The Xander Years, Vol.2

by Jeff Mariotte

  HE CAME AROUND ONE OF THE TABLES AND SAW IT. A STEAMING PILE OF SOMETHING, CLOTHING AND SKIN AND GENERAL BLOODY ICKINESS. MOST OF IT WAS UNRECOGNIZABLE.

  Xander felt nauseated. He put a hand over his nose and mouth, both to block out the smell and to keep himself from getting sick. “Oh my God,” he said. “Oh God.”

  He had to get help. Buffy and the others are in the library, he thought. I could be there in less than a minute, if I leave right now. Especially if I run.

  Running was definitely in the plan.

  He turned to do just that, but then he didn’t.

  Because when he turned, he found himself face-to-face with a monster from his worst nightmares.

  Buffy the Vampire Slayer™

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  The Xander Years, Vol. 1

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidentsare products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblanceto actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirelyco-incidental.

  An Original Publication of POCKET BOOKS

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  ™ and copyright © 2000 by Twentieth Century Fox Film

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  ISBN: 0-7434-3124-3

  First Pocket Pulse printing April 2000

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  This one’s for Holly and Amanda, true Xander fans. And Dave, who’s partial to Herbert.

  Acknowledgments

  It takes a lot of people to write a book. I’d like to thank some of those who helped me with this one. First of all, my friend Chris Golden, who got the ball rolling. Maryelizabeth Hart and Nancy Holder, who held my hands all the way through. Christine, Tigger, Scott, and Denise, for moral support. Lisa Clancy and Micol Ostow, State Champions of the editorial world. Nicholas Brendon, for his perfect portrayal of Xander. And Joss Whedon, without whom . . .

  THE XANDER YEARS

  Vol. 2

  PROLOGUE

  There wasn’t much traffic — Sunnydale tended to be the kind of town that rolled up its sidewalks and went to bed early — but that didn’t mean there was none, and what there was, Xander found. He made a right onto Palm, and a bright red muscle car roared out of nowhere at him, headlights blinding. It swerved around him, jerked back into the lane directly in front of him, and then raced away with a growl and a blast of exhaust.

  It shook Xander, but he let it slide off him. Nothing was going to spoil his mood tonight. Besides, he knew he wasn’t in any mortal danger. Mostly, he realized, he didn’t want to have to deal with the questions the police would ask if there had been an accident. What are you doing out so late? Where are you going? Why doesn’t the name on the vehicle’s registration match the one on your driver’s license?

  A brief moment of panic, and then he remembered that yes, he was carrying his license. He always did — it was just the driving part that was rare.

  The name on the license was Alexander Lavelle Harris, but except for his mother when she was angry — and that stretch in fifth grade when he’d gone through his Alexander the Great phase — he was always called Xander. He had always lived right here in Sunnydale, always figured that he’d grow up and grow old hanging with Willow and Jesse and despising Cordelia, and that one day he’d die right here in Sunnydale.

  Okay, that day was looking like it might arrive sooner rather than later.

  But the key word here was “always.”

  Life had seemed pretty set, Xander thought. I knew who I was, where I’d be, what I’d do. When he tried to see himself in the future he saw basically the same thing he saw in the mirror, only maybe with shorter hair and a tie, or worse yet, one of those cardigan sweaters TV dads wore.

  All that was before Buffy Summers had come to Sunnydale.

  Blond and beautiful, as fit as you could hope for — Buffy was Xander’s ideal of feminine perfection. He’d been taken with her from the moment he’d seen her, and he stayed that way. Every time he saw her was like seeing her fresh again.

  He knew now that he’d never be “with” Buffy in the way that he wanted, but standing beside her — okay, a little behind, and maybe off to the side — as she faced down evil was just as good in its way. He was part of her inner circle, part of the Scooby Gang, and important to Buffy’s life. How did it get better than that?

  Buffy had brought all kinds of new things into Xander’s life, and sure, some of them, like vampires and witches and giant praying mantises, he could live without. But when one got right down to it, the most significant thing that Buffy brought was change. Status wasn’t quite so quo with her around.

  Made life exciting, that was for sure.

  If you looked at Sunnydale, you wouldn’t think anything had changed, but then really — Xander reminded himself — it hadn’t. He knew now that Sunnydale had always been situated on a hellmouth. It was his perception of his hometown that was different. The shadows seemed darker, the nights longer, the silences, well, quieter.

  He glanced out the passenger side at the Bronze, just where it had always been. But there had been a time when he thought it was just a place to chill with his friends. In those long-gone days before he’d seen people he knew killed there. He still went there to listen to music, drink a mochaccino, hang with Buffy and Willow and Oz and Cordy . . . but every now and then he had a flash of some of the things he’d seen there and got a little tingle up his spine.

  Not the kind of tingle he liked, either.

  Those times, he felt a touch of sorrow for the loss of innocence that Sunnydale had suffered since Buffy came to town. And then he reminded himself, yet again, that the innocence lost hadn’t been the town’s. It was his. It was something he’d never have back again.

  Yes, he’d changed. No denying it. Xander was still just Xander, to the outside world. But his inner Xander was someone else, someone who couldn’t bring himself to eat a hot dog or a ham sandwich anymore. So far, nothing evil had cropped up to interfere with his enjoyment of chocolate, thank God.

  But this was
Sunnydale. Heinousness perched around every corner, lurked behind every happy facade. Living here was like going through a door at Disneyland and being greeted with a math test.

  Home sweet home.

  He cruised the silent streets, feeling no particular hurry to get home, on this night especially. He felt good. If he slept, the charge would be gone when he woke up, and he’d just be plain old Xander again. No. He might be sleepy in school tomorrow, but he was going to stay out for a while. Besides, how often did he get to actually drive a car? Sure beat skateboarding, which, in the old, pre-Buff days, had been his only mode of transport.

  Instead of making the turn that would take him to his quiet suburban street, he hung a left. He drove slowly down Revello Drive, but didn’t stop in front of Buffy’s house. That would make him a stalker or something, and a Slayerette didn’t stalk the Slayer. At the end of her block he took another left, then a right, and a few minutes later he passed the Sunnydale Mall. He kept on this course, headed toward the ocean. This way took him past Weatherly Park, and since there was still no traffic he opened her up a little bit. The Natural History Museum and the Sunnydale Zoo flashed past on his right.

  The zoo. Destination of a hundred trips with family, friends, and classmates. That place brought back memories.

  All of them bad.

  Gave a whole different meaning to the word “change.” Xander shuddered, gripped the wheel a little more tightly, and drove on.

  CHAPTER 1

  Buffy Summers strolled through the Sunnydale Zoo, enjoying the way the sun warmed her cheeks on this cool spring day. She walked alone, intent on the zoo map, comparing points on it to the posted signs. Maybe there was something here they didn’t have in Los Angeles. Although, this being Sunnydale, she thought, it would probably be some mythical killer beast, a Kraken or a Wendigo or something.

  “Oh, look.”

  The familiar voice caught her attention and she looked up. Kyle DuFours. Creepy Kyle, Willow called him sometimes. He came toward her, accompanied by the kids he was always with: Rhonda Kelley, Tor Hauer, and Heidi Barrie. Always together, always annoying. Well, she’d just make a point of avoiding them for the rest of the day. Shouldn’t be hard — Kyle’s shirt was a yellow so bright she’d be able to spot him from a distance. Like, say, Kansas.

  “It’s Buffy,” Kyle said. “And all her friends.”

  “That’s witty,” Buffy said. She’d known some kind of obnoxious line was coming. After all, his lips had been starting to move. But she also knew it wasn’t over. These guys never let up.

  Tor fixed his gaze on her. “Do you ever wonder why nobody cool ever wants to hang out with you?” he asked.

  “I’m just thankful,” she replied.

  “Were you this popular at your old school?” Rhonda asked, getting in on the action. “Before you got kicked out?”

  They all resumed walking, almost as one. Rhonda moved past Buffy, nudging her aside with one shoulder. Buffy let it go. They’re just punks, she thought. Rude, but harmless.

  “Careful,” Tor told Rhonda as he passed Buffy. He stared at Buffy, turning his head as he went by. She wondered, briefly, if he thought he looked cool, or worse, attractive. “She might beat you up.”

  They all laughed at that knee-slapper, and then they were gone. Relatively brief and painless, Buffy thought. The best kind of encounter to have with them.

  She moved on, stopping to read a display outside the elephant enclosure.

  Another voice called out to her. Also familiar, but more friendly. “Hey! Buffy!”

  She looked up to see Xander Harris and Willow Rosenberg, her two best friends in the world, running toward her. They looked happy, like they were truly enjoying this little escapade. Maybe they were. They both seemed to have a knack, sometimes, for looking on the bright side.

  “You missed it!” Willow said. Enthusiastic. Her usual state of being.

  “Missed what?”

  “We saw the zebras mating,” Xander said. “Thank you, very exciting.”

  “It looked like the Heimlich. With stripes,” Willow added. Her wide smile was usually infectious, but it didn’t spread to Buffy this time.

  “And I missed it,” Buffy said, with mock sadness. “Yet, somehow I’ll find the courage to live on.”

  They started walking, headed nowhere in particular. “Where were you?” Willow asked her.

  “I was looking at the fishes.”

  “Was it cool?”

  Buffy thought about that for a moment. “It was fishes.”

  “I’m feeling that you’re not in the field trip spirit here,” Xander said, as if picking up on her decided lack of excitement.

  “Well, it . . . it’s nothing.” She couldn’t quite summon the energy to shrug. “Anyway, we did the same zoo trip at my old school every year. Same old, same old.”

  “Buffy, this is not just about looking at a bunch of animals,” Xander explained. “This is about not being in class.”

  This time, Buffy did smile. He has a point, she supposed. Good old Xander, finding the silver lining to every cloud of gloom. “You know, you’re right. Suddenly the animals look shiny and new.”

  “Gotta have perspective,” Xander said.

  The chimpanzee enclosure looked like a granite cliff. On a rocky shelf, three chimps — mother, father, and baby — shared lunch. Or, the mother and father did. The young one shrieked and grabbed, but the adults managed to keep their food to themselves.

  Lance Lincoln leaned on the rail at the enclosure’s edge, spiral notebook open, scribbling down his observations on the chimp family’s meal. For him, a field trip wasn’t about being away from school, it was about having an opportunity for some good solid insight into primate behavior. He was so involved in his research that he didn’t hear the four pairs of footsteps approaching him from behind.

  “Lance!”

  He turned around. Kyle and his friends, bearing down on him. Swell, he thought. Victim, thy name is Lance.

  “How’s it going?” Kyle asked. Like we’re old buddies or something.

  “Hey, Kyle,” he replied evenly.

  Kyle leaned on the railing next to him, glanced at the chimps. “So this is like a, um, family reunion?”

  “No.” Well — from an evolutionary perspective, maybe. But to go there with Kyle? He didn’t think so.

  Kyle went on as if Lance hadn’t said anything. “I think it’s a family reunion. It’s so touching. Doesn’t anybody have a camera?” He mimicked whipping one out, snapping a picture.

  Lance flashed back to grade school, when his love for reruns of the old TV show “Lancelot Link, Secret Chimp” had become common knowledge. Given his name, it would have been hard for him not to be drawn to the show, and it was probably what kick-started his interest in primatology. But the flack he’d taken from schoolmates calling him Lance Link, or Sir Lancelot, had almost driven him away from that calling.

  Compared to these bullies, those kids were nothing, he thought.

  Rhonda came up behind Lance and started tugging at the hairs on the back of his head. “Hey, does your mom still pick out your lice?” she asked. “Or are you old enough to do that yourself now?”

  “Quit it,” Lance demanded. He jerked his head away from her.

  And in doing so, turned just enough that Tor was able to snatch his notebook from his hand. “Hey! Guys, come on,” Lance said, grabbing for the notebook. “I’ve got all my notes in there!” But Tor held it over his head, out of Lance’s reach. Only in the back of his mind, where he catalogued such things, did he vaguely realize that the whole scene duplicated the chimp behavior, with the larger chimps holding food away from the little one.

  Terrific. I’m the little monkey, he thought.

  The group’s laughter was interrupted by the voice of Mr. Flutie, Sunnydale High’s principal. “What’s going on here?” he asked.

  Lance watched him approach. He was no fashion expert, but even he knew Mr. Flutie’s plaid sports coat was just wrong. It hung ope
n in front, as if both his belly and his sense of self-importance were too swollen to allow it to button. A shock of dark hair sat atop his head like an afterthought, or a small furry mammal abandoned there by some predator.

  “I have had it up to here with you four,” Mr. Flutie said. “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing,” Kyle insisted.

  Flutie planted himself in front of Kyle. “Did I ask you to speak? Okay, I guess I did. But I want the truth.” He looked at Lance. “Lance?”

  Tell the truth — or survive? No real contest. “They weren’t doing anything. Really,” Lance went along. He even forced a chuckle. “We were just playing around.” Like I’d play around with these guys.

  And yet, Mr. Flutie bought it. “All right.” Mr. Flutie started to go, then stopped, swiveled, and raked a finger like a machine gun across the chests of the four troublemakers. “I’ll be watching you,” he said, then turned again and headed down the path.

  “You,” Kyle said, pointing at Lance’s face. Lance didn’t like the sound of that — or that finger in his eyes. Now what? “Came through big time,” Kyle went on.

  “Way to go, Lance,” Rhonda added, patting him on the arm like an old friend.

  “Flutie’s been looking for a reason to come down on us,” Tor said.

  Whew. “It’s okay,” Lance said, trying not to sound too relieved.

  Kyle reached out, gripped Lance’s collarbone, somewhere between a pal and a prison warden. “Come on. We’re gonna check out the hyena house.”

  Lance hesitated. “But — I think it’s off limits.”

  “And therein, my friend, lies the fun.”

  Lance chuckled again, but to him it sounded even less real than the one he’d given Mr. Flutie. He didn’t quite know how to extricate himself — that had been a bonding moment of some kind, he figured, and now they were a unit. He went along.