When Spike awoke the following afternoon, it was to a splitting headache and a queasy stomach. Vampire constitution or no, over three liters of good Tennessee sour mash bourbon was enough to leave even the heartiest demon hung over.

He would have clutched his head, but the idea of moving made his temples throb just that much more. He would have groaned, but the sound stuck in the dryness of his throat. Knowing from experience that the worst of the sickness would soon pass, Spike concentrated on lying perfectly still.

Not quite ready to open his eyes yet, Spike took a moment to mentally size up his situation.

Nothing broken or missing, good. Where am I?

He carefully tested the air.

Home. Right. What’s the last thing I remember? Came home, got pissed, um… Trashed the bedroom, felt some weird warm fuzzies, passed out. Wait, warm fuzzies?

Spike struggled to part the fog of his memories. It was then that he noticed two things almost simultaneously. One – something was pressing down on his chest that could not entirely be explained away by his tangled sheets and clothing, and two – a soft bundle of affection, not of his own making, pressed against the back of his mind.

Someone was playing around inside his head.

Alarmed, Spike’s eyes flared wide for which he was instantaneously regretful. The light from the few candles still burning felt like brands in his eyes. He rasped out a curse and shut his eyes again. When the pain retreated from blinding agony to a dull throb, he gingerly opened his eyes again.

Bloodshot blue eyes met tiny, red ones.

What the bleedin’ hell!?

The vampire froze, muscles held perfectly still and taut, as he observed his unexpected bedmate. A crimson snake, no longer than his forearm, lay coiled on his chest. At least he thought it was a snake. No normal animal would voluntarily disturb a sleeping vampire, and were those feathers on the creature’s back?

Spike blinked, not entirely convinced that the little serpent wasn’t a hallucination. When his eyes opened again, the snake remained, but this time the bundle of affection touching his mind expanded. The vampire’s eyes opened impossibly wide as tendrils of curiosity and hunger shot through the strange knot of emotions.

Spike jerked a hand up, intending to toss the snake from his chest, but the sudden motion sent waves of pain through his much abused head. He found himself clutching his temples instead. A soft rustling prompted him to peer out through his fingers. The little serpent had reared back and three thin rows of feathers had fanned out to form crests running down the animal’s spine, but this was not what caught Spike’s attention. The subject of his fascination was the pair of feathered wings that the snake had unfurled.

The little creature uncoiled and launched itself into the air. With a flash of red feathers, it was gone.

Spike struggled into a sitting position, still holding his aching head. For the unlife of him, he could not figure out what he had just seen. He was still trying to make some sense of his encounter when a red streak caught his attention.

The little serpent had returned, struggling to fly under the weight of a still squirming rat. It flew over to his bed and hovered briefly before shaking the rat vigorously and dropping it in his lap. It then came to rest on the foot of the bed, forked black tongue lolling, and managed to look extremely pleased with itself.

Huh, ‘s been a long time since someone served me breakfast in bed.

Spike picked up the stunned animal and sniffed it. It was definitely just a rat, and he could smell no poisons on it. He shrugged and brought his demonic features to the fore before sinking his fangs into the little, warm offering. He grimaced as the blood hit his empty stomach, but his body immediately accepted the snack and started using it to mend the worst of his aches and pains.

Feeling much more charitable towards the tiny creature now that he had a little fresh blood in him, Spike tossed the remains of the rat towards it and watched as it dove on the torn rodent and started to feed.

No, not ‘it.’ She.

There was something indefinably feminine about the bundle of emotions in his head, even if physically, Spike had no way of knowing. The serpent had deep crimson scales; the vampire would have called them blood red. Bright red eyes glittered at him like rubies. The feathers along the creature’s back were a darker shade of red, as were those of the wings, which shaded to black at the tips. Hints of blue and yellow dusted the wing feathers and a smooth row of yellow scales protected her underbelly. The coloration, and the serpent’s scent, earthy with a tang of rust, reminded him of the tropical birds he had seen in South America.

The feathered snake lifted her nose from the rat’s torn stomach and licked her muzzle. His throat soothed enough from the blood to function again, Spike spoke to his strange companion, “Well, I guess I know who’s been leavin’ me presents upstairs now, huh?”

The little reptile’s mouth fell open again and little puffs of air came out. Partnered with the flashes of humor coloring the touch in the back of his mind, Spike was fairly certain she was laughing. Spike chuckled ruefully.

“Right, jokes on me. I was expectin’ some big bad come to play. Instead, I get room service.”

He cautiously rolled out of bed and performed a joint cracking stretch. The little serpent watched his every move intently. Somewhere between being offered the perfect hangover relief when he woke up and being able to laugh wholeheartedly at the ridiculousness of the situation, Spike had decided against evicting the little creature outright. Part of him wanted to be angry that something else was lurking around inside his head, but at that point, the vampire was more curious than anything else. Also, though he would never admit it out loud, the untainted adoration coming from the tiny creature was a balm over his much abused self-respect.

“I don’t know what you are or where you came from little one, but if you keep bringin’ me snacks, I might just have to keep you around.”

His head still ached and his body felt like he had lost a fight with a Grnalt hunting party, but Spike still managed to climb the ladder to the main floor of the crypt and get some blood warming in the microwave without any major incidents. The crimson serpent fluttered along behind him before settling on a perch: Dave’s head.

Mug of blood in hand, pig as usual, Spike eased down into his recliner and looked at his reptilian guest.

“I don’t suppose you’ve got a name, little one?” he asked after taking a careful sip.

The serpent cocked her head to one side and confusion flickered through the mental link.

“No? Well I guess we’ll have to take care of that.” Spike thought for a moment, after all, what does one name a telepathic, flying serpent? His thoughts brought him to his human years, to the college education he had received long before being turned. He had particularly enjoyed studying ancient religions and literature. A name from lectures long past popped into his head.

“What about Meret?” he queried. The little snake rustled her feathers and flexed her wings. Whether that was an agreement or an armless creature’s approximation of a shrug, Spike could not guess, but he hoped it was the former. “Meret it is then.” He toasted the serpent before downing the rest of his blood.

*****

The rest of the day was spent repairing the damage to the crypt’s lower level under the watchful, but unobtrusive, eyes of Meret. Spike righted overturned furniture and tossed out anything too broken to salvage. When he finally had his sleeping quarters in some semblance of order, he collected the loot from his brawling two nights before.

The rug itself was added to others like it around his bed. The pillar candles replaced those that had burned to mere puddles of wax behind Dave and the shot glasses joined his other assorted dishes in a small cabinet under his microwave. Once everything else had been settled, Spike picked up the little dagger.

It took a few minutes of rummaging around in his dresser, but Spike eventually found a whetstone and oil cloth. Meret watched him curiously from a nook she had found in the rock wall as the vampire sat on the edge of his bed. He started sliding the dagger back and forth over the stone, honing a keen edge on the delicate blade.

After a while, the silent observation became too much for the vampire. He paused in his sharpening just long enough to meet the little serpent’s unblinking gaze.

“Where did you come from little one?” he asked, not really expecting an answer. “Not a local, not with that scent. Reminds me of Brazil…” he trailed off. The feathered snake settled her head down on the ropes of her coils to listen. Finding a receptive audience for once, Spike started relating a story about his travels in South America with Drusilla. Even though the little serpent could not speak, her presence and the sound of his voice seemed to make the time pass more quickly. The dagger was sharp and oiled in no time at all.

Returning his tools to the dresser, Spike replaced the blade in its sheath and slipped it into the top of his boot. Then, he stood for a moment, head cocked to one side, watching the little serpent.

“Well, c’mon little one. I think I’ve got someone you should meet,” he said at length.

Curiosity and a little excitement flickered through his mind and Spike grinned at her. Maybe Meret was not able to tell him what she was, but he knew someone who might be able to help. He couldn’t wait to see the expression on Dawn’s face.