He tried to redraw some of the symbols for Willow. Really, he did, but since most of the ones he'd copied down were now a dried mess of crinkly paper and ink stains it wasn't an exact science. He managed to get a vague approximation down on a fresh sheet of paper, and met her at the shop after the sun had gone down.

Willow scrutinized the marks, flipping back and forth between various pages of a runic text, occasionally stealing a sip of coffee and frowning in concentration at the papers laid out before her. "Uh, Spike, are you sure these are right? There's not a couple of intersecting lines missing or anything?"

"Not a bloody calligrapher, Red. And it's a fair shot more accurate than the lot of you could get," he grumbled, still frustrated over the incident with Charlie, and the fact that she'd destroyed a years worth of poetry and musings he'd inscribed within the journal. Maybe it wasn't Laureate worthy, but he'd put in a hell of alot of effort.

"Yeah, I know. It's just that there's nothing in the books that look exactly like these. Take this one for instance," she said, pointing to the topmost symbol, "if it's missing a line or two, it could be the one for willingness of spirit. Or distilled vinegar… oh. Or the demon god Aggagor, but I don't think that could be it because he's all about the human sacrificing, and Charlie's pretty nice. Right?"

"Haven't seen her slittin' throats if that's what you're askin'."

"Well that's good I guess, since Buffy was off all morning looking into the latest case of disappearing souls. Two more bodies, can you believe it? It's like someone put up a giant billboard somewhere that says Sunnydale: Shiniest, Freshest Souls for Miles or Excellent Soul Quality, Easy Pickin's."

The witch cracked open a second compendium and looked back down at her research. "Oh, and look here, and this one could potentially be the symbol of endurance or the symbol for blood letting, depending on how far this line actually extends," she said, running her finger along one of the marks on the third symbol he'd rewritten.

"So what you're sayin' is that you have no soddin' clue what they mean, and this little exercise in frustration was all for naught, yeah?"

"Did it go badly?" Willow asked, sensing his irritation and looking back up at him.

"Did it go badly?" he mimicked contemptuously. "It was a fucking disaster, Red. One minute it's bloody heaven and the next there's a week's worth of Russia's Finest soakin' into my memoirs. Buffy's fault, you know." Technically, he knew it wasn't actually Buffy's fault, but it felt so much better placing the blame on someone else's shoulders. Especially if that someone else was perky, blonde, and full of spite for him.

"I know you're upset, but I don't think that Buffy actually told you the method by which you should acquire these," she said gently, "And it wasn't her idea to follow Charlie around to start with. If I'm remembering correctly."

"Yeah, well… maybe she should've… maybe she… bugger it all! Charlie's avoidin' me now and it's not fair, you know?"

It was true. He'd gone to the bar that night, expecting to have at least a few minutes to try and talk to her, only to find that Willy was the one serving drinks. And then he went to her apartment to find that she was in fact there, but unwilling to answer the door when she found out it was him knocking. She'd installed a new deadbolt and there was no way Spike could get in without breaking the door, which certainly wasn't going to win him any favors. He'd sat miserably in her hallway until it was almost daybreak before he realized it was a lost cause.

"Maybe you could just tell her you're sorry?" Willow offered.

"Do you think she's more of a Sex Pistols girl or more The Ramones Greatest Hits?"

"I think you would know more about her musical taste than me. But maybe you could just apologize?"

"What about a mix tape? You birds still dig that kind of thing, right?"

"Ok, maybe not so much with the apologizing then. You should just… I dunno… at least give her a few days? To you know, let her cool off before you try talking to her again."

"Could make a tape of songs that have the word 'sorry' in it." Did he even own any music that had the word sorry in it? He suddenly wasn't sure if he could fill an entire tape.

Willow just stared at him blankly.

"Friday. I'll give her till Friday, and then she's getting some bloody music shoved under her door," Spike declared.


Blood by itself was alright. Nothing spectacular when it was out of a bag from the hospital refrigerator, or worse, from an animal and out of plastic tupperware from the butchers. Nothing could ever beat the taste of fresh blood, pouring like a warm chocolate fountain out of a human's punctured artery.

In his century of blood connoisseurship, Spike had discovered a thing or two that made a less than desirable blood quality taste more palatable, Burba Weed being among them. Luckily for him, the Magic Box had a seemingly endless supply of the spicy herb which they kept not four feet from the trap door that led to the sewer access. It was almost like they purposely left it there for him to take.

So it annoyed to him to a great degree when he came through said trap door the following Wednesday afternoon, opened up the giant container of Burba, only to find a post-it note inside that said "if you want it, go upstairs and pay for it" in Gile's teeny tiny cursive scrawl. It'd taken him twenty minutes to walk to the shop via the sewers, and how the hell was he supposed to know that he needed to bring cash?

He didn't hear the usual Wednesday commotion of heavy foot traffic above him, so he figured it would be worth his while to go upstairs and at least attempt to lift some. It'd been a week since Buffy or the Watcher had last given him any money for information, so they owed him. He wasn't a charity service.

Peering past the crack in the door for any sign of Rupes, who would surely see right through his delinquent intentions, Spike was encouraged to only see a trio and a half of Scoobies present, all well occupied. Willow had her head bent over a laptop and was typing away furiously. Xander was hunkered into a chair next to her, apparently helping Dawn study, and Anya was gleefully ringing out a short line of customers that had formed by the register.

Spike knew they kept the Burba Weed in a bin behind the register, and if he could just slip in and out while Anya was helping a customer- wait. There it was again, that scent of something old and earthy, breezing in through the front door, not from the heavily scented herbs and spices from the numerous bins behind the counter. Charlie, dressed in her usual black boots and oversized olive jacket, was carefully shutting the door behind her and absorbing the ambiance of the store.

He watched as her eyes settled immediately on Willow who, sensing she was being observed, clicked her laptop shut and got up to greet the newcomer. "Hey Charlie!" she said brightly, "I wasn't sure you'd be stopping by!"

"Ugh, yeah. Work stuff. Just got super busy and this is the first day I've had off in a while," Charlie said, still curiously looking around the shop, "this is so cute! How long has it been open?"

"Not very long, but it used to be owned by someone else before Giles took it over. Technically it's been here a few years."

"Well, it's the nicest magic shop I've ever been in."

"It is Your One Stop Spot to Shop for All Your Occult Needs. Do you want the grand tour? Fully narrated with refreshments at the conclusion?" Willow asked with a smile. "And by refreshments I mean powdered coffee or lipton. Your choice."

Spike halfway considered stepping into the room, but quickly crushed the idea. As much as he wanted to clear the air with Charlie, he was interested as to what her motivation for being in the magic shop was, and felt he'd get a much better sense if she didn't know she was being observed the whole time. Also, he was reasonably certain that she'd leave the second she saw him, and with the copious sunshine outside, there was no way he could follow after her.

Charlie was smiling at Willow's suggestion of a tour. "With an offer like that, how could I say no?" she asked, patting the snout of a stone gargoyle on one of the display tables, "Let's start here. Who's this little guy?"

"Oh, that's just Jeeves," Willow said, brushing away some dust that had collected on top of the statue, "I like to think he keeps an eye on the place for us, keeps out all the riff raff. He also makes a really good doorstop."

"And that's why you should never take a gargoyle for granite," Xander said with a grin, standing up and checking his watch. Spike rolled his eyes, certain that the boy got all his bad jokes from an endless supply of popsicle sticks.

"Well ladies," Xander continued, "it's been a fun afternoon of… afternoon things, but the Xand-man must be off. Dawnster, you set with the rest of the homework?"

"Yep. I know my Kepler from my Copernicus," came the chipper reply.

"Excellent, Excellent. And if you ever forget who Galileo was, remember that he was just a poor boy, from a poor family," Xander broke into falsetto as he exited the store, "Spare him his life from this monstrosityyyyyy."

Some of the customers stared and the girls all broke into a fit of giggles as the door shut behind him.

"Is he always like that?" Charlie asked, and Spike couldn't tell if she thought Harris was actually funny or a complete moron. He seriously hoped the latter.

"Worse," Willow said with an affectionate shake of her head, "Usually so much worse."

"Oh, wow, look at all the books!" Charlie suddenly exclaimed, and stepped further into the store, and Spike moved a few inches further past the door so he could see what was going on whilst concealed by shelves of merchandise and beaded curtains. "This is amazing... I've never seen so many on mysticism all in one place!"

Anya had just finished up with her customer line as the two girls walked by, and was clearly feeling left out of the conversation. "Do you want to see the money?" she asked cheerfully, hitting the "open" button on the register.

"Ah… sure?" Charlie said, taking a bewildered step back towards the ex-demon.

"Actually, Anya, why don't we save that for the end? It'll be like the… the... grand finale!" Willow said, quickly grabbing Charlie's elbow and guiding her towards the book shelves at the farthest end of the store. Spike was glad it wasn't too much further away. Vampire hearing had its limits, but he could still make out every word that was being said.

"Sorry," the witch said under her breath, "Anya's a little… I'm gonna say blunt, but what I really mean is totally clueless. She's um… not from around here."

Charlie waved her hand dismissively. "No worries. I grew up with a few people like her."

"Yeah? Where are you from?"

The brunette ran her hand along a row of books on American magical histories, "Oh, here and there. Moved around alot when I was a kid. Settled in Renton for a while but it didn't stick."

"Oh, in Washington? Is it nice? I've never been there."

"It was nice until it wasn't, hence the moving out," Charlie said, "Have you always lived in Sunnydale?"

The good old dodge-the-question-with-another-question tactic. Though Spike was glad he wasn't the only one who'd been on the receiving end of it, it made for some frustrating conversation.

"Born and raised in Sunnydale," Willow confirmed, "Survived a few apocalypses and couple of high school employees that turned out to be, well, not on the side of good. Hyena people, bad mojo candy bars, vampire doppelgangers... all this, and yet somehow I still call it home."

"Willow! Can you come talk to this idiot on the phone?" Anya was gripping the earpiece, leaving the transmitter uncovered she yelled out to the redhead. "She thinks that we can just get her some Momfrit eggs, no problem, and I've told her like six times that they're only available in the summer, and she says she doesn't like my tone of voice. What's wrong with her?"

"Excuse me for a sec," Willow said with a grimace, and left to tackle what Spike was sure to become a customer service nightmare.

His attention shifted to Dawn as she shut her notebook with a dramatic sigh, and walked over to where Charlie was perusing the books. The teenager read a few of the titles before pulling a leather-bound book off the shelf, seemingly under the pretense of needing to borrow it.

"So you're this Charlie that everyone keeps talking about. I totally thought you were a guy. I'm Dawn," she said, after giving Charlie the side-eye for a few minutes.

Charlie looked up from the paperback she was flipping though and smiled warmly back at the girl. "Nice to meet you, Dawn. I didn't realize I was a topic of conversation… nothing bad I hope?"

"Eh, I think it's all good, but nobody really tells me anything. You know, virgin ears and all," Dawn said, rolling her eyes.

"Could be worse. I work at a demon bar and I hear waaaay more than I want to hear on a nightly basis. I'll gladly take those virgin ears off you and I probably shouldn't be saying that in a magic shop," Charlie looked around, "You guys don't actually sell ears, right…?"

The Watcher would definitely put his foot down, but Spike was fairly certain that Anya would more than willing to sell the ears of any species or morality level if the profit margin was high enough.

Dawn shelved the leather hardcover, giving Charlie her undivided attention. "You work at a demon bar? That is so cool! I wish I could work somewhere like that. How old do you have to be to get a job there?"

"I think you have a few years to make up your mind, but if you still want it when you're eighteen I'll put in a good word with Willy. Just make sure he pays you in cash and not kittens."

"Kittens?"

"It's a demon-payment thing," Charlie explained, "Sometimes as a last resort Willy will take them instead of money, which is his prerogative, but not so good if he tries to pawn them off on you."

"But… kittens…" Dawn pouted.

Charlie laughed, shaking her head. "Oh no, you're gonna be one of those crazy cat ladies. I can already tell."

"Maybe," Dawn smiled. "You must get to hang out with Spike all the time. Buffy said that he practically lives at the bar."

"I'm pretty sure that his usual seat at the bar has permanently molded to the shape of his butt by now," she said. "Not that I've been checking out his butt or anything," she quickly added. Spike grinned at her denial. It was far too vehement to be truthful.

"So do you guys like knit together or something?" the Slayer's little sister asked.

"Haha, what? No, why would you think that?"

"Just something that Willow said the other day. I don't think she knew I was listening, but she was talking to Tara and said that she'd never seen Spike sew mittens with anyone as much as with you." Dawn wrinkled her nose, "At least I think that's what she said, but she said "mitten" like "s'mitten" so I thought maybe it was French knitting or something."

"Right," Charlie said, the amusement disappearing from her face, "Yeah, French knitting. Ask him if he figured out the two-faced stitch the next time you see him."

She was definitely still pissed. Perhaps she needed a few more days before he came around. And what the hell was Red doing, talking about him, bloody dissecting his relationships with other people? Nosy bint needed to keep to her own.

"You know what?" Dawn was saying, as Spike tuned back into the conversation, "You should totally come for Willow's birthday party on Friday!"

"Aw, Dawn, that's sweet, but I don't really know everyone very well and I wouldn't want to impose."

"You wouldn't be imposing!" Dawn said, then yelled over to Willow, "She can come to your birthday party, right?"

Willow covered the mouthpiece of the phone, "Oh, yeah, sure! That'd be nice, you should come, Charlie. Eight o'clock, just bring yourself and an appetite for cakey-deliciousness!"

"Um, is Spike going to be there?" Charlie discreetly asked Dawn, quiet enough that Spike almost couldn't hear what she'd said.

"No. Bummer, right? He never goes to these things, something about blah blah blah, he's a vampire, Dawn, not your friend, blah blah blah."

"Yeah, bummer. But I'm free, so yay, party!" Charlie said. That one stung a little, on top of the fact that he hadn't been invited to the party. Not that he'd ever admit to wanting to go, but he at least wanted to the opportunity to flatly turn down any invitation with a furrowed brow and a biting remark.

He stole a glance at Willow, who had finished her phone conversation with the angry customer, and was standing behind an oblivious Anya, looking for all the world as though she wanted to strangle her with the phone cord. With a glance at the wall clock, she hung up the phone and called out to the Slayer's little sister. "Dawnie, it's almost five, and your mom wants you home for dinner."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm going," Dawn muttered, walking back to the table to collect her various study aids and throw them into her backpack.

Willow stepped past the counter and returned to where Charlie was re-shelving some of the books she'd been browsing through. "So, tour commence?"

Charlie gave her a tight smile. "Actually, I hate to have to cut it short, but I didn't realize it was so late, and I have something of an appointment. Raincheck?"

The witch nodded. "Of course! Any time!"

"Thanks," Charlie said, and made her way to the front counter, where Anya was busy organizing a selection of brightly colored crystals into the counter display.

The ex-demon looked up from her work, "So did you come here to buy something, or did you just want to look at the books? This isn't a library, you know."

"Yeah, actually there are a few things I need," Charlie said, examining the items on the shelf behind the register. The whole wall was lined with glass jars of fragrant dried herbs, sands of varying textures, a slew of rocks and crystals, and Spike had counted at least ten different kinds of salts at one point. "I'll take a baltic stone and bag of that Umed sand."

Anya stopped sorting to look up at her, wide-eyed, "Are you trying to open a portal?"

Charlie laughed, "More like trying to close the one in my brain. I've been having trouble sleeping, and baltic stones are supposed to help with that."

"Huh. That's a new one," Anya said, pulling the requested items from the back shelves and wrapping them swiftly in purple tissue paper. "How do you use it?"

"You put it under your pillow. And there's some incantations, kind of boring, but effective." Charlie said, leaning her elbows against the counter and squinting at the floor. "What's that?" she asked, "in the case on the floor?"

Spike knew exactly what case she was talking about. The velvet lined glass box was about the size of a briefcase and was filled with an assortment of knickknacks and brass-toned jewelry. Not his style, but it was certainly eye-catching and would fetch a decent price on the black market. Or at poker night.

Anya looked down at the items on the floor with a measure of disdain. "Oh, it's nothing special. Just an estate lot that was donated to us. It belonged to some magician that disappeared in the 30's."

"Wow, so you guys just got the whole lot? That's pretty cool. Have you gone through it yet?"

"The majority of it. Giles got an offer from a museum in England that wants to buy it from us though, so after we catalogue it, we'll be shipping it off."

"Wait," Charlie said, tilting her head in confusion, "you aren't going to sell any of it here?"

"Yeah, how ridiculous is that? I do all the work, and some stuffy museum buys the lot at a discounted price. I could make so much more money if I sold this off piece by piece."

"Don't you get a choice in what gets sold? I mean, it looks like you practically run the place. Seems to me that you should get to pick what stays and what goes."

"I like you," Anya beamed at her, seemingly thrilled to be receiving such high praise. It really didn't take much to swing her favor in either direction. "You understand the value of being a hard-working employee."

"I just think that everyone involved in a business should have as much say in what goes on if they're putting their energy into running it," Charlie said, eying the case again.

"Well, tell that to Giles," Anya grumbled, as Willow walked behind the register and began pulling a few spoonfuls of herbs from the bins. Anya whipped a ledger out from underneath the counter and began scribbling down the name and quantity of each item that was taken, totaling up the cost when she was finished and writing it on another page that Spike knew for a fact was titled "Money Willow Owes Us". Then she snapped the book shut.

"So you don't think that if someone offered him a huge wad of cash for the one of the items, he'd sell it and just tell the museum it got lost or something?" Charlie inquired, still focused on the estate case.

Anya and Willow exchanged a knowing smirk.

"You haven't met Giles, have you?" Anya asked.

Willow raised an eyebrow, "Let's just say he's very English, and very… by the book."

"That's one way of puttin' it," Spike muttered under his breath. "Course, just sayin' he's got a stick up his ass is a fair lot more accurate." A young man who'd been shopping for candles a few feet away gave Spike a startled look and moved himself swiftly to the other end of the room.

"Right. English," Charlie said somewhat glumly as she handed Anya a few bills and took her shopping bag.

"So, Friday? You'll be here?" Willow asked.

She gave the redhead a genuine smile. "Yeah, I'd like that actually. It'd be nice to hang out with some girls for a change."

"You've been spending lots of time with Spike, I hear."

Charlie let out a snort of almost-laughter, "Been being the operative word. Look, I know you're good friends-"

Willow began to laugh, then apparently thought better of accidentally exposing the real situation, and turned it into a cough.

"-but he kind of pissed me off the other day, and I think I might be better off not being around him. At least for now."

Willow nodded in understanding. "Well, Friday will be Spike-free. He's got a thing that he needs to do. A Friday thing."

"Bowling," Anya piped up. "He bowls on Friday."

"Yeah, uh, bowling," Willow said, giving Anya a funny look.

"He's got this vampire bowling league he goes to, where they bowl all night and sit around drinking White Russians, as in the alcoholic drink, not caucasians from the northern Eurasian country. And they all have bowling shirts and it's run by a guy named the Dude," Anya continued to ramble, still pushing the fabricated bowling story.

Charlie smiled a little as she tied a knot in her plastic shopping bag, "Sounds like fun. Thanks for the mini-tour guys. I'll see you both Friday!" As she walked towards the door, Spike quickly shoved himself back behind the basement door. He watched as the late afternoon sunlight hit strands of gold and auburn in her hair, and for the millionth time he wished he could walk in the sunshine.

"The Big Lebowski? Really?" Willow asked Anya, as soon as the door had shut behind Charlie.

"I panicked, okay? Geez, sorry."

Spike descended the stairs to the basement and left the squabbling girls, crawling moodily back through the trapdoor to the sewers. Bowling? Not only did they put effort into not inviting him to the shindig, they actually lied about why he wasn't attending. And they were supposed to be the good guys.

Sod it, he thought. They were having a party in a public building, and it was still a free country. Charlie was attending. Friday, was it? He'd be there with bloody bells on.