April 2000

Writer: Sagremor

Jonathan	Anya	Buffy	Willow	Giles	Xander

Pilot Episode:
"Newton’s Third Law"

As Willow waited anxiously in the alley behind the Bronze, she couldn’t keep her gaze from wandering. She nervously fingered a small brown paper bag and wondered whether her contact would show up. Something moved at the edge of her peripheral vision, near the garbage cans. She turned around to face it as she heard a faint rustle in that same direction – magnified by her overactive imagination.

"Oh!" she yelped, quickly stifling her scream with her hand. A man with long white hair stood before her. He was dressed in black overcoat and wearing a wide-brimmed hat that cast a deep shadow across his features.

"Jumpy?" he asked with a faint hint of malice. "If you’re afraid of what the darkness hides, you’re in the wrong line of work."

"I-I was just…" Willow began, "I-I didn’t see you when I looked that way a second ago…"

"You were so intent on seeing me that it was easy to hide myself," he remarked disinterestedly. Then his voice took on a malevolent edge again. "Do you have my money?" he asked.

"D-do you have the… uh… merchandise?" she responded, conscious that the quiver in her voice betrayed her anxieties. She folded her arms across her chest – in what she hoped was a resolute gesture – to keep her hands from shaking noticeably.

"The money first," he said icily. Willow hesitated – he spun about abruptly and began to walk away.

"Wait!" she called. He stopped and turned to face her. She lowered her voice to a whisper. "I have it right here," she said, indicating the bag.

He walked back over and took the paper sack from Willow. He opened it and removed a stack of twenties. He smiled and replaced the money, then deftly pocketed the bag. In its place he produced a small black chest, inlaid with silver traceries. He began to open it, then stopped himself. "I don’t have to tell you how illegal this is, do I?" he asked. "If you get caught with this," he continued ominously, "we never met – understand?"

"Perfectly."

The man spun around to face the new speaker. She knocked the box from his hand then smashed him against the wall. He slumped down and began to chant but she interrupted him with an audible kick to his face. Blood streamed down his face as he clasped his hand over his shattered nose.

"Make sure you get the money back," Willow reminded the newcomer. "I need it for tuition. It’s in his left coat pocket."

The man glared angrily at Willow. "This isn’t over…" he growled.

"You better hope it is," his assailant remarked as she crouched down to retrieve the money. "And I better not see you within 20 miles of Sunnydale ever again."

"Who do you think you are?" he demanded.

She tossed Willow’s money back to her – Willow fumbled with the bag and dropped it – then turned her attention to the old man. She locked her gaze to his…

"Buffy was so cool," Willow continued as she narrated the events to friends. Xander and Giles were listening raptly, but Anya was clearly bored. "She said ‘I’m the Slayer,’ in a sort of Clint Eastwoody kind of voice and he just turned white – actually it was pretty dark so I’m not sure if he turned white or not – I mean, I was pretty intimidated and Buffy was on my side – but he didn’t say anything else, just got up and left as quickly as he could – didn’t even look back. One less black market body parts supplier in Sunnydale."

"And you haven’t been able to open the box?" Giles asked.

"I think it’s magically locked," Willow affirmed.

"I do wish you had waited just a moment longer, Buffy," Giles sighed. "You might be a bit less impetuous."

"We know what’s in the box, Giles," Buffy responded.

"The fingers of unborn children whose mothers were hanged," Willow agreed. "The principle ingredients for a hand of glory."

"That must have been expensive," Anya interjected, suddenly interested in the conversation. "Nobody carries those anymore. They pretty much have to be special ordered." A short pause ensued as the others looked at her uncomfortably. Anya’s attention switched to the box. "I think I may be able to open it," she said as she picked it up and examined it. "I’ve seen one like this before. I might need some help with the spell, though," she added as she looked up at Willow.

Willow looked at Giles for confirmation. "I see no harm in Anya’s opening it," he told her. "In all likelihood it contains exactly what you suspect, but I’d like to be certain." He took the box from Anya and examined it himself. "Make sure Buffy is with you when you perform the ritual," he remarked absently, "just in case…"

"In case of what?" asked Xander.

"Hmm?" Giles turned to look at Xander, a surprised expression on his face, as if he had just noticed that Xander was there. "Oh, well," he continued, "the owner was a sorcerer. There is the possibility that he established safeguards in the event it fell it the wrong hands. It does not hurt to be careful."

"Pictures of Jonathan?"

"Not pictures exactly, Buffy," Willow said dubiously. "More like trading cards." Anya, Willow and Buffy exchanged glances and Willow passed the cards to Buffy. There were seven of them – each with a foil embossing.

The ritual, performed in Buffy and Willow’s dorm room, had been a complete success – as soon as Willow and Anya had finished the chant, the lid had popped open. Inside the box was a Ziploc bag filled with 10 tiny human fingers. There were also some packets of herbs – and the cards.

"In what alternate universe does Jonathan play professional basketball?" Buffy asked. Anya froze, then snatched the cards from Buffy’s hand and examined them intently.

"Relax, Anya," Buffy said.

"I had a dream about this guy," she said suddenly.

Buffy looked startled, "Me too," she replied uneasily. "He’d done something wrong… but I can’t quite remember what."

"I used to dream about him, too," Willow added. "Back in High School. Maybe we all had the same dream. In your dreams is Jonathan chained up and were you interrogating him but he wouldn’t crack so you have to get out the whips and, as you do, you realize that you don’t care if he gives in or not…?" She trailed off, as she became conscious of what she was saying.

"No whips in my dreams," Anya said, "how about you, Buffy?" Buffy looked at Willow in horror. "There was sex, though," Anya continued. Willow quickly mumbled an excuse about having to see a professor and fled the room. "Not with Jonathan, of course. With Xander."

"Don’t you get enough of that in real life?" Buffy responded distastefully. "And what does having sex with Xander have to do with Jonathan?"

"I dreamt that I was thinking about having sex with Jonathan while I was having sex with Xander," Anya explained. "These cards reminded me of that – Xander collected them."

"And there was a Calendar…" Buffy said pensively.

"Swimsuit edition…" Anya sighed.

"Jonathan was some sort of leader…" Buffy added.

"And what were you wearing?"

"Something weird definitely happened," Buffy said softly, as she turned one of the trading cards over in her hands. "We should ask the others if they remember anything…"

"Can I keep the box?"

"What? Why?"

"I need something to keep my jewelry in."

"Sure. I guess."

"Do you want the cards?"

"I’ll take one to show the others," Buffy giggled. "The rest are all yours."

"You can keep the fingers."

"Thanks. Really."

"Maybe Willow can use them."

"I hope not."

‘You’re Jonathan, right?"

"A-anya, what are you doing here?"

"You know me?" she asked suspiciously, riveting her gaze on him.

She stood at the door of Jonathan’s dorm room. Jonathan stood in the doorway. Behind him, Anya could see the strangely ordered room with a poster of Michael Jordan on the wall opposite her.

"We went to Sunnydale High together. You transferred in during our senior year…" he explained.

"Are you going to let me in?" Anya interrupted abruptly.

"S-sure," he said, stepping back deferentially. Anya walked in and glanced around. Half of the room was lived in; the other half was entirely barren. More posters were on the wall behind her and another on the door – sports figures plus a few scantily clad women. "You’ll have to excuse the mess," he continued apologetically, "I wasn’t expecting company."

Anya glanced around her. There was no discernible mess; in fact, except for the posters, an atmosphere of military academy neatness permeated the room. She ignored his comments and turned back to Jonathan. "Have you been doing magic?" she asked with a hint of irritation.

"M-magic?" he stammered, "What do you mean?"

"Spells, witchcraft, blood sacrifices," she said impatiently. "Trips to a parallel universe?" His mouth moved, but no words came out. Anya pulled out the gold foil trading cards and handed them to Jonathan. "Explain these," she demanded.

Jonathan looked at the cards, then looked up at Anya in disbelief. "I-I don’t know… there was a spell that I think I tried, but it didn’t work… except in my dreams and I really can’t even remember them that well… I just ended up with a scar…"

"It worked," Anya said authoritatively. "These cards prove it. Something went wrong and broke the spell. Everything you wished for has been erasing itself."

"How do you know this?"

"I used to be a powerful demon," she responded a bit nostalgically. "I lost my powers, but I still have sources of knowledge you can’t even begin to imagine," she continued, completely oblivious to the look of alarm her words had created in Jonathan.

"What do you want with me?" he asked as he began slowly backing away towards the door.

"The spell."

He breathed a sigh of relief. "No problem," he said. He dashed over to his bed, bent down and pulled out a battered, old book from beneath it. "It’s all yours," he said as he handed the book to Anya. "Most of the pages are blank, though."

She accepted it. "You’re just giving it to me?" she asked suspiciously.

"I don’t want it."

"Okay. Well… bye," Anya said awkwardly. She turned to leave.

"You forgot the cards."

"Keep them."

It had been three days since the strange girl had showed up at his door and Jonathan had not expected to see her again. But here she was again, at midnight, waiting at his door with a paper grocery bag in her hands. "Just a minute," he told her. "Let me get dressed." He closed and locked the door. As he debated whether or not to let her in, he picked up the trading cards, depicting him as a famous athlete, and looked at them wistfully. "She’ll just come back," he muttered to himself. He quickly pulled on the pair of pants and T-shirt he had laid out for the next day, then took a deep breath as he inwardly steeled himself and unlocked the door. Anya burst in, brushing past him. She surveyed the room momentarily, then went to the empty half, set down the bag, sat down cross-legged beside it and began to remove various occult objects from the sack. Jonathan hesitantly inched toward her, craning his neck to see what she was doing.

"Why is this part of your room so empty?" she asked suddenly as she began to draw symbols on the floor with charcoal.

"M-my roommate left last semester and the university hasn’t gotten around assigning me someone new," he answered. "What are you doing?"

She placed the book – his book – in the center of the symbols and opened it to the blank pages. Only the first six pages had had any writing on them, a fact that Jonathan had found oddly disquieting. "Watch," she said as she began lighting candles. "And turn out the lights."

Jonathan did as he was told, then returned to watch Anya. She had begun to chant in a language he couldn’t place. As she did, she sprinkled a fine dust in the air over the book.

"What is that?" he demanded. "I have allergies…" He broke off as the dust transformed into glowing motes of light. An unusual occurrence in itself – but then he noticed the book. In the dim, silvery light, writing had appeared on the previously blank pages. Anya flipped through page after page of words and symbols that he knew had not been there.

She turned to face him. "Tell me about your dreams," she said.

Jonathan sat down opposite her, rapt in thought. "I was rich, powerful, brilliant," he said slowly, "everybody liked me, wanted to be like me. I’ve been having trouble recalling the specifics. Were they real?"

"In a parallel universe you make your own reality. These alternate realities don’t usually last too long – they rarely survive their creator’s death," Anya said. "At first, it is just a shadow of this existence, but eventually, if you can sustain it long enough, it can becomes real, displacing the original reality. Do remember why it ended? You’re not dead, obviously."

"A monster… I remember something about a monster…"

"The nemesis," Anya said helpfully. "The basic spell grants you your desire: wealth, power, love, physical prowess and fame. But it also creates an entity equal to you in power, but opposed to your actions. I’m amazed you’re still alive."

"I think Buffy had something to do with it."

"I wouldn’t be surprised. If something goes wrong, she’s usually involved somehow."

"How did you find out about it?"

"Some objects and sufficiently powerful creatures have an extra-dimensional existence. They can exist in more than one dimension simultaneously. We found a Box of Clodomir – it and all its contents can safely navigate the dimensions. The trading cards were in the box, which prevented them from vanishing with the rest of your world. The previous owner must have valued them highly when your spell was active and placed them in the box for safekeeping. When I saw the cards, I remembered a little – so did Buffy, although she’s probably forgotten by now. Are you ready to try the spell again?"

"This is insane," he objected. "Even supposing what you’re saying is true and not just a figment of my disturbed imagination, what’s to keep me from being killed this time around?"

"The main problem with wish granting is that people tend to be too greedy," Anya explained. "The more you ask for, the more leeway the dark powers have to twist your wish into a curse. For example, if demons grant you immortality but not eternal youth – you end up being old and senile forever. Or if you want to be invisible but they make you intangible and inaudible as well – a ghost that cannot interact with the real world in any way. But if you ask for the perfect turkey sandwich, for example, there’s not a lot they can do to you. They only have as much power to harm you as you give them – an equal and opposite sort of thing. The key is to ask for a little at a time, deal with the minor nemesis, stabilize the alternate reality that’s been created, then ask for a little more. The blank pages have all the minor rituals in them – but the demons want you to use the big one."

"If it’s equal and opposite, why does it matter how much I ask for?" He protested. "Even a weak ‘nemesis’ would be able to destroy a weak me."

"I’ll help you," Anya said reassuringly. "That should be enough to tip the balance in your favor. Together we’ll be able to defeat it. It’ll be easy."

"If it’s so simple, why don’t you just perform the ritual on yourself?"

"I can’t, only a male can use these spells," she replied with a bitterness that suggested he was personally responsible for this affront to the female sex.

"Okay," he said hesitantly. "Then why are you so interested in helping me? You don’t even know me. Plus any changes I make in our reality might affect you. I’m sensing a definite conflict of interest."

"Of course I have an ulterior motive," Anya responded. "I want my powers back and once you’ve accumulated enough power of your own you can help me get it. Now Jonathan," she said in a measured voice that suggested the decision had already been made, "what will it be?" she asked as she flipped through the formerly blank sections of Jonathan’s book. "Supernatural strength? Agility, or speed? Incredible luck? Invulnerability? Regeneration? Plus there’s a whole host of trivial powers…"

Jonathan glanced at the cards once more, then looked up at Anya’s eager face. "Invulnerability sounds good…"

Next Episode: Vulnerabilities

Did you like this episode? E-Mail Sagremore and let him know!

Return to 5 by 5 FanFiction