He walked through the alleys behind the main street; behind the refuse bins of the various and sundry shops. The stores were finally closed, and the night was quiet. Already, one of the shops had discarded a Christmas tree, naked and skeletal, dried out by the California heat. A few strands of tinsel hung on the bare branches, forlorn instead of festive. Sunnydale was no place for a living tree.

One stray shopgirl departed through the back exit. He ignored her, until he realized that there was another vampire lurking in the shadows, watching her. Before she could be attacked, he had pulled a piece off the lonely tree as an impromptu stake. The girl never knew of her danger.

Behind the Magic Box he found a treasure. Anya had thrown out a package of burba weed with the trash, probably by mistake. He didn’t really mind stealing it from her basement, but this was easier, and less likely to nag at him later. At least the pig blood would be almost palatable for a little while.

Someone had dropped a Christmas card. “Peace on Earth, good will towards men.” Only towards men, though. Not demons. Not things. It had been a month since he’d spoken to her, since she’d come to him. He’d said that he would give her space, that he wouldn’t press her, but a month without her lips on his, her flesh on his, seemed an eternity.

He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it with a wooden match, cupping the flame in his hand to keep the wind from extinguishing it. He sucked the smoke into his lungs. Some habits were so hard to break.

He walked back towards the cemetery. Alone.

The End