I reappear in my apartment, the one I bought for Anya, standing over the videotape I had in hand when I was teleported out. The dizzying tilt-a-whirl of sensation passes, and I wonder why that other Xander’s teleport-trick feels so much like my own demonic teleportation. He didn’t look very demon-y, and the eye thing couldn’t happen to someone with my kind of power. Is he just working with demons? Questions for another day, I guess.

I see that my ‘message’ light is blinking and wander over, distracted from my impending mission. It’s from Tara, who stutters and hems and haws her way through describing how Willow (although she doesn’t say Willows’ name in my presence, or even on my answering machine, apparently, it is clear who she is talking about) woke up screaming about something tearing the Hellmouth open and her eyes were black. She says that ‘she’ (meaning Willow) doesn’t remember the dream, or vision, or whatever, but that she (meaning Tara) is really scared and wonders if I’ve heard something, or can do something, or something, something, something. She kinda trails off at the end there, having realized that she still doesn’t know what I am, or what I know, or have the slightest clue what I can do other than be all supportive and shit. She only knows that Buffy and Willow won’t even talk about me, let alone to me, and Giles doesn’t seem to communicate enough with her to realize that she keeps better contact with me than he does. It’s been months since his last call, actually.

Tara’s been privately keeping in contact with me for over a year, and really is my sole contact with the ‘Scoobies’ these days. At first it was because she’s an incredibly sweetie who can’t hold a grudge (even ‘though I stole her girlfriend for awhile) and felt bad that everyone else was treating me like a leper. Later it was because she finally got a glimpse of me and is now clandestinely researching her little heart out to find out what’s up with my demony-fresh new aura… Which reminds me, she’s coming over tomorrow night while Willows at seminar to ‘talk,’ which means to subtly try to pump me for information, under the guise of telling all about what Willow’s up to. I still like to look out for my girls, even if they’d rip my head off if they heard me calling them ‘my girls’ these days. Better get back to taping that Iron Chef marathon. Tara is really helping me with the learning-to-cook project, since I get to whip up these monster gourmet meals for her and me. Which is really good, ‘cause I sometimes forget to eat. For like, weeks. Demon metabolisms have their perks.

I toss the tape in and feel about for this ‘Glorificus.’ I peer into the pendant, not necessary, but I like to have something to focus on, and I can see a thousand threads of spite running through Sunnydale. Uncharitable thoughts to wishes for immediate bloody vengeance, all are there, and freeing my mind, I can feel Glorificus among them, wishing for vengeance on Buffy, of all people, and thoughts about someone named Dawn. That was easy. She isn’t specifically calling out for vengeance, it seems that she plans on taking it with her own two hands, but I can be a pretty persuasive salesman.

I grab onto her heart’s cry for vengeance like a lifeline and let it pull me to her, and for a second before I arrive, I see the room in a sort of green wash of color. Like an evil genie I appear in the middle of her living room, where she sits on a couch attended by a pair of grotesque demons who leap up in surprise, holding an ice-cream spoon and a hair skewer in vaguely threatening manner.

I decide to seize the initiative, while she’s still got Chocolate Cookie Dough on her face. I wish I could think of something portentous and cool to say, like D’Hoffryn always does, but I can’t, so I settle for the obvious, “Glorificus.”

She replies, “Who the Hell is this, and why doesn’t he have pizza?” One of her minions scrambles, pointing at my glowing necklace, “He is a vengeance demon, beware mistress, they are tricky!” She glares and backhands him, “He’s the one who had better beware, lackey!”

I smile and say, “I am here to grant vengeance to one who has been wronged. Your ‘glorious’,” I try to hide the sarcasm, but not much, “destiny has been thwarted, your heart cries out for justice, and I am compelled to give you your heart’s desire.”

“Yesss!” Glory hisses, as her minions begin to kowtow and beg her to “Beware!” and “The Ritual is almost ready, he cannot be trusted!” She ignores them and carries on, “I want that little skank back here, and I’ll kill her all over again, and again, and again, for daring to defy my plans…”

She seems to be really getting into it, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s never to let the customer craft their own wish. These sorts of things are best left to professionals…

I lift a hand and she looks at me nonplussed, as if stunned that someone would interrupt a god. “Wouldn’t you rather use this once-in-a-lifetime offer to, oh, I don’t know, perhaps, go home,” I say with a sardonic smile. “He can’t do that! He doesn’t have the power…” begin several of the minions, and one of them advances to threaten me with the ice-cream spoon. I backhand it into a wall, where it slides down stunned. Glory says, “Hey! Only I get to backhand the minions!”

Down to business. When I turn back my face is demonic, and I say in my best intimidating demon voice, “I wield the power of the Wish. I can do anything! Wish to go home now, and you shall.” Her minions shudder and whisper ‘no’ as Glory says, “All I have to say is ‘I wish to go home’ and I will?”

Score! She’s dumber than I thought! I smile and say in quick succession, before she has time to amend her hasty wish, “Yes. Done. Buh-bye.” The last with a jaunty wave as Glory fades away and her minions cry out, “No Glorious one, do not leave us!!” As she fades, her voice can be heard, “Wait a me-dammed minute, what about…”

Her minions seem to realize at the same time what has happened and one of them lifts the long skewer that he was using to pleat her hair and holds it threateningly towards me. I try not to laugh out loud. “You sent her home? All of her?” I look innocent, or perhaps just dumb, but I was going for innocent, face human and wide-eyed, with a hand raised in front of my open mouth. “Oh, there was more of her? Oh dear, no, I only sent what was here to her home dimension.” Then, as if it is just now occurring to me, “Oh my, she’ll be helpless before her rivals back home, with them at full power and herself only a tiny fraction of her ‘glorious’ (again with the sarcastic tone) self…”

I then stage-yawn, looking at my watch. As usual, I’m not wearing one, but the humor is probably lost on these creatures anyway. “Oh, shift’s up. Not my problem anymore. You have a complaint, take it up with the union.” As I turn to go, the minion before me screams and lunges forward with the hair-skewer. I get my hand in the way, more out of concern for my shirt than my skin, and the needle skewers my hand completely (which hurts, but only kinda), with the blinking minion looking down at it, then at my other hand, which is suddenly on his collar. He weighs nothing, and I shake him so fast that my eyes can barely follow the action. Then I hear a crack. When my hand stops moving, the minion hangs dead from it, neck clearly broken. Huh, wimpier than I thought. That was really only supposed to scare him.

I heave the body over my shoulder, which takes about as much strength as if I was tossing a pinch of salt. The other minions scream and charge, shouting for me to bring her back and undo the Wish, and I buckle down and kill them. There’s only room for one demon on this Hellmouth, and that position is filled for the indefinite future.

I’m pretty sure one ducked out, and as I walk into the hall to check I see the elevator going down. Suddenly remembering to pull the damn skewer out of my hand, I shake my head in the negative and vanish.

On the bottom floor, a couple waiting for the elevator hear a scream. The door opens with a ping, and a nasty little man in a burlap robe is found impaled to the wall with a hair-skewer in the now-empty elevator.