Little Things

by Rebecca Moesta

  Giles rushed in from the kitchen to see what the commotion was about, a glass of juice in one hand and a half-eaten piece of toast in the other. “Dear me,” he exclaimed, “whatever possessed you to drive a stake through your hand?”

  Spike rolled his eyes. “It’s hardly a stake. It’s only a toothpick, init? Thought we could question the pernicious pest when he woke up,” he said, nodding toward the tiny winged creature lying on his palm.

  “Now Spikey, don’t be disappointed if we can’t let you keep it,” Xander said in a paternal tone. “You know we’ll just end up being the ones to feed it and clean up after it.”

  Spike ignored the interruption. “Any rate, if he came to before we got back here, I wasn’t sure I could hang on to ’im. Dusted vamps don’t talk. This one’s a prisoner of war, I figure.”

  Buffy crossed her arms. “Why didn’t you just put him in your pocket?”

  “He’d have sliced through with his teeth in no time if he came round.”

  “Yes, I suppose he’s right,” Giles said. “Thank you, Spike. That was very . . . practical of you. But it may be advisable to transfer our captive now. Dawn, do you have a glass jar perhaps . . . a piece of cardboard?”

  “I have some foam board,” Dawn said. “Left over from my science project.”

  “Yes, I’d say that should do.” Giles took a bite of toast and chewed thoughtfully. “Unfortunately, I’m not at all sure we’ll be able to communicate with our . . . winged houseguest once he wakes up.”

  “Of course we can,” Anya said. “Fairies always speak some of the language of the country they’re in.”

  Buffy raised a skeptical eyebrow at Anya. “And would that be Spanish or English, then?”

  “Probably English,” Anya said, “and of course Italian, since this troop came from Italy.” She smiled proudly. “Giles and Spike and I all speak Italian, and I know a few words of fairy-speak.” She spread her hands eagerly. “So now all we need is a conscious fairy.”

  Xander frowned. “How do we even know it’s going to wake up?” he said. “What if it’s dead already?”

  “No poof,” Willow said from the sofa. “Wouldn’t there be a poof?”

  Buffy gave an emphatic nod. “I killed some. There was definite poofage. So what’s the deal with Sleeping Beauty, then?”

  “Already on it,” Spike said. He got up and went into the kitchen and returned to the living room coffee table with a towel, a bowl of water, a sponge, and some toothpicks. When Dawn brought in the square of foam board, he transferred the toothpick-pinned fairy from his hand to the slab of foam. Spreading out the towel on the table, he placed the foam square on top of it.

  “On it? By doing what?” Buffy asked. “Giving the thing a bath?”

  “This little ’n’s slept long enough,” Spike said. “Waiting’s over.” He dipped the sponge into water and held it above the immobilized fairy, letting a few drops splat onto the creature’s upturned face. The wings trembled. The fairy spluttered, shook its head, and opened its eyes. The humans and vampire gathered into a tight semicircle and peered down at it.

  The fairy, a tiny, perfect man-shaped sprite, had silver hair that stuck out in stylish spikes, making him look like a miniature rock star. Except, of course, for the translucent pairs of oval wings and the lavender tights and jerkin that brought out the enchanting lavender of his eyes.

  “Weird.” Dawn stared in fascination. “How do you interrogate a fairy?”

  “We could try playing a few Celine Dion albums.” Xander wore a mischievous smile. “How long could any prisoner hold out? If that doesn’t work, we switch to Don Ho.”

  The fairy chittered frantically and threw its arms across its face. It tried to push itself up to fly and then for the first time seemed to notice the stake that held it pinned down to the foam slab. His hands reached for the toothpick and strained to pull it out, but to no avail.

  “If Anya is right, then this fairy should be able to understand and respond to everything we say.” Giles pressed a finger thoughtfully to his chin.

  “Yup. In the park, I’m sure they understood me,” Willow said.

  Spike placed a black-fingernailed hand on either side of the prisoner. “All right, then, spill it. Tell us what you lot are up to, or I relocate that wooden stake to the center of your heart.”

  Giles adjusted his glasses, leaned forward, and spoke in a kindly tone. “Well, hello.”

  Spike cleared his throat. “Kind of gettin’ in the way of my bad cop thing here, if you take my meaning.”

  “Oh, sorry.” Giles straightened and Buffy leaned close to the fairy.

  “Hi, I’m Buffy,” she said. “And you’re in big trouble.”

  “Tell us who you are,” Xander added. “And that’s just for starters. Don’t try to pull any of that name, rank, and serial number crap. The Geneva Convention doesn’t apply to fairies.”

  The lavender-clothed fairy shook its head, as if confused. “Mi chiamo Lucket. Abbiamo bisogno d’un interprete.”

  “Actually, Lucket, we have three interpreters here. But we don’t need one.” Anya’s voice was matter-of-fact and dangerous. “Cut the theatrics and speak English. We know you can, so don’t force us to use violence.”

  The creature made a buzzing, hissing sound, then said one distinct word. “Demon.”

  “Oh,” she said with pleased surprise. “You remember me?”

  The fairy’s voice was high-pitched and slightly softer than a human’s, as if the creature had just taken a breath from a helium balloon, but still distinct and audible. Stranger still, he sounded as if he had learned English from Italian immigrants in New Jersey—which perhaps he had. “Yeah, I remember you. Not one of our troop has ever forgotten you or that scum sorceress Devara. Hundreds of years ago you took the joy outta our lives, cursed us with the reality we gotta deal with now.”

  Anya spluttered. “Me? I never cursed you. I shattered a vampire demon. And anyway, I was only doing my job. There was certainly nothing personal about it. Devara was the one who sent the demon into the fairy troop.”

  “So whatever happened to the sorceress?” Dawn asked.

  “Oh,” Anya said, “she fell in love again, married, and had a child. Although I heard they all drowned in a well ten years later. Some sort of freak accident.”

  Buffy looked skeptically at Anya. “Or not.”

  The fairy buzzed with scorn. “It was the perfect trap. What woman wouldn’t fall for it—her tortured husband and son yellin’ for help from the bottom of a well?”

  “Not very sporting, was it, then?” asked Spike, then muttered, “Wish I’d thought of that.”

  Buffy scowled at him. “Why don’t you two killers just spend a little time swapping tricks of the trade. Don’t let those of us with beating, caring hearts stop you.”

  Spike looked taken aback. “I’m just saying, Love, there’s a certain artistry…” His voice trailed off.

  “Watch your back, Cookie,” the fairy warned Anya. “The smart money says you’re next.” With that, he fell silent and refused to say another word.

  * * *

  Vesuva, her black-light glow completely damped, pressed against the window and watched the human monsters conduct their interrogation. Because she had seen the blond vampire capture Lucket, she followed the vamp as he left the battle, hoping to find a way to rescue her friend. No opportunity had presented itself. Lucket was trapped inside the house, Vesuva trapped outside.

  So Vesuva had listened. Queen Mabyana would be most interested in what the human monsters said.

  Someone in the house pulled the curtains shut. But the humans could not stay inside forever.

  Vesuva would recommend that the queen post scouts near the house. That way, if any of the monsters ventured forth, the scouts could alert the rest of the troop and take the necessary action.

  Vesuva raced off to inform the Fairy Queen.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Queen Mabyana was not amused when Vesuva reported that the oafis
h humans had actually captured one of her followers. She tossed her glowing golden hair and flounced the skirt of her sheer spring-leaf green dress. How dare they? Lucket was a favorite of hers. Mab’s forehead went all vamp-wrinkly at the very thought. More than a dozen members of her troop had been reduced to piles of dust by a few witless humans and a traitorous vampire. That hurt. Why did no one ever stop to consider her feelings? Of course she could try to be brave, put a good face on things, but Mab’s troop needed revenge. Again.

  They started their mischief slowly while she gave herself time to form a plan. It was simple enough to let the air out of hundreds of car tires along the street.

  Next they dispersed to fly above countless houses, sending nightmares to any animal or child sleeping inside them. Several of her lieutenants set off fire alarms at schools, city hall, hotels, and even the hospital.

  The Fairy Queen herself found a can of gasoline outside a small shed in a backyard, touched a spark to it, and watched it explode into flames. The fire department, already busy with an overwhelming number of false alarms, would certainly arrive too late.

  Steet, in a moment of inspiration, took several fairy vamps with him and hovered above a set of power lines. His cherry punk-cut hair shone brightly in the darkness. Under their combined mental efforts, the lines split and the ends swung sparking toward the ground. Block after block of houses was plunged into darkness.

  Swarming toward downtown, the fairies wreaked more mischief. Dorse, a streak of glowing aqua, landed on a traffic signal, turning the red light to green in mid-cycle. Inattentive drivers powered into the intersection, only to be broadsided by cross traffic. Metal crunched and shrieked. Glass shattered. Horns blared.

  Droplets of blood spattered one of the windshields, but Mab wasn’t satisfied yet. She had almost convinced herself that there was no point in holding a grudge against a demon who probably didn’t exist any-more—a demon who had turned her once merry and idyllic life with a flock of countless delightful adorers into an unending nightmare of bloodthirst.

  But tonight the Fairy Queen had seen the demon again. Not overly surprising, now that she thought about it, since this town was the center of some sort of mystical convergence. It had drawn Mabyana and her troop here. Why not a demon?

  Now Mab’s grudge was back full force. Her Fair Ones had almost managed to nab Anyanka, but that cloddish male had interfered. The “boyfriend.” It was only a temporary setback, though. Mab, the golden queen, could be as versatile as she was beautiful. Punishment could come in many forms—and Anyanka certainly had it coming. Mab had never asked for any role other than that of beloved ruler of her Fair Folk. Still, as long as she had been turned into the Fairy Shrew of the Universe, she would do what came naturally. Mab refused to lose any more of her troop—to demons or to humans.

  Mab had a plan now for settling an old, old score. The fact that Vesuva had given her the idea completely slipped her mind. The fairies would need to act soon, so she signaled for her troop to gather. They would like her plan. There was a certain simple charm to it.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The next couple of hours at the Summers house were spent in a variety of post-slayer activities. Lucket was placed in solitary confinement in the dining room. In spite of the very real possibility of another attack by the microvamps on an innocent victim, the Scoobies knew their first plan had failed, and they needed time for the three R’s: research, rest, and reorganization. Not to mention better weapons and a new strategy.

  Tara made several phone calls while Willow rested on the couch. Xander returned to his work in the basement. Giles checked Anya for injuries. Her wrist was swollen, probably injured as Xander tackled Anya to free her when the fairy vamps tried to carry her off. She had hardly noticed the pain in the mad rush from Weatherly Park to Buffy’s house, but now it had begun to throb and ache. Giles applied an ice pack and wrapped the wrist with an elastic sports bandage.

  “Thank you,” Anya said. “I’m sure you would have made an excellent doctor. Doctors earn a great deal of money.”

  Giles gave her a self-deprecating smile. “Yes, well, rest assured it’s all part of a watcher’s duties. In my capacity as a field medic, I’m largely paid for by the benevolence of the Watcher’s Council.” He pushed his glasses up higher on his nose. “Even if I weren’t, I should be very foolish indeed not to safeguard the health of my finest employee.”

  Anya beamed. “Thank you. And my pride in your compliment is in no way diminished by the fact that I’m your only employee.” She frowned. “But my wrist still hurts. When will it stop hurting? I don’t like injuries.”

  “Er, it may actually take some time,” Giles began earnestly.

  “Here, try this,” Dawn said. She shook two more aspirin from the bottle on the coffee table and handed them to Anya. “Specialty of the day.” She held the bottle up. “Anyone else?”

  “Oh, me! Me!” Buffy said, walking into the room.

  Giles looked at her in surprise. “Were you hurt during the fight?”

  She made an airy gesture with one hand. “Of course not. You know me, I’m just a sucker for the house special. Water anyone?” she said, quickly changing the subject. “Comes with free ice cubes.”

  “I already have ice, thank you,” Anya said, pointing to the cold pack on her wrist.

  Tara nodded. “I think Willow could use some more.”

  Spike looked up from the chair beside the sofa. “Don’t suppose you’ve got a nice single-malt Scotch laying about?”

  Buffy gave him a withering look. Spike pressed his lips together and outward. “Right, then.” He pulled a flask from his jacket pocket, unscrewed the cap, and took a gulp.

  Giles got up from his kneeling position beside Anya. “I’ll help you with the glasses, Buffy.”

  * * *

  It was nearly midnight by the time Xander came back upstairs carrying the transformed paddle-shaped breadboard and eating a Hershey bar.

  “What is that?” Buffy said, looking at his invention.

  Ever helpful, Anya answered for him. “It’s chocolate,” she said. She looked at Xander. “Is it bait for the better mousetrap you built?”

  Dawn raised a corner of her mouth. “Looks like a porcupine that got run over by a steam roller—backward.”

  “Could be a hairbrush for a Gnoxl demon,” Buffy suggested.

  Spike quirked a brown eyebrow. “Naw. Prob’ly just a back scratcher for Carpentry Boy.”

  Xander looked as if he were tempted to hit Spike with the augmented breadboard. “Well at least I was doing something more useful than getting drunk and waiting for some uncooperative insect to talk.”

  “I believe insects have six legs,” Anya said.

  Xander ignored the comment. “Other than taking a useless prisoner, what have you done to help?”

  Spike gave Xander a challenging look. “Dusted five wingies myself tonight. How many did you kill?”

  Xander’s eyes slid away from Spike’s. “Behold how impressed I’m not. You see, I’m not living in the past here. Sure, you had the edge at the park tonight, but all that is about to change. I’m looking toward the future.”

  “Just tell us what you made, Xander,” Buffy said.

  Xander hefted the paddle breadboard to show them the miniature defoliated forest of deli toothpicks sprouting from its flat surface. He had drilled wide vent holes between the potentially lethal rows of diminutive stakes. “Had to do a bit of Frankensteining, but what you see before you, my friends, is the all new and improved Slayomatic.” He swung it as if it were a baseball bat aimed at an oncoming pitch. “Figured those little nasties were too fast for most of us to be really accurate tonight. But with this baby”—he swung again and stopped abruptly as if he had connected with an invisible baseball—“mere accuracy becomes irrelevant.”

  Giles’s eyebrows rose in an intrigued expression. “Excellent. I daresay you might dispatch quite a few that way.” He sighed. “And there do seem to be quite a few.”

&n
bsp; “Yeah, what was with that?” Buffy asked. “On Friday night there were maybe twenty; tonight a few more, maybe, but nothing knee-shivering. Then a few more and a few more and all of a sudden, bam. Ambush in the, uh, bushes.”

  “There were over a hundred,” Willow said from the sofa. “I started to count, but I sort of lost track with the running and the teleportation and—”

  “And the stumbling and the headaching,” Tara added.

  “Right,” Giles said. “Well, we’ve no idea how many fairies are actually in this troop.”

  “The original troop in Italy had at least a thousand fairies,” Anya said.

  Giles removed his glasses.

  “And we’re sure these are the same vampettes?” Buffy asked.

  “Lucket definitely knows who I am. And I recognized their queen in the park during the fight,” Anya said. “She seemed very angry.”

  Xander sighed. “So they tried to whisk you off to Neverland for a little party, huh?”

  “I don’t know why,” Anya said. “I’ve never done anything to hurt them.”

  Buffy looked at her in disbelief. “You mean other than trying to kill them tonight?”

  “Plus, you know, the making it possible for them to become vampires in the first place?” Willow said.

  Anya looked genuinely confused. “I was only doing my job. There was nothing personal.”

  “Looks like somebody took it personal,” Spike said.

  “So what are we saying?” Tara asked. “Anya has all these enemies she didn’t know about, and there could be a thousand of these things?”

  The corner of Buffy’s mouth twitched downward. “I know. Kind of makes you tired just thinking about it.”

  “Indeed,” Giles said. “I believe we could all benefit from some rest. We’ll formulate a new—and preferably more effective—plan in the morning.”

  Dawn and Buffy passed out pillows, blankets, and sleeping bags.

  Tara’s face was uneasy. “The fairies are still out there.”