“I was going to suggest research,” Giles said dryly.
Heading for the door, Buffy said, “No, I’m late. I told my mom I’d pick him up.”
Xander couldn’t believe this. “Buffy, where are your priorities? Tracking down a mummifying killer or making time for some Latin lover whose stock in trade is the breakage of hearts?”
“Ampata is there alone,” Buffy said angrily, “and I don’t know how good his English is. He’s—” suddenly she got a light-bulb-over-the-head look, “from South America. Y’know, maybe he could translate the seal.”
Shaking his head, Xander said, “Oh, yeah. Fall for the old let-me-translate-that-ancient-seal-for-you come on. You know how many times I’ve used that?”
Buffy just glowered at him.
“All right,” Xander said, holding his hands up and moving toward the door to join her, “but we’re going with you.”
Willow blinked. “We are?”
“Fine, whatever, let’s go,” Buffy said.
Ampata Gutierrez was excited. At last, he had come to America. For years, he had dreamed of this. In sixteen years of life, he had never left Peru. But he had read about other places: Paris, London, New York. Since he was a small boy, he wanted to travel—to see the Eiffel Tower, to explore Buckingham Palace, to climb to the top of the Empire State Building. He wanted to see the entire world.
If he was honest with himself, he would admit that he was, so far, disappointed. Sunnydale, California, had little by way of great sights. Just a lot of small houses that all looked alike. Even Los Angeles, what little of it he saw from the airplane, did not impress him overmuch.
But he refused to let it get him down. He was in America. It was a start. And he was going to make the most of it.
Of course, he could only make the most of it if the girl who was housing him actually turned up. He’d been waiting for half an hour.
“Ampata,” a voice whispered.
Aha, he thought. That must be her. But why is she whispering?
He looked around, but saw no one, aside from the two unshaven men who hadn’t moved from the wall they were leaning against since Ampata’s arrival.
“Ampata,” the voice whispered again. Does the girl have laryngitis? Ampata wondered.
This time, though, he had been able to place the voice. He walked around one of the many parked buses to try and locate her.
The buses cast long shadows in the poorly lit depot, so at first Ampata could not make out the figure he saw standing by the bus. He ventured a “Hello?”
Then she stepped into the light.
It was the most hideous creature Ampata had ever seen. It seemed to be vaguely girl-shaped, but horribly wrinkled. It looked like those pictures of lepers Ampata had seen in one of his mother’s books.
He started to scream, but the thing grabbed him by the throat, cutting off his breath.
Then that awful face loomed closer and kissed him.
As Ampata Gutierrez felt the life drain from his body, his final thought was, Now I’ll never see Paris.
CHAPTER 3
Xander never liked the Sunnydale bus depot. This was not odd in any way. Though he’d never taken a poll or anything, he’d certainly never heard a good word about the place. It was dank, badly lit, decorated with furniture and equipment that was state of the art when they put it in in 1953, and had floors that were cleaned once a decade whether they needed it or not.
According to Buffy, Ampata was flying into LAX in Los Angeles, then bussing it here. Helluva way to introduce someone to this country, Xander thought. The world’s ugliest airport followed by the world dreariest bus station.
“Forty minutes late,” Buffy muttered. “Welcome to America.”
“What if he left already?” Willow asked as they went outside, not seeing him on any of the steel-and-vinyl benches inside.
Buffy didn’t answer Will’s question, but instead called out, “Ampata! Ampata Gutierrez!”
They started navigating the parked buses, hoping to see a lost-looking Peruvian. “So,” Xander asked, “do we have to speak Spanish when we see him? ’Cause I don’t know anything much besides ‘Doritos’ and ‘chihuahua.’ ”
“Ampata!” Buffy called out again.
“Here,” said a small voice.
A small, very female-sounding voice.
Xander looked in the direction of the voice to see, of all things, a girl.
A very beautiful girl. She had lustrous black hair that cascaded down her shoulders like a waterfall. Her almond-colored skin was flawless, and her eyes—
Actually, Xander couldn’t see her eyes in this light. But he was quite sure that they were wonderful.
“Hello,” she said. “I am Ampata.”
“Ay, caramba,” he muttered, then added: “I can also say that.”
“I’m sorry I’m late,” Buffy said apologetically. “I’m Buffy Summers.” Buffy reached out to shake her hand.
Ampata blinked for a second, then returned the handshake. “I am very pleased to see you.”
“Yeah, I know, I’m really sorry for the late thing, but we lost track of time. Oh, uh, these are my friends, Xander Harris and Willow Rosenberg.”
Slowly, worried that she might not have very much English, Xander said, “Welcome to our country.”
She smiled. She had the most wonderful smile in the world. “Thank you.”
“We should get going,” Willow said. “After it gets dark, this place stops being a No Big Creepy Weirdos Zone.”
After arranging to have Ampata’s trunks sent to the Summers house, they piled back into Xander’s mother’s car, Xander carrying her suitcase to the car himself. The drive was fairly quiet. Ampata seemed enraptured by the houses. Xander wondered as he drove what kind of buildings they had in Peru. They don’t all live in huts still, do they? He made a mental note to ask Giles the next day.
Buffy gave Ampata the nickel tour of the house upon arrival, ending with the kitchen.
“It is very good,” she said when Buffy brought her in. She had said that at every room, in fact.
“Yeah.” That was what Buffy had said at every room, also. “You got your stove, your fridge—it’s fully functional, we’re very into it.”
“Would you like a drink?” Xander asked, once again being sure to enunciate.
“Let’s see,” Buffy said, peering into the fridge, “we’ve got milk, and . . . older milk. Juice?”
“Please,” Ampata said, sitting at the kitchen counter. Xander sat on the stool next to her.
“So,” Willow said, “Ampata. You’re a girl.”
She gave that amazing smile again as she replied, “Yes, for many years now.”
“And not a boy,” Willow added. “ ’Cause we thought a boy was coming, and there you are in a girl way.”
Xander wondered how this was relevant. “Just one of those crazy mix-ups, Will.”
Buffy handed Ampata a glass of apple juice and asked, “So, have you been to America before?”
“I have—toured.”
Again enunciating to make sure she understood, Xander asked, “Where did you go?”
“I was taken to Atlanta, Boston, New York . . .”
Willow brightened. “New York? That’s exciting. What was that like?”
Xander smiled to himself. Will had always wanted to visit New York.
“I did not see so much,” Ampata said, and Willow noticeably deflated.
“Your English is very bueno,” Xander said.
Again Ampata smiled. “I listen much.”
“Well, that works out well, ’cause I talk much.”
Both Xander and Ampata laughed at that.
Buffy sat in her bedroom, having moved a cot in for Ampata. It had practically taken an act of God to get Xander to finally leave, but Willow eventually managed to drag him out, with a significant push from Mom, who made it clear that she was exhausted and wanted to sleep.
Mom, however, wasn’t too exhausted to make up the extra bed, and al
so to suggest that Ampata share Buffy’s room, since she was a girl rather than the expected boy who was going to sleep in the living room.
Buffy wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Her Slaying was going to be screwed enough just having Ampata around generally. Putting her in the same room was going to cut it off all together. As well as Angel’s visits to her window late at night . . .
Oh well. No one said life was fair. If it was, I wouldn’t worry about how a houseguest is interfering with my going out and staking vampires in the first place.
“Sorry about the teeniness of the room,” Buffy said. The second bed reduced the floor space to almost nothing.
“My old one was much smaller,” Ampata said.
“What’s it like, back home?”
“Cramped. And very dead.”
Buffy smiled. “Well, you’ll feel right at home in Sunnydale.”
“Oh, no, but you have so much here.”
This surprised Buffy. Ampata had been fairly reserved, and given seriously short answers to everything. Buffy assumed at first that it was a language thing, though her English was just fine.
But suddenly she was very emphatic about how much they had in Sunnydale.
The only thing we have “so much” of is ickiness.
Ampata had walked over to the desk where a picture of Buffy, Willow, and Xander that Willow’s mother had taken last year sat in a wooden frame.
Buffy asked, “How about friends?”
“They are—” Ampata hesitated.
Struggling for the right words in English, or is it something else? Buffy wondered, then chastised herself. You’re too suspicious. Not everything is a crazed demon out to wipe out the human race. It’s just a kid from another country.
“It’s just me,” Ampata finally said.
Just a lonely kid from another country. Buffy knew the emotion behind Ampata’s words. She remembered the other students at Hemery High after the gymnasium burned down and she was expelled. The same kids who had been her closest friends wouldn’t speak to her, some crossing the street to avoid her.
“I’ve been there,” Buffy said with feeling. “But hey, you’ll meet lots of people tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” Ampata said, climbing into the spare bed. “You must teach me everything about your life. I want to fit in, Buffy. Just like you. A normal life.”
Girl, you have no idea what you’re asking. But aloud, she just said, “One normal life, coming up.”
CHAPTER 4
Oz wasn’t exactly upset. This was because Oz didn’t get upset. Getting upset usually required more energy than Oz was willing to expend. But if he had been willing to expend that energy, he would’ve done so on Devon right now.
Here they were, loading their band equipment into Oz’s van to take to the Bronze for tonight’s World Culture Dance, and their lead singer was busy talking to his girlfriend.
Of course, had Oz actually been upset, it probably would’ve been more due to the fact that Oz didn’t have a girlfriend of his own to be distracted by. It’s not like Devon ever carried the heavy stuff anyhow. And it was hard to ignore Cordelia Chase when she wanted to talk to you. Kinda like trying to ignore a tornado, if a tornado wore mascara and pumps.
Still, playing the World Culture Dance at the Bronze was a major coup for Dingoes Ate My Baby, and Oz thought Devon should carry his own weight. Or, at least, some of the equipment.
“Devon,” Cordelia was saying, “I told you I’d be at the dance tonight, but I’m not one of your little groupies. I won’t be all doe-eyed, looking up at you, standing at the edge of the stage.”
“Got it,” Devon said.
“So, I’ll see you afterward?”
“Sure. Where do you want to meet?”
“I’ll be standing at the edge of the stage.”
Oz considered laughing, then decided that it would be cruel.
Devon, who naturally missed the irony entirely, pointed at a blond-haired giant who stood by the staircase like a Swedish Lurch. “With that guy?”
Cordelia turned to the Thor wannabe. “Sven, momento. Needa.” Then she turned back to Devon. “This whole student exchange thing has been a horrible nightmare. They don’t even speak American!” She kissed Devon on the cheek. “So, I’ll see you later. ’Bye!” Then she turned once again to Nordic Man and spoke as if to a dog. “Sven. Come.”
Sven followed Cordelia off to wherever. Devon walked over to Oz.
“Oz, man, what do you think?”
“Of what?”
“Cordelia, man.”
Oz considered several responses, rejected most of them as being nonconducive to keeping a perfectly good lead singer, and opted for: “She’s a wonderland tour.”
“You gotta admit, the girl is hot.”
“Yeah, a hot girl,” Oz deadpanned.
“Let me guess, not your type?” Devon smiled. “What does a girl have to do to impress you?”
Since a straight answer would go right over Devon’s head, Oz replied, “Well, it involves a feather boa and the theme from A Summer Place. I can’t discuss it here.”
Devon shook his head. “You’re too picky, man. You know how many girls you could have? You’re lead guitar, Oz, that’s currency.”
“I’m not picky. You’re just impressed by any pretty girl that can walk and talk.”
Devon innocently said, “She doesn’t have to talk.”
Oz gave up.
Willow had met up with Xander in the morning, as she often did, and they started talking about that evening’s dance.
On several occasions, Willow considered bringing up the subject of the two of them going together, just to see his reaction. But she didn’t. Xander hadn’t realized that she’d heard every word he’d said to Buffy yesterday, and Willow had decided, reluctantly, that it was probably better that way.
“I worked really hard on my costume,” she said instead. “It’s pretty cool.”
“Okay, but what about me? I gotta think.”
Typical, Willow thought. Xander had left his costume until the last minute. If they ever start a Procrastinator’s Club on campus, Xander would be the first in line to not get around to joining it.
“It’s a celebration of cultures,” she said. “There are lots of dress-up alternatives.”
“And a corresponding equal number of mocking alternatives, all aimed at me.”
Willow considered. She got a mental image of Xander in a ruffled shirt, one of those hats with feathers, and lederhosen. She liked the image a lot, particularly his legs in the lederhosen. “Bavarians are cool.”
“Okay, no shirts with ruffles,” Xander said emphatically, “no hats with feathers, and definitely no lederhosen. They make my calves look fat.”
Willow sighed. “Why are you suddenly so worried about looking like an idiot?” She cast her mind back over what she just said. “That came out wrong.”
But Xander wasn’t even listening. Instead, he was staring. Willow followed his gaze to see what he was staring at, even though she already knew in her gut what it was.
As expected, Ampata and Buffy had just come into sight. Normally, Willow would expect Xander to be mooning after Buffy, but now he only seemed to have eyes for Ampata. It had almost been embarrassing watching him fawn all over her last night.
Again, Willow sighed.
“Your first day of school,” Buffy said with a smile. “Nervous?”
Ampata looked overwhelmed. “It is just more people than I have seen in a long time.”
“Ah, don’t worry. You’ll have no problems making friends. As a matter of fact, I know someone who’s dying to meet you.”
She caught sight of Xander and Willow, and they paused to say hi to each other. Xander barely noticed Buffy, focusing instead on Ampata. The Slayer didn’t know whether to be relieved or insulted.
Xander also barely noticed Willow, who stood to the side with her sad face on.
Buffy asked Will a question about the Chem homework to distract her, and it
seemed to work. As Xander and Ampata talked about how she slept the previous night, Buffy pretended to be fascinated with the details of carbon atoms.
They went to homeroom, which was crowded with half a dozen foreign extras, then onward and downward to their first couple of classes. Ampata took everything in with an almost-zealous fascination. The teachers all seemed to take a shine to her, as well.
Buffy, Willow, and Xander all had the same free period, which traditionally meant going to the library to check in with Giles. Buffy explained to Ampata that they were on their way to the man who was dying to meet her. Ampata got another one of her strange looks at that.
When they arrived, the Watcher was, conveniently, standing over the largest unbroken piece of the seal. “Ampata,” Buffy said, “this is our school librarian, Mr. Giles.”
“Hello,” Ampata said.
“How do you do?” Giles said, shaking her hand. Then he held out the seal. “I was wondering if you could translate this?”
Buffy blinked. “That was in no way awkward,” she said sarcastically.
Ampata, however, did take a look at the seal, and got another weird look on her face. But it wasn’t the embarrassment or confusion Buffy would have expected from Giles’s severe lack of tact. “Something wrong?” Buffy asked.
Shaking her head, Ampata said, “No, it is—why are you asking me?”
“Well, it’s an artifact,” Giles said, “from your region. It’s from the tomb of an Incan mummy, actually. We’re trying to translate it as a project for our . . .” The librarian trailed off.
“Archaeology club,” Willow said quickly.
“Very good,” Giles muttered. Obviously he hadn’t thought his spiel through.
“It is broken,” Ampata said. “Where are the other pieces?”
“This is the only one we found,” Buffy said. Not entirely true, but the other fragments were too small to be especially useful.
“It is very old. Valuable.” She thought for a moment, then: “You should hide it.”
“Is there anything you recognize here?” Giles asked, pointing at one of the figures. “This chappie with the knife?”
“Well, I do not know exactly, but I think this represents—I believe the word is, bodyguard?”
THE XANDER YEARS, Vol. 1 Page 8
