WHO IS LESS AFRAID

A 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' story by P. J. Dickinson

TWO

Xander prowled the halls of Sunnydale High School in search of sugar. Right at that moment he needed sugar to live. If whatever he ingested had a high zinc content then so much the better.

He passed the lockers and sauntered along to the rest area where he found the body of Jack's dead buddy doofus#1. He was still under the coke machine that Xander had layeth the smacketh down.

'Hah! So much for magic. No friends to bring you back from the dead now eh, fathead?' Xander realized that he was taunting a corpse. That was crass enough in itself but to do so when there was no one else to hear was too much for even him. He fell silent.

Magic, he thought. He hated it. Hated everything about it. Obviously someone had been there first in order to write the spell. But where were they now? They weren't in charge of the world, which was the usual desire magic users had. And if they were they were making a pants job of it. So what had magic done for all the sorcerers and witches that had toaded eye of newt in the past? How far had all their spells and Eldrich rites got them? Sent back to school to be wedged under the business end of a ton of pop dispenser was the answer.

He shook his head and set off through the corridors in search of a coke machine that use of which bore no inherent threat of waking the dead.

The thing he hated most about magic was the way there was a spell for every occasion. It was just too easy. Xander would have been the first to admit that he was no Saturday's child but magic took laziness to extremes. Aren't happy with your lot in life; incant a delirium. Got no one to go to the prom with; easy, just conjure a prince. Keep him from spawning in the spring and you're sorted. Magic took the effort out of life.

Sure he had used magic in the past, but only with the others and only then in response to some cretin in a cape. He had only been the initiator once and that one time had been enough. He had learnt from his mistake. Never again, uh-uh, no sir-ee Bob.

People thought that Xander was stupid, that he didn't think about this sort of stuff, that he had no attention span. They were wrong, about everything except the attention span. That he had to admit was poor and he had the grades to prove it. However things that actually interested him were a different matter. He had once taken a Spiderman purity test and scored Carnage class fandom.

No, Xander Harris was anything but stupid. All those hours of research in the library for Giles had produced a mind that was gorged on the juicier details of the esoteric and hungry for more. Especially for some of the woodcarvings. Magic however, well that just left him cold because he could see it for what it was. Bad news. Take Angel for an example.

There was a classic case of how wrong magic could go. Sure Angel could be charming and was good in a fight and knew things that no one, not even Giles, would ever suspect had to be known about. And yes he had a soul. And yes Buffy loved him. But if you had a dog in your house that was loyal on the heads toss of a coin. But on tails would rip your throat out. Then rip out the throats of everyone you cared about before embarking on a century of torture and bloody mayhem. There would be no questions asked. That mutt would be taken out back and introduced to Jesus quicker than Willow learnt Latin.

It was sad and it gave him no pleasure to admit it, but deep down in his waters Xander knew that one day he would be the man that stepped out of the sunlight and turned that coiffured leech to dust.

In the distance, far away from his internal monologue Xander's nose began to register something unusual. A prickling, irritating sensation that that he immediately recognized but was not fully aware of until he rounded the corridor to the library when it hit him with its full impact.

He reeled, partly from the stench, which was due to the acrid burn of the brimstone that always accompanied Hell opening its maw on earth; but mostly from shock. The entire corridor was filled with debris. He had never seen it so bad. He wondered how many gas leaks Giles was going to have to concoct to explain this one away.

Gingerly, Xander picked his way through the rubble, carefully stepping over the library doors that were lying in pieces along the walls. He picked up a thick splinter of English oak as long as his fore arm and advanced towards the epicenter of the destruction with the stake held high. When Buffy had said it was going to be bad she had not been exaggerating. He hoped the Scoobers were all alright and safe.

Slowly, and with caution that would have made a gazelle nod its head with approval Xander stepped in to the library.