“Well,” said Anya with a predictably self-satisfied air, “it's the end of another working day. My favourite part of the day, too. Time to brightly work out if we have profited or lost, and whether we have proved the old saying...”
“Another day, another dollar!” came an unwanted chorus from the other side of the counter.
Anya sniffed. “And here comes another regular feature of the working day: a night shift for a store that closes at five.” She shut the ledger with a thump, sending little motes of dust flying up into the air. “And how was your day at the Conference, then? From what I saw, they didn't look like our sort of clientele...”
“Well, no, they probably weren't,” replied Buffy. “But when one of your old schoolfriends is a budding writer and the screen-writer's convention comes to town, well, you kinda go along to cheer and support her. Well, most of us do.”
Anya frowned. “Somebody had to stay and watch over our profit margins while the rest went off having fun...”
“Fun?” echoed Xander. “I was working!”
“Do you know, I'd never even considered the idea of a night shift,” mused Giles, coming around the counter to stand behind Anya. “Did nobody from the Conference come in, then? Strange, seeing how many business cards we must have handed out.”
“Well, maybe some did,” allowed Anya, “but unless they had special t-shirts or badges on, how would I know? Not that we've had much in the way of business at all today, really.”
“I think it has merit,” said Buffy brightly. “The night-shift idea, I mean. Most of Sunnydale only comes out after dark, after all. Spike could be manager. Never late...”
“No chance of overtime wither, though,” pointed out Xander.
“Wither?” echoed Anya with a puzzled frown. “Don't you mean either? Or Hither? As in come...?” she teased.
“Either,” said Xander defensively. “Definitely Either. Couldves worn I said that, too...”
Giles peered at him more closely. “Are you sure you're feelingalright?” He paused, considering what he had just said, a worried look gradually creeping across his features.
“Okay guys, creepy time doesn't officially start until sundown,” snapped Buffy. “Now stop it, both of yiu. What??”
Anya joined Giles in a Worried Look. “This is getting a bit too fequent to be funny I agree with Buffy we need to make thisstop”
There was no reply from any of those assembled. Anya looked from one face to another, but all she found was polite enquiry. “Whats wrong” she said crossly.
“we were waitingforyou to finish” said Giles.
“It sounded as if you were going to say something else babe” added Xander, although there was clearly an effort involved in getting the meaning behind the words to be heard.
“wheres willow When we needher” stuttered Buffy. She looked at Giles pleadingly. “thishasgototbeoneoftheworstthingsweveeverfaced” She clamped her hand over her mouth, eyes wide and fearful.
“I... need...to... look... up.... a... few... things...” Giles managed very slowly. By the end of the sentence there was sweat on his brow. “find... willow... tell... her... no... write... might... be...easier...” He threw up his hands in despair and sank onto the stool behind the counter.
Buffy nudged Xander and made signs to indicate writing. Soon the pair of them were rummaging through the cupboards and drawers of the Magic Box, engaged on a desparate quest for something as mundane as a pencil and some paper.
“Isthislike theGentlemen?” wrote Buffy when they had eventually found some. Giles shook his head.
“Why not” wrote Anya. “Whats, different”
“TheGentlemenonly stolepeoplesvoices,” wrote Giles, “but thisisverydifferent thishasntaffected our voices just the,waywe speak”
Anya tapped his pad with her own pencil and pointed at the scrawled words. Giles was a teacher of English; his face said it all.
“Ohcomeon,” wrote Xander, disbelief and incredulity written across his own visage. “apunctuation monster?!%”
“Ah!” The silence was suddenly broken by Anya. She jumped up and pointed towards the stockroom. The others just watched.
“Ohh!!” she growled, and ran through the door, returning a few moments later with a laptop computer. She put it down, placed her pad carefully on top of it and, after a deep breath, began to write.
“a man came in today meght hive baan ferm yeure cinfartanceHe Said Hewasa researcher foratelevision company. Heasked a few things I thought they were quite good, questions for this dimensionbut when he had Gone: i noticed, his alptop.” She patted it gingerly, as if afraid it might explode.
“Dontopen! It,” shouted Buffy, and instantly regretting it. “I find wilLow” she wrote, and ran for the door.
Xander looked at the laptop with a similar wariness to Anya. He made circling motions around it, and looked questioningly at Giles.
The former librarian rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Then he shrugged. “it caN;t doan yHarm,” he muttered, and cursed under his breath.
*
Buffy headed through the graveyard, heading for home, heading for where she hoped Willow would be. Part of her hoped she didn't run into anyone, either alive or dead, not this time. On the other hand, part of her hoped she would: a dusting or two might clam her down. Her nerves were jangling and fraught: she couldn't ever remember being so unnerved by something as innocuous as a lack of grammar. Dawn would laugh. But then she recalled the strange demons who took voices before they harvested hearts, and recognised that same thread of being somehow violated, made helpless. Losing her voice had been bad... but losing the ability to make herself understood at all was starting to feel a lot worse.
She had lost focus for just a second: she cannoned into something soft yet firm, then bounced away in an uncontrolled roll. Her training reasserted itself, however, and she came up on her feet, eyes blazing, fists balled and stake at the ready.
“What the fuck's got into you?” exclaimed Spike, detatching himself from the shadow of a monument and rubbing his shoulder. He stared hard at the slayer. “What's the hurry?”
“sPi!ke? I don>th ave ti;me rightnow;” She made to duck past him, but the vampire put himself squarely in her way, his brows drawn low in a quizzical frown.
“What the bloody hell's that supposed to mean?” He peered closer. “You feeling alright?”
Buffy shook her head. “sOmeth;in'g wi,erd mustf iNd Wil;Ler come in,” said Tara, taking the slayer's elbow and guiding her gently to a settee. “What is it?”
“c'antt>lk a ny moRe so;me w%erD Łpel! Al.l at _sh#p coMeq ui%k” The sweat had returned to Buffy's brow and she sank back breathing heavily, her eyes begging them to understand.
“What could it be” Tara wondered to her lover. Willow's own face was a mask of concentration; finally she felt around under the settee and pulled out a bag. Inside was her notebook.
“Does writing make it any easier?” she asked. Buffy shook her head.
“Same sort of problem?” The slayer nodded.
“Anyone else affected?” Again a nod. Willow frowned lopsidedly and went through the list of names.
“Giles?” Nod.
“Xander?” Nod.
“Anya?” Nod.
“Dawn?” A shrug of the shoulders. “Don't know?” Nod. “Is she headed for the others?” Nod. “On her own?” Shake. Buffy put fingers up to her mouth to try and suggest long pointed fangs.
“Oh i know shes with sp:ike>” exclaimed Tara. Buffy and Willow both turned slowly to stare at her. Buffy nodded her head, then pointed first at Tara, then to herself.
Willow shuffled quickly backwards. “Sorry guys, but we've just learned something...” She turned back to Buffy. “Did you meet Spike on the way here?”
The slayer nodded.
“Did he seem OK?” Nod.
“Did he touch you?” A pause, but then another nod.
“Did he seem OK after that? Did he speak after that... touch...?”
Buffy paused and thought for a moment. Then, slowly, she nodded again.
Willow snapped the notebook shut. “Are he and Dawnie headed for the Magic Box?”
Again Buffy nodded.
“Then that's where we have to be.” She looked sadly at Tara. “We can't touch each other sweetie, not until this is over. I'm really sorry...” the look on her face made her sorrow all too clear.
Tara shook her own head, long blonde hair flying out like a halo. “keE* yo,u sa^e” she replied. Her hands were clasped tightly together, but she smiled at her love.
*
Dawn was chafing. Homework was dull, but there was nothing on the TV and her DVD's were failing to inspire her. So she sat resignedly at the kitchen table and stared at the sheets and books in front of her, desperately trying to work up some enthusiasm. What she really wanted to be doing was to be going out somewhere, having adventures, seeing the world... but Buffy had been less than enthusiastic about going over to the Magic Box tonight anyway, so Dawn was pretty certain she wouldn't actually be missing that much. But it still had to be better than this...
There was a tap on the front door. No, she corrected, not just a tap: a series of them. With pauses in between, which made a bird less likely. Slowly, quietly, she got to her feet, one hand reaching across to the worktop and closing around the knife Buffy had left there. She knew deep down that there were many things in Sunnydale for which a knife, a mere piece of contaminated iron, held no fear; but it made her feel better. Thus armed, she crept into the hallway, towards the source of the sounds. Through the frosted glass panel in the door, she could see a shape: a human shape. Part of her relaxed, although the threat of demonic intruders was merely replaced by the prospect of burglars. Well they'd have their work cut out getting past her!
She flattened herself against the wall, the knife held ready in the hand furthest from the door. Her free hand reached out, as the knocking began again: maybe it was just because she was closer, but it sounded more urgent this time. Desperately trying to control the shaking in her fingers, she closed them around the latch and, suddenly, swung the door wide open, the knife poised to strike.
Spike fell forward into range, heading for the carpet, the door-knocker having been wrenched from his hand. With an involuntary shriek, Dawn just managed to pull her arm upwards, and send the knife whistling mere inches from the vampire's head. Its blade powered into the wall with a solid thud; Spike made a similar sound as he hit the floor.
They both remained motionless for a long, long moment, Dawn's eyes fixed on the knife embedded in the wall, and Spikes' eyes fixed exhaustedly on Dawn.
Finally he spoke. “What in all the bloody hells is wrong with you women tonight? Is it family fruitcake day, or what?”
“I.... I'm sorry...” mumbled Dawn. “I thought you might've been a burglar...”
“If I was a burglar, I'd've come through the bloody window and not bothered to knock!” he snapped. “Now get your stuff: I said I'd take you over to the Magic Box.”
“What's wrong?”
He stared at her. “You're getting too damn perceptive, Niblet. I met your sister in the graveyard, but she could hardly string two words together. If I understood her properly, nor can any of the others, so something's up, but that's all I know. Buffy's gone to get Red, and I said I'd get you over to meet her there.” He brushed specks of dust from his coat and gazed thoughtfully at the still-quivering handle of the knife. “So that's two bad meetings in one night already, and if there's going to be a third, whoever else is involved'd better watch out; 'cos I'm getting pissed!”
Dawn started to say something, then thought better of it. She swallowed. “I'll get my bag,” were all the words that seemed necessary just then.
“So what exactly was wrong with Buffy?” Dawn asked as they set out. Spike lit a smoke before replying.
“Hard to say: there were words there, but they sounded wrong, as if she'd forgotten how to put a sentence together properly. Can't see that being allowed with Mr. Tightarse Giles around, can you?”
He grinned at her. “Don't worry too much: she wasn't bleeding, and she was still up for a fight, far as I could see. But I don't see any point in trying to guess anything more.”
“No, I suppose being on top of a hellmouth kinda takes the fun out of that,” answered Dawn. A thought struck her. “You said that Buffy said the others were affected as well?”
Spike never stopped walking, never stopped searching every shadow, every hiding-place for signs of danger. “No...” he said after a moment's thought, “no, she didn't. But she kinda implied it: she wanted you kept safe, and she needed to find Willow, so it's a fair bet that anyone else she was with when this happened has got it too.” He looked across at her worried face. “Makes me wonder whether taking you there is really the best idea if she wants you out of it...”
Dawn shook her head. “If that's what Buffy wanted, then that's what we do. It makes sense in that she won't have to worry about if I'm alright.”
“How could you not be alright?” protested Spike indignantly. “I'm with you!”
*
Left with little else to do at the Magic Box, the inevitable had happened. Books lay open everywhere as Giles, Xander and Anya searched for some sort of clue as to what was going on. At the counter, the black shape of the laptop sat squatly, menacingly, as if brooding. Amid the books, scraps of discarded notepads littered the floor, their contents becoming progressively less and less legible. Whilst Anya and Xander huddled together and seemed to find some solace in their closeness, Giles merely felt as if his brain was slowly dribbling out of his ears. To lose the very idea of language... but what, he wondered as best he could, would come in its place? Grunts and growls? Pictograms?
Thinking in terms of dialogue was becoming harder: his head hurt whenever he tried it, and he suspected that his companions had already given up on the idea. For them, there could be the language of touch, of togetherness, of gesture and expression. He realised morosely that all those he might wish to have such a conversation with were many thousands of miles away. But this was getting nowhere: and he could, if he concentrated, still just about read. He picked up another book and began turning pages.
Anya turned at the sound of Giles' movement and watched silently. Each turning of a page seemed inordinately loud, as if the rest of the world had been turned up to compensate for the absence of dialogue. Neither she nor Xander had said a word in some time, she realised: but for once, it didn't seem to matter. They were together, perhaps more connected even than usual without the words getting in the way. The demon part of her could see this very clearly: words had got in the way so often before, for so many of her former “clients”. She sighed, her shoulders slumping dejectedly. Irritating although they so often were – especially when other people were using them instead of her – the words could also be comforting, reassuring. Useful, like when she and Giles had to balance the books...
She jumped up suddenly, a look of pure horror on her face. Frantically she waved to try and get Giles' attention, but his attention was firmly focused on the book he held. Anya coughed theatrically: beside her, Xander watched in amused wonder. Well, she thought suddenly, at least not even he had the words to make a spiteful comment just now.
She finally had both men's attention on her. She waved her hands frantically, trying to think of a mime that might convey what she wanted to say. Finally, she put her hands together, then opened them out flat, palms up.
Xander put a hand up excitedly, then hunted for a notepad. “Book”, he wrote. Anya nodded, and spread an arm to include the whole shop.
Confused frowns replaced the dawning comprehension. She could feel the impatient frustration building inside her, but managed to fight it down. She repeated the gestures, then hopped over to the register and pointed at it.
Giles adopted a silent “Oh!” expression, and went into the back. He returned carrying the rest of the shop's ledgers and held them up inquiringly. Anya clapped and nodded.
“nied todo boohs,” wrote Giles. Again, Anya nodded, then screwed her face up for a gargantuan effort. “Audid,” she managed to say. “thyme Fir orthic”
Giles waved aside the whole matter of auditing the accounts impatiently, pointing at his mouth and head to indicate that he at least considered their present predicament to be of far greater importance. But Xander knew better. He knew that Anya couldn't let it rest there.
*
Spike and Dawn approached the mall containing the Magic Box at around the same time, but from a different direction, as Buffy, Willow and Tara. Catching sight of each other across the street, the two parties ran towards each other, Dawn racing past the vampire in a bid to reach her sister – but not fast enough that he couldn't catch her. He hauled her to a stop, nearly pulling the girl off her feet.
“Oh no... no running into each other's arms, now; whatever it is Buffy's caught, we don't want you getting it as well, now do we?”
“But I... oh, no, I suppose not.” Dawn stopped struggling and allowed Spike to lead her forward more slowly.
“doN; t&ank Dog y,u,re .Ok,” panted Buffy. Dawn looked at her in astonishment. “Holy shit,” was all she could think of to say. She looked at her sister's companions.
“Tara's got it too,” confirmed Willow, “she opened the door while Buffy was still knocking and caught her when she fell.”
“You OK though, Red?” Spike made it more of a statement than a question. The redhead nodded.
“I was in the kitchen.”
Buffy was looking at Spike with accusation in her eyes. “H?ow cumyur t:okkŁng sowell”
“Eh?” he replayed the sentence in his mind for a moment. “Oh: how come I can talk?” he shrugged. “Dunno. Was hoping Mr Tightarse might be able to tell us both.”
“bUtItou;ch...d U”
“Yeah...” replied the vampire. “Been wondering about that. Red here's easily explained: you lot got contaminated somehow, by something, and she hung back, and escaped. Niblet's not touched you either – and it had better stay that way,” he growled at Dawn. “But me? Who knows?”
“There's only one big difference that I can think of,” said Willow hesitantly. Spike politely raised an eyebrow, inviting her to continue.
Willow took a deep breath. “You have no soul,” she said.
*
Inside the shop, the chaos appeared to have spread. Anya was clinging to both the register and the account books as if her life depended on them; neither Giles nor Xander appeared particularly willing to try and prise her away. It looked as if every single book had been pulled off the shelf and then dumped on any convenient surface once it had proved unequal to the task. Very often, that surface was the book underneath. Around the mystery laptop, however, a clearly-defined circle of emptiness existed. All three looked up as the door opened to admit Buffy and the others.
Spike pushed past her in the doorway. “Right, first thing: nobody touches Dawn or Red. They're not infected with... whatever this is... so it's hands off, right?” He glared around the scene. “Hands up if you understand, then: I don't think I've got the energy to translate any more of this gibberish than I have to.”
Behind him, Dawn giggled despite herself. Three hands went hesitantly up. Spike folded his arms with a satisfied grin.
“Good!” he said, clearly enjoying himself. “Now then, made any progress?”
“w*a' du yuh thi%k” replied Xander sulkily. The vampire merely shrugged and began prowling around the shop. In truth, he hadn't a clue what he was looking for, but he figured it was better to do something – anything – than just stand there and appear as gormless as the rest of the gang.
Willow looked at the chaos of books. “There's nothing at all in any of these?” she asked forlornly. Giles shook his head, without taking it out of his hands, his elbows on the counter and weariness in every line of his body.
“The only clue I've got is Spike,” Willow continued. “I'm shooting in the dark a bit, but this thing seems to spread through physical contact – except for Spike. Buffy says they touched, before she reached our place...”
“Touched?” repeated Spike explosively. “She damn near knocked me over! I'll say we bloody touched!”
“... but there seems to be no effect on him,” continued the witch resolutely. “The only thing I can think of is that it's because he has no soul... or the demon in him is making him immune.”
squawks
05/18/17 04:16 am
pj! I remember wishing one of your stories would be finished seriously about a decade ago. Amazing. I just tried an old password I used to use and amazingly got in too. Memories!
pj
03/20/17 01:20 am
10 yrs later, i finally rem my username and password. Pari, you rock. Hope you are well.
Rabbit_moon1
12/23/16 01:12 pm
I donate every month. Please donate to keep this site up!
AudryDaluz1
10/06/16 08:34 am
Great post.
Chrissel
08/31/16 03:45 pm
And anyone else who loves this site, it's worth mentioning there's a nifty little "Donate" option just below the shout box here! ;)
Chrissel
08/31/16 03:43 pm
Just wanted to take a moment to thank Pari and all the mods for maintaining such a great site!
05/18/17 04:16 am
pj! I remember wishing one of your stories would be finished seriously about a decade ago. Amazing. I just tried an old password I used to use and amazingly got in too. Memories!
pj
03/20/17 01:20 am
10 yrs later, i finally rem my username and password. Pari, you rock. Hope you are well.
Rabbit_moon1
12/23/16 01:12 pm
I donate every month. Please donate to keep this site up!
AudryDaluz1
10/06/16 08:34 am
Great post.
Chrissel
08/31/16 03:45 pm
And anyone else who loves this site, it's worth mentioning there's a nifty little "Donate" option just below the shout box here! ;)
Chrissel
08/31/16 03:43 pm
Just wanted to take a moment to thank Pari and all the mods for maintaining such a great site!