DISCLAIMER: The idea is about all here that's mine. The characters belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy, the song lyrics for "Born Under a Bad Sign" belong to Booker T. Jones/William Bell (and/or their descendants... I guess) Heck even the voice singing in my head doesn't belong to me...sigh. It's pure James Marsters.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This ficlet is set during the hiatus (post-season 6, pre-season 7). Spike's been to Africa and is making his way back to Sunnydale...maybe. He's taking a little detour along the way to seek out another demon in the hopes of finding what he's looking for.

Soul Man

Spike had travelled almost literally around the world on his quest for a soul. Now he was seeking out another demon in search of something else: answers. He found himself surrounded by the glitz, tack, and glamour of "Sin City". Las Vegas, baby.

Months earlier he'd left Sunnydale, desperate to be what was he was before - or just to be something. As he was, he could neither be a "monster" nor a man. In the weeks following his hasty retreat, he'd heard tell of a demon in Africa whom he eventually sought out and now he had come back "transformed". But to what, he couldn't say for sure.

He was now, as vampires go, in reasonable health. To be truthful, physically he felt as strong as he ever had. With the chip no longer functioning, he'd spent the time since leaving Africa feeding – not with the carefree and reckless abandon of his early days, but still enough to satisfy his need while still keeping a reign on his demon. Human blood was indeed as he remembered, far superior to animal blood; fresh was much tastier than from a plastic bag or Styrofoam carton; and straight from the source infinitely more satisfying – in more than one way – than pulled from a microwave. Still the real challenge had been to take only "snacks", not enough to drain a body. Not enough to kill. And as long as he kept moving, no one would be the wiser.

So now he was walking into the club prepared once again to do whatever the demon he sought told him to do in order to get what he was after.

He sauntered to the bar and ordered a beer. As the bartender pulled the pint, Spike inquired, "I'm lookin' for a bloke calls himself the 'Host'."

The guy behind the bar nodded to the stage.

Turning Spike saw a tall, flamboyantly dressed green skinned demon with gleaming red eyes – and a suit to match.

"Thank you. You've been great!" Lorne called over the whoops and applause as he finished his set. "Now it's time for a change of pace: Benny the Borache demon's getting married again and he's ready to celebrate in style. Give him a warm welcome." With that, a scaly-silver skinned creature dressed in a studded white jump suit (classic 70s-style Elvis) took centre stage as the Host strolled out of the spotlight.

Lorne was pleased with his new surroundings. People in Vegas just seemed more tolerant than those back in L.A. – and they certainly didn't shock as easily. Hey, with all the wacky and outlandish costumes people wore for the various stage shows and through the casinos, no one even blinked at the sight of the tall horned demon or the flashy ensembles he sported from day to day.

As he scanned the crowd, his eyes met the striking yet troubled gaze of a man at the bar. "Ooo, Blue Eyes. What's your story?" he said eagerly to himself raising an eye-brow to svelte "young" hunk with platinum tipped curls as he worked his way through the crowd toward the bar.

"So tell me about yourself, Honey," the Host said to Spike as he seated himself on an adjacent stool.

"Not much to tell really," Spike replied cautiously as he shifted uncomfortably on his stool.

"Oh please, you expect me to believe that. I can tell by the look on your face you've come here for something and I'm guessing it's not the atmosphere and cheap drinks."

"Right then, heard you were a seer or some such. You can tell stuff about a body. Hoped maybe you could give me some answers...'bout my life."

"Well, Darlin' first you're gonna have to do a little somethin' for me."

A wary look flashed across Spike's face at the statement.

After more of an explanation from the Host, Spike found himself centre stage, behind a microphone, hot white spot lights emphasizing the paleness of his skin but highlighting his sharp features, waiting for his song to cue up. He couldn't believe that he was doing this. As if battling fire-fisted fighters and being engulfed by hundreds of scarab beetles wasn't enough, now he was taking on his greatest challenge yet: karaoke.

"Born under a bad sign I've been down since I began to crawl. If it wasn't for bad luck, I wouldn't have no luck at all." Spike's voice low, with a gravelly edge. "Bad luck and trouble's my only friend...

"Now this boy's got problems," Lorne remarked to himself maintaining a keen eye on his subject as Spike overflowed with imagery. The barrage was almost dizzying, so the anagogic demon had to sit down.

"You know wine and women is all I crave. That skinny little woman is gonna send me back to my grave." He was bitterly changing the lyrics by now to suit himself.

"Always some woman," mumbled a Churago demon to his pals as Lorne headed toward the stage.

"Yeah, my bad luck boy. Been having bad luck all of my days, yeah." Spike tipped his head back and then down, finishing the number.

Applause filled the lounge.

"Hey, how 'bout that. What a talent. I'm gonna have a chat with Be-still-my-Heart-and-Soul Man here and meanwhile, Rippletta, the Wintrall Pixie is gonna open up to y'all. She's searching for the Yartolian sorcerer who clipped her wings. Give her a big hand." He took Spike by the elbow and led him off stage to a reserved quiet corner table.

"So what can you tell me, Mate?"

"Well, first you've got to tell me where you've been hiding yourself, Baby. You are simply FAB-ulous," Lorne began, waving to a nearby waitress to bring a couple of drinks over. "Clearly you've been wasting your talent skulking around in the cemeteries of. . .Sunnydale, was it?"

"Yeah, right," he replied cynically. Then he mumbled to himself, "Came all this way for that?"

"Now-now, Sweet Thing. Don't get yourself all worked up," the Host scolded, "You can't expect me to just cut to the chase. Where's the fun in that now?"

Spike rolled his eyes and shook his head. Clearly this was a waste of time. He glared.

"All right, I'm getting there," defended Lorne holding his hands up in surrender. "Well, Hon, you are definitely conflicted. You're tired of running, but you don't know where to stop. You're relieved to be whole again but you're afraid of what that means for your future with. . .a special woman. You're in love with the woman, but hate that about yourself."

"Yeah, but..."

"But what, Darling? There's something specific you wanted to know about?"

"My soul."

"Soul?"

"Yeah, went to Africa. Demon gave me back my soul. But I don't feel any different," insisted Spike.

"Sweet cheeks, I don't know what you were expecting," Lorne remarked, "but I think a little something must have gotten lost in the translation. He didn't give you A soul. He gave you soul."

Spike looked perplexed.

"Listen. Maybe it was an honest mistake or maybe the guy just has a twisted sense of humour, but you, Honey, have got soul in spades! Seems you've been reborn to sing the Blues, Baby."

A soulless demon with soul? "Bloody Hell. How lame is that?"