6.15 Blood Calls to Blood

By Kara

The penthouse apartment was swathed in shadows. Dim light did its best to cast a glow on shelves, tables, even artwork, but darkness ultimately ruled.

Johanna stood in the middle of it, her thin arms folded delicately over an expensive red Hermes suit on top of a cream-colored silk blouse, and quirked a single eyebrow. "Having your electric bills paid by the department of symbolism?"

There was no answer. Johanna made her way through the living-room, her eyes taking in everything. The couch looked undisturbed. The view through the kitchen doorway showed clean countertops and a pristine white floor. Even the desk appeared to have been abandoned, covered only by tidy stacks of books that -

Johanna's mouth twitched into an expression of catlike satisfaction. Just past the desk was chaos. Papers scattered across the floor, glass tumblers left randomly on top of chairs, notepads, occasionally placed directly next to a coaster in what was either a testament to a mind uncaring of manners or perhaps one too distracted to remember what they were.

And, amongst all of that, were books. Template books, regular books, paperback, leather-bound, scrolls, pamphlets, texts so ancient they seemed to wilt from the weight of the air upon them, titles from other dimensions where the language was virtually indistinguishable from childish gibberish. Books open, closed, half-read, upside-down, right-side-up, books with notes beside them, books propped open with crumpled paperwork, or marked with post-it notes which said things like "The starting point" and, in one case, a roughly scrawled "PAY ATTENTION!!" that had been circled and underlined several times.

On top of it all, perched as though placed upon a pedestal, was a thick volume. Its pages were held open rather incongruously by a store bought bookmark of a picture of clouds capped off with a fraying yellow ribbon. On the right hand page, lit by the desk lamp as though it were the Holy Grail itself, was a picture of -

A blue-black pant leg suddenly inserted itself into Johanna's field of vision. "Lose something?"

Johanna straightened up, smoothing her skirt as though the interruption meant nothing to her. "I could ask the same of you. If I recall correctly, the last time you kept your office like this it was because you'd misplaced something important. Your girlfriend and your marbles, for instance."

"Ah, yes, madness." Wesley nodded in recognition. He ran a hand over his clean-shaven face. "I remember it well. Still, here I am. You tell me: do I look mad to you?"

Johanna stared into Wesley's cold blue eyes. "Pissed, maybe. Annoyed."

"Annoyance would mean that I am currently being bothered by something that mattered to me," Wesley said. He stepped away, pulling out a desk drawer so that he could rummage through it. Johanna raised herself up on her toes enough to spy a deck of cards, a Glock, a fountain pen, and a plastic tray that held a jumble of paperclips and rubber bands. "As you are the only other person in the room, that does raise the question of whether or not you matter to me."

"Hurt as I am that you don't feel the desire to get as snuggly with me as you did with Lilah," Johanna said, "I'm here on behalf of the - "

" - Senior Partners, blah blah." Wesley mimed a talking puppet with his left hand, then began to put on a pair of gold cufflinks that had been hidden in the drawer. His movements were crisp and efficient, as though the action of dressing was a ritual. "Could we perhaps skip over the parts that I know already in the hopes that one day you will entertain me with something new?"

Johanna grimaced, dropping a single shoulder down as she abandoned some of the formality. "You haven't been in to work in weeks."

"How that must have brought the forces of evil to a screeching halt," Wesley mused. Done with his cufflinks, he began to tie a steel grey tie around his neck. "You came to tell me about the celebratory parties on behalf of the forces of good? No, wait, you're inviting me to join you as we watch the parades."

"Evil is fine," Johanna said.

"Then it's not really your place to lecture me about slacking off, now, is it?" Wesley replied.

Johanna stepped in front of him. "I'm not here to talk about evil; I'm here to talk about Angel. You've been in here for weeks, you've made no contact with me or the Senior Partners, you haven't even stepped out of your front door - "

"And yet evil marches on, and Angel shall be taken care of." Wesley slipped his suit coat on, the Armani jacket fitting across his shoulders perfectly.

"How?" Johanna asked. "By reading?"

"No," Wesley said. He bent down to pick up the book Johanna had tried to read. On the open page was a picture of Angelus and a large, bold title that read Watcher Diaries: A History Of The Scourge Of Europe. Wesley snapped the book closed and stood up with a cool, pleased grin. "By planning."

At the same time, miles away at Theodore Roosevelt Junior High, a dark-haired boy, perhaps no older than fourteen, walked through an empty playground. He whistled to himself, shuffling from side to side, twisting and turning as he acted out a basketball championship that was playing inside of his head. He was so lost in the fantasy that he did not notice how dark the playground was becoming, nor did he notice the snarling demon that was waiting around the corner to tear through his throat.

The last sound the boy ever made was a scream.

---

Watch the Credits

• Episode 6.15: Blood Calls to Blood
• Written by: Kara
• Edited by: Trepkos, Astarte99, and smiles79335
• Produced by: The Brat Queen and Flaming Muse
• With Thanks to: All the readers who patiently waited through hiatus.

---

From the outside, the Walden looked empty. When Connor tried the door handle, it swung open without a fuss, unlocked. Easing the main door open, he saw that the doors to the theater were closed, and there weren't any noises coming through from inside. Even the usual rumble of footsteps upstairs was absent. Connor peered around the entryway. There, all the way on the other side of the lobby, was Illyria. She stood, rock still, staring some twenty feet in front of her towards what looked like - Connor frowned - what looked like Angel hunched up against a wall and moving his hand and arm back and forth as though he were writing something.

"Okay," Connor said, trying his best to be the adult in the room while at the same time trying hard not to show how much he did not want that responsibility, "I know I wasn't really around when she did that - " Connor jerked a thumb in Illyria's direction " - and, okay, I know it wasn't exactly her, but either way this cannot be a good sign."

"What?" Angel turned around, blinking at him like a diver coming up for air. "Oh. Hey, Connor."

"Hey," Connor replied. He attempted to project an air of calm, as though trying to soothe the two-hundred-fifty-something-year-old who was both the evil creature you longed to kill and the father who you just might kill for was something that he did every day. "I'm back."

"Back," Angel repeated. "Back - back. Right. How was finals?"

"Mid-terms."

"Right, those," Angel said. "They... good? You get a gold star? They still do gold stars, right?"

"Nah, UCLA sucks," Connor said. "They only give out grade point averages. If they had stars maybe the sorority girls would study more. And if the sorority girls studied more then maybe I could - uh, but this isn't about my dating issues."

"I find the use of leashes to be most effective," Illyria offered.

"Funnily enough there's a club on campus that says they can teach me how to use those," Connor replied. Then, as though the change of subject was apropos of nothing, "Say, what's up with the writing on the wall?"

Angel frowned at him. "You've seen the writing on the wall?"

"I kinda miss the days when my life had clear metaphors." Connor pointed at what Angel was doing. "I meant that. Should I be worried? Or, I dunno, calling a vampire therapist? Are there vampire therapists?"

"Therapists for vampires, therapists that are vampires; it's L.A. - we have everything," Angel confirmed. His mouth pressed into a grim line as he returned to his work. "Everything except what I need."

"Dad." Connor reached out to put his hand on Angel's arm, worry shaping his features. "Come on, whatever it is we can handle it. There's no need to resort to... wallpaper stripping?"

Angel continued to worry at a splotch of what Connor could now see wasn't wallpaper but one of the old movie posters. It had been torn through and now read ' EAT RE FROM THE BL CK LAGO N'. The creature itself was mostly intact, though the girl he'd been carrying was now disturbingly out of the picture.

"Not stripping," Angel said, finally succeeding in tearing off another stripe. 'EAT RE' vanished, as did the creature's head. "Cleaning. Getting rid of everything we're not going to use anymore."

"First off," Connor said, "if you really hated the posters you should've at least let me eBay them. And - why posters? Were they standing in the way of us and evil and I didn't know about it? Wait - they weren't, right? You're not actually being attacked by a giant green fish-man or anything? Because if this is the movie spell again - "

"He is readjusting his priorities," Illyria said. "As all leaders must before a war."

"I'm pretty sure redecorating isn't our priority," Connor replied.

"He's right," Angel said.

"Wow," Connor said. "You know pretty much every memory I have tells me I should find a way to record the fact that you admitted that."

"I'm getting rid of the wrong things," Angel pushed away from the wall. He crossed the lobby with quick, determined steps, then scaled the staircase to his office.

"Where do we even start on that list?" Connor muttered. He started to follow Angel then stopped himself when he saw the chaos of the front desk. Drawers had been upended, paperwork strewn everywhere, and the answering machine light flickered with the panic of wanting to discharge an overload of ignored messages. "What the hell happened here?"

"The kitten comes on little cat feet," Spike's voice broke the silence, and Connor jumped in surprise. "He sits looking over the theater on silent haunches and then moves on." There was a very brief pause. "Hmm, wonder if I should write that down."

Connor whirled around to face him. "Damn, Spike. What're you trying to do, give me a heart attack?"

Spike was sprawled across the steps to Angel's office with a bottle of scotch dangling from his fingertips. He hit the switch near the staircase, flooding the lobby with light. "You're not going to have a heart attack, mate. It's not in the genes." Spike looked down at the bottle but didn't drink. "Not like all the other dark and nasty pieces we pass on through the line."

Connor immediately turned to Illyria. "Has he - " Connor stabbed an accusing finger towards Spike. " - been drunk the entire time he - " Connor's finger struck another blow in the direction of the upstairs office. " - has been out of his mind?"

"I'm not drunk," Spike said. Then, off Connor's doubtful look, he clarified, "A bit pissed, maybe. But you'd be, too, if you'd been dealing with Angel all these weeks. It's self-defense."

"Grief comes in many forms, all of them distasteful. It is an emotion exemplified by the weak and the fragile," Illyria replied. "Only lesser beings would choose to embrace the past as their salvation."

"You embraced it well enough when your fancy passed away," Spike said, his gaze sharper than it had been moments before. "When he rejected you too, as I remember."

Illyria drew herself up straighter. "That was different."

"Wait." Connor held up a hand. "Is this about losing Dru or losing - "

Instinct made Connor leap out of the way before a large cardboard box went sailing past him. It missed where he had been standing by several feet, but even so Connor shot an angry look up the staircase. "Hey!"

"We're cleaning house," Angel announced. "New plan, new mission statement. I'm through screwing around."

"Thought that's what got you into all your messes in the first place." Spike smirked and took a swallow from his bottle.

Angel ignored him. He came down the staircase and began throwing everything around the reception area into the box. "We're getting rid of this. All of it."

"You can't." Connor made a grab for a handful of papers before Angel could toss them. He recognized some of the spreadsheets that made up their meager budget. "You need this stuff."

"Why?" Angel asked.

"I dunno, taxes or something," Connor replied. He put the papers down on the desk. "Ask Gunn; he knew how all of that worked."

"Gunn's gone." Angel slammed the box onto the countertop. "Gunn's gone. Wes is gone. About the only thing still here is my nagging feeling of annoyance that we could have avoided all of this if everybody had listened to me months ago."

"If wishes were horses..." Spike sighed, his words trailing off as though he'd forgotten what he'd been talking about. The hand that wasn't holding the bottle stayed near his coat pocket, holding it in a grip that might have been white-knuckled if not for Spike's already pale state.

"We can't help the helpless anymore," Angel said. "After all we've lost, we can't afford to."

"I'm here." Connor pointed at Illyria and Spike. "She's here. He's... totally smashed but he's still here. You're not alone in this. You don't have to turn your back on everything."

"I'm not." Angel reached out and squeezed Connor's arm, the gesture both comforting and protective. "I'm just not turning my back on anybody who's ready to put a knife through it. This is serious, Connor. Wolfram & Hart is coming after us, and now they've got Wes on their side."

"Yeah, but Wes is..." Connor shrugged, at a loss for words. "Wes."

"He's one of us," Angel said. "Or, he was. That means he knows what we know. We can't discount that he might try to take advantage of our weaknesses. That he might use any advantage he has to - "

The front door opened. They all turned around to see Stavros Kokotos standing in the entryway. He looked from Angel to Connor, hands nervously smoothing the hem of his jacket. "Mr. Angel, I'm afraid that I am needing your help again."

" - do something like that," Angel finished. He looked at the newcomer long and hard then, as though deciding something, made a grand gesture of invitation towards his office. "Mr. Kokotos, come on in. Lucky for you I've got a suddenly free schedule."

"Dad," Connor said, his voice on a warning tone.

"Not now, Connor," Angel said, leading Stavros past Spike's outstretched legs.

Connor shared a grim look with Illyria and then followed.

---

"Didn't expect to see you again, Mr. Kokotos." Angel quickly cleared a space in his office by shoving books and clothing off of one of the guest chairs. He held his hand out in an invitation for Stavros to sit, though the welcoming expression didn't entirely make it to Angel's eyes. "How's your family? Nothing's wrong with your family, right?"

Stavros Kokotos looked around, shifting his weight back and forth uncomfortably. His eyes kept returning to Angel's hands, his own hands twitching anxiously. "My Nikos is good. He enjoys the PlayStation that your employee found for him. Eleni worries that he spends too much time with the video games, but they are both good."

"Would you like some coffee?" Connor offered, trying to cut some of the tension that seemed to be seeping from Angel's side of the room. "Spike might've drank all the good stuff, but we might have some tea or decaf leftover somewhere."

Shaking his head, Stavros declined. He sat stiffly in his chair, his fingers curled up under the cuffs of his suit jacket. "No coffee, thank you. Your team is doing well? No injuries or casualties lately?"

Angel was still for a moment before speaking, his voice eerily calm. "We're good. Better than good. And you? How's everyone where you're working?"

Stavros shrugged half-heartedly. "Wolfram & Hart care about their workers and their families. Which is why I'm here."

Connor moved so that he was standing behind Angel, one hand coming to rest on the back of Angel's chair. Angel himself leaned forward, eyebrows raised. "Really." His voice was dispassionate.

Stavros edged his chair back slightly, beads of sweat beginning to form on his forehead. "When you - when you killed Aris, you made sure he was dead, yes?" He stammered with obvious nervousness.

Angel turned back to look at Connor, who shrugged. "It's part of the usual procedure," Angel answered in a flat tone. "We did what the books told us to do. Besides, aren't Tzaros demons only active until Epiphany? What's going on?"

"Missing children." Stavros stood up, pacing a bit in front of the desk. "Nikos started a new school, and children have gone missing. We don't think it was him, but maybe Aris..." He trailed off, a hopeful look on his face.

"And you're sure it's not just a child molester or something?" Angel asked. "'Cause you hear all those stories on TV - "

"Dad," Connor said, his voice hitting a warning note.

"I'm just asking." Angel leaned against the front of his desk, the very picture of innocence. "I mean considering who his boss is there's no telling how many predators he might be coming in contact with."

"It wasn't that long ago that you were that boss," Connor reminded him. "And last I heard dead kids were bad no matter whose mission statement you were following. Or do you no longer care about people's kids? People's sons?"

The remark hit home. Angel had the decency to wince. "All right. Fine. What do you know?"

"There were bodies. One body, a little boy, bloodless. But not a vampire, because the teeth marks were too large." Stavros paused behind his chair, reaching out to grasp the back of the chair with his hands. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the chair back as hard as he could. "We have problems with Nikos. He asks questions, wants to be like the other boys in America. Could he know something?"

Angel's eyes narrowed. "We're not family counselors here, Mr. Stavros. I don't see what discipline problems with your son have to do with - "

Stavros leaned forward again, the shadows under his eyes evident in the light of the lobby. "He is my child, Mr. Angel. I don't want to lose him. I have already lost one boy. Nikos asks questions now about Aris, what happened to his brother, why we couldn't save his brother. What am I to say? What if he does not forgive me for what happened? It was his birthday. We killed his brother on his birthday."

"Why don't you ask your employer for help?" Angel shrugged. "I'm sure they've got some kind of family health plan that includes demon possession and the like."

Stavros took a step back, blinking rapidly. His voice was gruff as he choked out, "I am sorry to disturb you. Mr. Pryce suggested that you were best able to handle this, as you fixed Aris' problem in the first place." He started to walk towards the door.

"Hang on." Angel seemed to be fighting a war within himself. "Give us a sec?"

"Of course, of course," Stavros said. He let himself out of the office, closing the door behind him.

Angel turned to Connor. "I want brownie points for not singing a chorus of 'I told you so.'"

"You get brownie points for not singing, period," Connor said. "But don't think that's going to buy you out of ignoring little kids being hurt. So Wes sent him over. So what? You know, it's not this guy's fault he works for evil. You put him there. Meanwhile he's got a kid in danger - "

"So he says," Angel retorted.

"So find out," Connor shot back. "You know, somebody once gave me this really boring lecture about how being a Champion means acting better than everybody else. Don't you think it's time you started doing just that?"

"I don't know if that's true," Angel said.

"Look." Connor sighed. "Whatever you think Wes is doing - "

"No, I meant the lecture part," Angel said. "Only once? I feel like that's something I should've been drilling into you at least twice a day."

"Yeah, 'cause we've had so much time for that kind of bonding what with the fake memories and you trying to end the world and all." Connor rolled his eyes.

"Maybe I should make up for lost time," Angel said.

"You can do that if you take this case," Connor said.

"Fine." Angel pulled his coat off the coat rack and slipped it on. "But I'll be practicing my smug look all day."

"And I'll tell the difference from your usual expression how?" Connor asked.

"I'll be louder about it," Angel replied, though there was a hint of a smile on his face before he went downstairs.

---

The school was tucked back in a small pocket of upper-class residential neighborhood. They arrived after sunset, with plenty of darkness to allow Angel and Spike to stand out in front and take in the view. Spike one-handedly lit a cigarette between his lips, his other hand in his duster pocket. He looked out of place on the quiet, tree-lined street.

"So we're looking for baby killers then?" Spike asked as Connor and Illyria got out of the car. He made a face as Connor crawled out of the back seat but didn't say anything else.

"You up to this?" Angel kept his voice pitched low.

"Up to it just fine, thank you, Father," Spike replied with false cheer. "Sorry about that, mate. Just tired of people asking is all."

Connor raised his eyebrows at the apology, but Illyria looked unimpressed.

"We got a plan this time?" Spike continued. "Or is it the usual 'fly by the seat of Angel's pants'?"

"A boy was found, drained of blood. Could be vamps, except that the teeth marks don't match," Connor answered.

"According to Wolfram & Hart, the teeth marks didn't match," Angel corrected, scanning the school. Brick school buildings were clustered around a large section of blacktop. A grassy field was tucked off to the side, complete with swing set, jungle gym, and picnic tables.

Spike grimaced at the name Wolfram & Hart. "So we're their bitches again then? I thought we weren't dealing with them anymore," he replied, his mouth tight with anger.

"It's a case, Spike." But Angel's voice lacked conviction, and his face looked tired.

"This Stavros guy is their bloody puppet, and you don't care. It's a set up, don't you see it?" Spike looked around suspiciously. "They've probably got another dragon waitin' for us in the shadows."

Connor spoke up in a hesitant voice. "Not necessarily. Why would Wolfram & Hart set us up if they can smite us with their awesome hell powers whenever they want? This could be real trouble. Even if it is a setup, isn't it still what we're fighting for?"

"Yeah, yeah," Spike muttered. "Truth, puppies, and the American way. Whatever." He shuffled his feet, kicking at a gravel path that led up to the main building. "If that's what you believe, then fine. You're the optimistic newbie. I'll be the bloody realist."

"Either way, could be a fight." Angel sounded as though he could use a good brawl as much as Spike did.

"More opportunity for those you care for to die," Illyria pointed out.

"You know, Fred was a lot better at filling in those awkward silences. Maybe you could try that," Angel remarked, looking straight at Illyria.

Illyria looked down for a moment, her brow furrowed. "I once spent a year seeing which demons could turn entirely inside-out. Most cannot, but I learned that they do stop screaming. Eventually."

"And to think I once had the hots for you," Connor said. He quickly cleared his throat when Angel and Spike looked at him. "I mean a friend of mine did. From school. You don't know him."

"Let's just get this over with," Angel said, leading the way into the school.

"Your government has created offices and bureaucracies to handle this kind of case." Illyria fell into step beside him. "One of them is called a police agency. When did we adopt their mission?"

"We help the helpless," Connor said.

"We stop the evil," Angel said. "And right now I don't care how helpless it is."

"You don't care about much of anything these days, do you?" Spike shot Angel an accusing look.

"Don't ask," Angel said to Connor and Illyria, shaking his head. "I don't know either."

They moved up towards the main entry of the school Angel walked up to examine the heavy doors that barred the entrance. Nothing seemed out of place on the dark wood of the double doors.

"Only the best for the future employees of Wolfram & Hart," Connor said. He turned a full circle, looking at everything he could see. "They've got freakin' mats on the playground. Don't kids play in sand boxes anymore?"

"Too many potential law suits," Angel answered absently as he squatted down to run his fingers over the lower half of the doors. "Jackpot. We've got blood."

Spike moved down next to him, sniffing the mark on the wall. "Fresh. Young, too. Just like mum used to make."

Illyria called out, "There is more over here. A trail. The demon might have moved its prey to a more convenient location."

Further down the building, Illyria stood in front of a set of large windows. Inside, rows and rows of books could be seen. Angel and the other two jogged over to where Illyria was.

"I think we found it," Angel said, pointing at the bushes in front of them. It was a young boy's body, his neck slashed and drained of blood.

"Recent," Spike said. "Maybe four hours old. Rather sloppy job. The git probably lost half the blood by the time he was finished ripping the throat open."

"It is pretty badly done." Angel bent down to get a closer view. "Looks like the work of claws instead of teeth."

"So not a vampire," Connor said.

"Which means feeding wasn't the point," Angel said. "This was about death."

"Who do we know's got a vested interest in killing kiddies?" Spike asked.

Angel stood up again. "I can think of one person."

---

"You wanted to see us?" Stavros Kokotos stood in the doorway, his son peering out from behind his back. It was daylight, just after school. "We are sorry that we couldn't come earlier, but Nikos was asleep when you called, and then he had school." Angel waved for them to come in. As they sat down, Stavros continued. "Do you have news?" He looked hopeful.

Angel sat down on the edge of the desk. "We did find a body, Mr. Stavros. But we wanted to talk to Nikos about it." The little boy looked up at the sound of his name. "Have you heard anything about kids disappearing at your school?"

Nikos nodded. "The teachers said that Bryan disappeared. And that we should stay away from strange people who say they'll give us candy. But Mama already told me that."

"Did your teachers say that the bodies had been found?" Angel asked, leaning closer to the boy. He reached back, pulling out a manila folder. He spread some of the pages out on the desk. "Were you over by the playground at all yesterday?"

The boy shook his head. "We had recess on Monday. Not yesterday. And today there were policemen at school, so we had to stay inside all day."

"Guess they found the body then," Spike remarked.

"Body?" Nikos' eyes widened. "Did someone else die like Bryan?"

"Do you know of someone else dying like Bryan?" Angel pulled up a picture of the body. "Like that?"

Stavros snatched the picture out of Angel's hand. "You will not show such things to my son!"

Angel rolled his eyes. "So you'll accuse your own son of this, but you won't show him the evidence to see if he's done it?"

"That is a different situation," Stavros answered, coming closer to Angel. His face grew red with anger.

Nikos' face turned towards the entrance to the theatre. Spike snickered as Angel's hands balled into fists. "You're torturing the poor boy, mate," Spike broke in on the argument. "He doesn't have any information. Let him play a video game." He squatted down on Nikos' eye level. "We've got the new Star Wars game. You can be dark side if you want. Ending's horrid though. Nowhere as good as the first."

"Fine, take him," Angel said through clenched teeth. As he waved towards the entrance to the theater, Nikos took off as fast as he could.

Angel and Stavros could still be heard arguing as Spike made his way into the theater. Nikos sat in one of the front seats, clutching the game controller eagerly in his hand.

"You're not eating the other kids, are you?" Spike looked at Nikos out of the corner of his eye, concentrating on the video game as it loaded up in the PS2.

"I don't have the jaws that bite and claws that catch, like that poem Mama read to me," Nikos answered in a frank voice. "Papa keeps checking on me every night, measuring me. But he never tells me what he's looking for."

Spike sat down next to Nikos, correcting his grip on the controller. "So your dad never tells you rot. Sure you're not sneaking out at night to snack on your mates?"

Nikos looked from the magazine back to Spike with wide dark eyes. "Mr. Angel promised that I wouldn't turn into Aris. And if Babbas is afraid of that, why doesn't he just tell me?"

At that point, both men appeared in the doorway of the theater. "Well?" Angel asked.

"Kid's clean," Spike said in answer to their expectant looks. "Doesn't smell like demon, hasn't been eating blood lately. I'd say he's not the problem."

Stavros looked relieved.

"You shouldn't worry so much," Spike continued as Nikos got into the beginning of the video game. "It's understandable, but at least you know that your boy isn't a kid-munching monster."

"But you will still find the monster, yes?" Stavros moved behind his son's seat, wrapping his arms protectively around Nikos.

Angel nodded, looking a bit more compassionate. "Yeah, I know. I promise you, Stavros, we'll do everything we can to find the killer."

---

After the Kokotoses walked out the door, Angel turned to the rest of the team. "We gotta put a stop to this."

"Great," Spike slouched himself down into a chair. "Got any plans?"

"It's not a vampire," Connor said. "It's not Nikos - "

"Yeah," Spike said, "'s not you, not me, not Blue, or Angel. So there's just everyone else in the world to narrow down."

"You're forgetting beings from other dimensions," Illyria pointed out.

"My earlier plan of fixing all this by punching Wes directly in the face is looking better and better," Angel said.

"That was a plan?" Spike asked. His hand drifted over to his coat pocket. "'cause I'd've helped."

"We need more to go on," Angel said. He watched as Connor went to answer the ringing phone. "More evidence, more clues, more - "

"Hey," Connor said, holding the phone to his chest. "It's Gunn. Says some of his kids were attacked. Throats ripped out and everything."

" - bodies?" Spike said, finishing off Angel's sentence.

Angel was already on his way to the garage. "Let's go."

---

The car pulled up in front of the shelter as the sun was going down. Spike and Angel both rushed inside under the cover of blankets, shoving a couple teenagers out of the way to get into the building as quickly as possible. Gunn met them at the doorway, arms crossed as he glared at them.

"Your business is not supposed to interfere with my business," Gunn said instead of greeting them. He touched knuckles with Spike, giving the vampire a slap on the shoulder with his free hand. "I retired from all that. I'm just trying to keep the kids safe."

Angel looked around the front room, noticing more teenagers milling about than usual. "It's not like we did this on purpose, Gunn. Wolfram & Hart - "

Gunn cut in, "Don't even think about giving me more of that crap, Angel. If you're gonna sing the same song as last summer, at least change your tune a little." He nodded towards a door at the end of the hallway. "We found the boy out back in the alley. It looked like he was trying to get in, but he never made it."

"Did you leave him there?" Angel asked as he started towards the door.

Gunn nodded. "I know procedure. Never move the bodies until you've had a chance to scout out the crime scene."

Spike, Connor, and Illyria followed them out back to the alley. The sun had already set beyond the opening to the alley, so it was safe for Angel and Spike to venture out beyond the door. The body was covered by a tarp, about ten feet from the doorway.

"Charlie's right," Spike murmured. "Poor kid almost made it." He tugged back the tarp, revealing the body of what looked like a nine- or ten-year-old Hispanic boy. His throat was torn up just like the previous victim. "Probably happened within the last couple hours. Whatever the demon is, sunlight doesn't bother it."

Angel knelt next to the body. "That rules Nikos out. He was with us then." He looked at Connor expectantly, who handed over the digital camera again. "Daylight doesn't bother it, and it's quick enough to move a matter of miles overnight. What the hell are we dealing with?"

Illyria wandered down towards the end of the alley, kicking aside trash as she examined the brick walls and gravel pavement. "There is a summoning circle here. Perhaps it did not venture as far as previously thought."

Angel groaned. "So this is on purpose." He walked over to where Illyria stood, looking carefully at the remains of the summoning circle. He handed the camera back to Connor, who took a series of pictures from a number of angles.

"Any ideas?" Gunn said from the doorway. Looking back, Angel could see a cluster of kids gathered behind Gunn.

Angel stood up and stretched. "Yeah, there's a couple. The same thing's eating kids out in Brentwood. Wolfram & Hart sent Mr. Kokotos to us with the problem."

Gunn's eyes widened in surprise. "Mr. Kokotos like his kid turned into a demon and we had to kill him back at Christmas?" He snorted. "Of course Wolfram & Hart care. It's eating employee kids. Who else are they gonna sacrifice at the next big holiday party?" Gunn looked over at the body. "At least the demon isn't discriminating. It likes rich and poor kids equally."

Connor tapped Angel on the shoulder. "We got everything we need. You want us to bury the kid?"

Angel looked at Gunn, who shook his head. "We'll take care of him. Someone probably knows who he belonged to." Gunn wrapped the small body up again, carrying it inside the shelter.

---

It was completely dark when they returned to the Walden. Angel herded everyone inside the lobby, blocking Spike's access to the main theater as soon as they walked in.

"What's up with you, mate?" Spike growled as he tried to push Angel aside.

"Research, Spike. If we figure this out, we'll get the upper hand on Wolfram & Hart." Angel steered Spike back towards the center of the lobby, shoving a book in his hand. "Read. I know you can."

Everyone dutifully picked up their books. Illyria sniffed and rolled her eyes as she opened hers, but she didn't say anything. Soon, the only sound that filled the lobby was the turning of pages and scratch of pens on paper.

Connor's head was bent over a particularly fat and dusty book. Spike leaned closer, noticing that the pages were very colorful and glossy. Connor tipped the book sideways so that Spike could get a better look. It was PC Gamer magazine.

"Is it the latest?" Spike whispered.

Connor grinned at him. "Wanna look at it? It's the codes for god-mode on Halo 2."

Spike shook his head. "Don't want dear old dad on our case." He nodded towards where Angel was shooting them suspicious looks. "Bloke's already got it in for me." He focused back on the page in front of him, rubbing at his eyes. "Who the bloody well cared about the mating habits of Skerlock demons?" Spike said in a louder voice. "There weren't even any nice woodcuts."

"You find something?" Angel looked up at the two of them expectantly. He peered over Connor's shoulder. "Review of Doom 3?"

"Hey, you never know," Connor said. "They could've modeled one of their demons off of something real."

"Could it be a Lycanthrope? The marks on the throat looked to be claws." Illyria interrupted, pointing to a picture in one of the books.

"Not the full moon, love. Can't be any kind of wolf-man," Spike said. He opened up another book. "What about an Ethros demon? It says here that they're prone to mass murdering."

Angel shook his head "Except that Ethros demons possess human bodies. And human hands still can't tear a throat out."

Spike looked down at his own chipped fingernails. "Dru's could, but she grew these long fingernails so that she could - " He stopped when he noticed everyone staring at him. "No one appreciates stories about the good old days anymore."

"Here's a clawed demon that looks kinda like a bear," Connor said, pointing out a picture in one of the books in front of him. "Except that it only lives in the tundra, so never mind."

Illyria dropped a book down onto the table. "We lack sufficient information to form a correct hypothesis."

"Gosh, close your eyes and it's just like hearing Fred again," Angel said, no trace of humor in his tone.

"We know it's after blood at least," Connor pointed out. "The body was intact except for the neck, so it seems more like a kill for feeding or sport. Whatever killed the boy didn't take any body parts for spell components or trophies."

Angel thought about it. "That's true. No other part of the body was touched."

"What about this one?" Spike held up a book in what looked like it was written in Chinese. "I think that's the symbol for blood. Could refer to our demons."

Angel peered closer at the book. "It's the kanji for 'cook,' Spike. You found a Japanese cookbook for preparing demon parts."

"And it's my fault you have this in your personal library?" Spike asked. "Hang on - why do you have this in your personal library?"

"We're doing the best we can with what we've got," Angel said.

Spike pushed his own pile of books away. "Not to start singing an old summer tune but we need - "

"We don't need Wesley," Angel snapped.

" - more books," Spike finished smoothly.

"I can't believe Wes's collection doesn't have anything useful," Angel said.

"I'm sure it does," Spike said. "Back at Wolfram & Hart."

"Wesley did ask to take some of the things that I had stored for him." Illyria didn't look guilty, but she did look as though she could at least understand the frustration her news might cause.

"And you just let him walk out of here?" Angel asked.

"At the time he claimed to fight for you," Illyria said. Then, as though Angel were stupid, she added, "And they were his possessions."

"It's okay," Connor said. "We'll find another way."

"Got any ideas?" Spike asked.

"Well..." Connor grew thoughtful. "There's this little bookshop over by school. It's more by Santa Monica than Westwood, but it's got a pretty good rep. They might have a reference we don't have."

"It's not Phoenix Rising, is it?" Spike asked. "Lindsey sent me there once last year to get some book he was looking for. Run by some old Watcher bloke, I think. We might not want to mention who me an' Angel are, but the store's legit."

"Guess we're off then?" Connor threw down his book and jumped to his feet. "Shotgun!"

"Not if I get there first," Spike replied as he hurried towards the door at Connor's heels.

---

The bookstore was large and well-kept. Two levels were filled with neatly ordered bookshelves as far as the eye could see. A spiral staircase connected the lower level with the top. Neatly-lettered signs dictated exactly what language each shelf's books were in.

"Spike," Angel pointed, "check some of the more common demon languages. Connor, stick with human."

"Like living through AP French wasn't bad enough," Connor muttered. Off of Spike's look he said, "What? There were cute girls in it."

"Cope," Angel said. He turned to Illyria. "As for you -"

Illyria ignored him as she made her own way into the depths of the bookstore.

"Never mind then," Angel sighed. "I'll be upstairs. Shout if you need me."

Angel climbed the staircase that led to the balcony that made up the second floor. He wandered through the aisles, scanning titles without really reading them. "This is stupid. It's a waste of time. I should be - "

" - out fighting evil?" This time the British accent that interrupted him wasn't Spike's.

"Wesley," Angel said, his voice carefully neutral. He flicked his eyes over Wesley's appearance. "Nice suit."

"'Look good while being bad' was one of your mottos, I believe," Wesley replied. He folded his arms and leaned against the bookcase.

"If you want to call yourself a pale imitation of the best, don't let me stop you." Angel pretended to think about it, then slammed one hand on either side of Wesley. "No, wait, let me stop you. What's the game here, Wesley?"

Wesley flinched, but looked otherwise nonplussed. "Game?"

"The kid, the father," Angel prompted him. "This is, what? An attempt to play off my paternal side?"

"Not everything is about you," Wesley said. "I have an entire life - well, unlife - that you don't factor into."

"You sent them to me," Angel said.

"Did I?" Wesley rubbed his chin in a parody of contemplation. "Oh, I suppose I did. I must have been too busy with my own evil to deal with their petty concerns."

"I'm thinking of a number between one and two hundred and six," Angel said. "Guess right, and that'll be the bone of yours I break last."

"That won't kill me," Wesley said.

Angel gave him his darkest smile. "I know."

---

"This is useless," Spike declared as he met Connor and Illyria by one of the reading tables.

"No luck with your end?" Connor asked.

"My end gets me plenty of birds chatting me up, thank you very much," Spike dumped a load of books onto the table. "My research, on the other hand - "

"That woman is staring at us," Illyria said.

"Like I said, my end's fine." Spike straightened out his coat collar. "Guess the day's not a total wash if I get myself a date out of it."

"She could be looking at me, you know," Connor said.

"It's L.A.; she could be looking at Blue," Spike replied. "But as I'm the only one of us with charisma enough to seal the deal - "

"She might be looking at all of you," Johanna said. She walked up to them, a thick book folded into the protection of her arms. "She might also be laughing at how pathetic you are."

"In which case I definitely vote she was looking at you," Connor told Spike, but he stood, ready to fight if he had to.

Spike sauntered to the front of their group. He gave Johanna a lazy look. "Big talk from the tiny liaison."

"I think you'll find me powerful enough to match my words to my actions," Johanna said.

"Got myself a god-king here which says you're probably not powerful enough by half," Spike said. "But if you want to try something, let's have it. I love watching a good girl fight."

"You think the physical is all I have to offer?" Johanna asked, raising her perfectly plucked eyebrows.

"I think your offer better come quick or physical's all it's going to be." Spike shrugged. "So let's hear it. Or are you just killing time until your boyfriend pops by?"

"No," Johanna said, "but I can't help but notice yours isn't hanging around either. I wonder why that is?"

---

"This is it?" Wesley asked, still caught between the bookcase and Angel. "This is how you save children?"

"Oh no," Angel assured him. "This? This is how I have fun."

"I wasn't aware fighting the good fight was like taking in a good show," Wesley said.

"I can see how somebody like you would think that." Angel leaned in, pressing the advantage of his weight and muscle.

Wesley gave a light bark of laughter. "Like me?"

"Yeah," Angel said. "Egotistical, selfish, too arrogant to understand why it's important to help everybody, why it's important to have a team."

"I'll spare the pot/kettle comparison on the first parts," Wesley said, "but only because I feel it's only sporting to point out you're quite categorically wrong on the last one."

"You never did use one word when ten would do, huh, Wes?" Angel asked.

"I also don't approach vampires without protection," Wesley replied.

It was the final warning Angel got before Wolfram & Hart's Black Ops team attacked.

---

"What are you trying to say about Angel?" Connor asked.

"Only that I think he might not have his eyes on the ball," Johanna replied.

"Angel's fine," Connor snapped.

"Admirable loyalty." Johanna stepped closer, addressing the group as a whole. "But you can't deny that here you are, surrounded by all sorts of suspicious coincidences, yet neither Angel nor any of you has figured out what's going on."

Spike crossed his arms over his chest. "Enlighten us then."

Johanna smiled. She placed the book in her arms down onto the table. "That none of you can see what's right under your noses."

"We can force you to talk," Illyria said. She didn't move or even raise her voice, but the air of menace around her was palpable.

"You could," Johanna agreed. She stepped back as black-clothed, armed men began to swarm around them, "But it could get messy."

---

Angel kicked a leg back, sending his first attacker stumbling into his second and third. He reached forward, ready to grab Wesley and use him as a shield, only to come up with an empty space.

"Why am I not surprised?" Angel muttered.

Undeterred, Angel took hold of the bookcase and shoved. It fell down, trapping still more attackers underneath.

A swing of his right hand brought him in contact with a semi-automatic rifle in his peripheral vision. Angel took hold of the front of the gun, jabbed the butt of it back into the face of the man who carried it, then yanked the gun towards himself and held on to it with both hands.

"Don't you guys know," Angel asked, using the front and back of the gun to block and fight off his attackers, "that these things don't kill me?"

A shot rang out. Angel dove and swung a leg out, knocking down the man who had fired. Angel grabbed his gun as well, using the momentum to carry him into another kick aimed directly at the man's windpipe.

"They do piss me off, though," Angel said. He readied both rifles, aiming them at the men who remained. "Come on. I'd love to play shooting gallery."

The men hesitated. In that moment Angel heard a sound. Somebody shouting. Someone like -

"Connor," Angel said. He abandoned the fight in front of him and ran directly to - and over - the balcony. He leapt down to the floor below and immediately joined the fray.

---

Connor was battling with three men at once. A look of pride flashed over Angel's face before he grabbed one man, slammed him into a wall, kicked another into a bookcase, then turned around to find Connor standing triumphantly over the last.

"You okay?" Connor asked.

"Wes was here," Angel answered. "He's up to something."

"We know." Connor ducked as Illyria threw someone past the both of them. Connor gestured towards a table. "We need to stop these guys and get that book."

"Great," Angel said, and the two of them went to help the others.

---

Three broken chairs, a knife fight, one improvised stake, and many, many upended bookcases later found the four of them back at the Walden. They were tired, but triumphant.

"There are spells in it," Illyria declared, dropping the book down like a cat with a dead mouse. "Summoning spells."

"Somebody summoned a demon?" Connor guessed.

"Wesley summoned a demon," Angel said. "But why?"

"Looks like our bad boys enjoy the death of little kiddies," Spike said, flipping through the pages. "To them it's like some kind of treasure, or prize."

"I thought Illyria was the only one who knew how to read the language in that," Angel said.

Spike held the book up. "It's got pictures."

Angel stared at a woodcutting of a demon with two claws. It was surrounded by the bodies of dead children. In another picture, one of the demons dangled a child by its foot. Sure enough, as Spike had said, there were jewels around the child, indicating it was a great treasure. "Maybe they're collectors."

"Maybe the death of the kids gives them something," Connor suggested.

"They are not of this earth," Illyria supplied.

"There's a lot of bodies in that picture," Angel said. He looked at the board that listed all the names of the kids who had died. "Our demons haven't killed that many yet."

"They might still be hungry," Spike said.

"They might still be hunting," Angel corrected. "We have to find these guys before they strike next."

---

"There's nothing here." Connor scuffed at the chalk outlines, all that remained to indicate where the first victim's body had been, with his foot. "How do we know where the demon's going to appear next? The school and the shelter are connected to Angel, but that doesn't really narrow down who the next victim's going to be."

They walked the outskirts of the school buildings, just in case they missed something. "Stavros said that there was a basement under the main school building. Maybe that's where the set-up is for when they all kill us," Angel remarked.

Spike shook his head. "No school basements for me, mate. I burned up in the last one. Don't really look forward to experiencing that again, thanks."

"I don't think it's here anyway. That would be too easy. And why plant the body at the shelter just to bring us back to the school?" Connor asked.

"You fools are blind in your ignorance. You fail to see what your enemy has done," Illyria finally spoke. "Did you not notice that he has planted a body in a location that would mean something to you? You helped the boy just as you helped the street slaves at the shelter. It is a pattern. You must discern for yourself what the next color will be."

"And thanks to the Blue Cryptic in the corner there. Going all prophetess on us now?" Spike asked, but there was a bit of a smile on his face as he said it. "Why would anyone want to mess with Angel? It's not like he's the Biggest Bad that ever was."

"Hey," Angel said defensively. Then realization started to spread across his face. "Hey - hey. Spike's right."

Spike turned to Connor. "Yeah, we really need to be jotting down all the times he admits that."

"It's not about messing with me," Angel said. "It's about being me."

"And you've become a big nasty demon with two claws and didn't think to mention it?" Connor asked.

"No," Angel said. "But Wes has become an asshole with pretensions of being the best. Look at the pattern. He's hurting the innocent, he's hurting people with ties to me. Who do we know who loves to go after his enemies with a strategy like that?"

"You," Spike admitted. "Well, the more annoying you, anyway. You're right."

"I'm writing down you admitted that," Angel said.

"He has attacked through someone with connections to you both," Illyria said. "Then through someone who was friendly to you. Logic dictates his next attack will be something even more personal."

"What's more personal than that?" Connor asked.

"Something I'd do," Angel guessed. "He's trying to be me. If that's the case, the next thing I'd do after hitting the basics is - "

Spike and Angel shared a look. They both spoke at once. "Nuns."

"Santa Teresa off of Spring Street," Angel said. "They've got an orphanage." He noticed everyone looking at him. "What? Doesn't everyone know that?"

---

Santa Teresa de Avila was a small, unassuming Catholic church not far from Los Angeles City Hall. The entire church was fenced off, signs proclaiming that it was unsafe due to a faulty structure damaged in the last earthquake.

"You appear unsettled," Illyria said, her blue eyes studying Angel's face.

"I feel like I've been here before," Angel said.

"Lived in L.A. for a while," Spike said. "Knowing you you've been here dozens of times before. Probably have frequent customer card and everything."

"No, not here," Angel said, realizing. "Europe."

"Says over here they have a sister church in Spain." Connor pointed to a dusty placard on the wall.

"That must be it." Spike peered at the fading paint and crumbling plaster walls. "So, this look much like the original?"

Angel shook his head. "It was a seminary. There were at least a hundred people living there at any given time. This is just a church." He rubbed at a dusty plaque on the wall. "But it did have an orphanage not too long ago."

"Smells a bit like a set up, doesn't it?" Spike replied. He leaned in close to look at one of the stations of the cross.

"Hey!" Connor called from the corner of the sacristy. "I think I found where they did the ritual."

The others moved closer to the circle. "Why is it always rituals?" Spike complained. "Why can't anyone just recruit from the demons here in L.A. anymore? It's not like there aren't plenty, what with the Hellmouth closed and all."

"Because someone has no originality." Angel shuffled through the book until he found the page again. "Human heart, some blood, looks like some garlic oil and a bit of mint. Sounds like the right ritual."

"Or someone's basting up a nice leg of man," Spike said, sniffing the air. "The ritual was done a while back, but it smells like fresh kill over there."

There was another body propped up against the wall of the building. It wasn't a child this time. It looked like the demon had moved on to slightly older victims, this time a scantily clad teenager.

"Palido demon. It means 'bloodless' in Spanish," Angel said. "They drink the blood of young people, slashing their victims' throats with their two front claws. The body's got the same two slashes across the neck, and the corpse looks pretty fresh." He poked at the corpse with a stick. Tracks moved away from the body towards a room off to the side of the sacristy. "We'll probably find it in there."

"That's where all the monsters hide in the video games," Connor said, following the trail with his eyes. "I guess evil likes being underground."

"That's 'cause evil never actually lived in a dank crypt where they had to steal electricity just to watch telly," Spike countered as they made their way towards the antechamber. "Why it'd hang out in priest's quarters I don't know. At least we know it isn't Aris come back from the dead again."

The door was propped open, as if something had barreled through it a while back. The room itself was furnished with a simple bed and wardrobe, dust covering everything in a thick layer. Tracks led to the remains of the wardrobe. Two bodies in varying stages of decay were lying in front of it.

"So it's out prowling about right now?" Spike asked as he examined one of the bodies.

Angel moved about, taking in as much detail as he could. "Guess so. Looks like the Palido set up shop here a while ago. Now if we could just find it."

"Or it finds us - head's up!" Connor interrupted as a three-foot tall lizard-creature banged through the remains of the door. It ran straight for Connor, the youngest person in the room.

Connor snapped a roundhouse kick at the demon's shoulder, knocking it off-balance before it could lunge at him. Spike followed up with a strong punch to the lizard creature's small eye.

"It's a bloody velociraptor!" Spike drew the dagger from his boot and slashed at the demon's other eye. "What idiot would summon one of these to do his dirty work?"

Angel danced in on the other side, delivering a swift chop with his sword to the demon's neck. The sword didn't do any visible damage. "Obviously someone who wanted drama."

For all its small size, the Palido was quick and vicious with its claws. It took a swipe at Angel before he managed to dance out of its way.

"Bloody bastard, why won't you die?" Spike grunted as he swung at it again. "Get its eyes, mate!"

Connor slashed in with his knife. The Palido keened in pain, thrashing its head as it tried to get away from the knife.

"Blind now. That should take care of - shit!" Spike rolled away from the Palido as it snapped its sharp teeth in his direction, coming within an inch of biting him. "Stupid creature can scent. Little buggering - "

"The demon is full of blood. It will not die easily." Illyria kicked the Palido in the gut.

Angel dove for the demon, pounding its head on the floor. "So we beat it to death." He pummeled the body relentlessly until he felt something in the skull squish under his hands. He slowly let it go, and they relaxed when it didn't move.

"So we're sure there's only one?" Spike asked as he leaned against the wall, one hand wiping the blood off his face.

"Picture showed only one," Angel took in the carnage around them. "So that's it then? No more dead kids?"

"Not from this, I'm guessing," Connor said.

"Good," Angel turned his back on all of them. "Then I've got somebody I need to meet."

---

The Wolfram & Hart offices loomed ominously as Angel drove up. As with every other time, security gave him no hassle when he casually walked in. "I really thought you guys would've learned by now," he commented to a guard as he passed by on his way to the elevator. When the guard made no reply, Angel faked a punch towards him. The guard fell back, his face turning an ashen gray. "Gotcha," Angel said with a grin.

The elevator and hallways were empty. It was oppressively quiet, and Angel's footsteps echoed loudly enough to warn anyone that he was coming. When Angel entered his old office, Wesley looked up almost expectantly.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" Wesley asked as casually as if it were an invitation for a drink.

"We both know why I'm here," Angel answered, resting his palms on the edge of Wesley's desk. "Why bother, Wes? Why don't you just let Wolfram & Hart kill me? Why play the whole game if it's all fun to you anyway?"

Wesley leaned forward, hands flat on his desk. "Why do you care?" he countered in a soft tone of voice. "Are you trying to get the Shanshu back that you signed away? Or is it something you're trying to prove to Connor?" He flipped through a book on his desk until he found what he was looking for. "Santa Teresa de Avila, 1864. Nearly a hundred priests and young boys were found slaughtered and tortured. Debate has gone on for over a century, trying to decide if Angelus had a particular purpose for that act of cruelty, or if it was all done in what for him was good, clean fun."

"At least I do my own killings," Angel said. "I wasn't so weak that I had to call in demons to help me."

"That's your suggestion for guiding me off my evil path?" Wesley asked. "That next time I should do it personally?"

"Their blood's on your hands whether you do the killing or not," Angel said.

"I think you'll find that blood's been on my hands for quite a while now," Wesley said.

"What are you trying to prove?" Angel snatched the book out of Wesley's hands. "That you can outdo Angelus? That you can recreate the perfect crime?"

"Perhaps I'm not trying to prove anything at all," Wesley said.

"If you ever try to threaten me and mine again - " Angel threw the book down and stepped forward into Wesley's personal space. "If you ever drag Wolfram & Hart into our business - "

"And if you ever surprise me with your threats, I'll be sure and let you know," Wesley told him. He stepped aside, walking past Angel as though he were unimportant. "In the meanwhile, I have more important things I can be doing."

"Whatever you're doing," Angel said, "I'll stop it."

Wesley laughed. "You'd have to figure out what that is first."

---

The Kokotos house was almost completely dark when Angel pulled up in front except for one light on near the back of the house. The security light over the garage door came on automatically as Angel approached. A second light came on in the front room, and the front door opened.

"Mr. Angel, sir," Stavros called out from the front door. Two shadows stood behind him in the light. "Did you - "

"It's not Aris, Mr. Kokotos. And whoever summoned the demons won't be doing it anymore, I promise," Angel answered. He nodded towards the two behind Stavros. "How's Nikos?"

"I'm fine," the boy said, pushing his way around his father's legs. "Mama tried to explain what was going on, but Babbas still won't talk to me." He glared up at his father.

Stavros knelt next to his son. "Nikos, we told you what happened with Aris. We just want to make sure - "

"Want to make sure what, Babbas? That I don't turn out like Aris?" The little boy's dark eyes met his father's defiantly. "I'm not Aris." Nikos' mouth puckered up as he struggled not to cry. "And I tried my best to be a good son, and I don't play video games too much, and I get good grades, but you still think I'm a monster."

"Stavros." Eleni Kokotos' voice was soft. "Maybe we talk to Nikos about this now. About everything."

Stavros nodded to his wife before turning his attention back to his son. "We just want to protect you, Nikos. You are what we have left, what we love most in this world. And we want to keep you safe."

"But you tried to protect Aris. And Aris went away forever. Just like Yaya," Nikos responded, thrusting his chin out stubbornly.

"When you have a son someday, you will understand," Stavros said gently, hugging his son tight. He looked up at Angel. "I am right, yes?"

Angel looked only at Stavros Kokotos. "Yeah. You do whatever you can to keep you're your loved ones safe. Even if it means harming them sometimes." He ran his hand over Nikos' dark hair. "Give your old man a break, huh? He's trying to best he can."

Nikos nodded.

As Eleni ushered Nikos inside, Angel reached out to stop Stavros from following his family. "Get out of there," Angel said in a low voice. "For Nikos' sake. Get out of there while you can."

Stavros Kokotos dropped his eyes. "We do what we must to protect our families, Mr. Angel. You said so yourself. And this is my choice."

---

Angel found himself back at the Walden. As he walked into the lobby, he found Spike sitting in the corner. "I thought you and Connor had a date with World of Warcraft." He paused for a second. "And if you ever date my son, by the way - "

Spike waved off Angel's comment, one hand fumbling around in his duster pocket. "We played for a little while, then his other dad called him home. And your boy's too peaches and cream for my taste."

Angel sat next to him, holding his hand out. "Hand it over. You can't smoke in here anymore. You might damage his lungs or something."

"What?" Spike gave him an obviously fake blank look.

"Spike," Angel repeated in a warning tone. After rolling his eyes in token protest, Spike handed it over.

It wasn't the lighter that Angel expected. It was a small porcelain fragment, cream colored with one brown eye painted in the corner. Angel looked at it for a moment before he realized what it was - a piece of Drusilla's last doll, the one that he'd smashed against the wall two weeks ago.

"Remember when she first got Miss Edith? Stole it off a little girl in London right after she turned me." Spike shifted a little closer to Angel, taking the fragment back.

"She said it reminded her of her sister Edith, all dark hair and eyes," Angel replied, his eyes still on the piece of porcelain. "The doll spoke to her. Of all the dolls she had, Miss Edith was the one that went with her everywhere because it was the only one that talked back."

"But even Miss Edith left her in the end, yeah?" Spike crushed the fragment in his fist, letting the dust filter through his fingers. "Can't believe the girls are gone, even the porcelain ones." He shook his head. "Why are we still stuck together, then? Can't get rid of you with a stake."

"You missed," Angel reminded him mildly. He leaned back more comfortably against the cushions. "Maybe that's our punishment, being stuck together forever. We're really going to get sick of each other." He glanced over at him and said with no bite at all, "Not that we already aren't."

"Right," Spike said with a companionable nod. "Hate to break it to you, but you're the one who's going to snap first. The fun of harassing you'll keep me going for centuries." He bumped shoulders with Angel and then sighed, growing serious once more. "Never thought we'd end up like this."

"At least you're stuck with someone who likes your poetry," Angel added, cracking a faint smile.

Spike smiled slightly in return. "Never said you had taste. You never staked me, after all, even when I was wet behind the ears."

Angel snorted. "It's just 'cause I'm too lazy. I'll get around to it someday." They grinned at each other. "Especially if you ever make me chase you halfway across the country again for some stupid cup of soda."

---

"That was it?" Johanna asked as she joined Wesley in one of the conference rooms. His back was to her as he looked out over the nighttime view of Los Angeles. "All that research just so you can mimic one of his crimes?"

"Angel certainly didn't seem pleased by it," Wesley said.

"He doesn't seem pleased by you," Johanna said. "I suppose it's better than nothing, but that's not exactly what the Senior Partners had in mind."

"You don't think they'd be happy that I'm responsible for the deaths of innocent children?" Wesley looked almost disappointed. "Pity. I thought that would have earned me a bonus."

"Do your job with Angel." Johanna stabbed a manicured fingernail down onto the conference table. "That's all the Senior Partners care about."

"Don't worry," Wesley said. "I have plenty of plans in that area."

"Oh, really?" Johanna asked.

Wesley smiled. He unfolded his arms to reveal that he'd been holding a jewel exactly like the one in the woodcutting in the book of demons. "Oh, yes. I think you'll find that this was only the start."

The End