It was amazing how much loot had been buried with Sunnydale’s dead.

Now that Spike had proper motivation, he brought his fertile mind and boundless energy to bear discovering new ways to amass money. The night after handing over the envelope of money to Giles, the vampire had revisited the catacombs that had once held the Gem of Amarrah. Most of the gold and jewels there had been removed by his former minions and other latecomers to the trove. However, he was able to fill a small duffel bag with little pieces that had been overlooked. Meret had proved to be very good at finding tiny rings and delicate chains of silver and gold from amongst the dust and debris.

The ones that smelled even faintly of magic went to Anya. It was difficult for Spike to differentiate between those with stronger or weaker charms, all magic felt the same to him, but some of the pieces of jewelry made the ex-demon’s eyes open wide. The vampire was amused to note that Giles himself had purchased three of the rings, after much haggling with Anya over the high prices, before putting them into one of his slaying-related stashes.

The other baubles, while lacking enchantments, were well endowed with precious metals and gems. Spike used his contacts in the black market to hawk the vast majority of the remaining valuables for a significant amount of cash. One gold pair of earrings with tiny teardrop cut sapphires he palmed into Dawn’s purse with a note about their origin. The next evening he had found an ecstatic thank-you scrawled on notebook paper, slipped under his crypt’s door. The letter had gone into a little box Spike reserved for his most treasured items. A delicate silver choker, loosely linked and resembling metallic lace, he put aside for the day he figured out a way to slip Buffy a present.

An amusing side effect of his tomb raiding was that Meret started collecting “treasures” of her own. Anything that caught her eye, including broken glass, shiny rocks, and bits of metallic foil, made its way into her hanging nest. She let Spike lift anything of real value, like an engagement ring someone had dropped in the cemetery, and took great pleasure in rearranging her precious collection.

Spike took this as further proof that even though the Bestiary claimed that coatls were genderless, Meret was at least girly at heart.

The next night was poker night. Spike spent the early parts of the evening combing the allies for stray litters and the later hours increasing his feline collection through cards. The bids only included kittens this time around, no more mysterious eggs to be had, and his winnings were not as impressive as they had been the week before. However, the cash he earned could keep him in the necessities, freeing up his other monetary endeavors for the slayer.

He contemplated turning to slightly more illegal means of obtaining cash, but decided against it in the end. Grave robbing was one thing; holding up a 7-11 was something else all together. Spike knew that in order to keep Giles as a viable go-between for his discreet donations, he would have to keep his activities in the paler shades of moral gray.

Life was pretty good for the blonde vampire. In a week’s time he had acquired a new roommate and a mission to counteract his feelings of boredom and uselessness. When the next Wednesday rolled around, Spike turned over an envelope with a little over six thousand dollars in it to Giles and listened from a distance as the watcher added some of his own money to the pot by writing Buffy a check for ten grand. The only thing that could have made his evening better was if Spike could have replaced Giles in the grateful hug the slayer had offered her watcher.

Easy avenues for money exhausted, Spike became more creative. He had Anya compile a list of spell components he might be able to find around the Hellmouth. Some were odd plants and minerals, while others included various body parts and secretions from demons. After realizing that Clem and his kind were included on the list, he crossed off any species he thought of as harmless or even benevolent to humans before adding actual hunts to his usual patrols. He stalked the subterranean caverns and seedier locales of Sunnydale, picking off some demons as he went and following others to their lairs where he wiped out entire nests. Word spread quickly in occult circles, and the Magic Box started earning a reputation as one of the best stores in the state for acquiring rare, fresh components. Sales skyrocketed, much to Anya’s delight. Demonic activitiey plummeted, much to Giles’ delight.

Weeks passed.

Anya and Xander announced their engagement. In true Summers’ fashion, Dawn shared her first kiss with a vampire before staking him. Spike commiserated with her over cups of hot chocolate. Clem met Meret over buffalo wings and beer one night. The loose-skinned demon was charmed. Tara visited a couple times a week to see Meret. She often shared new bits of information that she had uncovered about coatls. Spike was surprised to find himself enjoying her company more and more.

A musical demon named Sweet came to Sunnydale and Spike ended up spilling his feelings on the floor in front of Buffy. The entire fiasco was so embarrassing that after saving the slayer from self-immolation, courtesy of her admission to having spent the summer in heaven, he fled to his crypt to forget his woes in alcohol. Buffy had chased him into the alley, but he did not stop and she did not follow. From that night on, Spike did everything in his power to pretend that Sweet’s spell had never happened.

With Buffy’s terrible secret out in the open and business booming, Spike was completely blind-sided when Giles pulled him aside one Wednesday in the Magic Box.

*****

“Spike, Anya, a word?” Giles said before retreating to the training room.

Spike looked up from his seat at the table. He had been looking up old burial records, tracking down the final details about the particularly powerful item he hoped to find next. He had touched upon the first clue three weeks ago, and the tip had been simply too good to ignore. When he was so close, he was loathe to stop his search, even temporarily.

Anya put down the set of Sumatran fertility robes she had been pricing and moved to follow Giles. On the way past, she paused to swat Spike’s boots where he had his feet propped up on the table. “I just cleaned that thirty minutes ago. I do not appreciate having to waste potentially valuable work hours because you got it all dirty again.” Her light tones managed to be both chipper and severe. Spike smirked before slowly and deliberately removing his feet from the table and rising from his seat. Anya rolled her eyes and aimed another swat at his arm before heading towards the practice room door, the vampire strolling behind her.

The two found Giles waiting for them near the pommel horse. Spike noted that he looked thoughtful and more than a little upset. His features cleared somewhat when he caught sight of them.

“Ah, yes. I have been meaning to talk to the two of you for some time on this subject, but the opportunity never arose. Anya, I would like to bring Spike on as a formal employee of the Magic Box.” Anya made inarticulate squeaking sounds and Spike could only stare in disbelief, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I know that the two of you have a lucrative agreement going on the side. I’m not completely blind to what I am asking of the two of you, but I’m worried about auditors noticing that we lack records of any kind for much of our inventory. If Spike is a legitimate employee, charged with supplying the shop with certain, shall we say, commodities, matters will be made much simpler for us. Spike can still work on commission, but he would be paid for the items upon their acquisition, instead of after their sale, in addition to a nominal hourly fee for the time he spends… collecting them.” Giles avoided eye contact with the steaming ex-demon during the course of his speech.

“Anya, I trust that you and Spike will be able to come to an arrangement regarding percent commission and time keeping?” Anya’s lips were pressed together in a thin line, but she managed a jerky nod. “Thank you, my dear. Could you bring us the appropriate paper work?” Both men winced at the resonating boom as the ex-demon stormed back into the main part of the shop, slamming the door as she went.

“I’m afraid that Anya will be upset with me for some time to come, but I could think of no better way to handle this situation,” Giles said, gaze on the closed door.

“That’s a pretty worm you got danglin’ there, Rupert. Where’s the hook?” Spike asked. The vampire waited with arms crossed and eyebrow raised as the watcher removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Yes, I’m sure you’ve noticed that the IRS tends to avoid hassling real magic shops, something about a curse in the late forties. However, that was one of the few excuses I thought Anya might accept. What I am about to tell you cannot leave this room.” When Spike slowly nodded, Giles continued. “The ‘catch,’ Spike, is that I will be leaving for England soon. Your… donations, for lack of a better term, have kept Buffy from having to find employment, and she is even contemplating returning to college. I have convinced her that the funds are coming from the Council, but some arrangement must be made before I leave to maintain that pleasant lie. I’ve taken the liberty of setting up a bank account under the names Buffy Summers and William Pratt through the shop. Hopefully that name will not raise any suspicions, but I find that the best lies contain a grain of truth, don’t you?”

Spike gaped like a landed fish. “How did you…” he stammered.

“Find out your real name? Spike, I have been collecting all the information on you I could since your arrival in Sunnydale. A certain associate, a watcher named Lydia Catchings, has made quite the study of your past. As I recall, you met her briefly last year.

“Regardless, William Pratt will be nothing to Buffy but the faceless liaison to the Watcher’s Council while I am away. It will simply be a matter of you dropping your weekly envelopes in a bank chute rather than into my hands. As for the ‘job’ here, that is an attempt to increase your pay, strictly for Buffy’s sake, of course.”

Having recovered somewhat from his shock, Spike latched onto another part of the watcher’s statement. “And exactly how long will you be across the pond?”

“For as long as it takes,” the watcher replied cryptically.

Spike would have pushed the subject further had not Anya chosen that exact moment to reappear, employment forms crumpled in her tight fist. “Here’s your contract. Some capitalist you turned out to be.” She stood impatiently, tapping her toe as Spike and Giles signed the appropriate lines. “Come on then. I guess I’ll have to start forging addresses and explaining our wages and time cards to you.” Spike’s dark eyes caught the watcher’s as he was led away.

“This conversation isn’t over yet Watcher.”

“Yes Spike,” Giles sighed. “I know.”

*****

Later that same evening, after the vampire had managed to escape from Anya’s furious grasp, the watcher slipped Spike a paper with bank account numbers and detailed instructions on how to make deposits. The Englishman managed to evade all of Spike’s attempts to corner him and ask more questions about his upcoming departure.

Wily old bastard.

He finally gave up and wandered out into the streets. He consoled himself with the knowledge that weeks of research were hopefully going to come to fruition in a few hours. After sending Meret a mental image of the cemetery’s front gates, Spike started making his way through the back alleys of Sunnydale.

He could feel Meret leaving the crypt and making her way to meet him. Their bond had grown and strengthened over the past few weeks. He took care of the little serpent, kept her fed and entertained while showering the creature with sometimes gruff, sometimes touching affection. For her part, Meret helped with Spike’s hunts, for treasure or more mobile prey, and acted as his unofficial conscience, tempering his more violent mood swings and ideas with soothing thoughts of her own. He didn’t always appreciate her interventions, but the thought of not having Meret around felt like the idea of cutting off his own hand. He sometimes wondered how much of that sensation was a part of the bond and how much stemmed from his feelings alone, but he could not begrudge her presence in his life.

He found Meret waiting on him at the gates of Old Gray Cemetery. As the name would suggest, no one had been interred in this graveyard in living memory. With her interest in newly risen vampires, the slayer rarely visited the small plot on the edge of town. Some of the graves dated back to the founding of the Spanish mission that had marked the town’s origin. With his new obsession for ancient gold, Spike had come to this cemetery often in the past month, digging up various graves and searching dusty crypts. His visits were so common, in fact, that he had hidden a stash of tools in one of the better-preserved crypts.

“Digging tonight little one,” he called to Meret. A disconsolate burst flickered through the bond. Without arms or legs, the serpent knew she could be of little help. “Explore on your own, maybe you’ll find some new stash.” Meret had put on a little size over the past few weeks, she was now a little shorter than Spike’s arm, but she could still fit through cracks and holes in search of loot that the vampire never would have noticed without her. Somewhat consoled, Meret flew towards a crypt they had not yet searched.

Even with vampiric strength and stamina, it was well after midnight before Spike finally uncovered the coffin. The crude pine box, typical of a monk’s burial, had not weathered the passage of time well. Spike wrapped impatient fingers through ragged holes around the coffin’s lid and yanked. The rotten wood gave way easily and Spike stumbled back with much of the lid in his hands. He tossed it to one side and bent to look for his goal.

There, clutched in the monk’s skeletal hands, was a heavy golden cross set with various smaller gems and one large ruby in the center. Spike grinned ferally.

Well, hello.

He tugged on a pair of work gloves before pulling the relic from the skeleton’s grasp. His hand felt a little warm, but without direct contact, the cross could not burn him. Beneath that sensation was the faint tingle that spoke to Spike of magical incantations.

A quick scan of the monk’s remains told the vampire that there was nothing more to be found in this grave, not that he was disappointed. This cross would bring in a great deal of money, especially with his new deal with the Magic Box. Spike crawled out of the grave, cross in hand, to where his other supplies waited.

The relic he wrapped in layers of burlap, which he secured with rough cords. Then the bundle was placed in one of the ragged pillowcases he kept around for transporting his finds.

Try to burn me now, you little bastard.

He laid the bag on the ground nearby and set to work refilling the grave. It wasn’t that he cared much for the sanctity of the dead, but scores of open graves would have brought unwanted attention to his nightly activities: attention that he was more than happy to avoid even if it did cost him a little more work.

Shoving dirt back into a hole always took less time than removing it in the first place, and Spike soon had the coffin reburied. After arranging the carefully saved chunks of sod, Spike scooped up his tools and the wrapped cross. The next rain would settle the earth again and then only the most observant person would notice it had been disturbed.

When his shovel, gloves, and the unused burlap and cord were stowed again, Spike reached out with his mind.

Meret!

The coatl soon appeared, a particularly ugly silver pin in her mouth and a gold chain, worked to resemble a vine, hanging around her neck. “Happy huntin’, little one? Best we go now. Sunrise’s under an hour away.” Meret’s additions placed in the pillowcase, the pair set out for the entrance of the cemetery and home.

Spike was surprised to find a large group of robed figures waiting on them at the front gate.

He was even more surprised by their choice of weaponry.

What kind of wankers wander around at night with butterfly nets?