Cleaning House

Disclaimer: The characters of Buffy the Vampire Slayer are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Productions, and 20th Century Fox. Clean House is the property of Style Network and its production company. Niecy Nash, Trish Suhr, Matt Iseman, and Mark Brunetz are all real people with real lives, and they have no idea what I've done to them here. I have written this expressly without permission from any of the involved people. Under no circumstances do I intend to defame anyone's character, infringe on anyone's copyright, or do anything other than provide some momentary diversion.

Author's Note: The house is partially inspired by Woodwold, the magic house in Robin McKinley's most excellent Spindle's End. I heartily recommend it to anyone who can read.

For those of you who haven't caught it, Clean House is a reality show on the Style Network. The four cast members pick a cluttered, messy house - usually somewhere in the Los Angeles network - and persuade, bully, and bribe the inhabitants into giving up their piles of useless belongings. The stuff is sold in a yard sale. The proceeds fund the redecorating, and the family gets to take a few days off at a local hotel, being pampered and resting. Then, they have the big reveal, and all the women cry, and the men get big goofy grins, and it's all very heartwarming. The show is part scripted, part extemporaneous. What writing there is, is extremely corny. Oh, and Matt Iseman started off as a doctor, an internist IIRC, which is why he renders first aid.


Cleaning House

"Welcome to Clean House, the show where every week, we rescue one family from a life of clutter. We round up their junk, sell it at a yard sale, and use the proceeds to redecorate their rooms. Organizing, painting, and labor is on us. I'm your host, Niecy Nash. Our man with the design plan is Mark Brunetz. Our yard sale diva is Trish Suhr, and our go-to-guy is Matt Iseman."

The group posed at the fence before the house for the opening shots. Matt stood head and shoulders above the others, a musclebound, blond goofball with a gift for carpentry. Trish was the lean surfer chick. Mark, brown haired as his name, with devastating style and insightful wit, waited patiently for the others to arrange themselves. Niecy, the queen bee, wore her platform boots, curve hugging winter wear, and had added a white silk flower to her hair, tucked into the headband of a pair of ear muffs.

"Okay," Matt said, leaning back and crossing his arms so Trish could have a little more room in the shot. "What do we know?"

"Well!" Niecy began, clearly savoring her story. "You know I wouldn't leave the sunny hospitality of Los Angeles for just any Clean House story."

"It's freezing!" Trish yelled, jumping up and down to keep warm.

"You hold onto that thought, baby, 'cause I got a chillin' story to tell," Niecy answered, holding up a finger with a highly manicured nail.

"So?" Mark demanded. "Hurry up. We're freezing our patooties off!"

"What's a patooty?" Matt asked, looking down.

"Technical term." Mark waved him off.

They all looked back at Niecy, who waited with a bare inch of patience.

"So, what we have here, folks, is a story with some background. Andrew Wells inherited this house a little over a month ago, and he invited several friends to share the space with him. However, the house is filled with things from the previous owners, and they don't have enough room to swing a cat. On top of that, Andrew says the house is haunted."

"Ooh!" Trish cheered, clapping her hands together. "I love haunted houses!"

"Okay, but I just want to be clear," Mark added, "I do not do sepulchral."

"Matty?" Niecy asked.

Matt shrugged happily. "I'm just here for the perogies."

"Then we're goin' in!"


Chaos reigned in the great hall as Xander tried his best to clear some space so people could make it from the stairs to the kitchen. The Slayerettes under his direction piled things as best they could, but new things – covered in dust and cobwebs – kept appearing every few minutes.

"Giles!" he shouted at the harried Watcher. "Where's Willow? I need her to go down to the glade with me."

"I haven't seen her!" Giles yelled back, over the ruckus of the girls. "Have you seen Buffy?"

"What? She isn't back yet?" Xander checked his watch and the sunlight coming in the window. "She's hours overdue."

"And Jenny wen-"

"EEEWWWW! DEAD ANIMALS!" one of the Slayerettes screamed, discovering a selection of hunting trophies packed in a newly appeared crate.

"What?"

"I said, Jenny we-"

"HEY! WHERE'D MY HEADBAND GO?"

"LOOK EVERYBODY! A CHAMBER POT!"

"Jenny went wi-"

"OH MY GOD! XANDER, DID YOU SEE WHAT SHE DID TO MY ROOM?!"

"EVERYBODY SHUT UP!"

Xander was gratified when the girls mostly went silent.

"You use it to pee in," one of them continued, realized she was the only one talking, and shut up.

"Giles, where's Jenny?" he asked.

"As I've been trying to say, she went wi-"

"Never fear, my comrades!" announced Andrew.

He ushered four very confused people and two camera men into the great hall. Everyone paused, looked at the opposite group, and then looked back at the members of their own group.


"Anyone get the feeling we just walked into the middle of something?" Matt asked. "Yeah, me too."


"Andrew," Niecy began. "You said you invited a few friends to stay with you. This looks like a Girl Scout Jamboree."

"I'm a Girl Scout!" one of the many, many girls yelled and waved her hand.

"Andrew," Xander started in an ominously low tone, "what have you done now?"

"I'm problem solving," Andrew answered, spreading his hands. "You know, we've got all this stuff that appeared out of nowhere, the girls all want a bedroom decorated the way they like, you've got your hands full with the house, and . . . well, these are the coolest people in the universe, and they can fix all of this."

"Baby," Niecy said, "flattery will only get you so far. You are in a world of trouble."

"Where on earth did this house come from?" Mark asked. "It's incredible. I've never seen anything like it. I've never even read of anything like it."

"Pretty neat, huh?" Trish whispered back. "I want to see the mammoth."

"Oh, that's in the spoon room," Andrew answered. "I'll show you in a little bit."

Xander stepped over to Andrew, put a hand at the back of his neck and steered him away.

"You brought six strangers into the house, the house I'm in charge of protecting, without my permission? And you didn't even let me know? Who the hell are they?"

"They're Clean House," Andrew gestured, then froze as Xander applied pressure to his neck. "They're really nice people. I've seen them straighten out a lot of messy houses."

"This isn't just any house, Andrew. She's alive, and right now, she's really stressed out. My problem is that I don't know why, I don't know why she's pulling all this stuff out and popping it into the rooms, and I don't even know where the stuff is coming from."


"Now, I know no little geek boy would be foolish enough to lie to me," Niecy said, pursing her lips. "At least, he wouldn't be foolish enough to do it more than once."


Niecy tapped Xander on the shoulder and cleared her throat.

"May I borrow Andrew for a moment, mister . . . ?"

"Xander, Xander Harris. And only if you promise to hurt him."

"Oh, I'll see about that."

Niecy reached up, took Andrew by an earlobe between her fingernails, and pulled him a further away.

"Now, Andrew-"

Andrew whimpered.

"Did you or did you not tell us that you had inherited this house when a relative died?"

"Uhhh . . . "

She squeezed.

"Yes! I knew you wouldn't consider us if I told you I just lived here and didn't have permission to invite you."

"Uh huh. And did you or did you not tell us that you had invited 'some friends' to stay with you."

He paused, she pressed, and he blurted, "Yes! Yes, I did!"

"And do you know that 'some' usually stops at four or five? It does not include – " Niecy glanced over her shoulder, did a very rough count, and turned back, "at least twenty-five people, almost all of them teenage girls."

"Well, uh, you sort of get used to them. After a while," he managed.

"Mmmhmmm. And how many rooms are there really?" she asked. "More than what?"

"Well, we're not quite sure. The house keeps adding them."

She squeezed hard.

"MORE THAN TEN!"

She eased up.

"Aaaaaah, I think the last count was ten bedrooms, and about thirteen other rooms."

Niecy glanced at her team.

"We didn't bring enough stuff for twenty-three rooms," Trish managed.

"Um . . . help?" Matt called.

He was surrounded three deep by adoring teen girls.

"Live the dream, Matt," Mark answered.

Niecy released Andrew and returned to Xander.

"Mr. Harris."

"Xander, please."

"Xander, I want to apologize. It looks like we were brought here under false pretenses. This house, lovely though it is, is way outside our normal scope, and I don’t want to waste your time."

"NOOOOOOO!" several of the teenage girls chorused in unison.

"Help?" Matt pled, collapsing under the weight of the girls.

"Things are pretty hectic right now," Xander admitted. "And the house is having some problems."

"Did you see what she did to my room?" one of the girls demanded.

"Ari, shut up!" Xander yelled.

"Is the house really haunted?" Niecy asked, looking askance.

"No," Xander replied, shaking his head. "She's not haunted. She's alive."

Niecy raised an eyebrow, somewhere between doubtful and worried.

"It's complic-"

"A LITTLE HELP HERE!"

"Buffy!" Dawn yelled, breaking ranks.

"JENNY!" Giles cried.

Buffy staggered through the doorway, carrying Jenny over her shoulders. Both of them looked much the worse for wear.

"I'm fine!" Jenny called, slurring her words. "Really. Nobody worry."

"Don't touch the slime!" Buffy warned, as Giles helped ease Jenny down.


"Excuse me," Trish said, holding up both index fingers, "did she just say 'don't touch the slime'?"


"Why didn't you call?" Dawn demanded, taking Buffy's arm.

"Ow! Other arm, other arm!" She sighed when Dawn stepped to the other side. "Long story."

"It ate the phone," Jenny answered, her head lolling to one side, barely keeping to her feet.

"Okay," Buffy admitted, "not so long"

"Matty! Matt! I think they could use your help," Niecy called.

"I COULD USE SOME HELP!" Matted yelled back from under a hill of giggling girls. "AH, BAD TOUCH! BAD TOUCH!"

Niecy strode over and took up a wide stance, hands on her hips. On seeing this, Trish grabbed Mark by the arm and pulled him back.

"Girls, do you know what an angry Black woman looks like?" she asked, her voice deeper and louder.

The giggling stopped, and all eyes turned to her.

"Do you know what an angry Black woman is capable of?"

The eyes got big.

"I do not care if you are Girl Scouts or Junior Xenas, you will put my go-to guy back on his feet and in the condition he arrived, or I will have words with each and every one of you. Do I make myself clear?"

In just under five seconds, the pile was disassembled, Matt was back on his feet – swaying a little bit –his shirt tucked in, his hair smoothed down, and his shoes tied. The girls scattered.

"Matty?" Niecy raised another eyebrow. "You okay?"

"Uh . . . "


Matt stared, wide eyed, at the camera.

"I think I saw God," he managed. "And, boy, was She pissed!"


"Anyone have a first aid kit?" Matt asked, all business now.

"I'll get it," Dawn offered.

"And bring some wet towels," Giles called, holding Jenny against him.

Jenny snuggled in and snored.

Matt started with Buffy, who had the most obvious injuries.

"What happened?" both Matt and Giles asked at the same time.

Buffy looked at Matt, very dubious, then back at Giles.

"Well, everything was going fine with patrol and setting up the wards until we stumbled across a hibernating Vernalix demon."

"Tha wz m'fault," Jenny mumbled.

"Vernalix?" Giles repeated. "There's never been a sighting above the Tropic of Cancer."

"Blame global warming," Buffy replied. "Anyways, I think establishing the wards woke it up."

Dawn returned with a large red toolbox and several wet towels. Giles took the towels and very carefully began to wipe the slime off Jenny's face and arm.

"So, it goes postal," Buffy continued. "Jenny got the worst of the slime. That's why she's so sleepy. I had to pull her out of its path. When it saw the car, it went straight for it. You know how hungry they are just out of hibernation."

"What happened to the car?" Trish asked, riveted.

Buffy sighed. "It ate the car. The cellphone was inside. And my wallet. That's why it took me so long to get home."

Giles let out a pained sigh. "Yes, well, we have replacement insurance on the car, but we do have to be able to show them a car of some sort to make the claim."

Dawn shrugged. "Wait a week and check. It'll be there in a large, steaming rust pile."


"You know," Trish said, "they're speaking English. I even understand most of the words. But I have no idea what they're talking about!"


"You really need to go to the emergency room," Matt said. "You've got several lacerations that need stitching, and your shoulder's dislocated."

"I'll be fine. I heal fast," Buffy replied. "If you could just pop my shoulder back in, and then put some butterfly closures on the cuts."

Dawn held out a package of butterfly closures. Matt paused a moment, then sighed.

"I need the hydrogen peroxide first. Or Betadine, if you have it."

Dawn dug out the bottle of Betadine and a handful of swabs.


"Mark?"

One of the girls had come up to him and stood diffidently, holding one arm, and digging a toe into the plank floor.

"Yeah?"

"Would you come and take a look at my room?" she asked.


"Is that like 'come and see my etchings'?" Mark asked. "Besides which, I thought everyone knew I'm-"


"It's just that, I had it all decorated for me and my roommates, and then the house changed everything, and no one gets why I'm upset. You'll understand, I know you will."

He looked around. Niecy was talking quietly with Xander. Trish was helping the British guy with the sleepy lady, and Matt was working on the blonde girl who looked like she part-timed as a ninja.

"Let's get your roommates to come along."


"I had it perfect!" the girl, Ari, declared.

Mark glanced back at the other two girls as they trotted up the stairs. From the looks they gave him, the room had been far from perfect, but they'd tolerated it for the sake of their roommate.

"So, what did it look like?" Mark asked.

"Well, we painted the walls black and hung red drapes. I had a bunch of chains, some zombie action figures, and posters of Gingivitis, Death Tongue, and Portable Frog of Doom. But now look at it!"

As they reached the room, Ari pulled open the door and gestured. Awful as the original design had sounded, when Mark saw its current state, he gasped in horror.

"Oh! . . . oh, that's . . . "

"I know!" Ari declared.

The room dripped with pink ruffles. The bunk beds somehow managed to have frilly canopies, gauzy curtains, and plump satin pillows with candy cane stripes. The corner opposite was filled with stuffed animals of various sizes, all of them with big, imploring eyes. The posters had been replaced with new ones of the Jonas Brothers, Mily Cyrus, and Twilight. Around the top of the walls was a stenciled line of pastel unicorns.

"I hate pink," Ari said, miserably.

Without any wind, the shutters began to bang back and forth, and the curtains and ruffles flailed. The shutters creaked with an unhappy wail. Downstairs, the crowd fell silent.

"OKAY!" Xander shouted. "WHO'S UPSETTING THE HOUSE? YOU KNOW THE RULES!"

"I like pink!" one of Ari's roommates said. "And I think it's a neat room!"

The shutters slowed and the curtains settled down.


"Okay," Mark said. "Clearly, I have to help these people. From black walls to pink ruffles? Someone has to set them on the road to design sanity. And give the house a break. Who expects a house to be able to decorate for thirty-nine teenage girls anyways?"


The Clean House crew pulled a meeting in one corner of the great hall.

"Oh, Niecy, I really like them," Trish said. "Even if they are crazy. Can't we stay and help?"

"They really need our help," Mark added.

"You think you can pull it off?" Niecy asked. "We're talking nearly forty little girls, a pathological geek liar, a British guy and his sleepy woman, a guy with an eye patch, and two sisters who look like they could dismantle and rebuild the space station while holding their breaths, and one lady no one's seen."

"Willow," Trish prompted.

"Who's Willow?" Mark asked.

"She's a witch," Niecy answered.

"Oh." Mark nodded, as though this made perfect sense.

"And," Niecy continued, "let's not forget the house, which is not haunted, but is alive, stressed out, and bringing forth all manner of mayhem and hot mess."

"Matt?" Trish asked.

Matt had been staring off, deep in thought. With a jerk, he returned to the here and now.

"Look, all I know is that Buffy has more scars than a motorcycle gang, picked up a table with the same arm that not five minutes before I had popped back into its socket, and when I took a basic medical history, she told me that she'd died twice."

"That's because she's the Vampire Slayer," Niecy answered.

"What?" Matt asked.

"I overheard Buffy and the British guy talking," she explained.

"Oh." Matt thought for a moment. "Well, even if vampires do show up, it can't be any worse than the Dragon."

They all shuddered at the memory.

"Okay. I'ma go talk to Xander."


"Violet's making a pot of coffee," Giles told Xander, "which should bring Jenny the rest of the way around. Buffy says the Vernalix demon wandered into the Cuyahoga to cool off after it ate the car. It shouldn't pose a danger until after the ice thaws."

"Xander, you have to let them help," Andrew pleaded.

"Not now, Andrew," Xander snapped.

"But, Xander!"

"Excuse me, Mr. British Man?" Niecy tapped Giles on the shoulder.

"Rupert Giles," he responded automatically. "How may I help you?"

"This is the towel you used to clean up the sleepy lady?" she asked. She held a corner of the towel daintily between fingernails.

"Jenny Calendar, and yes."

"And the slime makes people fall asleep?"

"Yeeessss."

"Just checking."

She went over to Andrew and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Andrew, baby, you got somethin' on your face."


Once Andrew was cuddled up sleeping in a corner of the room, the Clean House crew and the senior members of the new Watchers' Council gathered.

"So, what we do," Niecy explained, "is we sort through your stuff, sell it in a yard sale, and we match the money you make up to one thousand dollars. Then Mark here uses that money to redecorate the place."

"We've got a lot of stuff," Xander said.

"And it really isn't your average garage sale fodder," Buffy added.

"Well, normally I have a theme for the yard sale," Trish said, "but if y'all have any ideas, I'm all ears."

"You organize?" Jenny asked, biting back a yawn while holding a cup of coffee.

"A system for organizing the weapons would be great," Xander admitted. "And the library needs a lot of work."

"Why don't we start with the stuff?" Niecy offered.

"First," Xander said, "we start with introducing you to the house rules, and then I introduce you to the house."


"Rule number one," Xander said, pointing to the large board propped above the fireplace, "no food in the bedroom."

The Clean House crew glanced at each other.

"Okay, not a problem," Mark answered.

"Rule two," Xander continued, "no loud music before sunrise. No loud music after sunset."

Everyone nodded.

"No country music at all."

"You don't like country music?" Trish asked.

"No, the house doesn't like country music. She thinks small animals are dying. It upsets her."

"Oh."

"Lights out at midnight. If you don't turn them out, the house does. Rule four: make your bed before you leave your bedroom. Not that you guys are going to run into this."

"Not really."

"Dirty laundry in a hamper, clean laundry hung up. Or, you may find it dumped on you at an inconvenient time. Again, not a problem for you. This one's important: any sparkly jewelry or accessories should be kept on you or put away where they belong."

"Why?" Niecy asked, checking her flower.

"Because sometimes," and here Xander glared at several of the girls, who suddenly found their toes very interesting, "if you leave something pretty and sparkly out, the house may borrow it. She usually gives it back, but if she can't remember whose it is, she leaves it with me."

"That's bad?" Matt asked.

"When I don't realize that I'm wearing five sets of earrings and a sparkly headband and I go out to Home Depot for supplies, it's bad," Xander answered. "Last, you can bicker and tease all you like, but if anyone gets close to crying, it stops. And you never, ever throw a punch unless it's during sparring."

"Why not?" Matt asked, fascinated.

"Ari?" Xander called, not looking away from the crew.

Ari took a step forward and a long-suffering sigh of embarrassment.

"You don't throw a punch or make anyone cry because it upsets the house," she recited. "And then the house will separate you from everyone else in a locked room. And if you try to leave the locked room before the house wants you to, the chairs get you."

No one said a thing.

"The chairs are really mean," Ari muttered. "I don't like the chairs."

"Okay," Niecy nodded, "no fighting. You got that, boys?"

"No fighting," Matt and Mark agreed.


Taking Xander's hand and a careful step, Niecy followed him through the crevice at the back of the stone hut.

"Oh!" she gasped as she emerged into green-dappled sunlight. "Oh, it's warm."

"Yeah," Xander agreed, smiling with pride. "First time I came in here, it was like the beginning of spring, and there weren't any animals at all. Now . . ."

He gestured to the path and the surrounded verdant woods. A fox at the edge of the path stretched mightily and yawned widely before bounding into the woods. All around them, birds sang, lizards flitted up and down trees, and the life of the woods stirred.

"So, the house is a tree?" Niecy asked.

"That's the best I can explain it. Giles says there's something more going on than just your standard tree/dryad combination. For one thing, the tree is at least three thousand years old. And for at least twenty-five hundred years, the tree has had a human champion of one sort or another. Except the last hundred years, which is why it was so rundown when I found it."

They stepped into the glade, and on the opposite end spread the enormous tree, large enough to shelter three basketball courts and a symphonic orchestra besides. The dryad had been sitting on one of the higher branches, but when she saw Xander, she swarmed down and came running. She stopped just short of his leg, remembered that she was upset, and kicked at the dirt.

"Hey," Xander said, kneeling beside her. "I brought a friend."

Niecy sat down next to him. "Hi, sweetheart. My name's Niecy."

The dryad had taken Xander's sleeve and tugged on it a bit, but she stopped and regarded Niecy.

"That's a very pretty dress you have," Niecy complimented her.

The dryad looked shyly up, then smoothed down her skirt and turned left and right so the pleats flared out.

"Dawn found that for her," Xander said. "She also got her shoes, but that was before we understood that dryads don't wear shoes."

The dryad wrinkled her nose in agreement. Shoes, it was clear, were stupid.

Then, the dryad remembered her complaint and tugged again on Xander's sleeve. She waved and pointed and began a complicated melodrama of gestures and facial expressions, leaving Niecy mystified.

"Slow down, slow down," Xander said. "Yeah, I know about the stuff. Where is it all coming from? What attic? We don't have an attic. Oh! Okay."

"You can understand her?" Niecy asked.

"Some," he admitted. "Willow says it's a kind of telepathy granted to the champion. I'm still learning, though."

"Okay, so where'd all the stuff come from and why's it coming out now?"

Xander occasionally glanced away from the dryad to Niecy as he explained.

"Okay, all the stuff is things previous champions . . . and people they knew . . . asked her to put away and take care of. Sometimes, they asked for it back, but mostly they just left it with her. So, she's been storing it for a long time. A really long time."

The dryad nodded and continued miming scenes that could have come from a hand puppet production of the French Revolution.

"Okay, and now she has more people than she's ever had before, so . . . she wants them to be happy . . . so she brought the stuff out for them . . . "

"What are you going to do with a stuffed mammoth?" Niecy asked.

"Giles says it's a mastodon," Xander corrected. "And if you think that's bad, you should see the spoon collection. Okay, okay, I understand. It's just that . . . there isn't much in there that we can use. Either the technology's gotten better, or it's just not something that we need."

The dryad's lower lip began to quiver.

"Not the lip," Xander begged.

"Well, now, sweetie, how about this," Niecy suggested, "how about we sell or give away all the stuff that Xander and the rest don't need, and we use the money to get them new stuff."

The suggestion was apparently on par with killing baby bunnies with a handy rock.

"Well, what do you want to do with all that, then?" Niecy asked.

"Keep it . . . keep it safe," Xander repeated, watching her. "But your storage is exhausted. You said so. Besides, don't you want someone to use the stuff?"

"Baby, didn't you know that there are bunches of people out there who want your stuff?" Niecy asked. "All it's been doing is sitting and gathering dust, but if you let other people have it, then they'll use it and keep it, and everyone will be happy."

This carried some weight. The dryad sat and thought about it. She looked up at Xander and cocked her head.

"Well, sure," he answered. "And they've got a guy who can decorate the rooms in a way that will make all the girls happy."

The dryad put on a mulish expression.

"And I'll bring him down here so you can see his designs," Xander offered. "He won't do anything without your approval. He might even do some wallpaper."

The dryad's eyes lit up.

"And some new shelves!"

She grinned and clapped her hands.

"I'll even ask him to do . . . a mural."

The dryad got to her feet and danced with happiness.

"Boy, she don't stay mad for long, does she?"

The dryad stopped, gazed at Niecy for a moment, turned to Xander and pointed to the middle of her outstretched hand.

"Ah."

"What is it?

"There's something else she wants," Xander told Niecy.

"What?"

"Your flower."

They left the dryad pretending to walk an invisible tightrope, holding the flower above her like a parasol.

"Thanks for that," Xander said.

"Oh, baby, I got thousands of those things," Niecy answered.


"You know," Niecy said, pursing her lips, "I had more fun conversing with a three thousand year old wood spirit that can't talk than I have on any date in the last five years."


The decision was made to sort through things and shift them by category to different rooms. The billiard room held clothes, the lounge held books, papers, and kitchen utensils (except for spoons, those remained in the spoon room), weapons had to be checked by Buffy before being sent to the conservatory, Jenny was in charge of books and art, Xander took non-kitchen utensils, Giles inspected all the jewelry and other small objects for any trace of magic, and Dawn worked with Trish to notify potential buyers of the upcoming sale.

"Where is Willow?" Dawn asked, pecking at the keyboard.

"She's in the house somewhere," Jenny answered.

"Could she be trapped under something heavy?" Matt asked, grunting as he hauled a heavy wooden trunk into the great hall.

"I think she's exploring the basement," one of the Slayerettes called from the hallway.

"We don't have a basement," Xander sighed. "We have a wine cellar. It's a hundred feet square. You couldn't get lost in there if you were a smurf!"

The little Slayerette did not reply. Xander finally looked up at her, studied her face, and sighed again.

"Okay, where's the basement?" he asked.

"There's a secret staircase under the cloakroom," she answered.

"We don't have a clo-" he stopped and sighed again. "Where's the cloakroom?"

"It's the door off the foyer that's paneled the same as the wall."

"Well, at least I have a plausible excuse for not seeing it," Xander muttered to himself. "Matt, when you're done with that chest, would you take two of the girls, some flashlights, and the clipboard with the graph paper to the basement and map it out. See if Willow's down there?"

"Sure," Matt answered, opening up the chest. "Hey, cool mask."

He held up a small, wooden mask in front of him.

"DON'T PUT THAT ON!" Giles, Xander, Dawn, and Jenny screamed in unison.

Buffy, being a woman of action, tackled him, grabbing the mask. Matt was knocked flat on his back. Buffy hit the ground, rolled, and came up on her feet.

Everyone else breathed a sigh of relief.

"Very timely, Buffy," Giles said. "Good work."

"I thought you'd destroyed this thing," Buffy said, handing it to him.

"Apparently, there was more than one," Giles answered, taking the mask from her and inspecting it over the rim of his glasses.

"Is it a bad mask?" Matt asked from his supine position.

"It raises the dead," Jenny answered.

"But . . . I always wanted a zombie army," Matt protested weakly.

"It also kills the person who puts it on," Giles added.

"Let's call it Plan B."


"English, let the book go. We made a deal, remember? We keep all the books on magic and demonology and anything that references the house, the tree, or the dryad. Everything else goes to the sale."

"But it's a first edition of Great Expectations, woman!" Giles huffed, holding the book tightly against his chest.

"Niecy?" Jenny called for help.

Niecy joined them, arranging her hair. "Now, Rupert, I know you're all into books, and I respect that, but what if I were to gift you a . . . "

She glanced at Jenny for suggestions. Jenny mimed strumming a guitar.

"An X-Box 360 with a brand new copy of Guitar Hero," Niecy offered.

Jenny slapped her forehead.

"A what?!" Giles demanded, outraged.

Dawn, who was sitting behind them, scribbled something on a piece of paper and held it up. It read "Gibson Les Paul Custom".

"How about a Gibson Les Paul Custom guitar?" Niecy asked.

"Oh," Giles paused, stunned. "Well, I . . . I suppose."

He handed the book over without anymore protest.

"How much does one of those things cost?" Niecy asked Dawn.

"Don't worry about it. The sale of the book should cover it. It may take you a while to find one, though."


"So, I'm trying to get a sense of how you'd like your bedroom to look," Mark said.

"Very simple," Giles answered. "I'd like a bed, a flat place to put my glasses, some sort of clothing storage, and a bookshelf."

Mark closed his eyes and counted. Clients could be so difficult.

"Mark, I have a phrase for you," Jenny said.

He opened his eyes. "Oh?"

"Art Nouveau forest retreat."

Mark's eyes lit up. "Now that, I can do."


"How many weapons do y'all have?" Trish asked, gazing over the extensive collection.

"Not enough," Buffy answered. "What I'd really like to do is use the great hall as a training room. It's big enough that all the girls can do their forms in here at once. We'll definitely need some mats, and weapons storage is key."

"Somehow," Trish said, "I just don't think the Container Store is going to have rack for polearms."


"Can I have zombies?" Ari asked.

"I promise nothing," Mark answered.

"I don't need unicorns," Ari's roommate muttered, "but I do like pink."


"What? You guys were looking for me?" Willow asked. "Hey, where'd he go?"

"Where'd who go?" Violet asked.

"The little guy I was talking too," Willow said, pointing to the spot he'd occupied. "Cutest little guy – orange hair, little backpack, walking stick. Said he was exploring outer space?"

"You know, sometimes these basements can collect stale air, low in oxygen, high in radon," Matt said. "We should probably head back up."

"Who's he?" Willow asked Violet.

"He's another go-to guy. He's here with Niecy," she replied.

"Right. Who's Niecy?"

Violet explained as they retraced their steps.

"So, what did you think was the creepiest part of the basement?" Violet whispered. "The subterranean lake or that cell with the silver bars?"

"Definitely the crypt," Willow answered.

"There's a crypt?" Violet squeaked.


"We really can't do this as your average yard sale," Dawn told Trish. "First, most of this stuff is high price. Second, it's specialized interest. Third, Xander says about a fifth of the stuff they've gone through has no human use but could interest demons."

"Demons?" Trish's eyes went wide.

"Not vampires, or the really evil demons," Dawn assured her.

"So, how do we advertise?" Trish asked.

Dawn brought up several different tabs in her browser and clicked through each one to show Trish.

"What's dagonslist?"

"Kind of the magical, funky version of craigslist," Dawn answered.

"Well, I think I've got de(MON)Bay figured out. You think we can have everything ready to go for this Saturday?"

"It'll be close, but we can pull it off."


"Okay, I've talked to everyone who lives here – except Andrew, because he's still asleep," Mark said, spreading out his drawings. "And I think I have him figured out."

As Xander stood to the side, the dryad considered each of the color sketches, occasionally picking up a piece of paper larger to her than a poster of Twilight was to them. She pointed at a detail in one room and looked up at Mark.

"She really does strike me as someone who would appreciate a fusion of Tibetan, Aboriginal, and Japanese style."

The dryad considered it and then posed in a very specific stance and looked at Mark.

"Well, sure," he answered. "Kwan Yin is a given. I just have to find it in the right scale and finish."

Satisfied, the dryad climbed to his knee and gave him a kiss on the cheek.


"Ooooooh, I don't know about this," Trish whispered, looking at the crowd gathered outside the grounds.

"You nervous?" Matt asked, arranging the sleeves of his costume.

"Why would I be nervous?" Trish shivered. "Just because I'm in charge of the largest yard sale in existence and half my shoppers would make the citizens of west Hollywood do a double take? Just because curators from museums on every continent and most major cities have been trying to bribe me for specific items? Just because I can't stand the idea of letting down that adorable, cute little dryad?"

Her pitch rose higher and higher until Matt gave her a thump on the back hard enough to stagger her.

"I'm nervous, not choking!" she yelled.


Xander climbed up on the box staged directly before the gate. Outside, the crowd had filled the street around them. He took the megaphone Dawn held up and turned it on.

"Okay, can everyone hear me?"

Heads, trunks, nodules, and hoods all nodded.

"I want to cover some rules before we open up," Xander said.

Everyone watched him.

"No one comes in without approval from our witch." He pointed at Willow, who waved at everyone. "So, if you're a Skellig or Bartinblat demon trying to sneak in for a snack, just go home."

"That means you, kid!" Willow yelled at an adorable six year old with a teddy bear. "I can see right through your enchantment!"

The child snarled and growled.

"Go on!" Xander said.

The little boy transformed into a warty, slope-shouldered goblin, tore the head off its teddy bear, and stomped off.

"There is absolutely no entering the house," Xander continued. "You need the bathroom, there's a Banana Burger two blocks south of here. Any fighting over an item means that you will be expelled and don't get to come back in. We are taking cash only. No credit cards, no checks, and absolutely no kittens!

There was a muttering of disappointment through the crowd and some very uneasy looks.

"Security today," Xander added, "is being provided by a whole bunch of teenage Vampire Slayers, and they are short on mochas and long on research. Any questions?"

One very large hand rose.

"Yeah?"

"Are there any babies?" the owner growled.

"Who said that?" Buffy demanded. "Come on! Who said that?"

The crowd parted until the troll in question stood plainly visible.

"What's wrong?" Niecy whispered to Giles.

"He's not asking after the state of the young children," Giles explained. "He's asking if we have any refreshments."

Giles looked over at Niecy, did a double take, and then took a slow step out of the danger zone.

"Look out!" Mark yelled. "Angry Black Woman Alert!"

"That's twice in one show," Matt goggled.

Niecy strode to the gate, opened it, and the crowd gave her even more space. Buffy joined her, and the two walked up to the troll together.

"You've got a choice," Buffy said in a friendly voice. "You can mosey back to your troll dimension and find a nice bridge, or I can beat you senseless with your own hammer and then hand you over to her."

She indicated Niecy with a tilt of her head.

"And what will the small, angry woman do to me?" the troll asked cheerfully.

"Look in my eyes," Niecy said.

The troll looked down, met her eyes, stared motionless for a long minute, began sweating, and finally whimpered softly.

"Yeah," Niecy said, pursing her lips and folding her arms. "I thought so."

The troll pulled himself together but was still much paler than he had been.

"I . . . I . . . I both like and respect the small angry woman. I shall kill her last! After I drink some ale! Now, I must find ale!"

The troll wandered off, and everyone else took a deep breath in relief.

"Aaaah . . . okay!" Trish called. "The yard sale is open!"

The crowd surged in.


"How much do you ask for this piece?"

Matt glanced at Willow, who mimed a five and a zero.

"Fifty dollars, good sir!" He smiled broadly.

"Fuh-fifty?" The shopper huffed in shock. "You would beggar me, sir? You would see my children sell their organs to a dishonored Narg merchant?"

Matt glanced back at Willow, who made a universal, loose-wristed gesture for someone who was pleasing themselves.

"Sir, I'd be happy to see your children sell their organs to a dishonored Narg merchant, except I'm sure they've already sold them to the local rendering plant."

The shopper's eyes popped in rage, and it clutched its chest. "You . . . you dare to . . . ah, actually that's pretty good. I'll give you forty."

"Forty-five?"

"Done."


"OH MY GODS!" a nondescript little man shrieked, holding up an odd looking spoon as though it were the Holy Grail. "An original Runcible! I must have it!"

"It's five thousand," Dawn told him. "In cash."

He looked at her. "Will you take small bills?" he asked in a perfectly normal voice.

"Sure."

"AT LAST!" he continued shrieking. "AT LAST! IT'S MINE! MUAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"


"Well, I like the piece very much," the man in tweed said, peering up at the mastodon. "It's in remarkably good shape. I just cannot figure out how to get it home."

"It breaks down for shipping," Xander answered. "If you'll check under tusks, you'll see where they laced up the hide. Undo that, and the structure underneath can be unbraced and the main pegs come out. Four limbs, the trunk, the head, and the torso has four pieces."

"Can you give me some help with that?"

"It's part of the deal."


"Yes, but what is it good for?"

"What do you mean what's it good for? It's a weapon. You kill things with it."

"Looks like a pretty specialized weapon."

"But once you've mastered it, you'll . . . look really cool."

"What's it called?"

"Oh, I call it Frank."

The buyer glared at her.

"Rupert! Is this a batleth or a chakra?"

"It's a naginata, Jenny!"


"What do you think?"

Mark walked around the green, bumpy demon.

"The color complements your hide," he said. "But velvet is awfully heavy. Are you sure it isn't too hot?"

"Oh, no," the demon smiled, shaking its head. "I grew up by a lake of molten lead. Even with this on, it's still pretty chilly."

"I think I can find you a hat that goes with it."


"Okay, folks," Niecy waved her team together. "How are we doing?"

They mostly stared wordlessly at her.

"After we're done with this," Trish finally managed. "I'm putting in for a vacation. Which isn't to say that there's anything wrong with anyone, but . . . *whew*!"

"Yeah, what she said," Matt agreed, nodding.

Niecy closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them.

"No, what I meant was how are we doing with the yard sale and the design?"

"Oh! Right!" Trish answered. "I think I can truthfully say that we're on our way to the biggest yard sale total we've ever had."

"Mark?"

"Okay, I did a lot of repurposing," he began. "There were some incredible antiques in this whole thing. But remember, I have to do nearly twenty bedrooms – some of which don't exist yet, but the dryad promised me she'd have them ready in a couple of days – the great hall, turn the common room into a media center, and update the library, the billiard room, the lounge, the conservatory, and figure out something to do with the spoon room."

"How much?"

Mark took a deep breath. "Two hundred fifty thousand dollars."

Niecy keeled over.

"Got you!" Matt said, grabbing her by the upper arms and pulling her back into a standing position.

"Did you not hear the part where I gifted a Gibson Les Paul Custom electric guitar, a complete home theater, and ten Wiis?" she demanded.

"Twenty-six rooms, Niecy," Mark pointed out.

She hyperventilated for a few seconds, waving her hand in front of her face.

"Trish?"

"Well, now remember, we promised to organize both the library and the great hall," Trish started, already wincing.

"How much?"

"Twenty-five thousand to do it right," Trish grimaced.

Niecy let a little sob escape.

"Matt? Matty? You're not going to let me down, are you?"

"Well," Matt said, "Xander has a honey-do list as long as my arm. Apparently just because the house can wire for one ten and two twenty while we sleep doesn't mean everything's done. I'm going to need five hundred."

"So, that's . . . "

"Two hundred seventy-five thousand, five hundred," Mark supplied.

They turned to Giles, Buffy, and Xander.

"Well, folks," Niecy smiled weakly, "do you think we can do it?"

"Totally," Xander answered, a little confused at the fuss. "And there'll be plenty left over."


"Why are we staying open so late?" Trish asked Buffy.

"Some of the shoppers can only come out after the sun has set," Buffy explained. "And some of the stuff really doesn't look like anything at all until it's set out in the moonlight."

"Oh." Trish thought about something. "Do you mean . . . vampires?"

Buffy snorted. "Only if they're suicidal."


"Hold it!" Dawn yelled. "Stop right there! Ari, grab that guy."

Arizay enthusiastically put him in full Nelson.

"I hazzzz not done anneeeezzzzzing!" he protested.

"Uh huh, right," Dawn answered, reaching into his cloak. "And what's this?"

She pulled out a small, plastic comb.

"I not be knoweeeeng how zaaat goat zzzzere."

"Yeah, right," Dawn said sarcastically. "Even though you could take out half the Zlar citadel just by combing your hair with this while climbing the pink tower's stairs. I don't think so! Kick him out, Ari!"

Ari dragged him to the gate, released him, put a foot in his backside and shoved him out.


"I'm sorry," Jenny said firmly, "but I cannot sell that to you."

"I do not see the logic in your refusal," the saturnine man said, raising an arched eyebrow. "This is the original S. Morgenstern, and I am willing to meet whatever price you name."

"Look, you're from a completely different timeline, one that diverges further from us with every crisis point. That book is an incredibly powerful narrative. Once it's been edited. There's no telling what kind of effect it would have in your universe. Your own Prime Directive says you can't."

"The Prime Directive only addresses my civilization's effect on other, less advanced civilizations."

"Thanks for the backhand compliment, pointy," she answered. "I don't care how advanced your civilization is, you'll have cults and clubs and Goddess knows what else as soon as this gets seen."

"I have no intention of sharing it with anyone," the man answered in a reasonable, neutral tone of voice.

"Yeah, no one ever does." Jenny gave him a sour smile. "But you start quoting Inigo, and the next thing you know, everyone else wants to read it."

The man gazed evenly at her, not the least bit distressed by the frustration he faced.

"Look, I've got a really great version of MacBeth, and your world has already been exposed to Shakespeare."

She held up a DVD of the Ian McKellan production.

"Fascinating. How much?"

"DVDs are three bucks."


There was, it turned out, a vampire just suicidal enough to try the yard sale.

The fence ate it.


"You want all of them?" Willow asked.

"Yesh. Hongry," the shopper answered in a basso-profundo voice.

"Trish," she called. "Do we have a deal if she wants all the penwipers and old ink bottles?"

"Absolutely! We love deals. How about twenty bucks for the whole box?"

The shopper considered it. "Oo take kittehs?"

"No," they both said firmly.

The shopper paid with a crisp twenty dollar bills and walked off, happily munching on felted wool and glass.


"Last call!" Trish yelled. "We'll take any offer!"

There was a flurry of activity as patrons shoved cash at the teams, and the teams shoved items back at them.

When it all died down, everyone took a break while Dawn and Trish tallied the money.


"It's nearly four in the morning!" Xander moaned.

The house slept lightly, occasionally flicking a shutter or creaking softly. Everyone else was sacked out at different spots in the great hall, taking advantage of tables, sleeping bags, and large go-to guys for cushioning.

"Got it!" Dawn called.

People were rousted. Coffee was put on. The house grumbled sleepily. Everyone gathered together.

"Okay," Niecy began. "How much did we need?"

"Two hundred seventy-five thousand, five hundred dollars," Mark repeated.

"And how much did we make?" Niecy asked.

"We made-"


"Normally, we'd go to commercial break just now," Trish explained, "but even I can't stand the suspense!"


Trish took a deep breath.

"We made . . . eleven million, five hundred eighty-one thousand, six hundred twenty-three dollars and fifty-seven cents!"

Everyone looked around at everyone else, very impressed.

"And with our matching money," Niecy said, holding up a paltry handful of bills, "that's . . . "

"Eleven million, five hundred eighty-TWO thousand, six hundred twenty-three dollars and fifty-seven cents," Matt finished for her.

"That's definitely a Clean House record," Niecy smiled.


"Now, normally," Niecy explained, "we'd send you guys off to a resort hotel to rest up, get manis and pedis, that sort of thing."

"But, we need the manpower," Mark added.

The girls bristled.

"Uh . . . Slayer-power."

The girls unbristled.

"So, we're up at seven," Niecy continued. "And we're putting you to work."


For the week it took to get all the rooms cleaned, painted, and arranged, full house rules were in effect. Ari was chaired twice before she learned she was better off behaving. Matt and Xander built a new door for the stairs down to the chapel. Trish was run off her feet getting both the library and the great hall organized. Giles catalogued the library and played with his new guitar. Buffy focused assembling furniture. Dawn and Mark worked together on the mural – a Celtic tree of life above the entrance into the great hall. Closets were built out. The kitchen was organized. Andrew slept through it all.


"Usually," Niecy said, "we put blindfolds on everyone and lead them through the house, but I'm too darn tired!"

"You do have that dragged-backwards-through-a-knothole look," Matt agreed.

"Your names are on the doors to your bedrooms. Everything's set up. We're going to stay down here and rest," Mark said. "Just come back and tell us how much you like it."

"Because you better like it," Trish added.

"Three, two, one, GO!" Niecy yelled.

The Slayerettes tore up the stairs. Screams of amazement and joy soon followed.

Buffy stayed downstairs and admired the holders, shelves, sliding cubbies, and chests distributed through out the great hall. Mark had found bamboo mats for the floor and rice paper screens to define the border between the exercise space and the dining room.


"Wow," Jenny whispered, smiling. "Give the man a phrase, and he returns a bedroom."

"Art Nouveau forest retreat," Giles repeated, looking about. "I must say, it's quite nice. And that is some bed."


Willow stood in her room and turned slowly. How had he known? There were symbols painted on the wall, kanji and Tibetan alphabet and Aboriginal dreamtime figures. There was a small altar just under the window with a tiny fountain and a two foot high statue of the Goddess of Compassion, Kwan Yin.

She was home.


"Well, there aren't any zombies," Ari said, "but it's still pretty good."

"I love it," her roommate said.

Mark had turned the room into a truce. It wasn't until each girl laid down on their enclosed beds that they saw he'd created a tiny world inside each. Ari had her gothic moonlit Apocalypse. Her roommates had pink and blue worlds.


"I like it," Xander said softly, gazing around his room.

It was sparse and masculine with the exception of a framed illustration next to his desk. In a salvaged, refinished frame of chestnut was a Charles Vess drawing of an enormous spreading tree. It took him some searching, but he found the dryad peering out from the leaves. The fox was curled up near the roots.


There were hugs and kisses and even a little crying. Mark was thanked and hugged until he had to take a break to get his breath back.

"You know what we're going to do now?" Niecy asked.

"You're going to leave, aren't you?" Willow asked.

"That's what we do." Niecy smiled.

"But, hey," Matt added, "you can always send us a video next year, to show us how clean you're keeping the house."

"Not like the house will let us get messy," Xander answered, grinning.

There was another round of hugs as the Clean House team gathered up their equipment. Just outside the door, they all paused.

It was snowing, big, fluffy flakes that floated and whirled in the slightest eddy of air. But the snow fell only on the grounds of the house.

"You guys are welcome back any time you like," Xander said, offering his hand.

Matt and Mark shook it. Niecy and Trish gave him hugs.


When they'd seen the Clean House team off and gone back inside, quiet and tired and happy, Andrew finally stirred.

He sat up, yawning and stretching.

"What did I miss?"