There were seven of them: six hooded figures in brown robes - two with nets, the rest with clubs - and one apparently unarmed figure in black. Any other time, Spike would have leapt at the opportunity for a good fight, but his senses were screaming that dawn was on the way. Whatever action he took, it would have to be quick.

Meret had landed on his shoulder and was hissing at the group. Spike had come to trust in her judgment of others’ characters. He thought longingly of the shovel he had left behind moments before.

The nets gave him cause for consternation. An unpleasant thought occurred to him.

I want you to go home and hide, little one. Fly fast and high.

The little creature radiated rebellion. She wanted to stay and fight. However, if Spike’s instincts were right, she was in great danger.

Listen to me, Meret! There’s no time!

He allowed anger and fear for her safety to tinge his thoughts. With a hiss of rage, Meret launched herself skyward. Spike broke right, aiming for a low point in the fence.

The figure in black barked a few commands in some demonic tongue Spike did not recognize, and the group scattered as well. As expected, those with the nets attempted to follow Meret while the four armed with clubs came after the running vampire. He smiled to himself as the little serpent swerved in the woods that skirted the edge of the graveyard. If her wickedly amused thoughts were any indication, her pursuers were having problems following the tiny creature among the closely spaced trees.

Clever girl.

Using a tombstone as a launching block, Spike threw himself over the break in the fence, landing in a wild tumble that propelled him back to his feet in an instant, bag still in hand. He fully intended to fight his pursuers; he just needed to find a venue that would protect him from the sun’s rapidly approaching rays.

He soon came to a manhole cover and tore it away from the sewer entrance. He turned and saw that the four robed figures had not given up the chase.

Flashing a smirk and two fingers at his pursuers, Spike leapt into the dark hole.

He landed in knee-deep water, not the best fighting conditions to be certain, but still far preferable to immolation. The smooth plains of his face rippled and twisted, eyes flashing golden so that he could see better in the semi-darkness.

Robes’ll drag them down in this.

Spike had spent many nights learning the layout of the sewers when he first came to Sunnydale. He believed that this line lead to a small room that served as a junction for at least five main pipes. He set out down the tunnel, following the flow of the water. Sure enough, the vampire soon turned a corner and came to the open area. His timing could not have been better; he could hear faint splashes echoing behind him.

Spike tore a length of pipe from the wall and swung himself up to the service walkway that encircled the room. Pipe in his right hand and bag in his left, he crouched over the tunnel he had just exited and waited.

Within moments, the hooded figures stumbled into the room. Their robes were soaked and caught the current like sails, making their struggle against the water much more difficult. One even fell and Spike took that moment of confusion to strike. He landed behind the closest figure, putting all his weight and strength behind the pipe. The robed demon’s head collapsed with a pleasing cracking of bones and splattering of brains. Spike swung the bag containing the heavy cross in a backhanded arc at his next opponent before the first had even hit the water.

The wild swing glanced off of the demon’s shoulder, sending it backwards into one of its partners. The pair stumbled towards the wall, robes and limbs tangling. The one that had fallen earlier was fighting to regain its footing when Spike’s fabric-wrapped fist connected viciously with the underside of its chin. The demon went sailing back into the water and did not resurface, red welling in the murky current.

Huh, fragile. ‘S good to know.

Certain that two of his opponents were down for good, Spike turned to the remaining pair. They had managed to find positions in the shallower water between the mouths of two tunnel entrances. Spike eyed them with curiosity, trying to see under their cowls. He had yet to get a good look at his attackers.

“Don’t suppose you’d be willin’ to tell me why you’re so interested in me?” Spike started twirling the cloth bag in his left hand. The robed demons regarded him in silence. “No? Well that’s upsettin’.”

At the high point of the cloth bag’s trajectory, Spike abruptly accelerated its swing, aiming it at the figure’s head to his left. The attack was batted away by the demon’s club, but his vicious follow through with the pipe was not and glanced downward to sink into soft tissue. That sent the club flying as the demon moved to clutch at its throat in a futile attempt to stem the flow of blood.

The force of the cross’ swing had wrapped the bag around his hand, so Spike tightened his grip around the relic and used it to punch at the last demon. The blow fell short as his opponent dodged, and the vampire took a heavy blow to the back in retaliation. He grunted in surprised pain before thrusting the pipe forward into the demon’s gut, bending it over where its face was better aligned to accept Spike’s knee. Momentarily forgetting his interest in his attackers’ identities, Spike kept hitting his latest opponent until it lay broken and torn at his feet.

Bloodlust abated, he straightened and caught sight of the last demon, feebly grasping at its mangled face. He angrily strode over to its crumpled form, yanking the robe’s hood back before grabbing the demon by the throat in his powerful grip.

“Now you want to talk?” he asked, baring his fangs threateningly.

“I’m sure he would, had he a mouth with which to speak,” came a smooth voice from behind him.

Spike whirled in alarm, dropping the dying demon to face this new threat. He had not heard the newcomer’s approach, which was disconcerting in itself. Knuckles tight around the pipe, Spike stole a glance at the last of his brown robed opponents. Sure enough, underneath the torn flesh and veil of blood, the demon had no mouth, or nose, eyes, and ears for that matter. Its head was a smooth expanse of sickly pale flesh, as if a sculptor had started to form a face, but had left out all of the important details.

Spike turned his attention quickly back to the figure standing in the center of the room. His black robes marked him as the final member of the group from the cemetery, but the fact that he could speak at all meant that he was no relative of the four demons scattered around the room. He tried to catch the figure’s scent, but the all-encompassing stench of the sewer thwarted his attempts. The vampire was surprised to notice that the demon, or whatever he was, stood on a circle of dry concrete. The water swirled down and away from the figure’s feet, as if an invisible bubble surrounded him.

Great, all I needed to make my night complete was to deal with a bloody mage.

“Maybe you can help a bloke out then. What’s so fascinatin’ about me that you saw fit to sacrifice these pathetic blighters?” Spike asked while slipping slowly back into the deeper water.

“If I told, it would ruin the surprise,” came the velvety response. Taking a gamble, Spike launched himself with an angry roar. It was a bet he was doomed to loose though. His pipe bounced off of the same shield that kept the water at bay, and flames erupted from his skin. Underneath the searing pain from the explosion, the Initiative’s chip made its presence known.

Human!?

The force of the explosion sent Spike flying against the far wall, pipe flung from his grip as he instinctively tried to shield himself with his arms. He caught on the walkway for a moment before dropping into the water below, which mercifully extinguished the flames. Knowing that any further attacks would meet with similar failure and wracked by crippling pain, Spike allowed the current to sweep him down another tunnel, carrying him away from the magic-user.

He could hear an echo of panic as Meret sensed his injuries.

I’m fine. Stay where you are!

He could tell through the bond that Meret had escaped her pursuers and was relieved. Despite his reassurances to the coatl, Spike was not fine. His clothing hung in tatters from charred flesh. The weight of the gold cross, bound to his arm by the burned remains of the pillowcase, kept him underwater and slowed his progress.

He lost all concept of time as he drifted. After a while, minutes, hours, he did not know, the water grew shallower and calm. Eventually, he was forced to drag himself upright and continue moving forward under his own power. Every step sent agony rippling through his body, but he would not stop. He could not stop. He could not go to his crypt either. He did not know if he was being followed and he was unwilling to expose Meret and his sanctuary to the warlock and his faceless cronies. Through the haze of pain and exhaustion, only one place came to mind. The vampire had gone there before when he had been in this much trouble. By the time he reached his destination, Spike knew he had to rest soon before he collapsed. His senses told him that it was late afternoon outside.

Unwilling to remain underground where he might still have pursuit, he struggled to pull away what was left of his coat. The garment had come through the ordeal remarkably well, if only because his body had taken the majority of the fireball head on, shielding the leather from the worst of the blast, but it was still in pretty bad shape. Blackened skin cracked open with the twisting motions, but Spike still managed, with a gret deal of pain, to drape the intact sections of leather over his head. He took a moment to let the worst of the pain recede before slowly climbing the ladder to the world above.

He emerged, soaking and slick with the filth of the sewers, into the side street that abutted Giles’ flat. He hunched under the trench coat as he drug himself up the stairs and into the watcher’s garden patio, smoke rising painfully from patches of exposed skin. Propping himself up in the shaded doorway, Spike struggled to make his burned digits wrap around the doorknob before giving up and pounding on the solid wood. His efforts left behind a smear of burned material and blood.

A few moments later, the door swung open to reveal a stunned Giles and Tara.

“’Lo. Care to have a vamp in for a cuppa?” he rasped, and with that, Spike toppled into the watcher’s flat, unconscious before he hit the floor.

*****

The first thing he saw upon waking was a pair of blood red eyes.

The second thing, a shower head and curtains he had come to know quite well.

Fuck.

The third: Giles looking down at him with a mixture of curiosity, worry, anger, and amusement.

Bloody buggering fuck.

It was time to pay the piper.