Anya bared her teeth in a feral, animal expression of anger. “You tried to kill my Xander. I’ll rip your wings off. Then you’ll die.” She rushed forward, chef’s torch held high. Anya’s small fuel canister chose that moment to run out of butane. The torch sputtered out.
At a sign from the queen, a swarm of henchvamps dove in and took hold of Anya’s hair and clothing. Queen Mab said one word: “Anyanka.”
Anya shook her head. “No, not Anyanka. Just Anya. I’m not a demon anymore. What do you want from me?”
Queen Mab fluttered forward till she almost touched Anya’s nose. “Vengeance,” she hissed. “You, of all people, should understand that.”
Countless microvamps crawled onto any exposed piece of Anya’s flesh and bit down.
Anya tried to shake them off. “I was a demon. I was doing my job. That was five hundred years ago. Get over it.”
“So Anyanka no longer has any powers. That should make this easy then,” Mab said, pulsating with golden light. “And all the more delicious.”
Xander appeared behind Anya. “Nobody’s gonna go all Lord of the Flies on my girlfriend.” He started pulling flitter critters off of Anya’s fang-bitten flesh.
Buffy did an aerial flip with a half twist and landed beside Xander. Willow and Giles appeared at Xander’s other side. “This is the Queen Bee?” Buffy said in disbelief.
“Leave Anya alone or I’ll throw a teleportation spell at you so hard it’ll smash you and your friends into a paste against that wall,” Willow said, brandishing her crucifix for good measure.
“She can do it,” Giles said in a mild tone.
“You’re right,” Anya said to Mab. “I don’t have any powers, but I do have friends.”
The outraged queen spun like some sort of dervish insect and arrowed up toward the ceiling, followed by her miniature honor guard. A streak of lavender joined them.
“Way to go, Will,” Xander said, slapping the back of the Slayomatic against his palm. “Very high intimidation factor.”
Buffy rested her hands on her hips. “I’d give it a five point eight for technical merit.”
“You . . .”—Willow took a quick breath—“you think they might want to just go away now?”
“They should do,” Spike said from his post guarding the entrance. “I reckon we’ve killed about half their lot.”
“Hmm,” Xander said. “Maybe we won’t need that grand finale after all.”
“Buffy!” Dawn shrieked.
Buffy looked up to see several hundred glowing microvamps hurtling toward them with a menacing drone. She held her torch high. “Looks like the fat lady still has to sing. Everybody give me your butane canisters, lighter fluid, matches, anything combustible, and get out as fast as you can. I’ll meet you in the sewer tunnel.”
The fairies were almost upon them as the Scoobies piled their flammables at Buffy’s feet. Anya collected the wooden pencils that had fallen out of the dropped desk. Xander gathered the string and cloth that the fairies had used to tie him up and suspend the desk from the ceiling. Dawn tossed her potted candle to her sister, who caught it one-handed. Giles added some matches and toothpicks, then threw a pocket handkerchief onto the mound.
Willow dropped the remaining pipe cleaners and toothpicks to the mix, waved her hand over the bonfire-to-be, and whispered, “As moth to flame, so ends this game.” She glanced at Buffy. “That should attract them, but it won’t last for long.”
Buffy’s mouth was set in a grim line. “If it draws the tinks down here, that’s all I need.”
All the holy water was gone now, and the Slayerettes started to fight their way out.
“Some help here,” Dawn called, trying to fight off a small batch of commando vamps that had gone straight for her.
“I’m on it, Nibblet,” Spike said, moving to help her.
Xander swung the Slayomatic, clearing a path toward the exit. Buffy twirled the flaming torch in circles overhead while she knelt on the floor, building her pile of pint-sized explosives. She arranged the butane canisters and sprinkled the matches, pencils, and toothpicks around them. Next, Buffy smashed the pot with its liquefied candle wax on the floor, then opened a small bottle of lighter fluid and squirted it in a wide puddle for good measure. She thought she remembered that linoleum would burn at high enough temperatures. She certainly hoped so. She glanced toward the entrance tunnel and saw that only Spike remained in the room. “Go now!” she yelled. He didn’t wait to be told a second time.
Buffy pushed to her feet and, with a final swing of the torch to clear her way, took three running steps toward the exit. She turned and lobbed the torch at the mound of combustibles, then threw herself into the short tunnel that led to the sewers. The room lit up behind her as Buffy wriggled out. Giles and Xander grabbed her arms as soon as she was close enough and pulled her out into the tunnel.
“Help me,” Buffy said, grabbing the lead cover plate that leaned against the wall beneath the hole she’d just climbed out of. She and Giles took one side, Xander and Spike took the other, and they lifted it up and slammed it into place.
A shockwave punched at the metal plate from the inside, but they held it firmly closed. They stood panting for a long while, listening for any signs that the micromenaces were still trying to get out. Nothing. Finally they began the slow walk through the sewers back toward the Magic Box.
“Yay, us?” Willow said.
Buffy sighed. Some things went completely against the laws of nature. Fairies should never have become vampires. She did not feel happy or triumphant. “Well, at least we stopped them.”
“Not entirely, love,” Spike said.
“What do you mean?”
Spike stopped, touched a thumb to the center of his forehead at eyebrow level, and closed his eyes, as if trying to forget something unpleasant. “Some of the buggers got away,” he said.
“They what?” Buffy demanded.
“Escaped,” Dawn said, twisting her fingers into a knot. “While Spike was helping me. Lucket and the Fairy Queen and maybe ten others kind of did an end run.”
* * *
Queen Mab huddled with Lucket and her few remaining fairies in a dank corner of the sewers where sunlight never reached. At her order, all of their colorful glows had been extinguished. She could not risk being seen. Tiny sparkling tears flowed from her leafgreen eyes. They would hide here until nighttime and then fly up and out of the sewer and away from the Hellmouth.
Perhaps someday they would find a way to increase their strength and return to Sunnydale. Perhaps someday Queen Mab would find a way to take her vengeance on the despised Anyanka.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Spending the weekend ridding Sunnydale of fangy nuisances had taken up a lot of time, and Buffy and friends found themselves playing catch-up on the details of everyday life for the next few days. So it was Wednesday evening before schedules cooperated and the friends all managed to meet again at the Magic Box.
Anya and Dawn sat on stools at the checkout counter while Anya, her hand now mostly healed, entered rows of neat numbers in a ledger. Giles roamed the shop, straightening the merchandise and commenting occasionally to Anya about items that were low or out of stock. Willow brewed some tea at the side table against one wall while Xander, still wearing his work clothes, lounged across from Tara at the conference table. Buffy, glistening with sweat and wearing a tight white tank top and gray sweat pants, stood near the conference table stretching and cooling down after her workout in the back room. Most of them looked as if they were recovering from a mild case of chicken pox.
“So, Dawnie,” Willow said, pouring steaming tea from a ceramic pot into two stoneware mugs, “how did the test go? You know, with the colonies and the dates and all.”
Dawn rolled her eyes and gave a noncommittal shrug. “I got the test back today.”
Buffy rolled up to a standing position from a touch-the-floor stretch and looked expectantly at her sister. “And?”
Dawn’s face dimple
d into a smile. “A-minus.” She stood and made a little bow.
The jingling of the shop bell was all but covered up by a combination of applause, whistles, and way-to-go comments. With a smirk, Spike ambled down the wide shallow stairs toward the conference table. “Always nice to know I’m appreciated.” He hooked a chair from the table with his foot, spun it around, and sat. Without even looking, one of his hands reached up to grab a mug from Willow as she walked past him. He took a deep gulp. “Thanks, pet.”
“Hey,” Willow said, plunking the other mug down in front of Tara, who thanked her quietly. Willow’s brows drew together as she looked at Spike. “That was my . . . You can’t just . . .” Her expression grew resigned. “You, uh, need any more sugar with that?” She walked back to the sideboard to pour another mug of tea.
“Nah.” Spike drew a flask from the inside pocket of his jacket, unscrewed the cap, and poured a liberal amount into the mug. “I got it.”
“Dawn received an A-minus on her history exam,” Anya told Spike. “Giles and I make excellent teachers. Willow and Tara helped as well.” She looked at Tara. “Was your tutoring on Sunday equally successful?”
Nonplussed, Tara smoothed a strand of blond hair behind her ear. “I, well, yes. David is very smart. He really knew the material already; he just needed some-one to help him go over everything and drill him on the facts.”
“Ah, drilling.” Xander folded his hands behind his head and leaned back farther in his chair. “That brings us to Buffy. How is our dental patient?”
Buffy raised her hands and tapped herself on either cheek in a look-Mom-no-pain sort of gesture and then smiled. “Good as new.”
Giles cleared his throat. “You know, Buffy, you needn’t keep such things from us.” He realphabetized several books on herbology that had gotten out of order. “We’re your friends. Your family. We have resources, and you needn’t suffer in silence.”
“Yup.” Willow took a sip from the mug in her hand and sat down beside Tara. “We’d prefer the tooth, the whole tooth, and nothing but the . . .” Her voice trailed off when she caught her friends’ pained glances. “Anyone else want some tea?”
Buffy quickly stepped in. “Xander, what’s the sitch with the pest problem?”
Xander got his square-jawed military look on his face. “Sir, I’m happy to report that the insurgency has been squashed, sir.” He gave a satisfied grin. “Yup, I am feeling mighty gruntled.”
“No more little buggies?” Willow asked.
Xander shook his head. “They have succumbed to the rule of law. And speaking of the law, how did your day in court go, Giles?”
“Smooth move, Segue Man,” Buffy complimented.
Giles took off his glasses and swept his hazel eyes across them all. “Well, as it turns out, the judge is a woman of great discretion and understanding. And as luck would have it, we share a common interest in medieval religious artifacts. We had a fascinating discussion of the—”
“Giles,” Buffy broke in. “The ticket?”
“Oh, yes.” Giles blinked and slid his glasses back on. “Dismissed it out of hand. Case closed.”
“Our own Erin Brockovich.” Anya beamed proudly at him. “You have great courage and a finely honed sense of justice.” She closed her ledger book. “May I have a raise?”
“Well, I, er…” Giles straightened an arrangement of healing crystals. “Fifty cents an hour?”
“A dollar,” Anya said in a firm voice.
Giles pursed his lips. “Seventy-five cents and not a penny more.”
“Done.” Anya ducked behind the counter to put the ledger book away.
Xander’s eyebrows shot up in admiration of her negotiating skills. “Well, everything tied up in a neat, tidy package.”
“Everything except your toothed fairies,” Spike pointed out.
Buffy grimaced. “He’s right. Some got away.”
“But not that many,” Dawn said. “I mean, maybe they won’t be able to kill anybody now that there are so few of them. Maybe they’ll just hunt pigeons or rats.”
“We can only hope,” Buffy said.
Willow bit her lip. “Still, we all saw how small problems can turn into oogey big ones.”
“Right,” Spike said. “Better to nip things in the bud and what all.”
“Ooh, bad thought,” Willow said. “Anya, you said these things are migratory, right? What if now that they know where Anya lives and where the Hellmouth is, I mean, what if they come back every year like, you know, swallows to Capistrano?”
Buffy raised an eyebrow and looked at Spike. “They’re not the first vamps that ever got away. If they ever come back, we’ll just have to deal. Meanwhile, it’s business as.”
“You patrolling tonight?” Dawn asked.
Spike shot the Slayer a challenging look. “Word on the street has it there’s a couple of Zugrath demons in town.”
Buffy’s green eyes regarded him with interest. “Which ones are those again?”
“Large as elephants and stupider than a sack of anvils,” Giles supplied.
Buffy tilted her head to one side and smiled. “Suddenly sounds very wholesome and appealing. Who’s coming with?”
About the Author
Rebecca Moesta is the daughter of an English teacher/author/theologian, and a nurse—from whom she learned, respectively, her love of words and her love of books. Moesta, who holds an M.S. in Business Administration from Boston University, has worked in various aspects of editing, publishing, and writing for the past eighteen years and has taught every grade from kindergarten through college.
Moesta is also the author or co-author of more than twenty-five books, including the award-winning Star Wars: Young Jedi Knights series, which she co-wrote with husband and New York Times best-selling author, Kevin J. Anderson. A self-described “gadgetologist,” Rebecca enjoys travel, movie-going, and learning about (not to mention collecting) the latest advances in electronics.
For more information on Rebecca Moesta or her husband, Kevin J. Anderson, see their Web site: www.wordfire.com
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
First Simon Pulse edition August 2002
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