“Too bad we can’t put up a vamp blockade—look out!” Xander yelled.
Buffy jumped back as a truck loaded with heavy road barriers careened around the corner. An unstable stack of sawhorses fell off the truck onto the sidewalk where she had just been standing. Some of the wooden legs broke on impact and flew into the air. She caught a splintered piece of two-by-four before it hit her in the chest.
“Nice catch.” Xander sagged, breathless from the close call.
“Instant stakes.” Oz took the broken sawhorse leg from Buffy’s hand and dropped it into the wire trash container. “Sunnydale attacks the Slayer. That’s a twist.”
Buffy glared at the truck as it sped on down the street, then glanced at Xander. “Thanks. For the warning, I mean.”
“No problem.” Xander frowned. “Funny thing, though.”
Oz looked at him askance. “There’s humor here?” “No.” Xander shook his head. “Funny because I knew those sawhorses were going to fall . . . before they fell.”
“Weird, but fortunate for me.” Buffy kicked at the pile of smashed barriers. “Guess we’ll have to get someone to clean up the mess.”
“Forget the mess. Don’t you see?” Xander met Oz and Buffy’s blank stares with shining eyes. “I knew!”
“Déjà vu.” Oz began marking off the next display area. “It happens to everyone.”
Buffy nodded.
“No, it was more than that,” Xander insisted. “The danger was so clear. Like something zapped a message into my head!”
“Like psychic e-mail?” Buffy asked. “Or would that be p-mail?”
“That’s it. Psychic!” Xander grinned, infused with sudden excitement. “There’s no other explanation.”
“Not necessarily.” Oz glanced up. “Maybe you got a message from another Xander in the multiverse.”
“From another who in the what?” Xander frowned.
“It’s a scientific theory,” Oz explained. “Some physicists believe that there are an infinite number of universes where all things that can happen do happen.”
Buffy looked up from the box. “Meaning that in one of these other universes I just got squashed by sawhorses?”
“Maybe.” Oz nodded. “And since we’re probably linked to our counterparts in these other universes, that Xander saw it happen and our Xander tuned in on it.”
“So it was a psychic experience?” Xander asked Oz.
“Scientifically speaking. There’s nothing supernatural about it.” Oz reached for the masking tape, oblivious to the flicker of disappointment Buffy saw in Xander’s eyes.
She had known for some time that Xander felt left out of the “extraordinary ability” loop. Even though he tackled whatever the Hellmouth threw at him, courage couldn’t offset his strictly human status in his own mind. Having a Slayer, a witch, and a were-wolf as best friends didn’t help.
“Maybe I’m just a late bloomer in the paranormal scheme of things,” Xander said, brightening. “It’s possible, right?”
“In Sunnydale, anything is possible, Xander.” Buffy saw no reason to bust his bubble.
* * *
Xander didn’t say another word about the saw-horse incident as they blazed a masking tape trail down the block, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it as he followed Oz and Buffy back to the gallery. Oz had rejected the idea that it might have been a psychic experience. That hurt, but not as much as being humored by the Slayer. Like he needed a paranormal bone to bolster his starved self-esteem.
Okay, so I do, Xander admitted to himself, but the image of falling sawhorses had been too clear to be dismissed as mere déjà vu. He had experienced the phenomenon of reliving some event or revisiting some place often enough to know that the sawhorse warning was different. The possibility that he might actually be psychic was a little hard to digest, but his friends’ reactions had given him heartburn.
Why, Xander wondered, was it so hard for Buffy and Oz to even consider that he might have an emerging paranormal ability? Especially one that might be just as useful as casting spells or driving stakes through vampire hearts. Just because I desperately don’t want to be supernaturally impaired doesn’t mean it can’t happen!
Willow looked up from the computer as they trooped into the gallery. “So—any action on the front lines?”
“Nope.” Buffy sank into a second chair Willow had put behind the table. “But then, it isn’t dark, yet.”
“Buffy had a near miss with a sawhorse stampede, though.” Oz dropped the supply box on the floor.
“Sawhorse?” Willow blinked. “One of those wooden two-by-four thingies? With—”
“—no head, no tail,” Xander said simultaneously. His heart leaped. “There! It happened again.”
“What?” Willow looked confused.
“I knew what you were going to say before you said it, Will,” Xander explained.
“Not unusual,” Oz said. “For someone who’s known Willow since kindergarten.”
“Maybe.” Xander wasn’t about to disregard the psychic implication just because Oz’s logic made annoying sense. “But I’ve never met those sawhorses before in my life.”
“They were . . . alive?” Willow frowned.
“No, but I saw them fall off the truck.” Xander quickly clarified. “Before they self-destructed on the street.”
“Like a . . . a premonition?” Willow asked.
“Something like that,” Buffy said.
“Exactly like that.” Xander tensed under Willow’s skeptical scrutiny. She wasn’t taking his psychic prospects seriously, either.
“Excuse me?” A soft feminine voice interrupted. “Is this where I check in for the art show?”
They all turned to the newcomer.
“Uh, yeah. This is the place.” Xander marveled at his ability to speak with his heart lodged in his throat. The young woman’s short raven black hair framed a cameo face dominated by the biggest, darkest eyes he had ever seen. Her pale skin was flawless, but since the sun was just setting and she wasn’t smoking or ablaze, that vampire-like quality didn’t set off any alarms.
“Except, well, artist registration doesn’t start until tomorrow,” Willow said.
“Oh, dear.” The young artist’s full lips puckered into a disappointed pout. “I was hoping to set up tonight so I could spend tomorrow finishing a couple of pieces.”
“Maybe that could be arranged.” Xander caught the girl’s grateful glance and cast one of his own at Buffy. “If somebody with pull asks for a favor.”
Buffy started. “Meaning me?”
“You’ve got more influence with your mom than I do,” Xander said.
“I’d really appreciate it.” The young woman smiled and extended her hand to Buffy. “Justine Camille.”
“Buffy Summers.” Buffy shook Justine’s hand and gave Xander a sidelong scowl.
Xander deflected it with a shrug. He could handle some Slayer disapproval if it made points with the gorgeous artist.
“Your mom’s in the office, Buffy.” Willow waved toward the back of the gallery. “Actually, it might not be a bad idea. To let Justine sign in now, I mean. We’ll be mobbed tomorrow, and well, I’ve only got one computer.”
“Good point.” Buffy jumped up. “Be right back.”
“Just fill this out with your local contact info.” Willow handed Justine a form.
Xander shifted awkwardly as the young woman walked by him without a glance. Then he realized he looked like Construction Guy in his tool belt and scruffy work clothes. Not exactly the right boy bait to attract an elegant artistic type. He was caught completely off guard when Justine suddenly flashed him a brilliant smile over her shoulder.
“Thanks so much—”
“Uh, Xander.” Xander nodded. “Harris. You need anything, just ask.”
“Excellent!” Justine hesitated, nibbling her lip. “I don’t suppose you could help me unload my van?”
“Uh—I could.” Xander kept nodding. “I mean, sure. Yes. Whenever you�
��re ready.”
That was so not slick. Xander perched on the edge of the table to wait, pretending to ignore Justine and hoping to recoup some semblance of cool. As long as nobody mentions high school, I’ve got a shot with Justine for coffee. Or maybe even late night snack date—
“Well! Looks like everyone’s here.” Cordelia Chase breezed into the gallery looking casually chic in black pants, boots and a sequined, blue top. Her hair was swept back and clipped in a cascade of dark curls.
Xander’s mouth went dry as Cordy’s glance swept across him and came to rest on his tool belt.
“Don’t tell me.” Cordy cocked her head. “You’ve finally settled on a career as a handyman?”
“Actually, I’m a member of the art show staff,” Xander said. No cracks. Just the facts, he reminded himself when Justine glanced over her shoulder.
“So am I. Mrs. Summers asked me to be the publicity liaison for a VIP.” Cordy scanned the gallery. “Is Buffy’s mom here?”
“In her office.” Xander thumbed toward the back and exhaled as Cordy left without a parting insult. He had gotten off easy.
By the time Buffy returned with Joyce’s permission to let Justine check in, Willow was already entering the artist’s contact information into the registration program.
“The Golden Lantern Motel is old—but nice,” Willow observed as she typed. “And close, too. It’s only a couple blocks from your display site—”
“Although I wouldn’t recommend walking,” Xander interjected. “Alone or after dark.”
“Uh—right.” Willow winced slightly and pulled Justine’s site map from the printer. She highlighted the artist’s display area. “Site number two-thirty-eight. On Main between Fourth and Vista.”
“Got it.” Xander eased off the table and gallantly gestured toward the door. He wanted to whisk Justine away before Cordelia finished her business with Joyce. “After you, Justine.”
“Thanks for everything, Willow. You, too, Buffy.” Flashing Xander another brilliant smile, Justine led the way to her van.
Xander slipped into the passenger side and pointed her in the right direction. “You’ve got a great location, Justine. Right in the middle of town. Lots of action—in a pedestrian sense. Customers, that is.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Justine said. “I need some solid sales if I want to keep traveling the show circuit. A gallery show in New York or L.A. would be better, though. That’s the only way an artist can build a reputation.”
Out of his element on the topic of fine arts, Xander just nodded. “Do you need help setting up your display?”
Justine looked surprised. “I was just trying to decide if it would be presumptuous to ask you!”
“You were?” Xander cleared his throat, then bit his tongue. Justine needed muscle, but maybe that wasn’t the sole source of her interest in him. He wasn’t going to risk a total turn off by mentioning anything weird like psychic ability.
“This may sound strange, Xander, but . . . you exude an astonishing amount of psychic energy.”
Xander stared at her open-mouthed. Apparently, his emerging ability to sense the future had endowed him with a powerful psychic presence, too. Buffy’s too close to me to feel it. As a stranger, Justine is more sensitive to my psychic vibes. She also didn’t know he had been power-challenged most of his life.
“I . . . don’t talk about it much,” Xander said.
“I understand.” Justine’s eyes sparkled as she studied him. “When we’re done, would you let me do a Tarot reading? I don’t find subjects with your . . . qualities very often.”
“Telling the future with cards, right?” Xander’s nonchalant shrug masked an inner turmoil. His friends’ skepticism had shaken his confidence. A Tarot reading might prove his psychic talent was real and not just wishful thinking. He had to know.
Before the credibility gap becomes a canyon.
CHAPTER 3
“So . . . this is the Golden Lantern Motel.” Xander forced the words past the lump in his throat as he stopped in the doorway of Justine’s room. He shoved his hands into his pocket and rocked back on his heels. And I thought having my psychic thrusters activated was the high point in an otherwise ordinary week.
“Come on in, Xander.” Justine pulled a deck of cards from her bag and tossed the bag on the floor. “Do you want something to drink?”
“Drink?” Xander stared at the artist. Being alone with a beautiful woman in a motel room had put his brain into a synaptic stall. The snappy patter was on hold until his hormone levels leveled out. Beautiful and talented, he thought when he saw the four, unfinished paintings on the bed by the wall. The large, charcoal sketches depicted strange fantasy scenes. Beautiful, talented, and weird, but not that bizarre by Sunnydale standards. I can deal.
Justine reached into a cooler on the dresser. “I’ve got ginger ale, cola—”
“Ginger ale.” Xander took the can from Justine and popped the top. “Thanks.”
Justine flashed Xander another brilliant smile as she sat on the bed. “Shall we get started?”
Xander took a swallow and sputtered. The gods of geek-guys-who-might-get-lucky were with him, though, and soda didn’t spray from his mouth. It just dribbled down his chin. “Started as in—”
Justine held up her Tarot deck.
“—Tarot reading. I’m ready whenever you are.” Xander wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. “Is there some kind of ritual or something?”
She tucked her legs under her as she laughed. “Nothing special. It’s all in the cards. Have a seat.” She patted the bed.
“Right. Might as well be comfortable.” Xander perched on the edge of the mattress, leaving room for the cards between him and the amused, young woman. In the back of his mind he was aware that he didn’t have a clue what to expect. What good is being psychic if it doesn’t work when you need it?
“Just relax, Xander,” Justine said. “It’s painless—unless you’ve got some deep, dark secret you don’t want me to know.”
Xander tensed. Justine was kidding, but he suddenly wondered just how much she could find out. Not that he had much to hide beyond rating a near zero in the high school stud pool even though he had stolen a kiss from Willow and lost Cordelia forever and spent most of his spare time almost getting killed by demons and vampires. Nothing to worry about.
“Touch the cards, Xander.” Justine held out the deck and drew his gaze. “You have to transfer your psychic energy into the deck.”
Xander hesitated. “My psychic energy? All of it?”
“No.” Justine smiled. “Just a little so the reading will reflect your future.”
“Oh, right.” Xander wiped his sweating palm on his jeans and touched the deck. A tingling instantly affected his fingers and seemed to shoot directly to his brain. He swayed, suddenly dizzy.
“Are you okay?” Justine frowned as she pulled the deck back.
“Uh, yeah. It’s been a long day.” Xander shrugged, but couldn’t shake the odd disconnect he felt with his own head. “Just a little tired, I guess.”
“And tense. Relax.”
The tension immediately drained from Xander’s body and mind as Justine pulled the first card from the deck and placed it faceup on the bed.
“This card, the Knight of Swords, represents you, Xander,” Justine explained.
“Is that cool?” Xander asked. “Being the Knight of Swords, I mean.”
“That depends on the subject, but in your case—definitely.” Justine drew a second card and put it faceup covering the first. “The Seven of Cups represents the circumstances surrounding you. Very interesting.”
“How interesting?” Xander wasn’t concerned, just curious.
“You’re dealing with a lot of choices right now.”
That’s true, but hardly an earthshaking revelation, Xander thought. Everyone faced many choices every day. But what to get when the bakery runs out of jelly doughnuts probably isn’t on anyone else’s critical-choice list.
Xander sighed. He had one dream—to work his way around the country unencumbered by school, parents, and a lifelong rep as a loser. And he wouldn’t exactly mind a few months away from the demon denizens of Sunnydale, either. Although, he realized with a jolt, this was the first time he had actually admitted it to himself. The thought was disturbing, almost as disturbing as the deception and dissipation part. Sometimes he did feel like he had no substance, like he was just another stake in the Slayer’s back pocket. Handy to have around, but not irreplaceable.
Where did that come from? Xander wondered and changed focus again.
“What deception?” Still feeling dizzy, Xander braced himself with his arm.
“Fooling yourself, perhaps?” Justine shrugged. “Or hiding things from the people around you who care? Only you know, Xander. And the cards, of course.”
“I’m not liking this much so far,” Xander said.
“Enlightenment is never easy, but once you achieve it, you’ll never regret it.” Justine placed a third card perpendicular over the first two.
“Death?” Apprehension gripped Xander when he read the title scripted below the image of the Grim Reaper. “Can we stop now?”
“It’s symbolic,” Justine said, “not literal. Whatever the Death card represents, it indicates transformation.”
No! Xander reacted to the first thing that came to mind. Not into a vampire!
Justine didn’t notice his apprehension and kept talking. “Generally speaking, the Death card deals with change that’s based on the destruction of what already exists. Which isn’t all bad,” she hastily added. “Necessarily.”
“It isn’t?”
“The changes might be new opportunities you haven’t been in a position to consider, yet. Something ends . . . something else begins. That kind of thing.”
“Like graduation?” Xander flinched, remembering his desire to appear older to Justine. “As an example, I mean.”
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