PART ONE

PART FIVE

Angelus took one step toward Cordelia. "Come to think of it, didn't we have a date for later on?"

Cordelia screamed. Wesley gasped. Father Augustine, a man who had learned to trust his instincts, leapt quickly into the protective circle.

Wesley grabbed Cordelia's right arm -- at the exact same moment Angelus grabbed her left. The duffle bag she'd been holding fell to the floor at Angelus' feet, and Father Augustine felt his spirits collapse with it.

"Cordelia, come on!" Wesley cried, attempting to pull her toward the protective circle.

"Ooooh, tug of war. Fun," Angelus said, increasing his grip on the young woman's wrist until Father Augustine feared her bones would crack. "Is this gonna be like a wishbone thing? See who gets the bigger half?"

Cordelia lurched back hard; at that moment, Angelus let go entirely. The sudden lack of resistance sent her sprawling backwards into Wesley, and they both fell to the floor. Angelus delivered a savage kick to Wesley's gut and laughed when he cried out -- but he made no move to stop either of them as they scuttled into the circle. Father Augustine tugged them deeper within the slender boundary between their salvation and their doom. Once all three of them lay there, panting and weak, Angelus stepped right up to the edge and folded his arms across his chest.

"Turn back, demon," Father Augustine said. "This place is holy and will not admit you."

"Yeah, yeah, I know the drill," Angelus said lazily. "No big deal. If I were in a big hurry to kill these two, I would've done it a minute ago."

"Angel?" Wesley said hoarsely; the breath had apparently been knocked out of him. "Angel, are you in there? Can you stop this?"

"If he could, don't you think he would?" Angelus said. "Hypnosis is a tricky thing, Wesley my boy. Can't predict what'll happen. Oh, that reminds me." Angelus stepped over to the duffle bag with their equipment, lying abandoned on the floor. They all watched helplessly as Angelus lifted out the hypnotic crystal. "Seeing as how this thing set me free, I ought to consider it a keepsake. But I don't think so."

And with that, he threw the crystal as hard as he could against the wall. Cordelia jumped as it smashed against the concrete and exploded into a thousand glittering pieces. "Oh, no," she breathed.

"Oh, yes," Angelus said. "I'm back in business, and the world has you three to thank. Believe me, I am grateful down to the bottom of my heart. For instance, if I ever do decide to kill you, I promise, it'll be quick. No more than an hour or two, tops."

"We're gonna be waiting for you," Cordelia said desperately. "You know what I told Angel. I said I'd stake him if he turned evil, and -- and I will. I mean it."

"Like you could," Angelus said, sauntering up to the edge of the circle again and leering at Cordelia in a way that made the priest feel slightly sick. "More to the point, you're not gonna get much chance. I choose my victims carefully. I put a lot of time and thought into just the best way to make their lives a hell, until I end them. Frankly, you people are going to take some serious planning. I could think of a good way to spend the next few days with you, Cordy; that's for damn sure. But there's girls twice as sexy out there who don't own any crossbows at all.

"Someday, sure, I'll look you up," he continued as he turned to walk away. "It might be two days. It might be twenty years. Telling you when -- well, that would remove all the suspense, wouldn't it? And I want you to surprised."

Angelus looked back over his shoulder as he paused at the door. "Here's one hint, though: It won't be tonight. Right now I have more important things to do. I'm a young man, just starting out; I need to -- win friends. Influence people. Make my way in the world."

And with that he was gone, instantly vanishing into the night.

They were all quiet for a moment after he'd left. Then Cordelia breathed, "Oh, FUCK."

Father Augustine hesitated before he spoke; he was in danger of agreeing with her. "This was -- unexpected."

"Thanks for that profound insight," Cordelia snapped. "Now what? Are we gonna live in this circle forever?"

"Just until we can get to that bag," Wesley said, in a calm, measured voice. Now that Father Augustine looked at him, he could see how intent the young man was, how steady, how carefully he was still listening for any sign of Angelus. "We have stakes in there, some holy water. The tranquilizer gun. Protection."

"Protection for how long? We basically tied up our best friend and dropped him in the trunk of a mad killer. Said mad killer is going to hunt us down sooner or later, and later's not that much better than sooner," Cordelia said.

"Protection for long enough to get us to a phone," Wesley said.

"So we can call Buffy," Cordelia said. "Oh, God, is she gonna be pissed."

"True," Wesley said. "But she is not only our best hope of stopping Angelus, but she is also probably his first target. We must warn her. If Angelus simply shows up in Sunnydale --"

"She'll think it's Angel," Cordelia finished. "And won't even know to fight him until it's too late. Oh, no."

Father Augustine frowned. He'd thought he'd met all the people involved in the ritual -- and, he'd assumed, Angel's circle of acquaintance. "Who is this Buffy?"

"Angel's ex-girlfriend. Also the Slayer. You know what the Slayer is?" Cordelia asked.

"The protector of humanity," Father Augustine replied. Certain vague things Angel had told him about his curse, words about perfect happiness, about release, began to take on shape and meaning. "She was -- they were --"

"All snuggly, not so long ago," Cordelia said. "Which was actually how Angelus got out the last time. So I don't guess Miss True Love gets to bitch at us that much, now that I think about it."

Wesley was on his feet now, tensed and ready. "All right then. On the count of three."

Cordelia started, "One -- two --"

Wesley bolted, grabbed the bag and jumped back into the circle with an astonishing speed and agility. Cordelia blurted out, "That wasn't three."

"Well, if he had been listening -- as well he was off his guard," Wesley explained, handing stakes to Cordelia and Father Augustine. "Father, you'd be as well off going back to the parish. If you have any friends in the community you can contact, people who could help --"

"I will summon what assistance I can," Father Augustine said.

"And we'll break it to Buffy," Cordelia muttered.

He watched the two young people -- wretched in their misery, beautiful in their courage -- scramble out into the night. Their friend had come to him for help; they had trusted his judgment, believed that he would use the discretion of his mind, instead of following the tenderness of his heart. Father Augustine closed his eyes for one moment.

Later. There would be time for the guilt and the grief later. Now he had to prepare for the return of the demon.

*****

From his perch on a rooftop, Angelus looked out over the city. He had liked to do this before, though his thoughts then were so predictable, so maudlin. Whenever he had looked at the lights, he imagined the lives they represented, imagined himself protecting those lives. Envied the happiness he believed they felt.

But now, Angelus saw the lights as an expanse of opportunity such as he'd never known. His soul had overtaken him just before the advent of electrical lighting; Angelus had been forced to do most of his hunting in an era in which the majority of people were at home before dark. Practicing his trade in those days took skill. Patience. Craft. If you aimed higher than an endless diet of prostitutes and dockyard thugs -- and Angelus always had -- you could spend weeks or months plotting out the means for a truly fine kill, and still be frustrated. But electric lighting meant that people stayed up later. Stayed out later. Stayed vulnerable. Humanity was there for the taking, and the challenge now would wholly be a matter of artistry. He felt a bit like a painter who had made do with a few tubes of color, only to be gifted with a rich and varied pallette.

Sunnydale had given him an all-too-brief taste of the luxuries an electric world had to offer the vampire, but the town was too small, too quiet, to really provide the best hunting grounds. But Los Angeles -- oh, he could spend a dozen lifetimes here and never even come close to drinking his fill.

He inahled deeply -- not for breath, but for scent. The rain had just stopped falling, so the air was disappointingly clear, but he could still tell so much. Two women nearby: one with a fresh manicure, both with far too much hairspray, a little drunk --

No, not yet. He wasn't really hungry, and they would be so easy, so cheap.

Besides, there were more important things to take care of first.

Like beheading a certain blonde.

***

Cordelia had her knees hugged to her chest as she huddled against the passenger door of her own car. She'd begged off driving, claiming that she was too upset for it. Wesley was shaking a little, taking deep breaths as he went, but so far, he seemed to be holding together a whole lot better than she was.

But that had to be -- that could only be -- because Wesley wasn't thinking what she was thinking. About the way this might have to end.

Finally she said, in a tiny voice, "We don't have to kill him, do we?"

"I hope not," Wesley said. "We should be able to end the trance, as soon as we find a replacement for the crystal --"

"And how are we gonna do that?" Cordelia said. "Just drop on by Ancient Meditation Crystals Warehouse?"

"They're actually a rather popular item at Rick's," Wesley replied. "Our greater problem will be finding Angelus before he does any harm. At least there's no way he can reach Sunnydale before sunrise. We'll have time to warn Buffy."

"Because, as always, Buffy's the first and only thing on his mind," Cordelia muttered, and Wesley grimaced a little at the bitterness in her voice. But after a moment, Cordelia straightened up and looked over at him. "Wait a sec. What if she's not?"

"Beg pardon?"

"What if he's not going after Buffy first?"

"Possible," Wesley said. "But certainly he'll return to Sunnydale very soon. That still represents our best chance of finding him."

"I'm not so sure," Cordelia said. "Remember what he said when we were in the circle? He said he was gonna win friends and influence people. What does that remind you of?"

"I believe it was a self-help book of some sort. Dale Carnegie, was it?"

Cordelia shook her head impatiently. "No, no. Yesterday, when we were at the old office and Kate showed up with her Fraulein Fuhrer act?"

"That's a bit harsh."

"Says you. But that's what she said to Angel. That he really knew how to win friends and influence people."

They rode in silence for a moment as Wesley considered. Slowly, he said, "He could simply have been reminded of the phrase."

"Or it could just be coincidence," Cordelia admitted.

For a few more moments, they were quiet, and then Wesley looked over at Cordelia again. She glanced back at him. "We've got to find Kate," he said.

***

"You're not on the domestic-terrorism task force, are you, Lockley? No? Then why the hell won't you let this go?"

Her supervisor's words were still ringing in her ears hours later. He'd been angry at her, and with good reason; Kate was neglecting other work to do this. Spending her free time snooping around a crime scene that was probably none of her business. She had admitted it, apologized, promised to direct her efforts elsewhere.

And yet, here it was, the small hours of the morning, and she was looking at the burned-out hulk of a building that had housed Angel Investigations, not so long ago.

"I have got to be crazy," Kate said. Nobody heard, except possibly the homeless woman crouched on a nearby corner, but even she gave no sign, just kept muttering to herself and rocking back and forth.

Kate sighed and took another deep swallow of coffee straight from the thermos. She didn't really need the caffeine; these days, she seemed to run on some strange, ever-ready source of energy, something that burned inside her day and night. Something that sometimes seemed to be burning her up.

Just nine months ago, everything in her life made sense. She was a cop. She had duties and responsibilities, most of them laid out nice and neat, in writing, for handy reference. She did her job, did it well, won the approval of coworkers and superiors. She had a couple of guy friends at the station who were good for a beer or a game of poker sometimes. She didn't have any girl friends, but she didn't much feel the lack. She had a dad. Maybe he wasn't the greatest dad in the world, but he was there -- and she maybe, just maybe, had a chance of finally winning some respect from the man. And when Angel walked into her life, she had thought, for the first time in way the hell too long, that she might have found a man who wasn't intimidated by her job or her strength. Who had his own sense of self, his own intelligence, his own drive. Who just happened to be damn good-looking on top of all that.

Now she had a reputation as the station psycho, an obsession with things she used to laugh off in horror movies, the fact that her last date had both witnessed her public humiliation and turned out to be undead, and a small plot in a cemetery where she could kneel in the dirt and finally pour out all the words she'd wanted to say to her father, now that he could never hear.

And the only thing all those changes had in common? Angel.

Fallacy of causation, she reminded herself. Angel's connected to all of this, yeah. But did he make any of it happen? Or do I just need somebody to blame for the total destruction of my life?

Intellectually, she knew that Angel had not killed her father. But that was the beginning and the end of what she knew about him; everything else was jumbled up, confused, dark and terrifying and mesmerizing all at once.

She looked again at the blackened rubble of the building. Kate leaned back against her car, trying to remind herself how soft and warm her bed would be, how much better she'd feel in the morning if she'd spent more time sleeping, less time knocking around this place.

Besides, when she'd been here the day before, Angel honestly looked pretty depressed, pretty shaken up. Like most of the fire and accident victims she'd seen, he'd been half-angry, half-zoned. His friend -- yeah, call him that -- really had been hurt in the blast. Surely Angel wouldn't have endangered him. Or destroyed his own home.

So why can't I believe it? she thought.

After a moment, Kate screwed the lid on the thermos and tossed it back into the car, then doublechecked her weapon before reholstering it and heading into the building. If this checks out, she told herself, then that's an end to it. If Angel didn't have anything to do with this, then I'm just gonna let him be. Let the whole thing be. He can go after the creepy-crawlies from another dimension, and I'll stick to the human criminal element.

If this checks out.

As she carefully stepped underneath the yellow CRIME SCENE tape, she felt a tiny shiver in her back, as though she were being watched. Kate whirled around, took a look at the area -- and saw nothing besides the old homeless woman, now staring at her with frank interest.

Kate shook her head as she turned back toward the door. "Lockley, you're losing it."

***

"What are we going to do if he kills her?" Cordelia said as Wesley struggled to keep the car steady through a sharp turn at high speed. "I mean, it's not like he can help it or anything, but you know Angel. King of Guilt. He'd never get over it."

"Although I realize the situation would be problematic for Angel, I think it would be rather worse for Officer Lockley," Wesley pointed out.

"Like I care," Cordelia muttered.

"Cordelia, you don't mean that," Wesley chided -- gently, he thought. So he was surprised when she dropped her face into her hands. "Cordelia?" he said again.

"I don't know if I mean it or not," Cordelia said. "I keep telling myself this is the new-and-improved Cordelia Chase. But I feel just like the old Cordelia. Right now I ought to be worrying about Kate and Buffy and the rest of humanity. But all I want is my friend back, so we can all go home and get some sleep."

"That's not wrong," Wesley said. "I'd rather like that myself. But we do have to stay focused on, ah, the big picture."

"I don't do big-picture," Cordelia said miserably. "I seem to be a small-picture person."

"Nonsense," Wesley said. "Why, ever since we first met, I've seen you plunging into the most frightening battles the Hellmouth had to offer. You've never shied from the hardest work."

To his surprise, this speech only seemed to dampen her spirits further. She shook her head. "You never saw the real me. You just saw what I wanted you to see."

"That's ridiculous. You were always in the library, always volunteering to help out --"

Cordelia muttered something he couldn't quite catch. "What was that?"

"I said, that was -- that was only because I was trying to impress you. Because I had a crush on you," she said, then added in a rush, "Way back then a whole long time ago."

"Right," he said, a bit embarrassed by their first acknowledgment of that long-ago infatuation. Then he thought -- good Lord, after what we've each heard tonight, what is there to be embarrassed about?

"Cordelia, I don't know about your motives, but I know that you understood the work we were doing. How dangerous it was, how much depended on our success. You knew that facing the Mayor could very well have lead to your death. And you never once flinched from the prospect. I may not have seen the real you, but I saw -- the best you. As far as I'm concerned, that is the real you, more and more every day."

She looked over at him for the first time in a while, a soft light in her face he hadn't seen in a while. "You really think that?"

"I really do."

"That's the nicest thing anybody's said to me in a long time," Cordelia said. "Maybe ever."

"You deserve it," Wesley said. "Besides, I spent a fair amount of time pretending to be brave for your benefit. Though I don't see how you or anyone could have been fooled." When she grinned, he could feel himself smiling back despite everything else that was happening --

Good Lord, man, he thought. Concentrate. "We're almost at the office. If she's not there, we'll head straight to police headquarters, try to get in touch with her there."

"Right," Cordelia said, squaring her shoulders as if for action. But she was still looking over at him. "Wesley?"

"Yes?"

"If it weren't for all her superpowers and stuff, you would totally kick Faith's ass."

Wesley stared at her, and she shrugged, a little sheepishly. "I know it's not some big poetic speech or something --"

"No, no," Wesley said, smiling again. "That was marvelous. Wildly untrue, but marvelous."

***

Angelus looked down through the web of exposed, dead wires and bare metal beams that had once comprised the roof of his building. He could see the layers of his old existence, strewn in ruins, rendered black by fire.

And he could hear her footsteps as she gingerly made her way up the rickety stairs, her cough as she inhaled stray cinders.

Oh, Kate, he thought. You're so damn sure of yourself, so sure of everything. Sure that I'm some madman out to get the law-abiding, god-fearing citizens of Los Angeles, assuming there are any. Sure that it's safe to stop wanting me, okay to start hating me. And I do so love proving someone right.

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

CHAPTER 6

"What's the plan?" Cordelia whispered as she grabbed the duffle bag of supplies from the back seat.

"I wish we had anything so elaborate as a plan," Wesley answered, glancing over at Kate's police car in front of their battered former building, as though his repeated looks would be enough to summon her back to it, safe and sound. "I suppose we're just going to find Officer Lockley and tell her --"

"Tell her what?" Cordelia said. "The truth? She'll kill Angel in ten seconds flat, assuming she doesn't get herself killed trying."

"And the latter's far more likely," Wesley sighed. He took the tranquilizer gun from the duffle bag, felt the reassuring weight of it, the trigger against his finger. "Point taken. We'll tell her that a demon's loose nearby and we think it might enter the building. That's true, so far as it goes."

"And when Angelus jumps out all evil, then what?"

"Then I hit him with this," Wesley said, lifting the gun slightly for emphasis, "and Officer Lockley can ask all the questions she likes. I doubt even she would stake him when he was unconscious and obviously harmless."

"I'm not so sure," Cordelia said. She lifted up a pair of handcuffs from the bag. "Then again, if she won't listen to reason, I am bondage girl."

******

Kate sat on her heels and traced a line through the soot with her finger. Oily, acrid, strangely smooth -- in other words, plain old ordinary soot.

She'd been wondering if this were some kind of supernatural fire, something born of spells or shamans. Instead, she didn't see much of anything that couldn't have been caused by a faulty popcorn popper.

Well, okay. A faulty popcorn popper that had been strapped to some TNT. But the explosive traces the lab team had picked up were all easily categorized. The fire had burned wood and been doused by water. Everything had been normal, as explosions go.

"A supernatural assassin," she muttered, and frowned. Leave it to Angel to have Satan put a hit on him. Then again, if Angel were telling the truth about this evil thing from beyond, then why wasn't this place -- oh, glowing green or sucked into another dimension or something? What does a supernatural creature need with TNT?

Then again, what did a supernatural creature need with an office? With business cards? With human friends?

With her?

Her ears pricked as she heard a door close by swing open. Kate sprang to her feet, put one hand on her weapon. "Angel?"

*****

Angelus smiled. He was ready now, his body tense, his face relaxed into his hunter's visage. He imagined he could feel his prey's proximity on his skin, a borrowed heat second only to the stolen fire that would sink into his body with the blood he drank.

And now he could hear three heartbeats, each one hammering with terror he could smell even amid the smoke, sweeter all the time.

*****

Cordelia inched her way up the stairs. She and Wesley had split up, which was not necessarily the safest way to go, but would probably let them find Kate quicker. Their old office building wasn't huge, but it covered more ground than Cordelia had ever realized before.

Wesley, who had better aim than she ever would, had taken the gun. This left Cordelia with a big duffle bag of stakes and handcuffs, which seemed to be clacking and clanking against each other louder every second. She peered inside for a moment to see what was rolling around -- then took up a tranquilizer gun cartridge, complete with pointed dart.

Oh, shit, she thought. Is Wesley's gun even loaded? Even as she thought this, she realized that it was; she'd watched him load it herself. But in her present panic, she couldn't remember if he'd carried extra ammunition with him.

Not like it matters, she consoled herself as she hugged the bag tightly against her body. He's only gonna get one shot as it is.

She had only the stakes to protect herself. She knew she might fail to stake him in the one try she'd get, a prospect that terrified her only slightly more than the thought of succeeding. Because however much she didn't want to die, she knew she wasn't ready to see Angel turning to dust at her hands. But she'd do it if she had to; she owed it to herself, and to Angel.

Cordelia thought, I don't know what else I'm feeling, Angel, but at least, as your friend, I love you. Enough to keep my promise. Enough to kill you.

*****

Wesley kept moving through the first floor, crouching low, going stealthily, he hoped. His world seemed to have narrowed to the sights of the tranquilizer gun and the feel of his finger on the trigger.

He knew he was a failure at a lot of things, but dammit, he could shoot. And maybe, this once, that's all that was needed. That one good thing was going to outweigh all the rest, save Cordelia, save Kate, maybe even save Angel himself.

The floorboards creaked, and Wesley tensed. A slight shifting, clothes against clothes, confirmed his suspicion. Yes, that was close. The next room. He pushed the door open with his shoulder, ignoring the sound -- as best to bring his target closer now, and oh, yes, closer, footsteps approaching --

Wesley spun around the corner and brought his gun even with -- Kate's.

She was standing in a mirror of his own position, but with both her hands wrapped around a handgun. "What the hell are you doing here?" she said, her voice almost a growl.

"I -- I --" Good God, what was he going to tell her again? He straightened up, tried to look relaxed. "I might ask you the same question. Don't you need a warrant or something?"

"Take this as your first lesson in American criminal justice," Kate said dryly. "Major explosions usually constitute probable cause. Can't help but notice you've got a gun. That thing licensed?"

"It's a tranquilizer gun," Wesley hastily explained, his voice sounding unnaturally loud. If Angelus were in the building, he had to have heard them by now.

"So why are you trying to knock me out?"

"Oh, no, no. You're not -- I mean, I was looking for someone else. Something else."

Kate frowned and tightened her grip on her gun. "That would be what?"

Wesley looked at her for a long moment. "Officer Lockley, do you trust me?"

"I don't have a real good track record with that question," Kate said. "But I'll hear you out."

Above them, Wesley heard another set of footsteps -- too heavy to be Cordelia's. He saw Kate's eyes flicker upwards, following the sound. "I need you to search this building. If you see anyone or anything that isn't me or Cordelia, and I mean anyone, I want you to fire until you've immobilized -- what you saw. And then stop. Just stop. Don't do anything else. Will you promise to do that, and only that?"

"Where's Angel?" Kate said slowly.

Wesley found he couldn't answer. He turned on his heel and headed toward the stairs.

She'd cooperate or she wouldn't. Either way, he'd done his duty; Kate had been warned.

*****

"Son of a bitch," Kate muttered, getting her back against the most-intact wall she could find. Something was going on here, something that had that meek little Englishman ready to fight, something that involved Angel in a very real, very bad way.

From now on, she thought, I am trusting my instincts.

She heard something fall -- jump? -- in the next hallway, and whirled toward the noise.

*****

Cordelia could hear voices, just voices, not words. And that shivery little sound -- almost out of earshot -- made her shake all the way through. Who the hell was talking? Had Wesley found Kate? Had Angelus found her? What was going on? She wanted to call out, knew it was the worst thing she could possibly do.

When she hadn't been as deep within the building, the city lights had provided some illumination; enough spaces had been taken out of the walls to let in enough of the streetlamps' glow to see by. But now it was almost pitch dark, and this idea was seeming dumber by the second.

She slid halfway behind a support beam and tried to catch her breath. She was freaking out now, pure and simple, and she wasn't any good to anyone freaking out. So she would just go back and find Wesley, and they'd stick together from now on.

She'd go as soon as she could be sure she wouldn't start screaming.

*****

Angelus grinned. How often did you get an opportunity like this? The opportunity to feast on this much terror, this much disappointed hope, all in the same moment?

Not often enough.

He dropped lightly from the rafters, only a few feet in front of his victim.

"Miss me?" Angelus said, smiling at the startled figure of Wesley Wyndham-Pryce.

Wesley fired -- at the same instant that one of the charred floorboards beneath his feet gave way. He stumbled, and Angelus didn't even have to duck. His one shot had been wasted.

"You did miss me," Angelus said. He stepped closer even as Wesley struggled to pry himself loose from the broken boards. "Why am I not surprised?"

Wesley got himself free one instant too late; Angelus' hands twisted around his coat lapels and pulled him close, bringing them face to face. "This was your big night, Wes. Your night to prove you could actually do something. And see how much you've accomplished. I'm proud of you, son."

On the word "son," Angelus flung Wesley across the room, delighting in the stifled cry of pain he heard as Wesley's body hit the floor. "You could't just let it go, could you? Couldn't just let me have my fun. I think by now it's obvious that you don't know who you're dealing with. Maybe it's time I taught you."

"We know exactly who we're dealing with."

Angelus turned around to see Cordelia in the corner, shaking violently but standing her ground. "If you knew who you were dealing with, Cordy, you wouldn't have come out of your little hidey-hole. I was kind of looking forward to prying you out myself."

"Cordelia!" Wesley gasped, obviously breathless from his tumble to the ground. "For God's sake, run --"

"Could be fun," Angelus said with a shrug, wondering idly if her human eyes could see his smile in the darkness. "Haven't you wanted me to chase you, Cordy? Get my hands on you, pull you close?"

"We know exactly who we're dealing with," Cordelia repeated, her voice a little stronger. "The only one who doesn't know is Angel."

"What are you on about?" Angelus said.

"You've got him fooled," Cordelia said. "The only reason we went through all this is because he's so scared of you. Of how strong you are, of how weak he thinks he is. He said -- he said he was your captive."

Angelus watched as she actually stepped forward, staring him down; however dark it was to her, he knew now that she could see his eyes. "But the thing is, anytime both of you are in that body -- you're never the one in control. The only way you can take over is when he gets thrown out by that curse or this stupid hypnotism thing. He's the strong one. And you? You're the captive."

"You'll lose your throat for that," Angelus snarled, leaping forward to grab Cordelia in his arms. She cried out as his hands closed over her shoulders and he pulled her roughly against him. "But not until I've made you scream --"

And that was when he felt it -- a tiny little jab in his side. He glanced down, saw Cordelia's fist jammed against his ribs -- and saw her pull it away, open up her fingers to reveal a tranquilizer dart.

"Bitch," he growled, shoving her down to the ground so hard her body went limp. Damn her to hell; yeah, he could do it, he could still take her. Angelus lowered himself over her, brought his fangs to her throat -- as the butt of the tranquilizer gun slammed into the side of his face.

"Get away from her," Wesley said, holding the gun in one hand and his side in the other. And Angelus could think of a million things to say that would make that guy crumple right over -- both of him -- all three --

And unconsciousness swam up to swallow him.

*****

Kate took the stairs three at a time and sprang into the room to see -- Wesley, Cordelia and Angel, the latter two lying on the floor, the former looking as though he might topple over to join them any second. "What the hell is going on?" she said.

"Officer Lockley," Wesley said, with a sense of wonder as though he'd never really seen her before. Then he shook his head and repeated, "Officer Lockley. You're -- you're just in time."

"In time for what?"

"Owwww," Cordelia groaned from her place on the floor. "My head hurts. Oh, wait, that means I'm alive. Yay for pain."

"Cordelia, I was just about to tell Officer Lockely about the -- Wulxey demon -- that attacked all three of us."

"Whatsy demon?"

"Exactly," Wesley said.

Kate glared at him, then at the prone figure of Angel on the floor. "You were chasing a demon?"

"Yes. Precisely. We had reason to believe it would, ah, seek out our former headquarters. Revenge. We'd foiled its plans before, you see."

"Revenge," Kate repeated.

"Yeah," Cordelia said, sounding much more confident than she had a moment ago, although she made no effort to sit up. "Yeah. He was -- real bitter."

"It just jumped all three of us. Afraid I missed my shot," Wesley said. "Knocked Cordelia out for a moment and, ah, appears to have knocked Angel out rather soundly."

"So where is it?" Kate said, glancing around the room.

After a moment, Wesley said, "Went out the window, I think. I confess I was so worried about Cordelia and Angel that I -- lost sight of it for a moment."

"What does it look like?" Kate said, heading for the window, gun still at the ready.

"It, ah -- it takes on the appearance of someone you trust," Wesley said in a rush, as if pleased to be telling her this. "It can look like anyone. Anything. Very tricky, the Wuxley."

"Whatsy," Cordelia said.

"Exactly," Wesley replied.

Kate looked at the street below. In the predawn hush, all she could see was the homeless woman from earlier, tiredly trudging toward another corner, another street. "I think it got away."

"Well, darn," Cordelia said.

"Don't fret, Cordelia!" Wesley said brightly. "We'll get that demon another day. Officer, would you mind doing us a favor?"

"Probably." When Wesley looked back at her, she sighed. "What?"

"Take Cordelia to the hospital, make certain she's all right."

"I'm fine," Cordelia protested, propping up on one elbow for a moment, then sinking back to the floor. "On the other hand, why turn down a chance for prescription painkillers?"

"That's as close to the line of duty as I've gotten in a while, so, okay. What about your boss?" Kate gestured toward Angel, still motionless on the floor.

Wesley quietly said, "Leave him to me."

Kate holstered her weapon and moved to Cordelia's side. As she helped the younger woman to her feet, she kept her eyes on Wesley. "I'm not stupid. I know you're not telling me everything."

"Forgive me, Officer, but I very much had the impression there were things you didn't want to know."

Kate raised an eyebrow at that. "Fair enough."

But, even as she guided Cordelia to the stairs, her eyes were hard.

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

?

CHAPTER SEVEN

"He's coming around."

"If he isn't fully conscious --"

"Hearing's the first sense to return." A chime sounded twice. Angel opened his eyes, and wakefulness and light and something far deeper flooded into him all at once. Blinking, he looked up into the two faces above him -- Wesley's pale one and Father Augustine's dark one -- and felt an all-too-familiar moment of confusion. Where was he? Cordelia's living room -- strange, he wasn't supposed to be there. Oh, the exorcism; were they done?

And memory came rushing in. And then shame. Angel shut his eyes again. "Oh, God."

"Angel?" Wesley asked. "How do you feel?"

For a long moment, Angel could not reply, could not even open his eyes to look at his friend. "How's Cordelia?" he finally managed.

"She's all right," Wesley said gently. "Concussion, muscle strain in her back and, she says, one particularly nasty bruise. It's in an area she won't show me."

"And you?"

"I'm fine. Bruised my ribs again. That's all," Wesley said. "Please don't worry."

"Worry," Angel said, his voice cracking on the word. "That doesn't begin to describe it."

"Angel," Father Augustine said, "I realize that this is a difficult moment for you, but I must ask: do you wish to attempt the exorcism again? Because if you do, the sooner we try it --"

"No," Angel said. "It's not worth the risk."

After a pause, Father Augustine quietly said, "I agree. The demon within you spoke truth, Angel. It is in its rightful place. To attempt to remove it was --"

"Insane?" Angel asked, opening his eyes to accept the priest's condemnation.

Instead he saw Father Augustine shake his head slowly. "Courageous, I would say. But perhaps futile. And not worth risking innocent lives."

"Thank you for trying, Father," Wesley said.

Father Augustine shook his head slightly. "No need. I do my duty. If you need me again, do not hesitate to call."

As the priest bustled out, Angel slowly turned his head to look at Wesley, who was standing next to the couch, looking down at him with an unreadable expression. Finally, Angel said, "I don't know what to do besides ask you to forgive me."

"That's all you need to do," Wesley said. "Angel, listen to me: it's all right. Really. We knew what we were getting into."

Angel shook his head. "You told me I shouldn't do this. I did it anyway. And whatever you signed up for didn't include almost getting killed."

"After seeing Angelus again, I can tell you that I can't blame you for wanting to be rid of him once and for all."

"Him," Angel repeated quietly. "Where's Cordelia?"

"Asleep in her room," Wesley said, gesturing toward her closed door. "The doctor wanted her in bed. Of course, we've got to wake her every four hours to make certain her head is all right." He knelt beside the sofa and held out a small key. "Here. Let me get those cuffs off."

Angel allowed himself to be unshackled, looked at the cracked skin on his wrists as they were freed from their steel. "Is Kate --"

"Unharmed and unknowing," Wesley said. "Though I believe her suspicions have been heightened, if such a thing were possible."

"Great," Angel sighed. He sat up slowly and looked over at Wesley again. This time he was able to take in Wesley's pallor, the shaded expression in his eyes. "You need some rest," Angel said.

"Wouldn't mind that at all," Wesley said. "The sleeping bag is already out, actually. So if you wouldn't mind waking Cordelia in two hours -- she said she wanted to speak to you as soon as possible --"

"Wes, take the couch," Angel said quickly.

"No, no," Wesley said. "Not my turn." He paused before adding, "You don't have anything to make up to me."

Angel sighed and put his forehead in his hand. "Wes --"

"If you did have anything to make up to me," Wesley said, in a odd, rushed voice, "it would be because those things he said were real. And we both know that they weren't. And besides, it wasn't even you. And so there's no need to discuss any of it any further, is there?"

When Angel looked up again, Wesley was trying to smile. The attempt wasn't working that well, but in that moment it struck Angel as exceptionally brave. He could only reply, "No, I guess not."

"All right, then," Wesley said, his relief evident. As he stretched out on the sleeping bag, he genuinely seemed to relax; Angel watched him quickly drift into an exhausted, and hopefully dreamless, sleep.

Two hours of fitful napping and sinking dread later, Angel stood beside Cordelia's bed. She was splayed out on her back, long hair across the pillow, looking not unlike the figure he had so roughly shoved to the ground only hours ago. He reached out to touch her shoulder and gently shake her awake, but stopped when he saw the bruises on her arms -- the shadow images of his hands.

Angel took his hand away and whispered, "Cordelia?"

She stirred immediately, opening her eyes wide. "Angel. You're back."

"If that's what you'd call it," Angel said. "How do you feel?"

"Good," Cordelia said, slowly propping herself up on one elbow. "The vision does not blur; the head does not hurt more. So I'm good. In a couple minutes, I have to walk around some. Gonna help with that?"

Angel looked down for a moment, then knelt by the side of the bed. "Cordelia, I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," she said, reassuring him as quickly as Wesley had. "I meant what I said to that -- that -- bully. He can say what he wants, do what he wants, but he's the weak one, Angel. Don't forget that."

There isn't any he, Cordelia. There's only me. That's what you don't want to understand.

That was what Angel wanted to say. But the need in her eyes kept him silent. She needed to believe that Angelus was some prisoner in a cage, who came out to rattle the bars now and again. He knew, by now, that she could never accept that the demon was much or more a part of him than his soul. Wesley, who had every reason to know better, persisted in the belief too -- despite all his education, all his evidence. And Angel needed to let them believe what they wanted to believe, because that was the price of his acceptance here -- his home, his friends, everything that made his existence worthwhile. No matter how many times he undermined their friendship, it could always be rebuilt on the foundation of this one, simple pretense.

Angel would have thought that you could not build happiness upon a lie. But, as he nodded at her and saw her trusting face spread into a genuine smile, he decided he had been wrong about that.

"You were terrific," Angel said. "That took guts, luring me close like that."

"Many unkind and true things have been said about me over the years," Cordelia sighed, "but never that I lacked nerve."

"True and true," Angel said. "Can I do something for you? Do you need -- breakfast? Juice? The July Vogue?"

"Nah," she said. "I still have some serious catching up to do with the sleep. We'll take our stroll, and then it's back to REMsville for me."

Angel returned her smile as he reached up to brush a bit of hair from her face. And that moment -- the intimacy of it, the nearness of their bodies, their faces, here in her bedroom -- reminded him that not everything could be put away so easily. "We ought to talk about what I said -- what he said about the two of us."

Cordelia visibly flinched, but she did not hesitate before she answered, "I know nothing's ever gonna happen with you and me. I always knew that. So it's not like I had my hopes up or something."

"No, it can't ever happen," Angel said. "That's my misfortune. It shouldn't be yours."

Cordelia sighed heavily and said, "I HATE Gypsies." Her voice was so sincere that Angel had to laugh for a moment. She brightened at the sound and smiled at him with a touch of her old playfulness. "I mean, think about it. I'd make you so happy so fast we wouldn't even have time to blink before your soul was outta there."

Before he could talk himself out of it, Angel leaned forward and quickly kissed her forehead. "I don't doubt it."

*****

"Are you any closer to your answers?"

Angel gratefully looked away from the cross at the front of the church to see the nun sitting placidly beside him. "How do you know I'm looking for answers?"

"Everyone is," she said. "And I would imagine that you have more questions than most."

They sat side by side for a while longer as Angel stared the cross down once more. How long had it taken him to acquire the maturity, the courage to do this? A century? More like two --

He'd left Cordelia and Wesley at the apartment. Cordelia was staying put in bed, although she had recovered sufficiently to flip through her Vogue and gripe about missing her commercial audition that afternoon. Wesley had roused enough to cook dinner for her; in the process, he had been inspired to rearrange a few things in the kitchen and had awakened Dennis' ire. After some pots had been thrown around, they had all three agreed that the time to divert their money toward separate apartments had come. "Dennis really needs his space," Cordelia had said from behind her bed tray, so easily that Angel knew, if it were up to her, the two of them might have camped on her floor forever.

But those days were ending. Angel told himself to think little of it. He had long ago given up believing that anything was permanent. Besides, he needed a little space of his own.

Maybe that explained why he'd ducked out of the house tonight. But he was not sure why he had come here, unless it was to challenge himself this one last way. To prove he had at least this much control, and that he could keep staring up at that cross.

"No matter what I've done, what I try to do, it still turns me away," Angel said. "What answer should I take from that?"

"Does the cross turn you away?" the nun said. "Or is it something within you that turns away?"

"It doesn't seem to make much difference," Angel said. "And I know that you spoke the truth before. This is the symbol of God's love. And this love that's supposed to claim the whole world -- there's no place in it for me."

"God's love comes to us in many forms," the nun said. "And it comes to everyone. The challenge is to recognize it."

"I don't know about that," Angel said, turning away from the cross at last. He pulled his coat around him as he rose to go. "God understands what I am."

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

THE END

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

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