The gas station seems deserted.
A sign reads "open" and there's a light in the office. As Wesley cautiously steers the car round the pumps, I notice they are switched on. We shrug at each other, and Wesley says something like, "I'll start filling her up - that'll get them out here quick enough."
I'm restless.
I've tried tapping Wes for more information about the girl, but the only thing he can tell me is that Giles has absolute confidence in her. Wes has absolute confidence in Giles and I have absolute confidence in them both. Therefore, I should be able to trust what she says.
And what she seems to say is, I'm becoming human.
Somehow, this is not what I expected. Not that I haven't been expectant. Ever since I knew about shanshu, I've been waiting, looking out for some life-giving event. Saving a soul, killing a demon, preventing the end of the world.
Making love. It made all the difference last time.
But, if the girl is right, it's not an event. It's not something I earn through heroism or sacrifice. It's not even something I do by mistake. It's something that is happening to me, slowly, stealthily, whether I try for it or not.
She also implied I could get there quicker. She left out exactly how.
I hear voices coming from behind the office. Wesley is dribbling gas into the tank like it's liquid gold, something to do with being British I think, and so we're clearly going to be here a while. A general urge to take a wander turns into necessity when I feel an urgent, heavy sensation in my groin, like someone has placed a warm hand on it and is slowly applying pressure.
It feels like I haven't taken a piss for two-hundred and fifty years.
I make my way across the forecourt and around the perimeter of the building. There's no-one there, but a barn stands about fifty feet away, and through gaps in the timber walls I see a light, flicking on and off, on and off, like someone is trying to communicate with us in Morse code.
As I approach, I see the effect is caused by bodies passing in front of a light source, probably a lamp rather than a torch as the light is strong enough to illuminate the whole barn. The place is humming. Scents come drifting to me: sweat, saliva, blood and their attendant emotions, anticipation, greed, hunger. Emotions so strong, they're almost visible to me.
Nasty, gut-felt, human feelings, polluting the cool desert air.
I start circumnavigating the building, looking for an entrance. Before I find one, the mood changes. The voices of the occupants, until now just a murmur, break into a barely controlled heave of barks and grunts, filled with urgent but still lowly voiced orders. Something important is happening. Something exciting. Something that's brought together a crowd of men and made them bare their souls. They're parading their lust in public, and suddenly I know what the Host sees when people open their mouths to sing.
I round a corner. One of them is keeping watch at the barn's only set of doors; however the events within have now grabbed his attention too. His arm pokes out of the doorway and I can make out his fingers, splayed over the greyish wood, but his head is on the inside, and his mind is likewise taken up with whatever is happening in there. It's easy to peel away from the barn wall, creep out ten foot or so into the inky desert blackness, then approach the doorway, cloaked, and look over his shoulder, to see what he sees.
As I level with the doorway, an unearthly shout breaks out. There is an explosion of noise, and a sudden release of tension and it feels like I've been slapped across the face, punched in the chest, injected with adrenaline, plunged into cold water or all of these at once. I stumble. My heart is thumping against my chest. It's frightening, painful, seemingly unstoppable. Whatever it is, has started.
The watchman has given up entirely now and I see him plunge into the crowd, waving a fistful of money. He pushes his way through the throng and stops at the side of a raised ring in the centre of the barn.
I follow him in. I don't give a thought to whether I should be there, if anyone will notice the stranger in their midst; I know instinctively that at this moment, they are too single-minded to care. Their strange ecstasy radiates and courses through me and I need to know, I have to see, what brings it out of them, what can be happening to make their hearts pound and their skin sweat like this. I have to know because my heart and my skin are as alive as theirs. More than that, I remember - this scene - I remember it from long ago and far away, in another life.
By the time I reach the ring it is all over. Men are reaching over each other and handing money back and forth. Some are grinning ear-to-ear; others cross their arms and look as black as thunder. One of the observers bends double to reach into the ring, and picks up a small bundle.
It's a bird. A large gamecock, with a coppery body and purple-black tail feathers. It has three inch blades attached to its legs like spurs. The man rips the spurs away and slings the mutilated and lifeless corpse towards a dark corner, where a small pile of similar shapes is growing. The barn is quiet again, and from a dozen small boxes heaped against the far wall, I can hear flapping, clucking, scraping sounds.
I back out, staggering into a warm body standing behind me. It's Wes.
"Cockfighting!"
I seize his arm and mutter, "Let's go."
"It's illegal in California, you know!"
"Yeah, I think they probably know that, Wes."
I hurry Wesley to the car, not looking back. But they're not taking any notice of us. I drive us away, hoping that the familiarity of making the car work will ease the pounding in my chest.
In my mind's eye, I see a bird taken from its cage, and placed beak to beak with the victor in the ring. A sea of faces watches eagerly, hoping for a short and brutal fight. Wagers are made, hands gripping coins or the side of the ring shake in anticipation.
"Are you OK?"
Wesley's face looms at my side, white in the glare from the instruments on the dashboard.
"I'm fine. I - I - "
"Bad memories?"
Sometimes Wes astounds me with his insight.
"It was commonplace back when I was human. I used to - when I was a young man - it was just - entertainment."
Wesley grimaced, "It still is."
Shanshu. Like a disease, it's happening to me. Whether I want it or not.