Buffy was way ahead of the vampire twins. She was over the front seat even as Giles hit the ground, a wooden stake already in her hand. Carl made the mistake of examining his busted nose. By the time he looked up, Buffy was on him, stake driving forward.
“Wait—!” he screamed a moment before it pierced his heart and he burst into a cloud of vamp dust.
Buffy circled around the front of the van. “Time to double my fun,” she said, moving closer to the remaining twin, Kyle.
“You killed Carl,” Kyle said in disbelief.
“Don’t be jealous,” she said. “You’re next.”
“Wait,” he said, holding up his hands, palms out. “We—I mean, I have a message for you.”
“Enough with the messages,” Buffy said.
Oz had climbed to his feet and positioned himself behind Kyle, but some small movement or sound alerted the vampire, who whirled around and drove an elbow into Oz, just below his rib cage. Oz doubled over, the wind knocked out of him, but Buffy was quick to take advantage of the distraction. She sprang forward and caught the vampire in the face with a stinging left hook. As he shook it off, she grabbed the front of his vest in her left hand and raised the wooden stake high in her right, determined to put a quick end to Kyle. She thrust the stake toward his unbeating heart—
“Your mother!” Kyle screamed.
—and pulled the fatal blow at the last instant.
“He has your mother,” Kyle finished, eyes wide with fear.
“Solitaire?”
Kyle nodded vigorously, his gaze trained on the sharp point of the stake.
Buffy couldn’t afford not to believe him. She had to find out everything this vampire knew. Her mother’s life probably depended on it When she thought how close she’d come to dusting him without discovering Solitaire’s terms, she shuddered. Her throat was constricted, her voice harsh. “She’s still alive?”
“Yes, as far as I—”
“Where?”
“He told us to leave you to him. Just deliver his message and get lost”
“Where?” Buffy repeated, pressing the stake against his chest.
“The gallery,” Kyle said. “He said he would take her to the gallery.”
“Anything else?”
“Come alone or she dies,” the vampire blurted. “If you don’t show by midnight, he kills her anyway. That’s all I know.”
“You’re sure about that? Absolutely positive?”
“Yes! Absolutely!”
“Thanks for the message,” Buffy said. “Here’s your tip!”
“Nooo!!!” Kyle screamed, realizing too late she was being literal. His hands—along with the rest of him—turned to dust long before he could deflect the wooden stake.
Angel had helped Oz up and stood with him to the left behind Buffy. Giles brushed himself off as he approached her from the right. “I hesitate to call that completely unsportsmanlike—”
“Good,” Buffy said. “You don’t think I’d leave a vamp on the loose simply because he cooperated?”
Giles cleared his throat. “Quite right.”
“You all heard?” Buffy asked. “Solitaire has my mom at the gallery.” They nodded and she could see the concern in their expressions, probably worried as much for her as for her mother.
“If we leave now, we risk losing Vyxn and any chance of finding Willow and Xander,” Giles added.
“Dilemma in a nutshell,” Oz remarked.
“No dilemma,” Buffy replied. “I’m going to the gallery alone.”
“Buffy, that’s precisely what he—”
“Giles, you heard his terms. I can’t—I won’t risk my mother’s life.”
“I understand.”
“Good,” Buffy said to her Watcher. She held her hand out, palm up. “I need your keys. I’m taking the Gilesmo-bile.”
“Buffy, automobiles aren’t your—perhaps we should—”
“No time to argue, Giles.”
“All right then,” Giles said, dropping the keys to his Citroën in her hand. “Do be careful—that is, with Solitaire and everything.”
“Find Vyxn’s lair and wait for me as long as you can,” Buffy said. “Giles, you and Oz are vulnerable to Vyxn’s spell and that would leave Angel alone against the four of them. Worse if they can somehow turn both of you against him.”
“How will you know where—?”
“Have Cordelia follow you in her car,” Buffy said. “Once she knows the location, she comes back to the Bronze and waits for me. Everyone clear?”
Angel said, “Buffy, I could—”
She was already shaking her head. “If Solitaire or one of his vampire cronies sees you, he might kill my mom. I can’t risk that. Besides, these guys are outnumbered by the ghouls. They need you. And I can’t risk you coming with me.”
Angel nodded once.
* * *
Buffy managed to drive Giles’s Citroën to the gallery without incident, unless one counted a rude encounter with a curb and a popped hubcap as incidents. She could still picture the strained look on Angel’s face, not wanting to let her fight Solitaire alone but yielding to her logic and the threat to her mother. Also weighing on her mind was the real possibility that Solitaire could kill her, leaving her battered friends to face the ghouls alone. Yet she tried to put these distractions out of her mind as she neared the art gallery. If Solitaire was as powerful as Giles’s history books and Angel’s assertions, she would need to be completely focused to fight him. Still . . . he had her mother.
A disturbing thought rose from her subconscious. Her mother had been home when she left for the Bronze. Had Solitaire somehow thwarted the uninvite spell she’d performed on her house? She was sure she had done it properly. Why am I so surprised? she thought. If a vampire can walk in daylight, why would entering a house uninvited be so extraordinary? Maybe he did have access to a powerful talisman or some special magic. She had no clear explanation for his abilities, but she was determined not to underestimate her opponent. Solitaire is no ordinary vampire.
* * *
Too restless to simply sit at a table and listen to Vyxn’s uninspired music, Cordelia walked rather aimlessly around the back of the Bronze, trying to pass the time. At least until a freshman in rumpled clothing bumped into her, almost spilling his soda on her red dress. Pale-faced, with dark rings under his eyes, he sported a slack-jawed look of confusion. He mumbled an apology and tried to step around her.
“Watch it, geek!” Cordelia snapped. “Try some No Doz.”
So incensed was Cordelia that she barely noticed when Lupa, onstage, said, “Gotta leave early tonight, guys.” A collective moan of disappointment. “You’ve been great”
The sunken-eyed freshman mumbled some more and stumbled away, veering closer to the stage, a moth drawn to the light. Cordelia took a few moments to examine nearby faces and realized they all had that vacant, sleep-is-for-losers, mesmerized look. If Vyxn extended their engagement a few days, the guys would probably collapse from exhaustion. Not only were the ghouls eating some of their fans, they were apparently sucking the life out of the rest of them.
“ . . . our last song,” Lupa was saying, just as Cordelia noticed the dark spots. The mumbling freshman bumbler had managed to spill some of his Coke on her dress.
“ . . . called ‘Farewell, Again, Forever.’ ”
“Great,” Cordelia said and made a beeline for the ladies’ room to inspect the damage.
Thunderous cheers and applause faded as Lupa walked to the middle of the stage and began to sing her final number.
“If I never see you again,
will you remember me?
Our time was so short,
but that’s the way it must be . . .”
It was a trap and Buffy was about to step into it Not that she had any choice. Her mother’s life was in danger, so she must risk her own. Joyce would never want her daughter to place herself in danger to save her. But Buffy wasn’t just Joyce Summers’s daughter, she was the Chosen One, the Slayer. Born to fight in the battle against evil and to someday—when the odds finally caught up to her—die in that battle. Just not today, Buffy thought. Buffy refused to let her mother become a casualty in her war.
After parking the Citroën a block from her mother’s art gallery, Buffy proceeded on foot, carrying the weapons she’d taken from the van, a crossbow, quarrels and a wooden stake. First priority: get her mother out safely. Second priority: give Solitaire a very personal introduction to Mr. Pointy. Then back to the Bronze where, she hoped, Cordelia would be waiting to take her to the ghouls’ lair in time to save her friends, Willow and Xander. She prayed they were still alive. Hold on, guys. She sighed. First things first.
Her mother’s car was parked slightly askew, outside the gallery, its front tire scuffed by the curb. Solitaire had made Joyce Summers drive here knowing she was being used as bait to lure her daughter, her only child, to her death. Buffy was determined to make Solitaire pay—for breaking Giles’s wrist, for attacking Angel and for terrorizing her mother. All his debts were long overdue.
The door to the gallery was unlocked. Buffy took a moment to peer through die glass, into the darkness, attempting to locate either her mother or Solitaire. The glare of streetlights only partially illuminated the interior of the gallery but, from the inside, Buffy would be silhouetted, plain to see. As she reached for the door handle, she noticed the playing card on the welcome mat at her feet. Eight of hearts. Turn an eight on its side and it was the symbol for infinity. But she doubted there was any deeper meaning to Solitaire’s playing card affectation. He was just working his way through the deck. This time you lose, Solitaire.
Though she pulled the door open with as much care as possible, the crystal chimes tinkled overhead. So much for whatever tiny element of surprise she might have had. She eased the door shut behind her.
A suit of armor stood mute guard next to the door, a double-headed battle-ax balanced under gleaming metal gauntlets, blade resting on the floor. Buffy recalled her mother discussing a medieval exhibit For one creepy moment, she entertained the thought that Solitaire was even now inside the suit of armor. Wouldn’t it be ironic, she thought, if Solitaire had actually been alive when knights of old wore such contraptions during their battles, tourneys and jousts? Maybe that was how and when he’d developed his taste for competition and duels.
To her left, the wall was adorned with mounted weapons and shields of the period, some merely reproductions or approximations. On the opposite wall—above a row of display cases filled with actual six-hundred-year-old antiquities or clever replicas—were prints of artwork from the period. The one nearest the entrance she recognized as The Triumph of Death, from the fourteenth century. Above a plague scene with decomposing corpses laid out in coffins, angels and demons fought over the souls of the dead. She had seen a reproduction of the painting in one of Giles’s books and the macabre image had stuck with her.
A muffled moan came from across the main exhibition room. Buffy’s gaze was drawn to the sight of her mother, bound and gagged, as she sat in deep shadows, propped up against the wall. Her mother’s eyes were wide with fright, and she tilted her head to the side, indicating the other corner of the room, which was cloaked in almost complete darkness.
Solitaire stepped out of that darkness, into the wan glow cast by the streetlights. In his black cloak and trousers, only his red leather vest and pale face were clearly outlined. He almost seemed to float in the gloom, an apparition or a demon waiting to collect his bounty of souls. “We meet at last, Slayer,” he said in a deep, confident voice.
“You’re the one who’s been hiding,” Buffy said to irritate him, hoping it would throw him off his game. She was thinking, I need to get Mom out of here now.
“Well, the preliminaries are over,” Solitaire said, spreading his hands expansively. “Everything has been prepared for our contest. Before I trussed her up, I had your mother disarm the security system so we wouldn’t be interrupted by the police. Nothing like bumbling local law enforcement to ruin the aesthetics of a spectacular duel. We have the place all to ourselves, for as long as it takes. I suggest we make the most of it.”
“I have a message for you,” Buffy said. She had slung a crossbow over her back, but now she brought it to bear. “Don’t worry, I’ll get right to the point.” She fired the bolt.
Solitaire’s hand was a blur of motion as he snatched the quarrel out of the air, inches from his chest. “Ha! A sense of humor,” he said and chuckled. “I love it. Do you think you’ll die with a smile on your face, Slayer?” He snapped the quarrel in half and tossed it aside.
“If I do,” Buffy said, loading a second bolt, “you won’t be around to see it.” She fired again.
Solitaire’s arm swept up in a half circle and the deflected quarrel lodged in a wall behind him. “Confident,” he remarked. “Good. This grows tiresome. Shall we begin?”
“First, let my mother go,” Buffy said. She had hoped to put a quick end to Solitaire, but now realized things were going to get ugly. “She has nothing to do with this. She’s no threat to you.”
“She stays,” Solitaire replied. “After all, a mother should have the chance to witness her daughter die a glorious death.”
Buffy had to think about her mother first, no matter what happened to her. Solitaire prided himself on being a warrior. Maybe she could play on his honor. “In the unlikely event you . . . beat me, promise you’ll let her go.”
“Why should I do that?”
“It would be . . . honorable.”
“After our little dance, I fear I might be . . . thirsty.”
“You’re scum,” Buffy said. He’s a vampire. What was I expecting, a great humanitarian?
“This is a fight to the death,” Solitaire said. “Yet you resort to name calling?” Solitaire reached into a vest pocket and pulled out a playing card. He showed it to her: a seven of spades. “Consider this your grave marker.” He laid it face up on one of the display cases to his left. “Now that you’re sufficiently motivated,” he said, “let’s see what you’re made of, Slayer.”
“Time for a little vamp dusting,” Buffy said and charged. She flung the empty crossbow at him, simultaneously reaching into her pocket for a wooden stake.
Solitaire leaned to the side, letting the crossbow whistle past his head and stood his ground. His attention stayed focused on the stake Buffy held high in her right hand. Knowing he’d expect a quick thrust, Buffy cartwheeled, planting her free hand on the floor and drilling both feet into Solitaire’s chest He staggered backward as she righted herself and pressed her attack. This time she drove the stake down toward his chest. He blocked her wrist with his forearm, then slammed his open palm under her chin, lifting her off her feet Buffy lost her balance and started to fall. She grabbed his vest with her left hand as she fell back, using gravity and his own momentum against him. Her back hit the floor a moment before her head struck hard, stars flashing in a painful moment of darkness. But she planted a foot in his abdomen as she continued to roll and hurled him over her body. He crashed to the floor with a grunt, while Buffy rolled over onto her hands and knees.
She had a momentary advantage and willed herself not to lose it. Running toward him, she drove a knee into his face even as he climbed to his feet He roared in pain, but swung his fist in a wild arc that connected with her ear, crushing cartilage and splitting the skin open. Blood began to trickle down her neck.
Buffy took a step back, trying to catch her breath. Solitaire rose, towering above her. He launched a sidekick that she caught in both hands but lost her stake in the process. She twisted hard, attempting to throw him to the ground. Time enough then to retrieve the stake. But she forgot his inhuman nature, he spun in a complete arc, seemingly defying gravity as he pulled his leg free of her grasp. Seeing her guard down, he backhanded her across the face, whipping her head to the side with the impact. Then he rushed her and caught her with both his hands under her arms, hoisting her in the air so that she had no leverage.
Solitaire grinned, a line of blood tracing a trickle from his split lip to his chin. With his bristling crew cut and hardened appearance, he seemed like a demented drill sergeant. “Having fun yet?”
Buffy forced herself to smile, to conceal how much pain his crushing grip was causing her. “You sure know how to show a girl a good time.” She held the smile long enough to slam her knee into his chin.
Roaring, he carried her across the room and threw her bodily down on a display case. Glass crashed beneath her and her head struck a metal support, momentarily stunning her. Solitaire picked her up out of the debris and hurled her headfirst toward the floor. She had enough presence of mind to roll, absorbing the impact with her shoulder. But she came up short, striking the opposite wall awkwardly.
Her mother uttered a muffled shout through her gag. Buffy looked up as Solitaire removed a broadsword from its wall mount. He gripped it in two hands and was about to drive it through her, impaling her on the floor. She rolled away at the last moment, feeling the sharp metal tear the sleeve of her shirt, nicking her flesh before it drove an inch deep into the hardwood floor. She jumped up and lashed out with a kick that split the pinned sword in half.
Solitaire aimed for her face with the truncated end of the broadsword. She ducked to the side and the blade rammed into the plaster of the wall. Buffy pulled a hefty V-shaped shield from a bracket and bashed it over his head. He staggered backward, losing his grip on the pommel of the broadsword. Buffy followed up with another two-handed blow with the shield, and another, forcing him ever backward. She hooked a foot behind his ankle and shoved the shield into him, using the shattered display cases as a fulcrum. Solitaire spun head over heels, flipping over the case and falling with a rain of shattered glass and broken artifacts.
Buffy spotted her stake and had it in her hand even as Solitaire climbed to his feet, glass tinkling all around him, looking a little wobbly. His face was cut in many places and it no longer looked completely human. He was sporting a vampface and overly long fangs. They were unlike those of any vampire she had ever seen or staked, even longer and more oddly shaped than the Master’s. Buffy wondered briefly if the expression long in the tooth had come from such creatures as Solitaire. But only briefly. She grabbed him by the top of his vest with her left hand, her right hand poised over his heart, clutching the stake with white knuckles. “When you get back to hell,” Buffy said, “tell them the Slayer sent you.”
She drove the stake into his chest, deep enough to puncture his ancient, withered heart. Solitaire just laughed.
Buffy was taken aback. First the invulnerability to the sun, then the apparent immunity to the uninvite spell, and now he was proof against stakes. “How?”
Solitaire grabbed her shoulders in his strong hands. “I’ll tell you a little secret,” he whispered in her ear. “I’m not a vampire. I just play one on TV.”
Buffy swung her arms up, then out, breaking free of his grip. She backed up a step or two, but maintained a defensive posture as she watched him tug the stake out of his chest. Dark green blood oozed from the wound.
“Actually you weren’t even close to my heart. Rather, hearts, I should say. I have six, one on top of the other, along my spine.”
“What are you?”
“You’ve only seen my partial transformation,” Solitaire commented. She watched as his skin became green and pebbly, his head overly large. He had fangs top and bottom. The bristly hair was replaced by spiky quills. At the sides of his head, horns appeared and grew long enough to make a bull envious. “I’m something of a demon myself,” he said. “Personally, I can’t stand vampires. Disgusting half-breeds!”
It all made sense, of course. Angel had never believed in the Day Walker legend and rightly so. A true vampire could not survive the direct rays of the sun. The Day Walker was a myth, a myth created by a demon masquerading as an invulnerable vampire to strike fear into their unbeating hearts. Solitaire might not have the weaknesses of a vampire, but that didn’t mean he was invulnerable. He’s a demon. And demons die. She remembered something else Angel had said, about Solitaire being a warrior caught up in his pride, an oversized ego.
“You’re nothing but a coward and a fraud,” Buffy taunted.
“That’s harsh,” Solitaire replied. He took a menacing step toward her and she backed up an equal distance. “But now that you know you can’t stake me, why not be a good little girl and die?”
“You hide behind a disguise. You attack your opponents when they are most vulnerable because you know you would lose a fair fight.” She pointed to her mother. “You take hostages. If anyone is unworthy, it’s you!”
“How dare you!” Solitaire’s green skin darkened and his eyes smoldered red, as if hot coals had been banked behind them. He roared and charged her, using his extra weight to bull her backward. Backhand after forehand landed on her face. She was dizzy and felt her legs go rubbery. As battle tactics go, insulting him was probably a bad idea.
The demon wrapped a clawed hand around her neck, still holding her stake in his other hand. “I believe your own heart is conveniently front and center,” he said. “How’s that for irony? A Slayer impaled on her own wooden stake.” He raised the stake above her heart.
Joyce Summers had finally worked her gag free. Her voice hoarse, she nonetheless screamed, “Buffy!”
Her mother’s voice brought Buffy back into focus. She slammed her heel down on Solitaire’s instep. The blow caused him to loosen his hold. It was enough. Buffy curled her fist and struck Solitaire hard in the throat. If he’d had an Adam’s apple, she would have smashed it and crushed his windpipe. Instead he became enraged and doubled over, but not in pain. He charged her, intending to impale her on his prodigious horns. She caught the horns in her hands and held on, thinking they might be his weakness, if she could rip them from his head. But he raised his head, lifting her off her feet and using her body as a battering ram. Her body slammed into the gallery door, plate glass crashing behind her. As Solitaire backed up, she lost her grip on his horns and fell into a pile of broken glass, too tired to stand, too weak to fight. Mostly she was stunned by how quickly the tide of the battle had turned against her.
“Oh, Buffy,” her mother cried from across the gallery.
Buffy looked up at Solitaire. He had walked away for some reason and now he was returning, flicking something between his fingers. The playing card, she realized.
“Game over, Slayer,” he said.
Buffy tried to stand, slipped and cut her forearm on a shard of glass.
Solitaire laughed. “Don’t trouble yourself. I can wring your neck right where you sit. If it’s any comfort, you were a worthy opponent, Buffy the Slayer.”