Βι¶ΉΤΌΕΔ

The customs representative's body spilled from the hold of the cargo plane and tumbled onto the airport tarmac like a load of sodden laundry.

"That's what I call customer service," Spike said as he peered out from the darkness of the airplane's belly. "There wasn't even supposed to be a meal on this flight."

Drusilla joined him and sluggishly wiped blood from the corner of her mouth. She looked down at the body haphazardly splayed on the runway below. "Dusty old scrolls, some broken pottery, perhaps even a mummy or two: but he wasn't expecting to find us. I think we scared the poor dear half to death," she said. She closed her eyes and swayed in the faint California breeze. "The fear that spiced his blood sings inside me. The melody burns my lips."

She leaned her head against his shoulder. "I'm very tired from the trip, my Spike. I think I'd like to take a little nap."

Spike took her into his arms and leapt down to the tarmac. Gently, he placed her back on her feet. "Just as soon as our ride arrives, we'll get you someplace where you can have a lie down. Until then, lean on me, that's a girl."