| 22 Short Stories about Sunnydale By Kuzibah |
| Disclaimer: The characters and situations specific to �Buffy the Vampire Slayer� and �Angel� are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, The WB and UPN Networks, and Evil Fox. No ownership by the author is intended or implied. Author�s Notes: Although all of these stories are related to the Buffy-verse, not all of them take place in Sunnydale. Some take place in L.A., in other lands, other dimensions, and the Byzantine pathways of my brain. Some stories are related to one another, but not all, and I hope that�s not too confusing. And please give feedback, or I�ll have to go to a feedback pusher and end up floating around on the ceiling and maybe in a car crash, and nobody wants that. Thanks. Warnings: Rated R. Found here and there- Vulgar language, violence, blatant misogyny. Archive: Just please email and let me know where it�s going. ******************* I. I�m Looking Through You Spoilers for �Gone.� Mel, manager of Funland Arcade, turned the object in his hand. Finally, he had proof of the strangeness he�d experienced in Sunnydale these past six years since moving up from San Diego, things half-seen out of the corner of his eye, feelings he couldn�t just explain away, and disappearances no one ever talked about. But now, he had evidence, had pulled it out of the box on the �Gauntlet Extreme� game just this evening. It was a quarter, seemingly normal in every way, except for being completely invisible. He�d even done a pencil rubbing to be sure; it was one of the fancy state ones all the kids were collecting, whichever state had the tree. He squeezed it tightly in his hand, feeling the cool metal warm against his palm. Scientists would probably want to study it, he thought, to learn what other properties had changed when it became invisible. Maybe they�d name it after him, the Mel Charibaux Quarter. No, the Charibaux artifact. Yeah, that had a nice ring to it. But who could he take it to? The police? No way, not in Sunnydale. They�d take the quarter, say it was nothing, and send Mel on his way. The newspaper? No better, they�d come up with some sort of crazy explanation that definitely didn�t involve the strangeness everyone knew existed. No, he�d have to take it to someone out of town. As far as L.A., maybe. Yeah, that was it, one of the TV stations, get on the news. Mel could imagine himself sitting next to a blonde anchorwoman, tapping the coin on the desk top to show it was solid, and telling her Sunnydale was full of strange things. Still clutching the quarter tightly, Mel locked up his office and the back exits, then went out the front, securing the door behind him. With a new determination, he strode forward, heading for his parked car at the end of the street. In the dark, his foot hit something, something that felt like a stack of cold tapioca. Mel pitched forward, his hand instinctively flung open and forward to break his fall. He heard the quarter clang as it hit the street several feet away, and jingle as it bounced off into the darkness. �No,� Mel cried, stumbling through the invisible substance that seemed to be dissolving under his feet. �No,� he screamed again. The last of the fire hydrant that had been affected by the invisibility ray broke down, and the water it contained erupted out of its pipe, shooting up from the ground. It fell over the street like rain. II. Run for Your Life Spoilers for �War Zone.� Charles Gunn dragged his toy wagon through the streets of his South Central neighborhood. The toy was ancient, a wooden box set on tin wheels that had belonged to his grandfather as a boy, but it was the only way. He was too small to carry the groceries that were needed, and Grandma was too sick to help him. Miss Alison, the visiting nurse, had been in three days ago and was due back tomorrow. Charles and Alonna trusted her, in her neat blue uniform, and her medical bag that unfolded and unfolded, revealing ever more exotic items. She had taken Charles aside after examining Grandma and leaving a little pile of individually-wrapped pills on the bed-table. �Your grandmother needs to rest,� she�d said gravely. �She can�t be running around doing for you and your sister, you understand? You�ve got to be the man of the house, now.� She handed him a slip of paper with a list of foods, things like clear soup and Jell-O. �Here�s what she can eat,� Miss Alison said. �Can you and your sister make these things? Tell the truth, now.� Charles recognized the things from the times he and Alonna had been sick themselves, and they were simple enough. He�d been cooking since he was seven, and Grandma already had most of those things in the house. But the red-and-white cans of chicken and stars and the boxes of Royal gelatin (which was three cents cheaper than Jell-O) hadn�t lasted that long, so Charles had climbed to the top of the kitchen shelves to get ten dollars of Grandma�s social security money out of the teapot, and then had Alonna help him carry Granddad�s little wooden wagon down to the street so he could bring back the groceries they needed. Charles had gone to the grocer�s with his Grandma many times, riding in the back of Mrs. Jackson�s car. Mrs. Jackson knew Grandma from church and gave her a ride to the grocery store every Saturday, but Grandma had been too sick to go this week, which meant Mrs. Jackson wouldn�t come back for five days. But Charles had paid attention on all those visits, and it wasn�t that far, maybe only 18 or 19 blocks. The sun started to set before he was even halfway there, and Charles wished he�d brought a quarter so he could call Alonna and tell her not to worry, and to make Grandma some tea if she woke up, but he hadn�t, so he just tried to walk faster. He reached the grocery as red and purple streaks filled the hazy sky. He bought what he thought they�d need to last until Saturday, soup and gelatin and apple sauce. Even a bottle of store-brand ginger ale, a great extravagance. He looked sadly at the two nickels and three pennies change. Hopefully, Grandma would forgive him for taking the ten dollars. It was rapidly getting dark as he made his way home, keeping an eye out for the gang-boys his Grandmother always warned him about. And when he turned onto his street, he saw them. Two men, about a block away, were engaged in a violent fistfight. Charles stared in shock as they flew at one another, then he turned and headed into an alley, pulling his wagon behind him, hoping to hide until they moved on. Out of the darkness, two men stepped into his path, and Charles jumped back with a strangled cry. �Oh, Jesus,� said one of the men, a pale-eyed blond with a face splotched with freckles. �He�s just a kid.� The other man, a stocky Latino, glanced around nervously. �No time,� he said, then addressed Charles directly. �Look, kid,� he said, �there�s some big trouble. We gotta hide you to keep you safe, understand?� Charles nodded, his eyes wide. The Latino scooped him up with one arm, tossing him into a dumpster full of flattened boxes. He swung the lid up to close it. �You stay down and be quiet,� he told Charles. �You don�t move until we let you out.� Again, Charles nodded, watching fearfully as the blond kicked the wagon out of the way and the lid was lowered over him. Luckily, or maybe not, the lid had warped over the years, leaving a three-inch gap that Charles stared through. From this vantage point he saw one of the two fistfighters run into the alley, pursued by the second. The blond and Latino stepped into the second fighter�s way, halting him, and Charles blinked in amazement at his face. He looked fierce, like an animal, his face all twisted and his eyes glowing yellow. He snarled, and his mouth was full of sharp teeth. �Die, bloodsucker,� the Latino said, and he shoved a wooden stake into the fighter�s ribs. The fighter exploded and evaporated in a cascade of dust. �Good job,� the first fighter said, stepping in to take each man�s hand and clap them on the shoulder. The blond lifted Charles out of the dumpster. �You okay, little guy?� he asked. Charles�s mouth opened and closed several times before he could produce sound. �That man� he� how..?� The fighter stepped over to Charles and crouched down slightly to look the boy in the eye. His skin was very dark, but his eyes shone in his face like black glass. �What�s your name, kid?� he said. �Charles� Charles Gunn.� �It�s time you learned something about the world you live in, Charles,� he said. �Vampires aren�t just something Elvira shows on her movies late at night. They�re real, they�re dangerous, and they�re living all around you. And you just saw one killed.� He paused while Charles took this in. �You live around here?� �Just up the block,� Charles said. The fighter turned to the others. �Jaime, Frankie. See he gets home.� He turned back. �That your wagon?� Charles nodded. �I needed to get groceries. My Grandma is sick.� �You�re a good boy,� the fighter said. �But next time: be home before dark.� III. Glass Onion Spoilers for �Hell�s Bells.� �Welcome to Channel X! Your Sunnydale Public Access station! Broadcasting on the Sunny Cable System from midnight until sunrise. �Coming up at 1:30 is �Brewing with Sabiel.� Tonight, Sabiel offers three potions to entice that special someone, along with a delicious raspberry torte. �At 2, visit with councilman Arthur Gonzales and his gracious wife Pilar as they give us a tour of their Victorian-Era home. Then we meet a Victorian-Era resident and learn about the remodeling he�s done in his underground lair at Sunny-Rest Cemetery. That�s tonight at 2 on Channel X�s �Crypts.� �At 2:30, it�s our weekly show of movie news and reviews, �Fistful of Popcorn.� This week, join hosts Clem and Wendy in the aisle seat as they review �Queen of the Damned� and �Resident Evil,� and bring you the latest news from the set of �Hellboy.� �At 3, join us for mAlice�s Wonderland.* mAlice, Sunnydale�s answer to Martha Stewart, talks tonight about night-blooming flowers, and then shows us some simple projects that will make the most of your interiors. �Next we�ll have �Sewing Sunnydale,� with part two of our how-to series on black-out curtains. That�s at 3:30, followed by our public affairs call-in show, �Just Before Dawn.� �Join our host, Lucy, and her guests, as they discuss how the latest cemetery expansions will impact downtown traffic. All coming up tonight on Channel X, Your public access-� Xander finally managed to switch the TV off with the remote, then rolled over, more than a little annoyed that the yoga show that had put him to sleep an hour ago had been so shrilly interrupted by the ultra-perky announcer. He missed Anya. *- mAlice is a real person. Here�s her website- http://www.gothic.net/~malice/ IV. Girl Spoilers for �Checkpoint.� �She was strong, General, stronger than any three of our men.� The General listened impassively as Orlando,* one of his soldiers, described his encounter of earlier. �She could have killed us all easily,� Orlando went on, �but she did not. She could not have shown mercy and also been in service to the beast, could she?� The knight shook his head in confusion. �What is she, General?� �She is the Slayer,� the General explained. �She is chosen to fight demons, and vampires, and the dark creatures of the world.� Understanding dawned on Orlando�s face. �Then we fight on the same side,� he said excitedly. �She will be a valuable ally.� �No,� the General said calmly. �Do not be led astray, Orlando. This girl is dangerous to our cause.� The knight looked even more confused. �I don�t understand, General.� �It is no accident the beast manifests in a female vessel,� the General explained. �It is the feminine form which embodies irrationality, emotionalism, and chaos. This very Slayer you saw tonight, having been given powerful gifts in the fight against the evil of this world, has instead chosen to shun the guidance of her elders, involve innocents in her fight, and call on the powers of witches. She has taken vampires, the very creatures she is duty-bound to slay, into her inner circle as allies. It is even said�� The General paused dramatically. ��That she has lain with one of them.� Orlando�s face was an open mask of shock. �Wherever her powers come from,� the General went on, �I cannot believe they arise from the same Divine Force that calls us to preserve order. I cannot believe Almighty God would chose a damaged vessel to contain His gift. And therefore we must acknowledge that her powers come from elsewhere.� �But where?� �A very good question, Orlando, and one to which I wish I had the answer. But rest assured, we must resist her influence, the female infection that clouds our thought. We must remain steadfast and resolute. There is a reason Almighty God created us in His image, and it is not to be led by the lesser sex.� Orlando nodded, the General�s words having bolstered his faith in their cause. *- Orlando was the first Knight of Byzantium we saw. I can�t recall if he was ever named on-screen, but he was called Orlando in the shooting scripts. V. Don�t Pass Me By Spoilers for �The Pack.� Occurs during season 6. Xander waited patiently in line at the Espresso Pump, looking over the pastries and muffins in the glass case. He felt his spirits lift slightly when he saw they had his favorite. �A Grande, caramel,� he told the barrista. �And one of those oatmeal and honey muffins.� As he waited for the coffee to be prepared, Xander tugged his tool-belt a little higher on his hips, and turned to survey the rest of the shop. His gaze fell on a girl at a table by the window. She�d let her hair return to its natural color, and she had put on a few pounds since he�d seen her last, but he recognized her at once. He picked up his order and crossed to her. �Hello, Rhonda,� he said.* She looked up, and her eyes showed she recognized him a moment before they clouded over with shame. �Can I sit down?� Xander asked. She looked about to refuse, then nodded resignedly. �It�s been awhile,� she said. �I�d have thought you would have run when you saw me.� �No,� he said. �We have a connection.� She laughed bitterly. �Yeah,� she said. �I suppose if you eat a school principal together it makes you like family.� When Xander winced at this, she gave him a sad smile. �That�s right,� she corrected herself. �You weren�t there.� �It doesn�t matter,� Xander said. �You were part of my pack. We were all in it together.� �That�s true,� Rhonda said. �As bad as it was, it was nice belonging to each other. Like what a family should be.� Xander didn�t answer, but he knew exactly what she meant. �So what have you been up to,� she asked. �Have you been seeing anybody?� *- None of the members of the pack were ever named on screen, but they were in the shooting script. VI. I�ll Cry Instead Spoilers for �Fool for Love.� Stewart Rampion�s mouth was dry, forcing him to swallow hard before turning to the coroner. �Yes,� he said. �That�s Nikki Washington.* I am her legal guardian.� The coroner nodded, and replaced the sheet over the girl�s face, fierce and proud, even in death. In a daze, Stewart answered the man�s questions: No, no surviving relatives. Born in Queens. Seventeen years old. My ward for two years. Then he signed the paperwork and exited onto the street. He�d seen death, lots of it in his twelve years as a Watcher, and intellectually he�d been prepared for this moment since being assigned to an active Slayer, but one was never really prepared, was one? Not prepared to see a girl you�d spent every waking moment with for twenty-three and a half months lying in a stainless-steel drawer, her life choked away. Stewart�s legs went suddenly numb, and he stumbled heavily against the side of a building. He brought one shaking hand to his face, and was mildly surprised to find tears there. He got home somehow, got to bed somehow. He knew he should record the events in his diary, preserving the information for future Slayers, but it suddenly all seemed so pointless. The next day seemed to happen around him, somehow not involving him directly. He called the Council to inform them of the Slayer�s death, and was thanked, and was informed that a new Slayer had been identified and was now on her way, along with her Watcher, to the subcontinent, where an outbreak of demonic activity was occurring. He was also given a week to put his affairs in order before returning home. Clothes and furniture were sent to charity, books and artifacts were packed and shipped. Stewart found himself staring into space for extended periods, he wasn�t sure how long. The night before he was scheduled to return to England he had finished packing, and sat on the bed in his near-empty flat; it now contained only the bed, dresser, chair, and table it had come with. His bags stood by the door, holding only a few personal items, Nikki�s and his own. I can�t sit in this room, he thought. I can�t sit here and remember nursing her as she lay wounded in this bed, teaching her at that table, popping corn in that silly foil pan at the stove. He rose, left the flat, and headed down the street, having the vague notion he�d find a barroom and get drunk. Then no one would care if he cried, not even him. But each place he passed was too loud, too bright, too full of people, and he found himself walking, head down, shoulders hunched. He came into a street lined with clubs and crowded with young people, their clothes, shiny and brightly-colored, clinging tightly to their bodies. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a figure draped in black, standing out like a clod of shite in a basket of Easter eggs. Stewart turned to the retreating form and saw it was a man, small but wiry, with a shock of white hair on his head, and he was wearing� �Nikki�s coat,� Stewart gasped. He remembered buying it for her last winter, though it meant they�d both lived on rice and hotdogs for a month, but she had loved it so much. He�d called her �Foxy Slayer� every time she wore it, but he was proud of the heroic figure she cut in it. Stewart caught up with the man a block later, grabbing his shoulder, spinning him around. �That was a mistake, mate,� the man said, and Stewart realized in a flash of understanding why he was wearing the Slayer�s clothes. �You killed her, you monster,� Stewart said, and the vampire laughed. �Well, well, if it isn�t the jungle-bunny�s Watcher,� he said. �Come to avenge the little girl�s death?� Stewart reached for his inside pocket, remembering too late the stakes and crosses were already packed in his flight bag. Still laughing, the vampire took the opportunity to drag him back into an alley. �You�re very, very stupid,� the vampire said. �Not even worth my time to kill.� �I�m not afraid of you,� Stewart said. �That was your little girl�s mistake, too,� the vampire sneered, and he shoved Stewart against a wall. The back of the Watcher�s skull hit the bricks, and he saw stars flashing at the edges of his vision. The vampire slapped his cheek lightly. �Pay attention,� he snapped. �I want you to remember this, write it down for posterity wherever you lot record these things. I killed your bitch, strangled her with my own bare hands. She wasn�t the first Slayer I did, either. Make sure you get the name right- it�s Spike, childe of Angelus,** and now I�ve gotten two of your girls.� He leaned in close and hissed, �She won�t be my last, either.� He thumped Stewart against the wall again, then dropped him to the ground. Stewart heard him laughing as he went. *- The 70s Slayer was referred to as Nikki in the shooting script. I made up her last name. **- �Childe� is a Buffy fanfic term used to refer to a vampire�s offspring, or, in Spike�s case, grand-offspring, although this term has never been used on the show. VII. And Your Bird Can Sing Spoilers for �Untouched.� Bethany looked down at the bag clutched in her hands and fiddled nervously with the handle. Beside her, the man called Wesley waited calmly for the door to be answered. He had apologized to her a dozen times, and on the drive over had tried to explain why he had done what he�d done, but really, she did understand. He�d also told her about his friend, Barbara, and what he called a �psychic safe house.� �She can help you,� he�d assured Bethany. �She has doctorates in both parapsychology and psychology. And you�ll be with other people like you.� Barbara answered the door and smiled, inviting them in. She wasn�t what Bethany expected, but then, Bethany wasn�t sure what she�d expected. The house was neat without being spare, and as Barbara led them down the hall, Bethany looked into the living room, with its TV and stereo, and what she presumed was Barbara�s office, with its old-fashioned roll-top desk. They entered a dining room where two boys about high-school age sat doing school-work. They looked up as Barbara entered. �Boys, let me introduce�� Barbara began, but the darker of the two cut her off. �Bethany Chaulk,� he said, with a smug grin. �Telekinetic, ran away from home, recently had some trauma with her dad. And the other�� An expression of disgust crossed the boy�s face. �Ug, that�s nasty,� he burst out. �That will teach you to read guest�s minds uninvited,� Barbara said knowingly. �This is Mr. Wyndham-Pryce, and he is quite adept at diverting telepaths.� Barbara indicated the boys. �This uncouth gentleman is Roy,� she said, �and that�s Timothy.� �What�s your gift, Timothy?� Wesley asked. The fairer boy grinned. �I see dead people,� he said. �The technical term is retro-clairvoyant,� Barbara said. �The technical term is �woo, spooky,�� Roy corrected, and Barbara gave him a glare. �Let me show you your room, Bethany,� Barbara said, leading the girl back to the hall and up the stairs. They entered a room with a dresser, a desk, and a single bed with a high, wooden back. The curtains and bed linens matched, a soft ivory with large pink roses. �It�s a bit empty,� Barbara apologized, �but you can decorate it however you�d like. The key is in the lock, here, so you can lock the door. House rules are that no one may enter anyone else�s room without permission, so remember to knock if you need to talk to Roy or Tim.� Unspoken was the implication that they would have to knock for her. �The bathroom is next door,� Barbara went on. �It also has a lock. Oh, there�s no smoking or candles allowed in the bedroom, and I�d prefer you don�t eat anything up here that isn�t easily cleaned up. I mean, candy and potato chips are fine, but don�t bring up a bowl of spaghetti or anything.� Bethany gave a small smile and nodded. �I won�t,� she said. �I�ll let you unpack, then,� Barbara said. �Come get me if you need anything. We�ll be having dinner in about an hour and a half. I hope you like goulash.� �It sounds delicious,� Bethany said, trying to remember if she�d ever had goulash before. �See you in a bit,� Barbara said. When she�d left, Bethany lifted her bag onto the top of the dresser and pulled open one of the drawers. The bottom was lined with pale blue wrapping paper studded with tiny daisies. Bethany stacked her few articles of clothing inside. When she�d finished, she turned to the door, and pulled out the key. It was an antique skeleton key, black with age. The handle had a flat, filigree pattern that looked a little like a heart. Quickly, Bethany pushed the door shut and turned the key in the lock. She pulled the key out and turned the doorknob left and right. The door didn�t budge. Bethany took a step back, cupping the key in her hands. I�ll have to get a string, she thought, to wear the key around my neck. Then she sat on the edge of the bed, and smiled. VIII. Tell Me Why Spoilers for �Graduation Day, part 2� and �New Moon Rising.� �Please, come in, sit down,� said a white-haired woman with a button saying she was a PFLAG* volunteer. �My name is Ruth. Can I get you some coffee?� �I�m not sure,� said the newcomer. �I just� I had some questions�� �Please, ask me anything,� Ruth said. �It�s so often that grandparents get left out of the discussion when a child comes out. But I�ve been through it. And even though my Larry is passed away, I find I still can help others through the process.� �Oh, I�m sorry,� the other woman said. �Was it�� She lowered her voice to a whisper, �AIDS?� �No, no,� Ruth assured her. �A terrible accident. He was at the high-school graduation the day of the boiler explosion. I still miss him terribly.� �Yes, it was a horrible tragedy. My Willow graduated in that class, too. In fact, that�s who I�ve come to talk about�� *- PFLAG- Parents, Families, and Friends of Lesbians and Gays IX. Another Girl Spoilers for �Fool for Love� and �Darla.� Elizabeth Makepeace fought her way through the fleeing crowd, feeling rather like a lemming that has suddenly come to its senses. Westerners and Chinese alike were pushing towards the docks, trying to escape a city that was burning down around them. Elizabeth had thought Yi-Hong* was not far behind her when they�d gathered their belongings and run, but the Slayer had become separated from the Watcher some streets back, and by the time Elizabeth became aware, she had been swept along like a cork on the human tide. Now several hours had passed as she fought her way back along their route, searching for any sign of the girl. There was none. At last she reached the Buddhist temple. Elizabeth remembered the old monk who just a few months ago had presented Yi-Hong with the sword he called The Clouds Above Water. Elizabeth suspected something had been lost in the translation, but the monk had assured them both of the weapon�s mystical properties against vampires. The Watcher entered, peering through the smoke that had collected in the cool, stone structure. Fumbling forward, one groping hand landed on a marble pillar and came away sticky. Elizabeth brought the hand before her face. It was bloody. Before she even saw the girl, before she knelt at Yi-Hong�s side, cradling her thin, broken body, Elizabeth knew, as if by instinct, the blood was hers, and worse, she could not even afford the luxury of a moment�s grief, not with the city in the hands of murderous mobs. Elizabeth did what little she could, laying her Slayer on the altar in as dignified a pose as possible, The Clouds Above Water across her breast. Even in death, her mouth was set in stubborn pride, Elizabeth noted. She smoothed Yi-Hong�s hair back from her forehead, and with a whispered �forgive me,� left again for the docks. It was an easier trip back, as most who had fled were either already at their ships or laying dead in the streets. The earlier chaos had become an eerie silence, and on the pier there was an incongruous orderliness as people calmly turned over small fortunes for passage to safety. Behind her, Elizabeth heard a man�s voice, pleading and filled with great sorrow, his accent that of a well-off Irishman. �Please,� he was saying, �can someone take this child. She�s orphaned, her family is dead. Have pity, I cannot care for her meself. Is there not a Christian soul among you who can care for her?� The Watcher turned and looked at the man. He was young, well-dressed, though his hair was rather longish, and as he entreated those in the crowd he looked utterly lost. �Give her here,� Elizabeth said crisply, and the man�s relief flooded over his face. �Thank you,� he said, passing the child into her hands. As Elizabeth took the infant her fingertips brushed the back of the man�s hand. She recoiled quickly, nearly dropping the girl as she recognized the cool, hard flesh of a vampire. �You!� she spat at him. �Monster!� The vampire looked as though she had struck him. He shook his head in denial of her accusation, but said nothing. Elizabeth pulled a large wooden cross from within her skirts and brandished it in a wide arc. The vampire bared his teeth and retreated. �Did you kill her?� the Watcher demanded. �Did she make you too full even to eat this baby, you filthy devil?� The vampire looked confused. �No,� he said. �I didn�t kill anyone.� �You�re a strange one,� Elizabeth said. �Don�t you want to strut and brag about how you killed a Slayer?� A light dawned in the vampire�s eyes, and he half-unconsciously whispered, �William�� �William?� Elizabeth repeated. �My childe,� the vampire said. �He�s called�� The vampire hesitated, and a look of cunning passed over his face. �He�s called William the Bloody,� the vampire concluded. There was a sudden blast from the ship�s horns and Elizabeth jumped, turning slightly to the sound. In an instant, the vampire was at her side, and had backhanded the cross away from her. �Don�t go after him, or me,� he snarled. �Take the baby and leave here. Save your own life.� And then the vampire was gone into the smoky, pre-dawn haze. *- Yi-Hong, the name I gave the Chinese Slayer, literally means One-Great (or �one who is great,� if Chinese had the verb �to be�) in Mandarin Chinese. It was also the name of a friend of mine in High School. X. Tomorrow Never Knows Spoilers for �Innocence.� They left me. Left me. Twenty-four hours ago I had been in charge here, with only me and my darling girl and just enough minions to keep things running smoothly but not so many that they get in the way. I�d managed to get her heart�s desire for her, the legendary Judge re-assembled and ready to set loose. Of course, I hadn�t been as confident as the rest of them that that meant humanity was doomed. I�m not stupid, and unlike most vampires I live in the now. I figured Dru would have her fun, we�d wreak some glorious havoc, maybe take care of the Slayer problem if we were lucky, and then some human would point some high-tech piece of weaponry forged after big blue was shipped separately, and blow him into smithereens. Then Dru and I would go back to usual until the next time she got some brilliant bit of madness lodged in her brain. And then, typically, the absolute worst thing that could possibly happen happened: Angel lost his soul. Gone. Just vanished into the ether like so much smoke. I couldn�t believe it. Literally, my brain just wasn�t capable of processing the information. Even after the judge took his measure and proclaimed him all demon, it just wasn�t getting through to all the circuits. Angelus, in all his mad, brutal glory was back to pick up where he�d left off a century ago. It wasn�t until he went from a snarl of murderous rage to kissing me and laughing in the space of three seconds that it really came home for me. Because that was vintage Angelus, the lunatic who�d kept me jumping (and mostly black and blue) my first two decades as a vampire. He moved in, took over the �Judge Project,� and my black pearl, without so much as a �by your leave.� I saw the way she looked at him. She�s totally surrendered to his will as if he�d never been gone. But I haven�t forgotten. He left us. Left us to Darla�s tender mercies until she got tired and sent us on our way. I fought up from nothing. With nothing but my fists and my wits, with no clan to claim me and handicapped by Drusilla and her insanity, I made a place for myself. I had minions ready to die for me. And now he�s back and it�s gone. All of it. He�s taken my little gosling, and her new toy, and every last one of my minions and left me here, helpless, hiding in the dark in this fucking chair while the Slayer struts around like she owns the place. But I won�t be in this chair forever. XI. Tell Me What You See Spoilers for �Through the Looking Glass.� The cow wet-nurse cradled her mistress�s new son carefully. Something was terribly wrong with him; it was obvious and no one was talking about it. It was like the Tractnel in the room. If the master had been home, no doubt the baby would have been taken to the woods by now, to be exposed to the elements as an abomination, but the mistress had taken advantage of his absence during the exchange of trade and summoned the priest to examine her child. Surely such a child, product of high-born parents, must have some greater purpose. The nurse stroked the infant�s silky hair. He was so smooth, so pale, she thought. He had no ridges on his back, as his parents did, and ten fingers and ten toes, instead of twelve and eight, as he should. One of the stable-cows had made the blasphemous suggestion that perhaps the mistress had dallied with a strapping bull-cow to produce such a child, but such a thing did not bear thinking about. Besides, the nurse thought, you could see the truth in the child�s eyes, as black and shiny as beetle wings, just like his father�s. The eyes never lied. �Nurse-cow,� the mistress bellowed, charging into the nursery. �The Priest approaches! Prepare my son at once!� The nurse rose, ignoring the infant�s protest at his interrupted meal, and washed his face and hands before dressing him in his best togs. The priest was fearsome-looking as he entered the nursery attended by three acolytes. His eyes were a hard gold, and they peered out from the placid mask of his brick-red face. The child�s mother nearly snatched her son from the nurse and thrust him at the priest. �What is wrong with him?� she demanded. �Why does he look this way?� The acolytes peered at the child with undisguised curiosity, but the priest took him calmly, examining his face, his scalp, his ears and feet. At last he passed him back to his mother. �Your child has been chosen to walk a difficult path,� the priest intoned. �He will suffer many hardships, fight many battles, endure many ordeals. It is his destiny to be a warrior, a champion, and a leader. He will lie with cows and travel to other worlds.� The mother looked with horror at the squalling infant in her arms, for she, too, had learned the prophecies. �No,� she said. �He cannot be�� �He is,� said the priest, and his acolytes trembled in awe. �He is,� the priest repeated, ��the Groosalugg.� XII. Blackbird Spoilers for �The Thin Dead Line.� �Miss Anne, Miss Anne,� came the insistent voice at the door of the office/bedroom, waking the youth shelter director from her shallow sleep. Pulling on a worn robe, Anne opened the door to find Lupe, one of her girls who stayed in the shelter two or three days a week, whenever none of her friends could take her for the night. �Miss Anne, sorry to wake you,� she said, �but it�s Gabriel, the new boy. He�s locked himself in the bathroom and won�t come out.� Gabriel had come to them two days ago, a runaway. Anne had tried to determine what was so wrong in the boy�s home that he needed to run away, but Gabriel had insisted that his mother had been caring and loving, and that he had left to protect her, but he wouldn�t explain what he meant by this. Anne thought he might be involved in drugs, or gambling, but this was only a guess, and he didn�t seem like the type, anyway. Now the whole psychodrama had come to a climax, as it usually did in a house full of teenagers, with someone locked in the bathroom. Anne walked slowly to the boys� lavatory. She could hear Gabriel sobbing quietly behind the locked door. Sighing heavily, she knocked, calling the boy�s name. Silence, instantaneous and complete. �I know you�re there,� Anne said, �and I have a pass key. I�ll let myself in if you don�t.� �Are you alone?� Gabriel asked. Anne looked at the other teens gathered around her and motioned them away with her hands. �I am now,� she said when they�d reluctantly gone. She heard the tumblers turn in the lock and entered the bathroom cautiously. Gabriel had pushed himself into the furthest corner of the room, behind the sink. A towel was wrapped completely around his head, with only one small opening for him to look through. Anne moved slowly towards the boy, talking softly. �Gabriel, please tell me what�s wrong. Are you hurt? Has something happened to you?� She reached out one hand and the boy smacked it away. �Don�t touch me,� he said, his voice think with tears. �I�m evil. Unclean.� In Anne�s head, a little light turned on above the filing cabinet marked �Sexual Abuse.� �I�m sure that�s not true,� she said. �Whatever happened to you� It isn�t your fault, Gabriel.� The boy dropped his terrycloth covered head into his hands, shaking it slowly back and forth. �Tell me, Gabriel. Whatever it is, we can get help for you.� She took another small step towards him. �Believe me, Gabriel, you�re not alone.� The boy laughed, and it was a frightening, bitter, and slightly hysterical sound. �Please talk to me Gabriel,� Anne said. �I want to help you.� The boy looked up suddenly, and Anne wished she could see his expression. �Fine,� he said angrily. �If you want to help so badly, tell me what I should do about this.� He pulled the towel from his face, and Anne gasped and recoiled. The handsome, dark-haired boy that had come in that night was gone. Instead, he had large, bat-like ears and slender horns that curved back over his head. His eyes had gone a startling purple color all over, like an animal�s, and his mouth was full of pointed teeth. �Can you really help me, Miss Anne,� Gabriel taunted, but Anne ignored the sarcasm. �Yes,� she said. �I know a man who studies these things.� XIII. You�ve Got to Hide Your Love Away Spoilers for �The Gift.� Giles poured a fourth shot of whiskey into his tumbler, noting that his hands were shaking less than they had before his first glass. This was good, he thought. It meant it was working. The sun had set about twenty minutes before, and Giles thought that he had to fear the darkness again, a feeling he had not felt since asking a small, blonde child if she was Buffy Summers. Was it really less than five years ago? There was a sudden, insistent rapping at his door, and though his first impulse was to ignore it, Giles knew it was one of the children, come to him now that the Slayer was gone. He opened the door, expecting Xander, actually, but finding Spike instead. The vampire looked like he�d been wrung dry, as Giles�s grandmother used to say. His bleached hair was in sticky tufts, pointing in every direction. The bruises on his face has gone yellow, and his eyes were raw and red. He was rubbing his knuckles nervously against his jeans, and Giles could see they were split and bleeding. �What are you doing here?� Giles asked as Spike entered. �I didn�t want to upset the little bit,� Spike said with something approaching respect, �but I need to know where she is.� �Buffy�� �I just want to see her one last�� Spike�s voice broke, but he inhaled sharply through his nose and continued. �Just tell me what body merchant you took her to. I�ll sneak in, pay my respects, and go. You don�t have to worry about me.� �She�s not�� Giles looked pained, but he went on. �We had to bury her quickly, Spike.� �What..?!� �No one can know she�s gone,� Giles said more forcefully. �Can you imagine what would happen to Sunnydale if the demons and vampires were aware that the Slayer had been killed? It would be anarchy.� �Where is she?� �We buried her,� Giles said quietly. �In the woods, in a pretty clearing� Xander built a coffin. It only took a few hours, while� Willow and Tara� prepared her body.� He chuckled gently, despite the somber mood. �The dress they chose� It was black, but it really was something she wouldn�t be caught dead in.� Giles grew serious again. �The girls� made the grass grow to cover the plot, to hide it. Xander is going to ask a friend who�s a stonemason to carve a marker. It must remain secret. You understand that, don�t you?� Spike, who had dissolved into silent weeping, his face in his hands, while Giles recounted the funeral, looked up angrily. �Of course I bloody understand,� he snapped. �I�m not some kind of idiot� I should have known,� he went on to himself. �I should have realized while I was in that fucking cunt�s fucking shed all fucking day you wouldn�t give a tinker�s dam about old Spike�s feelings!� Giles ignored this outburst. �I can show you,� he said. Spike squeezed the last of his tears from his eyes and swiped them away with the sleeve of his coat. �Show me,� he said. XIV. Misery Spoilers for �Blood Ties.� Joanne, the new night nurse on the Sunnydale Hospital psych ward, was making her 4:30 rounds. It had been a long night. A new patient had been brought in the previous evening in a highly agitated state, and the sedatives and restraints seemed to be having no effect. Joanne could hear him weeping from the doorway, childlike sobs interspersed with frantic whispers. She approached him, hoping her presence might calm him down. His complete break with reality, unusual enough in itself, not-withstanding, Joanne found him oddly compelling. He was young, and strikingly handsome, both rare in a John Doe. He also had a strange tattoo on his forehead, unlike any Joanne had ever seen before. �Shh, easy now,� she said softly, using the same tones one might use with a frightened animal. �It�s all right. Just try to get some rest.� �You don�t understand,� he said. �She was here. She was�� His voice trailed off into a soft keening sound, like the cry of a bird. ��So beautiful,� he finished. �The key. The pretty little key, she doesn�t know. We have to�� He choked on his words again, and fell into tears. Joanne moved to check his chart and saw he�d received his last sedative shot only an hour before. He�d be suffering this way for another five hours, at least. She stood and headed for the nurses station. Maybe she could ask a doctor to re-evaluate the dose. When she reached the main check-in, she found a knot of activity centered around a new arrival, a large woman strapped to a gurney. She, too, was incoherent, but Joanne could make out a repeated phrase: �The key is here, she�s here, the key is here.� Joanne quickly turned to the intern on duty. �The John Doe in room 117 said the same thing.� The intern turned to her, confusion heavy on his brow. �What?� �He was talking about a key, too,� Joanne said. The intern�s expression turned to one of interest. �Who did? When?� �Just now,� Joanne told him. �The John Doe, with the tribal tattoo on his face. Weird, huh?� �Yeah,� the intern said. �Weird.� * * * * * * * * Ben glanced up at the nurse on duty as he initialed his charts for the start-of-shift. �Karen?� he said. �When did you start working nights again?� �I�m just filling in,� Karen said. �That new girl, Joanne, never showed up tonight. No call, nothing.� �That�s rough,� Ben said. �Yeah,� Karen said, an edge of anger in her voice. �I had plans, too. Bitch.� XV. She�s Leaving Home Spoilers for �In the Dark.� Harmony spit a mouthful of her mother�s gin into the sink and wiped her lips delicately with her fingertips. �This sucks,� she declared to no one in particular. When she had awoken the night before on the floor of a church auditorium, surrounded by the bodies of her dead classmates, she had known immediately that she was a vampire, and she�d been thrilled. Everyone knew about vampires: they were beautiful, sophisticated, they lived in huge mansions and wore fabulous clothes. Harmony knew she�d make a great vampire. Maybe she�d even meet one of those royal vampires, like in the movies, and be taken off to Europe or France as his bride. But her first meal from the attendant at the makeshift morgue hadn�t gone too well. Her second meal, a man leaving a bar on Lime Street, went better. By the time she got home, Harmony thought she had it figured out- her mother would be in bed, she�d just eat her before she could wake up. But she couldn�t get through the door, for some reason. She�d knocked, and when her mother answered it, Harmony drained her right on the front step. Looking down at her mother�s cooling body, Harmony felt the rage that had been consuming her ebb away, replaced by a feeling of power. I can do anything, she thought. She did everything she could think of while she stayed in the house during the day. She drank all the wine in the fridge, even though it didn�t seem to have much effect. She broke dishes, and burned her old pictures in the bathroom sink, the ones where she looked fat. She painted �DIE� on the living room walls in spray paint. Now, as the sun was going down again, Harmony was beginning to realize being a vampire was pretty boring if you weren�t a prince, or in Europe. So she found her mother�s car keys and started driving south. Two days later, she was in a Mexican border town. She�d eaten an INS agent to get there, but it hadn�t made her feel any better. She walked into a seedy bar, hoping something interesting would happen, but it looked like the only thing going on was cheap cerveza, whatever that was. It tasted kind of like beer. A man slid onto the seat beside her. He looked like he was drunk already. �Hey, cutie,� he said. Harmony wrinkled her nose in confusion. �Are you a vampire, too?� she asked. The man gave her a strange look. �Yeah,� he drawled slowly. �We�re both vampires. This bar is full of vampires. Makes it convenient that way.� �You don�t have to talk to me like I�m stupid,� Harmony said. �It�s not like I�ve been a vampire more than three days, and� are you from England?� �Yeah, I�m from England,� the vampire said, and gave a low laugh. �That�s near Europe, right?� XVI. There�s a Place Spoilers for �Life Serial.� Clem unlocked his front door, awkwardly shifting a fifty-pound bag of kitten chow he had cradled in his arms. He pushed the door open slowly, not wanting to crush any tiny bodies that might be lurking behind it, and felt several of the animals begin to brush against his ankles. �Okay, guys,� he said soothingly. �It�s okay, I�m home.� He pushed some of the kittens out of the way and carefully shut the door again. Half-shuffling his feet, he made his way to the kitchen around the forty or so animals that filled his two-room apartment and scooped up the empty food bowls from the floor. He slit open the bag of chow with one talon-like fingernail and began to fill them. He had started rinsing and refilling the water dishes when the phone rang. He let the machine pick it up. Clem heard his own voice fill the kitchen, �Hi, you�ve reached Sunnydale kitten rescue. Please leave your name, number, and message at the tone. Thank you.� �Hi,� came a woman�s cheerful voice. �My daughter and I wanted to adopt one of your kittens and were wondering when was the best time to come pick one out.� She added her name and number. �You hear that, guys,� Clem announced as he placed the dishes on the floor. �One of you is going home with a new family.� XVII. I�m Only Sleeping Spoilers for �The Gift.� Giles led the blond vampire through Sunnydale�s empty streets, then up into the hills, through the trees, to the final resting place of Buffy Summers. Spike had remained silent as they walked; unnervingly so, given his usual tendency to talk non-stop. They stood before the grave, now, marked for the time being by a simple wooden cross, and Giles felt his hands begin to tremble again. Twenty-four hours ago she�d been alive, alive enough to threaten his life if Dawn came to harm. It seemed a lifetime ago. �Did you sanctify the ground?� Spike asked suddenly, and Giles was startled from his memories. �I�m sorry. Did we� what?� �Sanctify the ground,� Spike said impatiently. �Sprinkle holy water, say the Christian burial rite, anything of that sort?� �No,� Giles said. �We didn�t say anything�� But Spike had sunk to his knees before the grave, spreading his hands over the grass, and bowing down until his forehead touched the earth. Giles could hear that Spike was speaking, his deep voice a low susurrus of sound, too quiet for human ears to make out the sounds. His shoulders began to shake, too, and Giles surmised he had begun to weep again. After several long minutes the vampire collected himself, stood, and brushed himself off. �You need to sanctify the ground,� he told Giles matter-of-factly. �That way, demons and vampires won�t be able to touch it. Won�t know� what�s underneath.� �Yes,� Giles agreed. �We will.� �Right, then,� Spike said. �I�ll just be�� �Do you want to come back,� Giles interrupted. Spike smiled ruefully. �You asking me back for a drink?� �If you like,� Giles said. �Unless you had other plans.� �No,� Spike said. �I would like that.� XVIII. Mother Nature�s Son Spoilers for �The Thin Dead Line.� Wesley packed several of his books in his saddle bags and climbed onto his motorcycle, kicking it into life. The engine sounded apocalyptically loud in the silent garage as Wesley pulled on his helmet and headed out into the city. It was still two hours until dawn. Driving through the deserted streets, he arrived at the teen shelter in record time. He didn�t even bother to unpack his bags, instead slinging them over his shoulder and ascending the steps to the front door. The last time he had been here, a gunshot wound had nearly killed him, and the memory of that night washed over him in a wave of nausea. He fought it down and knocked. A dark-eyed child answered the door and took him to the director�s office. All the privacy curtains had been drawn and it was dimly-lit within. Gently, Wesley rapped on the glass. The director, Anne, answered. Wesley was struck, as he always was, by her youth. She really was little more than a teen herself. �Thank you for coming,� she said. �I�m sorry to have called you out of bed.� �Under the circumstances, it�s perfectly understandable,� Wesley told her. He tried to peer around her into the office. �Is he� ah�� �I�m sorry,� she said, stepping back to admit him. �Wesley, this is Gabriel.� The boy leaned into the light, and Wesley saw the demonic features. He moved closer to get a better look. �Extraordinary,� Wesley said, then gave the boy a sheepish smile. �Excuse my rudeness. My name is Wesley Wyndham-Pryce.� He held out a hand, and the boy took it gingerly. �Gabriel Marks,� he said. �What�s happening to me?� Wesley put down the saddlebags and helped himself to a desk chair. �I believe the most likely explanation is that you are a human-demon hybrid, possibly even half-demon.� �Demon..?� Gabriel�s brow furrowed in confusion. �It�s rare, but quite a bit is known about them,� Wesley explained. �Typically the demonic traits present in late adolescence, but most hybrids learn to control their appearances and lead quite normal lives.� Gabriel didn�t look entirely re-assured by this news, but Wesley noticed some of the tension went out of his shoulders. �It�s something that�s always been a part of you,� Wesley said. �It doesn�t change who you are.� Gabriel gave an almost imperceptible nod, and Wesley felt a bit of relief, himself. �Since your mother is human, chances are the demon blood runs in your father�s line,� Wesley said. �Do you have any recollection..?� �No,� Gabriel said. �I� never knew my father.� �Well, then,� Wesley said, leaning down to retrieve his books. �We�d better see what we can find in these.� XIX. Get Back Spoilers for �Crush� and �Reunion.� �He isn�t daddy anymore.� �He hasn�t been daddy for a long time,� Darla said impatiently. �But I�ll bring him back. I�ll have my darling boy.� �No, you won�t,� Dru told her, a pout beginning to form on her lips. �And I don�t want to stay here.� �Drusilla, why are you only lucid when you�re disagreeing with me?� Darla said. �And you�re a very naughty girl,� Dru added. �Talking back to your mummy.� Darla laughed. �Give it a rest, Dru. I�m four hundred years old. I�m no one�s little girl.� �I�ve spoilt you,� Dru said, looking very cross. �I can see that now. It�s because you�re an only child. I�ll have to fix that.� �No!� Darla burst out. �No siring any more vampires! We�re spread thin enough.� Now it was Dru�s turn to laugh. �No, silly, I�ve just got to go fetch him. I�ll bring him back and we�ll be a family again.� �Don�t be stupid,� Darla said. �Angel might not be ready to kill us, but he�ll have no such sentimentality about Spike.� �Shh.� Dru said, touching her fingers to Darla�s lips. �Mummy�s decided. Now be a good girl and bring our daddy back.� XX. Revolution 9 Spoilers for �Couplet.� The crowd outside the royal palace in Cl�thnor, Pylea�s capital city, chanted their new leader�s name over and over. They had been awaiting his appearance since before dawn, waiting for him to take his place on the balcony and declare their victory. Since the Groosalugg had ascended, the revolutionaries had gathered their forces, bringing the message to the people that the winds of change were blowing and one could either soar upon them like an eagle, or be swept away, like a dry leaf. It was their leader that inspired such poetry in their hearts, because he was not a soldier or a politician, but an artist. He had taught them they were not bound by rigid rules anymore. With society cracking apart they could take it to pieces and build it anew. They did not have to be content with small steps, when together they could make strides miles long. They would turn Pylea upside-down, but only to shake off the dead ways, clearing the path for new growth, a new world. The father of the revolution stepped onto the balcony, still wearing the rough-woven clothes of the common stock he came from. The crowd below screamed their frenzy. �My people,� he announced. �We have broken our chains, we have climbed up from darkness. And now�� He raised his hands for emphasis. �And now, we do the dance of victory!� In unison, the revolutionaries matched his elaborate movements, each kick, jump, and head tap carrying a symbolic meaning. And as they danced, they began to chant their leader�s name, a small sound that crescendo�d and swelled, like a tidal-wave. �Num-far! Num-far! Num-far!� XXI. And I Love Her Spoilers for �The Gift.� Giles had to admit that Spike�s capacity for liquor was impressive, but he supposed he shouldn�t have been surprised. Spike was a vampire, after all. It was easy to forget, especially these past eighteen months, just how dangerous a creature he was. Slim, pale, shorter than Giles by several inches, and at the moment looking very young, it was easy to think of him as another one of the children. His personality did little to alter this feeling, either. �I�m so bloody confused,� Spike was saying now. �I loved her. I let myself be tortured for her. I� and now� what am I? What happens to me now?� Afraid the vampire would start crying again, Giles reached across and topped off his whiskey. �I don�t know,� he said truthfully. �I�m rather in the same boat myself. One Slayer dead, the other incarcerated, and Sunnydale doesn�t seem to be running out of demons.� Spike slammed down his glass. �You arrogant son of a bitch,� he said, his voice low. �Is that all you care about? One soldier�s dead, too bad, on with the war? What�s our next campaign?� �Shut up,� Giles snapped, and Spike stared at him in surprise a moment before his face twisted into a sneer. �Don�t you dare,� Giles said angrily as he rose from his chair and lifted Spike up by his lapels. �Whatever I�m feeling is not any business of yours. I prefer to grieve in private.� Spike gave a short, bitter laugh, and Giles shoved him back down onto his chair, turning away in disgust. �Well done,� Spike said mockingly. �Such outrage. Got to maintain the stiff upper lip. Can�t have any unseemly emotion, now.� �Like you�d even understand,� Giles said. �Ooo, wasn�t expecting that,� Spike said. �The fall-back position where I�m condescended to because I can�t feel anything!� The last came out as an angry shout. �The truth is, you lot don�t know what it�s like. I was just like you when I was alive. Repressed. Controlled.� His eyes narrowed in a knowing look. ��Private,�� he said. �Becoming a vampire set me free. That�s what your Watchers never told you, Rupert. I feel too much, sometimes.� Giles sat down and stared across at the vampire, whose blue eyes had once again filled with tears. �I�m sorry,� he said. �We shouldn�t� for her sake.� �No, we bloody well shouldn�t,� Spike said, draining the last of his drink. The two sat in uncomfortable silence for several minutes before Giles spoke again. �So what are you going to do,� he asked. �The hell if I know,� Spike said. �You could stay here, in Sunnydale,� Giles went on. �No, hear me out. You could be a great asset to us, and it would help maintain the illusion the Slayer is still alive.� �How long do you expect to maintain that illusion?� Spike said. �They know what she looks like.� �Willow has suggested we use your� robot,� Giles said, and Spike rolled his eyes. �But we could use your strength, your skill�� Spike covered his face with his hands. �Let me think about it,� he said. XXII. What Goes On Why, yes, I am quite insane. Why do you ask? The writer sits in her parlor/computer room, the golden, late-afternoon light slanting through the Venetian blinds. Her hands move deliberately over the keyboard, hitting each key with authority, if not with speed. A cooling mug of lemon tea is at her right hand, just beside the �Death Star� mouse pad, and the internet radio plug-in plays ambient Gothic music very softly. In the shelf below the keyboard a thesaurus and dictionary are close at hand, and nearby, for reference, are a copy of �Names from Around the World,� �Lives of the Saints,� and �The Watcher�s Guide.� Her notes and story outlines are tacked to the cabinets above the desk with masking tape, and are covered with many post-it note amendments, pencil lines and diagrams. On top of the cabinets sits a woman. She would fit very well in a video from Madonna�s �Justify My Love� period, all skin-tight black leather and stiletto heels and black silk mask. In one delicate but powerful hand she holds a riding crop. She examines the red lacquered fingernails of the other. She is the writer�s Muse. �Thin clouds of smoke,� the writer says aloud, testing the sound of it. �No. Wisps of smoke� Tendrils�� �Too clich�,� the Muse says. She has a voice like an air horn. �I know,� the writer snaps angrily. The Muse ignores this outburst, and begins to twirl her hand in the air. A ghostly image fills the room, the very scene the writer is working on, of a magical ritual being performed. The writer watches it unfold, taking note of details like the whining, hissing sounds from the coal bed and the specks of ash rising on the smoke. The back door suddenly slams open and the writer and Muse both jump. The phantom scene vanishes as the mood is broken. They hear their intruder grumble oaths under his breath, and the Muse�s face breaks open with happiness, even as the writer rolls her eyes in disgust. �It�s him,� the Muse declares, beginning to preen. The writer hears him pawing through the refrigerator and calls out, �there isn�t any beer. You can save yourself the trouble.� He enters the computer room, all swagger and attitude. In one hand he grips a three-dollar bottle of Arizona ginseng iced tea. He gives the Muse a sexy leer. �How�s my little girl?� he says. The Muse nearly bounces from her perch to be swept into his arms and meet him in a passionate kiss. She runs her fingers through his white-blond hair. �No, no, no!� The writer is nearly shouting. �He isn�t even in this story. This is about Giles. It�s an imagined history. A sensitive coming-of-age story that illuminates his relationship with his father. He�s just about to go on his vision quest.� The Muse waves one perfectly manicured hand dismissively. �Put it aside,� she says. �I need my Spike.� The writer makes a gagging noise in the back of her throat. �God, enough with Spike already. You�re obsessed! There are twenty-two stories here and Spike is featured in seven of them!* XW is gonna dope-slap me the next time I see her.� �I don�t care,� the Muse pouts. �He�s just so fascinating. Admit it.� �I admit nothing,� the writer sulks. �Please don�t put another Spike story in my head. Everybody writes him. I want to do something different.� But the Muse has taken the blond vampire into another deep embrace, and they are in serious lip-lock. �Fine,� the writer grouses, apparently to herself. �Fine. You want a Spike story, you got one.� She closes the current Word file and opens a new one. �Disclaimer,� she types. �The following story contains torture, blood play, non-consensual sex, and sex between two males. Read at your own risk.� The writer feels a hand stroke across her shoulder. �I take it you�ll be needing me, then,� her towel boy purrs in her ear. *- Well, eight, now. Main Menu ~ Return to Stand Alone Menu |