Revenant Page 3

  Willow pointed out the other people. Shaozu Rong, Jia Li’s father, was only a few inches over five feet tall, with a broad, lined face that had heavy worry wrinkles, and salt and pepper hair he kept neatly parted. He wore a black business suit. His wife, Bok-Hyun Rong, had her hair pulled up into a bun, fixed with traditional needles, gray showing at the temples. She wore a black dress and wore a long coat, holding her hands inside a muff. There were three smaller Rong children, two boys and a girl, also dressed in black.

  Lok Rong stood apart from the rest of the family, the frown on his face telling Buffy he definitely wasn’t there by choice. He was dressed in khaki convertible cargo pants, a bright red snowboarding tee shirt, scuffed Doc Martens, and a bright yellow nylon jacket. He wore his short-cropped hair in a skater cut, dyed scarlet on the ends.

  A sophomore at the local college, Lok was an explosive basketball player, Buffy had heard, with enough talent and skill to walk onto the court and get the attention of every coach there. That talent and skill had put Lok at odds with most of the players, and his abrasive personality had guaranteed problems.

  Buffy knew that he’d already been suspended from the university twice for three days for fighting. The coaches had stepped in and made sure the punishment was nothing more than a slap on the wrist even though one of the guys Lok had fought had ended up in the emergency room. Buffy had seen Lok a few times when he had picked up Jia Li from Sunnydale High. Lok never failed to go out of his way to antagonize someone. Xander Harris didn’t care for Lok at all, and even Oz, who had the coolest head of anyone Buffy knew, avoided him.

  Jia Li and her family gathered around a plot marked only by a small stone plaque set squarely in the ground. Mr. Rong knelt with a pair of pruning shears, delicately cutting the grass away from the plaque. Mrs. Rong held the Chinese lantern to light the area for her husband.

  “Their relative,” Willow whispered as they stood down the hill from the Rong family under a small pine tree, “came to America during the gold rush. Jia Li said he worked on the railroad. I don’t know if he was murdered. I just know he died before his time.”

  “His ghost would return and haunt the family because he died accidentally?” Buffy had a sudden vision of all the accidental deaths that happened every year ganging up on the living. That would be nothing less than total chaos.

  “That’s what they believe,” Willow said. “Maybe it doesn’t really happen. Or maybe it only happens sometimes and they don’t want to take chances. It has been a hundred and fifty years.”

  Buffy glanced around at all the families cleaning the different grave sites in the cemetery. “Whether it does happen or it doesn’t, there are a lot of people out here who believe it can.” Since she’d stepped into her role as the Slayer, she’d learned any number of impossible things happened.

  “It does happen,” Angel stated quietly.

  Buffy looked at him.

  “I saw a guei once, but I didn’t know what she was until later.”

  “She?” Buffy asked, trying to keep her voice light. With a two hundred-plus year history, Angel had known a number of women—in all senses of the word. But as Angelus, he hadn’t cared for any of them, except perhaps his sire, Darla, the vampire who had turned him.

  Willow and Angel both looked at her sharply.

  Okay, Buffy thought, so maybe the voice wasn’t the lightest it could have been. She smiled, waiting impatiently, and not daring to speak.

  “I never even got her name,” Angel said.

  And, yes, I like that even less. Buffy felt her chest constrict. Despite best intentions and wishes since Angel’s return, things hadn’t been the same. Somehow they were closer than ever, while at the same time being more aware than ever of the rift between them and what they wanted.

  It had been a bad thing for a Slayer to love a vampire, kind of going against everything the Watchers Council believed should happen, but even worse for Angel to express that love physically. Nobody had counted on his return to the pure evil that was Angelus.

  Some days when they talked, it seemed like they would never get past that. Just being close to each other drove them crazy, setting off sparks that would ignite fireworks that turned into nuclear bombs. But for the last couple days, being together had been great, almost stress-free. Kind of like turning the clock back and forgetting about all the Really Bad Things that could happen if they didn’t keep their hands to themselves.

  Buffy didn’t want to let go of the warm glow she felt. She didn’t know how long it might last, and there were so many things that threatened their relationship besides the curse that kept Angel in check.

  “I saw the guei on a Chinese freighter while I was in Singapore,” Angel went on. “She didn’t smell like anything I’d ever been around before. I remember there was this scent, like bitter almonds and sweet rot all rolled into one.”

  Now that’s positively stomach churning. Buffy felt better already. No warm fuzzies there. Unless it was a fungus or mold.

  Up at the Rong grave site, Mr. and Mrs. Rong and Jia Li all lit candles on the gravestone while Lok and the three children watched, then knelt and held hands. Mr. Rong led them in singing as the children burned imitation money. Orange cinders rose into the night and flickered out.

  “One of the vampires I was with told me she was a hungry ghost,” Angel said quietly, “and that she was haunting one of the men aboard ship.”

  “Was she?” Willow asked, obviously entranced by the story.

  “I don’t know,” Angel replied. “The ship sailed a couple hours later and I never saw her again.”

  Buffy continued watching the ceremony that Mr. Rong conducted. Mrs. Rong laid out rice cakes bound in dark scarlet napkins. Mr. Rong poured a small cup of wine and placed it on the grave, then added three loose cigarettes. Jia Li took out four candles and set them in wooden holders at the corners of the grave. Her hands shook and her face looked tight.

  “Isn’t it beautiful?” Willow whispered. “I mean, in between all the sheer creepiness of it?”

  “Yeah,” Buffy agreed.

  Jia Li’s hand kept shaking as she lit the candles. Mr. Rong knelt again and placed his hands together before him. He spoke in Chinese and the only thing Buffy understood was Lok’s name.

  Still outside the family, Lok snorted and spoke in English. “Not me. You can pray all you want to an empty grave, but I’m not joining you.”

  Mr. Rong’s voice came back sharply, but he didn’t look up at his son.

  “No,” Lok argued, “I’m not offering disrespect to the dead. There is no dead in that grave.”

  Mr. Rong spoke again.

  “You be afraid of the guei all you want. I’m not going to.”

  Gracefully, Mr. Rong got to his feet. Serious intent lined his face. He spoke again, barking syllables.

  Jia Li took one of her father’s hands and talked to him softly. Her father shook her hands away, chastising her abruptly. Jia Li bowed her head and pulled her hands back.

  “Look at them,” Lok demanded, pointing to his mother and siblings. “You’ve got them scared of an empty grave. You should be the one who’s ashamed.”

  Mr. Rong glanced around briefly, aware that other people were watching them now. He growled an order at his son.

  Moving with the same easy grace he exhibited on a basketball court, Lok crossed over to the grave. He snatched up two of the cigarettes, sliding one behind his ear and taking up one of the candles to light the one between his lips.

  “All this talk about this ancestor,” Lok stated harshly, “and you’re making no move to find out what really happened to him.” He puffed on the cigarette and blew smoke in his father’s face.

  Mr. Rong spoke again.

  “I’ll be respectful when I feel like there’s something to respect. And I’ll speak English if I damn well feel like it. It’s a new country. Learn the language. It’s what they speak over here.”

  Without warning, Mr. Rong stepped forward and slapped his son’s face.
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  Chapter 3

  LOK’S HEAD TURNED WITH THE FORCE OF HIS FATHER’S blow. The cigarette flew from his mouth to the ground, leaving a spiraling trail of orange cinders. Willow started forward but Buffy caught her friend by the shoulder. “Not our fight, Will,” Buffy said gently.

  “You know Lok’s temper,” Willow said. “And he’s a lot bigger than his father.”

  At the graveside, Lok jerked his head back around. His eyes narrowed and he placed a palm against his cheek. He trembled with rage. “You protest so much to try to hang on to the old ways, yet you come here to this damned sacrilege the wealthy and privileged of this town have caused to be created to mollify our family.”

  Mr. Rong’s gaze was steely and hard, but he didn’t say anything.

  “Our ancestor doesn’t lie at rest in this grave,” Lok continued. “His body was never recovered so it could be properly buried or returned to his family. To our family. None of their bodies were. You know that’s true.”

  Mr. Rong spoke again, his voice like chipped ice.

  Buffy didn’t need a translation for that short speech. She knew a warning when she heard it.

  “No,” Lok argued. “I’m not going to shut up. You can fool yourself that what you’re doing here tonight is going to put Mei-Kao Rong’s spirit to rest, but I know it’s not true. Mei-Kao and the other men killed with him while digging in those mines to line the pockets of the whites aren’t going to rest until they’ve had their revenge against the descendants of those families.”

  Wordlessly, Mr. Rong pointed away from the graveside. The three smaller children were crying, their fearful voices carrying plaintively. Jia Li and her mother tried to comfort them.

  “Fine,” Lok snapped. “Terrorize our family with these stories and this make-believe restitution. But I can’t do that.” He spun angrily on his heel and walked away, cursing at the people he caught looking at him.

  A pale sliver of moonlight shone down on the grave, lending silver highlights to Jia Li and her three young siblings. She talked softly and soothingly to them while Mrs. Rong tentatively approached her husband.

  “They’re a really close family,” Willow said. “All of them, even the little guys, work at the restaurant. Lok is the only one who doesn’t fit in with the rest of the family.”

  “I can’t imagine Lok fitting in anywhere,” Buffy said.

  “It’s the pride between a father and son,” Angel said quietly. “The father has to learn to let go gradually, and the son has to accept responsibilities that he’s given. The father fears that he hasn’t taught the son enough to survive, and the son fears that he’s going to grow up with all the responsibilities of his father. When they don’t agree on who is doing what part, it complicates everything.”

  Buffy looked into Angel’s eyes and saw the deep hurt locked within him. She knew he’d fallen into Darla’s arms and been turned after another of the long arguments he’d had with his own father. Shortly after that, with no soul and no tender feeling to stay his hand, Angel had killed his own family.

  When she’d first learned of the murders, Buffy had been horrified. Then, when she’d come to truly understand Angel and his painful need for redemption, she’d also realized what a tragedy it had been.

  Without a word, Buffy took Angel’s hand in hers and held it. He squeezed back tenderly, and some of the pain faded from his gaze.

  Slowly, the Rong family went back to praying. There were no more songs. After a few minutes, the family gathered their things and blew out the candles. Mr. Rong herded them all back to the front of the Emerald Lotus Cemetery, talking quietly to a few of the people he passed.

  “No ghost,” Buffy said. “I guess Jia Li was afraid for no reason.”

  “Well,” Willow said, “there could have been a ghost.”

  “True.” Buffy patted her friend on the shoulder, knowing as empathetic as Willow was that she would worry about Jia Li anyway. “There’s always next year.”

  Willow looked at her.

  “Okay,” Buffy admitted, “so maybe there aren’t exactly many ha-has to go around tonight.”

  “It’s not you,” Willow said, gazing toward the front of the cemetery. “There may not have been any guei —or is it gueis?”

  Buffy shrugged. “Beats me, Will. Still haven’t had my first yet.”

  “Whatever. What I’m saying is that even though we didn’t have to save Jia Li from a hungry ghost, she might still need a friend tonight.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “And you guys could use some alone-time patrolling.” Willow looked at them. “I mean, you think you’ll—I mean, that everything will—” She appeared flustered.

  “You mean alone-time as in patrolling, staking the occasional vampire, and not giving in to a case of raging hormones?” Buffy asked.

  “Yeah,” Willow replied. “If it’s polite to mean that. And I do, in the kindest, nonprying way I know how.”

  Buffy hugged her friend and smiled. Alone-time with Angel would be hard, but she felt she needed it so badly. “We’ve got more going for us than raging hormones. Right, Angel?” She glanced over her shoulder then saw that Angel had wandered delicately out of conversation range. “Guess we were getting a little too Cosmo for him.”

  “Embarrassed.” Willow smiled, glancing at Angel.

  “Yeah,” Buffy agreed.

  “Modesty’s kind of nice to find in a guy these days.”

  “I know,” Buffy said, smiling.

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Uh-oh?” Buffy echoed.

  “You’ve got a twinkle in your eye,” Willow warned. “It could be the only warning you get before the raging hormones’ preemptive strike.”

  “No preemptive strikes.” Buffy held up a hand. “Promise.”

  “If you feel you’re weakening, you’ll call?”

  “Yes.”

  “Pinkie swear?”

  Buffy rolled her eyes. “If I have to.”

  Willow held up a pinkie.

  Buffy swore, feeling kind of dumb but glad she had someone like Willow who cared enough to be silly and serious. “Maybe you could get Jia Li out of the house and go down to the Bronze long enough to see Oz and the band playing.”

  Willow pulled her sweater tight again. “Don’t think so. Jia Li’s dad isn’t big on Western culture. A club like the Bronze wouldn’t even come close to being acceptable.” She waved good-bye to Angel and turned to go.

  “Willow,” Angel called.

  “Yeah?”

  Angel nodded toward the Rong grave. “Do you know if it’s really empty?”

  “No. I didn’t look that closely at the cemetery records. I can, if you think it’s that important. Is it?”

  Angel shook his head. “Curiosity, mostly.”

  “Okay.” Willow said good-bye to him, hugged Buffy and left.

  Buffy and Angel walked out of the cemetery to resume patrol on foot. “I guess we could stop by the Bronze in a little while,” Buffy said. “Take in a song or two, then get back to patrolling.”

  “And if the vampires bite someone while you’re listening to the band?”

  Buffy frowned. “All work and no play makes Jill a dull girl?”

  Angel shook his head.

  “Spoilsport.”

  “Not entirely,” Angel said. “We can still hold hands while we’re on patrol.”

  “Hand-holding goes better with music,” Buffy suggested as they passed through the cemetery gates.

  “I’ll hum.”

  Buffy rolled her eyes in mock fright. “Oh no! Anything but that.”

  “That kind of attitude will lose you the hand-holding privileges.”

  Buffy laughed, and the sound of it, even inappropriate as it was so close to the cemetery, felt good. She felt Angel take her hand, his flesh much more chilly than hers.

  “We should develop a direction for the patrol,” Angel suggested.

  “I thought we had one,” Buffy replied. “There’s the convenience store on Mapl
e that’s selling the blood cones, then hit Willy’s after the blood cone quick-stop.”

  “Okay,” Angel agreed.

  Buffy squeezed his hand and they kept walking like they could do it all night.

  “No evil alien suit out to kill him?” Xander Harris asked suspiciously, tapping the colorful cover of the comic book he held.

  “Nope,” Matt Barker said, sliding another comic book into a plastic sleeve with a backer board. He wore a maroon shirt that advertised MATT’S COMICS on one side and a Star Trek communicator on the other. He was over six feet tall, with short-cropped black hair, a goatee, and glasses.

  “No clones popping out of the closet?” Xander asked.

  “No clones.” Matt placed the protected comic on one of the shelves of the display counter where he kept his cash register. The comics shop was small and compact, narrow across and straight back. Comics hung from thumbtacks on the walls and filled boxes sitting on tables. An inflatable Wolverine hung in the front window facing the street, air-filled claws exposed and ready for action. The place just smelled like adventure, secret identities, and superpowers.

  “Don’t tell me he’s got six arms again.” Xander flipped through the comic, intent on finding the fatal flaw the new writer had picked for the series. “Although I don’t know how they missed the deodorant commercials with that stunt.”

  “Nope,” Matt said. “Just the two arms. Of course, in this incarnation, they’re both on the same side.”

  Xander looked up, an aha! already on his lips and forefinger ready to emphasize.

  “Kidding,” Matt said.

  “Not funny.” Xander put away his unused forefinger.

  “I guess it depends on which side of the counter you’re standing on.” Matt leaned on the counter. “I mean you, you’re looking at the series again, now that it’s gotten a new number one, and thinking, maybe I should buy this. Me, I’m watching you read my comic and thinking, maybe he should buy this, then take it home and read it.”

  Feeling a little guilty, Xander closed the comic and dropped it onto the counter. He pulled at the blue tee shirt with a large white star on the chest he wore under a Hawaiian shirt. “Look, over the years you’ve sold me comics that didn’t live up to my expectations.”