The Xander Years, Vol.2 Page 12

  And Xander hoped that all the changes he’d gone through were at least somewhere near the road to maturity, if not right smack on it. There came a point when you got tired of the whole high school, adolescence, postpuberty, your-voice-and-body-have-changed-but-everybodystill-thinks-you’re-a-useless-kid deal.

  Of course, not all the changes since the Day of the Fish had been his.

  Slayer Buffy had been through some of her own. She’d had to send Angel to Hell, for starters. Which, admittedly, from Sunnydale wasn’t that far a trip. But she’d done it right as Willow had completed a spell Miss Calendar had left behind on a computer disk that would restore his soul to him — which made it an act of supremely bad timing with which Buffy had a hard time coping.

  She’d left town, changed her name, and worked as a waitress instead of a Slayer. Personally, Xander couldn’t see it. He’d watched waitresses put up with some pretty obnoxious diners. But those waitresses wouldn’t have been able to decapitate said diners with a single kick. And, as much as he cared for Buffy, Xander was the first to admit that patience wasn’t always her strong suit.

  She had eventually made her way back to Sunnydale, though, and the Slayerettes had reassembled around her. They’d even been joined by Faith, yet another Slayer who was activated when Spike’s friend Drusilla killed Kendra. Apparently there was a bug in this whole Slayer system that couldn’t accommodate the fact that, while Buffy had indeed died, she hadn’t stayed dead for all that long.

  Faith, as far as Xander was concerned — well, especially now, but even before — had fit into the Scooby Gang better than Kendra had anyway. She more or less adopted Giles as her Watcher, and Buffy got to have a peer she could bond with — pretty unusual, considering that the whole point of the Slayer mythology was that there could be only one.

  Just to complicate things further for her, Angel had returned to Sunnydale. Again, the return ticket from Hell was not so hard to get, it seemed. It’d been hard for Buffy to trust him again — harder still for the rest of them — but it seemed that Miss Calendar’s spell had worked, and he was the cool and way too-good-looking, if somewhat drawn to dark, Slayer-attracting clothes, Angel.

  Xander made one more circuit of downtown, making sure the town really was quiet for the night. One final patrol in the Batmobile. All the citizens appeared to be snug in their beds.

  Driving past Uncle Bob’s Magic Cabinet, where he had last seen Willow, reminded him of her new hobby. The whole soul restoration spell-casting thing intrigued Willow to the point that she took up witchcraft, and, despite the occasional oops, was turning out to be not half bad at it.

  After most of a lifetime of knowing Willow — since they were five, anyway — their friendship had finally expanded to include the aspect of lust. Which was awkward, as Xander was still dating Cordelia and Willow was seeing Oz. They tried to keep themselves apart, even going so far as to work on a spell that would kill the attraction, but still, Oz and Cordy happened upon them in mid-kiss, and it was an unpleasant scene.

  Like it was our fault or something, Xander thought. Imprisoned by Spike in the Factory, they both believed they were going to die. We never would have kissed if we thought we were going to have to live with it. Who knew that Oz would be able to smell Willow and find them there? Who knew he’d have Cordelia with him when he did?

  Cordy just couldn’t see the kissing part — okay, some might call it making out — as the response to a life-threatening situation that it so clearly was. She thought there was more to it than that. Sometimes, it just didn’t pay to be rescued.

  The upshot of it was unpleasant, primarily, because for a while there, Xander had had the option of quieting Cordelia by planting his lips on hers. Without that freedom, her sharp mouth returned to its old habits, which included — high on the list of habits, in fact — making those around her miserable with her sarcastic and insulting comments, and passing judgment on those who didn’t live up to her own standards.

  Which, by her definition, was — well, everybody.

  Oz, not surprisingly, turned out to be a little more understanding than Queen Cordy. He and Willow had — eventually — renewed their relationship, leaving Xander a swinging single again. Only, he observed, without so much of the swinging.

  As landmarks of personal growth went, Xander figured turning eighteen was one of the biggies. That life event, it seemed, was a little more troublesome for Slayers than for the general populace — as if the whole bit about not getting to have a real life because you spent practically every night fighting evil and badness and such wasn’t bad enough. On the bright side, not that many Slayers lived to be eighteen, so it was seldom a problem.

  But Buffy did. And the Watchers’ Council had this rule that when a Slayer hit that mark — passing her prime Slayer years, Xander guessed — they put her through a test they called the Cruciamentum.

  Nice name for a birthday party.

  What it meant was that she had to face down a particularly bad vamp, without her powers. She could use whatever skills she had learned over the years, but she had no extra strength, lightning reflexes — all the stuff that being a Slayer had given her, was gone.

  And the kicker was, the Slayer wasn’t allowed to know any of this. She was somehow supposed to figure it out as she went.

  The idea was that a vampire would be locked into a house, and the Slayer would be locked in with him, and only one would come out alive. But this vampire escaped the house, and took the battle to Buffy’s own home, threatening her mom. At this turn of events, Giles defied the council by telling Buffy what was going on and helping her track and defeat the vampire. The council was pleased with Buffy’s powerless performance, but not so much with Giles’s defiance. They kicked him off the council, leaving Buffy Watcherless.

  Nice guys.

  Sunnydale was asleep. Xander knew that he should join them. He pulled the vehicle to the curb in front of his parents’ silent home. Opened the door, climbed out, closed it as quietly as he could. The car would be here tomorrow. It wasn’t like he had to get all his driving done in one night. He had a lifetime of driving ahead of him, he knew. He’d have his own car, one of these days. This was his last year of high school. He’d been through plenty of changes, but pretty soon, there would be that big one, the leap into the world of adult cares and responsibilities. Manhood. Maybe, some day, marriage-hood and fatherhood. And then he’d have a teenager, and his teenager would stay out most of the night, driving around town in borrowed wheels. And when the adult Xander saw his kid at the breakfast table the next morning, instead of giving him the fifth degree, he’d have to make sure he remembered to smile, pat his offspring on the back, and say, “Congratulations.”

  Xander went inside and tiptoed up to his room. In spite of the day’s events, Sunnydale High was still standing, and would be waiting for him in a very few hours. He meant to be there for it.

  CHAPTER 11

  The cavern was full of smoke and snarls. Buffy couldn’t tell who was where — she could hear the demons but not see them. Which meant they couldn’t see her.

  Which could have been a good thing, except that she wasn’t alone here. She needed to worry about Giles, her Watcher — well, former Watcher, she reminded herself — and Willow and Xander and Faith. Though Faith, being a Slayer too, could probably take care of herself.

  But the point was — focus, she told herself — there were demons, nasty ones, and they needed to be dealt with. She’d already taken out a couple. But even one still walking around in the fog was plenty dangerous, especially to her friends.

  Through the mist, a point of light moved into the cave. Buffy could barely make out Willow, carrying a candle, chest high. Willow spoke a few words of Latin, and blew out the flame.

  A sudden wind swept through the cavern, and the smoke cleared.

  The demon was suddenly visible. There was just one of them left standing, Buffy saw. Her skin was a steely bluish gray. She was many-horned, with long pointed ears, and a mouthful
of big unpleasant teeth. If they had beauty pageants in demonland, this one was not going to be a winner.

  Probably not Miss Congeniality, either.

  Buffy charged her.

  She caught the demon just as she was turning around, slamming into her and knocking her to the ground. The demon’s strength was enormous, and it took everything she had to hold her down while Giles joined her. She was suddenly thankful for her Slayer powers — her recent experiment at living without them hadn’t turned out so well, and this ugly beast would have already ripped her head off and decorated the wall of her nest with it if she had been plain old mortal Buffy Summers.

  Giles grabbed the hideous thing’s arm and they lifted her to her feet, back up against the cave wall. Its strength was too much for Giles, though. She hurled him into the far wall, knocking the wind out of him.

  Buffy held on, pressed the demon against the wall, and shouted to Faith.

  “Now!”

  Faith raised a ceremonial broadsword, and covered the distance in a few swift steps. She drove the sword into the demon’s heart. The creature let out a long death scream.

  When Faith withdrew the blade, it was red with blood. Buffy let go. The demon plunged forward, dead, and landed next to Giles, who regarded the corpse with horror.

  “I think that was the last,” he said.

  Willow came into the open center of the cavern, still clutching the extinguished candle in its elaborate holder.

  “Will, are you okay?” Buffy asked.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” Willow replied. “The shaking is a side effect of the fear.”

  Buffy helped Giles to his feet. He wasn’t hurt, just a little dazed by the ferocity of the attack, she thought.

  “Thank you,” he said, still a tad breathless.

  “Well, if it wasn’t for that clouding spell —” Buffy gestured to Willow.

  “Yeah,” Willow said. “It went good! Nothing melted like last time.”

  “These babes were wicked rowdy,” Faith said. “What’s their deal?” All the demons they’d encountered here were clearly female, which was, in Buffy’s experience, a little unusual in the demon world. Feminism in action? Demonic suffragettes? Giles will know, she thought.

  “I wish I knew,” Giles said. He turned over the last-killed, looked into a face only a plastic surgeon could love. “Most of my sources have dried up, since the council relieved me of my duties. I was aware that there was a nest here, but quite frankly, I expected it to be vampires. These are new.”

  “And improved,” Buffy added.

  “Yes, I’m sorry. I should have been better prepared, and I should never have allowed Willow and, uh . . . and, uh . . .” he trailed off.

  A sheet of cardboard shifted, over against a far wall. Everyone tensed, suddenly on guard for another assault. But the cardboard continued to slide, and then Xander appeared from underneath it. He pushed himself unsteadily to his feet, breathing heavily.

  “I’m good,” Xander assured them “We’re fine over here. Just a little bit dusty.”

  He climbed down from the pile of trash in which he’d been hiding. “Good show, everyone. Just great,” he continued, clapping his hands together. “I think we have a hit.”

  “Are you okay?” Willow asked him.

  “Tip top,” he said, not very convincingly. “Really. If anyone sees my spine laying around, just try not to step on it.”

  “Xander, one of these days you’re gonna get yourself hurt,” Buffy said.

  Faith put in her two cents. “Or killed.”

  “Or both,” Buffy went on. “And you know, with the pain and then the death, maybe you shouldn’t be leaping into the fray like that. Maybe you should be fray-adjacent.”

  Xander was clearly hurt by the implication. Buffy felt bad for him — but not as awful as she’d have felt if he’d been physically hurt during the fighting. “Excuse me?” he said. “Who, at the crucial moment, distracted the lead demon by allowing her to pummel him about the head?”

  Faith didn’t seem to share Buffy’s empathy. “Yeah, that was real manly the way you shrieked and all,” she said.

  “I think you’ll find that was more of a bellow,” Xander protested.

  Buffy changed the subject. “What should we do with the trio here? Should we burn them?”

  Willow piped up at that.

  “I brought marshmallows!” she said with a wide smile. The others looked at her in astonishment. “Occasionally,” she continued, “I am callous and strange.”

  Giles tried to steer the conversation back on track. “I expect we can leave them,” he said. “I’m more interested in finding out what they are, and whether we can expect more of their kind.”

  “I hope not,” Buffy said, remembering their incredible strength. “They’re way too fit.”

  “I say, bring ’em on,” Xander announced loudly.

  Giles put a hand on Xander’s shoulder, attempting, Buffy thought, to lead the young man back to something resembling reality. “Xander,” Giles said, “I think in the future, it would be best if you hung back to the rear of the battle. For your own sake.”

  Xander wrinkled his forehead and spoke in a high-pitched voice. “But gee, Mr. White. If Clark and Lois get all the big stories, I’ll never be a good reporter.”

  “Hmm?” Giles asked, clearly not getting it.

  “Jimmy Olsen jokes are pretty much gonna be lost on you, huh?” Xander said.

  “Sorry,” Giles said.

  “It’s okay.”

  They left the cavern, leaving the three demon corpses that littered the ground, and went out into the night.

  CHAPTER 12

  The next day dawned crisp and clear. It was January. Less-than-super bowl games were over, but the Super-bowl loomed, and football fever had swept the school. Xander, hanging out on Sunnydale High’s quad, longed for the feel of the old pigskin in his hands.

  Not enough to have taken up Cordelia’s suggestion last year that he join the team or anything — those guys got hurt. He didn’t want to spend his senior year in a cast. But there was something about this season that made him want to feel the sting of it in his hands, watch a perfect pass spiraling from his arm. That old Y chromosome, acting up.

  And there were some guys tossing a ball around the quad. He could hear the smack of the ball against flesh as they caught it.

  “Hey! Doug,” he called. “Toss me one!” Xander bounced up and down, plaid shirttails flapping where they dangled out from beneath his bright red sweatshirt.

  Doug, a stocky guy in a letter jacket, was actually on the team. He shot Xander a look and then threw the ball to Les.

  “Les, man!” Xander shouted. “I’m open!”

  Les tossed it back to Doug.

  And now there were cheerleaders watching.

  This is going to get embarrassing, Xander realized, if no one throws me the ball.

  “Buddy!” he called, unable to prevent a note of desperation from creeping into his voice. “Doug, right here, man! Right here! Doug, please!”

  Doug relented, threw a high pass his way.

  “All right,” Xander said, running to snag the ball. “It’s all me —”

  But it wasn’t.

  The ball bounced off his fingertips, and landed in the lap of a student named Jack O’Toole. Well, Xander corrected himself, not his lap, exactly. More like, his lunch, knocking over a can of soda and squishing a sandwich.

  And “student” wasn’t even really the word to be used in reference to O’Toole, since it carried that connotation of studying, which was something Jack seemed to make every effort not to do. He was a senior, and had been so for three years that Xander knew of. Never quite pulled together the grades to move on, but didn’t seem interested in doing the drop-out thing either.

  Maybe he was afraid that would leave him without an acceptable number of people to terrorize.

  Jack stood up from the remains of his lunch, football in hand. He was unshaven and old enough for it to make a differe
nce, with short, light brown hair. He wore a dark brown leather jacket over a plain white V-necked T-shirt. A medallion hung from a leather thong at his neck. From the glare he was getting, Xander knew he had just written his own name at the top of Jack O’Toole’s list. He tried to defuse things.

  “Boy, I am so sorry. Doug’s arm is kinda like spaghetti, we’re all so very sad for him. Is your lunch okay?”

  “What are you,” Jack asked, “retarded?”

  “No,” Xander said, stammering a little. “I had to take that test when I was seven, a little slow in some stuff, mostly math and spatial relations, but certainly not ‘challenged’ or anything. Can I get you another soda?”

  “I ought to cut your face open,” Jack hissed. If he’s doing Clint Eastwood in Dirty Harry, Xander thought, he’s got it down.

  “Hey, hey, whoa,” Xander said. “It was an accident. Cool down.”

  Jack looked him over with an expression somewhere between amusement and menace. “You wanna be starting something?” he asked.

  “What? Starting something? Like that Michael Jackson song, that was a lot of fun . . .” He did a little dance step as he sang. “‘Too high to get over — yeah yeah.’ Remember . . . that fun song . . .”

  Jack didn’t seem impressed. “I get my buddies together, we’re gonna kick your ass till it’s a brand new shape.” He pushed the ball into Xander’s hands. “Now get outta here.”

  Xander got.

  As he headed back toward the quad, Doug called to him. “Yo, man! The ball!”

  Xander tossed it back to him, all interest in football gone for now. Cordelia was standing in front of him, having seen the whole exchange. Great, he thought. It’s always better to have your lowest moments observed by your ex.

  “Boy, of all the humiliations you’ve had that I’ve been witness to,” Cordelia said, “that was the latest.”

  “I could’ve taken him,” Xander insisted.

  “Oh, please. O’Toole would macrame your face. He’s a psycho. Which,” she added, “is still a lot cooler than being a wuss.”