Many Meetings

Three days after Spike's spell of necessary-starvation, the group had gathered about the table in the backroom of the Magic Box. Obviously this new demon was something to be concerned about, so research into this thing was quite necessary.

"I still don't get why it tasted your blood," Xander exasperated, dropping the book and slumping back in the chair. Spike looked over from where he leaned casually against the wall, a small book in his own hands, having been coaxed into digging through the old-volumes somehow.

Anya piped up with her usual enthusiasm, the text she had been reading now devoid of all interest. "Maybe he chose you as a potential mate and that was his way of showing it. Different demons have different mating rituals you know."

"Anya?" Buffy queried, joining the rest of the group in giving the ex-demon their undivided attention, which she seemed immensely pleased about.

Slight shoulders shrugged. "Everyone knows that Vampires are bisexual, and they are well sought after as mates because of that very fact and their legendary stamina. Seems like a logical conclusion to me."

"Thank you dear for that wonderful titbit of information," Xander said, shaking his head and lowering his eyes back down to the book with new-found interest.

Slightly dumbstruck at that enlightening speech, Buffy turned her gaze to Spike who appeared quite unfazed. If anything he looked smug, a slight smirk tweaking his mouth and the scarred eyebrow raised cockily.

"I'm not even gonna ask."

"Y'sure pet? Got a few interesting tales to be told," he said smoothly, almost wistfully. When all he received was a long stare and then a turned back, he sigh heavily and tossed the book onto the steadily growing pile on the table.

The sun was almost down and there was a heavy overcast, so walking outside without a blanket was safe enough. Slipping out of the shop silently, he noted that they hadn't even acknowledged his exit. Unsurprising; they didn't really care about him, or what happened to him. Well maybe Willow did, but otherwise the only reason they were doing all this research was because that, 'thing' had attacked him just outside Buffy's home. No, they'd probably be glad that he was out of their hair if he had been killed. He wasn't happy with the idea that that bothered him, so he turned his mind to what had been plaguing him for most of the day.

In over a hundred years of unlife, Spike had learnt through various lessons, most painful in making their points, that he shouldn't lie to himself. Others, hell yes, but himself, never. And if he was honest, he felt 'off'. Not 'off' in a huge sense of the word like he'd lost a limb or swallowed some holy water, just not quite himself. He felt, heavier, would be a word to describe it. That stupid suited, something, had put something in him and he wanted it out. Now.

Spike growled in frustration as his train of thought came right back round to where it had been several hours ago. Rubbing his eyelids as he stood outside the shop door, he decided that the best way to get his mind off of this was to beat something to a messy pulp, watch it for a few minutes, and then kill it. He had been getting creative these past few nights; feeling unsettled always kicked his imaginative streak into overdrive for some reason.

He remembered when he and Drusilla had been country hopping during the Second World War. England was being bombed at the time and he wasn't at all happy about it; he'd been born, raised and 'killed' in England, and he'd have been damned if he let some royal twat reduce it to rubble. He had some fond memories of when they had stayed in abandoned hotel somewhere outside London for a while, the Nazi's using it as a post for their soldiers. He could still remember the screams as he stalked them in the locked down building in the pitch black, killing each one differently, but loud enough so that every other creature in the hotel would hear it, and tremble. That eased a lot of the tension he gathered in his body and mind at the sight of his homeland being bombed.

Smiling to himself, Spike dropped the cigarette to the ground and crushed it with his boot, before leaving the smoldering ashes behind him as he stalked away, every inch the predator. A feral grin decorated his features as he went off in search of a playmate, urging darkness forth so that the beasties could come out and play.

*****

This one was old, which was always something to take pleasure in. The older they were, the more experienced they were, and the more memories they possessed. This one had been strong; the blood of two slayers carried through its dead veins, along with a million other individuals. The Vampire must have felt euphoric feasting off those two though. It was weaker now, something he knew when he first set eyes on the creature.

Blood could tell so many stories. Everything a Vampire did was engraved in its blood. This one had something wrong with it, and even if Deparis hadn't known that before hand, he would've learned exactly what it was the minute the crimson fluid touched his tongue. Someone had stuck a little gadget in the creature's head, a tiny little thing that sent shivers of electricity and metal through the blood, only the merest traces, but enough to be perceptible by the experienced.

Experienced. That was what Deparis thought of himself as. And why not? He was old enough and feared enough. He excelled in the art of torture, always seeking new challenges, new methods; something to make existence a little more exciting. He was a Master of creating his own excitement now.

A thin smile on cold lips as Deparis scolded himself mentally. He had been rambling again, something he often did when he was collecting his equipment. His hands knew the work, remembered what instrument went where and which parts not to touch; his mind had very little input at this stage in the operation. His bag was packed now, fingers running over the well-broken soft leather as he closed the clasps securely at the top.

Slipping a thumb under the handle at the top of the bag, he lifted the weight easily and started for the door of the building he had set himself up in. He did, after all, need a place to organize and store all his toys, and though this was not his first choice of accommodation, it served his purposes well.

Slipping the key into one of the deep pockets of his trench-coat, Deparis made his way though the building quickly, giving the woman at the desk a friendly smile as he passed. It was dark now, the sensible adults scuttling to their homes and the whores taking their places and poses for a night's work. Brushing through the heavy glass doors of the 5-star hotel, Deparis disappeared into the cold security of the night.

*****

Spike nearly tore the thick door off its hinges as he stormed into the club, slipping easily through the gap in the demon crowd that his entrance had granted him. Moving straight to the bar, he barely acknowledged the glass of blood that was placed in front of him by the female waitress. Sniffing lightly, he noted that it was English and took a sip before leaning back in the stool and surveying the room.

This was a popular place for demons, Vampires, Werewolves and such to unwind from a night of killing or otherwise. Light flickered over the crowd from the high ceiling, tables stationed on wide walkways on the open second floor. The bar ran straight down the middle, the storeroom at the very end out the back. He wasn't here for the hospitality; he was searching for a friend who could usually be found at this place. Well, he couldn't really search for this particular mate; he just had to wait to be found.

It had been slow night; only three Vampires had dared cross his path and not a single demon was out. He'd had a little fun at least; one fledgling Vampire was staked to the ground in the car-crushing yard, waiting to greet the dawn. Another had been nailed upside-down through the ankles to one of the higher branches of an elm-tree. That one would take a little longer to get picked off; the trees surrounding it would create dappled shadows over its writhing form until midday. All in all, Spike was quite pleased with himself; he hadn't lost his creative touch over the years.

A tall, thickset creature by the name of Hi'Frek caught his attention across the room, right hand raised palm facing inwards, a silent greeting. Spike returned the gesture; Hi'Frek was one of his few close friends, and a powerful demon at that. The black eyes watching his turned blue for a brief second and it took Spike a moment to remember the meaning of that particular sign. He had long ago become well versed in the body-language and signs of various creatures, but he hadn't seen that one in some time, 'Need help?'

Snarling internally at his poor outward facade of disdain and general normalcy, he raised his left hand and waved it quickly infront of his eyes; 'I'm looking for someone.'

A nod and quick apologetic gesture at having presumed that something was wrong before the left hand was raised, the index finger making a quick circle in the air before tapping at a temple and then the armor that would have shielded his heart, if he had one. 'Anyone I know?'

Spike tipped his head in thought; he honestly didn't know if Hi'Frek knew this particular friend of his. It was unlikely; he usually kept to himself and slipped by unnoticed in his own extreme way. Shaking his head, he tapped the back of his right wrist and then his own temple. 'No, but I'm expecting him soon.'

Satisfied, Hi'Frek made a quick cross in the air before thumping his non-existent heart. 'Don't get dusted'. Turning his bulk, he then made his way out of the club and back out into the concealed street.

Turning back to the bar, Spike took another drink from the thick glass and sat watching the servers bustling back and forth behind the metal serving platform for several minutes, waiting with patience of a hunter, although this time it wasn't for prey.

As if on cue, Spike sensed the presence behind and to the left of him, the feeling that would usually raise the hairs on his nape. "Long time no see," he murmured without turning, toying idly with the glass in his hands, watching the blood swirl in little eddies, staining the sides.

A laugh and then the empty stool next to him moved, rotating to face him. There was a shimmer in the air there before the demon could be seen, watching him with a bright smile, eyes twinkling with amusement. "That's a little flat, Spike. I'd of thought with all the time you've sat there moping you could've come up with something a bit wittier. The old ones do get tiresome, I find."

"Still, I haven't crossed your path for a few weeks. Where've you been keeping yourself Chem?"

Chem perked up at that, undoubtedly seeing it as a wonderful opportunity to spin an exotic tale. An inch or so taller than Spike, they were of similar build, bodies honed to near perfection, but a glaring difference between them made it easy to identify one from the other even in the dead of night. Chem had what some would call 'a colorful spirit', and as such, he tended to reflect that character trait in his hair. Electric blue, it seemed to defy gravity in its many spikes and curls projecting from all angles.

Otherwise looking like a normal human, his face held a wisdom that allowed him to find humour in nearly everything. He had encountered just about everything worth being serious about, which left him in a good position of being able to enjoy life. He delighted in collecting information and tormenting others whom needed such information, and adored telling stories of his travels, half-truths and boldface lies. Remarkably enough, the truths tended to be more interesting and exciting that the fiction he spun.

"Ah," Chem sighed wistfully, eyes staring off in recollection. "Well, I have just returned from a brief excursion to Canada actually. A delightful rumor has been going around that a new hell-bitch is getting a little full of herself, planning world domination and the such, and I desired to ensure that she didn't pose a direct threat to my immediate existence. After the Glorificus incident, I am finding these power-hungry women a tad irritating. Still, she is not exactly the brightest star in the heavens, so she herself is not a direct threat. Your newest lackey is a tad more concerning though."

Intrigued, Spike propped an elbow on the bar and rested his weight against it. "Would this 'lackey' be dressed like a Godfather film?"

A slender brow rose in amused surprise. "Why yes as a matter of fact. Goes by Deparis, anagram of despair you know, very clever. Anyway, this little demon has started snooping around the Hell-Mouth on some errand or other. No-one knows much about what he's doing here or why, but the general message is to stay away from him at all costs. He is one of the few creatures in this world who even I wouldn't toy with," Chem warned, leaning forward in the stool with burning eyes, intent on getting the message across.

"Thanks for the heads up, but I've already met him. Got on real nice, we did," Spike replied ironically, downing the rest of his blood quickly.

"I am truly sorry to hear that, an unfortunate occurrence I'm sure. Is that why you are here; to seek my assistance, or my knowledge perhaps?"

"Just came for the information and the drink, I don't need any help. I'll just make a point of not pissing this one off."

"That would be most wise. And would this be the only 'bad' demon that you will not have 'pissed off'?. You do have a habit of making some aggressive enemies. Speaking of which, how goes the Slayer? I've heard that she's been 'off' recently, although I am not overly dismayed to hear it, I believe that you might have been."

Chem was leaning close to him now, ensuring that only the two of them could hear the end of that sentence, despite the supernatural hearing of most of the creatures around them.

Spike glowered at him, unsurprised that Chem had figured out his feelings for the Slayer; he had an innate talent for discovering such things, even if they were supposed to be left undiscovered. Chem backed off instantly though, hands raised in the universal sign of surrender, the smile still playing across his lips.

"I shall 'keep my ear to the ground' as they say. If you require my assistance again in the near future, or perhaps a good bottle of London blood, you should be able to find me here, or rather, I'll find you."

The air shimmered again and Spike sat opposite an empty stool, which spun violently before a loud clanging could be heard. Watching nothing, he tracked the sounds of Chem making his way across the underside of the metal walkway several feet above him before shoving away from his own stool. Dawn was only an hour or so away; he needed to get back to his crypt.

There was no moon out tonight, so he walked in almost complete darkness down the alleys. About halfway to the cemetery, he stopped dead, hackles prickled and a cold feeling swimming through the sixth sense that had enabled him to survive for so long. It was a dead-end ally; he had planned to jump the wall at the end and effectively halve the remaining distance back to his crypt. Sniffing the air, he felt a peculiar feeling upon recognizing the smell.

Cold dread.

Turning to face the intruder into his personal space, Spike saw a familiar shape silhouetted against the dim light at the opening of the ally. The trench coat was still despite the chilled breeze and the hat was sat at the same precise angle on his head. The eyes glowed, illuminating the thin face into an almost skull-like appearance.

"Hello precious."

*****