There's blood scent in the air now, some of it his, and Spike wishes he had time for a proper meal -- unlike Angel, he can't see the harm in eating what you're going to kill regardless. It's bloody well conservationist, innit? Except that in this case it's likely drugged with something odorless, tasteless and nasty to vampires -- it's what he would do himself.

Any road someone's coming through the door who looks like he might be a step up from GoonTemps. That's a sodding expensive suit, and some of the blood scent is coming from it, along with chalk dust and hot wax.

"Fucking magician," he says, half a head's up to the rest of the team and half just commentary, and throws a handy rolling chair at the bloke.