by Liz Barr
April 2001
rated PG-13
Anya

Summary: An encounter back in Anya's vengeance demon days

Disclaimers: Characters are the property of Mutant Enemy.  Just a note: f/f concepts ahead.
 
 

Five days after Isabel left, I summoned Anyanka.

I should probably say now that, while I'd had a few beers, I certainly wasn't drunk.  Although I doubt I would have decided to summon her if I'd been completely sober.  But I'll say it again: I wasn't drunk.

The summoning ritual was tucked away among my mother's things.  I'd sworn that I'd never use that stuff – the battered tarot cards, the tacky crystal ball – but I hadn't figured on Isabel leaving.

I performed the ritual in the kitchen.  It had been years, but cleaning ritual herbs out of a thick carpet isn't an experience you forget in a hurry.

Anyanka looked different now.  She is always beautiful, whatever form she chooses to take, but for my mother, it had been a glamorous, artificial beauty.  Now, though, she appeared … well, tougher.  Younger, but not too young.  Mostly, she looked hot, although I still say it was the beer thinking that.  Okay, I might have been drunk.

She looked at me, her pouty little mouth … well, pouting, I guess.  Don't look at me like that.  Isabel was the wordsmith, not me.

"Do you mind?" Anyanka said, and her anger distracted me from her husky voice.  "I was right in the middle of turning a man into a dung beetle.  It takes a lot of concentration."  She frowned and looked around, seeing the spaces where Isabel's recipe books had been kept, the dying plant and Isabel's old copies of People and Entertainment Weekly, which I couldn't bring myself to throw out.  "And there hasn’t been a man around here for…" She tilted her head.  "Four years, three months and five days."

That would have been Paul, my short-lived experiment in heterosexuality.  Not a happy memory, and I was pissed off that she brought him up.  Fine, I was pissed full stop … you don't need to emphasise it, you know.

Okay, I was irritated.  So I was kind of testy when I said, "This isn't about a guy.  I'm a lesbian."

Anyanka looked interested.  "Yeah?  I've heard of them.  But you don't qualify for my help.  Because, aside from turning against my own kind – well, my former kind, anyway – sooner or later, I'd have to help the men with *their* boyfriends, and then I'd have to apologise to that guy I sent to the all-female universe after he tried to summon me in 1961.  And I hate apologising - it's an occupational hazard.  So I can't help you."

Couldn't help me?  What was she talking about?  I needed her help.  I was a scorned woman!  I was—

"You're Stacey, aren't you?" asked Anyanka suddenly.

"Yeah.  You helped my mother a few times."  Six, to be exact, and she was a pretty peeved vengeance demon by the fourth summoning.

"Wow."  Anyanka examined me.  Maybe, I let myself dare to think, she liked what she saw.  "You're much less ugly than you were as a child," she said.

Well, so much for *that* thought.  "Thanks," I muttered.

"And your breasts seem to have achieved a satisfactory size," she went on.  "You were worried about that, right?"

"Um.  Yeah." You're giving me that look again.  I used to think of her as a uniquely approachable adult.  Auntie Anyanka.  A kind of best friend and vengeance demon in one.

I never realised until now just how pitiful my childhood really was.

Anyanka sighed.  "Well," she said, and my heart leapt, "maybe I could make an exception, just for you.  But I can't promise that it won't tear the fabric of the universe apart."

She sat down at the table, flipping through a few magazines and poking at the plant.

"So, do you have a vengeance in mind?" she asked.  "Some people need a little prompting, but the ones who summon me usually have something in mind."

"Um."  Damn.  "I didn't really think this through, I guess.  I'd figured you'd have something traditional up your, um, sleeve."  She was wearing a tank top, but I decided to let the cliché stand.

She thought for a minute, but shook her head.  "Castration's always popular, but that's probably out.  Unless you want to *give* her a—?"

I shook my head.

"O-kay … um … human women are vain about their hair and weight.  We could make her bald and fat."

"Nah.  She shaves her head and she's already on the chubby side.  Cooks, you know?  Always sampling.  And it's a little impersonal."

"I hate impersonal vengeances!" Anyanka wailed, and suddenly, horribly, she reminded me of my mother.  "I'm like an artist.  Every vengeance should be tailored to fit the victim.  Even castration can have a personal touch.  It just depends on what's doing the castrating."  She must have seen my look, because she added, "well, some of these younger demons are like machines!  Mass production!  No personality."  She lowered her voice. "Now, my first vengeance … I was human, then, but this vengeance was so good, D'Hoffryn—"  She stopped, her eyes becoming big and round.  "Oh!"

"Yeah?  Vengeance inspiration?"

"Better."  Anyanka stood up and began to pace.  "*You're* going to do the vengeance, Stacey.  And if it goes well, then we're gonna fill this gap once and for all, *and* the fabric of the universe will stay intact."  She leaned in close – real close – and put her hand on my arm.  She smiled.  "How would you like to be a vengeance demon?"

And … here I am.

The vengeance on Isabel was comparatively simple.  I say comparatively, because some of the stuff I've had to do since … well!  But the goat was easy enough to manage.  And as for that starlet, and the photographers, well, giving coincidence a nudge is something vengeance demons do best.  But you know, I was kind to Isabel, in a way.  It's not as thought she would have gotten to meet that actress without my help, much less — well, you know.  Even with the goat involved, I still think she should have thanked me.

So, that's my story.  What's yours?  I mean, you don't just summon a lesbian vengeance demon by accident.  Have a few beers and we'll see what we can cook up.

END

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Copyright © 2001 Elizabeth M. Barr