Buffy rummaged under the kitchen sink and said, “A-ha!” She straightened, holding up a squirt bottle of blue liquid.
Giles blinked several times. “You intend to poison them with glass cleaner?”
“Hardly,” Buffy said. She unscrewed the spray top of the bottle and dumped the blue liquid into a plastic bowl on the counter. “Dawn, I need you to find the butterfly net Dad got you when you were ten. Then bring all the holy water you can find in my room.” Dawn ran for the stairs.
“I understand.” Anya gave a nod of recognition. “You’re making insecticide—or fairicide, in this case, I guess. I approve.”
Spike turned from where he was looking through an upper cupboard. “Twisted. I like the way you think.”
“Less talk,” Buffy said, “more weapons.”
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This book is for two of my oldest (though by no means old) friends:
Lisa Jan Parker Chrisman, who taught me to love fairies, even when they’re a bit naughty and Ann Cathleen Hanna Neumann, who knew long before I did what we wanted to be when we grew up
Thanks to both of you for introducing me to some of the most magical books I’ve ever read
Acknowledgments
I’d like to express my special appreciation to:
Micol Ostow and Lisa Clancy, for giving me the opportunity, resources, and guidance to write this book.
Matt Bialer of the Trident Media Group, for taking care of the business end.
Diane E. Jones and Catherine Sidor of WordFire Inc., for their long hours and invaluable comments; Jonathan Cowan and Sarah L. Jones of WordFire Inc., for keeping things running smoothly in the office; and all of them for throwing themselves with such enthusiasm into absorbing Buffyology.
Maryelizabeth Hart, for suggesting that I dip my toe into the Buffy universe and Jeff Mariotte, for pretty much throwing me into the pool, when they found out I was a fan of the show. Thanks, guys.
My entire family, for checking up on me regularly to be sure I hadn’t “fallen off” the writing wagon.
Joss Whedon and the cast and crew of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, for bringing to life such a terrific show.
Josh Ryan Evans, for standing in line to get my autograph all those years ago, even as his own career was finally taking off.
Dean and Gerda Koontz, for close to a decade of good business advice.
Deb Ray, for her years of encouragement, both close up and long-distance. You’re never far from my heart.
Cherie Buchheim, the Research Goddess I most admire.
Shannon and Linda Lifchez, for their indomitable cheerfulness and uncanny ability to make me feel special. (Yes, you too, James.)
Noël and Summer Chrisman, and Anyssa and Ambria Neumann for offering living proof that the potential and promise of the next generation is everything your mothers and I hoped it would be.
Sarah and Dan Hoyt, and Becky and Alan Lickiss for local cheerleading.
Leslie Lauderdale, for urging me to “go slay another chapter.”
Denise Jacobs, for understanding, as only a working mother can, when I needed a little time alone.
Joe Cooper and Chris Willis, for their research on the Cottingley fairies.
Brian Herbert and Gregory Benford, for presenting Kevin with enough testosterone challenges to keep him happily writing for years. (You’re maniacs, the lot of you.)
Doug Beason, for making sure I didn’t forget that a writer writes.
And last, but never least, Kevin J. Anderson, for all the love, encouragement, and support a wife and fellow writer could ever hope for.
Prologue
The warm Santa Ana winds blew through Southern California for three days, carrying with them a roiling cloud of dirt, leaves, twigs, and fast-food wrappers. In Sunnydale the invisible destructive currents tore limbs from trees, sent garbage cans rolling through the streets, scattering their contents all the way, rattled windows, banged screen doors, and upended patio tables. Toward the end of the third day, the windstorm died down, leaving the skies a sunny blue scoured clean of all haze.
But the wind left something behind….
Cherie Beeheim waited alone in Weatherly Park beneath an old oak tree in the gathering dusk. Tonight was going to be magical, and she let herself enjoy the anticipation. At the sound of crunching footsteps she whirled to look behind her, but nobody was there. She saw a flicker of movement from the corner of her eye and turned toward it. Again nothing.
“Boo!”
Cherie shrieked and turned back to find that Josh had managed to sneak around the far side of the tree to surprise her. She guessed he must have come straight from the Kent Prep School basketball practice, because his hair was damp and he carried a small Hilfiger gym duffel. Her heart raced at the sight of Joshua Norton Clarke III, a handsome prep-school senior and her date for the night. Dressed in wallet-draining designer casuals, he was tall and muscular with clear blue eyes and sandy hair. Definite hunkage material, if ever there was. He flashed her that confident I-had-two-years-of-braces smile, a smile so perfect it could jitter the stomach of any high-school girl, including Cherie. Including his preppy girlfriend, Cara Crandall. Cherie smothered a flash of irritation at the thought of her rival. Spoiled rich girl.
Magical, Cherie reminded herself. Tonight is going to be just perfect. After all, hadn’t she changed out of her St. Michael’s school uniform and worn her hottest dress? Low-cut and sleeveless, all drapey and flowy in ruby silk, the mini was guaranteed to make any red-blooded guy forget that other girls even existed on the planet. And the last thing Cherie wanted Josh to do right now was think about other girls.
“Happy to see me?” Josh asked.
She tossed her long dark hair and fluttered her eyelashes at him. “I’ll have to think of a way to punish you for scaring me like that,” she teased.
He gave her his patented smile again. “I think I can make it up to you. Come on.” He grabbed her hand. “Let’s walk.”
Cherie let herself be led away from the oak tree, away from the pathways, deeper into the park. A few stray gusts of wind swirled the leaves around their feet as they left streetlights behind and pushed into the deepening shadows. They passed gnarled old trees that cast ghoulish silhouettes against the clear evening sky. Something glimmered briefly at the edge of her vision. She ignored it. Josh was all that mattered right now.
Cherie’s pulse raced—not with fear, but with the excitement of The Forbidden. Her father thought she was still studying at the library. But after only an hour of homework Cherie had changed clothes, put on her makeup, and hurried from the library to Weatherly Park. Now here she was, walking across the grass after dark—she, who had never dared to leave the paved paths before—with a boy who was, strictly speaking, not her boyfriend… yet.
When Joshua stopped abruptly between a pair of dense bushes and began to kiss her, Cherie did not pretend to object. This was the magic moment she had been hoping for. Confident that they were completely alone and there was no chance someone would come upon them by accident, the two kissed. Time lost all meaning for them as they wrapped their arms around each other, pressing as close as two human beings could while still fully clothed. By the time they pulled apart panting for breath, a large, nearly full moon was peeking at them through the screening branches. A
full moon might have been slightly more perfect of course, but Cherie wasn’t about to complain.
She gave a sigh of pleasure. “Very romantic.”
Apparently taking this as a personal compliment, Josh said, “Wait. It gets better.” He picked up the small gym duffel he had brought with him and rummaged around in it for a moment before producing a faded yellow beach towel, which he spread on the tiny patch of open ground at their feet. “If zee mademoiselle would seet, please?” he said in his best Pepe Le Pew French accent, pointing down toward the beach towel.
She sat, careful to show plenty of leg as she did so. Her legs were two of her best features. Something caught her eye. The barest hint of movement. She looked up to see a bush shaking where Josh had bumped it with his elbow. Relax. Don’t be so jumpy, she told herself. He’ll think you’re a total newbie at this date stuff. Which, of course, was true. But he didn’t need to know that.
After taking a few more things from the bag, Josh sat down beside her. “Eh, voilà!” he announced, grinning triumphantly. By the uncertain moonlight, she could see that he held a screw-top bottle of red wine and two small drinking glasses. Kids’ glasses, to be more exact—of the kind that usually come filled with grape jelly.
Wine. There it was again: The Forbidden. At eighteen, Josh was closer to legal drinking age than Cherie, who had turned sixteen only two weeks ago. She knew her father wouldn’t approve, but Cherie felt the most amazing warm tingle at the pit of her stomach, and she firmly squelched all thoughts of caution. Anyway, she hadn’t gotten all glammed up for the evening just for nothing. Whatever happened, she knew that tonight would change her life forever.
He handed her a cup with a picture of Wilma Flintstone on it, and she held it out while he filled it to the brim with crimson wine. Watching him pour the second glass of wine, Cherie suddenly found herself nervous. The Wilma glass shook in her hand and she took a huge gulp, as much to keep it from overflowing as to cover her attack of nerves. Josh refilled her glass, took a drink from his Bam-Bam Rubble cup, then leaned forward and pressed his damp lips to hers.
Cherie’s eyes had fallen half shut, so she barely saw it at the edge of her vision. “Oh!” She sat up straight and drew in a sharp breath.
“What? What is it?” Josh said.
“I… I thought I saw a firefly. I love fireflies. I see them every summer when I go out to spend Fourth of July in Wisconsin with my aunt, but—”
“But it’s not summer, and we don’t have fireflies in California,” Josh finished for her.
“Right.” She shrugged and took a few more sips of wine.
“Could be someone carrying one of those little pocket flashlights,” Josh said, sounding irritated at the idea of an interruption. “I’d better go check and see if—”
“Wait. There it is again.” Cherie pointed. “And another one.” Just above the nearest bush a pair of tiny lights alternately glowed, grew brighter, winked out, and then flashed on again.
“What the . . . ,” Josh said in a low voice. He put down his glass and got slowly to his feet. Another light winked on behind him, then one beside his shoulder.
“Listen,” Cherie said. From somewhere nearby came a faint buzzing sound, almost like the ominous humming of a bee in flight, yet more musical somehow.
Then all of a sudden the little lights were all around them, glowing brightly, and Cherie could see what they were. She gasped. The half-empty cup of wine slipped from her fingers and splashed its blood-red contents onto the pale beach towel, but Cherie hardly noticed. A tiny, perfectly formed creature hovered in front of her face. The miniature woman was beautiful and looked absolutely human—except that she was no bigger than Cherie’s index finger, and from her back sprouted two pair of delicate, gossamer ovals that fluttered as fast as a hummingbird’s wings. The tiny thing wore a diaphanous dress of spring green that perfectly matched her eyes, and her flowing golden hair radiated light that cast a sort of spherical halo around her petite figure.
“A … a fairy?” Cherie whispered. “It is magical.”
“Just like Tinkerbell,” Josh said. “There must be twenty of them.”
Slowly, ever so slowly, so as not to frighten them away, Cherie raised a hand, palm down, until it was between her face and the minute golden nymph. As if with utmost caution, the glowing creature drifted forward, touched down lightly on the hand for just a second, and flitted away again. Then Cherie heard a new sound, like sprinkles of microscopic laughter.
Three of the fairies, glowing gold, silver, and apricot, flew around Cherie’s head, tugging lightly at her hair. They took turns lifting wisps of hair and playfully tossing them across her face. She giggled with delight. Then, to her amazement, they each grasped a few strands and wove back and forth around each other until the hair was plaited in a flawless slender braid.
Josh chuckled as well. “Hey, catch this. One of them landed on me.”
Cherie got carefully to her feet and giggled softly when she saw the little raven-haired creature perched on his ear, shining like a tiny black light. Moments later, close to a dozen of the little fairies encircled her and put on a display of complex aerobatic maneuvers as they flew slowly around and around. Maybe the wine had begun to affect her, or maybe it was part of the magic of the evening, but Cherie realized she couldn’t look away.
A second circle of winged sprites formed around Josh, and the two teens watched, mesmerized. Enchanted. The evening took on an otherworldly quality, and for a moment Cherie was tempted to think that she and Josh had fallen asleep on the beach towel and were simply dreaming. But she would never have dreamed something like this, would she?
“They’re dancing for us,” Josh whispered.
“It’s beautiful,” Cherie agreed. Even to her own ears, her voice sounded dreamy and distant. Strange, she hadn’t noticed it till now, but gradually the dancing fairies had sped up and drawn their circles tighter, until they were nearly touching Cherie and Josh as they flew in fast circles at shoulder level. The dancing grew wilder, less organized, and Cherie found that she could barely track their movements. She stared straight ahead, completely captivated. They fluttered and dodged in and out of her view. Cherie began to feel dizzy. One of the fairies, a tiny man with cherry-red hair and a fawn-colored jerkin, came to rest on her shoulder. Charming, yet she felt a spider of apprehension crawl up her spine. Then…
“Ouch.” She heard a slapping sound from Josh’s direction. “Hey . . . I think one of them stung me—or bit me.” Strangely, though, his voice was warm and languid. He didn’t sound at all alarmed.
Cherie shook her head and tried to blink the haze from her eyes. With her vision clear, she could see that the beautiful little creatures looked different now. A spider web of dark veins crisscrossed their formerly translucent wings. The miniature faces no longer looked human. Their foreheads were ridged and lumpy, and their open mouths revealed long, needle-sharp fangs. A stinging at the base of her bare neck made Cherie shiver. She touched the spot.
Wet.
She looked at her fingers and saw with vague interest that there was blood on them. It didn’t matter. The night was magical.
More stinging. Josh moaned but didn’t cry out again. Cherie tried to move, then forgot why she had wanted to.
The swarm closed in around her.
Chapter One
The Magic Box was filled with most of the things that were comforting in Buffy’s life: her sister, her Watcher, her best friends in the world (except for Xander, who was working late), warm light, old books, and all the magicky stuff that the shop sold. She had finished her training for the day and changed into street clothes. She should have felt perfectly comfortable, but some vague pain was irritating her, and she couldn’t put her finger on it.
In general, pain was pretty much irrelevant to Slayers; fortunately they recovered quickly from most injuries they sustained during training or fighting. She gave a mental shrug. Whatever was wrong, it would probably heal itself quickly enough.
B
uffy joined her friends at the table in the main room of the Magic Box. Giles, satisfied that he had discharged his watcherly duties for the day, was busy unpacking a shipment of artifacts and magical paraphernalia that had just arrived. Tara, Willow, and Dawn were already at the table, while Anya stood behind the sales counter, eagerly totaling the day’s receipts for the shop. This was Anya’s first real job since losing her thousand-year vengeance-demon gig, and Buffy was often surprised at the ex-demon, hundred-percent-human girl’s passion and aptitude for business.
A fairly serious discussion was already under way when Buffy sat down. “Looks like frowny-face is in order,” she observed. “What gives?”
Willow gave Dawn a gentle nudge. “Tell her.”
Buffy snagged a carrot stick from a plastic sandwich bag at the center of the table and sat back. “Listening.”
“I can’t. Buffy’ll be mad at me,” Dawn whispered to Willow. She looked over at her sister. “Promise you won’t be mad at me.”
Buffy’s stomach tightened. This wasn’t a promising start. Since their mother’s recent death, Buffy was still unsure of when to be sisterly or when to act motherly. She couldn’t guarantee how she would respond. “Still listening,” Buffy said. “Mind open.”
Dawn fidgeted, then also grabbed a carrot stick from the sandwich bag and bit down on it. Not quite meeting Buffy’s eyes, she said, “I’m not doing as well as I’d like to in history, and there’s a big test coming up on Tuesday.”
Anya put down the receipts she was adding, looked with helpful concern across the counter at Buffy, and spoke in a low voice. “Dawn is getting a D-plus right now.”
Considering this new information, Buffy bit down on her carrot stick and began to chew thoughtfully. A jolt of pain arced through her jaw and seemed to jump all the way to the top of her skull. She gasped and rocked back from the table, almost choking on a bit of carrot. Her tooth! That’s what had been bothering her. It had been sensitive and irritated for a couple of days. Believing that it would soon heal on its own, Buffy had managed to ignore the discomfort, as she so often did, but now it was an all-out ache. What if a Slayer’s powers of quick healing didn’t apply to teeth? Buffy realized with a sinking feeling that she and Dawn had no dental insurance, and now that Buffy had dropped her college classes, she was no longer eligible to go to the college health center. She pressed her lips together. Too bad that being the Chosen One didn’t come with a benefit plan. Buffy didn’t want to worry Dawn. She would tough it out. The throbbing ache would go away. It had to.
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