"Welcome to the Magic Box! Please feel free to buy much."
Capitalism was so great. Anya closed the register and regarded her newest customer, who strode through the store with a list and a determined look. She'd seen that type before, and knew she wouldn't have to render much assistance; taking the man's money would suffice. Plus, bonus, it was a man, so taking his money was the least she could do.
When he piled the items onto the counter her practiced eye went over them, alert for any combination that could spell apocalypse, criminal mischief or price tag tampering. Nope. This was perfect: It would get the store out of the red for the day with a tidy bit leftover toward end of the month bills. Did she dare hope there would be a profit this month?
"Diz demon," the man explained in a low voice, at what he apparently took to be her questioning look. "I can't get rid of them, and I can't move out -- the mortgage. But my kids are having trouble sleeping, and that slime on the walls, and the smell …"
Now Anya did shoot a questioning look, at the supplies she'd already half rung up. "Diz demon? Aren't those thin green things that slither?"
"Yeah … and they make this noise, this low pitched keening …" His hands shook as he reached into his jacket pocket for a thick wallet. "I didn't know if you took checks –"
"Cash, checks, major credit cards – we're very good at tracking people down if we need to." But Anya kept scanning the pile of expensive goods, some quite rare. They were all effective, of course. She dealt only with the best products, because she found people who came back tended to spend any more.
The problem was, this particular pile wouldn't solve his particular problem.
"Um … are you working from a recipe?"
"Yeah, this demon in my neighborhood sold it to me – we live in L.A. He said this was the best place to get everything together."
Sold it to me … For a pretty penny, of course. She tried to admire the demon, but something about the man's defeated expression …
"I had to get a second mortgage on the house, but it'll be worth it to get those things out of our home. When you've got a newborn and a kid in kindergarten – well, you'll do about anything to get some peace. I figured I'd just get a second job, and my wife is planning on selling off those family heirlooms …"
Oh, jeez. Cry me a river. Well, he deserved it, after all, for allowing himself to get taken like that. Besides, it was none of her business. She was just a small businesswoman, trying to get by. She'd wished a few Diz demons on men herself, in her time.
The total came up, and the man stared at it. "Oh. Oh, good. I'll have just enough gas to get home." He reached for the bags.
"No, wait." Who said that? Ohmygod, I said that! "Look, a Diz demon doesn't really respond to spells, especially spells that are designed to clean out a horse's digestive system."
He blinked. "A horse's –"
"It's effective, but not pretty." She opened the register and reached under the twenties, for a card she never thought she'd give to anyone. "You live in L.A., right? Leave this stuff, contact this man. He specializes in clearing demon infestations, and he probably won't even charge you for it."
The man studied the card. "Is that a butterfly?"
"It would almost have to be an angel. Tell him Buffy sent you."
"I – I don't know how to thank you."
"No thanks are necessary, just tell all your friends about us." She handed him a brochure. "Tell them to shop here for all their supernatural needs, and that they'll be treated right." Now please leave, before I change my mind.
He did so, with more profuse thanks and the image of a man who had real hope for the first time in weeks. Anya leaned back against the counter, staring at the bags full of goods that would have meant profit for the day, and tried to mentally kick herself.
But she found herself smiling, and couldn't really imagine why. Maybe she was just getting weak.