In a Jam
A private jet flies through the night with the words “Vimana Air” painted in red upon its fuselage. Inside, a plump but vigorous man sits in an airborne lounge with a small old-fashioned laptop computer on the tray attached to his seat. He is dark-skinned with straight jet-black hair formed in pony-tail. His dark, silk suit is tailored to make his corpulence look almost handsome.
On the screen is an International Financial Journal article about the impending take-over of Credit Suisse by KRU Global Bank. Suddenly there is a beeping sound that prompts the Indian businessman to tap a key.
A white-bearded man in a white turban and dark blue suit appears on the screen. He does not look Indian, however, having pale skin and blue eyes. There is raised lettering on the wall behind him, spelling out “Wizard Financial Advisors, Ltd.”
“Good evening, sir,” says the man on the screen.
“Good evening, Wizard,” replies the businessman. “Have you been following the news? Someone is collecting information about this takeover by highly unusual means.”
“Do you mean…?”
“I mean that I want you to utilize ultimate discretion in your representation of us.”
“I understand, Mr. Vibhee,” says the Wizard.
The following morning, Buffy feels a bit out of balance. Ordinarily, she can stay up late and not show it, but the worry over Xander’s disappearance combined with that of little Rupert is putting an emotional strain on her usual resilience.
“I am so sorry, Monsieur Pinault,” Buffy says.
“Christian, please,” the bank’s P.R. director corrects her. He smiles sympathetically.
Buffy gratefully returns the smile before continuing.
“I realize this is a bad time for me to abandon you.”
“Not at all,” he replies. “I am extremely concerned about your missing friends. Take as much time as you need. I assure you that the brilliant work you did yesterday will help us to stall the takeover for at least another week.”
“I appreciate your confidence in me, but the situation could change from minute to minute. There is no telling when the work we did yesterday will become irrelevant.”
“I have a suggestion,” says Christian. He hesitates with an endearing quiver of the lip. “Perhaps you could come by my apartment tonight, and we could discuss any changes that have occurred today over a private dinner.”
“Well, as much as I would enjoy that,” Buffy hesitates herself, “I don’t like to mix business with pleasure.”
“I am encouraged that dining with me might be a pleasure,” he says with another endearing smile. “We could dispense with business, then. It seems you are not necessarily working for my company any more. Is that not correct?”
“I would like to consider your offer, but can I get back to you later today?”
“Why, of course. How callous of me. Your friends are missing, and I am being insensitive.”
“Don’t worry about it,” says Buffy, feeling as flustered as a school girl.
“It’s no use,” says Willow.
“Please, Will, can’t we try just once more?” pleads Dawn.
“You don’t understand, Dawny. It isn’t anything to do with me or you or this locator spell. Everything is working. We’re clicking like never before, and, yet, we’re not able to locate Xander.”
“Why not?”
Willow closes her eyes as concentration sets on her face for a long moment. Then she nods and opens her eyes. “Because the signal is being blocked. Someone is jamming us the way they jam radio signals. Whoever has Xander is highly skilled in magick. Maybe several times more than I am.”
“But whoever is doing that must know where Xander is,” says Dawn.
“Yes. And the good news is that that probably means Xander is still alive,” says Willow.
“But for how long?”
***
The shaggy rug in the dank chamber lifts its head—for it is not a rug but a shaggy human-like figure covered from head to toe in long, foul-smelling hair. It—or he—hears something and now sniffs the air. Something approaches that is a curious mixture of the familiar and the alien. He is sure that one approaching entity is his own mother, but the other two are utterly new to him, and their unfamiliarity arouses in him the greatest apprehension which leads to equally great hostility. He will bite their heads off, he resolves, if they move to harm either him or Mother.
A key turns in the lock and the door opens slowly.
“Affoggy?” calls his mother’s familiar, loving voice. “Are you awake Affoggy?” The lights come up, and Affoggy sees the old woman enter the room with two thin, dark-skinned men behind her. The taller one is clean shaven and the shorter has a little moustache. They both have jet-black hair and wear dark business suits.
“I have some new friends for you to meet, Affoggy,” says Mother. Affoggy can tell that these men inspire in Mother neither fear nor loathing (not especially anyways), and that makes them seem relatively safe, but Affoggy still doesn’t trust these strangers. “Mr. Ravi, Mr. Karna, I would like you to meet my son, Affoggy.”
The two men look uneasily at Affoggy and then at each other. “We have heard so much about you,” says the one called Karni. His moustache-covered upper lip smiles as he steps forward and extends a hand. Affoggy leaps forward and snaps at the threatening appendage, but the chain around Affoggy’s neck pulls tight and keeps him from reaching the hand with his powerful jaws. Karni leaps backward as sweat break out on his now deeply furrowed brow.
“Now, now, gentlemen, I warned you that Affoggy can be cranky if he hasn’t had his nap. We mustn’t tire him any further.”
But Mrs. Cherry,” begins Ravi, “while we are grateful for all of your help in our takeover of Credit Suisse, I fail to see—as, ah, adorable as your son is— what, ah, Affoggy’s place might be in our partnership.”
“Affoggy is not ready yet, to be sure,” replies Mrs. Cherry, “but he will be soon.”
“But, Mrs. Cherry,” says Karna, “soon Credit Suisse will be ours, and we won’t need his help—whatever that might entail.”
“What my injudicious brother means,” says Ravi, “is that we have not renegotiated any future dealings, not that we would be opposed to that. There will be future deals, and we are so pleased with your willingness to use your telepathic powers to tell us what investors are thinking in New York, London, Paris, and Geneva.
“As well, we are extremely grateful that your people are keeping an eye on this Slayer and her friends. But, I mean, look at your son, my dear lady. It is difficult to imagine that he could be any more help to us in future than he is today. Unless we need him to snap off someone’s fingers.” On this note, Ravi turns and smiles at his sniggering brother.
“Silence!” cries Mrs. Cherry as Affoggy instantly puts his back in the air and, bracing for a leap at the nearest jugular, begins snarling and spitting at the Sri Lankan brothers. “My son will soon have the greatest gift any mortal ever possessed. I may not speak of it until it is done, but I assure you that he will have it by sunset tomorrow. And it will be a gift of great value. I have ensured that when I die, my son will be the valued heir to my domain.”
Karni looks particularly incredulous. “Well, you can leave him that website with all the cauldrons on it, but if he doesn’t develop a little more social grace, I don’t have to be a seer to see your client list dwindling.”
The old woman’s face grows more hideous and, if possible, more fearsome, as well. “My domain is beyond cyberspace, you fool. And I will not have my son insulted and belittled!”
“I beg your pardon on my brother’s behalf,” says Ravi.
“He will apologize of his own free will soon enough,” says the crone, “when he sees what my boy can do. Just wait and see.”
***
Willow and Dawn sit on the large couch in their suite waiting for Buffy to call or come by with any word on Xander or Rupert. Willow notices that Dawn is drawing on sheet after sheet of paper, throwing each one in the trash and starting over.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m trying to reconstruct that cauldron and the symbols around it.”
“Do you still think that whoever kidnapped Xander was also trying to keep you from deciphering the symbols?”
“The closer I get to remembering the arrangement of the symbols, the more I am convinced of it. Look.”
Willow and Dawn get up and go to the mahogany table in front of the couch. Dawn sets her latest effort on top of the table. “See? Wisdom, Inspiration, Rebirth, and Transformation.”
“Yeah,” says Willow. She recognizes the symbols as before, but there is no new insight as far as she can tell.
“There was also this symbol.” Dawn drew a complex set of lines and curlicues. "This is called 'greal'."
“Well, if the cauldron is used to make gruel, wherever he is, at least Xander is eating.”
“Not 'gruel',” says Dawn, rolling her eyes. “'Greal', and it's no ordinary breakfast. It contains six magickal herbs and it has to be stirred constantly in the cauldron for a year and a day.”
“Oh muh gosh!” exclaims Willow. “You're talking about the elixir that transforms whoever drinks it into any animals they want and then makes them into the ultimate seer, one who can see everything that is going to happen forever and ever.”
“Having that kind of mojo is kinda scary,” says Dawn. “It’s like having control over chaos theory. How could somebody so much as tie their shoes in the morning knowing what’s going to happen as a result of that motion. Just getting out of bed could lead to somebody on the other side of the planet —somebody you don’t even know—being killed.”
“Let alone the fact that they could tell anyone what the future holds. Does someone already have this power?” asks Willow.
“I don’t know,” replies Dawn. “I just can’t put my finger on why they would kidnap Xander. What could he have to do with it, unless….” Dawn’s eyes widen at a thought.
Willow doesn’t want to waste time asking so she reads Dawn’s mind instead. “You think that the same people who kidnapped Xander also kidnapped the little boy.”
Willow and Dawn finish the thought in unison: “Because they need two, one young and one old, to prepare the elixir of future knowledge.”
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