Suki Blue Fiction

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Chapter 4

Xander leant his elbows on his desk and rested his chin in the heels of his palms. His teacher’s voice droned on in the background and even as Xander tried to focus on her, her form dissolved into the chalkboard. But although the Hellmouth still thrummed happily along and churned out a multitude of strange and unusual occurrences, this was not one of them.

This was called Almighty Boredom.

Xander mentally reviewed a list of activities that could liven up his current situation without ending up with a prime seat outside the Principal’s office. The list wasn’t very long. It was currently at zero.

The faint scritch scratch of a pencil reminded him that Willow was at the desk next to him. He noted that her pencil was the only one scritch scratching. All the other pencils were tapping, lolling, rolling between fingers and hanging from disinterested lips. A faint snore drifted from somewhere behind him and Xander laughed quietly along with the others as the culprit was verbally reprimanded and asked if he or she would like a pillow for the desk.

That would be nice. The pillow. Xander wasn’t particularly tired, but anytime was naptime.

“Hey!”

The sharp whisper came from Xander’s other side.

“Lunch. Library. Be there?” Buffy asked, her head quickly flitting back and forth between Xander and their teacher. Miss Marple…Marmalade?...had turned her back and was writing something obviously life changing on the board.

“What’s the sitch?” Xander whispered back.

Buffy made a face that was probably supposed to signify ‘grrr, fangs, vampires’.

“Dentists?” He knew what she meant.

And on cue, Buffy smiled and rolled her eyes.

“I’m there,” Xander whispered before she could say anything.

The teacher turned and addressed the class. Something about birds. Or barricades. A minute passed and she turned to write on the board again.

“Hey! Lunch. Library. Be there?” Xander quickly asked Willow in what was really more of a stage whisper.

“Sure. Trouble?”

Xander nodded. “Cavities. It’s a plaque attack.”

“Mr Harris?” Miss Myrtle’s voice was abrupt and Xander jumped slightly when he realised she was standing directly in front of him. And just how did teachers manage that? He could have sworn on his Great Aunt’s grave that Miss Muppet had been immersed in chalkboard writing activities. Obviously, all teachers were aliens and they had secret teleportation devices.

“Is there something you’d like to share with the class?”

Right, let’s just pause the scene here. There is something that everyone who meets Xander Harris should know. He is not a nasty person, or an arrogant person. But sometimes, when under pressure or when nervous or angry or even sad or downright terrified, he does tend to say the wrong thing.

“Uh – no. That’s why I whispered.” See? It was an honest answer. Truly. But it was wrong.

Miss Muggle’s face dropped from an evil self-satisfied smile to an angry, homicidal sneer. Or, more accurately, she raised an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon, Mr Harris?”

“I…”

The teacher’s deadly hand raised to strike him. Or possibly just to take her glasses off. “If you don’t want to learn, Mr Harris, might I suggest you leave?”

“Umm…” What exactly were you supposed to say to that? Yes please!!

“Never mind. Just pay attention. Unless you want to visit the Principal’s office?”

“No, no. Paying attention now. Not that I wasn’t… Okay, still paying attention.”

Apparently satisfied, Miss Mudgeon walked back to the front of the class and began talking.

Thirty minutes later the bell sounded and Xander was very pleased that he’d invented several brand new Chinese symbols. Impressive, huh?

“Question,” he said as they gathered their books and shoved them into their respective school bags.

“Shoot,” Buffy answered.

“Why do we always arrange lunch in the middle of class? Why don’t we ever just wait until after?”

“It must be the thrill,” Willow concluded with a smile and a nod.

Xander slung his bag over his shoulder and began the long, arduous trek to his locker. Fifty feet was quite a way when heavy books were weighing you down. “It must be. And like we ever do anything else except go to the library. And I wouldn’t mind, but you’d think odds would dictate that one of you would get caught just once instead of me.”

Buffy bumped her shoulder into his arm. “You’re lacking the stealth. I can teach. If you want.”

“Yeah? If I whisper in your class, will you spank me with your ruler?”

“No. I’ll send you to the Principal’s office and let him spank you with his…”

Xander put his hand up to stop her. “Enough. Ears starting to bleed. Breakfast starting to evacuate.”

Buffy laughed and veered off into another hallway. “Nature calls. See you in History.”

Xander groaned. “Topic?” he asked Willow as they carried on towards the lockers.

“The Civil War.”

“Again?!”

“It was a big war.”

“No kidding.”

**

Who knew that the Civil War had something to do with polar bears? Or maybe not.

Xander went into the standard slouching position to wait out the rest of the class. Only ten minutes to go, but it felt like ten days. He’d tried to listen, really he did, but the teacher’s voice was one of those flat voices that just made you want to throw something or kick out and make that damn tone change.

The desk in front of Xander was empty. Steve Harber usually sat there. Ginger hair, freckles, lanky and with a lisp, he was prime bait for teasing, jibing and general beating up of. Yet never, since Xander had known him, had Steve Harber ever gotten picked on. Where was the justice in that?!

Xander and Steve had met at the tender age of ten, when Steve and his family moved into the area and Steve changed schools. They had shared nearly every class and moved about the same corridors as each other for nine years. Yet they’d never spoken a word.

Steve wasn’t a bad person or a good person. He was nothing. He was an unattractive, unfashionable geek with barely passable grades. Yet he’d never been picked on. Ever. And there was no apparent reason for that. Xander had always found himself a little resentful of that fact.

Steve hadn’t been to school for two weeks.

He probably wasn’t coming back.

The thought disturbed Xander much more that it would have done a few months ago. Ever since Buffy – ever since his eyes had widened to the monsters in the closet – so much more disturbed him. Was Steve dead? Vamped? Mushed up into pulp? Turned into an expendable sperm bank?

“…three pages by tomorrow. And please make an effort, if you want to pass this class.” The teacher snapped his textbook shut just as the bell rang. “You may all leave.” Heh. Like they weren’t going to anyway.

Xander immediately looked at his best friend with an open mouth and a confused expression. “Was that homework?” he asked amidst the hustle and bustle of moving people and chattering voices.

Willow grinned and nodded happily. “Yep.”

“Oh.” Xander gathered his books. “Good. Greatness. Just what the doctor ordered. Actually, I was thinking that we don’t get enough home…”

“Wanna come over to my place tonight? Buffy and I were planning a Chem study sesh anyway,” Willow interrupted. “You are completely invited.”

Xander sagged with relief. “That would be great.”

“You know, if you actually paid attention you might…” Willow faltered at Xander’s half-hearted glare, “…not learn anything anyway. We’ll work on it tonight,” she finished in a cheerier voice.

Buffy appeared beside them and raised a meek finger in the air. “Can we make it three for the Civil War brain storm? I promise to bring extra candy.”

“You weren’t listening either?” There was a little disappointment in Willow’s voice. Not much, but enough for Buffy to feel a solid twang of guilt. Willow the Mini-Mom.

“Sorry, Wills. I was trying, but then I started thinking about,” The next word was whispered, “slayage. Next thing I know the bell was jingling and ring ting tingling, too.”

“Ah, yes,” Xander mused, “the festive sound of a summer lunch period. Speaking of which, library, was it?”

Buffy nodded and led the way through the hallway with Willow next to her and Xander behind them both. It was a familiar walking pattern that was entirely comfortable. In a way Xander felt like he was the protector, towering over his two girls. We’ll forget for now that Buffy was the real power, the tiny girl that could probably tear down a house with her bare hands if she wanted too. Xander made a mental note to suggest demolition to her as a future career option. It apparently paid quite well.

“What century did you crawl out from?”

Xander turned his head just in time to see Cordelia Chase and her Band of Merry Morons insulting a boy in a sweater vest and smartly ironed slacks – complete with frontal crease.

“Cordelia,” Xander greeted as he walked by. “Looking vicious, as always.”

“Xander,” Cordelia greeted back. “Looking like a loser, as always.”

Buffy grabbed Xander’s arm and hauled him into the library before he could come up with a retort. “Goad later,” she insisted. “Vampires now.”

Xander saluted and jogged over to the table to get the best seat. The best chair was the one at the back nearest the stacks. That one had a little more give in its legs that allowed for tipping back and lounging without the whole chair splintering and thus ending up on your completely humiliated ass. Xander had previously conducted tests under laboratory conditions. So he knew.

“Well?” Buffy seemed to ask no one in particular.

A very flustered Giles strode out of his office, seemingly prompted by Buffy’s voice. “I’ve checked every source I can think of. There is no such event as the Night of the Virgins. Oh, hello, Willow. Xander.”

Xander grinned. “Virgins, huh? You might wanna think about checking a room for who’s in it before you start discussing stuff like that,” Xander pointed out with a quick flappy hand gesture. “So, virgins,” he continued, turning to Buffy. “Well, don’t just stand there like a forgotten fruit roll-up. Clue me in.”

Buffy sat and pulled an apple out of her bag. She pulled out two more and tossed them to Willow and Xander. She shrugged when they both gave her quizzical looks. “Mom’s on a fresh fruit kick. I’m dreading the vegetable phase. Expect me to gift you with raw onions next week.”

Xander smiled and bit into his apple. “Yum,” he said through the mouthful. “Anyway, virgins. Don’t hold out.” It was time for chair tipping. Xander leant back and took another mammoth bite from his apple.

“Do you chew?” Buffy asked.

“No. Virgins.”

“Right…”

“Actually, yes please,” Giles cut in. “I want to hear this again.”

Willow gaped and Buffy looked disgusted. Xander grinned again. A guy had to get his jollies where he could.

“Euw, Giles. Way too much interest,” Buffy said.

“Oh, really,” Giles chided them. “I simply want to gain a better understanding of what we’re dealing with, seeing as there’s nothing in my books.”

The books didn’t have virgins? Xander knew that was untrue. He’s found many pictures and descriptions of virgins used in sacrifices and blood letting and magic and, strangely, gardening. It was almost surprising how many different cults and groups and demons and witches relied on the power of the fresh, young, nubile, naked virgin.

Xander was well versed.

“Okay, there were these three vamps. I saw them when I was heading over to The Espresso Pump for a caffeine fix last night. They looked suspicious and they were all wearing these weird matching robes. I asked them why they were wearing weird robes and, after I staked one of them for a smart-ass remark, they said something about preparing for a Night of the Virgins. Or a night of virgins. Fight with virgins? Or possible a night in Virginia.”

Giles was silent. But not for long. “So, I’ve been running around all day possibly on a wild goose chase?”

Buffy genuinely thought about that. After the encounter she’d been wired and her priority had been hightailing it to the nearest pay phone and calling in the news. Perhaps, now she’d had time to reflect, she’d been a little bit hasty. “Uh – maybe?” Buffy winced. “Sorry. But they did have robes.”

“Bath robes?” Xander asked. “I hear fluffy and peach is in this season for vamps. It sets off their eyes and looks just stunning with a splash of blood.”

Buffy nodded in agreement. Then shook her head and regarded Giles. “I mean real robes. Like…churchy. Oh! And they had a symbol on them,” Buffy remembered, grabbing a pad and scribbling a rough outline of what looked like two ‘C’s with a capital ‘A’ between them.

“Hm. Curious.”

“Does it look familiar?” Willow asked Giles.

“Not at all. Hm. Curious.”

And just what was curious about a symbol that wasn’t even remotely familiar? Must be a British thing. Xander swallowed the urge to laugh. It would have come out more like a giggle and he was far too manly for that.

“Should we do the book thing?” Buffy asked.

“Yes, yes,” Giles replied absently as he wandered back into his office. “Please feel free. Books are on the table”

“Well, that’s him distracted for the next hour,” Xander noted out loud.

“Do you think this is serious, Buffy?” Willow asked, her worry apparent in her tone.

“Don’t fret, Wills. On a scale of one to ten, this is a definite three.”

“Yeah, no need for panic just yet,” Xander agreed. “Vamps in robes is nothing. It’s when they start wearing fluffy slippers that you need to start worrying.”

**

Spike moved around The Master’s lair carefully. He was a new face to most of these minions and these were drones that spooked easily. They were suspicious of him. And rightly so.

The Master had built up quite a family. Spike had to fight from turning up his nose at most of the halfbreeds in his presence. More than a minion, but less than Childer, these freaks were somewhere in between. This was the Master’s pathetic attempt at raising an army to crush the Slayer and take over the Hellmouth.

Spike had no time for such idiocy. He was a Master Vampire himself and that he’d achieved through decades of hard work and slog and…oh, who was he kidding. He was a Master because he was fast, strong and an Aurelius. That name had given him leverage on many occasions. Obviously, though, one had to have the knackers to go with it. A name wasn’t a name to be feared unless you put a bit of welly into it.

But even as tough and strong as Spike was, he liked the easy life. With Dru on his arm, he’d gone where he wanted when he wanted. And before Dru had disappeared one night they’d even been talked about settling down together. A nice coastal town where flesh tasted slightly of salt, or a one Starbucks settlement where blood flowed with ignorance that only came from a SoCal blond or a tanned teenager that refused to believe in monsters. Naive blood had a definite tingle of electricity.

Sunnydale would have been perfect – except for The Slayer. All they would have had to do was waltz in with fangs protruding and tongues flapping with lies and deceit and the Hellmouth minions would have turned on themselves and eaten through their own sweet Kingdom. A clan any bigger than two always turned on each other.

Toppling The Master would have earned bonus points. There was nothing like destroying the pomp of hierarchy.

But all that was right up the creek at the moment. Instead of coming to California in search of a nice, homely holiday crypt by the sea, Spike was at the Hellmouth searching for his love. This place was a last resort.

“What?”

The minion shook his head and quickly scuttled away.

“Nosy bastard,” Spike muttered as he searched his surroundings and completely ignored the fact that he was the nosy one.

It never hurt to learn the layout of a place and Spike fully intended to commit this one to memory. At this moment his priority was finding his beloved, and that put him right in the lion’s den. You only had to look at Darla’s position to work out that The Master’s brain was fucked up. She was his Childe yet she was demoted to a mere minion performing menial duties and sucking up to stay alive. That wasn’t the Darla he knew and loved to hate.

The Darla he knew was a tough old boot. She didn’t take shit from anybody and if you crossed her you knew about it only a second before your dust floated to the ground. And as much as Spike loathed the devious dragon, he also had a twisted respect for her.

Once The Master had helped him find his dark princess, Spike would see to him. He would dust his ugly mug, mix him with lavender and have it made into a rather fetching lilac coloured, miniature pillow. With a bow on top. Darla would love it. And if she didn’t then Dru could have it for her dolls.

Spike was in the south side of the lair now, which seemed to be sleeping quarters if the mouldy blankets were anything to go by. He grimaced and wondered how anyone could live like that. It wasn’t living, it was existing. And maybe that was all these minions expected to have, but it still wasn’t any kind of life to lead. Didn’t they realise how much they could have, how much they could take? There was no need for squalor when you had the strength of ten men.

And that was it, he realised. The Master’s first mistake.

“Bit of a dump this, eh?” he remarked to another passing mongrel. “It’s a wonder you don’t have better digs, what with serving The Master and such.” Spike smiled and internally congratulated himself on being an evil bastard.

The Master would pay for being such a conceited, unbelievably ugly wanker. The Master of the Hellmouth? Fuck off. If anyone deserved that title it was Darla.

Or maybe even Angelus. Talking of which, where was the old git?


TBC…