Do not eat the customers. Do not eat the customers. Do not eat…
Spike tried to convince himself again that if he repeated the mantra enough times, he might actually believe it. Might.
It was half past ten on a bright Saturday morning. Tara was supposed to manning the cash register at the Magic Box while Spike was busy in the basement storeroom with the mail and internet orders, but Tara had told him yesterday evening that she'd finally gotten desperately needed lab time for one of her classes and couldn't give up, even if it meant asking him to take the morning shift at the store and dealing with the amateurs magicians who made up most of Anya's weekend trade.
He had to wonder why he was working in the ruddy store to begin with. Sure, he'd been helping Anya with stocking and orders for a while now, something he could do in the wee hours of the night when no one else was around to see; the small amount Anya paid him (strictly cash under the table, of course) kept him in blood and smokes. Now, though, Anya was who-knew-where following her disastrous almost-wedding and she'd asked him and Tara to keep the place running until she'd sorted things out.
Actually he knew why he was doing this. One, demons had to stick together (and Spike had a sneaking suspicion he could call her Anyanka once more when she got back) and second, she'd said she needed someone she could trust.
He added that little fact to his mantra as he tried to stay focused on the customer's question -- if the idiot ever managed get to it.
"So, I guess what I'm really asking is, do you offer a guarantee on this love spell working? And is this the right candle to go with it?"
The reply he'd like to give flitted across Spike's mind, but he was a good boy. "Can't offer guarantees that any love spell's going to work. Believe me, they're touchy things. Don't hold with messing with them myself. I've, uh, had some bad experiences."
He leaned in conspiratorially. "If it was me, I'd invite her to supper, order something in, serve it up on the best china, and light about twenty or thirty candles to set the mood. A little music, make sure you have room to do some slow dancing, and that will help put her in the mood without worrying about some mojo that might go wrong. Get one of these" he tapped the scented candle the man held, "and then go with pure beeswax for the rest. That way, you won't overpower her. Our beeswax pillars are twenty percent off right now."
"Think it will work?"
"Trust me. Birds go for the romantic stuff. Works its own spell."
Even at twenty percent off, the forty beeswax pillars the man bought (hallelujah for enthusiasm and hopefulness) rang up to a hefty sum, far more than if he'd bought the ingredients for the half-assed love spell he'd been inquiring about. Credit card swiped and receipt signed, Spike waved the man on his way and looked around the store to see which of a dozen or so customers might need his attention next. Honors went to the expensively dressed woman who stood near the African fertility carvings. As he made his way over, Spike hoped she wasn't looking at them for her own use; the expiration date was already up on that package.
"Do you have provenance for any of these carvings?" she asked authoritatively, and Spike found himself grateful William the Git had fancied himself an art connoisseur.
"Unfortunately, I don't believe the owner keeps extensive paperwork on the origins, as most of our customers are interested in the figures for their, ah, practical value as opposed to art pieces. I can check the book though, if there's one you're particularly interested in."
She was interested in a particular piece, one that would bring another handsome sale to the shop. Pity he hadn't bargained with Anya to earn a commission when she was in her vulnerable state. Flipping through the records, he discovered it was one of Giles' acquisitions and the surprisingly extensive notes were written in that damn small hand of his. Spike squinted at it, then gave up, excused himself for a moment and retrieved a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles from his duster. In game face, his vision was wonderful; in human guise, he sometime needed help. Returning, he was able to rattle off Giles' detailed notes on the piece to the growing satisfaction of the customer. "You might try the art gallery if you're interested in similar pieces," he suggested as he finished.
"Actually, they're the ones who suggested you. I'm afraid they don't carry much primitive art any more since one of the partners passed away. Pity. Joyce Summers had quite an eye."
Spike confined himself to a polite murmur of concurrence, not trusting himself beyond that. Another customer approached the counter with a pile of books, and the woman moved away to look at other pieces.
The next twenty minutes passed in a blur of questions, sales and chasing some pre-adolescents away from the D&D books after they lingered far too long. The shop bell had become so common a noise to his ears, he only half-looked up when it rang to signify another entrance. The sound of Dawn saying, "I'm here for another stretch of punishment," did catch his attention.
Dawn headed straight for the counter, bending down to retrieve the feather duster from underneath. Her sister, however, remained on the stairs, arm folded across her chest. Suddenly self-conscious, Spike snatched the spectacles from his nose, shoved them into the pocket of the shirt he wore and smoothed his hair back. "What are you doing here?"
Oh, great. It was going to be one of those conversations. "Minding the shop for Anya while she's gone. Normally Tara takes Saturday mornings, but she's doing something at school."
Another customer approached the register and she watched as he rang the woman up. "I'm going to dust the back shelves," Dawn said, passing behind him.
He nodded, intent on working the credit card machine. By the time he'd sent the customer on their way, Buffy had closed the gap and was standing just on the other side of the counter. "Why are you watching the shop? I didn't think it was the kind of thing you did."
"What? Working in a shop or helping Anya out?"
She paused for a long moment. "Both," she said at last.
"Well, I have to admit I never saw myself being a shopkeeper, but Anya asked, so I said yes." He fixed her with a level gaze. "I stand by my friends when they need help."
She looked away and he at once felt triumph at having scored a point and twist of pain at having wounded her. "I'm going to go train," she said, moving toward the back, but stopped at the door. "That is alright, isn't it? I mean, I don't have to ask your permission or anything since you're running the store?"
Trying to keep cool, he managed a shrug. "Not my place to say. Personal preference? I'd like you to stay in shape, keep on your toes."
She nodded and headed into the back. With a rush, Spike let loose air he hadn't realized he'd sucked in and been holding. Damn it. Why couldn't they hold a civil conversation without hurting one another?
More customers and he turned his attention to the work at hand. Candles, books, herbs to be weighed and totaled. When did Tara say her lab was over?
It wasn't until noon was approaching that the rush slowed down. "Dawn, would you get some more hellebore? We're almost out. Some bindweed, too."
Dawn was quick to leave off on the shelves she'd been straightening and head downstairs. He'd need to send her for lunch soon, put food in that growing body, and realized he had no idea what arrangements Tara made for the lunch break last Saturday. Spike certainly couldn't go fetching it, as the sewer didn't have an entrance into the deli around the corner.
In the momentary quiet of the shop, his ears picked up the sound of fists slamming home into a punching bag. Buffy was certainly giving the equipment a workout today. Maybe he should let Dawn man the register when she got back upstairs while he went back and offer to spar a few rounds with Buffy. It would work out a few tensions, help build up a…
No. Do not think about sweaty Buffy. Really do not think about a sweaty Buffy. Think cold thoughts. Stay behind counter until moment passes.
He was grateful for the tinkle of the bell over the door, hoping the new customer would provide a distraction. He was less grateful when he realized it was Willow with Xander in tow. "Spike? I thought Tara was supposed to be here."
Great. So the recovering Wicca had decided the best place to hang out on a fine Saturday morning was a magic shop chock full of temptation so she could moon at her once and hopefully future lover. "Tara had something to do at school. Asked me to take the morning shift. She's supposed to be in later this afternoon." So why don't you take the whelp and toddle off until then?
"So what the hell makes you think you should be in here at all?" Xander sounded belligerent, like he was looking for another round of Kick the Spike, everyone's favorite game. "I want you out."
"No can do. Anya asked me to help run things while she was gone, and that's what I'm doing." Spike couldn't help smirk at the words.
"Well, I don't want you anywhere near here, so just get your things and go."
"Isn't that just peachy." Spike leaned over the register. "Thing is, you don't actually have a say in the matter, whelp."
"What do you mean? It's Anya's shop and I…"
"That's precisely what I mean. It's Anya's shop. Now, I'm not up on current community property laws, but even in my day, a woman's property didn't belong to a man unless he actually married her. No wedding, no say."
For a moment, he thought he'd pushed too far and Xander might try to deck him then and there. A punch would send him back against the shelves and likely topple the glass canisters, leading to more cleanup and an accounting of what stock they'd lost. If the boy was determined to hit him, maybe Spike move into the middle of the store where it would do less damage. Of course, then they'd scare the customers and that would be just as bad as losing the stock.
He hoped Anya came back soon; he was starting to think like a bloody shopkeeper.
The decision to move or hold his ground ended up being taken out of his hands. Willow moved between the two of them, her back practically up against the register with Spike breathing down her neck. "Xander, it's not the time or place. If Anya asked Spike to help, well, I suppose she knew what she was doing. I mean, it's not like she was thinking clearly."
"You're a great help, Red," Spike said, letting the sarcasm drip from his words. "Yes, I can take you here, ma'am."
He watched Xander out of the corner of his eye while ringing up the sale. The whelp had moved back for the moment, though Spike had no doubt this little row wasn't ended. Dawn emerging from the basement, arms filled with the stock Spike had asked her to fetch, fortunately provided a distraction. Xander and Willow moved toward her, speaking in low tones as she replenished the canisters. He had no doubt what the conversation was about, and it didn't seem to be making the Nibblet too happy. Spike considered telling them they needed to leave the girl alone and let her do her work, but that would only provoke a further confrontation.
Dawn ended the conversation by picking up the jars and stomping back over to the counter. "Maybe you should take off and get lunch," Spike suggested, noting that Xander and Willow didn't follow her back. "What did you and Tara do last Saturday?"
"She had Chinese delivered." Dawn wrinkled her nose. "Don't think I feel like that today."
"I think the deli delivers." Sorting through the counter drawer, he fished out a menu. "Why don't you see if Big Sis wants anything, and we'll call it in."
Dawn departed, and Spike realized the front of the store was empty except for Willow, Xander and himself. Just terrific. Deciding he wasn't going to let their presence keep him from getting his work done, Spike abandoned the relatively safe position behind the counter and headed toward the larger circular table. Books were scattered across its surface, some open, some merely stacked, most likely the remains of a research effort last night.
As expected, Xander took the opportunity to flex his pecs once more. "Don't think you're fooling anyone with this act, pretending like you're just doing this to help Anya out."
Spike sighed. "Harris, it probably won't make a damn bit of difference to you, but I have a helluva lot of sympathy for what Anya's going through right now. She's been dumped -- in a pretty damn humiliating way, I might add -- and if keeping the store going gives her a little peace of mind, then who am I to say no?"
"You're just trying to make points with Buffy, convince her you're okay. It won't work, 'cause she's on to you."
The temptation to make good on his threat, let the whelp know exactly where the relationship between him and Buffy stood, was almost irresistible. It would do no good, though; Xander would be convinced he was lying, Willow would start stuttering in surprise and the noise would only bring the Slayer running from the back room, probably to stake his ass. "Believe it or not," Spike said through gritted teeth, "my universe does not revolve solely around Buffy. Anya needed help and us demons got to stick together."
"Anya's not a demon. She gave all that up."
"And what does she have now? You haven't left her with much."
Once again, Willow inserted herself between the two. "Um, getting testosterone poisoning here. Think you can crank it down a notch?"
It was as Willow hadn't even spoken. "You know what? I think Buffy should do what she should've done years ago -- stake your ass. And if she won't do it…"
Suddenly, a brown-haired blur pushed into the middle of the confrontation, shoving Willow out of the way. "If you're going to stake Spike, you have to stake me first."
"Nibblet, this doesn't concern you." Spike laid his hands on Dawn's shoulders, trying to move her to safety.
"It does concern me. You're my friend and no one's going to stake you!"
"Who's going to stake who?" Buffy's voice from the door leading to the training room was a welcome sound, causing heads to turn.
"Xander's threatening to stake Spike because he doesn't want him in the store." Dawn crossed her arms and glared at Xander.
"It's not like Spike's doing anything evil," Buffy said as she moved forward, a towel draped around her neck. "At least, not at the moment."
"I don't like him being here!" The words were practically a shout and Spike tensed, hoping the chip wouldn't go off if he swung in self-defense. Buffy forestalled any attack, however, by striding forward, grabbing Xander by the arm and dragging him away.
"Maybe you don't," she said in a low voice, "but it was Anya's choice. If you want her to trust you again, you need to accept the decisions she makes -- even if it includes asking Spike to watch the money."
Xander mumbled something in response even Spike's vampire hearing couldn't pick up, but it earned him a slight smile and a pat on the arm from Buffy. "Ready to go, Willow?" he called out, his hands dug deep into the pockets of his jacket.
"Sure. You said Tara was at the University."
"Lab for one of her classes. Hopefully, you can still catch her."
With a nod at Spike's words, Willow followed Xander out the door. Soon as they were gone, Buffy turned toward Spike with patented annoyed look number five. "You shouldn't bait him."
"Me? Bait him? He's the one who started it, telling me to get out of the shop, that he didn't want me here." He turned back to the table and started slamming the books into a stack. "Said I was only doing it to get in good with you."
"Dawn, why don't you call in that order? Spike, did you want anything?"
Spike shook his head, trying to concentrate on sorting the books and not on the annoying and tempting woman who stood near him. He could hear Dawn's footsteps heading toward the counter as Buffy drew closer. "Why are you doing it?" she asked in a low voice.
"Because I have a pretty good idea how much pain Anya's in at the moment." He turned to face her, keeping his voice low enough that Dawn wouldn't hear. "Because I know exactly how hard it is to be a demon in love with someone who's not your own kind, to try to fit into their world, only to have your heart ripped out and stomped on."
He leaned in closer, locking her eyes with his. "Anya and I are lot more alike than any of you realize. I've seen how your precious friends have treated her, and I have to say I don't like it, anymore than I like the way Harris treats me. She asked for my help -- she said she trusted me when she couldn't trust the rest of you lot except for Tara. How could I say no to that?"
He'd scored another point; he could see it in her eyes. This time, though, he felt no regret for it. Buffy turned away, which came as no surprise to him. She didn't like it when he spoke the truth. "Is there anything I can do to help?" she asked at last.
Spike could think of a list a mile long, but he confined himself to one. "Help Dawn keep an eye on things down here. I've got a few things to do upstairs."
Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed one of the stacks of books and headed for the stairs. The stuff shouldn't have been left sitting out and he wished he'd checked on it earlier, but then it wouldn't have provided the excuse to put some distance between him and Buffy.
Quiet and semi-dark, it was soothing to gently reshelf the books, making certain nothing else was missing. There were a few boxes waiting to be unpacked, things Tara must have opened and realized they belonged in the restricted section. He busied himself with those, checking contents against packing lists, trying to let the work occupy his full attention.
He heard the bell jingle some time later and looked over the railing to see the delivery boy enter. Stuffing the packing slip back into the box he was working on, Spike headed down the stairs just as Buffy went for her purse. "I'll take care of this," he told her. "Tara and I have been keeping a running tally. We'll settle with Anya when she gets back."
Buffy looked like she might argue, but said nothing as he paid up and took the receipt, adding it to the others in the ledger. A Chinese chicken salad for her and pastrami sandwich for Dawn, from whom Spike decided to steal a few fries once they'd settled at the table. She swatted at his hand, but did little else to stop him.
It wasn't the most comfortable of times as the girls ate and Spike went over paperwork, but he had to admit it was nice to sit there with them. With the irritating influence of Xander Harris removed, Buffy seemed less inclined to snipe at him, lapsing back into civility. Dawn was the only one interested in speaking and they both let her ramble about school and boys while they did their best not to look at each other.
The entrance of a customer ended the lunch period for Spike at least, as he went to see if there was anything he could point the man to. By the time he was done, the remains of the food had been cleared away and Buffy looked ready to leave. "Tara's supposed to be in later?"
"Don't worry. I'll see that one of us gets the Little Bit home in one piece."
He was rewarded with a brief smile, a ghost of the ones he used to see. "Thanks. Spike, I…"
For a moment, it looked like she might say something, but she stopped, gave him that ghost smile again and headed out of the shop. Spike watched her go and realized he had a non-chip-induced headache coming on. One step forward, two steps back; that's what their dance seemed to be these days.
Aspirin helped, but only a little, and Spike found himself resorting to the glasses to reduce the strain on his eyes as he dealt with more of the paperwork that came with running a shop. Customers came and went, and still no sign of Tara. She'd probably run into Red, was having coffee or something. He couldn't blame her; might be nice if someone in their little circle was actually happy.
More customers. The store was doing good business today. Great for profits, bad for his headache. He liked the weekdays better, when most of the traffic was serious practitioners who knew what they wanted and didn't have stupid ideas about using things they had no understanding of. More than once he'd had to steer an amateur away from one of the darker tomes and if it happened again, he was just going to put an "Authorized Personnel Only" sign across the stairway.
What made the day complete, though, was the moment he heard a somewhat familiar voice utter the word, "Spike?" Looking up, he found a Delvaith Demon looking at him in disbelief. Worse, it was one of the regulars from Willie's. Even worse, Spike's glasses were perched on the edge of his nose.
The demon started to laugh, and kept laughing as he made his purchases. The more he laughed, the longer Spike figured he'd better not show his face in Willie's. Oh, well. His reputation had been in tatters for some time; what was a little more destruction? Of course, he could hurt demons without setting off the chip…
Do not eat the customers. Do not eat the customers. Do not eat the customers even if they're going to embarrass you to the point where you won't be able to show your face in any demon haunt in town for the next six months. You can kick his butt later.
It was shortly after this that Tara appeared, looking terribly apologetic. "Sorry I'm late, but I did get a lot of work done and then I ran into Willow and Xander." She put her bag behind the counter. "Xander seemed pretty upset."
"He took exception to the idea Anya asked me to help." Spike shrugged. "His problem, not mine."
"Sorry you had to put up with that. If I'd been here…"
"Hey, none of that." He closed the inventory book he'd been working with. "You've got school and I'm the one with the flexible schedule. If Harris can't deal with the idea that Anya asked me to help with keeping the place going, it's something he's got to live with, not you."
Tara gave him that shy smile he was beginning to look forward to. "Okay. I won't beat myself up. Dawn here?"
"Down in the basement. Needed her to take a count of some things. She's been good today."
He filled her in on the other things that had happened, let her know that they'd actually sold the fertility statue and he was going to pack it for shipping on Monday. When he finished, she was quiet for a minute. "Spike, what if Anya decides to go back to being a vengeance demon?"
He lifted an eyebrow at her. "Did she say anything before she left?"
"No. But D'Hoffryn was there, and she was a vengeance demon before. I mean, she gave that up for Xander, didn't she?"
Spike considered before answering. "I don't think it was a question of giving it up. It was…as far as I can tell, she didn't actually have a choice in the matter. A wish went wrong, her power center got smashed and D'Hoffryn wouldn't restore her powers, re-elevate her back to demonhood. In a way, it was like me getting chipped. If she had a chance to go back now…"
He didn't finish the sentence, didn't want to. Anya was likely in the right frame of mind to wreak a little vengeance, and he didn't like to think who might get caught in the cross-fire.
"Would you go back? I mean, get the chip taken out if you could?"
The question came out of left field. She was looking at him in the calm way of hers, as if it were the most perfectly normal question in the world. "Don't know. There was a time…who am I kidding? If I knew I could get it out, I'd probably have it done in a minute. At least I'd be making my own decisions, not be some damn dog on a leash, unable to defend myself against idiots like Harris."
He waited for the inevitable next question: Would you start feeding on humans again? It didn't come, though. Instead, Tara asked, "What if Anya doesn't want the shop when she comes back? I mean, it's a useful resource. I wouldn't want to lose it."
Spike considered. "I don't know. Giles still owns part of it, so I guess he could buy her out. Hell, we could always make her an offer. What? Don't look so surprised. We've done pretty good these two weeks. I think we could make a go of it. Better than what I'm doing now."
Tara looked thoughtful and began to nod. "I don't think we have enough money to buy her out, though. I mean, I've got student loans and you've got…"
"Not even a kitten to gamble with. It's just an idea. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Hey, I can see Anya being both a vengeance demon and a shop owner. Girl's got energy."
The door opened, bringing with it more customers just as the phone rang. Spike grabbed for the phone as Tara went to do the helpful salesperson thing. "Magic Box. Can I help you? Yes, I do believe we have mummy hands. If you can hold, I'll check…"
On to Episode 2: The Mixer