The Sick Rose
by Pandarus

10. Entering and breaking

Petr Soucek slept the untroubled sleep of the just on the top floor of the Prague Watchers' Council building, his innocent beer belly rising and falling gently with each rumbling and sonorous snore as William the Bloody broke in through the back door and stepped onto the premises with a grin.

Turned out Gwen Post had been as good as her word; either she really was an honest-to-god Watcher currently resident in Prague or else she was more powerful than any other magic user Spike had ever met. He wasn't at all sure which was the worse scenario.

Breaking and entry was one of Spike's many lesser-known skills. Admittedly the breaking bit was his real forte, but Spike could be stealthy and discreet when the occasion demanded it. Reasonably discreet. Discreet by Drusilla's standards, at any rate, and they were the only standards he was normally interested in.

He paused momentarily in the unlit hallway and listened for movement. The city streets were very quiet at this hour; no trams or trolley buses rattling in the distance; no Czechs going about their work in the wee small hours; no toothsome tourists out wandering and wasted, all ripe and untasted and wondering blearily where the hell they were. The whole world had sunk at last into longed-for slumber and Spike felt himself the only wakeful creature left with unfinished business to attend to.

He tried not to think about Drusilla lying shackled to a bed on the other side of town. She was probably awake by now. If she were sensible of her surroundings she would be thoroughly confused and perfectly furious. And perhaps afraid. Likely struggling to be free and biting through the makeshift gag as the cuffs rattled against the headboard. Desperate to do the witches' bidding.

If this woman were trifling with him he would strangle her with her own entrails.

He took the stairs carefully, wary of creaking boards and listening for any alteration to the rhythmic palpitation of the sleeping Watchers' hearts. Their quiet pulses continued unperturbed as he ascended and in no time at all Spike was prowling through the dark rooms of the first floor. The layout was just as Gwendolyn Post had described it.

Spike's heightened sense of smell had no trouble picking out her room and the door gave at his light touch. Unlocked. No surprise there - say what you would, the woman was no amateur. She would have left no trace of her treachery for the good Council folk to find and likely nothing of use to Spike, but his curiosity was aroused and he took a moment to look around the room. It was as impersonal as any hotel room, although she claimed to have been living there for the best part of a year. Certainly it was thoroughly impregnated with her scent; the imprint of her fingers on door handles and window sills had imbued their surfaces with oils too faint for human noses and the bouquet of her sweat and sex and secrets still clung to the fabrics and lingered around the innocent bookshelves. She had not been here for a week or more. He trod carefully, listening to the even breathing of the girl in the room across the hallway, and fingered the decorative knickknacks and gimcrack jewellery lying in apparent disarray on a shelf. His eye was caught by a pretty ball of blown glass hanging from a cord beside the window and he plucked it down and pocketed it automatically; always a magpie for his girl. Slid open drawers and rummaged stealthily through the wardrobe but found nothing more interesting than knickers from Marks and Spencers.

This wasn't getting him anywhere; and it certainly wasn't getting him any closer to the damned book. He dismissed the room and left it behind, heading up to the second floor in search of Gwen Post's prize and Drusilla's disenchantment.

Petr Soucek's door wasn't locked. A trusting bunch, these Watchers; placed a touching faith in their demon-repulsing spells and the traditional rules against vampires. Weren't counting on one of their own extending an open invitation to the big bad wolf.

Spike pushed the door gently and was rewarded with the very faintest of creaks; unfortunately this was enough to jar Mr Soucek into wakefulness and Spike was obliged to cross the distance to the bed in the few seconds before the human had settled into full consciousness. He straddled the Watcher with a snarl, trapping the man's hands by his sides and cutting off the astounded Czech expletives by applying one firm hand to the warm throat and squeezing. Hard. Alternating bars of moonlight and shadow cast by the blinds crosshatched the bed, severing their tangled bodies into stripes. Petr Soucek's bulging eyes stared helplessly up at the vampire from a colourless island of terrified skin, separated from the silent scream of his gaping mouth by a slice of darkness that neatly erased the plump jowls and twice-broken nose.

Spike leaned forward until his unrising chest rested on the man's upper body and his goat-yellow eyes smiled at the Watcher from only a few inches away. He pressed a friendly kiss onto the unseen nose and then nipped off the tip with a clean little snap. The Watcher jerked beneath him in sudden pain and Spike rocked with him, stroking the short grey hair with his free hand and lapping idly at the wound while the man whimpered with shock.

"There, there, mate, no need to make a scene," Spike said pleasantly in Czech. "You just keep nice and quiet and I won't bite anything else. I'm sure you don't want to be the Czech Republic's answer to John Wayne Bobbit, now, do you?"

After a moment he released his grip on the man's jugular and felt the lungs inflate at once. Spike laid a warning finger firmly over the parted lips and was pleased to find Soucek didn't shout or scream after all.

"Good lad! Now, on to business. The secret writings of John Dee and Thomas Kelley - just hand them over and I'll be on my merry way."

There was an expectant pause and when the Watcher remained stubbornly silent Spike sighed.

"Come on, mate, Dee and Kelly? Mysteries revealed to them by Uriel and Madimi? Written around 1585, I think she said; brimming with brimstone and bedknobs and broomsticks, all that kind of thing. You know the one I mean."

Petr Soucek continued to bleed quietly and uncommunicatively. They were all just bloody well determined to make his life more difficult, as if he didn't already have enough to worry about. Bastards.

"Fine then. We'll do it the hard way."