Don't Call Me Buffy"
2825 words
a "Forever Not" challenge story
by (Don't Take This Seriously)
Sharibet-too
March 20, 1995
(This takes place at least seven years later than Season Two.)
It was kinda stupid, hanging around a cemetery on a school night. But Jenny Schanke knew a cop's daughter had to do what a cop's daughter had to do. Even if she might break a fingernail, or, worse yet, get some groty dirt ground in underneath one. There was too much at stake to get all squeamish now.
But she took a minute to make sure none of her "Skin Pretty Emamel Glo-Flake #44, Peach Caramel" polish had rubbed off against the dark hardwood of the semi-antique crossbow. Ah. None had. Mom would just have a cow if she thought her precious daughter was out in anything less than perfect shape. She heaved a sigh of relief as she saw all ten fingers were still intact--then a low, vicious laugh broke the silence of the night.
"Would you like a piece of candy, little girl?" A skinny old man, his face a mass of unreconstructed wrinkles, strolled out from behind one of the towering yew trees into the man-made clearing paved with white marble headstones.
Jenny didn't bother trading mindless quips with him. She just aimed the crossbow in the way her teacher had patiently instructed her, centering her essence in oneness with the arrow, releasing it without aiming, when the connection between her desire and the target was made in a timeless moment of knowledge. The solid recoil of the bow reminded her she should reload quickly, just in case (unthinkable!) she might have missed. She was ready for another shot before her first one connected.
She heard the meaty thunk of the arrow hitting home between the 4th and 5th ribs, tearing through the tough inter-costal tissues and slicing a black heart neatly and with awesome finality in two. What a shot! Her mentor would be so proud!
As the old man started to smoke, his face contorted in a disbelieving grimace. "How--" he choked, his gravelly voice growing faint. He fell heavily to the ground, already shriveling.
"I knew you couldn't resist my invitation," Jenny said, willing to gloat a little, but not daring to come too near yet. He could still be dangerous-- and she hadn't really broken in the Nikes yet. "Thomas Constantine, your reign of terror over the nightlife in Toronto is over. Kaput. Finito."
The old man tried to wrestle the shaft of wood out of his chest, but his fingers slipped vainly on the coating of Coconut Skin Treatment #32 (For very dry skin). "Why?" he mumbled, his yellow eyes glazing over, his ancient skin evaporating despite the effective application of slippery pina-colada scented oil.
"You killed my father," Jenny told him, a single tear slipping through her (runless) Dark Siena Mascara #89. "I found out you were the one behind the explosion that killed him-- and his partner--" she hiccuped, thinking of the pain she had felt that day a year ago on hearing that her funny, wonderful daddy and beautiful Uncle Nick had fried in the coolest classic caddy this side of Detroit. "You thought you were beyond the reach of the Law--"
Constantine was squirming now, writhing around as more bits of his body fell off his bones, rather like chicken that had stewed too long (in broth, with rosemary and tarragon and just a dash of sherry.)
Jenny smiled grimly. "You thought, because you were a hot-shot mafia vampire, that you could get away with it."
The body smoked, fine gray tendrils of ash, like steam, rising into the night sky, vanishing against the stars.
"Think again, buster," she said, carefully approaching the pile of smoldering bones and stomping on the crackling bits until all that was left was a blurry outline in the manicured grass.
And she found herself hiccuping again, thinking of all the lives this monster had ruined-- dear Captain Stonetree, hounded out of the force on fake charges of corruption in the wake of anonymous tipoffs that Constantine was handing him payola; stern Captain Cohen, more and more frustrated by her lack of success in finding evidence that would stick against the undying mobster, or witnesses who would confess, had finally cracked. It was so sad-- she still had to be sedated every day. Jenny never missed a monthly visit to the hospital, either. Why, if she and Suzy Cohen hadn't had met each other there, she would never even thought of trying to learn karate. And how different her life would have been if she had never met Peter and his amazing father and learned the secret sun source of all the martial arts--
Jenny bit her lip, partly to keep the hiccups down, partly to steady her thinking; but she stopped almost immediately, remembering she'd just have to reapply the Coral Shells Lipliner #69 if she continued that bad habit.
She shook back her hair (all her own natural brown color, if enhanced just a little by Sunshine and Herbal Conditioner #122) and was disappointed to see no one else was nearby. And tonight had gone so well. She'd made no muss whatsoever!
She gave a final scuff to the ashes in the grass, and turned to leave. Her father's spirit was avenged. Her work was finished, for now.
And stopped dead still, shocked at the sight of the slightly smiling man-- no, vampire-- leaning negligently against the thick trunk of a sycamore. His very short, light hair was almost as pale as his skin-- but the rest of him faded into the night's blackness.
Jenny was fervently glad she'd reloaded already, a credit to her instruction.
The vampire began to clap languidly, still half-smiling at her. "Thank you," he said, his voice an unsettling musical rasp. "I'd been meaning to get around to that myself--" A slender, graceful finger indicated the patch of fertilized grass.
"Don't give me that s***, LaCroix," Jenny said, surprising herself with the bitterness in her tone. "You haven't given thought one to taking out my dad's killer. You've been shacked up with Dr. Lambert for months--"
LaCroix looked at her with bland innocence.
She set the trigger's safety and shouldered the crossbow, freed her hair from the broad strap with one hand, and settled the weight so it wouldn't crease her Calvin Klein denim jacket. She knew the source of her deep resentment-- LaCroix's neglect. He'd promised to teach her more, and then he'd gone off with his new interest-- the coroner lady. Well, she thought, tossing her hair with her head so it would hang straight, see if I care if he wants some old brainy spinster! He can just get himself some other patsy to be his renfield. I have things to do! I have homework!
Jenny began walking determinedly toward the cemetery gates. She'd left mom's Volvo parked just outside. Driving alone, at night, was still a privilege she did not want revoked for staying out too late, or coming home messed up.
A nearly-silent whoosh told her that LaCroix had swooped to land nearby. His footsteps echoed hers.
"You're angry," he said softly.
"Damn straight," she said, ruthlessly suppressing another hiccup. Why did he have to be so handsome, his pale face shining in the starlight, his eyes intensely blue even in the dark?
"Why?" he asked, as if he meant it.
She stole a look at him. He appeared authentically puzzled, so she explained. "You promised you would be there for me. You were supposed to watch."
"Is that all?" he asked, laughing lightly, seizing her arm and swinging her into a gentle embrace against his long leather coat. "I was watching-- from 300 feet up. Every move," he whispered into her hair. "You were marvelous. He never suspected you could take him till it was all over. I'm very proud of you."
She felt her hostility melting. "I did it for you, too," she said. "And for Nick," she added, in a small voice.
The immensely strong arms around her tightened a fraction. "I know," he said, sounding very sad. He let her go, and they continued walking. His cool hand kept hold of hers. When they got to the gate, which had been such a pain to climb up, he flew her over it with an effortless leap, leaving her stomach behind. He set her down by the olive green station wagon and stood near as she fished for the keys.
Suddenly her hand was trembling. Her stomach came back with a mind of its own. She'd killed a vampire tonight!
Valiantly she struggled for mastery-- tossing her cookies (actually, pepperoni pineapple pizza and a chocolate shake) in front of LaCroix would be too too gross. There was no excuse for such abject loss of control!
She breathed in and out, in and out, assuming a calmness she did not, in fact, feel. At some point, when her concentration had become less intense, she felt his concerned caress lightly on her hair. (Sunshine and Herbal Conditioner #122-- good thing it smelled so nice--) And she was glad she used Dial, though it wasn't in the Skin Pretty line-- The random thoughts led her at last to realize he was holding her close. He was a solid bulk, tender and protective.
Hungry.
His hunger was a pure, cold need, like vacuum, never able to be filled. Her own nerves steadied, bathed in adrenaline. She knew what a tempting morsel she must be, standing so close, already in his arms. If she was stupid to duke it out with a vampire in a cemetery at night, how much dumber was it to practically neck with one? She moved away from him slightly--
And he let her go.
She wished for a Strong Breath Mint (#333) the instant after she breathed a sigh of relief, because LaCroix turned his head away in distaste (She knew she should have specified 'no garlic on that pizza!')
But then again-- he was no longer holding her close enough to eat.
She almost sighed once more. She liked it when he held her... Even if he was old enough to be her great great great great... hmmm. Counting on her fingers wasn't helping.
Even if he was old.
"I, um, I have to go home now." Far be it from her to admit to him that she liked how he held her!
"I know," he said, coughing a little into a snowy white handkerchief. He was always so elegant! At least he sounded better now, almost smiling.
She put the keys into the car door lock, and moved the button. "Thanks again for everything. For teaching me, and all--" Jenny mumbled. It was suddenly harder than climbing that awful iron fence, to open a stupid car door. Really, it would only take one press of her thumb and a single little yank--and the door would open, and she would climb in, and start the car, put on her seat belt, turn on the lights, and drive off, looking both ways--She could do that! She'd killed a vicious vampire crime lord tonight! Surely she could climb into a Volvo and drive off without stalling.
But getting into the car would mean leaving LaCroix--forever. There wasn't anything tying them together except revenge. And she'd taken that tonight, fully, completely, and with no mistake. She remembered vividly the sound of old bones crackling like fresh potato chips; and there were still dirty gray particles clinging to her shoes. Ugh. She'd have to get out the Creamy White Shoe Polish (#4789) and clean them right up before school tomorrow--
LaCroix's cold hand seized her chin.
--if she made it to school tomorrow! she thought, heart pounding.
But the expression in his eyes as she looked up at him was tender, not tempted. He bent to kiss her cheek (someday he'd do more than that--and want to--she vowed!) murmuring "Such a brave heart! It's been an honor to work with you, Jenny Schanke."
Her heart thumped a different rhythm as he pulled away. She noticed he didn't wear any after shave. She'd have to get him some Manly Stuff (#36,834) as a very small token of her appreciation... "Me, too," she managed to mumble. If only her mouth could be as eloquent as the Skin Pretty sales list! She'd tell him how much she admired him--how much she had learned from him in their tutorial sessions--how totally sexy his voice sounded on the radio--
She managed to get the car door open at last, but couldn't keep back the sigh as she moved to get into the car.
"Oh, Jenny," said LaCroix, as if voicing an afterthought (although she knew he never did anything by accident. Ever.)
She stopped, heart changing pace to a different drummer. "Mmm hmm?" she said, looking at him through her bangs (stiffened with Sunshine and Herbal Hair Emplacement (#123) and caught herself just before she batted her eyelids.
"Well..." LaCroix hesitated, as if unable to find the words for what he really wanted to say. Hah! Fat chance! He knew more words than the sales list could even imagine! He even knew Latin! ("Omnia vincit amor" her brain sang, whatever the heck that meant...)
"Yes?" she prompted him. A cold breeze was starting to blow through the cemetery. She'd be shivering soon.
"I, well..." His delicately-lavender-tinted eyelids (all natural!) covered those intense blue eyes. "I have...a favor to ask you."
"Sure. Anything. You know that," she said quickly. Thank You God! A real reason to see him again! "What do you need?"
"I have a...friend," he began, "who owns a nightclub. Owned a nightclub. It's been stolen from her--"
"Somebody stole a nightclub?" Jenny had to ask, though her throat felt hot and tight. This sounded suspiciously like a practical joke. She knew LaCroix had it in him to be cruel--could he really be mean enough to play a bad joke on her?
"Not the facilities themselves, of course--" LaCroix explained. Jenny relaxed. "My friend, Janette, lost possession of the club when one of Constantine's minions--" LaCroix paused.
Jenny hastily erased the puzzled frown from her forehead. She hated it when she didn't know what he meant-- especially because Clear Skin (Almond Peach) Foundation and Powder (#2) had the smallest, littlest tendency to crack under stress--
"-- one of Constantine's employees--" LaCroix said smoothly, as if nothing at all had happened, "--took the place over, and installed her own henchmen instead. It used to be a haven for...our kind...at least those of us who had renounced the Dark Side... And now..." He coughed again into his handkerchief, and touched the corner of one eye briefly. When he looked up again, his eyes were filled with some unnameable emotion. "It's become a hive of scum and villainy. Constantine protected the usurper--the one who took over from my friend--"
"He's dead now," Jenny interrupted.
"Yes, and you did an admirable job," said LaCroix. "I'd like you to consider--when you're up to it--doing another such noble deed. To free Toronto from a lesser, but still dangerous menace."
"You want another vampire killed?" Jenny asked, incredulous. She shifted the crossbow slightly; it had begun to crease the denim fabric after all. She'd really have to get something a little more practical if she was going to go in for this vampire hunting business seriously. For a moment she wondered if LaCroix would foot the bill for accessories... Skin Pretty products didn't come cheap, even for in-line sales representatives...
LaCroix's white hands waved in front of him, as if pushing away her blunt question. "I would appreciate...using your skills in a matter so delicate, so profound, so necessary..."
"So messy," Jenny said, trying to keep the disgust from her voice. "Why don't you just take her out yourself?" She bit her lip--hard this time--Had she really asked such a rude question? From the tilt of LaCroix's chin and the glint in his eye, she had. Ooops.
"I don't care to soil my hands--" he said brusquely, then shut his mouth with a snap. He spread his hands out, showing off his immaculate manicure (more all-natural--how did he do it?) and said soothingly, "I trained you because I knew you had the capacity to fight for Truth, Justice and the Right. You're your father's daughter, Jenny Schanke. I hope you'll consider taking on this dirty job, because it needs to be done."
He sounded so sincere, so proud of her. So much sexier live. Ah--she'd do anything for him, anytime.
She hitched up the crossbow and asked, "What's the bimbo's name?"
LaCroix smiled. "Alexandra."
"She's toast!" Jenny promised, "or my name isn't Schanke!"
The End.
I promise!!