He senses her approach with time to spare. This is his territory after all and when it's invaded by the only creature who preys on his kind, he knows.
He flings a cloth over the jigsaw, careful not to disturb that tricky bit of sky he's been working on all morning. All his jigsaws have blue sky in them, somewhere. The crosswords and the solitaire go into a chest and he throws some T shirts on top.
When the Slayer's foot kicks in the door, the Big Bad's sitting on his coffin lid, black nail varnish brush poised, image intact.
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