Unacceptable Losses

Spike tuned out the auctioneer’s voice, carefully noting the placement of the security figures around the room.

“Sit still,” Angel hissed. He could feel his Childe ready to spring from his chair to bash the security guards or chase off on an attempt to rescue Xander. He wasn’t sure which would take precedence. Neither option would improve their chances of getting through the evening alive nor preventing the ritual that brought them there in the first place. “I’m sure Harris is fine.”

Spike turned an incredulous glare on his Sire. “Fine? He’s bloody trussed up like a slave and being sold off as a statue to rich sods who probably know fuck all about a real dungeon. Damn strange definition of fine, even for you.”

Before Angel could answer, the lights flickered once, then again, drawing security guards to attention and garnering an unsettled murmur from the audience.

“Looks like our man Arnold in Sacramento hasn’t quite resolved those pesky issues with the power companies,” the auctioneer joked. “Nothing to worry about, I’m sure. Now, I have 20, do I hear 25? No? Sold, for twenty thousand dollars to the gentleman in the front row.” The audience settled uneasily, but another more complete power outage brought the auction to a halt.

In the resulting confusion, the trio from AI moved swiftly to the places that they had last seen the guards. The dark presented no problems for the vampires, and Illyria seemed to move through it as easily as daylight. Fortunately, all the guards were human so they were quickly dispatched. The ex-god and vampires regrouped, dodging the auction-goers, and moved toward the auction platform. The auction hall had been described in detail in the architectural magazine that Dawn had discovered in her researching, and they had agreed that that the area behind the platform would likely give them access to wherever the souls were being held for the ritual.

Glancing back, Spike noticed a glowing ball of light beginning to grow.

“Looks like somebody’s got a spell up and going. Best get moving.” He ducked backstage, leaving Illyria and Angel to follow. Rounding a corner, he felt a tingle up his spine and went immediately into an attack stance, only managing to pull his punch at the last moment as he recognized Faith.

“Damn, Blondie, good to see you, too.” She lowered her gun.

“Dawn?” He asked.

“Right here, Spike.” Dawn appeared behind Faith, flashlight in hand. “C’mon. We found the room where the ritual’s gonna happen.”

They moved quickly through the dim halls, managing to avoid detection, despite the awareness that it was only a matter of time before Havisham’s staff managed to get the lights and alarms back up and running.

“Here.” Dawn indicated a closed and locked door. She stepped out of the way, and Illyria kicked at the door, sending it crashing inward.

An Armani-clad man looked up from a table spread with several books, candles, mortar and pestle, cauldron, and several other strange looking instruments. His brow lowered, but he did not cease his slow chanting and smooth hand gestures. Spike growled and rushed toward the chanting man only to bounce off the shield surrounding him and land sprawled at Angel’s feet.

Angel immediately offered a hand and pulled Spike to his feet. The others spread out around them, watching the ritual continue, but unable to find a way to get to Havisham.

“Guys, over there.” Dawn pointed to a massive urn set on a pedestal, the entire structure surrounded by a soft blue glow. “That could be the souls.”

“I thought we were looking for humans?” Angel protested.

“A ‘helpful’ guy we came across in security gave us an update,” Faith smirked.

“The souls have already been removed. They do it pretty much as soon as they capture people, to ‘keep the valuables safe,’” Dawn shuddered as she remembered the matter of fact way that the guard talked about the victims.

Spike’s heart clenched. Xander’s soul was in that jar. He remembered that the girls didn’t have that newest bit of information, but he refrained from telling them just yet. He moved toward the urn carefully, not wanting to go flying across the room again.

“Nepthys’ urn.” Illryia tilted her head. “Her power over the dead contains them in safety.” Her expression slid into a frown. “In my time such a minor power would be of no consequence.” The others ignored the god-king’s disdained observation.

“How do we get them out of the urn and back into the people?” Dawn asked quietly, casting a glance back at the sorcerer whose chanting had increased, but he continued to ignore them, focused on his ritual with an intent frown on his face and sweat beading on his forehead.

Angel frowned. Could the souls be put back in dead bodies held in mystical stasis? Before he could pose the question, a man came dashing into the room.

“Mr. Havisham, the guards…” A blue hand around his throat cut off the rest of his sentence and his eyes rolled wildly, taking in the intruders.

“Wait! Don’t kill him!” Dawn grabbed the arm dangling the man off the floor. Illryia loosened her hold and lowered the man so that he could rest some of his weight on his toes.

Faith pressed the gun between the man’s legs, grinning wickedly before turning to look at Dawn. “You had a question?”

Angel moved to stand in doorway, searching quickly up and down the hall for any other threats. He tried to keep an eye on the chanting Havisham as the women interrogated their prisoner, but his attention was drawn toward the tense figure of his Childe moving slowly toward the urn, a look of fear and desperation clouding his features. He had no doubt whose fate put that look on Spike’s face, and guilt squirmed through him for the ways that he had been treating Xander, knowing that throwing the man out of the hotel had opened the door for him to wander off on his own and into Havisham’s hands. Part of him attributed that capture to Harris’s demon-magnet status, but aesthetically, he had to admit that the man made a gorgeous picture trussed up and on display as a willing slave. He shook the image away and refocused on the interrogation. He could do nothing about the Spike’s increasing attachment to the missing man until after they stopped Havisham. For Spike’s sake, he only hoped that stopping the ritual would not mean losing Xander in the process.

“So smash the urn and the souls move on? To heaven or hell or wherever?” Faith confirmed conversationally as she pressed the gun deeper into the man’s groin.

“Y…Yes. The finished works are…effectively dead…no way for them…to return,” he gasped, fear rolling off him as he flicked his gaze between the women holding him and the sorcerer chanting in desperate determination.

“What about unfinished ones?” Angel growled. “How many of them are there?” Unlike Spike, he had read the description of the statues more carefully, noting that the process of creating them involved a complicated mix of magic and medicine.

Fear clamped the man’s lips closed.

“Answer the man,” Faith cocked the gun, all trace of amusement gone.

“Four, only four of them aren’t done yet!”

“Where are they?” Spike joined the conversation in full game-face, snarling. Xander had to be one of them. He couldn’t allow himself to think otherwise.

“Though there! The preparation room!”

“If they’re still alive, releasing their souls should return them to their bodies. Spike, Dawn, get in there and undo what ever Havisham has done to them. We’ll take care of the urn.” Angel directed.

“Angel,” Spike gave him a pleading glance, nodding subtly toward Dawn.

“We need Faith here, Dawn’s the better choice to help,” Angel explained sympathetically but resolutely. “Tell us as soon as you know they’re ready for us to release the souls.” He could tell that Spike wanted to prevent Dawn from seeing Xander that way, but it really couldn’t be helped, and they didn’t have time to argue.

Spike closed his eyes and nodded, recognizing the logic, but knowing that Xander would be mortified to have her find him as a sex slave.

Wordlessly, he strode toward the door that Havisham’s assistant indicated, leaving Dawn to shoot a confused glance at Angel before following.

Angel growled and punched the man dangling in Illyria’s grip, knocking him out. Illyria tossed the body, leaving the man crumpled on the floor braced up against the wall.

“Guess we were done with him,” Faith observed. “What’s up with Spike?”

“Any particular reason you chose not to aim that at his head?” Angel ignored the question and nodded toward the gun.

“Gotta threaten what’s most valued,” Faith grinned.

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

In the preparation room, Dawn stood with her hand delicately covering her mouth as she stared slack-jawed at the four tableaus. She blushed at the dungeon scenes with their incongruous IV stands attached to several of the participants. Flicking her eyes from one to another, she gasped aloud as she spotted a familiar figure. Xander sat ramrod straight with his back against the post that his leather collar was attached to with a large D-ring. His legs splayed apart on a V-shaped seat, while his arms were pulled back behind him and cuffed together behind the post. The costume left nothing to the imagination with a harness crisscrossing his chest and a leather thong allowing his cock to jut proudly in front of him.

Hearing the gasp, Spike turned her around and pointed her toward the computer station at the other end of the room.

“Need to figure out what to do to wake them up.”

“Spike, that’s…that’s Xander.”

“Please, Dawn. I know.” His troubled blue eyes met hers. “I didn’t want you to see him like this. He wouldn’t want that.”

She nodded shakily and went to the computer, clicking through the running programs to make sense of the process used to create the statues.

Spike moved quickly to Xander’s side, examining him with vampire senses. His breathing and heart rate were present, but much slower than they should be, even in sleep. He reached out to touch, but kept his fingers hovering just above the still cheek. Without making contact, he could feel the heat that still emanated from the man’s skin, and that familiar warmth gave him some hope.

“We’ll get you back, pet. I promise,” he whispered fiercely to the still figure. “Then I’m gonna kick your sodding ass,” he added. He looked around the room, and locating a lab coat hung over a chair by the desk, he quickly retrieved it and draped it over the front of Xander’s exposed form.

“Spike,” Dawn called. “I think they’re using a drug to slow down their systems.”

Spike moved over to the workstation, quickly scanning the screen then flipping through the pages scattered over the desk.

“We’ve got to remove the IV’s.”

“Is that safe?” Spike asked worriedly.

“It should be. Their bodies are trying to keep functioning. It’s the drug that’s putting them into stasis. See here? The drug slowly kills them, and then it’s the magic part that keeps them from, well, decomposing.” She looked vaguely ill as she considered that.

Spike nodded decisively and moved back toward the still figures. Seven of the eight figures were human, but only four of those had IV lines attached. He worked quickly, removing the needles and watching the blood that trickled out without being remotely attracted by its scent. Dawn continued to shuffle through the pages on the desk, making sure that there was nothing else that they needed to do.

“All done. Tell Angel.”

Dawn shot a quick glance at the worried vampire before ducking into the adjoining room to tell the others that they were ready to break the urn and release the souls inside.

Spike heard a tremendous crash that could only be the urn breaking, and a bright flash illuminated both rooms. Next to him, he heard Xander’s heart begin to pound as he gasped for breath.


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

“Nooooo!” Havisham howled as he watched the urn break. Although safe behind the shield, that same shield kept him from interfering as Illyria toppled the urn off the pedestal with a single kick.

Light flashed through the room, blinding them momentarily before all fell eerily still.

“Illyria, how quaint.”

Angel, Faith, and Dawn blinked against the spots dancing in their vision.

“Is that…” Faith asked incredulously as she rubbed her eyes.

“Riveda.” Illyria spoke derisively.

“It’s been too long.” Riveda’s orange eyes danced with mirth. Apart from the eyes, he appeared a mirror image of Rex Harrison from My Fair Lady. “And look at you now. My how the mighty have fallen.”

“Master,” Havisham breathed out worshipfully. Riveda cast him a look of disappointment.

“Excuse me just a moment, my dear,” he bobbed his head at Illyria before walking to Havisham, brushing the barrier away as he approached the kneeling figure. He rested a hand beneath the man’s chin, tilting Havisham’s head up to meet his eyes.

“Master…the souls…I had them prepared for you.”

“Yes, you did,” Riveda nodded good-naturedly. “But my good man, you no longer have them, and you no longer interest me.” As he spoke the last, he snapped Havisham’s neck, letting his body fall backward.

“Now,” Riveda dusted his hands together and turned toward the small group watching him with consternation. “Where were we?” Riveda strolled toward them.

Angel growled a warning.

“My, my, Illyria, the company you keep these days. Humans and a vampire?” He sneered. “How did you sink so low?”

“You do not belong here, minion.” Illyria spoke coldly.

“Minion?” Riveda affected an affronted stance that promptly turned vicious. “I am hardly a minion any longer. Your kind are dead and buried.” As quickly as it came, however, the enraged visage melted back into a condescending smile. “And you, the god walking around in human skin. It really is quite delicious.”

“Leave this place. Do not return.” The vampire and two humans watched the conversation, prepared for the tension to erupt into violence.

“Oh, I’ll go. After all, I have to, don’t I? Thanks to you and your reckless kind, casting demons from dimension to dimension as it pleased you.” He leaned close to Illyria as he hissed. “Know this. I will find a way to return. This little man may not have been able to give me what I need, but I have nothing but time, and I will regain the place that was taken from me in this world.”

Illyria blinked, unimpressed by the threat although the others exchanged concerned glances.

“Until then,” he mused pleasantly, “Since you have cost me quite a bit of time and effort to manifest here at all, not to mention taking my rightful offering from me, I believe I’ll take my recompense in the form of a bit of fun.” Without warning Riveda plunged his hand into Illyria’s chest. “Ah there it is,” he crowed as he yanked.

Before Angel or Faith could react, Riveda stepped back to watch Illyria’s countenance shimmer into Fred’s pale features.

Riveda sighed happily. “It’s good to be me. Have fun, my dear.” With that he winked out of existence leaving behind a hint of sulfur and English Leather.

“Angel?” Fred swayed uncertainly. Angel reached out to steady her but turned that into an embrace as she fell against him.

She looked up at him and blinked. “Handsome man. Saved me from the monsters.” She grinned weakly before fainting.