One Girl In All the World (Volume 2) Page 2

  “You smell like a werewolf,” he said. “What are you doing, fighting with these people?”

  “Werewolves are people, too, bro,” Jake replied, and landed his punch this time, sending the vampire reeling.

  “Jake,” Sigmund called. “The census!”

  “Oh, right.” Jake turned back to the vamp. “So, where’s that accent from? El Paso?” The vampire sprang, and Jake went down underneath the weight. “He’s surprisingly strong,” Jake groaned. “So he must be old…I’d say at least fifty, maybe over a hundred!”

  Sigmund jotted it down in his notebook as Frankie drove her stake through the vampire’s back and into the heart.

  He reared up in surprise, and Frankie had just enough time to gaze at the cactus-leather belt longingly before he, and it, exploded in a cloud of dust.

  “Sorry,” she said as Jake coughed through the cloud. “I saw my opening.”

  “He didn’t seem the talkative type anyway,” said Hailey. “I doubt you would have gotten much info even if you’d parried for an hour.” She prodded Sigmund fondly in the chest. “So much for tonight’s entry in the Sunnydale Vampire Census.”

  “Perhaps this is a waste of time.” Sigmund adjusted his glasses on his nose, and even though he insisted that he had no combat-aggressive demon powers from the Sage demon side of his family tree, Frankie thought she heard a snarl behind his sigh.

  “No way, babe, this is a really good idea.” Hailey slipped her arm around his shoulder. “Gathering data on where the demons are coming from will be totally useful in determining the reach of the Hellmouth.” They’d started tracking demons at the first of the year, and so far, the farthest one had come from was western Montana. Most were arriving from LA and Las Vegas. Nothing really from the Midwest, which had made Sigmund postulate that perhaps the hellmouth in Sunnydale was respecting the territory of the hellmouth in Ohio, though Frankie couldn’t imagine that hellmouths had a code of ethics.

  Frankie wiped the point of her stake clean against the leg of her pants and tucked it into the pocket of her hooded sweatshirt.

  “Well, he definitely had an accent. And I think I heard him call me ‘little lady.’ ”

  “What a condescending pig,” Hailey joked. “But no, seriously, what a condescending pig.”

  “I really wish I could’ve gotten that cactus belt. I mean, how cool is that? Plant belts.” She eyed Hailey’s studded black choker. Maybe she could get her a cactus-leather choker for her birthday! If Hailey ever told her when her birthday was. Getting personal details from Hailey was like pulling teeth.

  “I was trying to hold him up so you could steal it,” said Jake. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” Frankie clapped a bit of vampire dust off the chest of his jacket, and he smiled. She could tell he was tired; he’d met up with them in the cemetery after lacrosse practice. And he was rusty: More lacrosse practice meant fewer patrols and less training. They hadn’t seen much of him since the start of February, when the season started. He might be scarce until at least May, longer if they made the playoffs, but that was unlikely. Frankie had never been so grateful for the New Sunnydale Razorbacks’ lack of sports ability. She missed Jake. She needed him around.

  “Can we go home now?” Jake asked, yawning. “I have an early captain’s meeting before school.”

  “And you have an early Scooby meeting after that,” said Frankie.

  Jake groaned. “Can we move it to our free period? Isn’t that why your mom mojo’ed our schedules to match?”

  “Fine, whiner, I’ll text Spike.” Hailey slipped her arm through Sigmund’s and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m so glad you decided not to go out for lacrosse. At least one of our demons has his priorities straight.”

  Sigmund smiled happily. “Jake has to have a sports-slay balance. He did warn us.”

  “I did.” Jake gave Sigmund a nod, like he was touched that Sigmund remembered.

  “Well, what should we mark this vampire down as?” Sigmund asked. He reopened his journal. “If we had to guess. Even a region might be helpful.”

  “Arizona,” Hailey said after a moment of contemplation. “Tombstone, Arizona.”

  “That’s a pretty specific guess,” said Sigmund, writing it down.

  “Well, he just seemed like such a cowboy. And in that black suit? Like a gentleman cowboy. Like Doc Holliday.” Her eyes widened. “You don’t think he WAS Doc Holliday?”

  “I hope not,” Frankie said as she led them out of the cemetery. “If he was, he was too easy to take down.”

  Sigmund chuckled, and she tugged down the edge of his notepad to read what he had written:

  February 9—the night Frankie the vampire slayer slayed Doc Holliday.

  “Sigmund,” Frankie mock-scolded. “You know that’s how rumors get started.”

  But Hailey only laughed. “You mean that’s how legends get started.”

  The next day during their free period, Frankie waited for the rest of the Scoobies on one of the long cement benches in the quad, her books spread out to save the seats. Not that anyone would have tried to sit there. The quad was almost empty, and though Frankie was rarely alone anymore—Hailey, Jake, Sigmund, or a combination thereof always seemed to be with her—when she was on her own, nobody tried to join in. She should have been used to that. She’d spent her entire high school career making sure that’s how it was. But she’d sort of thought her newfound slayer confidence would change things somehow. Like being a slayer gave off some kind of magnetism.

  But magnetism wasn’t what being a slayer was about. The slayer wasn’t the most popular girl at the party. She wasn’t the class president. She was a secret, and she worked in the dark. Frankie was perfect for that. Day or night, she was still mostly invisible, despite Hailey’s fashion and makeup tips. Of course maybe she wouldn’t be if she actually used them—but wearing makeup and fashionable clothing while being a slayer was impractical. Eyeliner got into her eyes when a vamp punched her and made them water. And cute dresses were only cute until they got demon guts smeared all over them. She’d already had to toss two into the rag bin, which was a complete waste. And Frankie hated waste.

  She and everyone else would just have to deal with it: Her face was simply her face, and her clothes were simply her clothes.

  Well, unless Grimloch came back to town and offered to take her someplace really nice.

  She pulled a spellbook onto her lap and hid the contents with her notebook as she flipped through the pages. She jumped when Hailey grabbed her shoulders from behind.

  “Easy,” Hailey said. She waited for Frankie to move some books out of the way and sat down hard on the bench. “Shouldn’t your slayer sense have told you I was right behind you?”

  “My slayer sense almost threw you across the quad,” Frankie said, arching her brow.

  Hailey grinned. “You look like your mom when you do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “That thing. With your eyebrow.”

  Frankie touched her face. “Speaking of my mom, where were you last night? I thought you were only stopping by Sigmund’s for a minute, but I didn’t even hear you come in.”

  “We were watching a movie.”

  “What movie?” Frankie pressed, and she didn’t miss the faint flush that rose to Hailey’s tan cheeks.

  “A movie.” Hailey shrugged. “It was a musical, I think. What’s the big deal?”

  “The big deal is my mom has started to mumble about having to put her foot down. With you and Sigmund, and the unsupervised alone time.” Frankie watched Hailey carefully. She expected she would scoff or cross her arms. Maybe get mad. Instead she just smiled. “You like my mom’s curfew?”

  “No.” Hailey stretched her legs out and crossed them at the ankles. Her black boots were of the delicate sort today (Victorian-style, with low heels and laces), and she’d paired them with a short black skirt. Goth pretty is how Frankie thought of it, instead of Goth tough. “But I don’t unlike it. I never had a mom to tell me
not to do things, you know? I was ten when my parents died; too young to do anything wrong. And Vi was very…not a mom. So let Willow put her foot down. Maybe she’ll even ground me. What’s that like?” She laughed when Frankie made a face. “Besides it might be kind of fun if I had to sneak around to see Sig. He’s so…good, you know? It would totally freak him out. All those buttons and ironed clothes. I just love to wrinkle him up.”

  “You’re twisted.” Frankie studied Hailey from the corner of her eye. She ought to ask about Vi and if Hailey had heard from her—they’d been searching since they defeated the Countess that fall, but all they’d found was a hastily-cleared-out space in a vacant warehouse, where Vi had clearly been squatting—but then she shook her head. Lately, any mention of Vi and Hailey’s face would slam shut like a book Frankie wasn’t supposed to be reading.

  “Ladies.” Jake jumped over the bench and swept Frankie’s books into a messy pile before plopping down beside her. “And Frankie.”

  Frankie pursed her lips and reordered her things, straightening pages in her notebooks. “Jeez, Jake, you look terrible.” He wore sunglasses, his expression tired and slack, and his reddish-gold hair was able to move in the breeze. “You didn’t even bother to over-gel your hair.”

  “I’m going to over-gel your hair,” he said.

  “Huh?”

  “Sorry. I’m tired. Too tired to tort, let alone retort.” He stretched, and it looked like it hurt. “Start of the season. I am not in shape.”

  “But you’re constantly running,” said Hailey. “And you’re a werewolf. Don’t you have, like, superhuman strength?”

  “Playing is different,” Jake said. “Uses different muscles. And I didn’t say I wasn’t still the best on the team. By far.” He reached across Frankie to slap Hailey on the knee. “Get your boyfriend to try out. Give me a little demon backup.”

  As if on cue, Sigmund’s shadow fell across them. He was looking particularly put-together, in a navy blazer from his old school layered over the top of a sweater vest of all things. No matter what Hailey said, it must have been really hard to wrinkle him.

  “How many times do I have to tell you, Thriller? No. Demon. Powers.”

  “That’s a lie,” said Jake. “You can charm people.”

  Beguile people, was more like. When Sigmund turned on the charm, or when he did accidentally when he was nervous, he became so enchanting that it was almost like being blinded. The rest of the world fell away, and all that remained was Sigmund DeWitt.

  “That’s not much use on a lacrosse field,” the half demon said.

  “Depends on how much you use,” said Jake.

  “Isn’t that cheating?” Hailey asked.

  “Have you seen our team? We need to cheat.” He yawned.

  “Maybe you should take a few more nights off,” Frankie suggested. “Catch up on sleep. Things have been quiet anyway.”

  “Local neck-wound deaths have been staying nice and low since we turned the Countess into skewerable meat cubes.” Hailey grinned.

  “And there’s still been no word from missing sisters or really old demon underwear models.” With his head back and eyes closed, Jake didn’t see the ripple that passed through them as he spoke. No, there had been no word from Vi. She had appeared to save Spike and help them defeat the Countess, and then disappeared again without even a hint of an explanation. Not even for Hailey, the sister who’d thought she was dead—killed in the Slayerfest explosion. And there had been no messages from Grimloch either. Since he’d left town to search for his slayer, the demon–hunter god of Thrace had seemingly turned back into a myth.

  And how rude was that? Hadn’t he said he would keep one ear on Sunnydale in case she needed him? Hadn’t he said that he cared, and that Frankie would see him again soon? Frankie’s face scrunched sourly. Sunnydale was quiet, so she didn’t need him. And if she really thought about it, he hadn’t said “soon.” He hadn’t even said he cared. But he had implied it, pretty strongly. At least in her opinion.

  He has more important things to do, Frankie thought. Like finding his slayer. The one he loves. The one we all hope is still alive. She frowned. That sounded like she was trying to convince herself, and that made her feel guilty. It also made her feel like an idiot for thinking Grimloch might feel something more for her than what he did.

  “Where is Spike?” Jake threw his head back and cried, “Why is he always late?”

  “No need to howl so dramatically,” said Sigmund. “He’s right there. With the coffee clutch.”

  The vampire-slash-Watcher lingered near the doors, surrounded by what looked to be nearly every unattached adult woman in the school.

  “Isn’t that our lunch lady from the cafeteria?” Hailey asked.

  “Yeah,” said Jake. “She’s still wearing the plastic gloves for food handling.”

  “Looks like she’d rather be Spike handling. Is he getting a tan?”

  “I don’t think he can,” said Frankie as her Watcher extricated himself and made his way toward them. “The spell my mom cast to keep him safe from the sun on school grounds—I’m pretty sure it blocks ALL the rays. SPF a million.”

  “Wow, look at you,” Hailey said when Spike reached them. “You’re like a boy band without the band. Or the pulse. Can you technically be a heartthrob if your heart’s not beating?”

  “And can you be a boy band with that old-glamoured face?” Jake added. “Or would it be an old-man band? Like the Eagles.”

  “Leave him alone.” Frankie swatted Jake lightly. “It would be an age-appropriate librarian band.”

  “What an awful band,” said Sigmund, and Hailey laughed into his shirt.

  “Good morning to you, too, Scoobies,” said Spike, brow arched. He sipped his coffee, which Frankie knew was spiked with blood. Or sometimes it was just plain blood.

  “How do you explain the red in the cup?” Hailey asked, pointing to the rim.

  “Red-velvet creamer. Now let’s get cracking, shall we? I have to run an update on the periodicals database.”

  “You’re getting really into the librarian…ining,” Frankie said. Spike didn’t respond, so she shrugged and recounted the events of the patrol as her Watcher ineffectively pretended to care. She talked, watching as he dipped a finger into his blood and licked it clean. As he shifted his weight. Any moment, she expected him to start giving her the wrap it up sign, so she took a breath and loudly declared, “And that’s when I became a legend by dusting Doc Holliday.”

  Spike blinked. “You dusted who?”

  “See? You weren’t even paying attention. Are all Watchers like this? Did Giles used to get bored and drift off listening to Aunt Buffy?”

  “I didn’t drift off. It’s just…fairly routine.” He pursed his lips. “No word from Vi Larsson, no word from the Hunter of bloody Thrace, and no new leads on what happened to the slayers. No need for…any of this.” He gestured vaguely to them with his coffee cup and sighed. “You lot use the rest of the period to study.”

  “Study what?” Hailey asked. “Like, demons?”

  “Like school things. You know, the things you need to know to graduate and keep from working the night shift at Doublemeat Palace,” the vampire said as he walked away.

  Frankie’s brow knit. She loved Doublemeat Palace. She had ever since she was little and Buffy had told her the “meat” was secretly vegetarian. She got up and started to load her things into her backpack.

  “Where you going?” Hailey asked.

  “Extra time with the Watcher. Training stuff. You and Sig don’t need to come. Just hang here, and I’ll see you later.”

  “What about me?” asked Jake, already stretching out to lie across the bench.

  “You curl up and dream of chasing lacrosse balls.”

  She followed Spike inside and found him in his office, paging through the thick volume of the Watchers Codex without actually reading it.

  “Thought I told you to study.”

  “Yeah, but I thought I should tell y
ou more about the fight. The vampire had this really cool way of regaining his feet. I thought we could practice flips and roll-backs and coming out of tucks—we wouldn’t need weapons, so it wouldn’t seem suspicious if someone came in.…”

  “A student and the librarian tumbling around on the floor? That wouldn’t look suspicious at all.” He gave her a puzzled look. “That’s something you can practice at home, Mini Red. What do you really want?”

  She wasn’t sure. He’d just seemed bothered. And she didn’t like to see her Watcher bothered. “Was it too much teasing out there? About the coffee ladies? We were only joking. I mean, they are age-appropriate—or as age-appropriate as you can get, since you’re two hundred. As long as you aren’t dating married Mrs. Merriman, we’d be totally thrilled—”

  “I’m not dating any of them,” Spike said. “I’m not going to be dating anyone.”

  Frankie took off her backpack and hopped up to sit on the edge of his desk, her feet resting on his empty chair.

  “Because of Buffy,” she said.

  Spike snorted. “How do you figure?”

  “Well…you were a couple a long time ago. And you never really stopped caring about her. And now that we don’t know what happened in the explosion—if she’s gone, or if she survived—maybe you feel like you’re in limbo? Frozen in time?”

  “I’m an undead high school librarian. I AM frozen in time.” He looked at her fondly. “You’re a fairly perceptive thing, aren’t you, Mini Red? When it comes to other people’s feelings.”

  “Does that mean I’m right?”

  Spike shook his head.

  “Buffy and I were never a couple. Or not what mentally well people would call one, anyway. I made too many mistakes. Big ones. Un-bloody-forgivable ones. But after the fight with the First, and after I came back…in those years afterward, we came close. Coupla times. But we never…” He gazed past her, out through his office door, and Frankie knew he wasn’t seeing the library. He was seeing Buffy and all those moments. All those near misses. “We never got it right. And yeah, now she’s gone again, or missing, and if I wasn’t on hold before—” He raised his eyebrows. “I guess I’m on hold now. Feels like I should be. Until we know.”