Much thanx to the lovely and talented Tamakin and Immortal_Beloved, for their beta work on this chapter ;)



As the jet that Giles had assigned to transport Spike and his strange British escort -- emphasis on the strange -- to wherever it was that they were going sped across the sky toward its destination, Spike sat in pensive silence by the window.

Rayne kept trying to draw him into conversation, but for his part, Spike was content simply to gaze out through the specially treated glass, viewing the sunlight -- which should have been denied him at any distance -- from a point of nearness that he had never imagined. Still, Giles’ odd associate seemed determined to pull him out of his reverie despite his pointed, deliberate silence.

Ethan Rayne smiled too much.

He talked too much, too, and the more he said, the less Spike cared for him.

“So how long have you known my old friend Ripper?”

Spike glanced distractedly at the man beside him, not trying very hard to mask his irritation as he stated flatly, “Don’t know that I *do* know him. Don’t know that I’d like to, either.”

“Rupert,” Ethan clarified with a quiet laugh. “Though I suppose you wouldn’t know him by his former name, would you now?”

Spike cocked an eyebrow at the grinning man beside him as he replied dryly with the first suggestion of interest, “No, don’t suppose I would. Wouldn’t have thought the old ponce’d have an alias like that. How’d he get it?”

Ethan laughed again, and the sound was somehow dark and unsettling to the wary vampire. “Oh, that’s a story for a much longer flight, Spike, my friend. Suffice it to say that he truly earned it during the years of his youth.”

Spike stared at Rayne a moment longer in surprise before slowly looking away, out the window again, thinking about his revelation as he watched the lush, green landscape gliding by beneath them. A sparkling lake shimmered directly beneath them as a group of large, stone buildings came into view.

“Yes,” Ethan was continuing in a voice of nostalgic affection. “Ripper and I, we go way back, Spike. Back as far as our youthful glory days. You find it surprising that he was ever known as ‘Ripper’…while I find his current undertakings rather amusing, myself. My, how he’s changed over the years!”

There was a moment’s silence as Ethan seemed briefly lost in his memories, and Spike simply did not know what to say.

When Ethan finally spoke again, his voice was strangely soft with an odd tone that set Spike a bit on edge. “We haven’t always agreed on everything. There’ve been times we likely would have killed each other if we could have…but in the end, the old git knows I’d do anything for him.”

Spike was gazing out the window again, transfixed by the view, so he missed the calculating look of appraisal that the Englishman was giving him as he spoke again quietly.

“And he for me, as well. Anything I need…”

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

When Buffy hung up the phone with Andrew for the final time, it was 10:00 in the morning.

The next flight to Ireland was leaving at 3:42 that afternoon.

Buffy had pondered over Andrew’s insistence that she tell no one of her plans, but ultimately, she had opted to err on the side of caution -- not to mention the side of her considerably better judgment than Andrew’s. Despite his instructions, she confided to Xander what Andrew had told her, while warning him not to tell anyone else…not just yet, anyway.

It was Xander’s idea for her to take a few of the best-trained young Slayers with her to assist her with…whatever she might need assistance with.

She really had little idea why she was even going, and no idea whatsoever of what she was supposed to do once she got there.

The girls she had chosen to accompany her, fortunately, didn‘t know that. They thought that she knew exactly what the mission was on which they were going and was simply keeping the information to herself until the time came to reveal it. And that was better, in Buffy’s opinion, than allowing them to see how completely and utterly clueless she really was as to the specifics of this particular mission.

*If Andrew is pulling me into one of his stupid Andrew-schemes, I’ll kill him. I’ll fly to England and drag his bony little butt out of that office complex and beat his pathetic little self to a painful and bloody death.*

But Andrew had not sounded as if he was making his story up.

In fact, he had sounded nearly panicked…desperate, even.

*I hope Giles is okay.*

It had been the mention of Ethan Rayne that had drawn her attention, and had been the deciding factor in her actually listening to the little nerd and making the flight to Ireland on as little information as he had given her. After all, Andrew had not been around when Ethan Rayne had last invaded their lives. The only way Andrew would know of the sorcerer was from Giles, and the only reason Giles would have to tell him about it was if Ethan was around and causing trouble for them again.

*If he hurts Giles…this time I *will* kill him…I don’t care if he’s human, if he hurts my Watcher…*

Her dark, ominous thoughts were interrupted by a quiet whimpering sound at her side. She looked up at the pale, taut face of the young girl seated beside her. Her eyes were screwed tightly shut, and her hands were bone white, clenched on the armrests of the seat beside Buffy’s.

“Is it supposed to be this…this bumpy?” the girl asked, her voice breaking slightly as she spoke.

“Kari,” Buffy reassured her with a firm hand on her cool arm. “Kari, it’s all right. It’s just because we’re about to land. Haven’t you ever flown before?”

Kari shook her head rapidly, still not opening her eyes. “No. Never. And…and I don’t think I ever want to again.”

Buffy laughed softly without cruelty as she shrugged and suggested in a teasing voice, “I guess we could leave you here in Ireland if you like. Otherwise, that’s probably not going to be avoidable.”

The other two girls, who were seated facing Buffy and Kari, giggled at her words.

They were highly trained Slayers, impressively skilled and intelligent, but none of the three was over sixteen years old. They seemed to be looking at the entire trip as a big adventure, more fun than work. Buffy hoped that she was not leading them into a situation that was too dangerous for them to handle.

Of course, if it was Ethan Rayne they were dealing with, the matter was likely to be more annoying than truly dangerous.

*But a slave ring?* she doubtfully reminded herself. *Ethan Rayne’s definitely in the realm of the bad guys, but that seems a little dark, even for him.*

“Okay, when we land,” she began briskly, sitting forward in her seat and putting on her best authoritative Slayer face, “I want you girls to stay close to me. Listen carefully to everything you’re told, and don’t take unnecessary risks. Okay?”

“So basically,” a young blonde named Larissa smirked, “be exactly the opposite of the kind of Slayer *you* were?”

Buffy stared at her, her eyes wide in disbelief.

Larissa shrugged, averting her eyes and suppressing a grin. “What? I’ve heard stories.”

Buffy opened her mouth to answer, though for the life of her she had no idea how she was going to refute Larissa’s very accurate words; but she was saved by the sound of the crisp, professional voice of the British pilot.

“We are now preparing to land. Please remain in your seats and fasten your safety belts. We will be landing in approximately five minutes.”

He repeated the announcement in another language with which Buffy was not familiar as the girls obeyed the instructions, two of the three bouncing in their seats with excitement. When the plane finally stopped moving -- and Kari stopped hyperventilating -- Buffy led the girls off the plane and down a long corridor, through the customs line, and finally into the large, open baggage claim area.

“What now, Miss Summers?” Sarah, the youngest of the three Slayers accompanying her, and by far the most proper and respectful, asked eagerly. “What do we do next?”

“Shhh,” Buffy distractedly muttered, taking out her cell phone and frowning thoughtfully as she flipped it open, turned it on, and scrolled down to Andrew’s number. “Hang on.”

As it began to ring, Buffy turned slightly away from the girls with her, absently scanning the busy room. Suddenly, she found herself face to face with a pretty girl with dark skin and chocolate brown eyes. She had a cautiously friendly smile on her face as she waited patiently for Buffy to finish her call.

Andrew had not answered yet, and Buffy flipped the phone closed, giving the girl a wary, expectant look. “Can I help you?”

“I’m Melinda. I’m here to help you. Andrew sent me.”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed slightly as she considered. “Just a second…I need to make that call after all…”

As she spoke, the phone rang in her hand. She opened it and held it to her ear, but before she could say a word, Andrew’s shrill, nervous voice was already speaking.

“Buffy, I’ve been trying to get away long enough to call you, but I…haven’t been…able to…to do that. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I’m having someone meet you at the airport. She’ll be able to help you get started…her name is…”

“Melinda?”

“Oh, good, so you’ve met her. She’ll tell you what you need to do first…”

“Andrew, wait!” Buffy tried to stop him, sensing by his tone that he was about to hang up. “Andrew, when exactly are you going to…?”

But a loud, audible click informed her that the boy was no longer listening to her. As she put the phone away with a weary sigh of frustration, she turned to face Melinda again.

The girl smiled as she said simply, “Come on. Let’s get your luggage. I’ve got a car waiting outside.”

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

From the moment the plane landed on a tiny airstrip in the center of a deserted clearing, Spike began to feel uneasy with the entire situation.

Perhaps it was the three large, mostly silent men that had greeted him and Ethan Rayne as they had exited the plane.

Or perhaps it was the fact that they were armed, though there was no sign of any life but theirs anywhere nearby.

“Come,” Ethan instructed quietly, nodding with his head toward a path leading off through the woods at the edge of the clearing, barely discernable from the rest of the forest floor around it. “The compound is this way.”

“We’re going on foot?” Spike asked, surprised.

Ordinarily a walk would not have bothered him in the least; but at the moment, he was still weary, exhausted in fact, as he had not had much of a chance to recover from the whirlwind events of the past few days, let alone the brutality of the beating that had preceded them.

“It’s the only way,” Ethan explained with a sympathetic expression on his face. “There are no roads leading to the compound. No one who does not work directly with us even knows of its existence.” He paused, meeting Spike’s eyes as he pointed out, “Not even Ripper knows precisely where it is located.”

Spike nodded, accepting that.

Actually, the extreme level of privacy didn’t sound half bad.

“This entire operation -- which you’ll learn more about, Spike, as soon as you’re ready -- is highly confidential, very secretive, you’ll find. There are powerful, dark forces which would love very much to wipe us out of existence completely…if they could find us, of course.”

Ethan’s smile was conspiratorial, intimate…and more than a little unsettling.

Spike nodded again, not sure what to say in response, and just wanting to get to the compound and a comfortable bed where he could sleep for as long as he wanted, as he had been promised on the way.

After they had been walking for about fifteen minutes, Spike saw large stone structures, mostly obscured by the trees, at a distance in front of them. He felt an incredible sense of relief, as his entire body was aching with weariness and the pain of his not-quite-healed injuries.

Ethan was leading the way, with Spike walking behind him, flanked by the three others in a sort of protective enclosure around the weakened vampire. Spike tried to feel an appropriate measure of appreciation for the gesture, but couldn’t manage to feel anything but intimidated by the nearness of the three clearly strong, well-armed men.

When the door of the main building was in sight, Ethan stopped, and Spike had to stop as well, looking uncertainly at the man in a silent question.

“There is one thing,” Ethan informed him with an apologetic look. “One thing we’ll have to see to before you can enter and join our group.”

“What’s that?” Spike asked, swallowing hard as he tried to suppress the suspicious feeling against which he had been fighting throughout the flight and the walk that had followed it.

Ethan reached into the pocket of his coat and withdrew a small silver ring with a hinge on one side and a latch on the other, allowing it to be opened and closed. Spike eyed it warily, looking back up to catch the easy gaze of the man now facing him.

“Before you can enter, you must put this on,” Ethan informed him. “It’s a means of identification, by which everyone here knows that you are a member in good standing of the group.”

Spike stared down at the seemingly innocuous metal ring, a sick sensation rising in the pit of his stomach. He wasn’t consciously aware of the subconscious connotations his mind was coming up with, comparing the ring to a collar, a manacle, a mark…a mark of slavery. He did not really understand why the sight sent a shiver down his spine.

All he knew was that he did *not* want to wear that thing.

“What if I don’t want to wear it?” he asked quietly, holding Ethan’s gaze, studying his face as he asked the question.

Ethan’s expression did not change, though his eyes grew serious as he held Spike’s gaze and replied without hesitation, “Then you’ll likely be killed on sight by the first member of our number who is unaware of your identity. Which would be the first member of our number not with us right now.”

Spike hesitated, staring down at the ring again.

“It’s all right, Spike,” Ethan assured him, his voice growing gentle, compassionate, as he explained, “It’s only until the next group assembly, at which you will be introduced. Once everyone knows who you are, you will no longer be required to wear it.”

That made Spike feel a little better, but even as he slowly reached to take the metal ring from Ethan’s hand, he felt a sense of dread building up in his chest, tightening, constricting, like the iron bars of a trap locking into place around his heart until he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think…

“It’s all right, Spike,” Ethan repeated softly. He hesitated just a moment before offering gently, “Let me help you.”

Spike realized in that moment what the other man probably already had: there was no way that he was going to be able to bring himself to put on the ring himself, no matter how well his conscious mind understood its necessity. Before he could stop himself again, Spike nodded quickly, holding his arm still as the Englishman stepped forward and carefully positioned the cool metal.

And the simple metal bracelet locked into place around Spike’s wrist.