Design Features
Part Three
There was only one woman browsing in the Magic Box when Avon dropped in. Anya had been showing the customer a selection of candles but rushed over to the door when she heard the bell above it ringing.
"Oh, it’s you," she said. "I don’t suppose you were thinking of actually spending any money. But of course, you don’t have any, do you?"
"I have enough for now," said Avon, looking around for Giles. The store’s owner was sitting at a table in the far corner surrounded by piles of old books.
"Hello, Avon," said Giles, looking up. "I’ve been looking into this problem of ours-."
Of yours, Avon thought.
"It seems that whatever the Federation was working on has been hijacked by a demon from one of the hell dimensions, trying to find a route into our world. We need to stop it although we may have to wait for the correct moon phase before Willow and Tara can perform the appropriate ritual. You don’t happen to remember what phase the moon was in where you came from?"
"Sorry but no. I’m not even sure I know how many moons the planet had." Two, I’m sure of it.
"You do understand the importance of all this? If you were to stay in Sunnydale it could affect the natural order in ways we cannot even begin to predict."
"I fail to see how my entirely temporary liaison with Spike can do any serious harm."
"Ah," said Giles as the penny dropped. "You do realise you’re playing a very dangerous game. Spike has no soul, no conscience, no morals."
And? "I’d like to think I can look after myself."
"That’s as may be. But I think you should give serious consideration to finding another place to stay."
"I’m open to offers. What I do understand," said Avon, turning a chair around and sitting down with his arms crossed on the back, "is that I need a weapon of some sort. This," he laid the Liberator gun on the table, "is of little use to me unless I can recharge it. I understand that Sunnydale is home to many more hostile creatures than those we killed last night. Also, others may come through the portal after me, most of them unfriendly. What can you do for me?"
"If you plan on staying with Spike whilst in Sunnydale then surely he has something you can borrow?"
"I’m asking you." Avon stood up, not necessarily a good move as he was starting to get Giles’ number figured a lot better than the Americans had. "What are you going to do for me?"
"If you put it that way," said Giles, making an equally accurate assessment of just how far Avon was prepared to go, "I could lend you, say for example, a small crossbow. You do know how to use one?"
"I can learn. Now who would be the best person to give me background information on these companies?" He handed Giles a printout. "I need to investigate employment opportunities in case I am in fact stuck here and I would prefer it if I were working for humans."
"You plan to leave Sunnydale then?" Giles asked, scanning the list.
"I can hardly expect to impose on Spike forever." Avon now had a bank account (significantly in the black), a portable communications device (slightly temperamental) and a full set of identity papers, none of which had been nearly as hard to come by as he had been expecting. Another day or so and he would have managed to falsify a Cambridge PhD. All he needed now was a job, preferably not too time consuming as there were far better ways of making money with his skills. People liked it better when they could categorise you though: having an infinite supply of funds with no sign of where they came from was more suspicious than being seen to live significantly above your known means.
"Try calling this number." Giles dug in his jacket and pulled out a business card for ‘Angel Investigations’. We help each other from time to time so if you mention my name..."
*******
Avon thought that he was late getting back to Sunnydale the next night but Spike was not at the crypt when he went to bed. He was woken the next morning by someone nibbling on his neck."Morning, love," said Spike, wrapping his arms around Avon. Avon tensed: the last thing he needed was anyone getting too attached to him. He tried to pull away and discovered that vampire strength is considerably greater than human. "Just a turn of phrase, I’m evil remember. And even if I wasn’t, do you really think I’d be getting myself involved with someone as fucked up as you?"
"Thanks a lot."
"Well it’s true. You’ve got one colossal chip on your shoulder about something. And you didn’t get those scars on your wrists by accident."
"Maybe not." That was the trouble with people: sooner or later they expected you to talk about things. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves.
"Hey, I didn’t mean to pry. Just stating a fact." Spike pulled back slightly then took hold of Avon’s hands and kissed the cross-shaped scar on the underside of each wrist. He ran his teeth over the skin then stopped and shook his head in a somewhat surprised fashion. "Like that, do you?"
"What do you think?"
"I wonder... No, I’d better not: I got a massive lecture off Giles last night about my behaviour towards you. Where were you when I needed you to defend my honour?"
"Los Angeles. And since you’re bound to ask, I’ll be in San Diego tomorrow afternoon."
"LA? Not visiting that poof Angel, were you? If you’re two-timing me with him... Not that it bothers me what you get up to, but him? You could do far better."
"Absolutely," said Avon, making a mental note to find out more about Spike and Angel’s joint background.
"Seriously, love, if you’d told me I’d have lent you the car: much better than having to fly and find taxis. You can have it tomorrow."
"Thanks but no, thanks." Avon had seen Spike’s car; even if it got him to San Diego in one piece, it was hardly likely to make a good impression on prospective employers. He might look into hiring something though; if strange persons who spoke little English could drive taxis, then a car should be no problem at all to someone who could pilot an alien spacecraft.
"Have it your way," said Spike, returning his attention to Avon’s neck. "Now do you have anywhere to rush off to today or can we just stay in bed all morning?"
"Depends what you have in mind."
"Oh, I dunno... cutting, burning, hot candle-wax... Oh fuck," said Spike as Avon squirmed appreciatively, "you actually like all that stuff don’t you, you sick git?"
*******
"Tell me again why we’re coming here first," Avon asked Spike as they walked into the Bronze. Spike’s hair was on end rather than slicked back and the vampire was wearing an extremely battered leather jacket that he had dug out of the boot of his car. His eyeliner was applied surprisingly neatly for someone with no reflection."Prove a point, that’s why. They want to get all high and mighty with me for leading you astray then they can see what you’re capable of too."
Avon’s polo neck covered the wounds that he had acquired while ‘playing’ that morning but Spike’s torn-to-ribbons T-shirt did nothing to hide the cuts and burns that were Avon’s revenge for being referred to as a ‘perverted little sod’ once too often. He was a little disappointed, however, that he was not allowed to give Spike another brand to complement the ‘D’ for Drusilla on his left hip.
"Dear Lord," said Giles. "I hope that jacket died of something non-contagious, Spike."
"Don’t mock," said Spike. "This jacket’s been to more gigs than you’ve had hot dinners. Been signed by the Pistols, the Damned, the Clash," he indicated a series of scrawls in silver marker pen on the jacket, "it’s a piece of history."
"Shouldn’t it be in a museum then?" asked Buffy. "Hey, maybe you could take it to one now and stop bothering us."
"Bugger off," said Spike. "We’re going to see the UK Subs. Any of you boring sods fancy joining us?" He was met with a set of blank looks from all but Giles and Oz.
"Didn’t they break up years ago?" Giles asked.
"Sorry, guys," said Oz, "I’d love to come but I promised Giles I’d catch one of his sets at the Espresso Pump and as I’m heading home tomorrow..."
"Bloody hell," said Spike, "you want to go see him instead of witnessing a legend? What is the world coming to?"
*******
The Fish Tank was down by the docks, and even less to Avon’s taste than the Bronze. When he arrived with Spike, the support band were still setting up and trying to sound check over the din emanating from the jukebox. The other patrons, some human, some demonic, some of uncertain ancestry, were gathered around the bar. Spike pushed through the crowd, greeting a few individuals, and returned with two bottles of beer. Avon settled himself against the wall by an emergency exit and watched for any further sign that he should be elsewhere.The human contingent was a strange cross-section: mostly old enough to know better, some with a child or two in tow. About half of them had dyed or unusually styled hair and even those with some hint of respectability wore similar clothes to Spike. Some of Vila’s wilder drinking tales involved encounters with rogues looking somewhat like these so Avon was taking no chances. The already dim lights were turned down still further and the support band’s guitarist struck a chord. Spike charged past, handing Avon another beer and dived into the midst of the crowd pressing towards the stage.
*******
After about the fifth song (they were all much of a muchness to Avon but the singer liked to insult the crowd between numbers so he could tell where one ended and the next began) Spike reappeared with two more beers)."What d’you think? Great aren’t they? Here look after this for me." He slipped something into Avon’s hand, kissed him very roughly on the lips and rejoined the throng around the stage. Avon opened his hand and examined what he had been given. An envelope about two centimetres by four had been fashioned from paper torn from a pornographic magazine, and seemed to contain some sort of powder. Avon decided to wait for Spike to come back and slipped it into a pocket without further investigation. In the flickering light from the green sign above him he could just make out a pile of leaflets stacked on the floor. He picked one up and read it. So there were other dangers in this century that he needed to be aware of. Presumably sleeping with the undead counted as safe sex, ignoring the chances of instant fatality, but he would have to acquaint himself with more information before moving on. He slipped the leaflet into another pocket.
The noise from the stage was replaced by slightly different noise from the jukebox and there was a general drift of bodies towards the bar. Spike sauntered over, his T-shirt more ripped than ever and a black eye just starting to develop on the right.
"Great this, isn’t it? You tried any of that speed yet?"
"Speed?"
"In the wrap I gave you. Stimulant. You do have those where you come from, don’t you?"
"I had cocaine once..."
"Don’t want to be taking that over-priced American rubbish. Give me good old British amphetamines any day. Of course the stuff they usually have over here isn’t a patch on what the roadies brought over from London... and that’s nothing like we had in the old days. Went to a Buzzcock’s gig once..." Avon tuned out Spike’s reminiscences and went over his cover story for the next day’s interview in his mind. Online conversations with British IT experts had furnished him with a comprehensive knowledge of the state of the industry there; and apparently black T-shirt, jeans and boots was standard work-wear so no need to worry about buying anything else. Most of them seemed to have little interest in popular culture so if he missed any references it would be put down to him being English, an intellectual, or both. Spike was still talking about the grand old days of punk; he did look particularly cute when he was enthusing; Avon pulled him in close for some serious appreciation before the UK Subs came on stage.
*******
Avon had to admit that the headliners were a lot better than the support act. The audience seemed to think so too judging by the amount of shouting and jostling going on towards the foot of the stage. Partway through Spike came bouncing over, spitting something onto the floor."Even better than I remember." He was bleeding from a cut above his left eye and the right was now looking very swollen indeed.
"Are you alright?"
"Course I am. Not a proper punk gig without at least three injuries." Avon kissed the blood away from Spike’s eye, savouring the copper and salt taste in a way that would never have occurred to him before he arrived in Sunnydale. There was blood on Spike’s lips too; Avon licked it away then ran his tongue around the inside of Spike’s mouth until he found the gap where a molar had been punched out. Spike pulled back.
"If you want me to bite you, you’re going the right way about it." The vampire flashed a seductive leer at him and bounded back into the audience.
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