The Sick Rose
by Pandarus

9. Fair exchange

In spite of the lateness he could see a couple of lights on in the apartment, which was promising. He knocked and waited, wondering what on earth he could offer in exchange for help. It was all so much easier when you could simply keep on breaking things until you got what you wanted.

No answer. He knocked again. After a little while he was gratified to hear the grate of bolts being drawn and keys creaking in locks. Spike strove to look trustworthy and harmless. He was most surprised to find himself facing a young woman instead of the elderly Jewish gentleman he had been led to expect. She fixed him with a thoroughly forbidding glare.

"Good evening," said Spike in impeccable Czech. "I'm sorry to disturb you at this hour, but I need to speak to Isaac on a very urgent matter."

The woman looked him up and down with one eyebrow arched, and then she smiled in a decidedly unfriendly fashion. She replied in English.

"And what would possess me to invite William the Bloody into this house?"

Bugger. He thought fast.

"You know what I am. Fair enough. But I need Isaac's help and I'll pay whatever he wants in return. And whatever security he wants, I'll give it. Anything. Anything at all. No tricks, no strings."

She eyed him appraisingly for a long moment and he wondered just who the bloody hell she was. Her crisp voice proclaimed class and privilege as clearly as the understated hair cut and the pink earlobes studded with pearls. Spike really wasn't taking to her one little bit.

"Fine words, Master William," she said, "But I'm more impressed by fine deeds. I take it you want Isaac to stop two and two from adding up to four and save your lover? Oh, don't look so surprised. They've been combing the town for her these past three days. You're just lucky that she's so thoroughly dotty; it's only the fractured mind that's prevented them from getting hold of her. Well, that and her own half-baked powers. Of course it helps that you don't have souls; being neither fish nor fowl, it's trickier to pin you down with a spell. They must have found something of hers, though - I heard a rumour about a photograph, but that you wouldn't possibly be so stupid as to - ah. You did. Well, that was rather foolish, wasn't it?"

"And just who the hell are you supposed to be?" he asked belligerently.

"Gwendolyn Post. Mrs." She smiled. "My friends call me Gwen. But you can call me Mrs Post." And that, it appeared, was that.

"Well, Gwenny, I actually wanted to talk to the man of the house. Where is old Isaac, anyway?"

"He's a trifle...indisposed...at present." Her smile widened, very much like the cat who'd had not only got the cream but also a nice plump canary. Followed by a plate of pate de fois gras and a whole roast goose with all the trimmings. "Suffice it to say that Mr Goldstein and I are having a slight difference of opinion over things that need not concern you. In spite of which he is very much in the land of the living and shall remain so for the foreseeable future. And no, you are not welcome in this house."

She hooked her index finger inside the collar of her neatly buttoned blouse and tugged at it with every appearance of casualness. He watched the slender fingertip travel across her unmarked neck and growled very softly. Spike found himself torn between carnal impulses. He waited.

"It seems to me that we can do business here, Master William. You want the spell lifted from your mad mistress. I can arrange that. Meanwhile all I want is one tiny little book. Stealing it may be a little tricky, but is well within your capabilities and can only serve to enhance your reputation; whereas it would damage mine irreparably."

That was more like it.

"And why, exactly, should I trust a low-rent version of Mrs Peel?" he asked, mimicking her mellifluous tones. Saw her brows contract angrily and felt a germ of satisfaction. Got her, the smug cow. "What's to say you aren't just some posh totty he picked up for a bit of slap and tickle? No, I'd really rather talk to Mr Goldstein if it's all the same with you, dear."

"Well that is simply too bad, because Isaac isn't going to be talking to anyone for a while. I can't think of any reason why you should trust me, Master Will, but that really isn't my concern. I am all you've got and all you're likely to get - but if my offer doesn't interest you, that's perfectly fine by me." She made to close the door and he reached out automatically to stop her, his hand slamming into the invisible barrier. She paused and looked down at him with a frosty little smile. Spike very earnestly hoped that an opportunity would arise to teach Mrs Gwendolyn Post a little more respect for vampires, but for the moment she seemed to be holding all the cards. Bitch.

"OK, love, keep your hair on. You win. Fix my girl up and I'll go and get this book quick as a flash." She laughed. Well, he hadn't really expected her to go along with it, but it was worth a try. He realised then who it was she reminded him of, for all the surface differences: Darla. Not in appearance or colouring or accent or class, but in something more quintessential than that; something calculating and fearless and casually cruel.

"Bring me the book and then I'll perform the spell. That is my offer. Take it or leave it."

Spike sighed.

"Where's this book, then?"