"It has been an excellent day for taking in money," Anya said happily.
No one heard her, of course, because the Magic Shop was empty. Giles had
left a half hour ago, something about getting ready to play that guitar of
his in a café somewhere tonight. She thought it was endearing that a human
as old as he was would still sit in and try to sing in front of others. It
didn't bother her but the rest of the gang seemed to find it somehow
embarrassing. She didn't understand why--actually, she didn't understand
the entire concept of being 'embarrassed' at all, especially because of
someone else's behavior. A person is responsible for their own actions,
aren't they? Why, then, should what someone else does humiliate you?
The Magic Shop was cool and quiet on this early November evening, sales good
but down from the mad Halloween rush at the end of last month. She loved
this place, with its warm, golden lighting and shelves filled with
everything from trinkets and harmless potions to weapons that could kill
huge demons if a person knew the correct phrase to add, a pinch or two of
the right herb and dried lizard parts. It was so beautiful here, and
safe--most of the time, anyway. With the exception of being with Xander,
there was no where else Anya would rather spend her time. That Giles was
finally entrusting it to her care, to count the money in the register and
lock everything up, just made it that much more special.
She finished the day's accounting and put the money in the safe, then
quickly ran a feather duster along the fronts of the display shelves, making
sure the place looked spiffy and clean. A final check to make sure the back
door was locked, and Anya picked up her purse and headed out. When the
front door was securely locked behind her, she turned and--
No Xander.
Darn it, he was late again. What was it this time? Probably some skanky
vampire or lesser demon--she loved Xander but sometimes Anya felt like he
put everything in Sunnydale before her. Why couldn't she be the number one
thing on his priority list? He was such a typical male, like a thousand
others she'd cursed through the centuries.
Okay, maybe Xander wasn't that typical. After all, she would never settle
for such normalcy, never tolerate the sort of mistreatment she'd avenged for
others. He treated her exceptionally well, in fact, and he'd made it clear
he loved her, and he was great in bed if not unaccountably embarrassed when
she told everyone about that. And there it was again, that 'embarrassed'
thing: men were supposed to be proud of their prowess at sex, weren't they?
So shouldn't he be wanting her to shout it on the hilltops?
Anya sighed and took a couple of steps off the sidewalk so she could check
both ways on the street, but there was still no sign of Xander's car. Back
on the walkway, she paced nervously back and forth. It was a beautiful fall
night, a little cool with a light breeze rustling through leaves that were
changing colors. It was also deserted, and she wished Xander would get his
act together and pick her up on time for a change. Of course, he would just
tell her she should have waited inside, and he was probably right. For
God's sake, she felt like a walking appetizer standing out here.
Anya heard a footstep behind her and whirled to see a guy coming toward her
on the sidewalk. "Stop right there," she snapped. "What are you doing?"
The stranger froze and stared at her, his expression confused. "Uh...
walking on the sidewalk?"
She crossed her arms. "And where do you think you're going?"
His baffled eyes turned irritable. "No offense, lady, but I don't think
that's any of your business. Last I heard, this was a free country."
Anya frowned at him, then relaxed a bit. He was young, early twenties, and
dressed nicely enough in a blue plaid shirt and a yellow sweater vest. He
even had little round glasses. The whole look was vaguely reminiscent of
Giles. He looked a little nerdy and she didn't see any grave dirt clinging
to his shirt collar. Besides, no self-respecting young man would be buried
in yellow, so he must be okay. "Sorry," she finally said. "I guess I'm
just jumpy."
His frown softened. "I can understand that. Waiting for someone?"
Anya nodded, still a little wary. "My boyfriend is picking me up."
"Looks like he's late." He glanced around. "Would it make you feel better
if I waited with you?"
Anya considered this. "Well--"
"Tell you what," the guy interrupted. "Let's not."
Anya blinked. "Not? Not what?"
"Wait." And he morphed into a vampire.
"Oh, why are women always right?" She swung her purse and hit the dirty
beast on the side of the head nearly before his change was complete, acting
on pure instinct. He yelped in surprise and staggered sideways, giving her
the two-second opening she needed to run. She didn't get far; the dress,
the purse, the shoes--the entire look-like-a-woman thing that she'd really
come to enjoy--they were really a huge disadvantage in a fleeing situation.
Anya heard him catch up with her before his wrinkled-up fingers closed
around her wrist, screamed at the same time she flailed wildly with her
pocketbook. He flinched away from the blows but didn't let go; instead he
managed to catch her purse by the strap with his other hand and yank it out
of her grip. He tossed it aside without looking in it.
"Hey!" Anya protested. She pulled backward, trying to think of something
that would stall for time. Surely Xander would be here any second. "That's
got my money in it, and my lipstick!"
"Where you're going, you won't need it." The vampire grinned at her.
"You should brush your teeth more often. They're really yellow. And you've
got horrible breath." He scowled but didn't let go, then he began to drag
her toward a clump of bushes about twenty feet away. "Let me go!"
"Be quiet," he barked. "You're dinner, remember? Food shouldn't talk."
"Neither should vampires."
Both Anya and her attacker jerked in surprise at the new voice, low and
silky, unmistakably feminine. The creature had been intent on carting her
off to a nice, private spot and Anya had been just as intent on not going;
neither had realized there was a young woman trailing after them. She was
tall and pretty, dressed in a sort of pseudo-poverty/punk style and sporting
spiky strawberry blond hair with dark roots that reminded Anya of the way Oz
had once worn his. Her dark eyes were rimmed with kohl Goth-fashion, a
stark contrast to her pale skin and colorless lips.
Rather than let Anya go, Tooth-Boy jerked her around and reached for the
newcomer. "Oh, goody. An appetizer!"
"Hey, I was supposed to be the appetizer!" Wait, Anya thought as she tried
vainly to pull free. What am I saying?
The new girl didn't back away. "What's up with the food references?" She
grinned as the vampire's hand locked onto her arm. "Besides, I really think
you've ordered off your last menu."
He stared at her, then at the hand he'd folded around her wrist. "Hold it,
you're not--"
Before he could finish, the redhead grabbed him by the bangs and yanked his
head forward, slamming it against hers.
He howled in pain and Anya found herself suddenly free. She stumbled and
fell, then scrambled over and snatched up her purse as the vampire and her
rescuer began solidly pounding on each other. Bag in hand, Anya backed away
and watched, fascinated despite herself. She ought to run, but still...
blow for blow, it was obvious the vampire, not the girl, was tiring--at one
point, the young woman laughed out loud, as though this was nothing more
than a darned good game.
No fool he, the vampire knew when he was outmatched. He turned tail and
tried to run, but the female stranger was having none of that. Her hand
zipped forward and grabbed the back of his shirt collar, then she hauled him
backward, hard.
Right onto the point of a stake she pulled out of the pocket of her army
pants.
The bloodsucker disappeared into the traditional cloud of dirty dust, but
the redheaded-girl hadn't let go of the stake. Anya's rescuer pulled her
arm back, spun the stake in a move that could only be called Western-movie,
then pocketed it. Finally, she clapped her hands together to rid them of
the vampire residue.
"Wow," Anya said, stepping forward. "That was great. I can't thank you
enou--"
"Where is Buffy the Vampire Slayer?" her the girl demanded, jerking around
to face her.
Anya stopped short. "She's, uh, not here."
"Do I seem blind to you?"
Anya swallowed. "Well, no, obviously you're not."
"Then answer my question."
"Well, I don't know where she is, exactly right this minute. I mean, it's
not like she gives me her social calendar, then checks with me if she makes
last-minute changes to it. She could be anywhere, there's at least a dozen
places she could be..." Anya was faintly aware that she was babbling and
backing away from the woman at the same time. Her elation at being saved
had undergone an instant metamorphosis into fear; there was something wrong
about the stranger who was matching her retreat step for step, something
really off. The tone of voice, her expression--no, Little Miss Fighting
Machine here wasn't blind, and she wasn't an old friend of Buffy's, either.
"You're really starting to annoy me," the redhead said. "If you don't tell
me where she is, I'm going to rip your eyeballs out and use them as
marbles."
Anya tried to laugh and succeeded in only sounding panicked. It was just
her luck to get rescued from one nighttime-nasty by another who turned out
to be just as sinister. "Oh, there's no need for that. If you want
marbles, we have them in the Magic Shop. We have eyeballs, too. Nice ones,
in fact, blessed by a cabal of--"
"I can smell you," the young woman said suddenly. Her nose wrinkled in the
air. "There's something different about you. What..." Then Anya's rescuer
starting chuckling. "Oh, that's priceless!"
Anya risked a glance behind her. There was maybe twenty feet between her
and the girl, and she was almost to the bushes. But really, what chance did
she have fleeing from someone who could fight like this vampire-killer had?
It'd be like trying to get away from Buffy. Still, there was that distinct
alarm-thing going on in her head, the one that was screaming at her to get
the heck away right now.
"Oh, that's me," Anya said with fake exuberance. "Priceless! Just ask
anybody." Something familiar worked its way into her hearing then, that
very particular ping sound that came from the engine of Xander's car. It
had always aggravated her before; now she couldn't have been more grateful.
"Ask who?" the stranger sneered. "Your family? Been gone awhile, haven't
they?"
Anya's eyes widened. How could this woman know anything about her family?
"Who are you, anyway?"
The woman grinned and reached for her. "You'll never know."
But Anya had already started to run in the other direction, toward that
now-comforting ping. She could see his headlights about a half block away;
at the same time she heard her former savior's pursuing footsteps, the
welcome sound of Xander's engine going abruptly full throttle filled her
ears--such a dutiful boyfriend, he'd seen her running and was now intent on
coming to her rescue. It seemed she would be saved--hopefully-twice in one
night.
"Hey, I'm not done with you!" the woman yelled.
Anya didn't bother to answer--she needed every bit of air to keep running.
This woman was faster, stronger, and far more brutal than she, and her only
escape was going to be to get to Xander before she was gotten to. For a
long moment her entire world was reduced to one small thing--Xander's
headlights--then she felt the redhead's fingers brush the back of her dress.
She opened her mouth to scream and Xander's horn blared obnoxiously. The
sound startled her, but not as much as the woman chasing her. That
one-second pause was all Anya needed; when Xander stood on the brakes and
came to a squealing stop next to her, she clawed the door opened and leapt
inside.
"Drive away!" she gasped and slammed her elbow down on the doorlock.
"Really fast--really now!"
Instead of obeying, Xander peered out the window at the woman running toward
the car. "What's wrong?" he demanded. "Is she a vamp? I've got stakes--"
He didn't get the chance to finish. The woman skidded to a stop on the
passenger side of the car and punched at the window; Anya let out a scream
as the lightly tinted glass next to her dissolved into a lacy pattern of
bulging cracks.
Xander floored the accelerator before another blow could follow. "What the
hell was that?" Anya heard him asking as she was pressed back against the
seat. He clutched the steering wheel as storefronts and parked cars whizzed
by, his gaze darting to the rearview mirror to make sure they weren't being
followed, that the woman hadn't suddenly sprouted wings and taken to the
air. In Sunnydale, one couldn't rule out anything. "Who was she?"
Shaking, Anya twisted around and stared out the back windshield, but her
attacker was already out of sight. "I don't know, but I think she might be
a friend of Buffy's." She looked back at Xander. "Or maybe an old enemy."
Check out Tales of the Slayer, Vol. 1.
Check out Paleo.
Check out The Willow Files, Vol. 1.
Check out The Willow Files, Vol. 2.
Return to the Book Page.
Visit the Store.
Check out the Bibliography.
Return to the Main Page.
