Chapter 9: Sky-High-Rollers

Having lived in New York for most of his life, Spike was used to urban sprawl, sky scrapers, and the frenetic energy of the city. But if Upper Manhattan was an aloof gentleman dressed in gilded, art deco statuary, then Las Vegas was his Technicolor, wild, more modern cousin. The ‘Atomic City’ wore its aesthetic proudly on its signage, welcoming the spellbreakers of the GSA—travelling aboard state-of-the-art monorail—into the heart of the floating Babylon. Neon archways dappled with star bursts and atomic whip cracks crowned rows of casinos and hotels. The monorail passed by a massive billboard depicting the perfect, 'nuclear' family smiling at a logo of an apple as an atomic nucleus, surrounded by concentric electron pathways. Atom and Eve Industries, Spike caught as the monorail zipped by. 

Spike glued his face to the window. He felt like a kid again. Next to him, a TV screen built into the back of the seat flickered a black-and-white reel educating visitors on Las Vegas’ infrastructure and modern energy grid. Spike’s squirrel brain picked up on bits and pieces of information, such as how the mono-rail ran on a series of loops—not unlike the electron pathways of an atom—and how the nuclear reactor sat in the heart of the city, helping to keep it afloat. There were no gas or diesel powered automobiles allowed within city limits. Everything ran on atomic engines, demonstrated by a clip of haz-mat suited atomic mages handling and irradiating special ‘cores’. The clip concluded with a voice over proudly declaring: “Atom and Eve—Bringing you the world of tomorrow…TODAY!”

It wasn't long before the monorail docked at the casino row, letting out starry eyed spellbreakers onto the cool, neon lit evening. The general mood was mixture of excitement, fatigue, and hunger. In any case, Spike was more excited than nervous now. He hoped the excitement of being in a new city would reinvigorate him.

A row of palm trees, flanked by dazzling water fountains, led the gang into a stately hotel with an ancient Greek façade—like the Parthenon by way of an amusement park. Colt, positively giddy, stepped to the front of the line (doing nothing to dispel Spike's “teacher on a school field trip” accusations) and extended his hands out to his sleepy-eyed wards.

“That’s right folks, we’re staying in the Olympus Hotel! You can thank Mr. Salim Netjeer—that’s one of our investors—for this treat. Seems he had a grand ol’ time at the gala.” Colt’s eyes darted towards Spike for the briefest of seconds. “Er…you know, besides the part where a chandelier crippled a lady. That was all a bit awkward. We might have gotten more cash if not for that part too...”

This statement was met by a slew of blank, incredulous faces.

Colt's approach to putting his foot in his mouth, of course, was to power through. “Err...anyways, Vegas! Y’all can settle into your rooms and take a load off. Just mention your name at the front desk and they’ll take you to your suite. And for those competing in tomorrow night’s match, don’t get too drunk now, you hear! Now, be on your best behavior. Daddy’s gonna hit the slots…”

After marvelling at the spacious lobby, full of white marble, Grecian urns, and—yes—even more fountains—Spike excitedly checked himself and Kengo into the front desk. His excitement waned, however, when he discovered that his and Kengo’s room only had one queen sized bed.

Spared no expense my sweet, bubble butt. Spike frowned. Looks like Salim's generosity had its limits. Nevertheless, he thanked the toga-sporting reception staff and allowed the bell-hop to take their bags to the elevator.

“Rosa said that every suite has its own theme after a Greek god,” Kengo said as they reached their floor. Their room was only a few feet away.

Spike picked up both of their suitcases. “Wonder which one we got. You have the keys?”

The suite door was painted black, with a ruby-red diamond in the center, and a silhouette of a three-headed dog. Kengo opened the door onto a moody, soft-lit room decked out in blue velvet carpeting, a black leather sofa, and a Gothic canopy bed. Unlit candles and candelabrum dotted the tables and furniture.

Spike and Kengo nodded in tacit approval. “Hades,” they said at the same time.

The first thing Spike did was throw himself onto the leather couch, already foregoing the idea of trying to cuddle up to Kengo. Not that he wouldn’t want that, but he just didn’t expect getting much sleep the next two nights anyway. Kengo deserved his peace. Plus, it was better not to risk temptation and spoil their platonic roommateship. Well, mostly platonic…

Spike noted the handle on the side of the couch. “Oh, thank goddess,” he said, sitting up and pulling out the trundle. He laid down. “Oh! This is pretty comfortable, actually.”

“See!” Kengo said, merrily. "This is a nice hotel." He was already organizing his outfits in his suitcase, delicately placing each meticulously chosen arrangement of pants, shirts, underwear, and socks, onto the onyx table. “Colt takes care of us. Hmmm...kore wa nan desuka?”

“Hm?” Spike sat up and looked over in Kengo’s direction. He'd learned enough Japanese from Kengo by now that it sounded to him like he'd stumbled upon something interesting. “What’s up, buddy?”

“Are these…hangers for our shirts?” Kengo tugged on the long, leather strap and chain hanging from the armoire interior. “And these appear to be…cuffs?”

Spike cocked his head to the side and examined the menagerie of various leather restraints. His eyes immediately expanded. “K-Kengo!"

"What!" Kengo jumped back as if he'd just encountered a live spider. "D-don't scare me like that! What is it?"

Sweating nervously, Spike looked around the room. Sexy male and female statuery. A big hot tub in the bathroom. More restaints built into the bed! "K-Kengo. I think...Colt put us in the naughty room!”

“I thought it was underworld themed?” Kengo said, innocently. He eyed the bondage straps. Then it clicked. “This…this for humans! Why would they put these here? Unless…” Kengo’s jaw dropped. “Someone is going to tie us up and kill us!”

“NO, BIG BEAR, IT’S A KINK THING!”

Kengo’s face turned bright red. “WHAT! Noooo!” He pulled his hand back as if he’d just touched a live coal, and SLAMMED the door shut. He pointed a firm, accustaory finger at his friend. “Th-th-this is your because you are the naughty boy, isn't it!?”

“WHAT!” Spike fell off the back of the trundle. He stood and blew a piece of hair out of his face. “First of all, I have shockingly little experience with being tied up. Yes, I know. We’re all surprised. But I would NEVER suggest anything so—aaaaand he’s already asleep...”

A deep, loud snore cut across the room. Kengo on his stomach, head turned, snored and smiled from the bed.

Spike dragged his hand across his face and sighed. “I need liquor.”

 

The burning neon sign over the Dionysus Lounge drenched Spike in pink light. He stared up at the fake grapes and vines draped over the awning.

“Reservation?” the bored, scruffy maître d' yawned as Spike approached the desk. He adjusted the laurel crown on the top of his head. He looked ridiculous.

“Uhh…” Spike flashed the man his “heartbreaking” smile, scratching his head coquettishly. “No. I was just hoping to get a seat at the bar. A nice, handsome guy like you would let a young—single—stud like me in, wouldn’t ya?”

The bored host looked down his nose at Spike. “Not unless you have a reservation.”

Ugh, too many straight men in this town. If only I had Victor’s powers of charm, I’d be damn unstoppable!

“Oh, it is beautiful Spike!”

Spike glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the strong, Italian accent. Sure enough, it belonged to a strong Italian. Spike’s favorite Italian, in fact, Titan Di Toro—otherwise known simply as Gio—dressed in a suit jacket and t-shirt, a mix of casual and formal. He approached alongside the masked luchador, Victor (AKA El Amante Intóxico). Hotel guests and stragglers gawked at the pair of giant, handsome men.

Finally, my luck is turning around! “Hi, yes, this is beautiful Spike, at your service.” He allowed Gio to pull him into a tight embrace, capped with a double cheek-kiss. “Fancy running into you studs. Gah...Gio, you're crushing me.”

"Oh! Sorry."

"Don't apologise--just leave a few unbroken ribs left for my fight..."

“We wanted to relax and enjoy some drinks,” Victor said. He likewise embraced Spike. The smell of his cologne—and natural pheromones—cast their spell over the blonde fighter. “Please, your company would delight us.”

“My ribs…” Spike groaned, unable to escape the luchador’s meaty grip.

“Lo siento!”

Don’t apologise—go harder. “Ah, it’s all good! I’m tougher than I look.” Owie…My bones…

“Ah,” Gio laughed, “then perhaps we should tag team you!”

Depends what kind of tag teaming you have in mind… “Hahaha! Well hey, it’s not every day I get to sit with the Silver Stars of the GSA.”

Behind his lovely, purple mask, Victor rolled his eyes while Gio threw him a positively shit-eating grin. “I am a Gold! Do you remember this, my masked friend? How I am a Gold and you are still a Sil--”

Victor silenced that by gently placing his hand over his friend’s mouth. “The great Calavera Escarlata once told me, 'Speak less. Listen often'. You should try taking his advice, my hairy companion.”

The front desk clerk looked down at their reservation list. “Table for Giovanni Di Toro and Victor...no last name given?”

Gio pushed the luchador’s arm away. “That’s me!”

The snotty server turned his nose up at Spike. “Right this way, sirs.”

The interior lounge was full of couches, pillows, and fancy, upholstered circular booths centered around tables. Purple, phosphorescent candles cast the space in an ethereal, sensual glow. It looked to Spike like an orgy might break out at any second--and with El Amante present, there was always the possibility. The crowd looked to be made up mostly of well-dressed high rollers from the casinos. Spike noted the stage, draped in a velvet curtain. If they were lucky, maybe they’d get a lounge singer before the end of the night.

Men and women eyed the trio of attractive men as they approached the table. Spike took notice. He was still used to being admired from afar. So many hungry eyes on him at one time was something he most definitely enjoyed, but still required an adjustment.

Spike took a seat between Victor and Gio, looking not unlike a schoolboy being chaperoned by his two dads. “Wow, Gio, I had no idea you were a Gold Star!” His desires steered him the direction of the bowl of grapes on the table in front of them. “Ah fuckin' sweet, free grapes! I could go for one…”

“Those are plastic,” Gio smiled patiently.

Victor giggled mischievously. “You should have let him make the mistake.”

Spike discretely spat the fake grape into his hands when the others weren't looking and flicked it under the table. 

In answer to Spike’s question, Gio said, “I have been with the GSA a pretty long time. It has been a lot of work. Many difficult matches.”

“I will be earning my Gold soon enough!” Victor loudly added. He opened the drink menu. “Boys, this round of drinks is on me.”

A waitress dressed as a nymph took their order: Victor, a negroni, Gio a Chianti, and Spike a whisky, neat. While Spike waited and Gio and Victor talked shop, he noticed a few poles and cages dotted around the room. Man this hotel is hornier than I am! Strippers, huh? Hey, if the spellbreaking career doesn’t work out, maybe Victor can give me some pointers...

The waitress placed Spike’s drink down in front of him. Victor pointed at the amber liquid. “You are full of such intriguing contradictions. Small, yet strong. Feminine, yet masculine. Insightful, yet ceaselessly unobservant. You did not strike me as the whisky type! ”

Spike shrugged and took a sip. “Hard work. Hard liquor. Hard men.”

“Eyyyy!” Gio agreed boisterously, raising a glass. “Cheers to that!”

Whether it was the power of the liquor—Dionysus weaving his spell—or the good company, Spike was feeling much more at-ease now. A feat, considering the esteemed peerage. He'd viewed Victor and Gio as some of the GSA's greats. He wondered where Joseph ranked among them.

"Are you guys friends with a guy named Joseph Haw?" Spike asked.

He might as well have named dropped a celebrity. Gio beamed. Victor laughed, but more so at Spike for asking the question. "You could say that," Victor said with a sly wink. "We used to hang out more. But he is far too busy these days."

"He always trains," Gio nodded. "But I understand. I train hard too. Joseph is very serious."

"You...have not angered him as well?" Victor asked, suddenly quite concerned.

"What! No. Joseph and I are buds!"

"Phew! I was going to say...to get on Iggy's side is one thing..."

"But Joseph seems so nice and gentlemanly!" Spike argued.

"And the Goddess is good," Victor said, making the sign of the circle on his chest in invoking Her name. "Yet even She destroyed a few cities that angered her." 

Spike gulped. "Geez. I guess there's still a few guys on the roster I still need to meet..."

Victor sat back with his arms folded, in deep thought. "Hmm...well, there is one guy who's currently on loan overseas. He is quite the handful, but you two would probably get along. If only because your libidos are similar."

Gio snapped his fingers. "Victor, what about the former champion?" He shivered. "Even he gives Gio the creeps. He tried to put me in chains once." Gio flexed--threatening to tear the seams of his dinner jacket. "But I broke out of them with my muscles!"

Under the table, Spike crossed his legs. "I-interesting..."

"Ah, but Spike would probably find our spookiest Heel very appealing too." Victor shot Spike a mischievous smile. "You...like a bad boy, don't you?"

Spike wasn't sure if it was Victor's ambient mojo or his own libido at work, but he felt the need to lean in and give the sexy luchador his own, patented 'look'. "I can be the bad boy."

Spike though about tacking on a very suggestive 'yours' to the end of that sentence, before Gio ruined his game with an otherwise innocent question. “Are you excited for your match, Spike?” Spike noticed Gio was doing his best now to try and make eye-contact. Perhaps he was feeling more comfortable with him.

“Oh, yeah!” Spike cheerily lied. He threw back the whisky in one gulp. “Can’t you, like, tell?”

Gio laughed. “Iggy is mean! You should see what they did to the last guy they mangled.”

“CRACK!” Victor said, making a bone-breaking motion with his hands.

Spike gulped.

If Iggy intimidated these two beefcakes though, Victor sure as hell didn’t show it on his face…er…mask. On the contrary, just the mention of Iggy’s name brought out his breathless, romantic side. “Ah, Astro. A fitting name for someone who stole the stars from the sky and put them in their eyes. My heart beats for that rock and roll angel.” He looked absolutely wistful.

“Wow, Vic, I thought people only had crushes on you, not the other way around?”

The luchador cupped his chin and placed his elbow on the table, looking long off into the distance. “What can I say, chico? I am in love with love.” He permitted himself a long—and somewhat erotically charged sigh—before turning back towards business. “Gio, has Colt told you about the mentorship program yet?”

“Yes! I do not know how to choose. Gio likes everyone! But…I do not see myself so much as a teacher. I am afraid I am no good.”

How can this giant man who has beaten almost everyone in the GSA have self-esteem issues, Spike thought. That can’t be right. “Mentorship program?”

Victor placed his finger on his cocktail glass, sliding it back and forth in front of him. “After the trip, we Silvers and Golds are gonna teach you little jobbers the business. Think of it like…oh, what do you Americanos call it…a fraternity? Bigs and Littles. But with less hazing! But hopefully, all of the sensual tension.” He punctuated this statement with a kiss to the air.

Victor’s magick hit Spike like a truck, and before he even knew what he was saying, Spike blurted out, “Then I would like you to mentor me, El Amante!”

The masked man pulled it back. “Ah! I do not fall for flattery! Though...perhaps. There are many in your class who show exceptional talent, niño marino. Mr. Enbarr for one. What? Spike, do not make that face. It is ugly on such a handsome man as yourself.”

“Cian is very strong,” Gio added approvingly. He looked very classy, drinking his wine. “Much powerful! Plus, it is nice to have another pagan in the school—even if he is a distinct, Celtic brother. Hmmm. Still, he can be a bit…” He made a sideways motion with his hands.

Spike zeroed in on the hesitation, ready for the big guys to sling a disparaging word against Spike’s mortal nemesis (besides Vahni Rage). “Heh. Go on.”

El Amante, the diplomatic one, put his hands together in deep thought. “Hmm. How to say this? Cian is very, very studious. He is strong and shows potential. He is very polite to all his coaches. But we invite him to things and he does not go.”

Gio agreed. “He is…how do you say…not social.”

“I think I know the reason,” Victor quickly added, with a rap of his knuckles on the table. “Us beautiful boys with lonely childhoods…we can sniff each other out.” He deliberately glanced sideways Spike.

Ugh, talk about sympathy for the devil! Or the fae, I guess. “Ain’t that the truth, guapo.” Spike stared into his empty glass. He pouted. “Cian is always such a jerk to me though!”

Victor laughed, and pulled Spike in for a tight, side embrace, putting the Sailorboy’s face dangerously close to his arm pit. Spike did not protest. “Ah, you two are like the oil and the fire! You might have more in common than you think. I have seen many young bulls like you two lock horns. They become best of friends in no time.” He mulled this over a moment. “Or lovers. Or…they kill each other. Regardless, it will be interesting to see where your relationship goes.”

Spike understood El Amante’s power. One touch, one look, one whiff, and he captured your mind with desire--flooding one’s system with good emotions. Even with that knowledge, Spike didn’t want to let go of him. He was like a human teddy bear. He made you feel good. Loved. And Spike knew, in his heart, that it was all very sincere.

Oddly though, the fleeting image of a different attractive man—one much closer to Spike’s age—was enough to break the spell. Spike gently removed himself from beneath Victor’s strong, muscular arm. “I wish Buck was here. Can’t believe Colt saddled him with duties back the ranch.” He had other thoughts about this, and Victor—whose eyes flashed with interest—looked genuinely eager to hear them. But any further discussion was cut off by the dimming of lights and a hush that fell over the room. “Oooh, the show is starting!”

The spellbreaker’s eyes turned towards the stage, the spotlight centered on the violet curtain. The master of ceremony’s voice came in clear over the sound system. “Ladies and gentlemen of the Dionysus bar, we present to you tonight a dazzling performance of sound, fury, and otherworldy beauty. Coming to the stage—the lead singer of Vanity Paradise, performing their smash hit, ‘Cosmic Horror Love’…Iggy Astro!”

Drowned by a swell of eager applause and cheering, Spike’s jaw dropped onto the table. “You…got…to…be…fuckin’…joking.”

The velvet curtain pulled back onto what any untrained eye would have easily mistaken for a scenic view of a cloudy nebula, all its stars twinkling, cosmic dust swirling around the galactic mirage. Suddenly, a star in the middle of this breath-taking display began growing, turning from pale white to intense fuchsia, swallowing all the other pinpoints of light in its wake. The star “exploded” with a rip chord of an electric guitar, creating a supernova of rainbow light. Neon glitter poured forward from the stage, drenching the audience, and quite literally changing the color of the room into wavy, undulating hues.

Spike looked down at his now neon colored arms. Looked like he was covered in glitter. This is…light magick? It was powerful. Even Spike, who had just began experimenting with extending his internal energies into barriers, wasn't able to throw his magick this far. This Iggy Astro could create an enetire light show out of theirs!

Yellow, pink, and green smoke wafted out over the stage, cascading down its side like a waterfall. From out of the luminous mist, the bright shadows of the band’s keyboardist, drummer, and bassist, appeared. All of them with painted faces, looking like beautiful, androgynous, long-haired aliens. It was a science fiction fantasy brought to life. The colorful master of mayhem themselves appeared in a beam of light, rising up from the stage, jamming on their electric guitar. Their colorful outfit wasn’t too much different than the ‘entance gear’ they’d sported when intimidating Spike the other day.

And now, Spike was more intimidated than ever. And on top of that, possibly fanboying too. They’re…so…cool!

Iggy sang, with the voice of a deviant angel—or an alien. A halfway point between falsetto and breathless tenor.

I call to you in lightless dreams

Forbidden knowledge, soundless screams

Pain and pleasure is my thrill

All the sweeter for the kill

Open a gate to the astral sea

We’ll burn together, you and me

Iggy kept on his riff, jamming along with his band of galactic warriors. The audience fed him energy, and he gave that energy right back. Between the light, the music, and his ambient magick, there was something indeed Dionysian about the vibe in the room, as if everyone might break out into fits of ecstatic madness, speaking in tongues and rolling around in the aisle. But Spike, rightfully hypnotized himself, assumed that was because they were all that much closer to succumb to an epileptic seizure.

 

I’ll weave you a spell of starlight

Call me your king of the pink night

The gods will fall and we will stand

Upon the graves of no-man’s land

 

Iggy whipped their teased out, hair sprayed, pink mane back over their head. They looked over in the direction of Spike’s table. The rock star stud placed a hand beneath their chin and blew a neon, three-dimensional “heart” in their direction, fluttering past Spike’s eyes. El Amante caught it and let out a deep, masculine sigh.    

“AHHH! Mi amor!”

Spike cringed. They’ve even got the Warrior of Love under their spell! 

Seal your soul with poison kiss

And

Should we stare into the abyss 

Would it really be so bad

If we go forever mad?

Because baby

Then we go mad together.

 

Iggy concluded their set in a crescendo of laser lights and hard melody. Spike half expected them to smash their guitar right onto the stage.

Applause and standing ovations followed suit. It was like the end of a spellbreaking match, and Iggy had landed a ten-count knock out! Victor stood and whistled, lost in awe. Gio, milder mannered--and perhaps more sensitive to stimuli than anybody else--sunk back in his chair, applauding politely.

Sweat and glitter poured down Iggy’s bare chest. He stood on stage, smiling, uttering gracious “thank you’s” every few seconds. In this setting, Spike almost forgot the pink-haired rocker was a Heel. He glowed in adoration of his audience’s response (literally glowed, Spike noted).

The crowd finally died down. Iggy pointed out into the audience. “Thank you, Las Vegas! You’re a damn beautiful audience. I’m Iggy Astro and I’m here to say…fuck oppression! Fuck anybody who tells you what to do! Fuck gender! But most of all….”

Screeching feedback accompanied Iggy’s icy glare as he zeroes in on Spike like a bird of prey. “Fuck that tasteless little twink in the front row who thinks he stands a chance against me this Saturday night.”

Spike’s soul left his body. He sunk further and further into the lounge chair. Mostly, everyone around him looked confused.

Iggy was all too glad to continue .“Because I am going to show him what rock and roll really looks like. I’m going to rock his head, and then I’m gonna roll his body out of my ring. Viva o glam!” Iggy dropped the mic and vanished behind a smokescreen of light and glitter, leaving the Dionysus Lounge with a calm after the storm.

Patrons returned to their beverages and light chatter, and the room was once again full of clinking glasses and jovial banter. 

Spike, however, wanted to die.

El Amante flashed him a green. “Ah, don’t worry,” he said, cuffing Spike on the arm. “It’s just heat between spellbreakers. He is teasing you. Trying to throw you off your game.”

Spike rubbed his arm where Victor had struck him—just a bit too hard. He nodded to Gio. “I’m…gonna go get some air.”

Gio opened his mouth to say something, perhaps a word of encouragement, but the moment passed. He allowed Spike safe passage.

A mixture between a nervous breakdown and throwing up everywhere. That’s how Spike felt as he threw open the smoker’s pit door and stepped out into the cold, sky- bound air. He’d heard that Las Vegas had a climate system in place to regulate the gale force winds and atmospheric chill. If that were true, then Spike didn’t notice it. He braced himself against the cold and put his back to the brick wall.

That’s when he heard the sharp, angry voice cut through his moment of nervous solitude. “Don’t you fucking turn away from me, bitch!”

Spike’s ears were naturally attuned to conflict. Hell, confrontation was his sport. Plus, years navigating the mean streets of Brooklyn had sharpened his senses to danger. He might be oblivious where it counted, but not when it came to street awareness.

A woman in a fake, fox-fur coat took a step back from the cleanshaven (and obviously drunk) businessman opposite her. From Spike’s vantage point, he saw that the smoker's alley terminated in a brick wall, with no exit. They were closed in.

“Actually, I'll do whatever the fuck I want!” The woman stepped back, one hand holding her coat closed, the other forcibly restrained by her aggressor. “Keep your money, asshole!” She pulled her hand back, albeit a bit clumsily, and kneed the guy in the gut. Though her aim was true, she stumbled backward, losing her grip on her coat-fold. Spike saw she was only wearing a purple, rhinestone-studded bikini top and bottom beneath. Probably worked as a dancer here at the bar.

She’s tough, Spike observed. His eyes were already on the exit behind him. Should I call someone? Three months into spellbreaking, Colt had drilled into him a valuable lesson about getting into fights outside a ring: don't. The best course of action was to flee and live to see another day, and resort to muscle and magick strictly when there was no other recourse.

“Stupid whore!” the man in the ruffled business jacket spat onto the bricks. His eyes flashed a cold blue. In the space above his head, three sharp icicles—pointed like daggers—appeared out of the chilly air.

Spike sighed, closing his eyes out of frustration. Shit. He's a magi too. Goddess, why can't I have a normal evening for once! He found his courage and jumped forward on impulse, before the woman could react. 

“Hey!” he shouted at the ice magi. He tried to sound tough, but his voice cracked instead.

The man ignored the intrusion. In fact, he drew even closer to the frozen woman. She wasn’t a magi, Spike could tell, and had no defenses against magick. “Baby, I’m a banker for Atom and Eve—I can buy classier broads than you. Why don't you come back with me and we can forget all about this little attitude you just took with me?”

Though the dancer was rattled, she didn’t back down. “Listen here, creep. I guarantee that I make more money in one week than you’ll ever see in your lifetime. And I take care of my guests. Make sure they have a good time. Now, if you’d so kindly pull back on this cold, little hat trick of yours…”

“Or what?” the man snarled. “You think grinding on dudes and shaking your ass makes you better than me?”

A shard of ice zoomed through the air, missing the woman—and nearly grazing Spike's face—by the width of a hair. It crashed into the door behind them, shattering into diamond dust.

That was enough. “Leave her alone!” Spike roared, surprising even himself. He nodded to the woman, deliberately placing himself between her and her aggressor. “I know you can stick up for yourself,” he said to her from the side of his mouth, “but I’m a fighter. I believe in tagging in!”

She stared, wide-eyed at him. “You…what?”

Admittedly, Spike’s approach was a bit…comic book hero. But he’d been fights before. Granted, not with Cryos magi, who could probably impale him in a heartbeat with their ice shards...but still.

Spike tried to channel his inner Colt. “You got something to say about sex work, buster?” He didn't even believe himself. He didn't have the same machismo as say, Gio or Victor.

The threat did not land. The man eyed his challenger, this fey little boy who'd walked in on his score. If the man had been sober, maybe he’d have noticed Spike’s muscle and backed down. But he was a Las Vegas businessman, which meant he considered himself nearly invincible.

“Get out of the way, candy ass.” The dagger of ice above him trembled.

Spike couldn’t tell if that meant his hold on his magick was weakening, or he was about ready to launch the ice dagger straight into his eyeball. Didn’t alcohol effect conjuration—hadn’t Mr. Iron mentioned that once?

No, you’re right on the money. Keep talking. Run out the clock.

Spike wasn’t sure if the voice inside his head was his own or not (it sounded way too smart to be his). Still, he took the hint. “This candy ass of mine pays the bills!” Spike glanced sideways at the dancer but kept his focus primarily on the magi. “Jerks like you always have a problem with people like me and her, yet you’re the ones who keep our businesses running. What’s that about, huh, bucko?”

The ice magi bore all of his pearly teeth at Spike. “I’m not going to be talked down to by some pansy gigolo fag!”  

His icicle faltered. Either he ran it right through Spike’s face, or he dropped it. There was no in between.

"What the fuck did you just call me!?" The rough-and-tumble sailor kicked in. Spike pulled his sleeves up, hoping the size of his biceps and forearms might do the trick. “If you want to start a real fight about it, then drop the ice and put up your dukes! I've made pretty boys ugly. Just think how worse I'll make you look once I'm don arranging your stupid face!”

The man’s face fell, as did his icicles. He stepped back, pale, meek.

Spike blinked. “What…really? I mean, yeah, that’s right! I’m fuckin’ scary, bro! Let’s scrap!”

A warm, firm hand gently pressed against Spike’s shoulder. “I do not believe that is necessary, beautiful one.”

The woman in the fur coat looked up at the newcomer. “Who…woah. You are big.”

Spike whipped around. Victor, his dark eyes smiling behind his mask, looked down warmly at Spike. He turned to the woman. “Good evening, senorita. Former stripper here as well. I understand the hustle.” He looked over at the stunned, sleezy magi. “And I understand the clientele.”

Thank Goddess. Spike sneered. “You gonna kick his ass, Vic?”

El Amante laughed away the suggestion. “There is no need.” He stepped forward, without an ounce of intimidation or male bravado. “Sir, you seem to have much anger in your heart. That's okay. We are human. We falter."

The man stepped back, either intimidated or confused. "What the fuck are you supposed to be? A gimp?"

Victor cocked his head to the side? "Eh? I do not know this word." He struck a heroci pose. "I am a luchador! A masked spellbreaker! I AM EL AMANTE! LOVE'S CHAMPION! HATRED WITHERS IN MY PRESENCE!"

Spike was starstruck. "Oh wow! El Amante, you're so cool!"

The elder spellbreaker winked at him. "I got this, chico. You have done well. You have the mark of a hero!"

The businessman—outnumbered and outgunned—held his hands up in surrender, terrified that this giant luchador was about to squash him where he stood. 

Instead, Victor pressed his index finger to the man’s chest.

The atmosphere in the alley shifted. Spike knew he wasn’t the only who felt it, because the woman to his right suddenly relaxed her shoulders, previously braced in anticipation of a fight. A calmness spread over all.

“Here…” Victor said, peacefully. He enveloped the man’s hands in his own and held them. For a hot second, Spike thought he might even lean in and kiss the guy! He had him totally captivated; the ice magi’s eyes locked with his.

“Think of a woman in your life. Any woman who loves you. Would she want to see you mistreat someone like this?” He looked over at the dancer. "I hear this saying sometimes...'She is someone's sister. Someone's wife. Someone's daughter. Someone's mother.' While that may be true, I think it ignores the basic point. She is a human first. Nobody deserves to be harassed on the job. Nobody owes you anything. Work on your relationships with women, and you will find true happiness. You know this, amigo..."

The woman next to Spike bowed her head. “This is…love magick,” she whispered. She looked to Spike and spoke to him like an old acquaintance. “Isn't it? Emotion magick, probably the better word for it. I worked with a girl who had Sensia. She made bank every night charming her clients just like this.” She pointed her long, manicured, diamond-crusted nails in the luchador’s direction. Spike realized that, outside of a confrontation, she was probably used to striking up conversations with strangers.

The man’s face remained frozen, eyes trained on Victor’s. It was like he’d become a child. “I…” he started, sleepily. “My…mama.” His shoulders drooped. He looked positively ashamed, and a little bit confused. “Sorry. I’ll go now.”

Spike expected Victor to knee him in the solar plexes and pull a hurricanerana on the sucker, smashing his head into the pavement. Instead, he patted the man affectionately on the back. “Go home, amigo. Have a drink. Take a long shower. Think about things. You can be better.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

The man slunk away, past Spike, past the woman—who he didn’t dare look at—and back into the confines of the bar. The warm, pleasant aura faded—but its effects lingered in the cold, city air.

“Holy shit,” Spike said, once he found his words. “Vic, what the hell did you just do?”

The luchador shrugged, sheepishly. “I’m a bouncer at a bar back home,” he said matter-of-factly. “I know how to de-escalate.”

The dancer was dumbstruck. She shook her head in both disbelief and amusement. “Thank you,” she said. “Heh. You guys gotta' be spellbreakers, right? Bodies like yours? Me and my son are big fans.” She extended her hand, business-like, to Spike. “I’m Marcy Diamond. I work here at the Dionysus, and along the strip. Nice to meet you.”

Spike took it and shook it, like meeting up with an old friend. “Spike! Er, Sailorboy Spike.” He pointed to his chest. “Pinup boy. Not stripper. Can’t dance for nothin’. Hehe.”

"I had it  all under control," Marcy said confidently. "But you're right, kiddo. Nice to have someone else in my corner."

Victor approached the lady respectfully, and it was then that Spike realized how tall he really was! He took the woman’s hand and kissed the back of it. “I…am El Amante Intóxico!”

The woman, apparently not used to being flustered, blushed. “I…see. Damn, you should work for the All Male Revue down the road. You’d be rolling in dough.”

Victor chuckled at the suggestion. “Ah, perhaps if I get nostalgic for my old work.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out two paper tickets. “Marcy, my love, these are for you. Tickets to the next night’s spellbreaking matches.”

The woman blanched but took the tickets all the same. "How much you want for them?”

“Nothing! They are a gift for a good woman. You and your boy deserve some fun. Courtesy of the GSA.”

Marcy smiled. Spike thought it could rival the lights of the Vegas strip. “You damn saint. Well, I’ll do you boys one-for-one. I’ll comp your next round of drinks.” She pushed open the door. “El Amante. Spike. Thank you for being good gents. I appreciate it.”

The dancer returned to her work, leaving Spike and Victor to the cold grip of the alley.

Victor looked down at his younger friend and winked. “Part of a day’s work, eh chico?”

“Guess so,” Spike grinned, sheepishly. “Er, I had the whole thing under control! By the way…what’s a gigolo?”

“I’ll tell you when you’re older,” Victor said, brushing past him. He looked up. “Oh, mi amor! I didn’t see you there!”

Spike glanced over. His heart sunk. “Shit…”

Arms folded across their chest, and one foot against the doorway, Iggy Astro smirked at Spike. He stuck his tongue out. “Trying to steal my man, are we? Naughty, naughty. Man, I’m really gonna’ have to hurt you now, kitten…”

Victor—who was not afraid of him like Spike was—shooed him away. “Inside. Now. It is cold. And I wish to shower you with much love and many cocktails.”

Iggy placed his arm around lovingly around Victor’s broad, muscular back, pushing him back into the bar. Before the closed the door, Iggy turned back and gave Spike a mischievous look.

“Saw what you did out here,” they said. “That was…very interesting.”

With that, they left Spike—cold, tired, and more confused than ever.

Next Chapter!