The Xander Years, Vol.2

by Jeff Mariotte

  “No,” Jack said sharply. “You’re with us now.”

  “Yeah, man,” Parker agreed. “You’re on the team now, baby. Woohoo!”

  “What are we gonna do?” Bob asked.

  “Well, I’ve heard some interesting suggestions, but I’m gonna have to go with Dickie’s,” Jack said. “Let’s bake a cake.”

  This pronouncement was met with a chorus of cheers and catcalls. Xander had to rethink his earlier position. A bunch of zombie thugs with an interest in the culinary arts.

  He was pretty sure the night couldn’t get any weirder.

  Jack had Xander pull up outside a hardware store. The gang piled out of the car. “You stay here,” Jack said. “And keep the motor running.”

  “This time of night,” Xander suggested, “I’m pretty sure nothing’s open —”

  Bob threw something through the store’s plate-glass window, shattering it. The dead guys pushed their way in through the broken glass.

  “Oh,” Xander said. “But of course, they’re always open for crime.” He kept his hands on the wheel, eyes in front. He didn’t want to see any more of this than he had to.

  But he couldn’t bring himself to not look.

  “Okay, now I’m involved in crime,” he said to himself. “I’m the criminal element. Having a car sure is cool.”

  Across the street, he heard a bell jingle, and a familiar voice.

  “Thank you! Sorry to wake you!”

  It was Willow! Then he saw her, coming out of a shop doorway. Uncle Bob’s Magic Cabinet, the sign over the display window read. There was a man at the door, locking up behind himself. “No problem,” the guy said.

  Xander got out of the car. “Will!” he called. He felt a wave of relief wash over him — but just as suddenly, it passed.

  And you’re going to tell her what, exactly? he asked himself. She was his oldest friend; he wasn’t going to get her mixed up with the under-the-hill gang. They hadn’t been violent yet — toward him, anyway. But it was apparent that they had the capacity.

  Willow came across the street toward him. “Xander. What are you doing here?”

  “Nothing,” he replied. “Certainly not crime!” He glanced back toward the hardware store, making sure the guys weren’t coming out yet. “What about you?”

  She held up the paper bag she had carried from the shop. “I needed supplies for a protection spell. Buffy called from Angel’s. It’s happening, tonight.”

  The mysterious “it.” “And that thing that’s happening would be . . .?” he asked.

  “I . . . I can’t say,” Willow stammered. “Buffy’ll need this.” She started to rush off, then stopped herself. She came back to him, threw her arms around his neck, squeezing him tightly. “I love you, Xander,” she said. Then she released him and darted off into the darkness.

  Xander watched her go. There was definitely something going on, and he knew he had to be there for Buffy and the others. He had to get away from Jack and his gang. “Okay, that’s it” he said. “I’m going to —”

  He turned and walked straight into Jack.

  “Where you going?”

  “Look,” Xander said. “Something’s just come up.”

  “You wanna bail on me?” Jack asked quietly. “Is that it?”

  Just then, the others came out of the store carrying shopping bags. “We got the cake mix!” Dickie announced.

  “Where do you wanna bake it?” Parker asked.

  “Xander’s looking to leave,” Jack told them.

  “No way,” Bob said. “We need a wheel man.”

  “Xander doesn’t feel he’s part of the group,” Jack explained. The other guys circled around him.

  “No,” Xander said. I don’t want to be part of the group. But he didn’t think they’d appreciate hearing that. “I’m kind of busy . . .”

  “He doesn’t feel like part of the group,” Bob said, “because he hasn’t been initiated!”

  Xander didn’t like the sound of that at all. What kind of terrible hazing ritual would these guys come up with? Would he have to break into a store? Kill someone? No telling.

  “Do you think he’s ready?” Jack asked.

  “I think he’s earned his stripes,” Parker said, draping a disfigured arm over Xander’s shoulder like a dear friend. He smelled kind of like a coffeepot that had been left on too long. “I say we let him in, boys.”

  Outnumbered and surrounded, Xander pasted a big fake smile on his face. “Great. I wanna be in the gang, sure.”

  “All right, yeah!” Parker said.

  “That’s the spirit,” Jack said.

  “What do I gotta do?” Xander asked, dreading the answer.

  Jack whipped Katie from her sheath, held her up in front of Xander’s face. Xander could see himself reflected in the blade. He didn’t look happy.

  “You gotta die,” Jack hissed.

  CHAPTER 14

  Parker had a firm grip on Xander’s collar, and Bob pressed against him from the other side. He wasn’t going anywhere.

  Jack turned the knife from side to side before Xander’s face, as if admiring the way the light played across the expanse of blade.

  “All right, guys,” Xander said. “Let’s just talk about this.”

  “You wanna be in the gang, don’t you?” Parker asked him.

  Xander answered nervously. “Yes, but I’m not dying to be in the gang. If you get the . . . the pun there.”

  Bob’s sense of humor seemed limited when it came to zombie gags. “What, are you — you’re too good to be dead?” he demanded, real anger in his voice for the first time since being raised. He grabbed Xander’s jacket in both hammy fists, pulled him up to his own broad, bullet-scarred face. “You got a problem with dead people?”

  Xander thought he saw an out. “What about Jack? Jack’s not dead.”

  Wrong.

  Jack lifted his T-shirt, revealing a flat stretch of belly marred by multiple bullet holes strung in an uneven line.

  Bob released Xander, who looked at the round entry wounds with trepidation.

  “Drive by,” Jack explained. “Three weeks ago.”

  “Oh boy,” was all Xander could say.

  “Grandpappy found my body,” Jack went on. “I wasn’t gone ten minutes before he raised me. It’s a rush, man.”

  They say skydiving is a rush, too, Xander thought. And skiing down the slope of Mt. Everest, that’s been described as a rush. Those kinds of rushes, Xander didn’t feel any urgency about experiencing.

  Same for this one.

  “Let’s kill Xander!” Dickie urged. “It’ll be fun!”

  “Yeah, man,” Parker agreed. His hand was draped on Xander’s shoulder in a friendly way again; he’d relaxed his grip on Xander’s collar when Bob had grabbed him. “You could be a full-fledged member.”

  “Come on, Xander,” Jack said. “Take it like a man.”

  “All right, enough!” Xander insisted. This wasn’t going any further. “You guys have had your fun. But you forgot about one thing.”

  They all stood around, waiting for him to enlighten them.

  But there was no “thing.” There was only the slimmest hope of catching them off-guard.

  Xander bolted.

  “Get him!” Jack shouted.

  There was a closed coffee shop across the street, the Espresso Pump, with outside tables and chairs behind a low wall. The wall had open sections, blocked at night by chains.

  Xander had spent plenty of afternoons at those tables. He knew the layout.

  He ducked under one of the chains, racing onto the patio area. The zombies came in on two sides, under the chains, and as they did Xander leapt to one of the tables, then back over the wall.

  Fortunately, he had, as Jack had instructed, left the engine running in the Bel Air.

  As the guys came back out from the patio, Xander jumped into the car, slammed it into gear, and peeled off down the street.

  They watched the car turn a corner, and it was gone. No w
ay to chase it on foot.

  “Damn!” Bob said, furious. “There goes the wheels.”

  “He took all our stuff, man,” Parker said.

  One-track Dickie added, “I wanna bake a cake!”

  “It’s all right. We’ll get more,” Jack said. The voice of reason. “The night is young.”

  They headed back into the hardware store.

  Blocks away, Xander was still breathing hard. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest and throat and temples. There wasn’t anything about the feeling he liked, except for the fact that his heart hadn’t been cut out of his chest.

  “I’d say that’s pretty much enough excitement for one evening,” he said to himself as he gunned the engine. The more miles between him and the “boys,” the better.

  He didn’t even slow down for the corners. The streets were empty. He screeched around one, headed for the park.

  And spotted Faith, locked in mortal struggle with one of those grotesque blue-skinned lady demons like the ones they’d fought a couple of nights before.

  Well, that the others fought, while I hid. But still. . .

  Buffy and Faith had said they were tough customers, even then, when the whole gang was allied against them. This one was taking on Faith all by herself, and seemed to have the edge.

  As Xander pulled out of the turn, the demon had Faith up against a wire fence. Faith got two handfuls of fence and kicked out with both feet, and the demon was knocked several steps backward.

  Into the parking lot.

  Xander floored it.

  The demon made a satisfying thudding sound as the front end of the big Chevy plowed into her. She was thrown back into the grass.

  Xander backed up, jerked to a stop.

  “Get in!” he shouted.

  Faith got in.

  The demon was already regaining her feet.

  Xander threw the car into gear and raced back out into the street.

  They weren’t going to beat that demon tonight. But it couldn’t outrun them.

  Having a car sure is cool, Xander thought. This time, he meant it.

  Faith had a room at the Downtowner Motel. She hadn’t been in town long enough to find permanent digs, but she’d already proven herself a loyal and helpful ally to Buffy. Even though she wasn’t strictly needed, since one Slayer was usually traditional, it never hurt to have two.

  Xander pulled into the motel parking lot, cranked the car into a slot in front of Room 3. They dashed from the car into the room, locking the door behind them. Xander peeked out through the window blinds.

  “You think Demon Mama followed us?” he asked.

  “Naw,” Faith said. She stripped off her jacket. Beneath it she wore a tight black tank top. “We’re cool.” She winced. “The bitch dislocated my shoulder, though. Hold me.”

  Xander wasn’t quite sure how she meant that. Sure, she was a beautiful girl, and she looked great in that skimpy top and tight pants. But they’d never been alone like this before, in a motel room. Could she . . .?

  He went to her, arms out to give her a hug.

  And she breathed a little annoyed huff, took his hand, positioned it on her shoulder. She pressed her own hand against his chest, and wrenched her shoulder back into place.

  The sound was like snapping a branch. Xander cringed.

  But at least I know where we stand, he thought.

  “That’s better,” Faith said.

  But, oddly, she didn’t take her hand away from his chest. Instead, she began moving it, gently, in ever widening circles.

  “She really got me wound up,” Faith said. “A fight like that and no kill, I’m about ready to pop.”

  “Really?” Xander asked, swallowing hard. “Pop?”

  By which she means . . .?

  Her left hand came up behind his head, stroking the back of his neck. “You up for it?” she asked.

  And her right hand dropped lower, deft fingers unbuttoning his shirt as it went.

  “Oh, I’m up,” he agreed. “I’m suddenly very up.”

  She moved closer to him. Her lips were parted, and he could feel her breath, hot on his chest. She smelled good. Like sweat, but also like soap and shampoo and, well, female.

  He felt the need to clarify his meaning . . . or is it just the need to babble senselessly? “It’s just that I’ve never been up with people, before.”

  She pressed her lips against his, shutting off any further conversation for a moment.

  He liked it.

  A lot.

  She broke the kiss. “Just relax,” she breathed. “And take your pants off.”

  “Those two concepts are antithetical,” he pointed out.

  She kissed him again, a kiss that gave him the willingness to try to overlook any apparent contradictions.

  She yanked his shirt and jacket down off his shoulders, throwing them to the floor. Kissed him again, hard and long.

  She spun him around and hurled him to the bed.

  As he watched, spellbound, she climbed on top, straddling him, and peeled her own shirt off.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll steer you ’round the curves.”

  He wondered, briefly, why he’d never come up with this car angle before. “Did I mention that I’m having a very strange night?” he asked.

  Then there was no more talking for a while.

  Afterwards, she led him to the door, opened it. He stepped outside, shirt, jacket, and shoes in his hands.

  She had, at least, given him time to pull his pants on.

  “That was great,” Faith said. “I gotta shower.”

  She shut the door, locking it behind her. Apparently she hadn’t been thinking long-term commitment.

  Or even, short-term conversation. Didn’t girls like to talk after? Go out for bagels? Make wedding plans? Or is that all a myth perpetuated by the more experienced to scare the rest of us away from joining the club?

  Bright side, at least I’ve still got the car.

  Inside the book cage, Oz snarled and growled, leaping against the door.

  “I’ve never seen him like this,” Willow said, worried about her friend.

  “It’s the Hellmouth,” Giles explained. “He can sense it’s going to open.” He handed Willow the tranquilizer rifle. “Be ready just in case.”

  Giles went to the cage door, shoved his key into the lock.

  “Now, don’t hesitate,” he said as he turned it.

  Willow raised the gun to her shoulder, sighted down its length. “Do it.”

  “Now Oz —” Giles began. He opened the door.

  And Oz slammed into it, driving Giles back into the wall. The werewolf took a single step into the library and Willow pulled the trigger. The tranquilizer dart flew into Oz, its impact knocking his legs out from under him. He hit the floor with a wail of pain.

  But he was on his feet again in less than a second, and coming for Willow.

  “Again!” Giles cried.

  Willow tried to shove another dart into place. Her fingers fumbled. She backed up as Oz leapt to the top of the table in front of her. He was ready to pounce.

  He’d kill her in a flash.

  Giles came up behind him, throwing his strong arms around Oz’s wolfen form, and restrained him.

  He couldn’t hold Oz for long, though.

  Finally, the dart slid home. She lifted the weapon, aimed, fired.

  Oz went limp in Giles’s arms. The librarian put him down on the table.

  “We’ve got to move him before he wakes up,” Giles said.

  Willow knew he was right. If the Hellmouth opened, there wouldn’t be any good places to be — but locked up here would be the worst place possible.

  She stroked his fur. “Sorry,” she said. “I hope you’re not mad at me in the morning.”

  Xander was confused. He tugged on his clothes in the parking lot, standing next to his car. She’d thrown him out the door. It was nothing but a physical release, for her.

  But at the same time, he felt gr
eat. Fantastic. Triumphant, even.

  Okay, maybe she had done more conquering than he, in this instance. But still . . .

  He felt great.

  He opened the door, got into the car.

  Looked at himself in the rearview mirror. He didn’t look any different.

  But he was different, and he knew it.

  Everything changes.

  Then, in the rearview, he caught a glimpse of Dickie’s “ingredients,” still in the backseat. He reached back, got the bag, brought it up front with him. Rustled through it.

  A big can of kerosene. A coiled length of wire. A nine-volt battery. An alarm clock.

  “Hey,” Xander said to himself. “They’re not baking any cake.”

  He drove back to the hardware store. The street was empty. The smashed out window gave silent testimony to the fact that the zombies had been here, but otherwise there was no sign of them.

  “Long gone,” he said. “Probably loaded with supplies. Gotta think.”

  He thought for a moment. “I can’t believe I had sex.” Wrong, Xander. No time for that. “Okay, bombs,” he said. “Already dead guys with bombs. Oh, man, I’m out of my league.” He pounded on the door with his fist. “Buffy’ll know what to do,” he said. He stepped on the gas.

  “I don’t know what to do,” Buffy said.

  She and Angel were in the garden of his mansion. She’d taken Willy’s advice, after all. Find Angel, he had said.

  Not surprisingly, Angel had also been looking for her. He had a knack for knowing when he was really needed.

  Tonight, he’s really needed.

  They were lit by candles. A fire flickered nearby.

  Any other time, Buffy thought, this would all be devastatingly romantic.

  “Then let me decide for you,” Angel said grimly. “I can face this thing.”

  “You can’t!”

  “Look,” he argued. “I can at least buy you enough time for Willow’s spell to bind it. Buffy, this is worse than anything we’ve ever faced. Honey, it’s the only way.”

  She was afraid that he was right. But he couldn’t be. She wouldn’t let him be.

  Angel was the only man — if the definition of “man” could be stretched a little — she’d ever loved. And they’d been parted too many times.