Prime Evil

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Buffy's wandering mind snapped back to the present. Cornered and blindsided by the low, husky voice, her throat constricted with an oppressive dread. All eyes were on her. She wasn't ready and cringed under the penetrating scrutiny.

How could she be prepared for this unexpected peril when she was coping with so many other distractions? Vampire attacks, demons with delusions of universal omnipotence, the verbal state of war between Xander and Cordelia, Oz's monthly episodes of hairy-hound guy syndrome, and the heartache of loving Angel combined with a grueling training schedule and nightly patrols had become matters of routine, but the cumulative effect was wearing. Even more so now that she was determined to improve her GPA. She rarely slept more than four hours a night, which made it difficult to study and even harder to concentrate in school, especially since surviving her Slayer duties often depended on catching a few daytime Zs.

And now this!

The new menace was female and attractively packaged in a tall, slim body with classic facial features, bruising brown eyes, and blond hair cut stylishly short.

Buffy's hopes of graduating with the rest of the senior class dwindled as Crystal Gordon's stare bore into her. The pressure in her throat spread into her chest and her heart lurched as though shocked by an electric prod. The realization that she was experiencing the symptoms of a major anxiety attack was more unnerving than the antagonistic source. She was the Slayer. She didn't panic, wasnotpanicked now.

Then again, how to escape an embarrassing situation instigated by a belligerent authority figure with the power to pass or fail her wasn't covered in the Slayer manual. In the classroom, Mr. Pointy was as useful as a limp noodle against an undead mob.

Buffy breathed in slowly, convinced the new history teacher was a protégé of Principal Snyder, whose stony glare could petrify a student at fifty paces. However, whereas Snyder openly despised all teenagers, Ms. Gordon's animosity had been focused entirely on Buffy since her arrival at Sunnydale High two weeks ago. Or so it seemed.

"Whenever you're ready, Ms. Summers." Ms. Gordon made no effort to mask her annoyed impatience. She looked at her watch and sighed.

The pressure in Buffy's throat eased and her pounding pulse slowed, but the sound of shuffling feet, the stares, and the collective anticipation gripping the classroom kept the tension level at a crushing high.

Willow winced, sympathetic with Buffy's plight but helpless to assist with the academic emergency.

Xander studied the ceiling as though how many dots there were in a twelve-by-twelve square was guaranteed to be a crucial question on the next exam.

Anya raised her hand to answer. For a supernatural being who had suddenly been trapped in the body and persona of a teenaged girl, she was adapting remarkably well. Although her inhuman longevity and power to grant the vindictive wishes of jilted women had been lost, she was quickly catching on to established methods of mortal survival specific to teens, like being the teacher's pet.

Anya's enthusiasm solicited a warm smile from Ms. Gordon, but the frosty female in charge was not about to let Buffy slip from her grasp. The teacher impaled her with another scathing look, a perfectly plucked eyebrow arched in challenge.

Buffy straightened and coughed to clear her throat. "What was the question?"

"Article Nineteen," Ms. Gordon said flatly.

"Gave women the right to vote. Nineteen-twenty." Buffy silently thanked the forces of fate that had prompted her to read the assignment on the Constitution of the United States before she had finally dozed off at three A.M. last night.

"Yes. Quite so." Ms. Gordon held Buffy with her barbed gaze a moment before abruptly turning away.

Buffy knew her answer was correct. What she didn't know was why the young woman had taken an immediate dislike to her. But she could guess.

Snyder sabotage.

The principal had hired Ms. Gordon to replace Dan Coltrane, the history teacher who had been killed by the jaguar incarnation of the Aztec god, Tezcatlipoca. Snyder had obviously warned his newest faculty member about Buffy Summers, the notorious troublemaker he had expelled and then readmitted under duress. Then, in spite of her sincere desire to do better, she had missed several classes and barely passed last Friday's test. Habitual inattentiveness and late assignments had cemented the unsavory image Snyder had planted in the new teacher's mind.

Ms. Gordon paused at the front of the room. Stunning in a tailored, sea-green suit that gently hugged her distinctly feminine curves, she exuded a commanding confidence that arrested adolescent rebellion before it started. With the possible exception of Xander, whose mouth often operated independent of his better judgment, no one even contemplated disrupting her class. She held everyone's silent attention when she started to speak.

"The Nineteenth Amendment was the most important legal affirmation of women's rights since the seventeenth century, when Ireland was incorporated into the United Kingdom and forced to abandon the ancient Brehon Laws in favor of a male-dominated English judiciary."

"What were the Brehon Laws?" Michael Czajak asked.

"Excellent question, Michael," Ms. Gordon said. The boy flushed as her approving gaze swept over him. "The ancient Celtic legal system isn't covered in most history courses, but it should be."

Buffy watched and listened attentively, but not because she was inspired by Crystal Gordon's impassioned discourse. She had had to cope with hostile teachers before, but none of them, including Snyder, had ever bullied her into a breathless bundle of jangled nerves.

"Brehon Law was unique in many ways," Ms. Gordon continued, "including the right of women to own property and divorce husbands who humiliated, lied or in any way dishonored them."

"Since when is male-bashing part of the curriculum?" Oblivious to the danger of cutting rebuke, Xander huffed indignantly, then glanced at Anya. "No wonder she likes you."

"Those were the days." Anya withered Xander with a superior smile.

Unable to let a slings-and-arrows moment pass, Xander countered. "Plenty of fodder for the revenge mill, huh?"

Anya just nodded and sighed.

The teasing exchange did not prompt the disciplinary retort Buffy expected. Instead, Ms. Gordon's eyes mirrored Anya's wistful look, giving the impression she shared the girl's longing for the past. Except, Buffy reflected, Anya had been around for a thousand years and had probably lived in old Erin at one time or another. Unless Ms. Gordon was centuries older than she looked, she had not.

Since nothing supernatural registered on her Slayer sonar, Buffy had to conclude that Crystal Gordon was human and merely felt a wishful attachment to events and times she could study, but never experience. Even so, her uneasiness was not dispelled. History teemed with unspeakable horrors conceived and perpetuated by evils that were wholly human in origin.

"So women were equal with men?" Willow asked. "Back then -- in Ireland, I mean."

"Almost, but not quite. It wasn't until the Civil Rights Act of 1964 that -- " Cut off by the bell, the teacher surrendered control to the unstoppable stampede of students fixated on food and the midday break from educational tedium.

Buffy leaned toward Willow as everyone began stuffing papers and books into bags. "Did this period seem longer than usual to you?"

"The class before lunch always seems longer." Xander loomed over them with one hand shoved into the pocket of his baggy pants and a quirky grin on his face.

"Especially when you're famished." Pulling a blue denim hat with a turned-up brim over her auburn hair, Willow stood up as Buffy eased into the aisle. "Which I am."

"Not hungry, but I can use the break," Buffy said.

"I'm free." Anya shoved between Xander and Willow's desk.

"And since one always gets what one pays for -- " Xander wrinkled his nose. " -- I'll pass."

"I meant for lunch." Anya slumped despondently. "I hate sitting in the cafeteria by myself. Everyone stares like I'm some kind of freak."

"You are. Were," Xander corrected himself.

"Not that we hold that against you, Anya," Willow quickly interjected. "It's just that after you almost, you know, condemned us to a Sunnydale that was overrun by vampires -- "

"Including yours truly," Xander said pointedly.

"Right." Willow shuddered. She had had the distinct displeasure of meeting her vampire self when Anya, hoping to retrieve her lost wish-necklace, had tricked her into trying a temporal-fold spell. Fortunately for all concerned, Willow the vamp was returned to her proper reality and Anya's power center was not recovered. "So it's not easy to just, well, forgive and forget."

"That was Cordelia's idea, not mine." Anya shrugged self-consciously. "Believe me, if I could take back that wish I would."

"And believe me," Xander added emphatically, "the male half of the species issoglad that's not possible."

Buffy had misgivings about Anya, too, but the grounded Patron Saint of Scorned Women had seen, heard and experienced a lot over the past millennium, some of which might prove useful. Besides, she knew what it was like to be singled out and ostracized for weirdness and felt a certain empathy with the displaced entity. She waved Anya to follow as they fell into line behind the student horde pressing toward the door.

Xander whispered in Buffy's ear. "Why do I have the feeling I'm going to regret this?"

"I don't know," Buffy whispered back, amused. That was a lie. Although Xander hadn't noticed or was in denial, it was obvious to everyone else that Anya was developing a serious interest in him.

"Excuse me -- "

Buffy halted as Rebecca Sullivan shoved into line ahead of her.

Xander bumped into Buffy and muttered, "Some people think they own the aisles."

"Sorry, but I've -- " Rebecca glanced back, her voice muffled with a sob. Short, with straight dark hair and a round, freckled face, she nervously adjusted her glasses.

"Forget it, Rebecca." Xander shrugged apologetically. "Just pre-lunch classroom rage. I'm over it now."

Rebecca's smile was as lame as Xander's joke. She sighed and started to cry.

"What's wrong?" Buffy had hardly spoken to the shy girl during her three years at Sunnydale, but she couldn't ignore Rebecca's distress. Not when it was dripping on her notebook.

"Nothing. I just -- " Rebecca's gaze darted toward the far front corner of the room where Kari Stark and Michael were speaking with Ms. Gordon.

There was nothing unusual or sinister about the conference huddle, and yet, Buffy's apprehension intensified as she watched. Michael, who practiced witchcraft and wore heavy make-up to ensure his isolation from the mainstream, and Kari, a plain but pleasant and intelligent girl with no occult connections that Buffy knew of, werenotuncomfortable. They nodded in response to something Ms. Gordon said and waved as they turned toward the door. The warm sparkle in the teacher's brown eyes hardened as her gaze followed them out of the classroom.

Buffy shivered, disturbed by the malice evident in the woman's shifting demeanor. Or was she imagining trouble where there wasn't any?

"Kari!" Rebecca called out.

Kari cast an annoyed glance over her shoulder, rolled her eyes, then took Michael's arm and turned down the hall.

Hurt by the blatant snub, Rebecca shoved through the student bodies ahead of her, bolted through the door, and ran in the opposite direction.

"What was that all about?" Anya asked.

"Being human hint for the day," Xander said dryly. "Never ditch your best friend since fourth grade for a guy."

"Kari and Michael?" Willow frowned, then sighed. "Not hard to understand, I guess. Considering what happened to Amy. I mean, they were pretty close, but -- "

"Rodents with naked tails aren't exactly a turn-on," Xander said as they filed into the corridor.

Buffy elaborated for Anya's benefit. "Amy Madison turned herself into a rat so she wouldn't be burned at the stake."

"Which perfectly illustrates the old saying 'the lesser of two evils,'" Xander added.

Buffy nodded. "But Willow's taking good care of her."

"Only until I figure out how to change her back," Willow added. "Which isn't as easy as I -- "

"Willow!" Ms. Gordon appeared in the doorway. "I'd like to speak with you for a moment, please."

"Uh -- sure." Willow hesitated, obviously bewildered.

"Wait -- " Suddenly anxious when she caught the teacher's eye, Buffy moved forward as Willow stepped into the classroom. She stopped just as suddenly, her frantic gaze shifting from Willow's questioning baby blues to Ms. Gordon's curious, brown-eyed stare. "Never mind. It's...nothing."

But it wasn't nothing, Buffy thought as the teacher smiled and closed the door. She had no idea why she had been overwhelmed by another surge of chilling dread.

Or why she wanted to run.

"Are we going to the cafeteria or not?" Anya's patience bottomed out thirty seconds into Willow's impromptu conference with Ms. Gordon.

"As soon as Willow comes out." Xander answered without looking at Anya. He watched Buffy, waiting for her to do or say something, anything to assure him she hadn't totally and inexplicably checked out.

Anya fixed him with a petulant pout, silently intimating that her gastric cravings were somehow his fault. "I wasneverthis hungry before I...changed."

While Xander was thrilled to the bottom of his nifty new high-tops that Anya was powerless and preoccupied with her stomach rather than him, Buffy's vacant stare was a troubling development. The odds of surviving Sunnydale would plummet from fighting chance to not a prayer if the Slayer went over the edge. He leaned closer, ignoring the subtle traces of scented shampoo that teased his deprived male hormones via his nose. "Xander to Buffy -- "

"Hmmm?" Buffy blinked, then turned to stare blankly at him. "What?"

"Well, either you're into some kind of Zen meditation involving the spiritual depth of classroom doors or something's wrong," Xander pressed. "I'm guessing something's wrong."

"Just tired." Buffy's wan smile amplified the worry in her eyes. "Whoever decided teenaged girls should burn the midnight oil dusting vampires didn't take modern lifestyles into account. Like homework, having to graduate from high school, getting into college, not to mention the occasional date, which I don't have...much. Anyway, there's only so many hours in a night, and I don't spend enough of them sleeping."

"Right." Xander nodded, opting to be relieved. Even with her enhanced strength and reflexes, he often wondered how Buffy managed to function without suffering the debilitating effects of sleep deprivation. "But take my advice, Buff, anddon'ttake your morning nap in Ice Woman's class again."

"Ice Woman?" Anya looked at him askance. "Are you referring to Ms. Gordon?"

"As in gorgeous with a heart of cold? Yes." Xander faked an exaggerated shiver. "If looks could freeze, Buffy would be an icicle."

Buffy's expression clouded again, and Xander instantly regretted the remark. The fate of the world rested on her shoulders, a responsibility she accepted and managed against outrageous odds with no recognition from the student body or faculty. Not surprising, since no one knew about the sacrifices she made to keep Sunnydale safe. Relatively speaking. Crystal Gordon was no exception. It was bad enough the stern, new teacher had stewed her on the humiliation hot plate and then served her up as an example for class consumption. Although Buffy had handled it with cool and collected Slayer aplomb, she could have done without the sting of his thoughtless reminder.

"Well, I like her," Anya said defensively. "Mr. Coltrane didn't even know my name. Crystal offered to help me work out my problems. Adjusting to -- whatever."

"Crystal?" Xander gavethata surprised two eyebrows up. "On a first name basis with the teacher, huh? I guess ice water is thicker than blood."

"It is?"

Xander hid his disappointment when the slur zoomed over Anya's head. He was just grateful the uptight, humorless Ms. Gordon neither favored nor despised him. Not often, but sometimes, being nondescript and easy to ignore was a good thing. He wished Anya would take the hint. Cordelia's sarcastic rejection was a balm for the soul compared to the prospect of being the object of Anya's affections. He was romantically desperate, not emotionally suicidal.

"Crystal is a strong, independent woman who has total control of her life. She's an ideal female role model. Right?" Anya looked to Buffy for support, which was just more evidence that she hadn't quite yet tuned in to the subtleties of teenaged trauma.

"You're asking me?" Buffy hesitated, incredulous. "The creepy lady's designated victim of the day?"

"Who's creepy?" Oz sauntered up looking casually freaky in faded jeans, a plaid shirt, and platinum blond, spiked hair. It was a look only a musician could wear without fear of being laughed out of school by the fashionably correct.

"Attention shoppers!" Xander jerked backward, his hand shielding his eyes from the imagined glare radiating off nearly-neon hair tint.

"Crystal Gordon." Anya tentatively reached up to touch the gelled points covering Oz's head, then pulled back with a grimace. "Only she's not creepy."

Xander made a mental note. Icky hair was an effective Anya repellent.

"And Crystal Gordon is?" Oz asked.

"Is what?" Willow popped back into the hall. The perpetual perky sparkle Xander had foolishly taken for granted since kindergarten brightened several degrees when she saw Oz. "Hey! Cool hair!"

"Blinding even," Xander quipped for cover, just in case anyone had noticed his momentary lapse into Willow lust.

"Yeah." Oz winked at Willow. "It clashes with everything but your eyes."

"That is so sweet. Just makes me goose-bumpy all over." Willow blushed.

"So what did the ice maiden want, Willow?" Xander asked.

"Ms. Gordon? She just wanted to recommend a book on Brehon Law." Willow shrugged. "In case I was really as interested as I sounded in class. Not that I wasthatinterested, but I thought it was, well...a very thoughtful gesture. She's actually kind of nice."

"To anyone with an IQ over one hundred and forty -- " Xander started when Buffy grabbed Willow's arm.

A bit too roughly,Xander thought uneasily. He didn't have the Slayer's ability to sense approaching evil, but his human internal warning system jumped from all's well to major alert in nanoseconds.

"Let's walk." Buffy started down the hall with Willow in tow.

Matching Buffy's hurried stride, Xander moved into place on her right leaving Oz and Anya to bring up the rear, which gave him two definitive advantages. Distance from the ancient, love-starved stalker that talked and walked like a girl, but wasn't -- not really -- and eavesdropping proximity to Buffy and Willow's conversation.

"I know it's none of my business, Willow, but -- " Buffy scowled. " -- youlikeMs. Gordon?"

"Like?" Willow hesitated. "Well, maybe not exactly like, but she was nice -- to me."

"How nice?" Buffy asked sharply.

"She just offered to lend me that book tomorrow." Willow's expression phased from confusion to irritation to concern. "What's the matter, Buffy? I mean, well...you're a little tense. A lot tense, actually -- "

"Brutal interrogation does seem like overkill," Xander interjected.

Buffy started, her stricken expression saying volumes more than her words. "No, it's -- Sorry, Will. I didn't mean to put you on the spot. Just forget it, okay?" She instantly withdrew.

Willow cast a helpless glance at Xander behind Buffy's back.

Xander fielded it with a helpless shrug, his own anxiety mounting. They all got a little testy now and then. Who wouldn't with the Hellmouth as a hobby? But it wasn't like Buffy to take her frustrations out on her friends. Not without a damn good reason. "Am I the only one missing something here?"

"We're all missing lunch." Anya's eyes narrowed accusingly.

"I can walk faster." Willow latched onto the change in subject with a grateful glance at Anya.

"Please." Anya sighed, exasperated.

Buffy stopped when everyone else turned toward the cafeteria. "Look, I'm gonna pass on lunch."

"Want to talk about it?" Xander asked. "Whatever it is that's bugging you, I mean."

"Not now, Xander." Buffy shrugged. "Maybe later. After I talk to Giles."

"Giles!" Willow gritted her teeth, closed her eyes, and drew her shoulders up slightly, a sure sign she had forgotten something important. "I forgot to tell him I finished programming the database last night."

"The one for indexing and cross-referencing hundreds of years of Slayer info?" Oz asked.

"Yeah." Willow sighed. "He's been on me about it for days, likeIdon't have a life or...or things to do or...anything."

Oz grinned. "I'm rather partial to the anything part myself."

Xander looked up sharply. "Define anything."

Willow grinned. "Well, not exactly that -- but close!"

"I'll tell Giles about the program, Willow." Buffy's mouth tightened into a poor imitation of a smile. "Later."

A dozen explanations for Buffy's odd behavior flashed through Xander's mind as she walked away. None of them inspired a funny comeback.

Giles leaned back in his desk chair and removed his glasses to rub his weary eyes. The quiet of the noon hour was a welcome respite from the seemingly constant comings and goings of students who had recently discovered that Sunnydale High had a library. He desperately hoped the sudden interest was just a passing fad and that the general student population would return to the public book depository without undue delay. Although he begrudged no one the chance to broaden their educational horizons, the high-school library was woefully deficient in acceptable references, and the presence of anyone outside the Slayer's circle was highly inconvenient when they were embroiled in a demonic crisis, which was the case more frequently than not.

Pushing an eighteenth-century manuscript aside -- carefully, so as not to damage the fragile, yellowed pages -- Giles rose to make himself a fresh cup of tea. At the moment, there was no crisis beyond the routine business of eliminating vampires. This afforded him the time to comb through the obscureWatcher's Chroniclesthe Council had neglected in favor of those pertaining to the more successful, adventuresome, or notorious Slayers. However, while he worked, Buffy and company had taken advantage of the rare opportunity to "goof off," an appropriate colloquialism given the circumstances.

Giles sighed as he opened a box of gourmet Irish Breakfast teabags and dropped one into a stained cup. Perhaps he was being too hard on them. Except for Buffy, who had had no say in being chosen as the Vampire Slayer, Willow, Xander, Oz and even Cordelia, on a surprising number of occasions, were all volunteers. They deserved a holiday from the life-threatening pressures of fighting the dark forces intent on destroying the world. It was incredibly callous to expect them to spend their free time entrenched in the tedious process of gleaning facts from boring old texts. Still, their lives might one day depend on how quickly they could access vital information.

Tossing the teabag, Giles stirred and fretted over the dilemma. At the present rate of progress, the project, although ongoing in nature, would not be completed within the next century, which rather defeated the purpose of the undertaking -- helping Buffy. He didn't even have the option of hiring a data-entry person when Willow finally finished setting up the cross-referencing program.

"How would I explain the data?" Giles raised the cup to take a sip.

"The same way you explain talking to yourself?" Buffy asked from the office doorway.

Startled, Giles jumped, sloshing his hand with hot tea. "Buffy. I do so wish you wouldn't creep in like that. It's quite -- unsettling."

"Sorry." Buffy flopped on the chair in front of his desk and dropped her books on the floor.

"Yes, well -- " Setting the cup down, Giles dried his hand on a handkerchief. "I don't suppose you dropped by to assist with reading theWatcher's Chronicles?"

"No, but Willow finished setting up the database."

"Did she?" Giles nodded. "Good."

"And my...problem is related. To theWatcher's Chronicles.Maybe." Buffy sighed, her brow knit in troubled brooding.

"Is it?" Giles softened his tone when he realized she was genuinely distressed. "What problem is that?"

"How many Slayers have totally lost it?"

Copyright © 2000 by Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation

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Excerpted from Prime Evil by Diana G. Gallagher
All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.