The Grundy Affair by Winsomeone

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Chapter 2

Although difficult to ascertain at this juncture, it is generally accepted statistically that the ratio of mature males to mature females within the current Grundy population is proportionately equal throughout the world.
- The Compete Manual of Domestic Demon Care
2001 Edition
Chapter 3- The Grundy


Noise from the kennel was incredible. Breaking through the door, they had managed to set off all the caged beasts. Their leader gestured toward the habitats. “Get out there and shut them up.” Two men slipped through the door.

“Where is it?” The soldier’s eyes glittered. “Tell me what you did with it.” He advanced toward her.

The elderly breeder held her head high and said nothing.

He grabbed her, pulling her close to his chest. Twisting her arm painfully behind her back, he whispered in her ear. “I must have the information.”

She continued to hold her head up and tried to keep her voice steady. “I refuse to tell you anything.”

Tightening his grasp, she heard his voice harden. “You can tell me now and save yourself a lot of pain or we can take all night. Either way, you will tell me.” He wrenched her arm harder.

She managed to gasp through the pain. “No.”

“One last chance old woman. What did you do with it?”

The kennel had become silent. The women sent a quick prayer to the Goddess for all the death and destruction occurring on her watch. She felt her forearm snap. The pain was incredible and she felt herself about to pass out.

The realization that she would not be able to hold out crossed her mind and she knew that she would have to give them something. Hopefully the Watcher had moved quickly and it would turn out to be a dead end. Saying another prayer, this time for his expediency, the elderly woman dropped her head. “I left it at a shop in Sunnydale called The Magic Box.”

“When and where is it going from there?”

“I don’t know anything more, I swear.”

“Then you’re no longer of any value.” Pulling out a bowie knife, he plunged it deeply into her heart and the body slumped against him. Stepping aside, he allowed it to drop to the concrete floor.

Wiping the blade of his knife, he glanced around the breeding facility one last time. It hadn’t been a wasted trip. They now had a trail to follow.

He turned to the soldier on his right. “Torch the buildings.”

****

“There, there, Empress.” Spike crooned softly, calming the jittery demon after the fast walk through the sewers and the cemetery. The Slayer waited until they’d arrived safely at the crypt, then dumped the supplies in Spike’s chair and muttered something about changing clothes before patrol. She’d hurriedly left, leaving him and the young Grundy alone.

That was fine with Spike. He pulled various supplies out of the grocery bag and took a brief inventory, before placing everything within a hidden shelf on the lower level of the crypt.

Spike had reasoned on the silent walk back to Restfield- The Slayer carry on a normal conversation? That’ll happen when hell freezes over- that the less obvious he was with the animal and its possessions, the fewer demons would realize he harbored something valuable. All it would take was one nosy parker and he and the Slayer would have a free-for-all on their hands. Luckily the cemetery had been quiet recently, with the Slayer patrolling frequently and Spike doing kills himself when he was bored.

He made a mental note to see Clem later tonight and give him a story about going out of town for awhile. Spike didn’t want his best friend dropping by unannounced. As much as he liked the guy, he wasn’t one for keeping secrets.

Glancing over at the small sleeping demon curled up in the middle of his bed, Spike chuckled. He’d noticed the ravaged condition of the Magic Box immediately. She’s right knackered after such a busy day trashin’ the shop. Anyanka and Rupert aren’t very good at the surrogate parenting thing, but no surprise there, after all we’re talkin’ about an ex-vengeance demon and a bloody Watcher.

Filling a small stainless steel bowl he’d found among the Grundy’s possessions with clean water from the shower pipe, Spike placed it safely out of harms way on the other side of his four poster bed. The rest might be horrible at taking care of things, but he was very good at it. After all, he had a century of experience to fall back on.

Spike had refused to let either the Watcher or the Slayer see his true feelings about the Grundy, pretending he’d resigned himself to doing this for money. He definitely needed the money, but Spike hadn’t wanted them to tumble to how much he really wanted to take care of the little demon. Lonely so much of the time lately, he looked forward to having something alive in the crypt, if only for a few days. Having the Slayer around to argue with would be an added bonus and if he was very lucky something big and nasty would come sniffing around, too curious for its own good.

Reaching in the bag again, he pulled out a long heavy chain and a studded leather collar. He ran a finger down the strong links and chuckled. It seemed this would be a lot like taking care of his crazy ex.

Next out was a leather muzzle. He envisioned the Slayer wrestling with the feisty little demon, trying to force the muzzle over her snout. Buffy was clueless on how to take care of something like the little Grundy.

If she can’t pummel something into submission, the Slayer’s at a complete loss.

Picking up the sack of puppy chow, he read the directions carefully before pouring some in a second bowl. Then reading the label on the jar, he dropped in the correct amount of vitamins and placed the bow of food next to its companion. Listening to the deep even breathing of the small demon, he smiled in anticipation. He couldn’t wait to take her for a walk later when the cemetery quieted for the night.

Spike had always been fond of animals. When he’d been alive, William had owned several dogs and after Dru turned him and they’d finally left the company of Angelus and Darla, he’d tried to keep an occasional pet. He’d sometimes bring home a dog or two (usually after he’d eaten their owners), but his Sire would inevitably grow bored, kill and eat them. Spike had finally given up and started bringing home birds instead. At least they’d survive until Dru forgot to feed them.

He pulled the last couple items out of the bag. The first was a long thick bone from a species Spike didn’t recognize. Looking at the deep tooth indentions on one end, he placed it on the floor where a teething Grundy would find it right away. Spike didn’t fancy the young demon ruining the few pieces of decent furniture he owned.

Pulling out a short bristled brush, he contemplated his new situation. He couldn’t screw this up; it afforded the chance to get on the Slayer and her Watcher’s good side. Maybe they would come up with some more paying jobs, or at least let him work off some steam in the cemeteries with the Slayer. Spike relished the idea of fighting next to the blonde beauty regularly. When the Slayer fought, she was deadly poetry.

Grabbing a mug of blood from his little portable fridge, Spike sat down in his easy chair to wait for Buffy to return from patrol.

****

Anya straightened up and rubbed the small of her back. She couldn’t wait to go home so Xander could be recruited to give her a back rub. One of the benefits of having a boy friend with strong construction- guy muscles was his ability to give great massages.

She looked around the front of the Magic Box with a critical eye. Although not as clean as she and Giles preferred, it at least it no longer looked like the aftermath of the climatic battle in a war movie. Unfortunately during her cleaning binge she hadn’t found Giles’ missing car keys. The Watcher had discovered they were missing when he’d tried to leave awhile ago. Luckily he always left a duplicate set in the register.

Shaking her head at her partner’s absentmindedness and then at men in general, Anya walked over to the counter and set the broken fertility Goddess alongside the pile of broken or partially eaten stock. Anya could almost swear some things were missing entirely, but she’d know soon enough.

She planned to spend the majority of tomorrow writing up an inventory to submit to the Watcher’s Council. They should pay to replace all the things the little demon had removed permanently from the sales floor. After all the lost profits had only occurred because of their Grundy.

Anya made a mental note to include the cost of having the floor redone. Little running demon nails had wreaked havoc on the wood finish. She’d probably have to argue that point with Giles. He had a habit of bowing to the Council more often than he should. She supposed she should have mentioned it before he left for the night, while the mess was still fresh in his mind.

Oh well, she’d just have to get him to toughen up when he spoke to that Travers man. Still deciding exactly how to approach the problem of Giles and his inability to stand up for them, Anya turned toward the training room. She only had a few seconds to notice the dark clothed stranger standing silently in the deepening shadows before he knocked her unconscious.

Stepping across the woman’s prone body and over to the front window, the man gestured for the others to step inside. They began a rapid search of the building.

*****

Wiping her gritty hands on the butt of her oldest pair of jeans, Buffy turned toward Restfield Cemetery and mentally counted the tally. She’d dusted six vamps and killed two demons. Not bad at all, even though she knew better than to corner a female Rennich demon without any escape route and had done it anyway.

Wincing at the cut on her thigh, deep enough to affect even her for the next few hours, Buffy fingered the diagonal tear in her jeans. Stupid demon claws. Why do they have to be so darn ragged? Sunnydale should enact a law or something that all Rennich demons have to have regular manicures.

Wiping her hands one final time, she blew off any more concern for the frayed jeans. After all, she’d worn them in the first place with the idea that Monster Mutt wouldn’t be able to shed demon fur all over her brand new True Religion jeans, so everything had worked out after all, except now she was running around town in ripped, out of style jeans.

Well, not running. More like limping around town, but still she couldn’t go home and change, because now she had to watch Demento Dog while Spike went off to pay his shady friends the money he owed, probably from losing at some stupid poker game. I’ll bet he owes Willy money too, that vamp drinks like a fish. Not some little goldfish either. More like a whale or something. The mental image of a humpback with bleached blond hair, cigarette dangling from its mouth while it breached the water made her giggle.

Nah, Spike’s not really Free Willy material. Charlie the Tuna would be more like it. While having fun categorizing him as the cartoon mascot, Buffy slowly made her way toward Spike’s part of the cemetery. The quicker the vamp ran his errand, the quicker she could go home, grab a shower and call Willow. She needed to catch up on Bronze gossip, along with offering an explanation to her best friend on why she’d bailed earlier.

Limping up to Spike’s crypt, she opened the door. Before she could call out, the vampire appeared in front of her. “Shhhh Slayer. The little beastie is sleepin’. If you want to make this easy on yourself, you’ll keep the noise down.”

Nodding that she understood, Buffy tiptoed over and dropped into Spike’s easy chair, trying not to aggravate her injury. The television was tuned to an old black and white movie with the volume on low.

“Go. Hurry back. I want to go home.”

Spike frowned at the Slayer’s obvious limp and ripped pants, but didn’t comment, instead he nodded briskly. “I won’t be too long.”

He slipped out leaving Buffy staring at the television. It was only a couple moments before she realized the movie wasn’t really old at all; the television was an ancient black and white model. God, Spike doesn’t even have color, this TV is nearly as ancient as he is. She stared at the television again. And yet he’s got cable?

Not ready to deconstruct that thought, she squirmed, trying to find a comfortable spot for her sore leg among the sprung coils. This just keeps getting better and better. Her eyelid twitched again as she slid lower in the old chair and sighed.

Hurry back you stupid vampire.

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