Bad Bargain

by Diana G. Gallagher

  Twelve hours had passed since Michael had sent out his mystical call, but there was no sign of his protective charm. Without the amulet, he was vulnerable to every horror that inhabited the dark recesses of the town. Closing his eyes, he recited the incantation again.

  Codis fortis, deiciere,

  Adesdum prospecto hodie.

  He repeated the spell in English for good measure.

  Heart of power, thrown away,

  Come back to me today.

  Chapter Three

  Cordelia tried to ignore the freaky loser hanging out in the corner, but his silent presence was getting on her nerves. She spun around, dark eyes brimming with scorn as she lashed out. “Go hover somewhere else!

  Recoiling from the sharp rebuke, the boy stopped talking to himself and scrambled to get away from her.

  Harmony grimaced. “He’s so white, like a ghost or something. Could anybody be more repulsive?”

  “Zanzibar?” Cordelia shuddered to cover her earlier slip. Xander had rescued her from the old science lab fire, and he was a great kisser, but that didn’t obligate her to defend him. It wasn’t her fault he was a buffoon with candy lips.

  “Are these things great or what?” Opening an engraved metal compact, Harmony removed a fluffy pad. She pretended to powder her nose, then studied her reflection in the small mirror. “Should I get a tan this summer or stick with the pale porcelain doll look?”

  “Too much sun causes wrinkles and cancer. Oooh.” Cordelia carefully untangled a filigreed silver necklace from a gold sunburst on a heavy chain. “This silver one is mine. The rest can go back to the odds-and-ends table. It’s just costume junk.”

  “I have a crow’s claw!” Still gazing at herself in the mirror, Harmony pulled the skin around her eye tight.

  “That’s crow’s feet,” Cordelia said, clasping the delicate silver chain around her neck.

  “But I’m only sixteen!” Harmony squealed.

  “And I’ve been telling you since fifth grade that marathon tanning is bad for your skin. Did you listen? No.” Cordelia leaned in for a closer look. Harmony did have creases at the corners of her eyes. “So don’t come crying to me.”

  “But I look twenty!”

  Cordelia wasn’t in the mood to console the distraught girl. She grabbed the compact out of Harmony’s hand and dropped it in the box. “Stop whining. It could be worse. Plastic surgeons can fix premature wrinkles. They can’t cure cancer. I’ll be right back.”

  Ordinarily Cordelia wouldn’t think of wearing anything someone else had owned. She didn’t even buy off the rack at the better boutiques. But it was easy to justify making an exception for the silver necklace. The piece was exquisite, obviously an antique, and a rare find.

  That I haven’t paid for, Cordelia realized when Principal Snyder suddenly stepped in front of her. So I can’t be busted for buying something before the rummage sale opens—only for stealing!

  “Principal Snyder!” Cordelia flashed him her most ingratiating smile, prepared to use her feminine wiles to wheedle her way out of trouble. He was wearing a gray hat with a wide brim and red band. It was similar to the hats cocky detectives wore in the old black-and-white movies her father liked. “I love your hat! It makes you look so . . . debonair!”

  “It does, doesn’t it?” Snyder surprised her with a satisfied grin. “I knew you had good taste, Ms. Chase.”

  “Yes, I do.” Cordelia kept smiling.

  “I should buy this, shouldn’t I?”

  “Yes, you should,” Cordelia answered with an emphatic nod. Apparently the no-early-purchase rule didn’t apply to administration. “It’s definitely you.”

  “Oh, good, because I really like it.” Touching the brim, Snyder whistled a jaunty tune as he sashayed away.

  “Now that was creepy.” The tips of Cordelia’s fingers tingled as she moved on to the trinket and knickknack table.

  * * *

  “I finally figured it out!” Xander exclaimed.

  “What?” Willow asked.

  “The shirts must be breeding. The minute we think we’ve folded and priced them all, more show up.” Xander bent over and opened the flaps on the last unpacked box. He quickly closed them again and left the box on the floor. “Like tribbles, only we can’t transport them to a Klingon ship to get rid of them.”

  “No,” Willow deadpanned, “we’ll have to sell every single one before they overrun the cafeteria.”

  “Not possible,” Xander said. “The jocks have already pilfered the cool stuff, and the homeless derelicts who might actually want yesterday’s outfits won’t come in to buy them. They’ll just wait until we throw them away and dig them out of the Dumpster.”

  “We’re doomed.” Willow loved bantering with Xander, especially about old movies and TV shows. It took her back to less complicated, carefree times, when spiders and frogs were the scariest creatures she had to worry about.

  “At least we won’t have to feed them.” Kicking the unpacked box aside, Xander collected and nested the empty boxes.

  The original version of “Love Potion No. 9” by the Clovers started playing, and Willow’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I love this song!”

  “Which reminds me”—Xander tucked the empty cartons under his arm—“we had a deal. I asked Oz to keep playing music, so you have to tell me where you hid my camouflage vest.”

  “I didn’t hide it anywhere,” Willow said. “You just assumed I did.”

  “But you know where it is,” Xander stated flatly.

  Willow shook her head. “Sorry.”

  “Can you finish up here?” Xander scanned the room as he spoke. “I’ve . . . uh . . . got to ditch these boxes.”

  And look for your vest, Willow thought as he left. Lifting the last box onto the table, she folded back the flaps and pulled out a pink button-down shirt. A strangled scream caught in her throat when a black spider scurried along the collar. She could help dust vamps and defy demons that had downloaded themselves into metal suits, but she had to draw the line at spiders. She dropped the shirt.

  A blue forked tongue flicked out, snagged the arachnid, and vanished into the pile of clothes.

  Willow had no idea what else was lurking in the box, but anything that killed spiders couldn’t be bad—except frogs. However, the only known frog big enough to fit the blue tongue was the Goliath. Thirty inches long and weighing seven pounds, they looked like giant bullfrogs and were native to African rain forests.

  The chances were slim to none that the spider killer was a frog, and Willow’s scientific curiosity was stronger than her fear. Using her black pricing marker, she flipped over the top shirt.

  Round dark eyes set in soft white fur blinked.

  “You’re not a nasty old frog,” Willow exclaimed, instantly captivated. The size of an average teddy bear, the furry thing had four stubby legs with bright blue paw pads and tufted, pointed ears. The little guy looked liked a Japanese anime creature, except that it was alive.

  The animal purred.

  Absolutely certain the odd but adorable critter wouldn’t harm her, Willow placed her hand near its furry face. It snuggled against her palm.

  “Hey, cutie.” Wrapping the creature in a long blue neck scarf, Willow took it out of the box and held it close. She loved her tropical fish, but her mother had never allowed her to have a pet she could cuddle. This time she wouldn’t take no for an answer. She wouldn’t even ask. She’d sneak Cutie in and out of her room and carry him to school in a backpack.

  “It’s okay,” Willow cooed. “You’re with me now.”

  Cutie purred.

  * * *

  As Buffy hurried down the hall toward the cafeteria, her Slayer sense suddenly kicked in. Her arm snapped out and her fingers closed around braided leather. She pulled, yanking a short, stocky boy out of the empty classroom on her left. He stumbled into the hall but hung on to the handle end of the bullwhip.

  “Jonathan!” Andrew shouted and ran out behind him. The taller boy had been in Buffy’s bi
ology class last year.

  She looked Jonathan in the eye. “I thought Principal Snyder was the only one who cracked the whip around here.”

  “I just got this.” Jonathan tugged on the whip, trying to pull it out of Buffy’s grasp. She tightened her grip on the main lash. The narrow leather strip, smaller round thong, and cracker that were attached to the end dangled from her closed fist.

  “You’ll lose this if Snyder catches you snapping it in the halls,” Buffy warned. “Someone could get hurt.”

  “Like me,” Andrew said, rubbing his arm.

  “Sorry.” Jonathan swallowed nervously.

  “No, you’re not. Ever since you found that thing, nothing else matters.” Andrew wasn’t happy. “We’re out here playing Indiana Jones instead of guarding our stash.”

  “I can’t help it,” Jonathan said, equally peeved. “Cracking it makes me feel—”

  “Taller?” Andrew sneered.

  Buffy had better things to do than referee a spat between two pathetic jokers. “Just watch it, okay?”

  Jonathan nodded and tugged again.

  Buffy let the end of the whip slide through her fingers. Just before the boy pulled the end clear, a small jolt of electricity shot through her hand.

  “Ouch.” Buffy frowned.

  “Uh-oh.” Coiling the whip, Jonathan took off down the hall with Andrew in pursuit.

  Buffy wished them well in their bumbling efforts to thwart Snyder’s regime, but their mortal fate instantly fell off her agenda. After using the pay phone outside the cafeteria to call the gallery, she pushed through the cafeteria doors and paused to look for Willow and Xander. Ms. Calendar waved her over to the cashier’s table.

  “I don’t want to press, but . . .” Ms. Calendar caught her lower lip in her teeth.

  “Mom should be here soon,” Buffy said, anticipating the question. “I just called the gallery, and she’s not there.”

  “That’s great!” The tension in the teacher’s slim body eased. “Someone called about the cloisonné urn I mentioned in the newspaper article. They want something nice for their poodle’s ashes.”

  “They want a super expensive antique urn for a dog?” Buffy’s appreciation of art and artifacts began and ended with ancient weapons and occult books. She didn’t care what happened to the pot, but her mother would be appalled. “Don’t tell Mom they’re going to bury it.”

  “Actually I think they’re going to keep it on their mantel.” Smiling, Ms. Calendar turned to help a student find the receipt books.

  “Buffy!” Cordelia called from the next table.

  Buffy groaned. Despite the fact that she and her friends had saved Cordelia’s life more than once, the popular cheerleader never, ever wanted to be seen with the “library losers” unless something dreadfully bad was happening. Buffy wasn’t doing bad this weekend.

  Cordelia, as usual, wouldn’t be ignored. She dashed over, glaring with indignation. “I need help, and that’s what you’re empowered or whatever to do, right? Help?”

  “Is the world coming to an end again?” Buffy asked.

  “Not that I noticed.” Cordelia grabbed Buffy’s arm and hauled her toward the jewelry display. “Some of these things are very valuable, and I need you to stand guard until Deirdre comes back.”

  “No can do.” Buffy was duty bound to save Cordelia from being hacked up, spindled, or mutilated, but she didn’t owe her any favors. “I’m working in shirts with Willow.”

  “It’s just for a minute!” Cordelia insisted.

  “But I’ve got—” As Buffy was about to turn, she noticed a dark speck on Cordelia’s front tooth. Fascinated, she hesitated. “—a few minutes to spare.”

  “Oh, thank you,” Cordelia said, relieved. “Deirdre said she’d be right back. I just don’t want anyone to walk off with anything while I’m trying to convince Harmony that she isn’t turning into an old hag.”

  “She’s sixteen.” Buffy couldn’t stop staring at the dark spot on Cordelia’s otherwise perfect smile.

  “She’s sun-dried,” Cordelia countered, “just like a prune.”

  “Uh-huh.” Buffy’s eyes widened slightly when she realized that the dental flaw wasn’t a lipstick smear or food wedged between Cordelia’s teeth. The gleaming white enamel was marred by decay! Then she noticed that Cordelia’s hair was beginning to frizz.

  Buffy didn’t say a word as Cordelia ran out. Cordelia would scream a few seconds after she looked in the restroom mirror, as soon as the shock wore off.

  Frowning, Buffy rubbed her palm where the whip had zapped her. Was it possible for braided leather to build up a static electrical charge? She might not have thought anything of the little jolt except for Cordelia’s cosmetic calamity and Harmony’s premature wrinkles. Apparently, neither girl had noticed any blemishes before they left home for school or they would have skipped.

  “Well, I see you’re tending to business properly for a change, Ms. Summers.” Principal Snyder gave Buffy a nod of approval, then leaned to look in the glass cases. “Let’s see what you’ve got here.”

  “This is Cordelia’s display, actually,” Buffy said. The principal’s nonhostile attitude was a bigger shock than the bullwhip zapper.

  Snyder turned his head and smiled. “Do you like my hat?”

  Is that a trick question? Buffy wondered, wishing Deirdre would hurry back and rescue her.

  “It’s, uh . . .” Buffy couldn’t think and drew a blank.

  “Nifty?” Snyder giggled softly.

  “Totally,” Buffy agreed, feeling numb. The subtle sense of alarm that had nagged her since last night clanged in her head. Trying not to look as frantic as she felt, she glanced around.

  Everyone was calm, and everything seemed normal. Most of the kids had finished setting up. With time to spare before the sale opened in ninety minutes, they stood in groups talking or wandered the aisles shopping. Willow sat in a chair by the tables of men’s clothing, bobbing her head to the strains of “Proud Mary,” the original recording by Creedence Clearwater Revival. Buffy’s mom always got nostalgic when she heard songs by John Fogerty’s old group. The only oddity seemed to be Xander. He was at the music table playing records instead of helping Willow in men’s clothing.

  “I’d like to see that pocket watch,” Snyder said, tapping on the glass.

  Buffy’s head snapped back around. “I don’t have the keys, but Cordelia will be right back.”

  “Okay, but I’ve got dibs.” Chuckling again, Snyder tipped his hat and bowed his head slightly. Buffy saw three round red marks in his bald pate before he replaced the hat and sauntered off.

  Bites? A rash? Buffy made a note to ask Giles. The marks didn’t seem to be bothering Snyder, but they weren’t caused by common dandruff, either.

  Deirdre looked irritated when she returned and found Buffy standing in for the leader of the popular pack. “Where’s Cordelia?”

  “Restroom.” Buffy studied the girl closely. The cheerleader’s blunt-cut brown hair had a healthy shine and no split ends. Her complexion wasn’t pitted, pocked, or wrinkled. “Have you been with Cordelia and Harmony all morning?”

  “Most of it.” Deirdre frowned. “Why?”

  “No reason.” Buffy shrugged. Getting information from people who thought they were too good to talk to you was a challenge. “Do you really have false teeth?”

  “What? No!” Deirdre bared her teeth and pulled on the front ones to prove it.

  Buffy peered into the girl’s mouth. Not a smidgeon of decay. Deirdre was an insufferable snob, but she wasn’t suffering from sudden and inexplicable uglies.

  Two imperatives vied for priority in Buffy’s mind when Deirdre took over guarding the display cases: Alert Giles that something was definitely wrong, and make sure Willow and Xander were okay. She had no idea if the maladies were mystical or medical, but since they didn’t seem to be affecting everyone, she chose friends first.

  Sitting with a blue scarf heaped in her lap, Willow looked content and undamaged.
Her auburn hair fell straight and limp to her shoulders, but it wasn’t dull or frizzy. When she smiled, her teeth gleamed white.

  “Hey, Willow. Looks like you finally got all those shirts stacked.”

  “Yeah, I did.” Willow glanced back at the neat piles. “Your skirt’s still here.”

  Buffy had forgotten about the leather skirt.

  “But Xander can’t find a hunting vest he stashed,” Willow added. “He thought I took it, but I didn’t.”

  “I did,” Buffy confessed. “But I’m going to give it back—as soon as he admits that guys are just as eager to take advantage of a bargain as girls.”

  “Good one,” Willow said with an impish grin. “I approve.”

  “Yeah, but it’s not all that important right now,” Buffy said. “Our no-weirdness weekend may be a total washout. I’m not sure what’s happening, but some serious sleuthing is in order. I’ll get Xander and we’ll meet you in the library.”

  “Okay.” Willow stood up, clutching the bunched-up blue scarf.

  “Leave the scarf here, though. Principal Snyder is acting like a complete goof, but why risk getting caught with unpaid merchandise? Tell Giles I’ll be right there.” Confident Willow would do as she asked, Buffy left without waiting for a response.

  The Creedence album was still playing, and Xander swayed to the music as he flipped through the cardboard record covers. He smiled when she rushed up. “Hey, Buffy. Got a request?”

  “Isn’t this Devon’s job?” Buffy asked, giving him a quick once-over. He looked fine.

  “Devon overslept,” Xander explained. “Oz went to make sure the seat covers he found fit his van. It’s in auto shop getting a tune-up or an oil change or something. Anyway, I told him I’d handle the DJ gig until he gets back.”

  “We have to meet Willow in the library,” Buffy said. “Snyder’s acting like an adolescent on laughing gas, and Cordelia’s teeth are rotting.”