The next evening, Sunday was still smarting over her conversation with Spike. She lay back in the plush green recliner she'd stolen from a freshman just last week and felt sorry for herself. Who did Spike think he was? Okay, so he was about a hundred and something years old. Well, so what. Who was he to just waltz back into town and take over like it was his right?
Realistically, though, Sunday was well aware she was no physical match for the other vampire. To stand any chance against him, she'd have to rely on her wits, or maybe just overwhelm him with sheer numbers. Yeah, that was it. She'd get her gang to back her up, and then Spike would see what a mistake he'd made in ordering her around. Sunday grinned devilishly. She had to hand it to herself; when she came up with an idea, it was a darn good one. She wasn't going to let Spike intimidate her for one more minute. He'd warned her to stay away from the Slayer, so the first thing she was going to do was defy him.
She looked around the den. The other four vampires were all there, pawing through boxes of loot they'd stolen from unlucky students. Perfect. Sunday jumped up and called for attention. "Guys! I have a plan. Flash, go find out which dorm room is the Slayer's. Her real name is Buffy Summers."
Flash didn't move. "What are we going to do? Go kill her?"
"Nah, we're just going to rip off her stuff. I bet she'll be so embarrassed she runs back home without telling anyone, then we'll never have to think about her again."
Theresa slowly raised her hand. "Um, Sunday? Are you sure it's going to work? I mean, what if she goes crying to Spike? I don't want any trouble with him."
"Hey! Who's the leader here, you or me?" Sunday yelled.
"Uh..."
Sunday transformed into vamp face and glared at the group. "That wasn't a trick question. The answer is me, dummy. *I'm* the leader. *I* give the orders, and all of you listen. Now, get to work. I want to pull this off tonight."
*****
"Master Spike." His right-hand minion, Gregory, poked his head into the study. "I have the information you asked for."
Spike spun his chair around to face the doorway. "Yeah, let's hear it."
Gregory stepped inside and stood in front of the desk. "Sunday and her pack have been camping out in the abandoned Phi Theta fraternity house on the south side of the UC Sunnydale campus. According to what I was told, they've been feeding off of college students and stealing their belongings."
Spike thought for a moment. If the gang continued to operate on campus, it was bound to run into the Slayer. He wondered if Sunday had been following his order to steer clear of her. Well, there was one sure way to find out. "Right, then." Spike glanced at the clock. "Gregory, here's what I want you to do. Slayer should be heading out on patrol 'bout now. That works out nicely." He picked up a wrapped box about the size of a book. "Take this package and drop it off like you did with the one the other night. You say you left it outside the door and the roommate took it in?"
"Yes, master."
"Good enough. You do that, and I'm going out myself for a bit."
*****
Later that evening, Spike skulked onto the UC Sunnydale campus, keeping a wary eye out for Buffy or any of her friends. If Gregory was correct, he had to find an abandoned building on the east side of the area. He avoided as many of the annoying students as he could and soon found himself venturing into a quiet wooded area. From there, it was only a short distance to an old wreck of a building that matched the description he'd been given. Spike heard rustling sounds and laughter coming from inside, and paused outside the front door to listen.
First, he recognized Sunday's voice. "It was just too easy. Wait until she leaves, get invited in, grab the stuff, and here we are."
"It's a bad haul, though," someone else protested. "What do we have here? A bunch of junk."
"Come on, it's hilarious," Sunday replied. "Look at this: a stuffed pig? A diary? We can have a field day with it! I'm telling you, the Slayer'll be so embarrassed we'll never even see her again."
Spike had heard enough. He leaped up the front steps, shoved open the wobbly front door, and shot into the cluttered main room, where the five vampires were scattered about, examining their loot. "Now, Sunday, I warned you."
"Spike." Her mouth dropped open before she put on a show of defiance. "Hey, *I* told *you*--this is my area, and I'm not giving it up. We have every right to stay here."
Spike nodded. "Sure, you can stay here if you want. My problem is, that over there is the Slayer's stuff."
"No, it isn't," protested a fat vampire who was holding a psychology textbook.
Spike sidestepped a pile of CDs and edged closer to the pack. "Don't try to shit me. I *know* it's her stuff."
"Okay, so what if it is?" Sunday dropped the skirt she'd been examining.
"I warned you," Spike reminded her.
"Yeah, well, I've been thinking about that."
"And what exactly have you been thinking?" Spike pressed.
Sunday took a step toward him. "I've been thinking a lot of things. Right now, I'm thinking there are five of us and only one of you. That's what I'm thinking."
Spike stood his ground. "I'm thinking, too. I'm thinking that I'm older than all five of you put together, not to mention smarter."
"Five against one," Sunday repeated. "C'mon, gang. Let's get him!"
Spike rolled his eyes. He liked a good spot of violence as well as the next vampire, but this was simply pathetic.
A handful of blocks, kicks, parries, and punches later, Spike and Sunday were the only two vamps left standing. A snap of the neck after that, and Spike and five piles of dust remained. It hadn't been amateur hour after all. In fact, it had barely been amateur minute. Spike brushed off his hands and decided he was going to make damn sure the Slayer eventually learned the indignities he'd had to endure on her behalf.