Unacceptable Losses

Before Spike could knock, the door to Xander’s apartment flew open and a of chilled wind swirled around the vampire, pulling him into the main room.

“Bloody hell, mate,” Spike staggered against the wall and fought to stay upright. Even as he struggled against the indoor cyclone, his senses roared to life searching for any sign of Xander in the flat.

“Where is he?” Spike growled into the empty air. In response, Dennis’s incorporeal presence urged the vampire toward the table where the open phone book and small white card lay.

Spike picked up the elegant card and read the name of the club. He sighed in frustration and kneaded the tensed muscles at the back of his neck. At least now he knew exactly where Xander had gotten the marks on his back.

“This what got yer knickers in a twist?” He gestured with the card. “Not like I want him going there, but…” Cold air dragged harshly against his skin, and he startled as the clock on the kitchen wall came flying toward him. Reflex had him flinching out of the way, letting the clock smash against the wall behind him as the atmosphere in the apartment abruptly stilled. He stared at the shattered clock then glanced back at the card in his hand, working out what had Dennis so upset.

“He’s been gone longer than he said he would, hasn’t he.” Spike didn’t need the gentle tinkling of the wind chimes to confirm his assessment. “Right then. Guess I’ll just have to pay the Chambre de Sade a little visit.” He strode out the door, letting Dennis close it behind him. Muttering curses at idiot humans who had no sense of self-preservation, he shoved the key in the ignition and directed the bike toward the West Hollywood address on the business card shoved deep in his back pocket.

*******************

Spike hung his head and tried to gather his thoughts before entering the Hyperion. His trip to the Chambre de Sade had been frustrating on a level that had him regretting the soul that prevented him from simply removing spines until someone gave him what he wanted. This time what he wanted was Xander, and the sodding bint at the desk could tell him nothing more than that Mr. Harris had left, apparently without sighing out or picking up his street clothes from his locker. Now he had to tell Dawn that he had managed to lose the man she had entrusted into his care. Sure, he snarked, that was what had him struggling to keep from vamping out in anger and distress, that Dawn would be upset. Had nothing to do with his failure to take care of another Scooby whom he was rapidly coming to care for in a distinctly not-just-friends kinda way. He squared his shoulders and walked into the center of an all too familiar argument.

“Angel, it’s going to take all of us going to make this work. You can’t handle it on your own.” A growl answered the disdain in Dawn’s assertion.

“You know she’s right, so shut up and deal.” Faith shrugged off the glare directed her way.

“I take it we have a plan,” Spike smirked at the elder vampire in a standoff against the two women.

“Spike!” Dawn’s gaze turned warm then faltered as she realized he was alone. “Did you talk to Xander? Isn’t he coming?” She frowned. “Did you tell him he couldn’t come?”

“He wasn’t there.” Spike evaded her eyes.

“Wasn’t there?” Her voice reflected confusion more than concern.

Spike pulled the card from his back pocket and fingered it, unwilling to share where Xander went, but needing more information on the place than a quick web search would yield for him.

“Spike?”

He looked up to see Dawn in front of him, worry starting to cloud her features. Shoving the card at her, he stepped around her, rummaging for a cigarette.

“This is where he went. Only they don’t know what happened to him. I picked up a scent trail ‘round back of the place, but only as far as the parking lot.”

“Chambre de Sade?” Incredulity colored her voice as a blush colored her cheeks.

Angel snorted, but refrained from saying anything in the face of the cold glare from his childe.

“You think somebody took him?” Faith asked.

“Dunno, but Dennis seemed to think he meant to be back hours ago.” Despite disapproving stares, he drew deeply on the cigarette and blew out smoke in a huff.

“People, we have a ritual to stop, or have you all forgotten?”

“Angel, if Xander’s missing, we can’t do nothing!” Dawn protested.

“Somehow his well-being doesn’t take priority for me right now when there’s a warlock making deals with a demon for enough power to take over the city.” Angel began rummaging through the weapons cupboard, pulling out his favorite broadsword.

Dawn shot a pleading glance at Faith, who nodded and joined Angel in selecting weapons. Neither woman had any illusions about being able to convince Angel to care about Xander, but fortunately they didn’t need his cooperation to get started on the research.

Illyria, returned to her blue leather look, stepped into the lobby from Angel’s office.

“You have returned.” She appraised Spike coolly. “You will accompany me and the other half-breed to prepare.”

Spike lifted an eyebrow and continued to smoke, focusing on the familiar ritual in an effort to still his anxious concerns for the missing Scooby.

“Spike, I’ll explain it all to you later, but basically you and Angel are going in as masters of the house of Aurelius, and, er, Illyria’s pets.” Spike’s jaw clenched as he struggled to keep it from dropping. Dawn hurried on. “Havisham has this whole Master/Slave art auction going on. It’s ‘invitation only’ but between Illyria and your guys’ reputations, you should be able to get in even without one ‘cause of the prestige it would bring him to have you buy from him. So you, um, have to kinda look the part. And while you guys are getting ready, I’ll look up the whole Chambre de Sade thing so we can save the city and find Xander at the same time.” Her eyes pleaded with Spike not to argue. They didn’t have a better plan, and despite her fury with Angel, she had to admit that he was right about needing to stop Havisham from contacting Riveda.

“Chambre de Sade belongs to the Havisham human.” Illyria spoke dismissively. “It is of no consequence.”

Spike moved quickly to stand before the ex-god, clearly wanting to shake the information from her but recalling that their violent encounters didn’t generally end well for him. “What do you know about that place?”

“The Burkle persona found it listed among his holdings.”

“Spike, do you think Xander found something out? He wouldn’t have gone off to face Havisham without backup, right?” Dawn clearly remembered the many times that Xander had suicidally done just that over the last year, but usually he chose straight-forward vampire or demon encounters rather than complex rituals and magic users.

Spike sighed as he was reminded of Xander’s demon-magnet status. “No, ‘Bit. He prolly managed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Bloody git seems to have a gift for that.”

Faith sauntered over, axe resting on her shoulder. “Looks like going after Havisham will be the best way to find out what happened to Xand as well. Works out good for us, for once. Better get a move on, Blondie. You and Angel need to get into character.”

Spike flipped her two fingers as he followed Illyria and Angel upstairs to prepare themselves to talk their way into Havisham’s A-list art auction.

*********************

Xander struggled to resist the hands stroking his leather-clad chest, but somehow the instructions his brain tossed out didn’t make it to his muscles. That should ratchet up the panic, but somehow his brain was just as detached from itself as it was from his arms and legs. The blindfold around his eyes kept him from seeing, but he had no doubt that he had long since left the Chambre de Sade, and what the hell happened to the guarantee of ‘safe, sane, and consensual’ services that the glossy brochure had promised??

“Yes, he is all you promised. He will round out the collection quite well.”

“He goes with Brogan, right?” A second voice growled out. Brogan? Xander’s brain tried to connect to the name, but it slipped away along the lazy river of non-thoughts.

“Yes,” the first voice caressed him in time with the fingers that danced over his face. “On the kneeling post. And attach his collar to the post. I want this one’s face to show.” The hand slid down Xander’s chest to cup his cock, still bound in its stainless steel ring. “Mmmm, you will look lovely, boy, arms pulled back behind you, knees spread with this lovely bit on display.” The hand slid around to caress his ass. “Too bad I already have several rack exhibits, otherwise you would present a gorgeous picture with your arms trussed up and a glorious view to behold front or back.” The hand slapped his ass, but the vague feeling of disgusted violation slid away before he could attach any anger to it. “Can’t have the critics thinking I’m derivative of my own work.”

A grunt came from the second voice as Xander felt himself hoisted and suddenly moving, but even as he made note of that, he recognized that he felt less and less the pressure of any actual hands holding him, and then that worrisome thought melted away into a comfortable quiet static.

**************

Spike stifled yet another growl as he took in the mingling crowd of humans and demons dressed in what passed as finery for the given species. Waiting for the violence to begin grated on his nerves, nerves still on edge from not knowing where Xander was or what condition he might be in. He made sure to keep pace just behind and to the left of Illyria as she strode through the crowd. Angel stood just behind and to her right. Her pet vampires.

Their entry had been easier than anticipated thanks to Illyria’s arrogant assertion that a god-king would be an unfortunate enemy and formidable friend. Of course, a quick review of the Aurelian accounts hadn’t hurt their chances either. Havisham’s business manager had all but salivated at the thought of that money upping the auction prices, and he dismissed security’s concerns regarding the vampires’ reputations as Champions for the Powers That Be. After all, they had clearly been tamed by the blue figure who had snapped the neck of one of the gate guards in order to announce their presence, for neither vampire raised an eyebrow at the violence.

“Mmmm, love the leather.” A perfectly manicured hand slid down Spike’s spine, lingering on his ass. The tight black leather pants and harness left nothing to the imagination, and while he hadn’t put up the protests that Angel had at the ensemble, he didn’t consider it an invitation for unsolicited groping. He growled, but before he could say anything, Illyria had grasped the woman’s arm with one hand while cuffing the back of his head harshly in response to the growl.

“The vampire belongs to me. Touch him again, and I will take your arm.” She dropped the woman’s wrist. She turned and continued toward the main ballroom where the auction was to be held. Angel smirked at his Childe as they dutifully followed. Until they got the signal from Faith and Dawn indicating that the primary security system had been taken down, they were forced to play their roles.

Spike trampled down the worry over the women’s progress, recognizing that this was the best means of getting them all inside the mansion in order to stop the ritual, provided that they could determine where Havisham kept all the sacrifices. Riveda required souls, and the man had to have people held somewhere on the grounds as he played host to this ridiculous auction. Deeper than the worry about Faith and Dawn, however, he buried the feeling of helplessness over Xander’s disappearance. Research on Chambre de Sade had yielded nothing beyond the bare fact that Havisham owned the place. No prior disappearances or paranormal happenings seemed to be related to the club, and even he had to admit that stopping the Riveda ritual took immediate precedence over tracking down Xander. At the same time, Dawn’s suggestion that the two endeavors could be undertaken simultaneously only unsettled him more as Xander’s presence at Havisham Manor more likely than not would mean that he numbered among the sacrifices.

“So where are these bloody ‘objets d’art’ anyway?” he spoke sotto voce to Angel as his golden eyes darted around the room. Angel shrugged in response, a gesture calculated to irritate Spike to no end. Fortunately, they reached the entrance to the main auction room at that moment, effectively silencing any comment he would have made. The tuxedoed lackey at the door offered Illyria a catalog and auction paddle with a deferent nod that the former god-king ignored. She continued into the room, leaving the befuddled man to offer the catalogue and paddle to Spike who flashed a bit of fang as he accepted, enjoying the man’s sudden fear.

Two steps into the room, and Spike’s question about the items to be auctioned was answered. All along the outside edges of the large chamber stood life-size statues of humans and demons in various dungeon scenes. The figures were in differing states of dress and undress as they portrayed masters and slaves complete with implements ranging from simple St. Andrew’s crosses to complex bondage racks. Paddles, floggers, knives, and other implements of torture peppered the scenes. Spike glanced at Angel and cocked an eyebrow. Clearly they weren’t here to bid on Monets tonight. He drifted closer to one of the pairs in which a G’forlak demon lay prone at the feet of a human woman with a bullwhip threaded through her hands. He narrowed his eyes and sniffed discretely, expecting to scent some kind of polymer. Instead he found his stomach roiling as he breathed in pure human scent.

“Bloody hell,” he swore quietly. He looked over at Angel and saw a look of disgust that must have mirrored his own. The figures gave off no heartbeat or warmth, but there was no mistaking the scent of human skin.

He turned to the catalogue in his hand and quickly skimmed through the introduction to the collection. One of a kind…created from actual demons and humans… permanent mystical stasis…guaranteed to last without degradation indefinitely… Nausea swelled up.

“Looks like we’ve found Havisham’s stash.” Angel peered at the figures that stood around the room.

“What d’ya suppose he’s done with the souls?” Spike paled, “’less they’re still trapped inside.” He shuddered at the thought of being paralyzed and put on permanent display as a sex slave in some rich git’s play room even as his demon heartily approved of some of the activities portrayed.

Angel shook his head, clearly at a loss for words. Expecting to find a mass sacrifice was one thing, but this took twisted to a whole new level.

“We have to find them to stop the ritual. If he’s holding them somewhere else, destroying the statues won’t make a difference.”

“Riveda relishes innovation. The Havisham human has done well.” Illyria spoke blandly. “He is a worthy supplicant.”

“Eh, Blue, we’re still looking to stop this thing. No rooting for the other team.”

Illyria shot him a withering glance. “No human can handle the power of Riveda. It will destroy him, and I do not wish to see the unclaimed power of the demon loosed in this world.”

Spike rolled his eyes and took that as meaning the plan to stop the ritual was still on, Illyria’s approval of Havisham’s creative sacrifice aside. He ordered his skin to stop crawling as he turned from the enticing human scent that surrounded the statue and focused instead on the images in the glossy pages of the auction catalogue. At least the images in the book could remain just that, images. He flipped through the pages while Illyria led them toward seats in one of the rear rows of seats.

“Welcome friends new and old to Havisham Manor. Tonight you participate in a one of a kind auction.” The auctioneer spoke from a podium at the front of the room as the milling crowd began to settle into seats in muted yet eager anticipation. The pheromones that swirled about the room caused both vampires to shift uncomfortably in their seats. Spike continued to flip quickly through the pages of the catalogue, trying to calculate how long the auction would go on. The ritual had to take place at midnight, and they had only a little over an hour until then.

Suddenly his rapid progress through the pages came to a halt as a figure caught his attention. His let out a quiet gasp that garnered Angel’s attention.

“What’s the matter with you,” he hissed.

Spike wordlessly handed the catalogue over, pointing to the picture of Xander bound to a slave post with a leather-masked man looming over him.

“Fuck.” Angel spoke succinctly.