"Thought so," Spike noted, though with little of the satisfaction he might have felt if circumstances were different. "I've got a job for you. You're to let your little Order of Aurelius mates know that they're to gather in Sunnydale for a reunion of sorts."

The vampire playing darts chuckled deep in his chest; the sound reminded Spike of the rumbling growl of some great jungle beast. "Oh, that's rich. William the Bloody has a job for me? Or do you prefer Spike these days?"

His accent sounded more American than British, but with the length of time some vampires walked the earth, it was often impossible to tell where they came from merely from the way they spoke.

Spike grinned evilly. "It appears my reputation precedes me," he said as he toasted the man with his mug and then took another sip.

The large vampire whirled to face him. "Your reputation is shite!" he bellowed. "Pretender and fool, that is your reputation amongst the Order. The Master is no longer with us and you cannot hope to replace him. Or did you think we would forget that you tried this once before, that you killed the one he himself had anointed to follow him?""

Spike sucked back the last of his pint in one long draught. "Yeah, sorry about that," he said as he placed his empty mug on the bar. "Really awful of me." He noisily licked his lips, savouring the residue of the alcohol. "As I was saying... "

Mailik snarled. "The Order has seen your idea of leadership," he spat, "your failures in defeating the Slayer. They will never be your lackeys again."

Spike sniffed, nostrils flaring in quiet fury. "Tell you the truth, mate, if I needed lackeys I might be better served lifting up the nearest rock. That lot are about as fearsome a bunch of vampires as you'd find in a bowl o' Count Chocula."