This is a James Bond/Buffy the Vampire Slayer crossover forming the third part of my Secret Agent Slayer Series.
Reading this without reading Episode 1 and 2 is perfectly possible.
Ian Fleming’s master spy meets old friends and enemies when he undertakes a private mission to find a missing Felix Leiter. Arriving in Sunnydale, this personal mission may prove his most difficult yet. Can you hear the Voodoo drums...?
- You Only Die Twice -
The Magic Box was quiet on this particular day as Anya manned the helm. There’d been an old couple in first thing. When they realised it wasn’t a grocery store they’d left pretty sharpish. The only other visit had been from a group of kids looking for bangers and fart bombs. That hadn’t stopped Anya from relieving them of 3 bucks for a bundle of explosive Stink-root. She just hoped they remembered to wet it with salted water not drinking water before they used it. She shrugged. After all, if they blew themselves up, they only had themselves to blame. She reflected for a moment on her beloved Xander. Her betrothed. Next year he would be her husband. She was so excited. They had a beautiful apartment, a grand new car – a Jeep Grand Cherokee Overland in a glorious shade of champagne called ‘light graystone pearl’ – and now Xander was being paid quite fairly by the Watchers’ Council. Things were looking bright. At that moment Xander was at home in bed, still recovering from his injuries from the last mission just a week before. He wasn’t healing as quickly as Buffy had. Anya noticed the sounds from the back room of the store – the training area – had stopped. Buffy was there with Giles. Every morning for 3 days now they’d been training. Apparently, Buffy wanted to become an expert spy or something. Anya didn’t really care so much. As long as people kept coming to her magic shop and spending their money, all was well.
Slightly dishevelled but not as sweaty as usual, Buffy came from the back in a white vest and blue training pants with Giles just behind.
Giles was midway through a lecture as he rounded the counter. “You have to learn how to slow your pace down, Buffy, and control your body weight, or you’ll never be able to cross a field of gravel without sounding like a bulldozer.”
Buffy sat up at the counter beside the cash register and slumped. “Just tell me I’m fat and clumsy, why don’t you?”
“If it were true I would. You know perfectly well what I mean. You want to be a spy. You have to master stealth.”
“Why don’t you try to apply some of the techniques on patrol?”
“Because, Giles, patrolling’s been a bust. The vamps seem to have better things to do lately and your Slobbu Demon guy doesn’t look like he’s coming out of hibernation anytime soon. He’s a slothful Slobbu.”
“Be patient. In seven hundred years since eating the cursed heart he’s never woken from his mystical slumber on time.”
“Eating a heart that cursed him to sleep for a hundred years. Sleeping Beauty much?”
“Every fable and fairy story has an origin in truth, Buffy.”
“Well, Sleeping Beasty better wake up soon or I’m gonna forget what it’s like to sleep.”
Giles sighed. “Just check his crypt every night until he awakens then speak the incantation to put him to bed for the next hundred years. You remember the words?”
“Of course. Klaatu…varata…necktie.” Giles failed to laugh. “I’m joking, jeez. Don’t you watch movies?”
Anya screwed up her face and shook her head in disdain. “The Evil Dead movies were terribly inaccurate. Zombie witches don’t swallow souls.”
Giles was waiting.
“They swallow brains and marrow,” Anya continued. “And the occasional phallus.”
Giles was still waiting.
Buffy rolled her eyes and let her head loll back as she repeated the incantation like a good little Watcher’s pet. “Somnus iterus bestia.”
,” he corrected sternly. “There’s no room for error.”
The door sounded against the hanging bell as a man entered the store. Buffy caught a glimpse of a well-dressed, tall dark figure before Anya shoved a bunch of ribbons in her hands and pointed to a small stack of gift-wrapped candles that were on special offer.
Anya put on her most insultingly polite smile. “Please make yourself useful.”
Buffy gave a harumph and began tying the candles in ribbon. When she looked to see what Anya was doing, she saw the former demon watching the new customer with slits for eyes.
“He looks shifty,” she said quietly. “Shifty and dangerous. He’s a spender, I can smell it. Might be a warlock.”
Buffy followed her eyes and had to agree that the man was definitely on the dangerous-looking side. He was standing at the rack beside the main window eyeing the contents. He glanced their way briefly. Buffy noticed his tall lean figure. He looked calm yet strong and fast, like a coiled spring. His hair was black as coal with a flirtatious and boyish strand hanging down like a black comma over his right eye. The eyes were deadly and cold in their sockets, his nose long, thin and straight, and his mouth a cruel line. But it was the 3-inch scar that ran vertical down his right cheek that gave him the real dangerous edge. Yet he was certainly handsome and in his early to mid thirties, Buffy guessed.
Giles pulled the ribbons from her grasp to finish her work and it brought her back to their side of the room. “I was gonna ask Spike to take care of the Slobbu,” she explained, “but he hasn’t been in his crypt – err, crib – for the last few nights.”
Anya didn’t allow her eyes to stray from the tall dark handsome stranger. “Maybe he got so annoyed over the ‘forgetting to thank him for being tortured in Japan’ thing that he decided to get as far away from you as possible?”
“I meant to thank him…” She realised there was a shadow over her. The dangerous man was at the counter and his eyes, a bright blue-grey she now saw, were smiling at her and, she sensed, analysing her. She felt uncomfortable and flattered all at once and she smiled reflexively.
The man held up a gleaming golden pot the size of an American football that looked like a giant decapitated egg with its insides scooped out. The cruel lips parted and Buffy was surprised by his well-spoken British accent. “I thought I might buy this for a friend. If she asks what it is, what might I tell her?”
Anya’s eyes were alight at the sight of his chosen purchase and she almost lost her breath just thinking about the monetary figures. The enthused grin exploded across her face. “That’s the Golden Gourd of Fu Manchu used to drink the blood of virgins–”
“Haha,” Giles butted in, “she’s joking.”
“No I’m not–”
Giles went on, “It’s a beautiful example of an ancient calabash gourd in gold leaf. Commissioned by Emperor Ch’in Shih-Huang around 210BCE. Hand-crafted by a visiting foreign tribe at his behest during his quest for the elixir of life; his search for the pathway to immortality. The fact it has never decomposed lends to its supposed magical properties and gives some theorists reason to believe that the first Chinese Emperor still lives among us today. Perfect as an ornament, historical piece, or…a flower vase.”
The man’s brows were raised quite high and his grey-blue eyes were more playful as he spoke to Buffy. “Well that was rather dramatic. I think I’ll have to take it for the anecdote alone.”
Anya snatched the expensive gourd and Giles moved around to make sure she didn’t crush it in her excitement as she boxed it.
“It’s surprising to find a fellow Englishman living in the States,” the man said to Giles.
“Well, I hale from Bath originally. I’m not a permanent resident. I’m with Universal Personnel. We go where we’re needed. And yourself?”
“Southerner also. On vacation at the moment.” His piercing eyes still lingered sideways over Buffy.
“Well, I hope you enjoy your stay. Giles, by the way. Rupert Giles.”
“Bond. James Bond.” He leaned on the counter a little casually and looked around at the trio. “Actually I’m here to meet a friend of mine. He seems to have misplaced himself, however. Felix Leiter’s his name. I don’t suppose you’ve seen him around? He has blond hair. And he’d have a limp and a false arm.”
Giles wasn’t sure if the man was for real. “Um…I’m afraid not.”
Anya rang the bill up on the cash register. “Two thousand dollars,” she said with an outstretched palm and the whitest smile in the west.
Buffy watched the man with the golden gourd as his face suddenly contorted comically and he stood quite straight.
“I’m certain the card on the shelf said twenty dollars including tax.” Though surprised, the man still kept cool as a cucumber.
Anya rushed desperately to retrieve the card from the rack by the front window. When she returned, her face had grown long and red. “There’s a decimal point here that shouldn’t be here, Giles!”
Giles was aghast. “It’s a simple mistake. I’m sure Mr Bond will understand. This is a priceless item available at a remarkably low cost as it is.”
Anya’s red face was darkening further as she contained the volcano. “No, Giles, the consumer labelling act clearly states that if items are priced lower than intended the advertised price must be applied! You sold the Golden Gourd of Fu Manchu for twenty dollars
!” She threw the card down and stormed into the back of the store. By the time Giles had taken the man’s twenty and returned his receipt, the sound of smacking wood could be heard from the back room. It ended with a splintering crunch.
The man named Bond smiled politely, said thank you, and walked smugly out of the Magic Box, passing Willow on the way.
The young witch came in to find Giles in a zone of his own, drooling down his chin, and Buffy gazing thoughtfully at the door. She looked back to see the man outside lighting a smoke. Had he caused this reaction in her friends? She turned to them quizzically. “Who was that
Buffy was a million miles away. Her mind drifting back to a recent dark night. Her first night on Slobbu duty. Something the Englander had said ignited a vague memory that, as she cast her mind back, became clearer. A guy with a limp. And what now was obviously a gloved prosthetic arm. He’d been attacked by vampires and now this mysterious dark stranger was after him. The stranger had the clear swagger of a worldly person – one not privy to the dark and spooky side of life. This situation with him and the crippled guy from the other night… it had a gangster smell to it.
“I feel ill,” uttered Giles.
Buffy considered the English guy. ‘Who was that
?’ Willow had said. Buffy couldn’t help but wonder the same thing.
(This Bond is not Sean Connery or Roger Moore or any other movie version. This is based solely on Ian Fleming’s creation. Reading those books was the inspiration for this Secret Agent Slayer series of stories. Sorry if it’s strange for readers not familiar with the original Bond.
In Ian Fleming’s novel LIVE AND LET DIE, Mr Big fed Felix Leiter to the sharks to send Bond a warning message. Felix almost died and lost an arm and leg. Even after this horrific event, Felix remained Bond’s most trusted friend and most useful ally. LIVE AND LET DIE was Fleming’s second James Bond adventure.)DISCLAIMER:
BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER is a Registered Trademark of Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation.
JAMES BOND, in written form, is copyright Ian Fleming (Glidrose) Productions Ltd.
*This is a non-profit unauthorised piece of tie-in fiction and was made for pleasure not for monetary gain.
All copyrighted images used here are for non-profit educational purposes under ‘fair use’ terms and are purely for visual reference and to educate those unfamiliar with the show elements.