Go Ask Alice
Giles rang Xander on the construction site. This was something Giles never, ever did.
“I have need of a book,” he said, with no preamble whatsoever.
“Good thing you’re surrounded by them,” Xander said.
“No, no,” Giles said. “This is a specific book and I need you to fetch it for me. Today.”
“Fetch it?” Xander said. The corner of his mouth began to twitch.
“Yes. There’s a bookshop on Charing Cross Road. But this is a very special place called Go Ask Alice. Write
down the address...”
“Giles,” Xander interjected.
“1742 Charing Cross Road. Do you have it?”
“Giles, you call here with no preamble whatsoever, and might I remind you that I’m working,” Xander told
him. “Someone must bring in poundage to pay our astronomical rent and feed...”
“You’ll have to go on your lunch hour. Now, the book is the Vendregills Grimoire. Do you have it?” Giles
said.
“Book fetching’s not what I wanted to do on my pittance of a lunch break,” Xander told him. He was trying
very hard now not to lose his patience, but he had hard salami and a hoagie roll hanging in the balance.
“Yes, well, normally I’d ask Willow but she’s quite obviously out of pocket,” Giles went on. “I would go, but
I’m on the road at the moment...”
“How about Andrew? He’s always itching to score Watcher points,” Xander said. Xander also had a hard-
boiled egg and Zapp’s Dill Pickle chips in his lunchbox. He’d been saving the chips for a God-I-Miss-Things-
American-Day, and it was really turning out to be that day.
“Andrew is otherwise occupied, Xander. I have him keeping tabs on Spike,” Giles said.
Andrew was keeping tabs on Spike.
For about 18 minutes and 28 seconds.
During that brief time, he stood on the corner of Cheltenham and Garamond, watching rather
conspicuously from behind a copy of The Christian Science Monitor. From what Andrew could see, Spike and
Buffy were taking turns wailing on tiny Slayer girls. Looked like a hell of a time. Then, to Andrew’s
hyperactive imagination, the Slayer training class morphed into a highly choreographed dance montage
amalgamated from equal parts of Riverdance, Stomp and West Side Story. Bizarro.
After about four minutes of that, two things occurred to Andrew. One was that he wanted cantaloupe milk
tea with tapioca beads. The other was that seemingly choreographed fight/dance scenes made him hanker
hardcore for the latest issue of Lady Death.
So, Andrew abandoned his street corner. He visited McBride’s Heroes, where he picked up copies of Lady
Death and Fables. Lately, he had diversified in his comics of choice. He had begun to read Neil Gaiman’s
The Sandman, which Warren and Jonathan considered a girl’s comic. But he found the darkly humanistic
story coupled with rich yet disturbing vignettes into mythology to be wholly satisfying. He thought Dawn
would like them as well. Especially the concept that a person could also be a place, like Fiddler’s Green.
Plus, Death as a quirky pale Goth chick was way hotter than some creepy tall guy with a scythe. So he
picked up The Kindly Ones in trade paperback as well.
On the way back to the corner of Cheltenham and Garamond, Andrew stopped by Momiko’s Tea House, but
he decided on a fire apple tea with mint instead of the cantaloupe milk. He drank it until he got brain
freeze, then spent his recovery time browsing the imported Japanese DVD titles before he suddenly
remembered that he was supposed to be watching Buffy and Spike. Giles was depending on him, and here
he was, trying to decide between the Tri-Gun or Escaflowne.
Andrew returned to the corner. Yep. Buffy, Spike. Still kicking ass. But he scribbled a few notes for good
measure, such as, “Buffy looks good in Lycra,” and “Those twin Slayers are kinda cute even when Spike is
knocking their heads together.”
“So I need you to get it,” Giles told Xander. “It may help us ascertain more about Spike.”
“Why didn’t you say so?” Xander hopped in. “1742 Charing Cross. Vendregills Grimoire.”
“Very good, Xander. Go Ask Alice,” Giles said. “Oh, and, um, thanks.”
Xander shelved his hero sandwich and his pickle chips in favor of fetching books on Charing Cross Road.
What Giles had neglected to tell him was that Charing Cross Road was back to back with bookstores. And
though he looked the street up and down twice, he never found one with the name of Go Ask Alice.
He did find one place wedged in between a delicatessen and a place called Foyles, but the address was 1742
½ Charing Cross, and the chalkboard sign on the sidewalk declared that this place was called Where the
Wild Things Are.
Xander figured on taking his chances. He walked in guessing that perhaps 1742 was either upstairs or
downstairs from here. In any case, he found that this had to be a bookshop, on account of all the heaping
piles of books. Dusty, musty, cracked and moldy... the place was perfect for Giles.
Through the grimy front windows, a trickle of pallid sunlight fell. Dust rolled lazily in it. Xander crossed the
creepy, creaking floor to the front desk. Here, a stack of faded calendars leaned against the wood
support beams. The topmost calendar – Hawaiian Islands! – was from 1992. Xander couldn’t say why, but
that vivid blue water and sky struck him as profoundly sad given the context of wiggy old bookshop. He
decided then that the sooner he left, the better.
Problem was, the place seemed abandoned.
“Hello?” Xander called.
A sprightly blonde woman sprung up from behind the counter.
Xander leapt like a scalded cat.
“Oh!” the woman cried. “Hi! Sorry.”
“You did that on purpose,” Xander said, gulping for breath.
“No. Promise. I didn’t mean to surprise you,” she said.
Xander leaned on the support beam. He took a second look at the girl and had to take a third for good
measure. Blonde hair, green eyes, loose, wild curls framing round countenance. In short, adorable.
“S’okay,” he said, trying to recover. “Surprises, I love ’em. Surprise is my middle name.”
“Can I help you?” the woman asked.
“Yes, you can. I’m looking for a shop. A book shop, actually. Like this one, but it’s called Go Ask Alice,”
Xander said.
“That’s me,” she said.
“Alice?”
She smiled. “No. Maya. The shop’s Alice.”
Xander took a step closer to the counter. “Your storefront says Where The Wild Things Are,” he
whispered.
“Does it?” Maya said. She laughed. “Mind of its own. But you’ve got the right place. How can I help you?”
Xander shook his head to shed some of the confusion, but it didn’t work. He said, “You, um. Maya. Books. I
need one.”
“I have lots,” she said.
“This one’s special. The Vendregills Grimoire.”
“Oh, Giles sent you,” Maya said.
“Who? Oh. Giles. You know Giles.”
Maya leaned on the counter. “I know friends of Giles. Hang on a sec. I’ll go fetch it for you,” she said. She
disappeared into the back of the store.
Xander watched the door through which she’d left with rapt fascination. But rapt for Xander was not so
long. Soon he started to snoop around the counter at some of the pictures gathering dust on the desk.
They were all snapshots, of Maya and friends. Maya and friends on a train. Maya and friends at the Eiffel
Tower. Maya and friends on a Mississippi River Boat. But one thing was the same in all of the photos. Maya
stood out in clear focus. Everyone else was blurred. This fact did not strike Xander as odd, however. He
was too busy noticing how pretty Maya was, and how her hair curled like a feather cap around her head.
Maya re-entered the room quickly, so Xander had to pretend that he had not been ogling her vacation
photos.
She seemed not to notice.
“Here you go: Vendregills Grimoire.” Maya said. She looked up at him. “Your eye...” she began, then
stopped herself. She looked perfectly horrified. “Oh God, I’m sorry!”
As he watched, a deep, almost purple blush crept into her cheeks. He thought she really might cry, and he
just couldn’t have that.
Xander grinned at her. He crooked his index finger. “First day with me hook,” he said, invoking his best
pirate accent, which was pretty spot on. He’d had lots of practice.
“Oh,” Maya said. She clamped her hands over her mouth. Through them, she mumbled, “You’re funny.”
“You’re American,” Xander said.
Maya wiped at her eyes. She tried looking at him, but couldn’t. “I am,” she said. “But I’ve been here long
enough for it not to matter any more. Tea’s a drink with jam and bread.”
“Speaking of tea. You should pop by for some sometime,” Xander said.
Maya went all purple again. “Ah, well. That’s very Mister Darcy of you, asking me to tea. But, um,” she
looked down at her hands. “I don’t get out much.”
“Oh. Then I should bring it to you. Full service tea service,” Xander said.
Maya beamed at him. Then, her smiled fell and faded away. “Maybe, really, not such a good idea. See, I just
got out of a bad relationship. So.”
“I understand,” Xander said. “I truly do.”
Maya held on to the counter, averting her eyes.
“How much do I owe for the book?” Xander asked.
Maya brightened. “It’s on the house,” she said. “But you have to return it. How’s that sound? You have to
return it.” She brought her eyes to rest on his.
“Sounds... capital,” Xander said.
“Good then. Good luck,” Maya said.
“You too,” Xander said.
He went back out side into the dazzling sun and smacked himself in the forehead with the Vendregills
Grimoire. “You too?” he grumbled to himself. “Smooth, Harris. Good luck... you too.”
