by Spikesdeb
Chapter 7
G was alone in the Magic Box when Ethan Rayne breezed in
sporting a leather flying jacket and white silk scarf.
“Delighted to see you, old man!
I take it you’re the lucky bugger who’s won the golden ticket to the
wedding of the century?” He eyed Giles’ tweed pointedly, “I do hope you’ve
packed your best bib and tucker.”
“Oh just get on with it for god’s sake.
I want to get this sad and sorry debacle over with.”
“There’s time a-plenty, Ripper, time a-plenty.
Besides, I’ve come personally to escort you; thought we could catch up,
you know, reminisce while we travel. I’ve
even got your favourite Scotch. We
can party!”
“Judging by your get-up, I presumed you were planning to
fly the bloody plane,” Giles snapped. “Listen,
you prat. I am going with you because I don’t abandon my friends;
I’m going with you because I need to see W.
I intend to do all I can to stop this farcical wedding, and you know it.
So don’t think we’re going to get all cosy in the limo.
It is a limo?”
“Of course.”
“Of course; what else would it be?
Ever the exhibitionist. See,
I know you, Rayne. You think you
know me but you don’t. I admit
that I dabbled in some questionable activities when I was a naïve young idiot
and therefore blind to your self-serving opportunism.
But I’m not him anymore; I’m not Ripper.
Don’t confuse me with the easily led fool you knew.
He’s long gone.”
Rayne nodded his head in acknowledgement, an oily smile
playing around his lips. The smile
faded though at G’s next words……
“But he’d like to come back.”
And just for a moment, G looked at him with Ripper’s
eyes. Chilling.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Harris, Whedon, Osbourne and the two Blonds dropped
silently from the belly of the small jet under cover of darkness.
They’d flown into Salzburg and landed at a remote airfield, the jet now
concealed in woodland to wait for the successful recovery of their lady leader.
The wedding was set to take place the following afternoon and they needed
to discover where W was being held and be in position before then.
It was a motley crew; G had been surprised when Blond and Harris
suggested that the two untried agents accompany them.
Blond had told him that Osborne had proven adept at cracking computer
code and also was remarkably gifted at map reading and recalling coordinates and
the like. His skills may come in useful to be able to locate their
position quickly. And Whedon –
well he was the linguistics expert; he had a quick mind and despite his
unassuming exterior, his imagination was in a constant whirl.
He’d be handy to have around if they needed to come up with a cover
story or sweet talk some cops or such. If
you needed a legend quickly, he was your man.
Buffy Blond had proven herself already, despite Spike’s
earlier faux pas regarding her ability. He
didn’t doubt her; he just dreaded the thought of her being hurt.
So that meant that he wouldn’t let her be hurt, would do everything he
could to keep her safe. But it had
to be without her knowledge, because that way lurked a pop in the nose and
chilly sheets once back at ‘chez Blond’.
Harris – well; other than Blond himself, Harris had clocked more field
time than any other agent; and though he’d prefer to stake himself rather than
admit it openly, Blond liked and admired him.
There was also a hit squad on standby to do the wet work, but it took
finesse to make the initial forays and bring back the intelligence. Slaughter would come.
They had the approximate coordinates of Weisswurst’s
ancestral pile, but had been unable to pinpoint the location of the family
chapel in the extensive grounds. That
would be where Osborne came in, and possibly Whedon if they needed to seduce a
little information out of a suggestible young thing.
The jet had set down some kilometres from the perimeter wall and after a
hike cross country, it was an easy task with the equipment they carried to scale
the twelve-foot stone wall that kept the world blissfully unaware of the gross
and repulsive being that lived within. The
five spies dropped silently to the ground and pulled down the balaclavas to
completely hide their faces. They all wore stealth suits that would allow them
to sneak past most known security sensors.
Buffy crept round the wall behind Spike and had a hard time controlling
the drool as he displayed his pert rear in the skin-tight material.
‘Mmm…like a ripe
peach, just waiting for my bite…grrr
Focus, Buffy! Less lusty,
more stealthy.’
Spike Blond’s soft chuckle alerted her to the fact that
he knew exactly what she was thinking.
Smarty-pants vampire!
“Hey!” Buffy hissed.
“Concentrate, 00666. Less
of the giggly.”
“Well, if you stopped trying to get my pants off with
the power of your mind alone, maybe I could.”
“Guys! Please!
We’re supposed to be on a mission?
I’ll take point, Buffy then Whedon then Osborne and you bring up the
rear. Alright, Blond?”
“Harris! I’m
impressed! Very commanding for an
amateur. What we waiting for then? Let’s
go.”
The five black-clad figures melted into the night, the
occasional rustle of greenery or crack of a twig the only sounds as they crept
forwards towards their prize. Harris
signalled a halt while Osborne verified coordinates and altered their path
slightly. After checking the map
they had been supplied with - sadly lacking in detail but being diligently
amended as they went by Osborne – they headed towards the mansion.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++
W had finally been untied and the gag and blindfold
removed. One look at her
surroundings and she wished they’d left the blindfold on.
The room she was in was a seduction chamber worthy of Cecil B de Mille;
or rather it would be if the painted murals hadn’t been XXX-rated.
Life-sized images of her repulsive soon-to-be-husband lined the walls;
his hideous bulk contorted in unlikely ‘erotic’ adventures with a busty
human female. Her stomach churned
and she was almost grateful for Rayne’s petty cruelty in denying her anything
to eat during the journey. At least
she couldn’t make matters worse by adding vomit to the eye-watering decor.
She shuddered as her eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to the explicit
and colourful paintings. As if in a trance she walked round on shaking legs examining
each lurid tableau with sick fascination; it was then she realised that although
the face of the male was the warty visage of Weisswurst, the female
participant’s face had been left blank. W
shot backwards, hand over her mouth to mask her horrified wail.
It was waiting for the bride to be chosen, waiting for her.
She sank to the floor, sobbing hopelessly.
After a few minutes’ self-pity, she tried to pull
herself together. ‘This won’t
do… I have to be strong… oh Tara…’
Her breath hitched - if ever she needed a daring Spike Blond rescue, it
was now.
+++
The quintet had reached the main building and was hunkered
down in some shrubbery while Whedon scanned for video or other surveillance.
So far, so good. They’d
still not managed to pinpoint where W was being held but judging by the activity
they’d spied on their way to their hiding place, they were getting close.
There’d been a steady stream of servants, both human and demon, toing
and froing from the service entrance of the mansion bearing tables, chairs,
flower arrangements, basically all the makings of a party for – oh, say – a
wedding reception. In the last
twenty minutes there’d also been a number of well-dressed couples turning up
at the massive front entrance. It
looked like Weisswurst was throwing a pre-nuptial bash.
Spike Blond was on edge.
He knew W was near; she had to be…this mission was too personal; his
professional detachment was slipping. He
ached to vamp out and storm the place, but that wouldn’t help matters and
would probably get him and his companions killed.
But the demon inside him was restless for the kill.
“Whedon? Anything?”
Agent Whedon shook his head in the negative.
“No, sir, nothing yet. But
I haven’t finished scanning on the…”
“Sod that! Look,
there are times when you have to use some initiative in the field.
We could be here all night twiddling your dials and knobs and still be
none the wiser about W. I think
it’s about time we wheel out some good old-fashioned espionage.
You with me, Harris?”
“Lead on, I’ll follow.
What do you have in mind?”
“Well, since Mr Kiss Kiss is doing a little meeting and
greeting…it would be awfully rude not to turn up, don’t you think?”
The one-eyed spy grinned at his blond companion.
He may not be struggling to restrain a bloodthirsty demon, but Xander
Harris was equally eager to kick some warty ass.
“You can’t be serious…Spike…William!”
“Buffy; trust me – I know what I’m doing.
I’ve done this countless times before, and I’ve always come back.
You know I have. I need you
to be second unit, to back us up if things go wrong.
Don’t look at me like that – they won’t, but a good agent always
has a second string to his bow.”
Buffy was fuming. She was mostly annoyed because she knew he was right.
He was so sleeping on the couch
when they got home.
“Fine. But
come back dust and I’ll never forgive you.”
Spike Blond smirked, head tilted as he looked at his
wife’s petulant face. He loved
that face. Placing a quick kiss on
her nose, he stripped off the stealth suit to reveal a pristine black tuxedo.
Buffy’s eyebrow raised in question.
“What? Standard
issue pet! Well – it is on my missions. How
are you fixed, Harris?”
With a smug grin, his fellow spy unzipped his suit to
reveal a cream tux and black dress pants, a scarlet rosebud nestling in the
lapel.
“Bugger me! It’s Humphrey Bogart! You been raiding my wardrobe?”
“I can’t help it if I scrub up better.”
Xander began to sing softly, “You
must remember this; a kiss is still a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh…
Anyway I get to be the one that says ‘We’ll always have Salzburg’.
So are we gonna yammer on all night or are we gonna motorvate?”
Whedon and Osborne exchanged glances.
This was their debut in the field, other than on a training mission, and
it wasn’t working out quite how they’d expected.
Blond had a reputation for being ‘gung ho’ and Harris wasn’t far
behind in the nutcase stakes. Unconsciously
they huddled closer together, eyes wide and fixed on the grinning faces of the
master spies. They both privately
promised themselves that if they got out of this alive, they’d happily
superglue their butts to their chairs and be deskbound for the rest of their
careers.
With a final look back at Buffy, Spike Blond grabbed
Harris’ arm and dragged him off to the front of the mansion.
Buffy beat down the frightened wife and tapped into the Summerpenny who
had fronted MI13’s operations so efficiently.
“Osborne, Whedon – calibrate your sensors to track
their signatures. Any change –
any at all – you let me know.”
+++++++++++++++
W had stopped howling.
It had taken several burly men and a shot of sedative to restrain her,
and she was now sitting in a perfumed bath being pampered by simpering
handmaidens in a scene straight from of Liz Taylor’s portrayal of Cleopatra.
Somewhere inside her pounding head a rational voice was baying to be
heard. But her drugged body lolled
back against the padded bath-pillow and allowed the massage and the creamy
lather, the gentle hands washing and conditioning her hair.
A half hour later she was sitting before a vanity mirror having a
manicure, pedicure, facial, hairdo, the works – everything an excited
bride-to-be could ask for. As the
effects of the drug started to wear off, she focused on the conversation buzzing
around her.
“Oh, Mistress – just think, all of the Wursts are
here, even those from other dimensions. There hasn’t been a gathering like this since…well,
there’s never been a gathering like this!
And the Master…..he’s so proud!
And so excited - he’s even had a bath himself!
The Master!!! Can you
believe it?”
W found herself nodding and smiling while inside she was
screaming. Dammit all, where the
hell was Spike Blond?
++++++++++++++++
“The trick, Harris, is to look like you belong even if
you don’t, yeah?”
“Pfft – story of my life, buddy boy.
Look, Blond, you may be hot stuff but trust me – when it comes to
blending in where you stick out like a sore thumb? I’m the man!
Follow me, you might learn something.”
“To the ends of the earth, Harris – to the ends of the
earth.”
Harris adjusted his eye-patch and tugged the bell pull by
the ornate wooden doors that marked the entrance.
The tiny demon in attendance later had great difficulty remembering the
conversation he’d had with the two men, but he seemed to recall being picked
up and soundly kissed by the one-eyed man with dark hair while the blond
giggled. Suddenly, he found himself
alone in the foyer, minus two exclusive entrance keys, and with the distinct
feeling that he’d missed something. Of course, he’d claim he had no memory…
Blond and Harris entered the vast mirrored ballroom,
ablaze with the light of several huge candle-decked chandeliers.
After a quick look about, they separated to mingle, hoping to elicit
information about W’s whereabouts. It
was your typical black-tie do – lots of canapés and sticky drinks with little
in the way of interesting conversation – but the appearance of the guests was
anything but typical, in that they ranged from one hundred percent human to huh?
Blond gave up counting the number of sexual advances he’d batted off,
and while part of him was gleefully adding them to his tally of conquests-I-coulda-had,
the sensible besotted husband part of him was hoping that Buffy wouldn’t zone
in that intuitive vibe she had going and sense the attentions his increasingly
tender butt was enduring.
Then Blond spied the groom himself…well, sniffed him
really and followed the familiar stench to where Weisswurst was holding court.
Surrounded by guests, he was posturing and posing, gross and warty in his
usual ghastly lederhosen. Gagging,
Spike wondered if they were the same ones he’d been wearing the last time
they’d met – certainly didn’t look any cleaner.
A fleeting image of that oozing flesh invading W’s pale and delicate
body had him balling his fists and resisting the urge to tear off the demon’s
head there and then. He focused on
the conversation taking place between Mr Kiss Kiss Gang Bang and his band of
disturbed followers.
“I tell you, zis iz going to be ze vedding of ze
century. Messerschmidt has composed
a musical opus to honour ze charms of my betrothed.
Natürlich I have chosen vell and she is absolutely cuckoo about me.
Who wouldn’t be?” He
cackled, spittle dribbling at the corner of his rubbery mouth and his chins
wobbling. “She vill join us here
for your inspection. Götterdämmerung
- I am fizzing wiz anticipation!” High-pitched
giggles pierced Spike’s eardrums as the loyal flock pandered to their
Master’s inflated ego. All
rational thought disappearing in a pissed-off growl, Spike pushed his way into
the tightly packed throng and snagged a glass of champagne from a passing
waiter. Kiss Kiss had his back to
him, still pontificating and bathing everyone in gobs of putrid saliva and
flecks of pus.
“So, tell me – old……thing, when do we get to meet
the lucky lady?” Spike’s
elegant tones owed much to his childhood and blended perfectly with his
expensive tailoring. The warty
bridegroom wobbled round to face his guest with a slimy smile on his face.
The smile faltered as he recognised 00666.
“Herr Blond. I did not expect to see you here.”
“No doubt. You
didn’t think I’d miss W’s big day, did you?”
“Quite. I
believe zis party is by invitation only…” The words died on his lips as Spike flashed the requisite
invitation and smiled smugly. “…no
matter. It iz good zat you are here
now to reap ze results of your meddling in my affairs, vampire swine!
At ze time, I vas most displeased when you and your puny MI13 ruined my
plans; but now I haf to zank you. Wizout
your interference, I would not be on ze brink of a glorious union wiz your
precious W. Mein fiancée iz ze hottest momma in town!!”
“Is that right? Fascinating. So…where
is she then?” Spike sipped his
champagne cocktail while never taking his eyes off his worthless – yet
admittedly tricky – opponent. “I
haven’t come alone, you know. Do
you expect me to walk into this hell hole without any resources?”
“No, Herr Blond. I expect you to die!”
Weisswurst clicked his fingers and burly bodyguards moved towards them,
their ill-fitting tuxedos giving away the bulk of their bodies and the barely
concealed armaments.
Agent Harris swallowed the canapé he’d pilfered from a
passing waiter and drained his glass. He shook his head; did Blond have any understanding of the
concept of ‘undercover’ work? What
the hell happened to the ‘let’s take it slow, suss things out’ stuff?
Checking his dildo-gun and loosening it in its concealed holster, he
unbuttoned his tux and waited for the inevitable smack down.
He was puzzled, however, by Spike’s actions.
He was simply standing in front of Weisswurst, every inch the happy guest
chatting with his genial host. Harris
took a few steps closer, straining to hear the conversation.
Blond was soon flanked on both sides by the bodyguards, a smile on his
face and seemingly relaxed and happy as Harris edged closer still, his hand
twitching over his weapon.
“My dear Weisswurst; surely you know I hate to do
what’s expected of me?” Spike Blond smiled a terrible smile, designed to
strike fear into the hearts of his enemies, a rictus grin with just a flash of
fang. “Oh-oh,” Harris gulped.
Weisswurst took a step back.
Time seemed to stop as the bubble of silence surrounding
the demon lord and Blond expanded through the room, cutting off conversations as
it spread like a pebble tossed into a pond.
Harris readied himself for action, fingers tensed round the phallic
weapon, his teeth worrying his bottom lip.
‘Gah!
Make a move already, Blond,’ Harris
willed his fellow spy. He didn’t
do well with anticipation.
Just when it seemed the atmosphere would combust with the
tense silence, a fanfare of trumpets heralded the arrival of the bride, borne
aloft on a gilded litter carried by eight muscular youths wearing nothing but
well-placed fig leaves and leering smiles.
Blond and Harris pushed forwards as the platform was set down, all
finesse forgotten as they battled to reach their boss.
W was decked out in a skimpy bikini, apparently made of gold chain mail,
and gold gauze harem pants, her flame-red hair piled high and sparkling with
gold dust where the tendrils curled about her neck.
She reclined against a blood red day bed, her limbs arranged in perfect
symmetry by her attendants, her left hand grasping a peacock feather fan and her
right wrapped around an enormous glass of sparkling champagne.
The two agents looked on, stunned by W’s seeming delight
in her fate. She wore a beaming
smile on her heavily made-up face and looked for all the world like a woman
without a care in the world, drunk with love.
The men glanced at each other, both puzzled by her lack of resistance.
Blond’s perturbed features sharpened into his demonic visage as he
spied the telltale needle marks that peppered the inside of W’s pale arm.
She’d been drugged.
W’s barely audible plea kick-started the ‘00’ agents
into assassin mode.
“Help……………..me…….”
With a feral growl, Spike Blond launched himself – sharp fangs glinting in the candlelight – straight for Weisswurst’s neck as Harris whipped out his spermopositer and squeezed it to activate its deathly ray.
CUT TO :
A party room, balloons and streamers spattered with blood.
Glasses and bottles roll around on the floor, clinking as Spike and Buffy
Blond wander hand in hand through the debris of a hard-fought fight.
A whoop of delight.
“This one’s got
some in it!” Buffy triumphantly
holds up a half-full bottle of champagne. Sounds
of zippers, shoes being toed off, much heavy petting.
The thud of two bodies hitting the floor while entwined intimately. The fizz of champagne as it is poured…
“Quit wriggling!
You’re spilling it!”
Very unmanly
giggling. “Buffy!
I can’t help it………your tongue tickles…………”
DOO . DOO .
DOOOOOOOOOOOOO; DOO . DOO . DOOOOOOOOOOOOOO; DOO . TE . DOOO