Bad Bargain

by Diana G. Gallagher

  Buffy’s eyes widened slightly when she realized that the gleaming white enamel on Cordelia’s teeth was marred by decay.

  Then she noticed that Cordelia’s hair was beginning to frizz!

  Two imperatives vied for priority in Buffy’s mind: Alert Giles that something was definitely wrong, and make sure Willow and Xander were okay. She had no idea if the maladies were mystical or medical, but since they didn’t seem to be affecting everyone, she chose friends first.

  Sitting with a blue scarf heaped in her lap, Willow looked content and undamaged. Her auburn hair fell straight and limp to her shoulders, but it wasn’t dull or frizzy. When she smiled, her teeth gleamed white.

  “Hey, Willow. Looks like you finally got all those shirts stacked.”

  “Yeah, I did.” Willow glanced back at the neat piles. “Your skirt’s still here.”

  Buffy had forgotten about the leather skirt.

  “But Xander can’t find a hunting vest he stashed,” Willow added. “He thought I took it, but I didn’t.”

  “I did,” Buffy confessed. “But I’m going to give it back—as soon as he admits that guys are just as eager to take advantage of a bargain as girls.”

  “Good one,” Willow said with an impish grin. “I approve.”

  “Yeah, but it’s not all that important right now,” Buffy said. “Our no-weirdness weekend may be a total washout. I’m not sure what’s happening, but some serious sleuthing is in order. I’ll get Xander and we’ll meet you in the library.”

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  With gratitude and affection for

  Mary Piccin,

  sister, friend, and critter charmer

  Chapter One

  “Are the boxes still in the car?” Buffy looked past her mother toward the driveway.

  “Was I supposed to get takeout?” Joyce Summers walked into the house and kicked off her shoes. “Sorry, Buffy, but I spent all day unpacking canvasses for the Joel Shavin show next week, and—”

  “Not worried about dinner, Mom.” Buffy closed the front door and turned with an accusing stare. “Worried about donations—”

  Joyce set her shoes on the stairs then straightened suddenly. “For the school rummage sale.”

  “Right!” Buffy forced a bright smile. The students at Sunnydale High were raising money to send the marching band to the California state competition. If the band did well, Principal Snyder had promised to hold another fund-raiser next year to pay for new uniforms. Her mother’s well-to-do gallery customers had agreed to contribute collectibles and other items of value. “Did your clients forget?”

  “No, everyone brought everything in, just as they promised.” Joyce smiled weakly. “I forgot to bring it all home.”

  “But we’re setting up tonight.” Buffy tried not to look anxious.

  Buffy’s mom was paying closer attention to Buffy’s comings and goings lately, and the scrutiny was wrecking her Slayer and social lives. If her mother caught her going out or Angel coming in her bedroom window, she’d be grounded until she graduated. Giving up her gorgeous, good-guy vampire boyfriend was not part of the new and improved, more responsible Buffy package. Tonight, however, she had a good excuse for leaving the house, and she didn’t want to waste it.

  “I’m sure Ms. Calendar won’t mind if I bring the boxes in tomorrow morning,” Joyce countered.

  “Probably not, but I still have to go help tonight. It’s extra credit,” Buffy quickly added.

  “Extra credit for what?” Joyce asked as she headed toward the kitchen

  “For doing our civic duty.” Flashing another smile, Buffy waited. She really had volunteered to unpack, price, and arrange sale items in the cafeteria. “It’ll look great on my transcript when I apply for college.”

  Joyce stopped suddenly and looked back. “When did you start worrying about getting into college? Not that I’m complaining.”

  “It can’t hurt to think ahead, right? Covering all my bases just in case—before it’s too late to rack up those extracurricular points.”

  Joyce stared at her, obviously skeptical and not buying the academic-ambitions ruse. She sighed as she continued down the hall. “If only . . .”

  “Okay, all my friends will be there.” Realizing she had overplayed her hand, Buffy tried a modified version of the truth. Willow and Xander were all her friends. Giles and Angel had their own individual categories: Watcher and vampire boyfriend.

  “What about dinner?” Joyce filled the teakettle with water and set it on the stove.

  “Had a sandwich, not hungry.”

  Joyce relented with a hopeful smile. “All right, go. But try not to be too late.”

  Buffy promised as she bolted out the back door.

  Always vigilant, Buffy was tuned to every movement and sound on the street. Sunnydale swarmed with evils that preyed on the innocent and wouldn’t run from a fight with the Vampire Slayer. Staying alert and primed to react wasn’t a strain. It had become second nature.

  The typical teenage aspects of her life were much more complicated, mostly because her mother didn’t know she had been empowered by mysterious forces to kill vampires and other monster meanies. Mostly she saved the world—or at the very least a hapless victim—almost every week, sometimes more often. She had died once, but only for a couple of minutes, and Xander had brought her back. All things considered, sneaking out, neglecting her schoolwork, and spacing on her chores only seemed irresponsible.

  Buffy broke into an effortless jog, eager to get to the school. She wasn’t particularly rah-rah for the marching band, but the rummage sale reminded her of similar events at Hemery High, when she was just a popular cheerleader without a destiny or a rap sheet. She wanted to spend one lousy weekend pretending to be normal.

  * * *

  Xander scanned the rows of tables lined up end-to-end in the cafeteria. Taped to each table was a neatly printed sign designating a sale category: clothes, household, hardware and tools, auto, furniture, knickknacks, books, and miscellaneous junk. Cheerleaders, football players, and the marching band were pricing and arranging merchandise the students had collected over the past two weeks. Extra credit hounds and goof-offs looking to skip Friday classes had also volunteered.

  Jenny Calendar—computer teacher, practicing pagan, and faculty adviser—supervised the setup from the checkout table by the door. Collectibles, quality jewelry, antiques, and other expensive donations were on the next tables over. Cordelia Chase was in charge of the pricey display. Harmony Kendall, the ditzy blonde of the Sunnydale in-crowd, hovered nearby, basking in Cordelia’s aristocratic aura.

  Xander was also checking out Cordelia and her luscious lips. His sly smile froze as he cast a guilty glance at Willow. She would never forgive his clandestine make-out affair with Cordelia, who had taunted them with caustic put-downs since kindergarten. Not noticing his wandering eye, Willow continued to expound on the inevitability of global decline, the topic of her civics essay, while she scribbled $3.00 on a strip of stickers. Xander looked at her blankly.

  “What?” Willow blinked. “Dead dinosaurs aren’t a renewable energy source, Xander. One of these days the whole world will be running on empty.”

  “But not today.” Xander handed her a folded muscle shirt and scanned the room again. There was no sign of Buffy. With anyon
e else, parental interference was the logical explanation for a no-show. But Buffy had probably been attacked and detained by a demon. Sunnydale vampires and other dreaded beasties had no respect for her non-Slayer obligations.

  Or her mysterious surge of school spirit, Xander thought. He didn’t know why Buffy wanted Willow and him to participate in the rummage sale, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t to sell junk and hand-me-downs to bargain hunters. Whatever the reason, he’d find out when she arrived.

  Devon MacLeish and Daniel “Oz” Osbourne, members of the local band Dingoes Ate My Baby, were sorting CDs and old vinyl albums. They had plugged in a 1970s stereo turntable someone had donated, and a scratchy recording of The Wall by Pink Floyd was playing.

  Jonathan Levinson and Andrew Wells had staked out toys and comics. Xander had never had a complete conversation with either of the shy, practically invisible boys, even though he had gone through grade school and junior high with them. Their odd looks and personality quirks would have fueled relentless ridicule if anyone popular knew they existed. Noting their furtive looks, Xander assumed they were stashing action figures and other media items for themselves. They were hard-core science-fiction collectors, but Ms. Calendar was enforcing Principal Snyder’s latest law: No one could buy anything until the sale opened at noon tomorrow.

  Xander wasn’t remotely tempted to break that rule. All the men’s shirts were priced at an affordable three bucks, but he hadn’t come across anything in khaki or camouflage. The persistent preference for all things military was an after effect of being transformed into a soldier on Halloween. He pulled a wrinkled, cotton button-down from the cardboard box, folded it, and held it out.

  “Too bad we can’t just use magick.” Willow slapped a price sticker on the shirt and dropped it on the appropriate stack. “But there’s probably all kinds of hidden moral implications.”

  “For what?” Xander’s attention snapped back to Willow.

  “Using magick to ensure world peace or cure all the sick people. Would that be so wrong?” Willow’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. “Think of it! No more commercials begging for money to feed starving millions! No more depressing educational TV programs.”

  “Programs that we don’t have to watch if we don’t want to,” Xander said, folding another shirt. “Besides, we could have all that without using magick. It’s called science.”

  “Oh, yeah, that.” Willow peeled off another sticker.

  “Put enough money and power behind anything, and it’ll get done,” Xander added. “That’s how we got to the moon.”

  “Then it’s too bad we don’t just do it.”

  “Yeah,” Xander agreed, “but the people with the power and money don’t have any problems they can’t solve.”

  The last item in the box was a silky, iridescent green. Xander held up the cloth and stretched it out. “Why would someone donate glow-in-the-dark boxer shorts?”

  “Good choice, Xander.” Cordelia paused in the aisle behind him. “Only a loser would wear those.”

  “I wasn’t going to buy them,” Xander shot back, flustered. Cordelia held him with a dark-eyed stare, daring him to spill their tawdry secret. She knew he wouldn’t. The instant their relationship came out of the utility closet, it would be over.

  “Why not? No one but you would ever see them.” Smiling smugly, Cordelia lifted the shoe box in her hand. “Got any jewelry or interesting trinkets?”

  “Sorry.” Willow shrugged. “Just shirts and shorts.”

  Xander tried to look annoyed as Cordelia sauntered away. He didn’t expect life to be fair, but sometimes he wished it wasn’t so weird.

  “How much are we charging for shorts?” Willow asked.

  “Three dollars.” Xander handed her the green boxers and picked up the empty box. “If you’re tired of sorting clothes, I can look for something more interesting.”

  “No, clothes are good.” Willow dangled a long strip of stickers. “I’ve got all these three-dollar price tags.”

  “They won’t go to waste. Every dad in town donated classic shirts nobody else wants either.” Xander took a couple of steps, then looked back. “Should we be worried about Buffy? Because she’s late, I mean.”

  “If she was late to slay or late for a date, I’d worry,” Willow said, “but she’s just late for school.”

  Xander frowned. “Except she wanted this extracurricular gig and talked us into it.”

  “It’s still school.” Setting the marker and stickers aside, Willow began to sort the shirts by size.

  Xander hurried outside the cafeteria and down the corridor. The access doors to the basement were usually locked, but since the rummage sale donations were stored there, the door by the cafeteria was propped open. At the bottom of the stairs, Xander started to heave the cardboard box into a corner with the other empties. Then he noticed a short, thin high school boy pawing through boxes that hadn’t been unpacked yet.

  Although most of the sale items had been moved upstairs, several boxes were still stacked along the wall or piled on tables. The floor was littered with clothes and books the boy had dumped during his frantic search.

  “Looking for something?” Xander asked tensely.

  The teenager spun to face him, poised to bolt at the slightest provocation.

  Xander relaxed the instant he recognized the culprit: Michael Czajak, another miserable misfit.

  A quiet kid with slicked-back hair and tormented eyes, Michael rarely talked to anyone. At the beginning of the school year, he had started wearing black T-shirts—no logo—and jeans. It was hard to tell if he was trying to hide any trace of personality or displaying his true dark colors. The boy was so introverted and strange that he made Jonathan and Andrew look like hunks with an acceptable modicum of cool. “Spooky” was the first word that came to mind as Xander stared him down.

  “The sale doesn’t start until tomorrow, Michael.”

  “My mom, she—” Michael paused, clearing his throat. “She cleaned my room—”

  “Don’t tell me. She donated one of your prized possessions to the rummage sale,” Xander guessed.

  Michael nodded.

  Xander felt sorry for him. Having personal space invaded by a neat freak, suspicious, or just plain curious mom was every teenager’s nightmare. Something usually turned up missing, beginning with privacy and almost always including treasured or forbidden possessions. His parents didn’t care what deep dark secrets he kept from them, but he played it safe and never wrote anything down.

  “A journal? Videos?” Xander guessed.

  “A medallion,” Michael said.

  After several silent seconds, Xander realized that Michael wouldn’t elaborate without prodding. “Can you describe it? So I’ll know it if I see it.”

  “It’s a sunburst, gold with red and green stones on a gold chain.”

  Xander frowned. “You might have to check with Cordelia. She’s the boss of the good stuff.”

  Michael looked stricken at the mention of Cordelia’s name. That wasn’t an uncommon reaction among those who preferred being ignored to being a victim of Cordelia’s verbal barbs.

  “But Cordelia doesn’t wear anything fake,” Xander added. “So if it’s just cheap costume jewelry—”

  “That’s what my mom thought.” Michael’s tone betrayed the hurt and contempt teenagers often felt for adults who didn’t understand them. “It’s priceless, but the amulet only protects me—”

  “From what?”

  Michael hesitated, then sighed, as though he had already said too much and had nothing more to lose. “Supernatural evils. Sunnydale is overrun with them.”

  “Does it work?” Xander blurted out. Everyone in the Slayer-know could use a heavy-duty protection charm, but Giles had never suggested making one. Since the Watcher wouldn’t want them harmed, he had assumed there was no magick powerful enough to protect them from the superthings Buffy had been chosen to fight.

  “I haven’t vanished or burst into flames,” Michael answ
ered. A defiant gleam shone in his dark eyes.

  The other boy’s defensive attitude reminded Xander that he had to mask his interest. The residents of Sunnydale rarely—if ever—spoke of the many disappearances, deaths, and other incidents of magickal mayhem that plagued the town. Only a privileged few knew that Buffy Summers was the Vampire Slayer, and they were sworn to keep her secret. Appearing to be as deaf and blind to the weirdness as everyone else was the surest way to do that.

  “Neither have I,” Xander retorted, flipping his hands palms up then over again. “Still here, no burns.”

  Taking the flippant remark as a put-down, Michael turned his back and resumed rummaging.

  Xander didn’t like slinging insults at tongue-tied nerds, but it had the desired effect. Tossing the empty box, he picked up another box of clothes and turned toward the stairs. He heard Michael muttering, but the boy’s back was to him and he couldn’t make out the words.

  Probably cursing me out for thinking he’s a fool. The funny thing was, whether the amulet was effective or not, Xander knew that Michael was smart to take precautions.

  “Looks like you’re working hard, Xander.” Ms. Calendar paused halfway down the stairs to look in his box. “More clothes.”

  “And even more clothes,” Xander said, glancing back.

  The computer teacher scanned the unpacked boxes. “I had no idea we had this much left to unpack.”

  “I just hope most of it sells so we don’t have to pack it all back up again,” Xander said.

  “That would be nice.” Ms. Calendar focused on Michael. “Let’s go, Mr. Czajak!”

  Michael’s head snapped around. “I—I have to find something.”

  “Sorry, Michael,” Ms. Calendar said, “but you know the rules. Nobody can buy anything until we open for business tomorrow.”

  “But my mom—”

  Ms. Calendar silenced him with a raised hand. “Grab a box and take it upstairs.”

  Michael lifted a box.

  Xander caught his eye, but he didn’t correct Ms. Calendar’s mistaken assumption that Michael was a volunteer. He didn’t care if Michael pretended to work while he looked for his missing charm.