She was a demanding little minx, straight and to the point. He could respect that about her even if it was about all the respect he would show her before the night was done. "You ask what I want," he said with the slightest hint of malice lacing his words, "That is quite simple dear little Wyonna, I want your soul. There is a price for doing business of this kind and there is only one thing that will suffice as payment." There it was, the price of a miracle was damnation itself, but how little she knew what other sordid payments she would make if she agreed to his terms. After all, a deal had to be sealed to make it official and Spencer had a very special way of signing them on the dotted line.<br/><br/>He waited for her to take in what he had just asked for. She was not like many of his clients who jumped at his terms like giddy little rabbits, instead he could see that she was mulling it over in her own mind. He stood up from the couch and paced patiently back and forth for a number of minutes taking the occasional drink from his flask. "While I appreciate the need for you to think on our contract I must ask you to hurry up and make a decision. I'm a very busy man and I don't have forever."<br/><br/>This of course was a lie, for he had all the time in the world to sit and wait on her. However, it was a common tactic of his to make the client feel a sense of urgency to get those that hesitated to sign ever so much quicker. If they thought he might just up and leave them without fulfilling their desires it made them panic and agree to the most abominable of contracts. Holding his hand out to her, beckoning her to stand before him he finally said, "So tell me Wyonna, what's it going to be? A life of utter darkness as you finally go blind, or the ability to practice your withcraft with perfect sight? The clock is ticking dear, and I need an answer..."