The Artifact: Chapter Three
Part One here.
I get the feeling that some people got the mistaken impression that the last chapter didn't end on a cliffhanger. My bad.
*********************
Chapter Three: Blocked
“Buffy,” Giles said, “Take Spike’s hand.”
Buffy knocked drinks and decanter off the little table as she grabbed for Spike, feeling Giles’ grip on her arm at the same time.
The madam said something, touched a stone on her necklace, and Buffy ran right into an invisible surface blocking Spike. It felt like glass. She hit it, painfully, but there was no sound.
Spike looked at her with raw desperation, inches away and untouchable.
“Well,” said the madam, “I had hoped to be civil about this. I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you both to leave. I reject your claim. Take it up with the courts.” She tossed the stone tablet onto the table.
Buffy and Giles found themselves ushered into the square by the deceptively muscular and strong pretty boys of the brothel.
After a long, awkward moment of staring at the door they’d just been pushed out of, Giles cleared his throat. “Yes, I should have seen that coming. Master artificers would have some protection against magic.”
“Ya think?” Buffy turned in place. “What do we do? Where’s this magister person? Do we even, have, like, rights?”
Giles was still straightening his disheveled jacket. “As much as it pains me to lose to that woman, we might have to give up on getting him back. At least he can do no harm here.” Giles frowned. “I don’t think.”
“Giles, you didn’t see the look he gave me.”
“What sort of look?”
“Like he’d chop off his arms to get out of there, and not care how sharp the knife was.” Buffy turned and marched across the square. There was the brothel, the temple - one of the other two big, impressive buildings had to be City Hall. She headed toward the biggest. “Come on, let’s get magistering.”
***
Ten bloody YEARS. He’d given up hope, and then there they were - just as he’d last seen them, though with a hint of some dark, burnt smell that he presumed was successful apocalypse aversion.
Ten bloody years.
Spike stared at the space where Buffy had been. He felt the barrier, the familiar curl of magic around his wrists and knew the slightest struggle would be painfully countered.
He’d cried out. He’d made eye contact without permission. He’d dare look unhappy in the receiving room.
Oh, bugger. He struggled anyway.
Mistress Wrella glared at him. He lowered his gaze, but not fast enough.
Her shadow fell on him. “Was that proper behavior?” she asked.
I don’t know, he wanted to say, is chaining me up and making me your fuck-puppet proper behavior, your holiness? “No, Mistress. I’m sorry. It was… my emotions got the better of me.”
The slap didn’t sting; it was the humiliation of taking it that burned.
Ten years, and seeing Buffy erased every second. He had to clench his arms to keep them still.
“It’s a pity I don’t dare take you off duty for punishment. It’s only a matter of weeks before the magister takes you away. That claim is valid. Damn it. Julla!”
Spike flinched despite himself at the anger in her voice, and hated himself for the flinch. A rustle of silks and jewels announced the arrival of the booking mistress. “Yes, Mistress Wrella?”
“I want this vampire ridden into the ground. No rest time. Rent him dirty if you have to. We need to earn as much as possible from his flesh this week.”
Oh thanks for the no punishment, Spike thought.
Wrella grasped his chin and turned him to face her. Her lips tightened at his expression. He was trying for blank, but obviously not succeeding.
You look ugly, Mistress, with your lips twisted like that.
“What a pity,” she said, “I won’t be able to have my regular enjoyment of you. But make no mistake - we prepared for this day from the very beginning. You WILL return to us.”
Spike’s smile fell just as his mistress’ grew. She kissed his unresisting lips. “And when you come back, you will come back begging to stay.”
Continued >>
I get the feeling that some people got the mistaken impression that the last chapter didn't end on a cliffhanger. My bad.
*********************
Chapter Three: Blocked
“Buffy,” Giles said, “Take Spike’s hand.”
Buffy knocked drinks and decanter off the little table as she grabbed for Spike, feeling Giles’ grip on her arm at the same time.
The madam said something, touched a stone on her necklace, and Buffy ran right into an invisible surface blocking Spike. It felt like glass. She hit it, painfully, but there was no sound.
Spike looked at her with raw desperation, inches away and untouchable.
“Well,” said the madam, “I had hoped to be civil about this. I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you both to leave. I reject your claim. Take it up with the courts.” She tossed the stone tablet onto the table.
Buffy and Giles found themselves ushered into the square by the deceptively muscular and strong pretty boys of the brothel.
After a long, awkward moment of staring at the door they’d just been pushed out of, Giles cleared his throat. “Yes, I should have seen that coming. Master artificers would have some protection against magic.”
“Ya think?” Buffy turned in place. “What do we do? Where’s this magister person? Do we even, have, like, rights?”
Giles was still straightening his disheveled jacket. “As much as it pains me to lose to that woman, we might have to give up on getting him back. At least he can do no harm here.” Giles frowned. “I don’t think.”
“Giles, you didn’t see the look he gave me.”
“What sort of look?”
“Like he’d chop off his arms to get out of there, and not care how sharp the knife was.” Buffy turned and marched across the square. There was the brothel, the temple - one of the other two big, impressive buildings had to be City Hall. She headed toward the biggest. “Come on, let’s get magistering.”
***
Ten bloody YEARS. He’d given up hope, and then there they were - just as he’d last seen them, though with a hint of some dark, burnt smell that he presumed was successful apocalypse aversion.
Ten bloody years.
Spike stared at the space where Buffy had been. He felt the barrier, the familiar curl of magic around his wrists and knew the slightest struggle would be painfully countered.
He’d cried out. He’d made eye contact without permission. He’d dare look unhappy in the receiving room.
Oh, bugger. He struggled anyway.
Mistress Wrella glared at him. He lowered his gaze, but not fast enough.
Her shadow fell on him. “Was that proper behavior?” she asked.
I don’t know, he wanted to say, is chaining me up and making me your fuck-puppet proper behavior, your holiness? “No, Mistress. I’m sorry. It was… my emotions got the better of me.”
The slap didn’t sting; it was the humiliation of taking it that burned.
Ten years, and seeing Buffy erased every second. He had to clench his arms to keep them still.
“It’s a pity I don’t dare take you off duty for punishment. It’s only a matter of weeks before the magister takes you away. That claim is valid. Damn it. Julla!”
Spike flinched despite himself at the anger in her voice, and hated himself for the flinch. A rustle of silks and jewels announced the arrival of the booking mistress. “Yes, Mistress Wrella?”
“I want this vampire ridden into the ground. No rest time. Rent him dirty if you have to. We need to earn as much as possible from his flesh this week.”
Oh thanks for the no punishment, Spike thought.
Wrella grasped his chin and turned him to face her. Her lips tightened at his expression. He was trying for blank, but obviously not succeeding.
You look ugly, Mistress, with your lips twisted like that.
“What a pity,” she said, “I won’t be able to have my regular enjoyment of you. But make no mistake - we prepared for this day from the very beginning. You WILL return to us.”
Spike’s smile fell just as his mistress’ grew. She kissed his unresisting lips. “And when you come back, you will come back begging to stay.”
Continued >>