by Mel Odom
Oz pulled his van to a stop by the curb in front of Willow’s house, got out, and came around to let her out. He held her hand as he walked her toward the door.
“So how was the concert?” Willow asked. In the van ride from the diner, they’d talked only a little, listening to one of the homegrown CDs of Dingoes Ate My Baby and pretending it was the end of a pleasant date instead of the beginning of something new and nefarious.
“Good,” Oz replied. “The band found the groove tonight. The audience seemed to appreciate it.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”
Oz shrugged and gave her a small smile. “You were helping a friend, Will. No foul. I wouldn’t expect you to do anything else.”
Willow sat on her porch steps. She’d called home and let everyone know she was okay, just running late. The porch light wasn’t on and the front of the house was relatively bug-free, almost pleasant except for the chill in the air.
Oz sat beside her. “The vision thing was pretty intense, huh?”
“Yeah. I can’t get it out of my mind. It was so real.”
“But it wasn’t real,” Oz said gently, putting his arm around her. “Jia Li said her brother was down at the police station.”
“I know.” Willow fidgeted, remembering the vision vividly, the pick smashing through Lok’s head with a hollow whock! “But that doesn’t mean it won’t be true. You know, sometime later?”
“Could be something to look into,” Oz commented. “A favor for a friend.”
“I’m supposed to help Giles look for these new demons, though.”
Oz shrugged. “How many demons do you think there are with eyes in their hands?”
“Actually,” Willow replied, “there are more than you might think. Some of them only have eyes in their hands. But that’s only if they’ve bumped into other demons or found humans and taken the eyes away.” She glanced at him self-consciously. “Kind of gross for one-on-one talk, huh?”
Oz grinned. “I don’t think about demons with eyes in their hands.”
“I suppose it’s not something you should be expected to.”
“No. What I am saying, though, is that it wouldn’t hurt to invest a little time in Jia Li’s situation if you want. The demons will have Giles, Angel, and Buffy hunting them. There’s no way they’re going to escape that.”
“And Xander,” Willow added. “If this new mystery girl of his turns out to be connected to them.”
“Mystery Girl’s hunting them. Stands to reason she’s connected.”
Willow looked into Oz’s eyes. “Really kind of worried about Xander here. In a keenly platonic way, I mean.”
“I know.” Oz kissed her lightly on the lips. “I’m kind of worried about him, too. In a platonic kind of way.”
Willow smiled. “I’m glad to know that.” She posed. “See? This is relieved.”
“I’ll hang around a little with him.”
“He may not let you.”
Oz smiled. “I’ll bet looking for Mystery Girl involves wheels. Xander doesn’t have wheels. I do. Once he discovers that, bet I can’t chase him away with fur and fangs.”
“Good point.”
“But he can chip in some gas money.”
Willow was quiet for a moment, not knowing how her words were going to sound. “Xander really needs somebody, Oz. And he really deserves somebody. He’s a good guy.”
Oz nodded, agreeing. “We all need somebody, Will.”
“But he doesn’t need somebody demonic, you know? Somebody normal; that’s what he needs.”
“You didn’t exactly get someone normal.”
Willow smiled at him. “For all but three nights of the month, I did. And I’ll bet most people can’t make that claim.”
“Probably not.”
“I’m not normal either. I’m a witch.” Willow paused, then made her voice more sharp. “And that was spelled with a W.”
“It’s the only way I’d spell it,” Oz assured her.
Willow nestled against him, feeling safer than she had all night. She still had the images of the vision pasted on the backs of her eyelids every time she closed her eyes, but they seemed far away with him there holding her.
“Come on,” Oz said gently a few minutes later. She was almost asleep against his chest. “Time for you to turn into a pumpkin.”
“You’re talking to just the girl that can do that,” Willow said. “Of course, that’s only if a spell goes really terribly wrong.” She let Oz help her up, held him and kissed him briefly, then said goodnight and hoped for demon-free sleep.
Feeling totally zonked and just this side of cratering, Buffy made her way down the stairs in the Summers home. Even standing under the shower and turning the water as cold as she could possibly handle it hadn’t helped.
Finding her mom still at the house instead of at work at the art gallery also threw her off her stride. Joyce Summers stood in the living room watching television, dressed in business attire, obviously late going to her art gallery. The local channel was showing a special about the violence that had swept through Sunnydale the night before.
The Asian gang activity had been more extensive than Buffy had at first realized. As she stood on the stairs, wondering what her mother was still doing home, the Slayer watched as story after story aired on the screen. The robbery at the Alibi bar received only a brief mention, as did the drugstore where Giles had encountered the gang. Nearly a dozen other confrontations were covered, but the main story was still the attack at Peppy’s Miniature Golf where the mayor had been.
Joyce watched the stories in silence, and Buffy knew all kinds of thoughts had to be racing through her mom’s mind. Joyce knew about her daughter’s identity as the Chosen One, and had fought to relieve Buffy of the responsibility at first. Although she didn’t really accept it now, she at least acknowledged it.
From her mom’s sigh, Buffy knew she was in for the big lecture. Or, at the very least, a variant on the same. Quietly, she turned and started to head back up the stairs. Maybe she could just crawl out the bedroom window, make the second-story drop to the ground, and leave for school like she’d left much earlier.
Before she’d taken two steps, Joyce said, “Buffy, we need to talk.”
Why is it, Buffy wondered, that as the Slayer I can sneak up on demons and slay them without them ever knowing I was there, yet I can’t sneak out of a room without my mom knowing? Slayer powers never quite seem to match up against Mom powers. Steeling herself, she turned and went down the stairs.
“Hi, Mom,” Buffy tried brightly.
Joyce muted the television with the clicker she held and turned to her daughter. Worry showed in her eyes. “I didn’t hear you come in last night.”
“It was kind of late,” Buffy replied.
Joyce nodded at the television. “I understand that. But after I saw these stories on the news, I had to wonder if you were all right.”
Buffy smiled and held her arms out at her sides. She worked not to show the twinge of pain she got from her right shoulder. Even with her beefed-up constitution as the Slayer, she didn’t always completely heal overnight. “Yep, right as rain.” She pointed at the clock on the wall meaningfully. “And about to leave for school so I’m not late to any of my classes.”
“I checked in on you this morning.”
And why is it moms can sneak up on someone with Slayer powers? Buffy felt a little uncomfortable. Her mom knew more about her life than she assumed most moms knew about their daughters. She even knew about her relationship with Angel— all of it. And though they didn’t argue about it and her mom even kind of liked Angel, Buffy knew Joyce didn’t approve of the relationship. “I’m fine. Really.”
“There are a lot of people who aren’t fine this morning,” Joyce said. “The news is reporting that eighteen people died in the violence that broke out last night.”
And that’s not counting the demons and some of the people who live in Sunnydale without proper documentation, Buffy reali
zed.
“How bad is this going to be?” Joyce asked.
Buffy looked at her mom and saw some of the fear in her eyes. That uncertainty came from the knowledge she had of Buffy’s own calling. Honesty was the best thing that Buffy could give her. “I don’t know. This just started.”
“What does Rupert say?”
“He doesn’t know anything either,” Buffy replied.
“Gang activity doesn’t seem like something that should fall under the Slayer’s purview.”
“If it was normal gang activity,” Buffy agreed, “ probably not.” She glanced at the television and saw the footage being rerun of the police officer getting shot down by the gang member with green and white striped hair. “But not all of these guys are human.”
Joyce hesitated for a moment. “They’re vampires?”
Buffy shook her head. “Demons, mostly. When they’re not human.”
“What do they want?”
“We don’t know yet.” Me, for one thing, Buffy thought, but she definitely wasn’t going to mention that to her mom.
“Have you heard about Chengxian Zhiyong?”
Buffy thought for a moment. The name seemed to ring a bell, but she couldn’t place it. “No.”
“He’s a businessman from Hong Kong. A big player in the shipping business. He was also at the miniature golf course last night when the mayor was wounded.”
Buffy thought about that. “Kind of interesting that a new businessman from Hong Kong showed up in Sunnydale at about the same time a new Asian gang decides to hit the streets.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” Joyce agreed.
Looking at the television, Buffy asked, “Why haven’t the news people made a bigger deal out of that?”
“Because Zhiyong represents nearly two thousand new jobs opening up in Sunnydale,” Joyce answered. “And Mayor Wilkins is backing Zhiyong, which gives him a certain amount of clout with the media and other officials in town. They’re not going to go after him as long as he’s bringing new money into Sunnydale.”
Buffy glanced at the clock on the wall, realizing she was going to be cutting it close getting to school on time. She was going to miss her debrief time with Willow this morning. “You think Zhiyong is involved in this?” she asked her mom.
“I think it would be foolish to overlook the possibility,” Joyce stated. “What are the odds of a new Asian businessman coming to Sunnydale only a few days before the arrival of an Asian youth gang not somehow being related?”
“Only a few days?” Buffy asked.
“Three weeks.”
Buffy gave that consideration.
“I didn’t know if you knew about Zhiyong,” Joyce said.
“No,” Buffy replied. “We didn’t. Demons and big international business don’t usually go together. I mean, they haven’t before. That’s not usually the thing we’ve . . . been involved with.”
“Which is why I thought I’d bring it to your attention.”
“I’ll tell Giles when I get to school.” Buffy indicated the clock. “And if I’m going to make it on time, I’d better get moving.”
“I’m taking you this morning.” Joyce gathered her bag and a light jacket.
“You don’t have to do that,” Buffy said. “If I hurry, I can still make it okay.”
“I know. I just thought it would be nice if we got the chance to talk.”
In case it was the last time? Buffy knew that was what her mom had meant even though she hadn’t said it. As hard as it had been for Buffy to accept her role as the Slayer, she knew it had been even harder for her mother to accept it. Buffy remembered how she’d felt about her mother’s own recent illness. She hoped she’d never feel that helpless again, but her mother faced that every time she went out on patrol.
“Sure,” Buffy said, smiling. “Girl talk.”
“And breakfast,” Joyce said. “Provided the line isn’t wrapped around the building. I know you haven’t eaten.”
“If I’m late,” Buffy said, “Principal Snyder will—”
“Will be quite happy with the note I write him,” Joyce promised, “because it will mean he won’t be getting a phone call from me.”
Buffy grinned. “I see.”
Joyce switched the television off. “Also, I’ll need to make arrangements to get you out of school at lunch.”
“Lunch?”
“If we’re lucky,” Joyce said as she opened the door and headed out of the house.
Buffy reluctantly followed. Her eyes raked the yard and the surrounding neighborhood. There was no guarantee that the Asian gang they’d confronted last night didn’t operate in the daylight. And some of them were human, so they could definitely continue the hunt for one Buffy Summers. But would they try to take her at home or at school? Or was she really that important in whatever was going on?
Her mother’s SUV sat in the driveway. Joyce slid behind the wheel as Buffy occupied the passenger seat.
“I have an ulterior motive for getting you out of school at lunch,” Joyce said as she started the car.
An ulterior motive? Mom? Buffy looked at her mom as they backed out of the driveway onto the street. “You’ve been watching old police movies again, haven’t you?”
Her mom focused on her driving. “Some nights I don’t sleep very well.”
Because I’m out on patrol? Buffy wondered. Or because I’m with Angel? She decided she really didn’t want to go there with the conversation and refrained from speaking.
“My ulterior motive revolves around Chengxian Zhiyong,” Joyce said. “He’s something of an art collector.”
“He’s been to your art gallery,” Buffy said, understanding.
“On more than one occasion.”
“So what do you know about him?”
“Personally? Nothing. I can tell you his price range, which is nothing short of extravagant, and his taste, which is definitely traditionalist with no room for avant garde.”
“So why lunch?”
“Because that’s when I’m accepting a shipment for him at the Sunnydale docks.”
“What’s the shipment?” Buffy asked.
“A statue.”
Buffy considered that. “If Zhiyong owns a shipping company, why doesn’t he just ship it himself?”
“Because it’s a registered piece of art,” Joyce answered. “There is a lot of red tape involved in those shipments. Proof of ownership, that sort of thing. It’s just made easier shipping it through a gallery. Once I get the statue in, he’s going to take delivery of it from me.”
“O—kay,” Buffy replied, still not understanding what her mom was getting at.
“I thought if Zhiyong considered this piece so important and so valuable, it might be worth looking at. Don’t you?”
“And I can get a peek?”
“If you go with me for a lunch date,” Joyce said, “which happens to be approximately the time I’m supposed to sign for the delivery, I feel confident that could be arranged.”
Buffy grinned. “My, my, and aren’t you the sly planner?”
Joyce smiled. “Of course, this could be just a piece of art. But if Zhiyong is involved somehow in what the Asian gang is doing in Sunnydale, I thought it might be worth your while to get a look at it.”
“Definitely.” Then another thought struck Buffy. “But it might also be kinda dangerous.”
“I’ve thought about that, too.” Joyce looked at her daughter. “But there’s no way you can get close to that shipment without me. They have a lot of security down at the docks regarding art shipments. The people down there know me.”
“Which is probably why Zhiyong hired you.”
Joyce nodded. “That, and I had access to a couple of Han dynasty pieces that Zhiyong wanted me to acquire for him. I did, and he also asked me to negotiate today’s shipment for him.”
Buffy’s mind whirled as she thought. After discovering the gang members from last night had her picture and probably knew who she was, the statue mig
ht actually be part of an elaborate trap. However, since an attack hadn’t been made on the Summers household, maybe the gang members had been told to be on the lookout for the Slayer instead of hunting her down. But they really hadn’t hesitated about trying to kill her, either.
“So,” her mom prompted in a casual voice that sounded only a little strained, “want to do lunch?”
“Sure,” Buffy said, only sounding a little strained herself, “lunch sounds great.”
“Where can I find something like this?” Xander held the yin/yang necklace in his palm as he showed it. The silver backing was nearly two inches across, not perfectly round but the intention to be perfectly round was there. Carved white and blue stones made up the two inlaid halves.
Teresa Lawton gazed at him in the high school hallway like he was something she’d accidentally found stuck under a cafeteria table. It was the kind of look she gave everyone who didn’t travel in her circle. She was brunette and pretty, dressed in a fuchsia minidress. “You expect me to know?”
Xander looked at her. “Look, Teresa, you’re one of the fashion mavens here at Sunnydale High.”
“Oooh,” the girl said, arching a brow and putting a hand on one slender hip, “now there’s an unexpected compliment. Of course, considering the source, I’m not going to swoon in delirium.”
“Terrific.” Xander was getting tired of the insults. Since he’d been at school that day, inquiring about the necklace he’d found, humor at his expense seemed to be the flavor of the day.
“I mean, look at this.” Teresa did a short runway platform hip-swivel toss that drew the attention of every girl in the hallway and set guys’ hearts into overdrive.
“That—” Xander observed, swallowing hard, “—that should be against the law.”
“A dweeb with cute talk,” Teresa exclaimed. “Who knew? However, the hip-sashay wasn’t what I wanted you to notice.”
Right, Xander thought, but he didn’t say anything.
“This,” Teresa said, running a hand down the tight lines of the dress, “is fashion. Strappy poly-spandex. Shirred bodice, center front. A sheer handkerchief hem. An eye-catcher if I do say so myself.” She paused, glancing at the necklace. “What you’re holding in your hand, Xander Harris, is junk.”
