February 1998
"'The MTA is baffled by the abnormally large, aggressive rodents which have been terrorizing subway passengers for the past week, and while city officials are looking into it, many commuters are currently seeking other modes of transport.'" Wesley put the paper down and looked at Buffy.
"So...you want me to go all exterminator on them? Because Buffy the Rat Slayer doesn't have the same ring."
He shook his head. "No, no...it's just, this sounds like more than a simple pestilence problem. There's a demon that can infect rodents. Make them vicious, blood-thirsty. It then feeds off the pain and terror they inflict. They're quite rare in America, but when they do show up, it can be quite troublesome."
"A demon, huh?" Buffy bit her lip and concentrated on getting the wood chips from the stake she was carving onto the newspaper Wesley had put down on the floor. The first time they'd carved stakes in his apartment, he'd spent an entire week complaining about splinters.
"Yes, it should be quite exciting."
Buffy snorted. "Only you would equate 'demon' with 'exciting.'"
"Well! It's not as if I've seen one outside of a book yet."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
Opening another book, Wesley scribbled down a few notes. "Are you telling me you're not the least bit curious?"
She shrugged. "I guess. I mean, vampire, demon. Seen one, seen 'em all. So how do we find this thing?"
"According to this book, I'm going to have to scrye to locate him."
Buffy stopped what she was doing and smirked. "Really? I haven't seen you do that since our first couple patrols together. You want me to drop one of your books on your hand or something? Or rent Old Yeller again?"
"Scrye," Wesley said, glaring. "It's a form of rudimentary magic. You tie a crystal to a string, hold it over a map, concentrate on what you want to find, and the crystal drops on the location."
"Gotcha." She put down the knife and blew the loose chips off the stake. "So, I'll grab the weapons and you...scrye...for this...."
"Ockchar demon."
"Right. I just hope he isn't hiding in the subway tunnels. It took five washings to get the tunnel muck outta my clothes last time."
***
As Buffy and Wesley stepped out of the train at Columbus Circle, Buffy sighed. "I knew it. So I guess we'll wait for the people to clear, then I'll go down first--"
"Hm? Oh, no, we're going up," Wesley said, leading Buffy to the stairs.
"Oh! Good, that's much better than...oh shit, I t-talked to s-soon." A gust of icy wind shot down the stairs and Buffy shivered, tying her scarf and pulling on her mittens. "I c-can't believe it's colder uptown. How is t-that even p-possible?"
"I b-believe it's the t-taller buildings," Wesley chattered, scrunching his chin down into his jacket. "They c-concentrate the wind."
"I miss L.A."
"I miss London." Wesley helped Buffy across a patch of ice, then pulled out a map. "We have to go into the park."
"The demon's in Central Park?"
"The demon's in the carousel in Central Park."
"You're kidding."
"I wish I was. It makes sense, actually. Demons are often drawn to places of innocence, and youth."
"Yicky."
They made their way through the deserted playground in silence, boots crunching on the snow underfoot. The sun was just starting to set, and the remaining rays made the snowy surfaces glow in orange and gold.
As Buffy and Wesley rounded the first baseball field, they heard a muffled "Hey!" coming from one of the benches.
"Erm, yes?" Wesley said, addressing the small, older black man ensconced in several ragged blankets.
"Mister, my name is Willy, the Central Park poet. Can Willy offer you and your fine young lady-friend some of his poetry today? Any contribution would be gratefully accepted," he said, thrusting a photocopied packet of poetry into Wesley's face.
Wesley glanced at Buffy, who raised her hands. "Don't look at me, I always leave my purse at home during patrols."
"Yes, and I my wallet." Turning back to Willy, Wesley shrugged apologetically. "I'm sorry, sir, the only thing I have on me is a tin of licorice--"
Willy's eyes lit up. "I'll take it!"
"Oh. Okay then." He fished the tin out of his jacket pocket and handed it to the poet. "There you go."
"Enjoy the poetry," Willy said, shooting them a nearly-toothless grin.
Buffy smiled and waved, then looped her arm in Wesley's as they continued down the path.
"That poor guy," she said, shaking her head.
"Well, it's heartening to see some drifters are still willing to sing for their supper, as it were. I wonder if his poetry is any good?" Wesley started to flip through the stapled pages, but Buffy tugged on his arm.
"No time to find out, we're here."
The carousel building was dark, the gate around it firmly chained closed. Buffy squinted at the sign. "Friedsam Memorial Carousel. Winter hours of operation, Monday through Friday: closed. Oh! That's lucky for us."
"Yes, though I don't know how we'll get in."
"We'll find a way," Buffy said, easily pulling the lock off and pushing the gate open.
Wesley shook his head and laughed. "Ladies first."
Buffy pulled an axe from under her jacket and went inside. "Jeez, closed carousels are just as creepy as they look in horror movies. So, how are we supposed to find this Charbroil demon?"
"Ockchar, and with this," he said, pulling a vented box from his jacket pocket. When he opened one end and tilted it towards the ground, a large gray rat hit the cement with a thud.
"Eew, you were carrying that thing in your pocket?"
"Would you have preferred I'd kept it in my trousers?" Wesley winked, then held his finger to his lips and crouched down, watching as the rat ran under the carousel.
Out of the corner of her eye, Buffy saw a flash of red dart out of the farthest corner of the small shed and dive under the carousel. A minute later, there was a screech and an impressively larger rat ambled out. It made a bee-line right for Buffy, who deftly brought her axe down and split it in half, sending the body flying towards the carousel and the head towards Wesley's feet.
He grimaced and gingerly dislodged the rat-head from his shoe. "I'd say we found our demon."
"Great. Now what?"
"Well...you slay while I watch."
Buffy rolled her eyes. "Okay, but how do I kill it?"
"I believe most demons can be dispatched via decapitation."
"Chop off its head?"
"Chop off its head."
She twirled the axe. "Next time, just say that."
A high-pitched screeching drew their attention back to the carousel, where the squat, furry red demon was clinging to a white wooden horse with a brown mane. It swayed from side to side and cocked its head, studying Buffy and Wesley.
Clang. Wesley had taken off his shoe and tossed it against the far wall. As the demon swiveled around to investigate the noise, Buffy crept up behind it. Carefully, she raised the axe then quickly brought it down, but her aim was off and she only managed to lop off a chunk of its flesh. The Ockchar howled and leaped towards Buffy, knocking her backwards; she avoided landing on her ass only by grabbing onto a horse's upraised hoof.
"Okay, that wasn't fun."
"Buffy, remember what I showed you, let your opponent come to you."
"Yeah, I'll let the angry demon come to me and chop off some of my skin in retaliation," Buffy snapped, but did as told and remained as she was.
Snapping its green teeth at her, the Ockchar hopped from one horse to another until it was perched above Buffy, green blood dribbling down its arm and onto the carousel platform. With a howl, he leaped towards Buffy, who brought the axe up and decapitated the demon in midair.
The head landed in her lap.
"Oh, okay, scarred for life."
"Here," Wesley pushed the head away and helped Buffy to her feet. "Well, your first demon. What do you say we go celebrate?"
"Celebrate? How?"
"It's a surprise," he smiled.
They put their gloves back on and headed into the cold. After being in the relatively-warmish shed that housed the carousel, the icy wind cut straight through to Buffy's bones. The moon lit the almost empty pathway as Buffy and Wesley headed east. Maybe Central park had some kind of secret Turkish bath house...steam, and heat, and hot steam...Buffy was so wrapped up in her fantasies of regaining some of her body heat she hadn't noticed that Wesley had stopped in front of....
"An ice skating rink?!"
"I saw it on the map while I was scrying," Wesley smiled, leading her towards the building.
"I had no idea there was a skating rink in Central Park."
"It does seem to have all sorts of surprises."
"Like demons hiding out in carousels?"
He laughed. "Well, yes, there is that."
***
Buffy had to give Wesley credit -- he'd made it around the rink twice before falling flat on his ass and skidding into a pack of teenaged girls. After he went down for the third time, Buffy sent him inside to get them some hot cocoa while she took a few more laps. Skating turned out to be just like slaying; her body hadn't forgotten a thing even though it had been ages since she'd done it. After a little while Buffy found a rhythm and she was able to shut out everything but the scrape of her blades against the ice and the wind whipping into her face.
***
"Did you have fun?"
Buffy dropped into the chair next to Wesley and accepted the proffered hot chocolate. She smiled. "Not as much as you. You know, if you wanted to knock things over, we coulda just gone bowling."
"Very funny."
"I thought so."
As she took a sip of the cocoa, letting it warm her tongue and lips, one of the girls Wesley had bulldozed limped past. She glared at him while her friends trailed behind, then disappeared around the corner in a haughty swirl of fuzzy pink wool.
Buffy giggled.
Wesley just sighed and closed his eyes. "Not a word."
***
The entire subway ride home, Buffy broke into periodic bouts of giggles, remembering Wesley sliding across the ice. She loved him, but man, he could be a spaz. As Buffy started to climb the steps towards her apartment, the feeling of wind stinging her cheeks had faded, but the feeling of freedom and flying that skating always gave her hadn't. It was like slaying, in a way -- losing yourself to pure physical reactions, getting lost in the dance.
A sudden sharp wind cut through every layer of clothing as she fumbled for her keys. Buffy shivered and jammed the key into the lock.
When she finally got inside and upstairs to her apartment, she was surprised to find the entire place dark. "Mom?"
No answer. Working late again.
Buffy peeled off her coat and headed into the kitchen to get a glass of juice. On her way back to her bedroom, she heard a faint noise coming from her mother's closed bedroom door.
"Hello? Mom?" Pushing the door open, she saw her mom lying on the bed, watching the news on the small television in the corner. "Hey, didn't you hear me?"
"...temperatures are expected to dip into the low twenties tonight as another cold front moves through...."
"Mommy?"
Drip. Drip. Buffy looked down to see she'd crushed the glass in her hand, and the blood from her palm was welling up and splattering on the floor. When she looked back up, the only thing she saw were her mother's eyes staring blankly ahead.
Up next: Chapter 10 - Still Life