Resurrecting Ravana by Ray Garton Read Free Book Online

time with something as boring as cattle. Their tastes usually went beyond the mundane . . . and straight for the jugular. Whatever it was, Buffy knew in her gut — and she trusted her gut — it was going to be trouble. The fact that it was something completely unfamiliar to Giles was a bad sign. There were many kinds of hellhounds with many kinds of talents, but this seemed to go beyond that. They didn’t know what it was, what it wanted (besides cows), or how to stop it.
    Buffy propped herself up on an elbow, reached over and turned on the radio on her nightstand, then dropped back down onto the mattress. Music helped, a little. She closed her eyes, took a few slow, deep breaths, and felt herself starting to relax.
    What felt like a moment later, Buffy opened her eyes and found she was lying on her stomach. The gray light that had shone through the curtains over her window was gone and her room was dark except for the hall light shining under her door. She could hear her mother’s voice somewhere in the house, words muffled.
    Buffy sat up on the edge of the bed, turned on the bedside lamp, checked the clock. She’d gotten over two hours of sleep. Not bad. No nightmares, no dreams at all, very restful. Even better. She yawned and stretched, feeling like she could use a couple hours more. But she needed to go back to the library and check with Giles, and she was feeling a bit hungry, so she’d have to get some dinner before she started patrol. And at some point that night, she might even study.
    Buffy found her mother moving around in the kitchen, preparing a salad as she talked on the cordless phone, which was held between the side of her face and her shoulder.
    “Of course I told her no,” Joyce Summers said. She waved and smiled at Buffy, who flopped into a chair at the kitchen table. “The pictures she showed me, well . . . you had to see them. I mean, the pieces were awful! And she was so . . . so . . . well, annoying. At first, I thought maybe she was, you know, challenged in some way. But I’m pretty sure she’s just annoying.”
    Buffy smelled something cooking. While her mother made the salad, she went to the oven and took a peek. Tuna casserole. A boring dish to some, but her mom made the best. She closed the oven, hoping it would be done soon so she could have some before going back out.
    In just a few minutes, Buffy and her mom were at the table, eating salad and tuna casserole, chatting about nothing in particular.
    “Are you feeling okay?” Joyce asked.
    “Yeah, I’m fine.”
    “You’re sure? I usually don’t come home to find you sound asleep.”
    “Oh, that. I just took a nap. I need to study for exams and I wanted to, you know, rest up for it. How about you? What was that phone call all about?”
    “Oh, just some crazy woman who came to the gallery today and wanted us to exhibit her collection of . . . well, I don’t know what to call it except ugly art.”
    “Crazy?” Buffy asked.
    “Well, maybe not crazy. But she definitely has bad taste.” Joyce took a bite of food, dabbed her mouth with a paper napkin with a border of embossed flowers, and asked, “So, you’ll be studying for exams tonight?”
    “Yep.”
    Joyce stared at her.
    “Well, yeah, that and . . . you know, some other things.”
    “You’re wearing yourself out, that’s why you were asleep, isn’t it?” Joyce asked. She shook her head and sighed. “I never see you, Buffy. This is the first time we’ve eaten dinner together since . . . well, since —”
    “Friday, Mom,” Buffy said. “Not that long, so don’t go all Lifetime TV on me. And by the way, the casserole is delicious.”
    “Thanks,” Joyce said with a brief smile. “There’s nothing . . . well, nothing . . . wrong, is there?”
    “There’s always something wrong, Mom. But that’s not necessarily bad.” She took another bite of her casserole, chewed, and swallowed. “Right now, I’m just sitting here having a good dinner with you. Know what I