"What's all this then?" asked Spike, in his best "British TV policeman" voice. The floor of the Magic Box was knee-deep in books, torn papers, and broken glass. Shattered containers of herbs and potions spilled their odors into the air, where they combined into a choking, eye-watering smog. "Demon attack? Another troll?"
In the midst of the chaos stood Rupert Giles, stumbling to catch the newts and salamanders that scurried everywhere. Hearing the voice, he stopped and looked up, revealing a black eye and a split lip. "Nothing so simple, I'm afraid. There were four men with balaclavas and baseball bats. They came in just as I was about to close, announced 'We're here to do the Lord's work,' and set to." With a lunge, he captured a salamander darting across the counter and put it in a large jar. "What are you doing here anyway, Spike?"
"I was just passing. Saw your light was still on. So who were these blokes?"
"One of them left this on the counter as they were leaving." He handed over a business card. "Church of the Wrathful Lord," it read in bold letters, and below, in smaller type, "Fighting the Unbelievers and Their Works."
"Christ!" Spike exclaimed.
"You could put it that way, I suppose." With a sigh, Giles looked around the room. "I've come to expect demons, vampires and near-apocalypses. But I never expected to face religious fundamentalists. I suppose they don't approve of magic."
"By the look of the place, I'd say magic's not on their top ten list. Or you either. You all right, mate?" Spike asked, as Giles rubbed his temples wearily.
"I'm not seriously hurt. One of them punched me a couple of times when I tried to tell them to leave. Once they brought out the baseball bats, I let them alone." He reached for a newt, but missed it. "Damn. And now no doubt they're off gloating somewhere while I lick my wounds. All too literally," he added, rubbing a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth.
"I could help you with that," Spike offered, with a grin and a raised eyebrow.
"Very funny, Spike. Help me catch these damned reptiles instead."
"Amphibians. And manual labor's not my style, sorry. Unless there was something in it for me?" He reached across towards a new drop of blood on Giles' lip, but Giles knocked his hand away.
"Go away, if you're only going to be a nuisance. But don't tell Buffy or anyone else about this. I don't want them to worry."
"Bit late for that," Spike said, gesturing towards Willow, who stood in the doorway looking shocked.
"Giles, what happened?" She rushed to the counter and grasped Giles' arm. "Are you all right?"
"Yes, fine. It seems the Magic Box offends some local Christians." He handed her the card.
"Church of the Wrathful Lord? This was about religion? But-"
"They must have assumed that 'magic' meant 'demonic.' It's a common mistake," Giles said, in the slightly pedantic tone that always made Spike want to hit him. Of course, today someone had beaten him to it.
"But-" Willow started again.
"Oh, use your brains, love," Spike interrupted. "You're a Wiccan, you must know how that gets some people's knickers in a twist. Even though most of it's just silly new age twaddle. And this lot are probably the sort who think that Harry Potter books will turn their kiddies into satanists."
Willow glared at him for a moment, then turned back to Giles. "Have you called the police?"
Giles shook his head.
"Why not?"
"This is Sunnydale. Calling the police never seems like a good idea."
"Well, we've got to do something. Giles, they could come back, or . . . or burn the place down, or really hurt somebody."
"I could get some friends to pay them a visit," Spike suggested. "I've never liked religious fanatics."
"I'm not setting vampires on human beings," huffed Giles. "No matter how misguided."
"Well, aren't you a moral little man."
"Spike," said Giles and Willow, in identical exasperated tones.
"We should at least find out more about them," Willow insisted. "Is the computer all right? I can check the internet."
"It should be fine--they didn't go into the office. See what you can discover. Spike will help me clean up." His tone left no room for argument.
The newts and salamanders were long gone, so they started rescuing the books. Most weren't too damaged, though some had fallen into puddles of water or other liquids. "If I get warts or turn into a toad or something from one of these bloody potions, you're really going to owe me a favor."
"Oh, stop complaining, Spike," said Giles, standing up after gathering an armload of books. "At least no one hit y-" He swayed and grabbed at a shelf for support, dropping the books again.
Spike caught him around the waist and held him upright. "Don't do that. I've got enough to pick up off the floor already."
Giles straightened cautiously. "I just felt dizzy for a moment. My head hurts. Probably because people keep hitting it."
"Well, go and sit down." Spike steered him to a nearby chair.
"Thank you," Giles said grudgingly. Like a boy whose auntie's just given him socks for Christmas, Spike thought, suppressing a grin.
"Yeah, you ought to thank me. Now I'll have to pick up all the books."
When Willow emerged fifteen minutes later, Spike was quietly reshelving books while Giles sat slumped in the chair, eyes closed.
"So what's the word, love? Did you find their address, so I can drag 'em back here and make 'em sweep the floor?"
"Yes, what did you find?" asked Giles, stirring at last. Willow looked relieved.
"Well, the newspaper says a Wiccan bookstore across town was vandalized two days ago. The windows were smashed, and somebody spray-painted 'This is the work of the Lord' across the door. But the alarms must have scared them away, because no damage was done inside."
"But no definite links to this church?"
"Well, not definite. But the church has a website. It says their mission is to fight the occult. And it did give an address, and a schedule of services. If we wanted to check them out."
"No," said Giles, standing up. "If it's just vandalism, I don't think it's a terribly serious matter."
"But Giles, they ruined your shop."
"The insurance will cover it, Willow. Please don't tell Buffy. She has enough worries without being concerned about a few self-righteous fanatics."
Willow shook her head. "Giles, I don't think this is a good idea. And what if they come back?"
"Willow. Please. Thank you for your help, but you can go. I'll finish tidying the shop in the morning. Where were you going, anyway?"
"To the coffee shop down the block. I've got some studying to do."
"I don't want to keep you from that any longer."
"Giles-"
"Goodnight, Willow."
With a frustrated snort, Willow turned and stalked out.
Spike couldn't hold back a laugh. "Don't you know not to piss off a witch? Be careful, you'll end up a demon again."
"That is *not* funny. You can go too, Spike. You've helped quite enough for one day."
"Nah. Not letting you drive home. 'S all right to swoon in here where there's a nice strong vampire to catch you, but not behind the wheel."
"Spike, I remember the last time you drove me somewhere. That's when I had to buy a new car, remember?"
"Too bad. Keys."
Reluctantly Giles handed them over. "You're only being helpful because you can humiliate me in the process."
"How well you know me."
When they arrived, Spike parked the car in front of Giles' apartment and handed back the keys. "So, you don't want any help licking those wounds, then?"
"No, I definitely do not."
"Pity. Toodle-oo, then, mate." Spike set off down the street, and was gone from sight by the time Giles had opened his door.
* * * * *
On Sunday, Xander arrived at Buffy's dorm at 9 am, yawning and tugging at his tie as he waited for her to answer the door.
She smiled at the sight of him in a suit. "Hello, fellow churchgoer. Come on in."
Tara, Willow, and Anya were already there, and all the girls were dressed more demurely than Xander could have imagined.
"This is just a little too Norman Bates for comfort," he said.
"I think you mean Norman Rockwell," Willow corrected.
"No, isn't he the killer from that movie?" asked Anya. "The one who dressed like his mother? That's not--well, maybe that was the effect we were going for," she added, looking down at her long floral-print skirt.
Willow shook her head. "Norman Rockwell isn't a movie killer, he's--oh, never mind. Buffy, are you sure this is a good idea? Giles said-"
"I can guess what Giles said. But we need to know more about this church, to be sure Giles isn't in any danger. Or you, or Tara. And what better way to find out?"
They took Xander's and Willow's cars and drove to a strip mall near the edge of town. One of the storefronts had "Church of the Wrathful Lord" emblazoned in red letters across its plate-glass windows. They filed in just as the service was starting, and took seats at the back of the room. The small space was full of tired-looking people, with the unmistakable aura of the undereducated, underpaid, and overworked. They reminded Xander a little of his own family. It didn't seem like the kind of place that would have a website.
After a few hymns, a handsome blond man, much better-dressed than most of the congregation, read a passage from the Bible saying that witches should be killed. Then an older man, in an impeccable dark suit, came to the pulpit and began the sermon.
"My beloved brothers and sisters in the Lord," he began. "The good book says thou shalt not suffer a witch to live. That is the Lord's commandment, brothers and sisters. Witchcraft and sorcery are abominations." He raised his voice to an oratorical pitch. "And yet in our very own town, we disobey God's commandment. Not only do these unbelievers live, but we let them build bookstores. We let them sell their evil potions and seduce others to their abominations."
"How wonderful," Anya said cheerfully into Xander's ear. "This actually says a lot for human progress and tolerance. I thought demons weren't allowed in Christian churches."
"Anya, shhh--What?" Several people turned and frowned at them. "Demons?" he whispered.
"Yes. The minister-"
"Come on." He seized her hand and pulled her outside, with the others following close behind.
"Anya, are you saying that the minister-"
"-was a demon. Yes. Funny, this church doesn't seem like it would be very welcoming to demons."
"Was he the only one?" Buffy asked.
"Oh, no. There was the man who did the Bible reading, and the choir leader, and the ushers. And all the people in the front row. Nobody else, as far as I could tell."
"So this church is being run by demons," Buffy said meditatively. "We'd better talk to Giles."
* * * * * *
Giles was in the Magic Box, sorting out the replacement stock he'd been able to get so far. He'd already strengthened the warding around the shop, making it more difficult for the ill-intentioned to enter.
He was startled when Buffy and the others burst in, and more startled when he saw how they were dressed.
"Giles," Buffy said breathlessly, "that church is dangerous."
Giles ignored her and looked at Willow instead. "I thought we agreed not to tell Buffy."
"No. I didn't agree. And it's a good thing I didn't."
"Giles, listen!" Buffy insisted. "All the people running the church are demons. Anya could tell."
"Demons? Anya, are you quite sure?"
"I may not know about Norman Rockwell or Bates or whoever, but I know demons."
"Yes, um, quite." Giles paused, thinking.
"Oh no," Xander said suddenly. "Anya, they didn't recognize you, did they? Does this demon Spidie-sense thing work on ex-demons too?"
"Probably, but I don't think they noticed me. Maintaining their disguises was probably pretty distracting."
"Disguises?" asked several voices in chorus.
"Well, yes. Most demons don't look human, and don't want to. You're not really very attrac-" She broke off, noticing the look on Xander's face. "I mean, they're going to a lot of trouble to look human. A spell or something."
"Oh dear," said Giles. They were all silent for a moment, with visions of another apocalypse dancing in their heads.
"We need more information," Buffy said finally.
"Absolutely," Giles agreed. "Willow, would you do a more thorough computer search? The rest of you start with the books."
"What are we looking for?" asked Xander. "And what will you be doing, O expert book guy, while the amateurs do the research?"
"I don't know what you're looking for exactly, sorry," answered Giles, heading out the door. "And I'm going to talk to Spike."
* * * * *
It was chilly in the crypt on this winter day. Spike was lounging on his sofa, watching television, when Giles threw open the door. Bloody cheek, Spike thought. This lot barge in at every hour of the day and night. Wish I could return the favor.
"D'you mind, it's not nice to let the light in like that. And you might try knocking."
Giles looked around bemusedly at the modern comforts Spike had installed--TV, DVD player, a small refrigerator well stocked with blood and beer.
"However did you get this place wired for electricity, Spike?"
"You live a century, you learn a thing or two. I've got cable as well. So is this something important, or did you just miss me? You're interrupting the X-Files. This episode's about vampires, I was looking forward to a good laugh."
"Terribly sorry," Giles said with heavy mock sincerity. "It seems my visitors the other night were demons after all. Or at least their church is run by demons."
"Can't have been demons. I'd have smelled it. No, maybe not, the way those filthy potions were stinking up the place. D'you know I got a rash all up my arm? I didn't think that could happen. You can still see it, look." Spike extended a pale arm, faintly mottled with green spots.
"Spike, please. This is serious."
"Serious? So the wackos are being led by the very demons they think they're fighting. Sounds fair to me."
"It's the demons that worry me. They've got to be up to something. I need you to ask around in the underworld, the demon bars, that sort of thing. Discreetly."
Spike stretched, yawned, and got up from the sofa with as much feline disdain as he could muster. "Need? You need me to do you favors, Giles? I don't think so. Not unless there's something in it for me."
Giles took out his wallet. "How much this time? I've got fifty on me, if you want more you'll have to wait."
"Did I say money?" Spike moved closer to Giles, insinuatingly. "Money's easy. You have to do better than that. I want you to kiss me, properly. You were rude the other night. It's not everyone's wounds I offer to lick."
Giles took a step back. "This is not a joking matter."
"You know I'm not joking." Advancing again, almost nose to nose with Giles, he repeated, "Kiss me. Or do without my help."
"Spike, I don't even like you."
"I know. More interesting that way."
Their eyes met. Inhaling, Spike smelled anger, fear--and underneath, a hint of arousal. He pulled Giles' glasses off and saw the man's pupils dilate. Then he leaned forward into the kiss, pulling Giles' head down to meet him.
The scent changed, anger and fear fading, arousal becoming more prominent as Giles' lips opened and Spike pushed in with his tongue. First Spike felt the heat, so overwhelming, the fires of life surrounding his own cool flesh. Giles' hands grasped his shoulders, two more fires against his skin, and the warm tongue moved under his, licking upward, tasting him. Spike pulled the unresisting Giles to him, feeling the contours of the other man's body and his stiffening cock. At last, remembering that live people need to breathe, he pulled back, nipping at the soft lower lip as he went. He bit almost hard enough for the chip to kick in, but not quite.
Giles inhaled sharply and crossed his arms over his chest in a sudden, self-protective gesture. "You didn't say anything about biting."
"Go on, you're not even bleeding. You're a bit twitchy for a demon hunter."
Giles put a finger to his lip and, seeing it unbloodied, shrugged. "You think a lifetime of close contact with demons and vampires doesn't make a person twitchy?"
"I've had 120-odd years of it, and I'm fine." Abruptly, he turned and sat back down on the sofa. "All right, I'll ask around tonight. Whatever I find out, I'll let you know. I'll come round to your place, shall I?" he asked with a leer.
"Spike, for God's sake-'
"Now, now, pet. If you want me to work for you, you have to pay."
Buffyverse Fanfiction On to Part Two