How I Survived My Summer Vacation

by Various

  Mere weeks ago, Giles thought. I wonder what kind of toll that’s taken on her. At first she’d called him plagued by visions of death, which he assured her was normal given her recent brush with it. All the while he was researching like mad to find a correlation. Then she called to briefly say it — whatever it was — had passed and she was fine. Since then he’d heard nothing from her and was content to let her keep her distance from all things Sunnydale.

  And memories of the Master.

  In life, the Master had been Joseph Heinrich Nest. He’d been a monster, a brutal, sadistic man whose joy in life consisted in seeing just how far he could push other brutal, sadistic men — and women. His tests of loyalty required his followers to commit atrocities unparalleled in the annals of human history. It had often been said of him that he was born without a soul.

  As a vampire the Master tried to open the Hellmouth and failed, trapping himself deep below the earth. He couldn’t leave, but his followers could.

  It’s true we killed the Master, but what about his followers?

  The soft breeze whipped to an unexpectedly sharp wind. Giles told himself that that was the cause of his sudden chill.

  “So, Will,” Xander said to his best friend, as they caught up with each other at the corner near her house. “Smile on the face, spring in the step. I’m seeing computer camp.”

  She smiled at him. “Two more days till. What are you taking in summer school?”

  He gave her a very broad pout. “What makes you think I’m going?”

  “You always go to summer school.”

  “Ah.” He held up a finger. “Correction, my dear Watson. I always enroll. I rarely go.” He sighed and rolled his shoulders. “Slayer’s out of town, which I’m guessing means no big bad, and I’m thinking beach, sand, babes, and a third-degree sunburn. The simple life of the marginally unemployed.”

  “With cherry Icees,” Willow said dreamily. “But not near the keyboard.”

  “My keyboard shall remain Icee-free,” he assured her, moving his brows up and down. “So, do you think Slayers lay out and tan? ’Cause, hey, Will, no freckling indoors where you surf.”

  Willow sighed. Xander never gives up, she thought. He’ll always have a crush on Buffy. And when he looks at me, all he’ll see is his best friend who is not Buffy, and never will be.

  “It’s too bad Buffy doesn’t have a computer at her dad’s,” Willow said. “We could exchange e-mails.”

  “Oh, she’ll call. She’ll write,” Xander said breezily. “She’ll miss us and she’ll come back early because Los Angeles is deadly dull, and we will rejoice by watching the primer dry on my Uncle Rory’s car.”

  Willow shrugged. “I’m actually looking forward to a little boredom,” she confessed. “I’ve had enough vampires and hellmouthy things to last me all summer and the fall semester, too.”

  “Yeah.” Xander looked at her sheepishly. “I’m glad Buffy’s having a real vacation. I guess we need one, too. It’ll be good to have a nice, normal, endlessly endless summer of endlessness.”

  “Endlessness,” Willow murmured. “Yes. I wonder what Giles wants, anyway?”

  “Probably to say cheery-bye. I’ll bet he’s hitting the road for England.”

  “I’ll miss him,” Willow said.

  Xander smiled shyly. “Me, too, gotta admit.”

  “Fi, fi, fo, fo, fum. Look out, baby, cuz here I come!”

  Giles smiled faintly at the exuberant falsetto of Xander Harris as it carried from the sidewalk. Buffy was also unusual for a Slayer in that she had friends who knew her secret. At first Giles had worried — it just wasn’t done — but time and again Buffy’s best friends, Xander Harris and Willow Rosenberg, had proven to be of invaluable help to the Slayer.

  “Hey.” Willow appeared first, gently pushing aside the overhanging fronds of an elephant-ear plant. Dressed in a long-sleeved T-shirt and overalls, she was smiling her sweet, shy smile. Her long red hair would have gotten her burned at the stake a couple of centuries ago. Being a redhead was supposedly a clear sign that one was a witch. Thank God that didn’t prove to be the case.

  In an oversized plaid shirt and baggy pants, his dark hair curling at his neck, Xander trailed in her wake.

  “Hey, G-man,” Xander said merrily.

  “I do believe I’ve asked you not to call me that.”

  “And I will go through the entire summer G-man-free,” Xander shot back. He frowned slightly. “Not meaning that literally. Or I am, if you’re planning to blow this pop stand, the way Buffy did.”

  “Alas, no, I’m not. That is, I’ve no plans at present,” Giles said. He took off his glasses and wiped them. He felt a headache coming on.

  Willow made a face. “Giles, what is that?” she asked, wrapping her arms around herself. “Oooh, creepy. Not good.”

  “You can feel that?”

  “Yes.”

  Giles cocked his head at her, a bit surprised that the miasma had penetrated her consciousness. Perhaps there is a bit of the witch in her, after all, he thought.

  “They’re his bones. The Master’s,” Giles explained. “In my house.”

  “For . . . sentimental reasons?” Xander asked. “And, hello? Not feeling them,” he added.

  “You’re lucky. It’s icky.” Willow shuddered. “And these are just his bones. Think what it was like to be near him. Then he puts his mouth on your throat . . .”

  “And his fangs in your neck,” Xander finished. The Master had, indeed, bitten Buffy. That had alarmed Giles more than the fact that she had temporarily died, but he had kept his own counsel. He was researching that event as well, and thus far, had no evidence that Buffy would suffer any dire effects for it.

  “Why are we here?” Willow queried in a small, anxious voice as she settled on a low wall bordering the patio.

  “We’re going to conduct a ritual cleansing of the bones,” Giles said. “I believe the Master’s essence is clinging to them. We must perform a ritual over them that will dissipate the miasma.”

  “Just us three?” Willow looked anxious.

  “Miss Calendar’s at the magic shop,” Giles answered. “I was fresh out of mugwort, and this cleansing will take quite a bit of it.”

  “Mugwort. I like the name. Sounds like some kind of really classy root beer.” Xander struck a pose. “Fill your mug with a mug of Mugwort!”

  “How can you joke?” Willow asked, hugging herself tighter. “This is scary stuff, Xander.”

  Xander’s smile faded. “That’s why I joke, Will.” His voice was gentle, and Giles was proud of him. Xander Harris might act like a mindless American teenager most of the time, but there were times Giles was certain there was far more to the boy than met the eye.

  “Right,” Giles said. “Now, I’ve done a bit of research on the situation. As you both know, when a vampire is staked, it disintegrates immediately.”

  “Kind of explodes,” Willow added, nodding.

  “But the Master did not dust,” Xander put in.

  “No, he did not.”

  There was a silence.

  “Because . . .?” Xander prodded.

  “I don’t know.” Giles hated those three words more than any others in the English language. Except, perhaps, for G-man. “It’s often been speculated that Nest was born without a soul. Nest the man, I mean. In which case, when he was transformed into a vampire, there was no means through which a demon could inhabit his body.”

  “Then how did he become a vampire?” Willow asked. “ ’Cause, you know, vampire, dead body inhabited by a demon. All the books we’ve read gives that as the only definition.”

  “Yes.” Giles pushed up his glasses. “He was an extraordinary sorcerer in his day. He clearly possessed powers other vampires don’t. Take the Harvest, for example. From miles away, he was able to absorb the energy of his chosen Vessel as the Vessel fed upon the humans in the Bronze. Yet the Master was still imprisoned inside the church.”

  “Not normal vamp stuff, huh,” Willow
mused.

  “And he looked like a rat,” Xander added, dropping into a lawn chair. “He looked a lot whiter and grosser than your average vamp. Angel even looked pretty good next to him.”

  “Thanks,” said a voice behind Giles.

  Giles turned quickly. He hadn’t heard so much as a footfall, but there stood Angel, the vampire who did have a soul. Tall and pale, with dark hair and eyes, he must have been a strapping young man in life. The long black coat he wore reminded Giles of bats’ wings. He was another anomaly: a vampire who worked for the side of good. He repeatedly risked his existence to help humans. And he was quite smitten with the Slayer.

  Rather poetic, that’s what Giles himself had said of their budding love. But it was also very tragic. What could ever come of it?

  “Angel. Thank you for coming,” Giles said.

  “Dead Boy got an invite?” Xander asked, perturbed. Xander wasn’t fond at all of the object of Buffy’s affections. He clearly saw Angel as an unwelcome rival. And, quite sensibly, Xander didn’t trust Angel. Giles still wasn’t certain that he did, either.

  “Yes,” Giles replied. “As he’s the one who helped me with the prophecy about the Master in the first place.”

  “Hi, Angel,” Willow said softly.

  Angel gravely nodded in her direction.

  “Any luck?” Giles asked.

  Angel shrugged. “I can’t improve on your plan. Sanctify the bones and destroy them.”

  Giles nodded. “Right. Then that’s what we’ll do. Miss Calendar went to the magic shop for supplies.”

  “Hocus-pocus root beer,” Xander offered, waving his hands.

  “She should get here soon.” Angel looked concerned. “It’s a full moon.”

  “Excuse me, but I don’t think the Master’s bones are a werewolf?” Xander zinged.

  Willow looked thoughtful. “I wonder if there are werewolves. We’ve never seen a werewolf —”

  “There are werewolves. And like werewolves, magickal forces are often stronger with the full moon,” Giles said, looking to Angel.

  Angel shifted. “The Master loved the full moon. He could feel it even under the ground.”

  Xander nodded, glaring at Angel. “Oh, that’s right. You spent a little time with him. A few decades or so, maiming and killing little kids and kittens and puppies.”

  “Xander,” Willow admonished. “Be polite.”

  “Well, he did, and, okay, I’m saying it because no one else is.” He pointed at Angel. “He was not going to go save Buffy. He was too afraid of the Master. Or so he said. I’m the one who talked him into going. How do we know he’s not going to try to revive the Master? Fool us into saying our spell backward or something?”

  “Xander,” Willow said again, a bit painfully. She glanced at Angel with embarrassment. “Angel helped you save Buffy. And he tried to help her kill the Master.”

  “Yeah, well.” Xander crossed his arms. “All that proves is that he knows how to be a survivor. Seeing as he’s been doing it for over two hundred and forty years.”

  “I can leave,” Angel said bluntly.

  “No, ah, Angel.” Giles raised his hand. “If something goes awry, we could use a good strong —”

  “— vampire —” Xander cut in.

  “— fighter in our midst.”

  “Who’s a vampire,” Xander insisted. “Who used to hang out with the other dead guys we are not currently loving.”

  Angel gave Xander a look. “Don’t worry, Xander. If anything happens, I won’t save you.”

  “He’s just kidding.” Willow knit her brows. “Right, Angel?”

  Angel looked up at the sky. “She’d better hurry.”

  The neon sign in the window read DRAGON’S COVE. It was the best magick shop in town.

  Jenny Calendar had the mugwort on the counter and a gentle smile on her face. The boy who was chattering nervously beside her was Jay Nichols, the most socially awkward of the many socially awkward boys in her computer classes at Sunnydale High. In the dim store light, he looked pale and wan. He would probably look the same at summer’s end. Boys like Jay didn’t get out much. They stayed on their computers night and day, jacked in and loving it.

  “Wow, I can’t believe you’re in here,” Jay babbled. “I mean, it’s so weird to see your teacher, you know, at the grocery store, much less a place like this.”

  “I buy herbs for tea here,” she ventured.

  The beaded curtains that led to the back room parted and the proprietor appeared. The back of his head was reflected in the mirror facing the register.

  “May I help you?” the proprietor asked, looking from one to the other. He was a nice middle-aged man.

  Jenny gestured to the small paper bag beside the cash register. “Just this mugwort, please.”

  “Oh. Doing a ritual cleansing?” The man picked up the paper bag of mugwort, hefting it. “You must have at least a pound of it here. You sure you need this much?”

  Jay watched with excitement. “Maybe I should buy some, too.”

  “Why? You got evil spirits?” the proprietor asked, then guffawed. “Kids,” he said to Jenny. “They usually come in here for black lights and incense burners. It’s like the sixties never died.” He looked at Jay. “What do you need, kid?”

  Jay ignored him. He looked at Jenny. “Evil spirits?”

  But Jenny was looking in the mirror. Her blood ran cold at what she saw there. Or didn’t see.

  “Indigestion,” Jenny said blithely. She smiled pleasantly at him. “Have a nice summer.”

  He looked crestfallen. “I graduated, remember?”

  “Oh, of course.” She didn’t.

  Jay Nichols watched Miss Calendar leave the magic shop with her mugwort. She’s a hottie. My heart would be pounding, he thought, if it still had a beat.

  The proprietor of Dragon’s Cove said to him, “Is there anything I can help you find? I’ve got some really nice psychedelic posters.”

  Jay shook his head without turning to look at the man. He went outside. Turning right, he began walking down the street, in the same direction as Jenny Calendar.

  A flash of white caught his attention. Hidden in the privet hedge, a vampire stood menacingly, staring at him.

  Jay let his face transform.

  “Dude,” the other vampire said. His name was Corvelle “the Corvette” DuMont, and as a human being, he could fix any kind of car that had ever been built. Jay figured he still could. “Something big’s going down.”

  “No kidding.” Jay grimaced. “Kevin was right. They’ve got the bones.”

  Corvelle’s vampiric features angled more sharply as he frowned. “So it’s true. The Master didn’t dust out.”

  “I guess.”

  Corvelle still chewed tobacco; he spit some brown juice out one side of his mouth. Jay was grossed out, but he didn’t say a word. Along with his knowledge of mechanics, Corvelle’s wicked temper was also still intact.

  “Some new guy’s in town.” Corvelle’s voice fell to a whisper. “His name’s Absalom. Mean. Powerful. Very old. The Anointed One summoned him. He used to be part of the Master’s inner circle.”

  Jay’s eyes widened. “Does he know? What if Kevin gave us up?”

  Corvelle looked wigged. “I’m thinking, maybe we shouldn’t go back. If the Anointed One finds out we’re disloyal —”

  “Ssh,” Jay said anxiously. “If any of them hear you, we’re dead meat.”

  “We’re already dead meat, you moron.” Corvelle spit juice. “We’d better go back. I was sent to find you. Everyone’s supposed to greet Absalom when he shows tonight.”

  Jay sighed. “You learn something new every day.”

  Corvelle lifted a brow. “What?” he asked finally.

  “Being undead’s worse than being in high school.”

  “Tell me about it,” the other vampire said glumly.

  The two kept to the shadows as they crept back to the lair. The large cavern was lit with candles, casting flickering shadows o
n the rock walls. The water in the stagnant pool gave up a stench; the Anointed One had thrown a couple of second-string varsity football players in there after feeding on them.

  Jay stumbled; a rock dislodged from the path to strike a piece of wood from the ruined church. The ribs of the building reminded Jay of stakes. He didn’t like so many broken pieces of wood sticking up.

  Everybody looked at him and Corvelle, who was chewing his tobacco plug for all he was worth.

  “Where have you been?” the Anointed One demanded.

  “Hunting.” Jay kept the tremor out of his voice. They were allowed to hunt.

  Their imperious leader narrowed his eyes. He looked as he always did, just a little human boy with dark hair. Jay had to remind himself to be afraid of him. It was easy to forget that he was really powerful. The Master’s secret weapon.

  Yeah, and? The Master’s dead, he thought. Some secret weapon.

  But the boy was; that was the kicker. You turned your head, you could fill an ashtray.

  Jay felt eyes on him and looked up. Kevin met Jay’s gaze with a calm, steady expression. Kevin used to be a sophomore at U.C. Sunnydale. He’d planned to major in political science before he’d been changed.

  Kevin was a genius, and he was a really great vampire. He kept his posse well-fed. He was incredibly strong.

  And he was extremely ambitious. He’d been talking about breaking away from the Master’s group even before the Master had died.

  “He doesn’t feed us, and he doesn’t watch our backs. All the Anointed One does is order us around, and kill us if we screw up,” Kevin had said to Jay and Corvelle. “What’s the benefit to us? We’re only following him because we’re afraid of him. But there’s safety in numbers, my friends. You join us, we’ll be two stronger than we were. And someday, we’ll take over this lair.”

  “What about the Anointed One?” Jay had asked, in a terrified whisper.

  Kevin shrugged. “We kill him. Just part B of the word problem.”

  Only now, it was not the same equation. Even though there were about a dozen vampires who had joined Kevin’s side, and the Master was dead, the field had just tilted again.

  In the center of the cavern, a tall, dark vampire stood alone. Jay could just feel the bad karma surrounding him. He was scary.