Lost and Found

Rated- PG13 (there might be some NC17 parts posted separately)

Spoilers- Buffy: Chosen, Angel: Soul Purpose

Summary- I’m fixing everything Joss messed up. How? With a spell, a ghost, some visions, an awakening, and a revised prophecy. Still don't know what this is about? Well, then read it and find out. B/S, A/X, A/C, D/C, and maybe F/W (that’s Faith and Wes. What do you think?)

Disclaimer- I don’t own Buffy or Angel. If I did I wouldn’t have to write this story

Ah, this is as frustrating for me as it is for you. I’d love to just rush into the Spuffiness, but the story won’t allow me to yet. Argh.

Dawn played a trivial part in the spell. She lit the incense. That was the only prop needed, and it was merely used to stimulate Willow’s concentration. Now, the Wicca sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor. Her eyes were closed, in a deep trance. The teen had been warned not to create any distractions, and so she sat nearby in a chair, still and completely quiet.

The witch had explained the procedure to Dawn in simple terms. Willow would reach out her mind to the planes of heaven and hell. She’d search the souls, detecting if Spike was among them. There was no danger, and it took little magic, although it demanded much meditation.

Dawn fought the drowsiness that overtook her. It was getting late. She still hadn’t gotten her homework done, but that seemed insignificant at the moment. She needed to help her sister. That took top priority.

Her eyes were beginning to close when Willow took in a deep breath. They snapped back open, directing toward the red-head. Willow was awake and alert.

Dawn instantly got to her feet. “What did you find? Where is he?”

Willow sighed. Darkness clouded her face and Dawn dreaded the answer she would receive. She was afraid she knew what it would be.

“He wasn’t there, Dawnie,” Willow softy replied.

“He wasn’t in heaven?” Dawn stared across the room, not knowing how to handle the news.

Willow reached out and touched Dawn’s arm. “He wasn’t in hell either.”

That shocked Dawn and she snapped her head back toward the red-head. Her eyes were wide. “Huh?”

“I couldn’t find him. He simply wasn’t there.”

“Wh-What are you saying?” Dawn’s voice wavered.

The witch withdrew her hand. She gave the younger female a sympathetic look.

“He’s not in the afterlife, Dawnie.”

“And that means. . .?” Dawn pressed. She was pleading for a reassuring answer. Buffy needed one. ‘She’ needed one.

“Who knows what that amulet was capable of. When it activated . . . He might be gone.”

Frantically Dawn shook her head.

“I’m sorry, but we have to face facts that Spike’s soul might have deteriorated along with his body.”

“No!” Dawn quickly stepped back. “I won’t accept that! God, the powers, whatever is up there wouldn’t allow it!”

Willow moved forward, but Dawn jerked away.

“Dawnie . . .”

A tear streamed down Dawn’s face. She slumped against the wall behind her for support. “I won’t accept it,” she whispered.

************************

Madame Zelda was a psychic. Or at least that was what her sign said. Paranormal Communicator, walk-ins welcome. Anya was desperate, and so she was willing to try anything.

The little séance dwelling was dimly lit with candles and smelled strongly of incense. There were pentagrams, moons and stars, crystals, and other emblems scattered around for decoration. The reading table was off in the corner, covered in a blue velvet cloth. A clear crystal ball, which rested on a holder, sat on the surface.

Zelda herself sat in a chair, waving her hands over the scrying ball and gazing deep into its depths. She was older, in her late thirties most likely. Her hair was red, and in ringlets. She wore a long dress that resembled that of a gypsy. Mutters came from under her breath that was unrecognizable.

Her client was a woman, younger and very pretty. She sat across from the psychic and watched intently with belief.

Suddenly Madame Zelda raised her head. “Oh great spirits,” she called up to the ceiling. “Come, make your presence known.”

Anya saw her chance. “Hi. My name’s Anya Jenkins. I’ve been dead now for a couple of months. I’ve kind of lost count on exactly how long. I’m an ex- capitalist like yourself. I saw your sign outside and have come for some help. See, I don’t want to be a ghost. I left behind this great guy. We were just about to get back together before there was this apocalypse. . .” The ex-demon frowned. “Hey are you even listening to me?”

The so-claimed psychic was completely ignoring her. Anya leaned in closer. “Are you deaf!? I’m a ghost making contact!”

“It’s no use.”

Anya jumped. She pressed a hand to her chest. The voice could have given her a heart-attack. That was if she wasn’t already dead.

The owner of the voice stood by the entrance. He was tall dark and handsome, wearing black dress pants and a blue silk shirt. Anya had come to recognize fellow ghosts when she met them, and this certainly was one. He’d been gone quite awhile from his energy vibe.

“What do you mean? She’s a psychic. She’s supposed to help me. It’s in her job description,” Anya complained.

The other ghost shook his head. “She’s a fake. A phony.”

Incredulously, Anya eyed the woman. Zelda was now rolling back her eyes and acting to be possessed. Meanwhile her customer was eating up the performance. Anya was tempted to attempt actually entering the con-artist’s body and teaching her a lesson.

“How unfair! Even when I was evil I never took money by false means,” commented Anya.

“It is horrible, isn’t it?” the ghost agreed. He smiled. “Robert Green. And you are?”

“Anya Jenkins,” she answered.

“Nice to meet you. Sorry to disappoint you on Madame Zelda. Don’t worry she’ll learn her lesson. I came here to give her a good scare.”

Anya crossed her arms. “Serves her right.”

“That it does. So, why did you come here? Seeking to venture off to the hereafter? I know of this real spirit investigator who . . .” Robert asked.

“No,” Anya interrupted. “I can’t move on. I still have so much to do. You see, there’s this guy I love that I haven’t received farley enough orgasms from.”

Robert blinked, but otherwise wasn’t effected.

“And a wedding. I deserve a successful wedding. Not like last time. And babies! I want lots of little people!”

“You poor thing,” Robert whispered.

Anya frowned. “What?”

“You still don’t accept that you’re dead.”

“Oh, I accept the fact. I’m dead. Dead as a doornail. But I’m going to find a way for me to be resurrected.”

“Not possible,” Robert said.

“Is too,” Anya countered. “I know. I’ve seen it done before. Of course, the circumstances were a little different. . . But that doesn’t matter. All I need to do is find a high-performance witch. Preferable a red-headed lesbian, but if I have to make do with someone else okay.”

“Ghosts don’t come back to life.” It was a simple statement of fact.

“How would you know?”

“I’ve been around. There’ve been a few rumors, but nothing definite.”

Anya perked up. “Rumors? Rumors are good. What rumors?”

“I’ve heard that there was a ghost re-corporealized recently. But there is no evidence. Plus I heard that he wasn’t a standard spirit anyway.”

Stepping forward, Anya said, “Go on. Tell me all the details.”

Robert ran a hand through his hair. “Well, they say it happened in LA. But you don‘t want to go there.”

“Yes I do. I can do LA. I was expecting Africa or someplace. But LA, no problem.”

“You don’t understand,” Robert explained. “I was told that the recorpeal was granted by . . .” He swallowed. “Wolfram and Hart.”

“Oh,” Anya said. She scrunched up her face. She’d heard of that place. A bunch of lawyers. She wasn’t really fond of lawyers.

“Yeah,” Robert went on. “They do stuff for others but there is always a price.”

Anya shrugged. “Oh well. I guess I could sell my soul. I’ve been to hell before. Overrated if you ask me. The flames aren‘t that hot, and there isn‘t that much brimstone.”

Robert narrowed his eyes. He really wasn’t sure what to make of this woman.

“Thanks, Rob,” Anya chirped. “Wish me luck.”

With that Anya headed out the door, intent on making her way to the Las Angeles W&H branch.

“I’m off to see the lawyers, the awful lawyers of LA,” Anya sang to herself.

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Ok, that last line was stupid. I had to add it, though. It was too amusing to pass-up.