Doomsday Deck

by Diana G. Gallagher

  CHAPTER 5

  As the last artist hurried out the gallery door, Willow sighed with relief. She had gone straight to the art show headquarters after school to relieve the only volunteer Joyce had found for temporary registration duty. Except for a break to grab a soda from the office fridge and stretch, she had been anchored in front of the computer for hours. Most of the artists had registered by early evening, but others were still straggling in.

  “Hey, Will!” Buffy entered as Willow started toward the office. “How’s it going?”

  “Okay.” Willow wiggled her fingers. “I haven’t developed stiff knuckles from typing. Yet. Where’s Oz?”

  “Still setting up. Some of these people won’t finish until midnight.” Buffy sighed and zipped into the office ahead of her. “Want a soda?”

  Willow nodded and took the cold can Buffy offered. “Have you seen Xander?”

  “He’s been helping the artists, too.” Buffy popped the top on her can and leaned against the desk. “In between very long breaks hanging out at Justine’s display.”

  “I guess he’s still mad, huh?” Willow hadn’t meant to hurt Xander’s feelings that morning—none of them had—but he was taking it hard. When he had finally checked into the gallery, he had barely spoken. If grunts and monosyllables count as talking, she thought with dismay.

  “Or he just needs a little space to lick his wounds. I tried to smooth things over, but he didn’t have much to say. Too embarrassed about the psychic thing maybe.” Buffy reached for the Slayer bag on the floor and pulled out a stake.

  “Probably, but Xander on a verbal strike is . . . creepy.” Willow shuddered.

  “Definitely. I hope he snaps out of it soon.” Buffy slid the stake into her back pocket and paused on her way out the door. “Sun’s setting and I don’t want to keep Angel waiting.”

  “Tell Oz I’ll see him later.” As Willow wandered back to the computer, she suspected Buffy was more worried about Xander than she sounded. The Slayer just didn’t know what to do about it, either.

  “Willow! Is Xander here?” Anya strode toward the registration table.

  “No, he’s out there somewhere.” Willow waved toward the door. “Helping—uh—the artists set up their stuff . . . and stuff.”

  “Oh.” Anya stared at Willow, her jaw set. “Well, let me ask you something.”

  Willow eyed her warily. “What?”

  “How do I get a guy?”

  Disarmed by Anya’s question, Willow experienced a momentary brain fumble. “Get a guy what?”

  “To like me. If I were interested in one—hypothetically—and he ignored me.” Anya scowled. “What would I do about it?”

  “I’m not the person to ask, Anya.”

  Anya rolled her eyes. “You’re a human female so you have inherent instincts on how to attract men. There must be some learned techniques women use in these situations.”

  Willow almost smiled at the irony. Anya had spent the past millennium avenging scorned women by punishing and repelling men. Now that she was stuck in a teenaged, female body, all she seemed to think about was snaring “a boy”—most likely Xander.

  “It’s been so long since I was human, I’ve forgotten what works and what doesn’t.” Anya’s frown deepened. “If I ever knew. Social standards were a lot different during the Dark Ages.”

  “Oh, well—yeah.” Willow didn’t know how to respond. She still wasn’t comfortable with the exdemon and didn’t trust her. Even if I was an expert on how to lure a guy, which I’m not, why should I help her?

  “So?” Anya prodded her.

  Willow shook her head. She knew from experience that Anya wouldn’t just drop the subject and go away—not empty-handed anyway. She was as stubborn as she was blunt. Besides, nothing Anya did would change Xander’s mind about her unless he honestly wanted to be swayed. Which he probably didn’t now that he had Justine. For the weekend anyway.

  “Um . . . what about . . . Well, you could try to make him jealous,” Willow suggested. That wasn’t her style and it probably wouldn’t work, but she had to offer Anya something.

  “Jealous?” Anya brightened, then frowned again. “I should have thought of that. I’ve been driving men mad with jealousy for centuries.”

  “It does seem to work. People don’t know what they’ve got until they don’t have it anymore.” Willow smiled. “If Xander—I mean, this hypothetical guy—thinks you’ve got someone else then maybe he’ll be sorry he didn’t pay more attention to you . . . when he had the chance.”

  “Okay.” Anya had no compunction about using deception as a means to an end. “Where do I get someone else in a hurry?”

  “You could try the Bronze.” Willow didn’t have a clue, but she couldn’t solve all of Anya’s problems.

  As if on cue, though, she looked past Anya just in time to see a tall, handsome young man in a sports jacket and jeans walk in. He had a camera slung over his shoulder and a small computer notebook in his hand. “Can I help you?”

  “Rob Chambers, California Art magazine.” He smiled at Willow, then Anya.

  “You’ll do.” Anya stood back, unabashed as her gaze flicked from the mop of curly, dark hair that crowned his tanned face to his casual loafers. “Let’s go out. Now.”

  Anya’s direct approach took Willow by surprise. She kept expecting the ex-demon to develop some basic social skills.

  Rob recovered easily. “I’d love to, but I’m on assignment covering the show. Is Cordelia Chase here?”

  “Not at the moment, but she will be.” Willow glanced toward the door. In a mutually beneficial arrangement that would both pad her college application as well as boost PR for the gallery and next year’s Sidewalk Art Festival, Cordelia had offered to take charge of the reporter. Cordelia’s style and attitude were perfect for the job. Not to mention that her vampire awareness will help keep Mr. Chambers alive long enough to write a review.

  As though on cue, Cordelia made her grand entrance. Wearing a black skirt and fitted, black jacket over a sea-green blouse and spiked heels, she was the epitome of elegance. She flashed a perfect smile. “Mr. Chambers?”

  “Yes—” Only Rob’s eyes betrayed his appreciation of Cordelia’s stunning beauty as he turned. “Ms. Chase?”

  “Cordelia, please. Sorry I’m late, but there’s no parking anywhere with all these artists jamming the streets.” Cordy glanced at Willow. “Are we going to have to deal with that inconvenience all weekend?”

  Willow shrugged. “Traffic control isn’t my department.”

  “Not a problem, I assure you.” Rob gripped Cordy’s hand firmly for several seconds longer than necessary. “I rather enjoy evening strolls with beautiful women.”

  “You’ve never been to Sunnydale before,” Anya said dryly.

  Willow nudged her. A message she may or may not get, she thought with a fixed smile. She needn’t have worried. Rob was too enthralled with Cordelia to notice.

  “Then a walking tour seems like a good way to begin.” Cordy linked her arm through Rob’s and steered him toward the door.

  “Where are you going?” Willow asked when Anya moved to follow.

  “I need another man if I’m going to make Xan—anyone jealous.” Anya spoke without looking back.

  Willow just shook her head. Anya was zeroed in on Xander like a heat-seeking missile on an active volcano.

  * * *

  Anya paused on the sidewalk to watch as Cordelia and Rob stopped to speak to an artist unloading a covered pickup truck. Is she admiring his work or blasting him for taking her parking spot? Anya wondered as an aside. Her attention was on the reporter.

  He was attractive in a casual, rugged way, but looking at him didn’t make the hair on her neck tingle or tighten her stomach with longing. Just thinking about Xander made her feel awful. Rob would be a poor substitute, but then she wasn’t looking for love. She just needed a relatively attractive, male presence to raise the green-eyed monster of envy in Xander.

  “Nothing to lose an
d Xander to gain,” Anya said as Rob and Cordelia moved on. Her plan to entice the young man away from Xander’s ex-girlfriend was simple. Cordelia was being coy. Anya didn’t have the patience to play games. Her experience as Anyanka had taught her one thing well: Men aren’t all that patient, either.

  Anya wove her way through knots of people who were putting together their display areas. She had never been to a modern art show, but she assumed the craft people would display their wares for sale tomorrow. Kind of like the European village vendors a few centuries ago, she thought. Reminds me of the time I turned an unfaithful copper tinker into a tavern wench—with entertaining results.

  As Anya closed in, Rob paused to survey the scene and typed a few notes into his electronic notebook. He smiled at Cordelia. “As long as we’re out here, I’d like to talk to some of the artists. Get some of their backgrounds—”

  “Whatever you want.” Cordelia beamed back. “When you’re finished, would you be interested in checking out the local night life? It’s kinda dead, but the Bronze makes a fabulous double-mocha coffee.”

  “Sounds like a ‘must-do’ to me.” Rod placed his hand on Cordy’s back to ease her around a large toolbox on the sidewalk.

  Rolling her eyes, Anya quickened her pace to catch up and came to an abrupt halt when Rob and Cordelia stopped by a nearly completed display. Xander sat on a chair in the center of the U-shaped panels. A too-pretty, young female artist was hanging her paintings and glanced at Rob and Cordelia curiously. Xander stared at his feet.

  “The show doesn’t open until tomorrow,” the artist said.

  “I’m Rob Chambers, a reporter for California Art magazine.” Rob stepped closer to study the paintings. “These are excellent—for fantasy.”

  “Justine Camille. You don’t like fantasy, Mr. Chambers?” The artist followed Rob and Cordelia as they moved from one piece to another.

  Anya planted herself in front of Xander. “Hello, Xander.”

  Xander grunted in reply, but he didn’t look at her.

  “What are you doing?” Anya asked.

  “Helping.” Xander’s gaze flicked to her face for a second, then fastened on the artist.

  Anya felt as though he had just driven a stake through her human heart. She had learned to deal with being ignored and insulted, but not with Xander’s interest in someone else. Anya’s attention snapped to the dark-haired woman. Confused and hurt, she kicked his foot.

  “What?” Xander frowned and tucked his feet under the chair. His annoyed glance immediately shifted back to Justine.

  Anya was devastated and completely at a loss. The jealousy ploy only worked if the other person cared. Xander couldn’t care less. “I don’t like you anymore, Xander.”

  “Good.” Xander’s gaze remained on Justine.

  “Believe me, Mr. Chambers,” Justine was saying. “I will have a one-woman show at a major New York gallery within six months.”

  “I commend your ambition, but your expectations are unrealistic, Justine,” Rob countered. “Fairies, dragons, and unicorns, no matter how well the pieces are executed, are only illustrations.”

  Anya stepped up beside Rob for a closer look at the paintings. The colorful, detailed depictions of make-believe creatures had a certain charm. More importantly, her work was Justine’s weak spot and the perfect target for Anya’s vengeance.

  “I’m going to change that,” Justine said with confidence.

  “Fine art is Rob’s business,” Cordelia said. “I wouldn’t take his advice lightly, Ms. Camille.”

  “Fantasy is a genre that will never be taken seriously by the fine-art world,” Rob explained with a hint of exasperation.

  “Then why are you wasting your time with her, Mr. Chambers?” Anya cast a scathing look at Justine and turned to leave.

  “You’ll be sorry for that,” the artist whispered as Anya passed by.

  The hollow threat fell on deaf ears. When Xander turned, his brooding stare bore through Anya, as though she wasn’t even there.

  * * *

  Buffy heard the rattle of a trashcan in the dark alley behind her at the same time her Slayer sense detected the vampires. She didn’t have to look to know Angel had swung to the left to flank the fanged stalkers. They were both ready for action after patrolling the art show perimeter for hours guarding the artists and volunteers from shadows and a few stray cats.

  Buffy whipped the stake from her back pocket as she turned toward the alley. “Want to party?”

  The first vamp burst from the dark corridor roaring. The large male was wearing a UC Sunnydale sweatshirt and was obviously driven by hunger rather than brains. He ran right into Buffy’s raised stake in a desperate effort to grab her in a bear hug.

  “Didn’t study for your vampire midterms, huh?” Buffy quipped as he vanished in a cloud of dust.

  The second was female and older. When her companion disintegrated, she turned and ran.

  Angel darted from a doorway to intercept. Startled, the vamp tripped and self-destructed on a broken, wooden chair leg someone had discarded.

  “That wasn’t exactly a challenge,” Buffy huffed.

  Angel nodded with a thoughtful frown.

  “What?” Buffy asked, pocketing her stake. The brooding look that haunted Angel’s eyes was more intense than usual.

  “It’s too quiet,” Angel said.

  “Yeah, it is.” Buffy glanced toward the street. One of the visiting artisans slammed his van doors closed. The middle-aged man didn’t have a clue he was easy prey for Sunnydale’s darker element. The undead were alarmingly absent, however. “Is something up we don’t know about?”

  “Not that I’ve heard, but . . .” Angel hesitated, his senses tuned to the nuances of evil that wafted through the night.

  “Please, don’t tell me you’ve got a bad feeling about this.” Buffy’s flip remark masked a shudder.

  “I’ve got a bad feeling about . . . something.” The vampire’s human brow furrowed. “Willy might know.”

  “It’s worth checking out,” Buffy agreed. “Just in case.” Willy ran the local demon watering hole and served as a handy Slayer snitch when proper pressure was applied.

  “I’ll call Giles, if I find out anything.” Angel touched Buffy’s shoulder and brushed her mouth with a hurried kiss before he vanished down the alley.

  I’m in love with a shadow, Buffy thought, honing in on the dark silence that had absorbed the vampire. She didn’t sense anything threatening, but some unidentified thingy had disturbed Angel. That was enough to make her wary.

  With Sunnydale secure, Buffy headed back toward the gallery. Mayor Wilkins had dispatched extra police patrols as a precaution during the art show. They seemed to be more concerned with directing traffic and writing parking tickets than protecting the public, though. Still, the increased number of officers working the streets might have discouraged vampire gluttony. The average vamp tended to hunt alone and avoided conflict or complications.

  When Buffy saw Xander walking on the far side of the street with Justine, she made a point of intercepting them. “Hi, Xander. How’s it going?”

  “Fine.” Xander nodded, but without enthusiasm.

  “How about some downtime at the Bronze?” Buffy suggested, suddenly feeling awkward. She hadn’t realized just how deeply he had been hurt and she was at a loss what to do. “You, me, Oz, and Willow. Justine, too. If you want.”

  “Thanks, but I’m kind of tired.” Justine smiled, but seemed ill at ease.

  Tired or nervous? Buffy wondered as the artist took Xander’s arm. Probably both. It had been an exhausting day for the artist, too, and her livelihood depended on selling her work over the weekend.

  “Xander’s walking me to my van.” Justine pointed to a green van parked a short distance away.

  “Good idea.” Buffy noted the dragon painted on the side door. “I can wait.”

  “No, that’s okay,” Xander said.

  Buffy frowned, but didn’t argue. “Then maybe we’ll see you la
ter? We need to talk.”

  “Right.” Xander sighed. “Later at the Bronze.”

  Worried, Buffy navigated her way through the artists finishing up their displays. She had never seen Xander so down. Willow knew Xander better than anyone. Maybe she had a clue how to set things right.

  * * *

  Buffy glanced toward the entrance again looking for Xander. Willow and Oz had met her at the Bronze over an hour ago and they had finally agreed to accept Giles’s advice for a while longer.

  “I’m not sure it’s a perfect plan.” Willow pushed her soda away. “But pushing Xander about being psychic might just drive him even farther away.”

  “Apparently, we’ve already driven him to emotional Outer Mongolia,” Oz observed.

  “What I was thinking,” Buffy said. “Just not in those exact words.” She frowned, her anxiety mounting about Xander’s retreat into stubborn silence. His no-show at the Bronze was troubling, too. “Where is he, anyway?”

  “Maybe he went home to sulk some more.” Willow shrugged. “We were kind of hard on him this morning.”

  “Or maybe he’s with Justine at her motel again,” Oz said. “She had an exclusive on Xander’s hammer and his company all day.”

  “And all night?” Buffy started to rise. “Maybe I’d better check.”

  “Not a good idea.” Oz put a staying hand on Buffy’s arm.

  “Why not?” Buffy asked.

  “The male–female equation for one thing,” Oz explained. “Might be embarrassing.”

  Willow’s eyes widened. “Especially for Xander. I mean, if Xander and Justine are together and you barge in to rescue him, it would kind of . . . kill the mood.”

  “And his image,” Oz added.

  “Oh, yeah. I didn’t think of that. The boy–girl angle, I mean.” Buffy sat back down, but she couldn’t shake her unease. “So you guys don’t think there’s anything off about Justine?”

  “Well, I suppose she could just be using Xander to help her with her art stuff,” Willow said. “Or she might really like him.”

  Buffy nodded. “Okay, but Xander’s romantic track record isn’t all that great. He tends to attract assorted creatures of the night—and Cordelia—so my spidery-senses are up.”