There was something in his mouth that tasted of earth and metal. He moved slowly, as if swimming through mud, and touched his face.

It was not the face he had known before.

This face was larger, rougher, and of a different shape. He found his mouth with one misshapen hand. Teeth gaped over the lips he encountered. He opened and shut his jaw experimentally and found that he had to be cautious not to bite down too hard, lest he puncture the flesh around his chin with these new, mercilessly jagged incisors.

The rest of his body was similarly strange. It felt not unlike wearing garments that were too large. He made a low sound in the back of his throat and tried to speak again, his eyes darting up to the lean figure hovering over him.

“This will…” he began. His voice was deep, thunderous, and rough. It shocked him, but he tried once more. “This will require… acclimation    ,” he finally managed.

“Of course, of course,” said the man. He was smiling proudly. “Whatever you’d like, old bean. Spot of food? Someplace to rest? Perhaps a nice virgin sacrifice?”

He resisted the urge to punish the man immediately for his insolence. He knew he could, and should, not.

Not this man, at least.

“No,” he replied. “I will hunt.”

The man practically hopped with glee. “Good show, that. Yeah, go on out there and wreak a bit of havoc, what don’t you?”

He rose from the floor and found his new form was dizzyingly tall. He composed himself, let out a short grunt, and began to seek the nearest exit.

“Oh, Baldev,” the man called. “Do be a good lad and come back here when you’re done, won’t you? I’m your, what do you call it… your maker, guide, that sort of thing.”

“Qwa'ha Xahn,” Baldev said. “I know. You are my Qwa'ha Xahn.” He nodded at the man. “I will return.”

“Yeah, that.” The human grinned again. “Ought to keep in touch and whatall.”

Baldev spotted a door at last. He could smell the stink of rotting plants seeping through from outside. He lumbered forward.

“By the by, don’t need to be so formal,” the Qwa’ha Xan said abruptly. “Figure we’re like family now. No need for rubbishy titles.”

“What shall I call you?” Baldev asked. “Father?”

“Gods, no,” he said, cringing. “I rather prefer ‘Uncle Ethan’ if it suits you.”

Baldev did not respond, but merely began to punch his way through the thin wooden surface of the door.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Ethan said merrily. “Make me proud out there.”

Nivel’s eyes were open wide. He didn’t blink. His chest was rising and falling heavily, and she could sense his pulse quickening more and more rapidly. Illyria knew the man wished to speak, wished to enumerate yet again the reasons why she should permit his people to prostrate themselves before her, but he refrained. She could almost muster up a modicum of respect for his self-control and deference.

Almost.

“Your followers,” she began. “They are not great in number.”

“They are your followers, Illyria,” Nivel corrected her.

Illyria cast a withering look his way, and the man shrunk in on himself, taking a step backward and bowing his head. “They are not my followers yet,” she informed him sharply. “I have not acquiesced to this arrangement.”

“Yes, Great One,” Nivel said quietly. “I simply hope that we can reach an understanding.”

“Soon,” Illyria said. “But I repeat: they are not great in number, these humans. Is that accurate?”

“That is correct,” Nivel replied. “Your kingdom, you must admit, has been dormant for millennia. It gladdens my heart to see even the few whom I have assembled.”

This gave Illyria pause. He assembled them? Was that truly the case? “How did you assemble them?” she asked.

Nivel colored slightly. “It was a dream of mine and my son’s,” he told her. “He was your true priest, as you well remember, and those that have been collected were those with whom he arranged your resurrection. His recruiting techniques… I was not always privy to them.”

“They were his people.” Illyria’s eyes narrowed. “Ones he gathered from the Wolf, Ram, and Hart.”

Nivel shook his head quickly. “No,” he said hastily. “Knox was the only one, though he did enlist Dr. Sparrow’s help. My son was simply using the firm’s medical and science facilities for Renraw’s own purposes, to bring you to life.”

“Then my form and her allies… they were not of particular interest to your people?” Illyria asked.

Nivel’s face reddened even more. “I am reluctant to admit that Ms. Burkle was chosen because of my son’s affection for her, nothing more.” He peered at her more carefully. “Why is this of concern to you?” he asked.

“I detect insolence in the mere question,” Illyria replied.

Nivel once again demurred. “I beg your pardon.”

“This is of concern to me,” she began, “because I continue to fail to understand why an exceedingly pathetic collective of humans and half-breeds interests your group so. They are not even worthy of your attention.” Illyria started to walk around the room, studying the knickknacks Nivel had scattered about his desk and bookshelves. She stroked the gold-leaf edging of the bookcase thoughtfully. “You should leave them alone.” Her voice was soft, gentle, almost taking on the cadence of Fred’s. “Why don’t you?”

“Because they would seek to absorb and assimilate you, Illyria,” Nivel explained. “Your glory has already been diminished by them. They are not as innocuous as they seem.”

“Is that for you to determine?” Illyria asked, her tone becoming hard again. “Or are you solely seeking revenge for the death of my former Qwa'ha Xahn, your offspring?”

“I… really, I…” Nivel stammered. “I didn’t mean to –”

She whirled around to face him. Her eyes were sparkling with an intense, cold fire. “I tire of you now,” she spat out.

Nivel frowned. “Do we have an understanding or not?” he asked.

“I will make a determination soon,” she replied distantly. She glanced at him. A look of fear stood out plainly on his face. Something about his disappointment made Illyria want to assuage him, if not truly comfort him. “Do not think I am not… moved,” she said carefully. “As much as any lesser being may move me, of course. I find your ministrations intriguing.”

Nivel seemed to be relieved by these words, and he visibly relaxed.

Her head held high, Illyria strode toward the door. “You will have my response when I am ready,” she said firmly. “Consider your patience on this matter to be the first test of your loyalty.”

She had been all set to go right into Dawn and Willow’s place when she noticed something odd.
 
It was quiet.
 
For a second, Buffy was thrown by the lack of chaotic noise around her. There were no annoying ex-boyfriends around to make pointed and uncomfortable remarks, no group of friends and wary allies huddled around a research table, no demons, no phones ringing, nothing. This was too good to be true.
 
Almost as if no longer under her own power, Buffy felt her knees soften. Before she knew it, she was sitting cross-legged right in the middle of the sidewalk. Gazing upward, she saw that the sky was a light, hazy pink shade, shot through with the faintest tinge of gold around the horizon. She took a deep breath, enjoying the way the air smelled of dew, grass, and damp tree bark. She wasn’t sure what time it was, but knew that it was somewhere in that nebulous realm between “too late to still be awake” and “too close to morning to bother going to bed.” No, there would be no sleep for her now. There was too much work to be done, too much weirdness to deal with. She would go inside and make with the coffee preparation, caffeinate herself into a jittery mess just to stay alert for whatever came their way.
 
But not yet. In a few minutes, she’d put on her slayer mantle and be battle-ready. This particular minute, however, belonged to Buffy. Not super-heroine Buffy, just Buffy the regular girl, who was beyond exhausted and didn’t get much chance to enjoy watching a sunrise.
 
Something nagged at her, though; some residual restlessness that she knew was a vestige of responsibility. Why, exactly, was it so damn quiet anyway? Buffy reached a hand to her jacket pocket and gave it a little squeeze. The small bulk of her cell phone was still there. She withdrew it and flipped it open and… “Crap,” she said aloud, encountering a completely blank screen. “How long has the battery been dead?”

She scrambled hastily to her feet, feeling a surge of panic wondering what might’ve happened in the time she’d been out of commission communication-wise. Her fists were soon hammering loudly at the front door. “It’s Buffy! Let me –”
 
Abruptly, the door swung inward, revealing an empty living room. Buffy’s heart began to pound so hard she could feel it in her stomach.
 
The room was nearly completely dark, except for the pale grey light spilling in from the doorway. The curtains were shut. Willow’s computer was off.
 
It was still just as silent as it had been outside.

But there was someone – or something – on the other side of the door, pressed against the wall. Buffy clenched her left hand into a tight fist and shoved her right hand into her jeans pocket. She swiftly pulled the familiar sharpened shard of wood out and clutched it hard.

Often in the midst of possible threat from an enemy, a part of Buffy’s mind would find itself occupied by the most ridiculous thoughts. It was the part of her that – almost unbidden – was able to issue wisecracks in the middle of a fight or insult a vampire’s wardrobe mid-staking. Even now this was happening, as her slayer senses and reflexes prepared themselves for high alert, and adrenaline started to course through her veins. All Buffy was able to consciously think about was, randomly enough, Glinda the Good Witch, her gentle soprano in full vibrato as she summoned the munchkins.

Come out, come out, wherever you are… The music in her head started to speed up in time with her racing pulse. Meet the young lady who fell from a star…

She took one step further into the room, and that’s when the scent hit her. Familiar. Musky. The unmistakable mingled aromas of leather and cigarettes, combined with the faintest hints of sweat and stale CK-1.

Buffy’s grip on the stake relaxed. She closed her eyes briefly as she allowed herself to take in a great gulp of air, exhaling slowly. Tension drained from her neck and shoulders, and she felt like either laughing or screaming.

After all, it would be him, wouldn’t it? Being creepy and strange and not saying anything to her? Not that she particularly wanted him to say anything, but…

Buffy willed her thoughts to slow down and forced herself to speak despite mounting feelings of weirdness. She kept her tone light. “You know, it’s not funny to be all Mr.-Sneaky-Silent-Guy when we’re in the middle of scary weirdness, Spike.” Buffy walked toward Willow’s desk and plugged her cell phone into the charging stand. “You could’ve at least said something.”

Her back to the door, Buffy heard it swing shut slowly, followed by the sound of the lock engaging.

She knew she’d have to turn around soon, knew that she’d find herself face-to-face and alone with him for the first time in months. Dread gnawed at her. She really didn’t want to have even the briefest of conversations with Spike. It had to happen sooner or later, though, and it was probably best it happen now, while nobody else was home.

Buffy steeled herself and turned around.

No amount of preparation could have readied her for the person standing there, arms crossed, a huge grin firmly in place. Buffy jumped. “What the… what are you doing here?!” she cried.

Faith’s grin only widened. “Nice to see you, too, B.”

Freedom was a lie.

This body was large and capable, and every second that he spent in it, Baldev was able to make it work more properly, to feel his very essence filling out its shape and form. But even outside the chamber in which he had awoken, he felt confined.

He knew this was a different age. Knew the humans had somehow bred incessantly and taken over this place. Logic told him he should remain steady and observe, to be no more rash than necessary in order to gather information. Yet he felt the oddest sensation, as though the sky itself pressed down upon him, making even this hulking body feel meek and useless.

That sycophant… his “rescuer.” He was a disgrace, that creature who called himself “Ethan.” One could believe that parody of a Qwa'ha Xahn had freed him, released him from his resting place and allowed him to dwell in the world once more. Perhaps it would seem that way soon, but now, Baldev hardly felt free.

There was a time Baldev had kept prisoners as pets, spoils of the wars he won against his enemies. He could almost imagine how they must have felt, caged in an alien environment. It would have been torturous, he realized.

Then again, he couldn’t help but look upon his days of power with fondness.

He was sticking to a shadowy area near an odd path made of stone. Box-like buildings flanked the sides of the path, and finally he saw what he’d been waiting for. Hiding was no longer necessary.

“Come!” Baldev shouted.

A reedy male creature stopped walking mid-stride and looked around him, his head darting about quickly. “Somebody… is… is somebody talking to me?” he called out nervously.

Baldev stepped from the shadows. “Honor is upon you, lesser one.”

The man clutched his chest. “Oh, my God!” He staggered backward, dropping a paper cup on the ground, its brown contents splattering out. The man began to run, but Baldev reached out one long arm and grasped him by the collar.

“Be still,” Baldev ordered him.

The man was sweating now, stinking rivulets streaming down his pale, narrow face. He struggled weakly in Baldev’s grasp. “What the hell?!” he cried. “What… what are you?!”

“I am Baldev, the god-king,” Baldev said. “I have chosen to honor you.”

The man swallowed hard. “What… what do you mean… ‘honor’?”

“Ah, mortal,” Baldev said, almost warmly. “You have a special purpose.”

“W-What?!”

Baldev’s mouth opened into a gaping maw. His jaws were around Jerry’s entire head down to the neck in an instant. He bit down hard, snapping the tendons in the man’s throat. With minimal effort, Baldev was able to tear the head completely from the body, which he dropped unceremoniously to the ground.

He crunched Jerry’s skull between his teeth quickly and felt a surge of warmth fill him as he began to digest the man’s brain.

“A very special purpose indeed,” Baldev said, looking down thoughtfully at Jerry’s decapitated body. Blood streamed from the ragged neck and flowed out into the street. “You should feel privileged to be the first creature to provide me with nourishment.”

“Hey, how you feelin’, big mojo guy?”

Andrew looked up to see Xander hovering over him. “Those painkillers… bleh. I’m all dizzy and groggy,” he admitted. “And my tongue feels like it’s wearing a sweater.”

Xander chuckled. “Sounds like a hangover,” he said, chuffing Andrew on the arm.

“Really?” Andrew struggled to sit up, smooshing the cushion on the sofa under his back more comfortably. “I never had one, so I don’t know.” He looked down at his left hand, lying uselessly on his lap. It was swathed in bandages, with metal splints encasing each finger.

Xander looked at him dubiously. “You’ve never had a hangover?”

Andrew shook his head. “I got drunk on Zima and grenadine one night in Rome with Caprice and Isabella, but the Immortal gave me some kinda protein shake when I got home. No fuzzy head in the morning at all.”

“Sheesh. The way people talk about that guy, you’d think he had the cure for cancer,” Xander muttered bitterly.

Andrew grinned. “He wasn’t that cool,” he told Xander. “He kept having trouble isolating the DNA structures from the airborne pathogenic component.”

“Whatever,” Xander said, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, you feel like your old self now? ‘Cause Wil and Dawn can’t get a hold of the Buffster, and we’re contemplating a search party.”

“She was on her way back to Willow’s,” a voice came from the hallway.

Xander scrambled to his feet, startled. “You gotta make more noise when you come in someplace,” he informed Angel.

Angel proceeded into the living room, patting out small puffs of smoke from his coat. “I swear, before the ozone layer started thinning, a guy still had a couple extra minutes of shade before sunrise,” he grumbled.

“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again – we’re putting a bell on you,” Xander said.

Angel glowered at Xander. “Yeah. That’s happening,” he said, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

“So, Buffy’s at Willow’s?” Andrew asked. He stood up slowly, steadying himself against the arm of the sofa. “We should get back there, ‘cause it’s, like, investigation central or whatever.”

“I thought my office was investigation central,” Angel said.

“Guys, no place is really what I’d call investigation central right now,” Xander said. “But if Buffy’s not answering her phone, we should probably head over there.”

Andrew sat up straighter and started to stand up, when he suddenly swayed and collapsed back against the sofa cushions.

Xander frowned at him. “You all right there?”

Andrew put his right hand to his forehead. “I hope so,” he said. “Creating portals isn’t really my thing. It took a lot out of me.”

“Not the kind of stuff just anybody can play with,” Angel said.

Xander shot Angel a warning glare. “Hey, he was trying to help us,” he said. “Cut him some slack.”

“It’s all right, Xander,” Andrew said. “Angel’s right. It was kinda hard to handle.” He let out a shaky breath. “I’ll be okay, but I don’t think I can, like, give bicycle turn signals right now.” He waved his broken hand in the air weakly. “Or even really move right now, actually,” he added.

Willow and Dawn came in from the kitchen with trays of coffee mugs. “Who wants to move?” Dawn asked brightly. “I, for one, am totally not going anywhere ‘til I’ve got my buzz on.” She picked up a coffee mug and plopped down on the floor.

“Ditto,” Willow said. She sat next to Dawn. “Apparently, I’m all stinky with Pavlov disease or something anyway, so I shouldn’t be running-around girl right now.”

Dawn giggled. “It wasn’t Pavlov,” she said.

“I know,” Willow said, smiling weakly. “But that sounds cuter than ‘Pravlan poisoning.’” She glanced across the room at Xander and Andrew. “When things are a little less cult-y around here, I think I need some help researching that. If it’s what gave me my magick-equals-Ipecac thing, I have to know how to make with the Pepto Bismol counterspell.”

Xander nodded eagerly. “We want you back in the land of happy Wicca Willow,” he assured her. “But other than that, and the big woozy Watcher here, aren’t things kinda okay for the moment? Riley’s team captured the demon and stuff?”

“For the moment things are okay, yeah,” Angel said. “But we’ve still got a lot of work ahead.”

Willow started passing mugs out to everyone. “Spike’s still asleep. He’s kinda wiped.”

“Has Gunn called in yet?” Xander asked.

Willow looked at Angel. “He call you?”

Angel looked pained. “I don’t think he’d call me right now,” he said.

“Wow, okay, this isn’t sounding too cool,” Xander said. “Spike said he left some bar all pissed off, he’d been injured, and now nobody knows where he is.”

“Nobody really knows exactly where Buffy is, either,” Dawn chimed in. “Maybe they’re, like, off somewhere together.”

Four pairs of eyes looked at her with abject horror.

“I don’t mean like that, you bunch of pervs!” Dawn insisted. “Sheesh!” She paused. “Although, they would be kinda cute together.”

“Dawn!” Angel and Xander cried in unison. The two men glanced at each other in embarrassment, and then quickly looked away.

“I’m just saying,” Dawn mumbled.

Gunn turned up the collar of his jacket against the slight chill in the air. He thrust his hands into his pockets and tried to think warm thoughts as he watched the sky grow lighter over the copse of trees at the edge of the park.

This is seriously whack, he thought. Why the hell am I sittin’ out here freezing my ass off?

But he knew why. Hearing about Illyria showing herself to Xander as Fred… well, that was creepy. Beyond creepy, it was bordering on some kind of sacrilege. Illyria wasn’t too hard to take these days, but whenever Gunn thought too much about what happened to Fred…

He shuddered. Don’t go there, man, he urged himself. Just hang out here, chill, get your head clear, and then get back to business. It’s all good.

It suddenly became far less good when Gunn spotted a speeding blur in his peripheral vision. He craned his neck to the left, and the creature came into full focus.

The Lorq’vir was bearing down on him. Fast.

Gunn grabbed onto the wheels of his chair. “Aw, hell no!”

Abruptly, all Gunn saw was sky, then grass, then sky again, and he felt himself flying. Pain sparked through every inch of his body when he finally struck the ground. He groaned, unable to open his eyes, but he could hear scuffling sounds.

“This one is not for your consumption.” The voice was unmistakably Illyria. Gunn tried to push himself up, but nothing was happening when he tried to tell his arms to move.

“Is this your Qwa'ha Xahn?” The other voice was low, thick, almost a growl.

That’s not what that dude sounded like last night, Gunn thought. There somebody else out there? Finally, with much pain, he managed to open his eyes and lift his head.

He scanned the park. There was Illyria, all right, standing before the Lorq’vir.

“No,” she told the demon. “But he is one among several who facilitated my rebirth.” She began to walk around the Lorq’vir in a slow circle, her eyes darting up and down him. “Who facilitated yours?”

The Lorq’vir’s misshapen mouth twisted into a gruesome parody of a smile. “I have someone loyal to me,” he said in the same guttural voice Gunn heard before.

What the hell? That ain’t the same dude, he realized. So this town’s a hotbed of Lorq’vir nests or somethin’?

“You have taken a most interesting form,” Illyria told him. “Your own Qwa'ha Xahn must be exceedingly clever.”

The demon nodded. “And yours exceedingly stupid,” he said. “You are trapped in a human female. It shall be very easy to kill you that way.”

She stared at the demon. “I am still possessed of strength. I am still Illyria, and a god-king.”

“And I am still Baldev, one of the old ones as well,” the demon said. “But the one who brought me here knew to provide me with a shell capable of sustaining my glory.” He leaned in closer to Illyria. “Are you not resentful?”

“I do not wish you harm, nor do I wish you well,” Illyria replied. “If I must, I will end you, but it is of little concern to me whether you remain in existence or not.”

The demon glared at her. “These are not times of wary co-existence, Illyria,” he said. “Once we created chaos when our kind warred, and that time is swift to approach again.”

“Chaos,” Illyria repeated slowly. “So you are being worshipped by –”

“It is not to be spoken of now.” The demon turned his attention to Gunn. “The human stirs.”

“You should leave this place,” Illyria told Baldev. “He is a skilled sorcerer and would murder you.”

“You are a liar,” Baldev said. “And I shall soon rip your flesh from your bones.” He cast his eyes toward Gunn again and bounded off hurriedly toward the trees at the southern end of the park.

Gunn finally managed to sit up. His eyes locked with Illyria’s. “Hey, you okay?” he called to her. “Wanna give a brother a hand?”

Illyria looked from Gunn to the woods and back again. She began to take a step toward him, but then stopped.

“I feel regret,” she replied. “Truly.”

Then she was off, disappearing amongst the trees.

Gunn gaped after her. That can so not be a good idea, he thought. Nothin’ good ever comes from runnin’ off after a thing that big and ugly.

Buffy leaned against Willow’s desk and narrowed her eyes. “What’re you doing here?” she asked. “Last I heard, you were in…” Her voice trailed off. “Huh. I don’t actually think I know where you were.”

Faith shrugged. “Here and there and everywhere. You know how it is.”

“Actually, no, I don’t,” Buffy replied with a frown. “Los Angeles, Sunnydale, Rome, San Diego. That’s pretty much it for me as far as world traveling goes.”

“Why?” Faith asked. “I mean, hell, you could go anywhere. Do anything. See anything. It’s like a slayfest free-for-all. You don’t have to play big cheese anymore.”

Buffy’s frown deepened. “I’m kinda over the whole be-irresponsible-and-have-fun thing.”

Faith laughed. “Yeah, it’s in your blood. You gotta keep up the fight, huh?”

Buffy nodded.

“Believe you me, I get that.”

Finally, the frown melted into a gentle smile. “Figured you would,” Buffy said quietly.

Faith crossed the room and flopped down on the sofa, propping two very dusty black combat boots on the coffee table. “There’s somethin’ else, though, isn’t there?” Faith asked. She began idly picking at the chipped burgundy polish on her fingernails.

Buffy gave Faith’s boots a quick, disapproving look, but she didn’t order the other slayer to put her feet down. “I don’t know what you mean,” Buffy said. “Did you hear about the cult? Er, cults, I guess would be more accurate.” She joined Faith on the sofa, settling carefully on the opposite end.

“I was actually just passing through and thought I’d hang with you guys for a while,” Faith replied. “Ain’t heard a thing about a cult. Nah, I meant...” Faith’s brow furrowed. “You talkin’ to ghosts now or somethin’?”

“Huh?” Buffy blinked at her.

“Spike.” Faith’s voice was pitched low when she said his name. “Last time I saw him, he didn’t look like he was gonna stay in one piece very long.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Faith grimaced and looked down. “I’m sorry. That was a rotten way to put it.”

“Nobody told you?” Buffy asked. “I thought Giles was e-mailing you sometimes and –” She paused, rolling her eyes. “Of course nobody told you. We didn’t even know about it until just a few months ago.”

“Know what?”

Buffy continued, almost forgetting for a moment that she was speaking to someone else. “Well, Angel knew, but obviously he didn’t think it was important enough to tell me. And Andrew knew, but –”

“Spill it, blondie,” Faith interjected.

Buffy stiffened slightly. “Okay, but this is kind of huge-ish,” she said quietly. “Spike didn’t so much… Well…” She took a deep breath and tried again. “He died.”

“Yeah, I remember that part. The great Sunnydale-Gets-Remodeled-into-a-Sinkhole thing,” Faith said.

“He, uh, didn’t totally stay dead, though,” Buffy said. “Not dead dead, I guess, because he’s still a vampire. I guess before that he was a ghost, haunting Angel’s law firm, and…” She sighed heavily. “See, I don’t even know, not totally. It’s all huge on the not-making-sense meter, and…” Buffy finally gave up trying to explain and slumped against the back of the sofa. “He’s here in San Diego, and he’s all walking and talking and soul-having and everything, just like nothing ever happened.”

Faith blinked at her. “Okaaay.”

“Well, no, not… not like nothing ever happened,” Buffy clarified. “He’s sort of been acting like somebody who came back from a war. Shell shocked and not very chatty.”

“He’s not been very chatty?” Faith asked. “Is that a fact?” She pressed her lips together hard and studied Buffy intensely.

“What?” Buffy asked. “You’ve got this look on your face like you’re gonna call me on something, but believe me, there’s nothing to call me on here!”

Faith nodded evenly. “Right. Totally. Whatever.” She looked away from Buffy, but a smile crept slowly across her face. “Anyway, I was abso-friggin’-lutely not about to point that Spike never struck me as having any kind of trouble with the talking. In fact, I’d say ‘chatty’ was a hell of an accurate description of the guy.”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed. “You barely knew him,” she muttered bitterly.

“I guess,” Faith allowed. “’Course, I do know somebody else who tends to get all silent-type when the going gets weird. The queen of not wanting to deal with awkward situations…”

Abruptly, Buffy stood up and headed toward the kitchen. “Like this one,” she called over her shoulder.

It took Gunn less time than he feared it would to crawl over to his wheelchair. Once he was near it, however, he had difficulty deciding if it would be easier to try to get the chair upright first or to get oriented into the seat.

Did this before, I can do it again, he reassured himself. Just get it done, man.

Carefully, he turned his ankles out, planting his feet on the ground, and pressed the palms of his hands into the dewy grass. Sitting up, Gunn tilted the small of his back forward until he felt the ground under his thighs. He scooted forward until his knees were bent, then put his left hand against his knee and reached out with his right hand to his fallen chair. Using the ground as leverage, he was able to stand long enough to pull the chair up onto its wheels. As soon as it was stable, Gunn flopped into the chair.

I’m gettin’ there, he thought with a measure of hope.

He only allowed himself a moment to bask in his small victory before pulling out his phone. He stared at it before deciding who to call, then began dialing as he pushed the chair toward the park entrance. “Yo, Dawn! We gotta get folks in a huddle and fast. Somethin’ severe is goin’ down.”

Faith followed Buffy into the kitchen. “Hey, hey, would you chill?!”

Buffy opened a cabinet and pulled out a large tin of ground coffee, slamming it onto the countertop. “I’m cool, I’m fine, I’m just in great need of coffee,” Buffy said. She banged the cabinet shut loudly.

Faith backed up a step. “Whoa, look, I’m sorry if I struck a nerve, okay?!”

Buffy whirled around and glared at Faith. “Why are you here, anyway?”

“What, I’m just checkin’ up on some old friends. Somethin’ wrong with that?”

Buffy continued to glare at Faith for a moment before turning back to the coffeemaker. She pulled out the carafe and held it, staring at it dazedly. “We’re not friends, Faith,” she said, her tone gentle. “We may not be enemies anymore, but –”

“But you guys are the closest thing I got,” Faith said.

Buffy nodded. “I know.”

Faith gave a nervous chuckle. “Look, cut me some slack once in a while. Spending almost three years in prison… it kinda ruins your manners, you know?”

Buffy smiled sadly. “And I don’t mean to be touchy.”

“It happens,” Faith said. “This job or calling or whatever the hell it is, it hardens you. It hardened me, that’s for damn sure.” She leaned against the refrigerator, watching as Buffy continued in her coffee preparations. “It’s like… I got to a point where I couldn’t even take stuff back anymore. Where it was almost easier to just keep being the baddest little bitch on the block, get in bed with evil ‘til it was just part of me… And then I get to that place alcoholics talk about, that moment of clarity, and –”

Buffy looked at Faith askance. “Is this gonna be a really longwinded soliloquy on the nature of redemption?” she asked. “See, ‘cause we already got, like, multiple people here who are really prone to going off on that subject.”

Faith’s eyes widened. “Damn, B, you’re gettin’ feisty in your old age.”

“Not so much feisty as exhausted,” Buffy said. “I didn’t sleep last night.”

“Get your slay on? There a big vamp population out here?”

Buffy shook her head. “No slay, no vamps, not last night,” she said.

Faith grinned. “Ah, so that’s it. That’s why you’re all freaked talking about Spike. You were with him last night.” She winked at Buffy. “Way to go, girl.”

“God, no,” Buffy laughed. “If you want to get technical about it, I was with Angel last night.” She turned and looked at Faith. “Pick your jaw up off the floor. It wasn’t like that.”

“Way I figure it, some dudes got real creative and used the Lorq’vir to house another old one, like…” Gunn paused, then looked down at the floor. “Like how Illyria got herself a body.”

Everyone was silent for a moment. “No, no, no,” Xander finally said. “There were guys here. Initiative guys. Riley sent them to capture the Lorq’vir.” He surveyed the room. “Right? I’m not the only one who saw that, I know.”

Andrew cringed. “Um, not to be all scary, but how do we know who those guys were working for?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Willow said. “Nobody exactly checked for ID, did they?”

Xander’s shoulders sagged. “No.”

Spike shifted in his seat and yawned. “Raise your hand if you’re surprised this happened,” he said softly.

Dawn frowned. “What do you mean?” she asked. She raised her hand and waved it weakly. “Hello, I’m a little surprised, even though I’m pretty used to the more freaky things in life.”

Spike turned to her. “I don’t mean the demon or the cult, niblet,” he said. He looked pointedly at Angel. “Peaches knows what I mean, don’t you, mate?”
Angel scowled as everyone turned their attention to him. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said evenly.

Spike let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, come off it! You know bloody well what you did, you tosser!” He sprang to his feet and stalked toward Angel menacingly. “You want to tell ‘em?” he asked. “’Cause if you don’t, I’d love to do the honors.”

Angel growled.

“’S that a no, then?” Spike asked. He spun around to face the room. “Right, then. Last few weeks in Los Angeles, Liam ‘ere decides to play both sides of the fence, lull the wankers he was tryin’ to bring down into a false sense of security by pretending he was on their side. Only thing was, he had to prove his loyalty.” He started to pace around the room as he went on. “So, what’s our dashing hero decide to do?”

“Spike,” Angel said, his voice edgy. “You don’t know how it went down.”

Gunn shifted uncomfortably. “You best chill ‘bout this,” he muttered, casting a warning glance at Spike.

Spike regarded Gunn evenly. “Don’t you think the folks deserve to know, mate?”

Gunn looked up at Angel. “Think it’s the big guy’s call if he wants to spill.”

“What’re you guys talking about?” Xander asked.

“There was this terribly affable bloke called Drogyn who just happened to be the guardian of the deeper well,” Spike explained. He whirled around and looked pointedly at Angel. “Operative word being ‘was.’” He tilted his head to one side. “Not among the living so much anymore, that one.”

Gunn exhaled slowly. “Hoo boy.”

“The deeper well?” Willow asked, a puzzled expression on her face.

“The deeper well’s where the old ones were kept,” Gunn said. “The god-kings, like Illyria, in these big-ass coffin things.”

“Obviously, somebody went and got themselves one,” Spike said. “’Cause Drogyn sure as hell wasn’t there to stop ‘em.”

“You weren’t there,” Angel muttered. “I…” He sighed. “Just… let’s focus here. There’s another god-king in the city, and –”

“Focus,” Spike sniffed. “That’s a good one. Always the sort of thing you like to tell everybody to do ‘stead of sussing out the fact that the great and powerful Angel might’ve made a truly world-ending mistake.” Spike walked back toward Angel. His features shifted subtly, his game face bubbling to the surface for an instant. “No use denying what you did. Now what the devil are you gonna do about it?”

Angel looked away from Spike. He carefully studied everyone else in the room for several long, heavy moments before picking his coat up.
“I’ll be at my office,” Angel finally said tersely.

Dawn rose to her feet quickly. “We’re all in this together,” she said, her voice stern. “If you want us to work like a team, you have to act like you’re on that team, too.”

Angel’s eyes softened as he looked at the girl. “Dawn… I…” He tightened his grip on his coat. “I’ll be at my office,” he repeated. “Find me when you need me.”

Everyone was silent for several minutes after Angel swept from the room.

Dawn looked nervously at Spike and Gunn. “Angel killed this guy?” she asked. “Why would he do that?”

Gunn bowed his head. “It was a rough time,” he said. “People gotta do some bad stuff in the name of good sometimes. Y’all don’t know what it was like, goin’ off on those Black Thorn dudes. If they even thought Angel wasn’t with ‘em when he was playin’ double agent… he had to do stuff.” He looked back up at Spike. “We all had to do stuff,” he said quietly.

Spike nodded gravely. “Suicide missions,” he murmured. “Bloodshed.” He fell back in the chair he’d vacated. “Not sayin’ I don’t get why he had to do something rash,” he clarified. “I’m just sayin’ we shouldn’t be surprised if there’s a consequence or two.”

“It was just recon, fact gathering, stuff like that,” Buffy said. “And he was being a typical poopyhead. Like usual.”

“You’re gettin’ all up in his face ‘cause he’s all shut down emotionally?” Faith shook her head in disbelief. “B, you can’t have it both ways. You’re pissed off at Angel for not talking. You’re pissed off at Spike for not talking. You claim you’re pissed off at this weird-ass Italian guy for dumping you, but I think you’re glad.”

“Glad?!” Buffy stared at her. “I’m not glad. I really liked him!”

“I’m sure you did, but you also got this wicked thing going on where you don’t know what the hell you want from the men in your life,” Faith said. “Which is why I tend to advocate the hit-and-run M.O.” For a split second, Faith took on a look of wistfulness, but she quickly shook it off.

“I’m not like that,” Buffy said. “That might work for you just super keen, but if it’s not gonna wind up being a real relationship, I don’t think it’s a good idea to be sleeping with them.”

“You seriously can’t see the bennies of that?” Faith grinned. “Well, let’s see. Because it’s fun, because you get all the good stuff without all the baggage, and because sex burns three hundred calories an hour.”

Buffy slapped a palm against her forehead. “Why is it nobody can manage to embarrass me anymore except you?”

“For something really vigorous, it’s more like four hundred, five hundred an hour,” Faith went on. “And if you tie them up, then –”

“Could you possibly not say anything else quite that disturbing?!”

Faith grinned. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” Buffy said. She took a sip of her coffee. “Anyway, okay, fine, maybe I do have some issues where guys are concerned. But I haven’t exactly had a great track record. You want the long or the short list of all the men who left me?”

“You want the long or the short list of all the men you drove away?” Faith countered.

Buffy sighed. “Once again, this is another speech I’ve heard before,” she said wearily.

“Well, you’re gonna hear it again,” Faith said. “Look, I don’t know what happened with you and Spike. I don’t even really want to know. But you got this big, baggy monster hanging out there, this thing you’re not talking about, and you’re mad.”

“I’m not mad, not exactly,” Buffy said.

“Like hell. You’re pretending you’re not, going around and accusing everybody else of being the communication problem, of not feeling anything.” Faith gave a rueful smile. “God, do I know that game like the back of my hand,” she said sadly. “B, you’re the one who’s pretending you’re not feeling anything. You push everybody away. Part of it’s out of strength, like a slayer instinct, like how you gotta be hard to do what we do. But part of it’s out of fear.”

“Now you’re going to make some big revelation to me about how even you get scared,” Buffy said softly. “What about…” A pensive expression crossed her face. “Faith, what about Robin?” she asked hesitantly.

Faith looked away. “We’re not talking about him,” she said calmly. “We’re talking about you and me, and God knows… we get scared. It’s weird, though, ‘cause I never thought I’d be the one of us to admit it.”

Buffy didn’t say anything for a long moment. “So, I should talk to him? Get over my fear?” Buffy finally asked flatly. “Here’s me very much not overjoyed. Underjoyed, actually.”

“Hey, you do what you want,” Faith replied. “I don’t care. I just think you oughtta own up to your weird, that’s all. Just admit when someone or something puts you in the less-than-comfy place, and you just let it go.”

“They make you watch a lot of Oprah in jail, don’t they?”

Faith scowled. “Don’t dis Oprah. It was either that or spend my days beating up on Big Deb from C-Block.”

Buffy smirked. “You did that, too, though, didn’t you?”

“Hey, she came at me with a knife!” Faith insisted. “Even the guard said it was self-defense!”

The front door suddenly began to shake hard as something heavy pounded against it from the outside. A muffled voice shouted something unintelligible.

Faith scrambled to her feet. “What the hell’s that?!” she demanded. “Is that part of this cult thing?!”

Buffy calmly stood up. “You want me to deal? Stop being avoid-o-girl? Okay,” she said. “I guess now’s a good a time as any to start.” She started walking toward the door.

“You’re not supposed to try this out on the enemy!” Faith cried.

Buffy turned the doorknob. “It’s not the enemy,” she said. “Trust me.”

A dark blanket with wisps of smoke coming off it zipped into the room at an impressive rate of speed. As soon as Buffy shut the door again, the blanket was cast to the floor, and Spike quickly began stamping out the singed areas. “Bloody thinning of the ozone layer,” Spike said, more to the blanket than to anyone else in the room. “Used to be you could still count on a few extra minutes at sunrise, but oh, no, now those rudding ultraviolets get all –”

“Spike?”

Spike looked up, straight into Buffy’s eyes. “Oh. Yes.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry. I, uh… hello, and all that, y’know…”

Faith rolled her eyes. “Forget it. I was wrong. He’s hopelessly unable to communicate.”

Spike turned his attention from Buffy. “What’re you doin’ here?” He looked from one girl to the other. “Situation feelin’ so dire you had to call in more troops?”

“Nah, I’m just hangin’,” Faith said. “Didn’t know there was some kinda badness happening.”

Spike smirked. “Slayer ex machina,” he said. “S’pose there’s no better time for you to come ‘round.” His smile faded, and he turned to Buffy. “Nobody could reach you by phone.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” she said. “Dead battery.” Buffy forced herself to meet Spike’s gaze. His blue eyes looked dark, cloudy, and his brows were steadily furrowing. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “You and Gunn got out of that place okay, I thought.”

Spike swept a hand through the air. “Not to worry,” he assured her. “Yeah, everybody’s fine. But there’s somethin’ you lot need to be aware of.”

“What?” Buffy pressed.

“Got to do with Angel, actually,” Spike said. “Whole sodding mess what’s goin’ on right now… it’s rather his fault.”

Nivel ran a finger along the rim of his coffee cup and sighed. “It’s frustrating, Ethan,” he said. “I simply must persuade her, as soon as possible.”

Ethan smiled at Nivel. “You’re doing an excellent job,” he said. “I’m sure Illyria will come ‘round. Those ancient sorts do love to bask in the glory of their followers, after all.” He took a sip from his own coffee and frowned. “Still, though…” He looked at Nivel and shook his head. “No, no, I’m sure such a thing is beneath your brethren.”

Nivel leaned forward. “At this point, I’ll try anything.”

Ethan canted his head from side to side. “Well, you said she seemed a trifle disappointed by the relative, shall we say, inadequacies of the size of your group.”

Nivel nodded gravely. “They’re loyal, certainly, but she’s used to legions.”

“And Renraw’s not precisely legion-scale, is it?”

“No,” Nivel replied.

Ethan laced his fingers together and cracked his knuckles. “Well, then! Get her some bloody legions!”

Nivel chuckled. “Funny you should mention that,” he said cryptically.

Ethan blinked at him. “What, you goin’ to summon people out of thin air?”

Nivel looked around the coffeehouse, then, seemingly satisfied that no one was listening, he leaned forward slightly. “Not people.”

Ethan looked intrigued.

Faith shook her head vigorously. “He didn’t mean to, though, right?”

Spike shrugged. “Depends on how you look at it, I’d wager. Did he mean to leave the well unguarded? No, I’ll grant him that. Doesn’t mean he didn’t still murder the one bloke in the whole world who could keep it safe, though.”

“You’re assuming a lot there,” Buffy said. “Did he actually say he… did that? Killed the guy?”

Spike squeezed his eyes shut and looked pained as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes,” he said with a sigh. “Spat it out right after it happened, actually.” He opened his eyes and peered at Buffy. “Still got those bleedin’ rose-colored specs on when it comes to…” He bowed his head and let his voice trail off.

“Spike…” Buffy started to reach out a hand to him, but he backed up a step. She cleared her throat. “Where’s Angel now?” Buffy asked.

“That’s the thing,” Spike replied. “Said he was goin’ to his office, but....” He shrugged. “I half suspect the git’s on his way to my motherland as we speak.”

“He can’t,” Faith piped up. “I mean, how the hell’s he gonna hop a plane? It’s gettin’ light out.”

Spike turned to her. “Berk’s still got resources. Managed to buy ‘imself a whole building, he did,” he said. “Don’t know how much he’s got socked away, but I think if he wanted to get somewhere in a hurry, he could.”

Faith peered at Spike in disbelief. “Screw that,” she said abruptly. She flung open the front door and rushed out.

The cursor arrow swept across the computer screen down to a checkbox marked “book tickets.”

Angel stared at the monitor, his finger hovering over the mouse button.

Drogyn. The man’s beaten face and shorn head swam before his eyes. Angel hunched forward, propping his elbows up on the desk and pressing the heels of his hands against his eyelids.

The image wouldn’t go away, though. He saw – no, felt – Drogyn’s battered, weak body go limp in his arms, tasted the man’s blood on his tongue.

I killed him, Angel said to himself. I killed him directly, hands-on, no bones about it. It wasn’t just something I did or failed to do that I knew might lead to his death. It was me. Right there. Killing him. Bare hands, fangs… just me.

That had been hard enough to push aside, trying to look at Drogyn as another casualty of the final battle, trying to reconfigure the memory of what he’d done into the framework of necessity. But now, finding out that Drogyn’s death wasn’t just something difficult that had to be done to bring down the Circle… finding out that it had left vulnerable the spot from where beings like Illyria were capable of being freed…

“I haven’t finished,” Angel murmured.

“Damn straight, and you’re not gonna, either.” A hand swooped down from Angel’s left, slamming down the screen of his laptop. “Those internet travel sites are a big rip-off, you know. You wanna go off to Europe, go in the summer. Too freakin’ cold right now.” Faith hopped up on the corner of the desk and grinned at Angel. “’Course, what do I know, huh?”

Angel sighed and leaned back in his chair. “What’re you doing here?”

“Man, I been gettin’ that a lot today!” She reached out and playfully swatted Angel on the arm. “Aren’t you glad to see me, big guy? I’m all about turning my vacation into a working one if you guys need help. Fill me in on this cult deal.”

“No,” Angel said firmly. “Faith, go back home, or go… I don’t care. Just go.” He cast his eyes away from hers.

“Hey, why the brush off? I mean, hell, show some gratitude. Last time I saw you, I helped you with that pesky putting-your-soul-back problem. Me and Wil, man, if it weren’t for us –”

Angel stood up and grabbed Faith by the shoulders. “Get. Out,” he barked. “I’m saying this for your own good, Faith. What we’re into here, it’s bad, and if you really want to be stupid enough to get mixed up in it, fine. But I’m not going to be the one to fill you in the details.” He let go of her and backed up. “I’m leaving,” he said more quietly. “I won’t even be around for what’s about to happen, so it doesn’t even matter what I have to say about it.”

Faith pulled her gaze from Angel and surveyed the room. “You know what I’m thinkin’?” she asked. “I’m thinkin’ you wanna skip out. ASAP, before the fan gets all covered in sh –”

“I have to,” Angel cut her off. He walked toward the heavily-draped windows, putting his back to Faith. “Somebody told you what I did?”

“Spike,” Faith replied. “But I don’t care what he said. Why you’re doing this, not too much makin’ sense to me.”

Angel looked over his shoulder at her. “You don’t?” he asked. “You, of all people… Faith, I…” He saw himself holding her shivering, huddled form as the rain pelted down hard on them, felt her wracking sobs shake her entire body. “I was the one who was there when you finally knew what you had to do. What it took to make peace with your actions.”

Faith spread her arms wide. “You think I’ve made peace?” she asked. “Look at me, Angel. I got busted out of the clink to save your ass, then I get schlepped to Sunnydale to save Buffy’s. There was a point there where I probably should’ve gone back to jail, but here I am.” She got up from the desk and joined Angel by the window. “Way your logic’s runnin’ right now, I should be turnin’ myself in again, shouldn’t I?”

Angel said nothing, but he looked at her with a hint of sadness.

Faith gaped at him. “Are you serious?” she asked. “You wanna see me back in jail.”

“Faith, no, I… that’s your decision,” Angel said. “But there was a time you thought you’d be there for life, and you knew that was the right thing to do.”

“There was a time, yeah,” Faith agreed. “And I ain’t stayin’ out just ‘cause I got a taste of freedom, and it’s made me all selfish. Angel, I’m not turning myself in because whether my body’s in prison or not, my mind sure as hell always is. It’s kinda pointless to take me out of the game when, no matter where I am, I’m pretty good at the whole guilt thing.”

“This is different, though,” Angel pointed out. “This isn’t just about punishing myself. This is about making sure that the well isn’t left unguarded.”

Faith took a deep breath. “Okay, stubborn guy, fine. You’re set on this, then take me with you.”

Angel’s heart sank. “No, you don’t want to do that,” he said gently. He closed the small distance between them and looked down at Faith’s big, earnest eyes.

She really means it, he thought.

He closed his eyes and felt over four years melt away. She seemed smaller, her eyes darker, her lips pale without lipstick. Her hair was wet, hanging around her face in a long, stringy mess that was almost black in the dim light. He could almost feel the hilt of the knife she’d handed him still pressed into his palm.

“Am I your prisoner here?” she’d asked.

She’d meant the words to sound tough, but the cuts and bruises along her forehead and chin, her bedraggled, vulnerable appearance… it all undercut the effect she was going for. Angel was struck not by how strong she was, but how young.

“No,” he’d said. “You’re not my prisoner.”

“So I’m free.”

“I don’t know about that, but the door is open,” Angel had told her, pushing it ajar behind him.

Faith had started to walk past him.

“Where are you gonna go?” he’d asked. “Back out in that darkness?”

She’d hesitated for an instant, but then kept walking.

“I once told you that you didn’t have to go out in that darkness,” he’d reminded her.

She’d slowly stopped walking.

“Remember?” Angel had continued.

In the end, Faith had acquiesced and accepted his help, turned herself in to the police, and begun her journey. It was a journey Angel himself was still on, over a century after his soul was thrust upon him.

It finally occurred to him that getting from the darkness into the light was a trip Angel would never finish.

“There’s still hope for you,” Angel said. “Faith, you don’t need this kind of punishment.”

“Ha!” she said triumphantly. “So you admit you’re going there to punish yourself, not just to keep an eye on the place!”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “But if you care at all about anything I’ve ever told you, helped you figure out for yourself…” Angel squeezed his eyes shut tight before continuing. “I have to do this, Faith, and I have to do it alone. It would be nice if you were okay with it, but I’m doing it regardless.”

When he opened his eyes again, Angel saw that Faith was seething. “Coward,” she spat out. “I think you just wanna do this so you look like you didn’t just take a guy out for nothing.”

Angel’s nostrils flared, but he said nothing.

“I think,” Faith went on, “that if nobody’d put two and two together, then you wouldn’t even have said a damn thing about what you did! You ain’t doin’ this for the right reasons, man. You’re doin’ this to look like a hero, not be one.”

“Look!” Angel shouted. “Get it through your head. I’m leaving because it’s the right thing to do. Period.” He rubbed a hand angrily across his face. He balled it into a fist and felt sorely tempted to slam it into the nearest wall.

“I looked up to you!” Faith yelled. “What about the people here that need you? What about the rest of your team? Or don’t you even care about them anymore?” She moved toward him, her chin trembling. “You do a pretty damn good job gettin’ everybody around you killed, you know. What would Wes want you to do, huh?”

Without thinking, Angel drew back his fist and hurtled it toward Faith’s stomach. She sprang up before it connected, grabbing onto an exposed pipe in the ceiling and swinging her legs up out of the way. Angel’s hand met the side of his desk instead, and he heard something in his knuckles snap.

“I heard Fred’s dead, too,” Faith called from above. Her arms and legs were wrapped around the pipe now, her head dangling upside down as she looked at him. “And Cordelia, but she always did creep me out a little.” She let go of the pipe with her hands. Her arms swung down toward the floor. “Who else you kill, Angel? That green guy, maybe?”

“No,” Angel said tensely.

“Gunn?” Faith’s legs shot out in an impressive split kick, her hands barely grazing the floor before she pushed off, spun into a slight backflip, and landed back on her feet. “Oh, no, sorry, he’s just in a wheelchair.”

“Who told you all this?” Angel demanded.

“Some of it, I got from Buffy,” Faith said. “Some of it, it floats around the grapevine. I’m a slayer. One of many now, and the Council –”

“I don’t believe this!” Angel roared. “Giles has been using Andrew, but now you?! You’re spying. You’re not here on vacation!”

Faith cocked her head to one side and grinned. “Yeah, I guess I did fib a little,” she admitted. “I’m sure to go to hell for that one.”

“Why would you be willing to take orders from them anyway?” Angel asked. “They had bounty hunters after you!”

“Change of regime, baby,” Faith said. “Everybody who was anybody pretty much got a free pass after Sunnydale. Me, Andrew, lots of other kinda ‘off the books’ types. Giles sends me places, other Watchers send me places, and I do stuff. I never know what the other folks are up to… hell, I didn’t even know Andrew was here ‘til I got briefed on the sitch right before I was sent in.”

“You know about Renraw.”

“And Xof,” Faith said. “Angel, don’t you get it? I’m here to help you guys! So, seriously, you can’t go running off right now, not when we need as many people here to stop this!”

“The Council doesn’t trust me, don’t you know that?” Angel asked. “I would think they’d want me gone.”

Faith chuckled. “Giles trusts you about as far as he can throw you, which is, like…” She looked Angel up and down. “Figuring physical age, stamina, weight… I’d say we’re lookin’ at him maybe gettin’ you a foot off the ground. And that’s if he picked you up Heimlich maneuver-style.”

Angel rolled his eyes.

“But don’t you get it, man?” Faith went on. “They don’t trust you, but I do.”

“Right. The guy who got all his friends killed.”

Faith sighed. “I’m good at baiting people. It’s a thing.” She reached for his arm, laying her hand on it just above the elbow. “Angel, really. C’mon. Don’t leave, not now, not like this.”

Angel looked down at the hand on his arm. “For now,” he told her. “For now, I’ll stay.” He lifted his eyes to hers. “But you go.”

“You want me at this well thing? Alone?”

He shook his head. “Report back to the Council and tell them we wouldn’t cooperate. That we made you leave.”

“But –”

“Faith, people are going to die in this. You have the chance to leave before you even get involved,” Angel explained. “I’ll agree not to go to England now, but you have to leave San Diego. Today.”

Faith blinked hard. After a moment, she nodded. “Okay,” she said. Her tone was sad, regretful, and her eyes seemed to shine wetly in the soft light. “Don’t think this means I like walkin’ away from a fight, though.”

Angel smiled at her. “I know,” he said. “I don’t like asking you to, either.”

Faith proceeded to the office door, then turned back to Angel. “Tell B I had to jam, I guess,” she said. “And, um, I’m sorry. For… look, I know what I heard was exaggerated. I’m sure you had your reasons and that… that what happened to Wes was…” She swallowed hard. “Well, yeah, anyway, I’m sorry.”

“I am, too,” Angel said hoarsely.

“You’re gonna be okay, all you guys,” Faith said. She gave Angel a little half-wave before slipping out the door.

“Five by five,” Angel whispered.

“Demons, actually,” Nivel went on. “What I’ve determined Renraw needs is a respectable amount of demons, all to do her bidding.”

“Reassemble something like her old army…” Ethan said slowly.

“Will you help me?” Nivel asked. “I have the majority of the materials I need, of course, but the only one of my people who was capable of the final implementation of such a feat was Brother Tolman, and…” Nivel’s voice trailed off, and he blanched.

“Yes, well, we know what became of that bugger, don’t we?” Ethan’s grin widened. “Right, then. Happy to help. If you’d like, we can start a bit of something tonight, even.” He lifted his mug and raised it toward Nivel. “Your pretty blue girl shall have an assemblage worth of her.” Ethan felt a tingling sensation near his hip. “Oh, do beg pardon.” He pulled his phone from his pants pocket, striding outside with it as he answered the call.

“Rayne.”

“Sir, Daryl wants to know if you need him for the spell tonight,” came the nasal voice of one of the Xof brethren. “’Cause, like, a bunch of us were gonna go over to Jim’s house. He just got the Alias season three DVDs, and –”

“Yes, I bloody well need him!” Ethan insisted.

“Oh.” The voice on the other end sounded disappointed. “Okay, well, um, yeah, that’s cool,” he said. “So you were right? They’re trying to form an army?”

“Do I know that berk like the back of my hand or what?” Ethan chuckled. “Got a bead on how to summon those fellows I told you about?”

“Uh… the… Rehbhorns?” the man replied tentatively.

“Spot on,” Ethan said. “We want this bunch of whingey Renraws and their bleeding god-king destroyed right and proper by a great old band of merry mischief-makers.” He paused. “By the by, how’s our boy doing?”

“Baldev said he ran into Illyria,” the man said. “He seemed kinda pissed.”

Ethan laughed. “Lovely,” he said. “Now, you lot know where to rendezvous, yeah?”

“Uh huh.”

“See you then.” Ethan snapped his phone shut. “God, this just keeps getting more and more fun,” he said, stuffing the cell back into his pocket.

When he got back to Nivel’s table, he patted the other man on the back. “We’re a go,” he told him. “Tonight, Illyria will have what she so richly deserves.”

Author Notes

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