Βι¶ΉΤΌΕΔ

Spike lay back against the feather pillow on the four-poster bed and closed his eyes. He was in the master bedroom of the estate he and the Order of Aurelius had commandeered. The blazing desert sun had risen outside but still he did not feel the pull of unconsciousness he so desperately craved. He needed to rest, to recharge his battery for what was to come many thousands of miles away in Sunnydale. He contemplated counting sheep but every time he tried that trick the poor little lambs in his imagination were attacked and eaten by snakes and tiger demons.

A high-pitched squeal followed by the sound of laughter filtered through the wall from the living room next door. His eyes snapped open and he sighed with exasperation. It would seem the Aurelius boys still hadn't finished with the house's former residents.

Spike glanced over to see if Drusilla had been awakened by the scream. But no, she lay facing him, undisturbed. As he gazed at her he was amazed at how absolutely innocent she could appear. Much like the sweet and fervently religious girl she had been when Angel had first set about driving her mad.

They had travelled for hours trying to beat the sunrise when they came upon this rather luxurious home on the outskirts of Dakhla. Spike had sent the comely Drusilla to the front door for an invitation, a method of gaining entry that had worked for their kind for millennia. Spike smiled to himself. The classics never went out of style. Drusilla had been amazing to watch, masterful, playing the role of a lost tourist to a tee. It was only a matter of minutes before she convinced the servant to invite her inside to use the phone. That was all they needed. The house was theirs.