Chosen

by Nancy Holder

  D’Hoffryn appeared with his standard lightning bolt show. He said, “Continue with whatever you were doing,” and glided to look into the room where she had done the maximum carnage. He was so pleased.

  “Oh, breathtaking. It’s like somebody slaughtered an Abercrombie & Fitch catalog.” Then he reminded Buffy, who was about to pounce, “I’d be gone before you could swing.”

  “I’ve been talking to your friend, Ms. Rosenberg,” D’Hoffryn told Buffy. “She’s a firebrand. I have high hopes for her.”

  He went on. “Ms. Rosenberg seems to think Anyanka would be better suited outside the vengeance fold. I think we already know what Lady Hacks-away wants.” He made air quotes and gave Buffy a cool look.

  “And the young man . . . he sees with the eyeballs of love. But I’m not sure if anyone’s bothered to find out what Anyanka herself really wants.”

  “I want to take it back,” she murmured softly.

  “I’m sorry. What was that?” He was going to make her claim her words.

  And when she did, it was clear that she had broken his heart. Then quickly regained his composure.

  “Must be twelve bodies in there. Such a thing, not easily done. But not impossible.”

  He looked hard at his former protégée. “You’re a big girl, Anyanka. You understand how this works. The proverbial scales must balance. In order to restore the lives of the victims, the fates require a sacrifice.” He hesitated for effect. “The life and soul of a vengeance demon.”

  “Do it,” Anya said without hesitating.

  Xander’s eyes went wide.

  “Wait!” He tried to argue, to find a loophole, an alternate price. “Something that involves grueling, hard labor. At fair market value, taking into account your project’s special needs.”

  “Xander,” Anya said, “you can’t help me. I’m not even sure there’s a ‘me’ to help.”

  She turned back to D’Hoffryn and told him clearly, “I understand the price. This is my wish. Undo what I did.”

  “Very well,” D’Hoffryn said. He clapped his hands together.

  Anya braced herself; Xander rushed forward, and—

  Halfrek appeared.

  She sang out gaily, “Anya!”

  —Just before she burst into flames and died an agonizing death.

  Anya was in shock. Betrayed, desolate . . . guilty beyond bearing.

  D’Hoffryn laughed and said, “Did you think it would be that easy to get away? Haven’t I taught you anything, Anya? Never go for the pain when you can go for the kill.”

  “You should have killed me,” Anya said wretchedly.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” D’Hoffryn flung at her. “ ‘From beneath you, it devours.’ Be patient. All good things in time.”

  And then he teleported away.

  * * *

  The frat boys started reviving, and Buffy went to check on them.

  Battle-scarred, bloodstained, and shell-shocked, Anya hurried out of the building and down the front path. Xander followed after, calling to her. Wearily, she turned.

  “Whatever’s between us, it doesn’t matter,” he told her. “You shouldn’t be alone in this.”

  She looked at him gratefully, but she was resolved.

  “Yes, I should. My whole life, I’ve just clung to . . . whatever came along.”

  He half-raised his hand. “Well, speaking as a clingy, kinda didn’t mind.”

  And he was wonderful in that moment, but she wasn’t Anyanka, and she wasn’t Mrs. Xander Harris . . . and she had to find out who she was, alone.

  “What if I’m really nobody?” she asked brokenly.

  His smile was gentle, kind. “Don’t be a dope.”

  “I’m a dope?” she echoed. “Well, that’s a start.”

  * * *

  The campus lawn was dark, and deep. Anya started walking.

  She had miles to go before she could sleep.

  Miles and years and hopes.

  Chapter Six: “Him”

  Xander was not loving the fact that Buffy had forced him to let Spike move in.

  “You’re going to live in that small room over there,” he informed the vampire. “I know it looks like a closet, but it’s a room now.”

  Buffy and Dawn followed him into the apartment. Spike stayed in the hall.

  “You’re not going to touch my food,” Xander continued. “I take The First shower in the morning, and if I use up all the hot water, that’s your tough noogies.” He said to Buffy, “I hate this plan.” And then, to Spike, “Are you keeping up, or do you need some kind of English-to-constant-pain-in-my-ass translation?”

  Spike just stood there. Buffy leaned forward. “Invitation,” she reminded Xander.

  “Is there something more emphatic than hate?” Xander asked her. “Can I revile the plan? Fine.” He said to Spike. “I invite you in. Nimrod.”

  “Don’t want your soddin’ food anyway,” Spike huffed.

  “I just don’t understand when his problems became your problems . . . more specifically mine.”

  “The school basement is making him crazy,” she said. “We can’t just leave him there.”

  “Why not? Crazy-Basement-Guy is better than Stalking-Buffy-Guy.”

  Spike protested, and made noises about the plan not working, and about how he should leave.

  “You’ve been out of the basement for half an hour and you’ve already stopped talking to invisible people,” Buffy countered. “Okay, so there was that one episode in the car, but—”

  “I don’t need your mollycoddling,” Spike protested.

  “It’s not coddling,” Buffy insisted. “Now go to your closet.”

  * * *

  “I just don’t think it’s the school basement that’s making people crazy,” Dawn told Buffy. They were sitting together on the bleachers and it was a pretty, sunny day . . . and Dawn was trying to figure out why love made people go so wacky.

  “I don’t see why people bother. I mean, you put all this energy into the chase and the having and the brooding and—I just don’t understand these relationships where you all do insane things.”

  She ranted on about what a waste of time it all was, when people could be doing things like painting murals and—there he was.

  The quarterback, noble leader of his team, putting on his letterman jacket after practice. Tall and blond and amazing and gorgeous . . . so gorgeous she leaned over to watch him as he walked away, the leaning tower of Dawnie, and she fell right off the bleachers and landed as hard as she had just fallen . . . for him.

  * * *

  Buffy was killing the demon while Anya crawled away from it on the floor, desperately suggesting, “Maybe I’m not even the right Anyanka. Ever think about that? There’s tons of Anyanka’s out there. Maybe one of them pissed off this . . . what did you say his name was? D’Hoffryneffer?”

  Oh, lame, Buffy thought, but she continued the battle until she hurled her battle axe at the demon. It landed in his chest, and he died.

  “Good thing I stopped by and heard screaming,” Buffy said, helping her up. “So, I guess D’Hoffryn decided to take you out after all?”

  “He’s not head of vengeance for nothing,” Anya murmured. She got some ice and made an ice pack for some of her many injuries, thanking Buffy for helping her and asking her to leave.

  “I don’t need anyone’s help, so stop helping.”

  Buffy essentially refused. “Something bad is happening. I don’t want my friends out there alone right now, okay?”

  * * *

  I go to this school, so I’m part of the gang, Dawn told herself, trying to psych herself up to actually speak to her one true love. She paced the school hall, her heart pounding: He was there, talking to some of the other football players and cheerleaders, one of whom was on crutches. They were talking about tryouts for new cheerleaders, and . . .

  . . . and his name is R. J. What a beautiful name. It’s just perfect . . . like he is . . .

  “Hey, R. J.
,” she began, as she walked up to the group.

  “Hey, Summers,” he replied.

  He knows my name!

  “You had Mr. Gurin for English back at your old school, right?” she asked.

  “We all did,” R. J. replied.

  “I have him this year.” She paused and got no reaction, so she added, “What a drag.”

  “I actually kind of liked him,” R. J. said.

  “Right!” she cried. “Right. No, no, I like him. It’s just, I meant drag in a good, fun way.”

  The conversation went even lower after that, with R. J. and his friends pretty much ignoring her and walking away.

  So the next day she showed up in the gym for try-outs in Buffy’s old cheerleading uniform, ready to wow the judges and show R. J. her school spirit. She was not the only one in cheer attire, but she knew the uniform was old-fashioned compared to the midriff-baring outfits of the other girls. But it was the best she could do on short notice.

  She began her routine, acutely aware of R. J.’s presence:

  “Razorbacks, razorbacks, we’re gonna play!

  We got a secret weapon and his name is R. J.

  Hear us cheer, hear us yell, listen to what we say:

  Razorbacks, razorbacks, go R. J.!”

  Then she did a cartwheel—or tried to—and fell smack on her butt.

  In front of him.

  * * *

  Disaster city, she was so embarrassed, and Buffy did not listen to her pain. All Buffy cared about was that Dawn had shredded her cheerleading outfit. She had no idea what true love was.

  But Dawn had a chance to prove her love the next day at school when one of R. J.’s so-called friends got in R. J.’s face and told him that he, not R. J., was going to start the game.

  “It isn’t fair,” Dawn told the guy. “He works so hard.”

  “What do you care?” he sneered at her as they both stood on the stairs. “I mean, this is how the game is played. It’s dog eat dog, may the best man win.”

  “But nobody’s better than R. J.,” she insisted.

  The guy laughed. “Yeah, well, that’s not really up to you, is it?”

  Before she could stop herself, she pushed him down the stairs without so much as a blink.

  She got sent to Principal Wood’s office. Buffy was there, too, but neither of them could believe that Dawn would actually push someone down the stairs, no matter what the guy said, so she was allowed to leave.

  Then even better, R. J. caught up with her . . . and asked her to hook up after school.

  She dressed really hot—stretchy top and no bra, hiked up to here, and belly pants; lots of makeup and her hair all curled and feathery. She was kickin’, if she did say so.

  They connected at the Bronze. She was getting into her groove, dancing with him, hips swaying, body in motion, when someone grabbed her

  It was Buffy, and she was way, way pissed off.

  “So, do you have plans later, or are you just gonna go down to the docks and wait for the fleet to come in?” she demanded. “Where do I start with the bad? First, you told me you were going to the library. Second, you do not go out on a date without informing me first. Third, Anna Nicole Smith thinks you look tacky.”

  Buffy kept it up, and Dawn grabbed her coat and stormed off.

  That was when R. J.’s cheerleader ex-girlfriend jumped out of the shadows and picked a fight with Dawn over him.

  They had fallen to the ground when Buffy arrived to break up the fight.

  “Okay, first with the lap dance, now with the cat fight,” she said. “Hey, you wanna get drunk and barf next?”

  “Let go of me,” Dawn said to Buffy. And to her rival, “This isn’t finished.”

  “I’ll never let you have him, bitch.” She kicked Buffy in the shin and took off. “R. J. is mine. I mean it! Stay away from him!”

  Buffy said, “Well, at least someone agrees you shouldn’t be dating this guy.”

  * * *

  And as for that guy . . .

  The next day at school, Buffy overheard Principal Wood chastising R. J. for getting girls to do his homework. He took it well, his letterman jacket slung casually over his shoulder.

  After the principal was finished, it was Buffy’s turn.

  “I see how you get along,” she said, pacing while she built up a head of steam. “Oh, look at me, I’m Mr. Quarterback, I crush little girls and all their feelings. All I have to do is . . .” She turned and faced him. He was wearing his letterman jacket and wow, was he hot.

  “. . . lead a team of high school athletes trying their best to do a good job,” she said in a pleasant tone, “Everyone depending on me . . .”

  He is incredibly hot.

  “You know, I just realized that I’m basically the same age as you. I’m not really older at all, actually. Just like you, but with the sexual experience and stuff.”

  I want him. Here. Now.

  Then another faculty member came into the office lobby area, and Buffy pulled herself together.

  “I’m really glad we had this talk. So . . . I think you’d better get back to class.”

  When Dawn got home from school, Buffy nipped her sister’s pathetic little crush in the bud.

  “He said that you came on a little strong,” Buffy plaintively informed her.

  “Oh my God! I’m the pushy queen of slut town,” Dawn moaned.

  “No, honey. not at all. It’s just . . . you know . . . lay back a little. Let him come to you.”

  * * *

  With her sister eased out of the way, Buffy came on as strong as possible the next day at school, pulling R. J. out of algebra class and straight into an unused classroom.

  “I’ve always been fascinated by football,” she gushed. “So, what’s it like to lead a team?”

  “The thing of it is the time,” he told her. “Nobody gets how much time goes into it, with practices and games.”

  “I totally get it,” she said, loving the bond between them. “I was kind of juggling some stuff when I was in high school, which was also very recently. Principal Snyder was always on me.”

  “I still say Wood’s the worst,” R. J. told her. “You haven’t seen the way that guy rides me. I wish some-body’d get him off my back.”

  “Yeah, that would be cool.”

  “And sometimes, I didn’t even do anything wrong . . .”

  Buffy grabbed him by the collar and kissed him. He pulled back a little—although it was obvious he didn’t want to—how could he not want to, he was her soul mate—and said, “You’re . . . like a teacher.”

  “Not really,” she purred. “But I mean, does it bother you?”

  His eyes gleamed. “Not so much.”

  They started kissing passionately . . . oh, he was fabulous . . . and then they moved on to other things . . .

  * * *

  It wouldn’t be stalking him just to see how his day was going, Dawn decided.

  She meandered her way over to his math class and peered in for the second time . . . no R. J., but his books were there.

  Did something bad happen to him?

  So she glanced into nearby classrooms, and then she saw . . . him . . . and them . . .

  Oh my God!

  Buffy and R. J. were having sex!

  She ran out of the school and flung herself down on the edge of a planter, sobbing as though her broken heart would break all over again. Then she looked down in her distress to see Xander’s workboots. She looked up at him in utter misery. Concerned, he sat down next to her.

  “Dawn? What’s wrong? Is this—did that guy in the jacket . . . ?”

  “Ugh!” she screamed. “I don’t even want to hear his name anymore!”

  Xander raised a brow. “I just called him ‘that guy in the jacket.’ ”

  “That’s what I used to call him in my head before I knew his real name!”

  “Dawnie, honey, you seem extremely perturbed. Maybe I should go get Buffy . . .”

  “No!” Her voice could
have cracked windows. “I don’t ever want to see her again!”

  “I thought this was about that guy in the . . . the guy with the thing . . .”

  “No. It’s about both of them!” And she cried harder.

  * * *

  It was so hot. He was so great. And, oh, yeah, it was going fantastic as she straddled this incredible hunk of man, loving him with all her . . . self . . . until Xander showed up and ruined the moment.

  “Xander, hi,” Buffy said happily. “This is R. J.”

  “Hey, guy,” R. J. said to Xander, “it’s called knocking.”

  “I’m sorry,” Xander said to R. J. “It’s just checkout time was an hour ago. We were hoping to make up the bed. Also, it’s a classroom, you chowderhead!” Then he said to Buffy, “Now get off the boy, Buffy. We’re going home.”

  * * *

  At home poor Dawnie had to at last confront the truth about R. J.’s love for Buffy.

  “Crying isn’t going to make his love for me go away,” Buffy said sympathetically.

  “Listen,” Xander said, “you’re under a love spell. That’s what this has to be.”

  “You’re right,” Buffy said to Xander. Then, to her sister, “You’re under a spell. Oh, poor little Dawnie.”

  The sisters eventually left the room, while Xander, Anya, and Willow did the research on how to break the spell.

  “Love spells,” Willow murmured. “People forget how dangerous they can be.”

  Xander said, “Hey, been there . . .” And remembered five years before, when every woman in Sunny-dale—except Cordelia, for whom the spell had been intended—had fallen in love with him. Madly, truly, completely . . .

  “Good times,” he said wistfully.

  Then as they searched the Web they discovered that Xander had known R. J.’s brother back in school—he used to stick chewing gum in Xander’s hair.

  He made Spike go with him to the Brooks residence, and Xander gave Spike a head’s-up lecture.

  “I’m just saying, we’re—we’re tangling with a powerful spell here. We don’t know what the deal is so . . . so keep an eye out if this guy looks twitchy. And don’t let this guy charm you, either. He had everyone around him practically kissing his ring back in high school.”

  Then he rang the door . . . and a paunchy guy in a pizza delivery uniform opened the door.