All characters belong to their respective creators / film companies / etc. and are used without permission. This story may only be distributed on a non-profit-making basis.
Work in Progress. If you like this story, check out my other stories on the Fanfiction Net, Twisting the Hellmouth, and Fonts of Wisdom websites.
by Marcus L. Rowland
I
Willow Rosenberg was drinking iced tea and trying hard not to think about magic when the doorbell rang. Buffy was somewhere upstairs, probably in the shower, and Dawn was already on her way to school, so she decided she'd better answer the door.
Standing there were two men, one in his twenties and black, the other in his fifties and white, in identical black suits. "Willow Rosenberg?" asked the white man.
"Yes?"
"DEA, Ms Rosenberg. We'd like to ask you a few questions."
"What does the Drug Enforcement Agency want with me? Got some identification?"
The black guy produced a wallet and flashed a badge in front of her. Willow held his wrist before he could take it away.
"That says NYPD."
"I think you're mistaken, Ms Rosenberg. Have you had your eyes tested lately? Just look over here.."
Both guys were putting on dark glasses, the white guy was raising a pen-shaped device. It flashed brilliant white; simultaneously Willow's eyes blackened. The white guy said "My colleague showed you DEA identification, and you're going to invite us in."
Willow said "Don't know what that flashy thing was, mister, but if you don't get off the damn doorstep I'm calling the police. Buffy!"
"That's it," said the black guy, "I want to see your papers now. No way you're human."
"Jay..." the white guy began, looking at something that reminded Willow of a Star Trek tricorder, "...looks like she is."
"What the hell is going on here?" asked Buffy, coming down the stairs in her bathrobe.
"Back away slowly," muttered the white guy, "try not to show you're frightened. It's her. The Slayer."
"Sorry," said the black guy, "looks like we have a misunderstanding. Sorry to have troubled you. Apologies for wasting your time. You have a nice day."
Both men backed away from the house. Willow heard the black guy say "That's the Slayer? You're putting me on..." as they retreated to a black Ford POS and drove off with a squeal of tyres.
"That was weird," said Willow. "He pretended to be a DEA agent, showed me a police badge, pulled some sort of flashy gizmo on me, it felt like a spell but it didn't work."
"How come?"
"Reflex, I guess. I'm sorry, but I cast a defensive spell without even thinking about it."
"Will, nobody's going to blame you for that. You just need to stop using magic when it isn't a matter of life and death."
"Maybe. Anyway, he said something about wanting to see my papers when I didn't do what he wanted. Seemed to think I'm not human, then the other one said I was. And both of them knew who you are but were surprised to see you here."
"That's odd. Sounds like they wanted you, not me, got your address but didn't know I own the house. Did you see the licence plates?"
"Yeah, they were from New York. Come to think of it, the badge he showed me was from New York too."
"Could it be something to do with that Rack guy? Wouldn't surprise me if he was dealing drugs as well as magic."
"Buffy, they weren't from the DEA, whatever they were. And they knew what the Slayer is, and were frightened of you. I'm guessing that the three nerds are involved."
"I guess. Kind of creepy, the way they dressed the same way. Like clones, except for being different ages and colours and all. The younger guy was kinda hot."
"Maybe, if you like that sort of thing."
"I'll make some calls, see if anyone knows anything about them, but I've gotta head off to Doublemeat hell in an hour or so. Don't know why I bother showering in the morning considering the way I'll be smelling by the end of the day."
"Thanks, I'll see if I can trace the plates or that guy's badge, I got the numbers. I've got lectures in college this afternoon, but I'll leave a note with anything I find."
"So if the girl is human," asked Jay as they drove away, "how come the neuralyzer didn't work?"
"This is the Hellmouth, kid, could be anything. I didn't do a deep scan, could be she has some demon blood or knows a little magic."
"Are you still trying to sell me this supernatural bull? Cos' you know I'm not buying it."
"Demons, vampires and magic are real, kid. There are aliens out there that have it all down as a science, on Earth we're mostly still fumbling beginners."
"How come we never had to deal with this stuff before?"
"I told you already - they're outside our jurisdiction. The Slayer handles them. She's Earth's main defence against the forces of darkness."
"That hot little blonde chick?"
"She's twenty-two and stronger than a Bug, kid. She's been fighting monsters since she was fifteen, and she's saved the world at least five times."
"So how come we don't recruit her?"
"She isn't a team player, and the work she does here is too important. I'm not saying that we haven't given Slayers a helping hand from time to time, and vice versa, but it's better to stay well out of her way. For one thing, there's a support organisation called the Watchers behind her and they're way too influential to be told about us."
"What are we going to do about the red-head?"
"Her parents are away somewhere and so far we haven't been able to trace them, there's nothing in the phone book or on the county records but we need to know if there are any other Rosenbergs around that might be a part of this. I planted a transmitter when you were talking to her, maybe we'll pick up something that way." He turned the car radio to a channel no normal Terran transmitter could reach and heard:
"...got the numbers. I've got lectures in college this afternoon, but I'll leave a note with anything I find."
"Bingo, we'll catch up with her after classes. Oh, change the number plates, sounds like she's going to try running a trace."
Jay pressed a key combination on the car's computer, and the New York licences morphed into Californian plates.
"If we can't neuralyze her we need to come up with a convincing story," said Kay, "some reason to help us. Any suggestions?"
"No problem, any day I can't out-think some student is the day I'm getting too old and slow for this job."
To Be Continued
