.

The shop, if you could call it that, was not what she had expected. The large room stood empty save for two small, round wooden tables with two chairs each. One table was bare, while the other supported a single tower of haphazardly stacked books that reached all the way to the ceiling.

The man next to the tower of books was no less startling. Buffy's first thought was that she'd seen healthier corpses, even among the fully dead kind. He was tall and skeletally gaunt, with sunken, chalky grey cheeks and wispy grey hair. She could've sworn he creaked as he turned his head to look at her, but his black eyes were sharp and bright despite his otherwise cadaverous appearance.

Spike caught her gaze and gestured to the shopkeeper's jacket with a flick of his eyes.

It was tweed.

She hid her smile, but not before Spike caught and returned it. Was it weird to have an inside joke with Spike?

It was definitely weird. One more weirdness to add to the list.

"Buffy," he said, and she started at his use of her given name. Had he ever called her that before? Maybe he didn't want Skeletor knowing she was the Slayer?

"This is Mr. Herrington, the proprietor," Spike continued without pause. "I was just about to put our question to him."

Mr. Herrington inclined his head to her, then returned his attention to Spike.

Yep, definite creaking.

"What do know about Grdniths?" Spike said. "Specifically, weaknesses."

The old man smiled knowingly and nodded his head, the nodding seeming to continue on until Buffy began to wonder if he couldn't stop himself. In a wheezy voice, he said, "Very, very difficult to kill."

"Yeah, we got that part, gramps. But they can be killed?"

"Yes."

When the old man didn't say anything else, Spike snapped, "And how can they be killed?"

The nodding stopped. "Knowledge is a precious commodity, as I'm sure you'll agree, young man. I can't just go giving it away for free. We've all got to make a living."

"How 'bout I let you live -"

Buffy stepped in between them. "We're a bit short on cash, but we'll gladly pay what we can, sir."

Mr. Herrington smiled, exposing teeth that had seen far better days. "Oh, I don't want your cash, young lady. More like…" He reached out and clasped a lock of her hair. "Yes, some of this for starters. And maybe a tooth from your young man."

"My hair?" Buffy said at the same time as Spike said, "A tooth?"

"And he's not my young man," she added, pulling her hair back from the older man's grasp.

"Oh, well, that doesn't change anything," Mr. Herrington said. "The potency will be the same. Now, there are other options. I could have a tooth from you and an eyeball from him, or perhaps an eyeball from you and a soul from him. Though I doubt that last would work out well for any of us," he said, frowning at Spike as he looked him up and down.

"Now just hold on," Spike said. "You'll take no pound of my flesh."

"What he said," Buffy said. "What would you even do with… body parts?"

Mr. Herrington tapped his fingers together. "Why, make a potion infused with your essences, of course. But it's not just for me, oh no. You'll need it to defeat the Grdnith."

Buffy looked to Spike, who shrugged. "What do you mean?" she said to Mr. Herrington.

He held up a skeletal finger. "Payment first."

"Excuse us for a minute." Buffy pulled Spike to the far side of the room.

Lowering her voice, she said, "I don't mind giving up some of my hair, I guess, but… do you want his information badly enough to give up a tooth or worse?"

"Yeah, how come he only wants the painful bits of me?"

"I sincerely don't know. And do we trust him enough to be straight with us? I mean…" She glanced over at the shopkeeper, who was muttering up at the topmost books of the towering stack on the table. "The crazy's strong with this one."

Spike studied the old man. "I don't know about crazy, but I'm not much for giving him bits of myself even if it weren't painful. If he's into voodoo of any kind, it's the same as willingly giving him power over us. I say we just torture the codger."

"No," Buffy said firmly, and added a stern look when he made to argue. "But what if we, uh… reappropriate whatever we give him before he can use it. After he gives us the info, of course."

"Yeah, that could work. Still not keen on giving up a tooth, mind."

Buffy pursed her lips. "Obviously. But if we can't negotiate for something less drastic, will a tooth grow back?"

"Oh, sure, since ol' Spike's the amazing regenerating vampire, let's let him suffer all the pain."

She tried for sympathetic, but failed. "Is that a yes, then?" It was hard to feel too sympathetic for him when their situation was all his fault in the first place.

He shrugged. "Don't actually know. If I pop the old tooth back, it'll heal up within hours, but I've no clue if a new one would grow in."

"Great. Good thing the plan is to get your tooth back, then. If it comes to that," she added at his glower.

Buffy marched back over to the shopkeeper and waited for him notice her. "I'll give you some of my hair, but Spike would rather offer something less permanent than a tooth. Maybe… a toenail?"

Mr. Herrington wrung his hands together. "No, no, a testicle wouldn't do. Too yang."

"Oi, not a testicle!" Spike said from across the room, hands dropping to block any sudden moves in that direction. "A toenail."

"Well, perhaps a big toe from him, if an earlobe from you?" he said, creaking back to Buffy.

"Um, no. Look, isn't there anything of Spike's you could use that isn't quite so drastic? I mean, if you can use my hair, why not his?"

"The sacrifice must be great from both of you. But the greater from him, naturally," he said, as though it were self-evident.

"Naturally?" Spike scoffed. "I see no naturally about it. And how's her hair a great sacrifice? Chop the whole lot off, it'll grow back."

Buffy automatically clasped her hair as he had his groin earlier, without even thinking about it, and Mr. Herrington smiled at Spike. "There, you see? Surely you're not so ignorant of the fair sex as you pretend to me, young man."

Spike scoffed again. "Vanity, thy name is Slayer," he muttered, shaking his head in disgust.

This coming from the vampire wearing eyeliner. Buffy settled for scowling at him rather than the oh-so-mature sticking out her tongue that was her first inclination, and Spike shot her a look that precipitated a glaring contest she was damn well determined not to lose.

Mr. Herrington coughed politely. "Do we have a deal?" he said, breaking Buffy's focus.

She raised her eyebrows at Spike. He shrugged, glowering and muttering under his breath, which she took as assent. Turning back to Mr. Herrington, she said, "A tooth from Spike, and hair from me. What will that get us in return?"

He tapped his fingers together, twice. "Everything you need to solve your demon problem."

"To kill the Grdnith?" Spike clarified from across the room.

"Yes, yes." A pair of scissors appeared out of nowhere in one of his skeletal, gnarled hands, and a set of pliers in the other. "Shall we proceed?"

"Spike? What do you say?" Buffy said, eyeing the scissors with trepidation.

"You've a deal." Spike swaggered up to them and poked the shopkeeper in the chest, making the older man take a creaky step backwards. "But if I don't like your solution to our problem, you'll regret it."

"Naturally," Mr. Herrington said.

Faster than she would've guessed he could move, he reached out and snipped away a good chunk of her hair. Buffy put a hand to her head and managed not to cry, but only because it seemed childish in the face of what Spike was about to endure.

Spike set his shoulders and opened his mouth wide at the other man's gesture, fists clenched tight.

"Oh, no, that won't do at all," Mr. Herrington said, and slapped Spike across the face with a crucifix that also appeared out of nowhere.

Skin sizzling, Spike fanged out with a roar. The old man darted in and plucked out his upper right canine with a nimble twist of his wrist, and Buffy jumped on Spike's back before he could attack.

"Hey, hey," she said in his ear. "Information first, mindless violence later. There's something worse out there hunting us, remember?"

Spike whirled and shrugged her off with a snarl, and Buffy whipped her stake out. They circled each other, Spike growling, a bloody string of slobber dangling from the right side of his mouth. With a grunt, he came to a standstill and wiped the slobber away, then tongued the hole with a grimace.

"You okay now?" Buffy said.

"No!" Eyes blazing yellow, Spike spat a glob of red at the old man's feet. "You're a brave bastard, aren't you? You better hope your information is worth it."

"I'd be quite foolish if it weren't."

Mr. Herrington creaked over to the empty table, bloody pliers in one hand and hunk of blonde hair in his other. He sat down and set his prizes on the table, from which they promptly vanished.

"Hey!" Buffy said, grabbing at the empty air at the same time as Spike.

"Oh, don't worry, don't worry. Your items are quite safe, quite safe indeed. Now -" A piece of parchment and inkwell complete with quill appeared in their place. Mr. Herrington blotted the quill, and began to write. "There is more than one way to kill a Grdnith. Stabbing it to death does indeed work, but it could take days to finish the beast off. I think you'll find my method will be most efficient, especially as there are two of you." He looked between them. "Yes, two. So. You'll need a Celtic dagger of pure iron – I have one I could sell you for a reasonable price, if you'd like; two portions of dogbane, one blended with a mixture of your essences – both of which I will give to you as a part of the service for which you bargained; a symbol of the reason for the contract on your head; a symbol of your – er – relationship…"

The list went on, with items that at least sort of made sense to Buffy, such as a bear trap and an animal carcass to use as bait, and items that left her certain the old man was certifiable. Why on earth would they need fishing string and the third claw on the left hind foot of a witch's cat that had been harvested under the dark of the moon?

When Mr. Herrington had finished, he blew on the parchment three times, shook it out, rolled it up, and handed it to Buffy. "There, now, I've written out the procedure for killing the Grdnith in exacting detail. It's simple enough even a child – a pair of children, I should say – could follow it."

Buffy unrolled the parchment, and squinted at the archaic script. "Uh…" She passed it to Spike. "Can you read that?" she said, sotto voce.

Spike took a look, and nodded. When he'd read through it, he said, "And the bits and pieces we need?"

Mr. Herrington tapped the table one time, and a number of items appeared. "Your two potions of dogbane," he said, handing two vials to Buffy. "Now, remember, the black vial is the plain extract, while the golden one is the mixture with your essences."

"Got it," she said, pocketing them. "But when did you have time to make -"

"Oh, my staff are very efficient. Very efficient indeed. Now, here are some of the other components you'll require. You don't have to purchase them from me, of course, but… well… I do pride myself on being a one-stop shop for all my customer's needs."

"And the price?" Spike said.

The shopkeeper stood slowly, creaking all the way. "Very reasonable, of course. Which items -"

"This, this, and this," Spike said, picking up the more esoteric objects like the iron dagger and what Buffy assumed was the cat's claw. "And this and this," he continued, grabbing items up and handing them to Buffy before the old man could protest. "How much?"

"Ah, for the -"

Faster than Buffy could process, Spike reached out and grabbed Mr. Herrington by the face. He twisted, hard, and the old man tottered for a moment before slumping to the ground. The rest of the objects on the table vanished, and the pile of books on the other table wobbled for a long moment before toppling over as well, books thudding all around them.

Though she knew it was pointless, Buffy rushed to kneel at Mr. Herrington's side. She dropped the things she'd been holding to the ground and checked his pulse, but as she'd feared, his wrist hung limp and pulseless in her hands. Mr. Herrington stared back at her, empty grey eyes as lifeless as the rest of him. The sharp pang in her chest turned darker, more violent, and she leapt to her feet, fists clenched.

"What the hell?" she grit out. "Why -"

"He was a demon," Spike said quickly. "And he was going to sell us out."

"What?" She stared at him in disbelief. "You're lying!" He had to be lying. Mr. Herrington had been odd, and old, sure, but he was just a crazy old man. And Spike had –

Spike knelt down on the opposite side of the dead man, keeping his eyes on hers as he raised one finger in a just wait gesture. "I'll show you," he said, and felt around at the base of the ex-shopkeeper's skull. When Buffy grew impatient, he said, "Hold onto your knickers – aha! Here, have a look at this."

She squatted down, not sure whether she wanted Spike to be telling the truth, or lying, so that she had an excuse to finish him and their stupid truce right then and there.

"Look," he repeated. When she did, avoiding looking into the dead man's eyes, Spike did something at the base of Mr. Herrington's skull that caused a small set of green horns to protrude from between wisps of grey hair. "Wasn't sure what kind of demon – probably a half-breed anyhow, that's how he passed – but see?"

Buffy saw. "That doesn't mean he was evil," she said dully. The rage had drained away, leaving her with nothing but her exhaustion. "Or that he was going to sell us out, whatever that means."

"Sure he was. Everyone knows what it means if you have a Grdnith after you. And you can bet he knew it meant there'd be a substantial reward for turning me in."

"So why even help us then?"

"Play both sides of the game. He wins either way – or would've."

"Right. If you hadn't killed him…"

Spike narrowed his eyes and sucked on his teeth as he considered the body. "Might've been a bit hasty, I suppose. Probably should've gotten some more information out of him first."

"And my hair and your tooth back."

"And that. Oh well," he said, shaking it off with a shrug. "Saved us a few quid on our supply list, at least."

Buffy almost envied his complete lack of conscience. It would be so much easier not to care, especially now, watching Spike pat down his victim's body.

She turned her back on him, too drained to maintain a righteous fury when she didn't know who was actually in the right. Maybe Mr. Herrington hadn't been human, or fully human, but a steady influx of demons on the Hellmouth had meant that she'd quickly developed a live and let live attitude towards the ones who weren't pursuing evil and mayhem. And even if he had been planning to sell them out, Buffy wasn't sure it merited a death sentence.

With a sigh, she bent down and retrieved the items she'd dropped to the ground earlier, then trudged over to the front door. Buffy pressed her forehead against the cool glass and stared into the lamplit street, wondering what came next.

What she wanted most of all was to be far away from Spike and the chaos he'd dragged her into, but it wasn't going to happen until one or both of them died, or Furry did. She thought longingly of the dreary, pointless existence she'd planned out for herself, far away from everything and everybody she knew, with few decisions and fewer consequences. Just existence of the basest sort.

Maybe she should've let Spike kill her, she thought. Being done… it would've been okay.

But she was no more suicidal than Spike claimed to be, and besides, she didn't deserve that peace. Not when Angel –

"Oi," Spike called, breaking her reverie. "See that door over there?"

Buffy sniffled, blinking hard. "What?" she said as she turned around.

"Look." He pointed at a door on the back wall that hadn't been there earlier. "Shall we see what's behind door number one?"

Did she care? A small part of her was curious, but mostly she was just… done.

On the other hand, there was the question of their missing tooth and hair. Since Spike hadn't mentioned it, they must not've been in Mr. Herrington pockets. "If he's got employees back there, they might not be too friendly."

"Best be prepared." He slipped into game face.

"Don't – no more killing people," she said, aiming for authoritative, instead of worn and weary.

Spike swept his arm forward in a mockery of gallantry. "Well. Guess you'd best take point, then, Slayer."

.