All characters are the intellectual property of their respective creators, film companies, etc.; this story may not be sold or distributed on a profit-making basis.
I'm British, so's my spelling. Live with it.
By Marcus L. Rowland
V
The Slayer says "I don't think we should discuss this here. Let's go somewhere that isn't twenty feet from the Hellmouth."
Everyone heads back to the car, and we drive over to a shop called The Magic Box, about what you'd expect to find in a town like Sunnydale. There are jars of chicken feet and slug-wax candles, and a really gorgeous blonde behind the counter who doesn't seem to be particularly pleased to see us.
"Hi, Anya," says Xander, "Okay to do some research?"
"Fine," she says, "leave me at the altar then come to me when you want to use my books. Just don't wear them out."
There's something familiar about that voice. Anya? Where do I... I twist round in Willow's arms to get a better look.
"Thanks," says the Slayer. "We've got something really odd to research, can't think of anywhere better to do it."
"Willow," says Anya, eyeing me warily "Why are you cuddling a midget?"
"It's not a midget, it's a ventriloquist's dummy. It's Sid."
"Sid? I used to know a..."
"Annie? Anyanka?" I say, "Thought it was you. How'ya doing, toots, how's the vengeance business?"
"Oh my," she says, patting her hair, "Sid! I heard you'd finally completed your vengeance and moved on."
"Got bored, came back. How long has it been, girl, thirty years?"
"You know this wooden pervert?" asks Xander. Anya comes round the counter, takes me from Willow, and kisses me on the head. The top two buttons of her blouse are open, hubba hubba!
"All of us vengeance demons know of Sid," she says, holding me to her body and pillowing my head in a very interesting way. "It was such a powerful spell that trapped him in that body, but despite it he came back to wreak bloody revenge on the demons that did it to him, although it took him nearly seventy years to get them all. We weren't allowed to help him, that was part of the curse, but we were all so pleased to see him make good and kill the Brotherhood of Seven. Such an inspiring example!"
"But you've actually, um, met him?"
"Of course. Do you think I'd pass up a chance to meet him? We had a wonderful night together in London in seventy-four."
"You and Sid... wonderful night...?"
"You know what they say, Xander. Once you go wood..."
We finish together "...there's nothing as good." and start laughing.
"Oh god," says Xander, "and I thought Spike was bad..."
Eventually we're sat around a table at the back of the shop, talking about the trophy. Willow starts asking me questions again, but for some reason it isn't working, I have no idea of the answers.
"How can that be?" asks Willow. "Don't the Powers That Be want you to help us?"
"I guess they think you know enough now, I've been cut off."
"Poor Sid," says Anya, cuddling me again, "but that is so absolutely typical of the so-called Powers. Give people just enough information to get themselves into trouble, then leave them to fend for themselves. Now, if you work for the Dark Powers they keep you informed..."
"Thanks for the sales pitch, Anya," says Willow, "but I still don't want to work for D'Hoffryn."
"Well, never mind, sooner or later you'll want to kill someone else painfully, and we'll be there for you."
Someone else? Sounds like I've missed a lot over the last few years.
"Okay," says Xander, "Quickly changing the subject, if you were a sports trophy from the old Sunnydale High where would you be?"
"In the new Sunnydale High?" asks Anya.
"Nope, checked there."
"Stolen by one of Xander's building crew?"
"Nope again, the site was already clear when we started, and hey I resent that, my guys are honest. But it might just have been taken by someone on the crew that cleared the site, and that's something I can check."
"Any other possibilities?" asks the Slayer.
"Landfill? Firemen? Someone took it as a souvenir?" says Anya.
"Why would anyone want a souvenir of a disaster?" asks Willow.
"Search me," says Xander, "why would anyone want to buy part of the shuttle, or the world trade centre?"
"That's a thought," says Anya, "Have you tried eBay yet?"
"That's just the sick sort of thing... that someone interested only in money might do. Can you check it for us?"
Smooth recovery, Xander, maybe there's hope for you yet.
"Let me see..." Anya hands me to Dawn, who sits me on the table, then goes behind the counter and uses a computer. "Huh, the Urn of Osiris was easy, there was only one of those, but there are hundreds of items under Sunnydale, including some bricks from the old school - fifty dollars reserve for one brick, they've got to be kidding. Nope, can't see it there."
"But those are just the current auctions, aren't they?" asks Willow, looking over her shoulder. "Can you search on older auctions, things that have already been sold, maybe narrow it down a bit. Try a search with Sunnydale and Trophy, or Sunnydale and Cheer-leading."
"Okay... here it is. Sold this spring, went for eighteen hundred dollars and change."
"Any way to find out who bought it?"
"Not that I can see."
"Let me try," says Willow. "Good thing I put some hacking tools on your computer. Okay, bidder number is.... encryption... huh... and there she goes. Sold to J. Levinson, Sunnydale, California."
"Jonathan?" asks Xander. "Jonathan bought the trophy?"
"Looks like it. Something like that would have a lot of magical power, and the delivery address is that house the nerds had booby-trapped with the buzz-saws."
"Jonathan? How the hell do we track him down?" asks the Slayer. "Last thing anyone heard he was headed out of town and probably well on his way to Mexico."
"Don't know," says Willow, "but we might as well start with the house. You said they left in a heck of a hurry, they might just have left the trophy behind, or some clue to where we might find it."
To Be Continued