” he informed them.

  So, Xander is “the boy.” One question answered.

  Just about a million more to go.

  Cordelia was brought in, dressed in battle gear similar to Buffy’s. She was led to the dais by a badly scarred man dressed in leather. Julian leaned forward and chucked Cordelia under the chin.

  “Do you wish to fight the Slayer, my lovely girl?” he asked in a silken voice.

  “Yeah, right.” Cordelia pulled her head away and gave her hair an angry shake.

  “Well, you’ll fight her nevertheless,” Julian said. He smiled at Helen. "I believe you have concocted a special potion for tonight?”

  She smiled prettily. “One for each of them.”

  A pretty girl dressed in a gauzy robe stepped forward with a gold bowl in which lay four glass vials decorated with jewels.

  “The Madness Potion of Caligula,” Julian announced. “Enhanced for this evening’s festivities by our queen!”

  The spectators broke into delighted cheers as Julian displayed the bowl.

  He handed it back to the girl. She carried it over to the scarred man, and selected and uncapped one for him. He took it, grabbed Cordelia’s head under his forearm, and dumped the liquid into her mouth. As she struggled, he covered her mouth and nose, forcing her to swallow.

  The transformation was instantaneous. Her eyes narrowed. Her mouth curled. When the scarred man handed her a sword, she ran straight for Buffy.

  Buffy hesitated, nothing inside her wanting to harm Cordelia. She dodged her first blow, but the second glanced across her armor.

  Buffy was shocked. Cordelia would have seriously hurt her if she hadn’t been wearing armor. This time, she wasn’t as cautious about avoiding Cordy, but Cordelia still managed to dart out of range.

  As four demon guards grabbed vials and rushed Giles and Willow, Oz was dragged in by a phalanx of vampires and demons. Fully wolfed out, his arms and legs were manacled; there was a huge collar around his neck, attached to an even thicker chain, and one around his waist.

  He threw back his head and howled, struggling to get free.

  “Oz!” Willow screamed. But Buffy knew Oz didn’t understand. He didn’t recognize Willow’s voice, or Willow for that matter. Under the influence of the moon, he was a savage, feral beast, nothing less, and nothing more.

  At a signal from Julian, the vampires very cautiously unchained Oz. With a growl, he sprang at Buffy. She ran backwards and flung herself to the ground, and he sailed over her. Raging with frustration, he whipped around and charged again.

  She figured she could dodge him one or two more times, and then she was going to have to actually fight him.

  Then the demons forced Willow and Giles to swallow the Madness Potion.

  I’m knee-deep in the hoopla now, Buffy thought.

  This time, when her frie
nds got possessed, there were no words. No name-calling. No accusations. There was madness in the eyes of Cordelia, Giles, and Willow, and nothing else.

  They charged her at the same time, though without any set plan or strategy. They were too far gone for that.

  Giles approached, punching with his fists.Buffy held her sword away, unwilling to use it. At a signal from Julian, one of the demons grabbed her Watcher and put a spear in his hands. The shaft was wood, the tip, some kind of serious-looking metal. He stabbed at her, his mouth drawn back so far he looked like a vampire.

  Oz charged her from behind. Buffy knew that all she had to do was drop and roll, and Oz would impale himself on Giles’s spear. If the injury wasn’t severe enough to kill him, it would probably enrage him so much that he would kill Giles.

  Can’t let it happen, she told herself, no matter what.

  She stayed where she was, in the middle.

  At the reservoir, Willy said to Bitterman, “You said no more killing. That’s what you said.”

  Willy was the bringer of reinforcements. A bunch of scummy lowlifes — what passed for friends on Willy’s planet — had spread out around the reservoir, searching with flashlights for the urn.

  Bitterman shrugged at Willy as he raised his gun and aimed it at Xander. "And you never lie, either.”

  “These kids . . . he’s kind of my friend,” Willy said, his voice rising.

  Gee, we never knew you cared, Xander thought acidly. All those missed opportunities for exchanging secret pal gifts.

  “You’re just afraid the Slayer will come after you,” Bitterman said to Willy. “Don’t be. She’s going to die tonight.”

  “See what I mean?” Willy said, holding out his hands. “More with the dying.” He turned to Xander. “They told me they’d spare your life if I cooperated.” He flushed. “Honest, kid. So tell them where the urn is, okay? Don’t be a hero.”

  Xander said, “What makes you think I know?”

  “Well, you said . . .” Willy frowned and scratched his head.

  Bitterman rolled his eyes. “When they find out how badly you screwed this up, they’re going to rip your lungs out.”