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Business as usual by Lilachigh
 
Chp 17 Buyer Beware
 
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Business as Usual
Chapter 17 Buyer Beware



“That will be four dollars and fifty cents, please.” Agnes held out her hand, trying to smile pleasantly at the demon standing in front of her.

Green and black spittle flew from its mouths and the smell of very ripe cheese hung in the air, overwhelming the other smells coming from the garbage dump surrounding the tea-shop. “Who says?”

Agnes sighed. That was the trouble with Clenorax demons. They thought they had some god given right not to pay for anything in life. She had had trouble with this one before. Well – she peered closely into the maggot-infested section of skin that she thought was it’s face – she thought it was this one!

“You have consumed three Bakewell tarts, two dozen cheese straws and several cups of tea. The sum total is four dollars and fifty cents.”

The Clenorax shook several tentacles at her. “You find the money on me and you can have it!”

The English vampire bit her lip. There was no way she could afford to let him get away with not paying. Once word got around that she could be cheated out of money, she would be put out of business.

And takings had been good recently. There seemed to be an enormous number of demons in Sunnydale at the moment. She’d heard rumours that they were gathering, waiting for some big event to take place. But demons were like that. The gossip that went on was unbelievable. They were always expecting a new apocalypse to happen, the world to come to an end at two o’clock next Friday or when there was an R in the month and birds flew backwards.

In the years since she’d been a vampire, Agnes had decided that demons were incredibly gullible. They believed any nonsense circulating on the grapevine. That was why this Clenorax was in town, refusing to pay his bill. He’d heard there was trouble ahead – something to do with that strange girl Glory whom Agnes had met - and wanted a front row seat. Such nonsense.

Suddenly Agnes had had enough! What with dear Joyce’s funeral, meeting the Slayer, dealing with a drunken Spike and loosing a whole night’s business, she was not in the mood to turn the other cheek.

Her Beloved had told her once a few years ago that a vampire never had to reach for a weapon, you had your fangs already to use. That was true, of course, although her Beloved hadn’t actually been a vampire and so didn’t realise that if you bit into a Clenorax, you got strands of filthy flesh between your teeth and no amount of mouthwash could rid you of the taste for weeks.

The demon laughed and turned away, chatting to his mates, obviously telling them that he had bested the silly tea-lady vampire.

Agnes lost her temper completely. She was weary, her legs ached from standing for long hours and her shoes pinched her little toes. And she hated to be laughed at. She’d hated it when she was a human – the sniggers from the girls in the office she’d worked in before she ran her tea-shop in Winchester - and she hated it just as much now. She vamped out, picked up the half empty tea-urn and, with a strength that still surprised her, flung the scalding contents at the Clenorax.

His howls filled her ears with delight and she watched him stagger off down the lanes between the rubbish, his friends trailing anxiously behind him.

With a shimmer, her face changed once more and she immediately felt a wave of remorse. ‘Really, Agnes,‘ she murmured to herself,’ that was a dreadful waste of tea!’ She would have to hurry back to Willy’s and make some more. There were always late customers at dawn – vampires hurrying to get indoors before the sun rose, wanting a substantial snack – demons going home from a night playing poker who fancied a sugary Danish pastry.

“Need any help?”

It was Spike, leaning against a pile of cardboard boxes, looking at her, eyebrow raised inquiringly.

“No, thank you,” Agnes replied. “I managed quite well.”

Spike grinned. “I could see you had everything under control, Aggie. Otherwise, I’d have stepped in.”

Agnes glanced up at him. He looked very much the worse for wear, his pale face whiter than usual, the lines around his mouth deep with grief.

“You’ve been up to the cemetery to visit Joyce,” she said softly.

Spike shook his head and an odd expression crossed his face. If she hadn’t known better, Agnes would have said it was one of guilt. He reminded her of how the small boys back home in Winchester had looked when they came into the shop and scooped up a fingerful of cream from the top of particularly luscious cake sitting on the counter when they thought no one was looking.

“No, just hanging out with Dawn. Trying to help. Watching her back. She wanted – she thinks she can bring – oh well – “ He shrugged. “It’s impossible. Never ever going to happen anyway but it keeps her happy to try.”

Agnes was about to ask what on earth he was talking about, then realised she had more customers approaching. And no tea!

“Look, Spike, I have to go back to Willy’s and make some more tea. Could you possibly look after the shop for me?”

Spike stared at her and the words Big Bad, Scourge of Europe and Slayer Killer trembled on his lips. But somehow what came out was “Can I kill them if they don’t pay?”

“Certainly not! These are customers, good customers. Just serve them what they want to eat and tell them if they want tea, it will be about fifteen minutes. I’ll run all the way.”

Agnes picked up the urn again, put it in the old shopping cart she used to carry her goods around and headed out of the dump, turning just once to call back – “And don’t eat all my profits!”

As she scurried through the garbage, pushing the cart in front of her, she found herself wondering sadly if she would ever be able to afford to set herself up with proper premises. She knew exactly how much money she’d saved so far. It was all tucked away in a tin box under her bed, safely hidden under her winter knickers. Sometimes, when she was feeling sorry for herself, she took it out and counted the notes and coins. But although she added to them every week, Agnes knew she was years away yet from having enough to put a deposit on a small shop and pay monthly rent.

But looking on the bright side, she thought, the one thing she did have was years. If she kept herself out of trouble and away from people like the Slayer, there was no reason she shouldn’t go on for a long time yet. And so perhaps her tea-shop wasn’t such a dream, after all.

Willy’s Bar was heaving with customers – most of whom were worse for drink. Agnes squeezed past them, down the passageway, ignoring invitations to partake in activities she wasn’t quite sure were physically possible and into the sanctuary of her own little room.

The water seemed to take an age to boil and she knew it was well over fifteen minutes before the tea was made and she could load the urn back in the cart and head for the dump once more.

At the corner of the road, she hesitated. It would be far quicker if she took a short cut down Revello Drive.

But since Joyce had died, she had promised herself never to go down that road again. There was always a chance of meeting the Slayer, coming or going, and Agnes had no doubts of the outcome of that meeting!

She glanced up at the sky and tried to sense the world around her. Dawn was hours away but everywhere was still and oddly quiet. Agnes felt uneasy. There should be some sounds: insects, a night bird calling, wind rustling in the trees. But there was nothing – just – silence.

Almost against her will, she walked slowly down the road, peering at the houses as she passed. Everywhere was in darkness – except for Joyce’s house. Agnes paused outside. There was a light on downstairs. The Slayer and her sister were still up.

“Poor little things,” Agnes thought. “I expect they’re finding it hard to sleep. They must be missing their mother so much.”

She could remember how she’d felt – that dreadful desire to shut your eyes and blot out the world and the knowledge that when you woke, for one moment you thought you had had a nightmare, then the truth crashed in and everything was exactly the same. Your loved one was still gone and so you refused to go to sleep because the pain from that broken hope was almost unbearable.

Suddenly a strange odour swirled around her and the air became cold and dank. Agnes shuddered. If she’d been alive, she’d have said something was walking over her grave. Indeed, this smelt as if something had come up out of a grave!

The smell grew ranker and now, to her horror, a dark, misshapen thing appeared on the sidewalk and shambled towards her as she stood outside the Slayer’s house.

It was too dark to see it clearly, but Agnes knew one thing. The Summers girls were under attack and there was no one here to protect them – except her. Agnes had no problem with the Slayer dying, but she’d quite liked the child Dawn when she met her and anyway, Spike would be devastated if anything happened to either of them.

Agnes sighed and wondered what it took to breed such devotion in a man. Well, she would never know. But what she did realise was that whatever this – thing - was, it must not get inside the house.

The tea-urn was so heavy now, full of tea and almost beyond her strength, even when she vamped out. But somehow she managed to take off the lid and lift it out of the shopping cart.

“Go away! Go back!” she whispered as the thing came closer. The smell made her sick and the very air around her seemed to shimmer and sway, as if some sort of magic was working its power.

But the creature came on – it lifted its head and for one dreadful, shuddering moment, Agnes could see Joyce’s Summer’s eyes pleading with her from a face that was not a face, from flesh that was no longer flesh. And with a shock, Agnes knew. Someone had called Joyce out of her grave but she had come back wrong.

And even as Agnes realised what had happened, the magic in the air attacked the thing and for a second it seemed to vanish. But then it returned, stronger than ever and this time the vampire could see Joyce’s mouth, see the words “Help Me!” forming through death and horror.

For the second time that night, boiling tea soared up in a brown, glistening arch and smashed down on a grotesque thing in front of Agnes. But this time there was over a gallon of liquid and the heat was enough to send the thing back to wherever it had crawled from.

Agnes stood very still, aware that her legs were shaking. She could hear little insects in the undergrowth, a bird murmuring somewhere close by. The air was sweet and smelt of wild flowers. And as she looked, the light downstairs in the Summers’ house went out.


tbc



 
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