"What the hell is she doing here?" Like some unrequested alarm call, Angel's voice rang out across the hotel lobby, making Wesley jerk suddenly awake. He groaned. Sleep. Sleep was clearly what was required here. He didn't want to be awake.
"Wesley!" Angel, on the other hand, did want him awake. And he wanted it noisily. Wesley tried groaning again, on the off chance that his comrade might get the hint, but the sharp clap of shoes on the lobby's hard floor told him that the vampire - angel - former vampire angel - angelic former vampire now sort of vampire angel... damn it, whatever the hell he was - meant business. Wesley opened his eyes and stretched.
"Hello Angel." He said it pleasantly and as innocently as he could manage. "Can I do something for you?"
"Yeah." A hard finger pointed at him, only just refraining from making contact. "You can tell me what she is doing here. Again. She's the enemy, damn it, and you're... setting up camp in here with her or something. Like... lovebirds."
"Setting up camp? Wouldn't lovebirds be building a n" Wesley caught the beginnings of a fearsome glower, and wiped away all traces of levity. "We were... that is..." He sighed, and looked down at his companion, sprawled beside him on the couch and studiously feigning sleep. "Lilah..."
"Tell him I'm asleep, and staying that way until he's in a better mood." She smiled, stretching luxuriously and managing to entangle her legs with his in the process. He coloured, and sat up immediately.
"Er... well we, er..."
"Wes, I don't give a damn about your relationship. Well I do, but I'm not going to go interfering in that. You're old enough to screw up whatever the hell you want. But I do care about you bringing one of the enemy into our headquarters, and letting her get comfortable. Now what is she doing here?"
"Helping. Or she was." He stood up, trying to work some of the kinks out of his back, before remembering that, now that he was dead and a ghost, technically there shouldn't be any kinks to work out. He tried to convince his back of that, but it didn't seem ready to believe it. "We were out late last night fighting a Morz demon. It was on its pre-breeding season feed, so it was pretty nasty. When we'd finished we came back here for some reason. Possibly to boast. I... suppose we fell asleep."
"You took out a Morz demon last night?" Angel was impressed. "They're the big blue ones, right? With the horns?"
"Three pairs of horns. Yes. Fascinating pattern on the back of each beast, each entirely unique, and..." He smiled slightly. "And probably only fascinating if you're me. Sorry. It was a hell of a fight, Angel. We were tired."
"Yeah, okay. Whatever." Angel couldn't quite stop staring suspiciously at the woman still sprawled on the couch. Lilah Morgan, former chief executive of the Los Angeles branch of Wolfram & Hart, was somebody it was best not to look away from. She had a nasty habit of getting up to almost anything at the drop of a hat. "Congratulations on the Morz, Lilah. I won't bother asking why you wanted it dead, given that it was probably your employers who helped it get into this dimension; but thankyou. Now get the hell out of my hotel."
"Sure, boss." She got to her feet, leisurely and teasing, making every movement an obvious flirtation. "Whatever you say."
"And if you've done anything to this place. Planted anything, or"
"In my sleep? Angel, I enjoy your paranoia and your suspicions, really I do. But quite a good deal of me was wound around Wesley, and several other bits of me were underneath him. I really wasn't in any position to go sneaking around the room planting bugs, or spells, or... mini demons or something." She leaned over, kissing Wesley gently on the forehead. "I'll see you later. Try not to let him get wound up anymore. If he explodes it'll probably screw up any number of prophecies."
"Behave." He smiled distractedly at her, but didn't wait to watch her disappear. When she vanished into thin air, he was already going to join Angel by the door of the hotel's office. Angel glared at him.
"She's evil, Wes."
"So were you, once."
"Before I got my soul back, yeah. She's got a soul. She always did. She's evil."
"Yes." He couldn't really deny it. Lilah herself certainly wouldn't. She professed to care only for herself, she was completely unprincipled, and she didn't care who knew it. She had chosen to work for Wolfram & Hart, and despite having been dead for more than a year, she remained in their employ. About that at least she didn't have any choice - Wesley had tried to free her from her contract, but it had proved itself to be tamperproof. There was no escaping from the terms of a Wolfram & Hart contract. Their lawyers were amongst the best in the world - probably in several worlds. Nonetheless she seemed to have few regrets about the way that things had turned out for her, and seemed happy enough with the circumstances in which she now found herself. She was untrustworthy, she was dangerous - and yes, she quite likely was evil. Angel was right about that; Angel was frequently right about all manner of things. It was just that Wesley couldn't quite seem to keep away from her. Death hadn't managed to separate them. Maybe nothing could.
"Do we have a mission?" he asked, in an attempt to deflect Angel's powerful glare. The vampire nodded.
"Cordelia has come up with something again, yes. She's not clear on all the details, but that's not much of a surprise." He scowled. "Just once I'd like to go into a job with all the information up front."
"Quite." Wesley remembered only too well the days when their alliance had been in its infancy, when they had been forced to work on the snippets of information gleaned from Cordelia's erratic visions. Now that Cordelia was a higher being, there were all manner of powers of light and darkness surrounding them in their after life - and still they had only little things to go on. Cordelia's hints no longer came from soul-destroying visions, but whoever guided her still seemed disinclined to give her access to anything really useful.
"You know anything about a guy named Lox?" Angel pulled a piece of A4 paper from his pocket, and handed it over. Cordelia's unmistakable handwriting was scrawled across the page, entwining itself around itself and largely failing to be legible. Wesley rolled his eyes.
"You'd really think that an angel would have better handwriting."
"It's not so bad." Angel had taken to defending Cordelia at the slightest sign of an insult, whilst still attempting to deny that there was anything going on between the two of them. When one was hard to find the other inevitably was too - when they had been missing they invariably returned together - and they spent a large amount of their time gazing at each other and exchanging silly smiles. It all spelt 'relationship', even to somebody as generally blind to such things as was Wesley Wyndam-Pryce; but Angel and Cordelia still vehemently denied the charge. Possibly Angel didn't want to admit to being happy, just on the off chance that his old curse might catch up with him and steal away his soul; or possibly he was just trying to shut Spike up. His fellow vampire never missed a chance to tease or annoy, and a budding romance was the perfect target for his jokes.
"It's not the worst handwriting I've ever seen, no." Deciding that it was best not to argue with a vampire in love, Wesley studied the piece of paper whilst hiding a smile. He could just about decipher something about a demon, but the rest seemed to involve a mouse and a branding iron. He assumed that he was reading it wrongly, but didn't rule out the possibility that this latest case might involve some very small demons with an odd approach to farming. "Lox. Yes, I've heard of him. He's a demon deity, of a sort, in the way that human royals have been worshipped as gods in the past. He rules a race that originally came from a small dimension similiar to our own. Somehow his entire race crossed over, in 1952 by all accounts. I've read articles that suggest it was the exploding of a hydrogen bomb that triggered an overlap between our dimensions, and presumably weakened the barriers between them." He caught sight of the telltale glazing of Angel's eyes, and reined in his instinct to waffle. "Many of them have died since, anyway. I suppose they haven't bred enough to keep up their numbers, and there are thought to be hardly more than a hundred or so left. Lox is still their commander in chief, and his followers are all extremely loyal. He's a supreme ruler, in the old Dei gratia sense."
"Evil? Good? Wobbling about between the two?" It was, of course, the simple things that most concerned Angel. The blacks and the whites rather than the hues in between. Wesley shrugged.
"Opinions differ. As far as I know he's a totalitarian ruler, and his loyalties are to his people alone. Nobody seems to think that he's evil as such, but if you get in his way he'll kill you."
"Because that doesn't sound at all evil."
"Yeah." Wesley shrugged. "Shades of grey, I suppose. At any rate, his reputation is rather better than a lot of demons."
"That's probably a great consolation to the people he kills." Angel nodded. "Alright. Cordelia seems to think he's building something. Gathering something maybe. Can you think of anything that he might be after?"
"Anything specific? No. But like I said, he's the leader of a dying race. There's less of them all the time, and he's used to a lot of power. Maybe he wants to raise his profile, or increase his power base. Merge his people with some of the other demon tribes. Since the death of the Archduke Sebassis there's something of a vacuum in the leadership of the demons in this city, and there's quite a scuffle going on amongst all the various creatures trying to fill it. It looks as though a lot of smaller names are going to wind up carving the Sebassis Empire up between them, and Lox has as much chance of taking a piece as anybody else."
"Then why did Cordelia get his name? Why not any of the others? Is there any chance he could take over the whole city? Become a leader as big as Sebassis was?"
"Lox? I doubt it. He's strong, and he's charismatic - as demons go - and he's certainly intelligent. But he doesn't have the influence. Not enough of his fellow demons take him seriously, outside of his own tribe. They wouldn't accept his authority."
"But he might have delusions of grandeur?"
"It's possible." Wesley referred back to the sheet of notes, and Cordelia's largely illegible handwriting. There wasn't anything terribly important there - inasmuch as he could see. No doubt it was all the usual sort of thing - rough descriptions of places, jumbled instructions for navigation about the city that were usually only of any help with the addition of a detailed A To Z map, and at least half a dozen born and bred natives to help out with the difficult bits. Cordelia's powers seemed destined to be forever frustrating. "I'll see if I can track Lox down. I have a few informants who should be willing to tell us something. I'll drop by and speak to Gunn, too. It's possible that some of his street people might have heard something."
"Thanks, Wes. I'll go do a few sweeps round the streets myself." Angel never tired of saying such things during daylight hours now that the sun was no longer fatal to him. "Walk down a few of those sunny streets, and see if there's anything useful there. Stand in a patch of sun, maybe. You know."
"Yes." Wesley had to smile. "I'll speak to you later then. Oh, where's Spike?"
"Who knows." Angel shrugged. "Who cares? He took off late last night in some car he stole. Apparently he's not at all discouraged by the fact that he loses corporeality on a fairly regular basis. One of these days he's going to take a corner too fast and his hands are going to go straight through the steering wheel. I wouldn't mind if he could kill himself, but if he starts decimating the local population I'll..." He glowered. "Well, not kill him, obviously. But something painful."
"He's not too foolhardy, Angel. Now that he has a soul..."
"Wes, he's had a soul for as long as you've known him. Have you ever known him not to be an aggravating... I'm trying really hard not to say bastard."
"And I appreciate the effort, believe me." Wesley shrugged. "No, in all honesty I've never known him not to be annoying, even when he's trying to be nice. But in fairness to him, at least he does try."
"Wesley, he's out there now in a powerful, souped-up sports car. It's the middle of the day, and as far as we know not everybody can see him. What do you think is going to happen if people start reporting a speeding car without a driver? Or if he gets pulled over and decides to go all invisible? And what happens if his feet suddenly lose corporeality and can't work the brakes?"
"Fair point. Can't Cordelia do anything?"
"She can transport him back here, yeah. That's not a lot of good if he's speeding away at the wheel. Good way to mow down a few pedestrians before the car stops."
"Yes. Fair enough, not a great plan." Wesley tried to smile encouragingly, but he knew from experience that it was no good. Angel always took Spike's misdeeds personally, and never failed to let the younger vampire wind him up. It was like some bizarre symbiotic tangle of irritation. "I'll see you in a little while, Angel. Report back in an hour?"
"Sure." Angel nodded his head and disappeared. After a moment, a faint smile still playing about on his face, Wesley followed suit. Illegible case notes and lethal associates or not, it was good to be busy again.
The hotel garden was in full bloom, as it always seemed to be these days. Wesley rather suspected that Cordelia had used some kind of angelic intervention to keep it flowering. Certainly he didn't remember the trees, plants and shrubs ever being quite this exuberant, quite this colourful, in the past. He wished that he could smell the scent of the flowers, but had to be content with just the sight. Ghosts couldn't smell - that was just one of his limitations.
"Hi honey, I'm home." It was Lilah of course, appearing out of nowhere, and looking confrontational and insulting and challenging and flirtatious all at once, in her usual way. She ruffled his hair, then sat down on the wall and pulled him down next to her. "You know, a gentleman would pick me some flowers."
"Only if you were a lady." He considered trying it anyway, but decided against it. It was always a strain to affect the corporeal world, and somehow a failure to do so was always doubly frustrating - to say nothing of embarrassing - when Lilah was around. She pretended to pout.
"You're not a very considerate host."
"You're not a very welcome guest. Angel's right, you know. You shouldn't be here."
"You really do love to hold that 'evil' thing against me, don't you. You know, evil is only a relative term."
"No it's not."
"Pedant."
"Lilah... did you have a reason for coming here?"
"Other than to annoy you?" She smiled at him, with a fondness that was mostly genuine. "Lox. You're interested, right?"
"What do you know?" He was immediately suspicious. Lilah had a remarkable gift for turning up at just the right moment, with just the right information - though usually she had the information only because she was in some way involved with almost every nefarious plot going on within the city limits. It made her information all the more reliable, but it made her all the more dubious as an informant. It also made her offers to help out that bit more strange.
"I know where you can find him. I know what he's up to, more or less. Actually I'm rather surprised that you don't, all things considered."
"All what things?" She was digging for something. It showed in the warm twinkling of her eyes.
"All kinds of things. Wes, honey, you do know that your big green friend didn't die that night? That one of you actually managed to keep on breathing?"
"Yes." Wesley smiled faintly, but there was a sadness behind the smile. "I know. I was glad. Of all of us, he deserved to carry on."
"And you haven't thought to visit him? At all?"
"I can't." Now he was really wondering what she was fishing for. "He wanted out. Lorne's impartiality was always very important to him, and we'd caused him to lose it. Somebody was prepared to grant his wish to get it back, and to be clear of Angel. If any one of us tries to find him, we're instantly transported back here to the hotel." He paused, eyeing her suspiciously. "Are you saying that Lox has something to do with Lorne?"
"Lox and Lorne. Sounds like a cough medicine."
"Lilah..." He scowled just enough to let her know that he wasn't in the mood for her games. "Just tell me."
"All work and no play, Wes." She sighed. "Okay. Whatever you want."
"If only."
"Manners." She edged closer to him, entwining her fingers with his, one of her usual deliberate ploys to try to distract him from full attentiveness to the issue at hand. "Lorne likes running night-clubs. They're not easy to set up, you know. Wolfram & Hart had a hand in a few, and I can tell you that they're expensive ventures, at least at first. I don't know how he set up that first one of his, especially so soon after arriving in this dimension. Anyway, I guess he needed investment, and Lox maybe knew a good thing when he saw one. Either that or he's into protection racketeering, though I haven't heard anything like that."
"It's not usually Lox's style. He doesn't go for the seedier side of life."
"That's the way I've heard it, certainly." She smiled expectantly, as though awaiting thanks; but he deliberately ignored her.
"I wonder how well Lorne knows him. How involved they are."
"Do you know why you're being put on Lox's tail yourselves?"
"I have an idea, and no I'm not planning to share the details. Besides, you claimed to already know. You're not getting anything out of me."
"I do so love how you trust me."
"You're evil."
"And always we come back to that. Do you have to keep holding it against me?"
He sighed. "You're eternally signed by binding contract to the service of my enemies. It's not an easy thing to overlook."
"I don't make a big deal of how you're eternally faithful to my biggest enemy. Angel really doesn't like me, you know. But do I make a big deal out of it?"
"Frequently." He disentangled his hand from hers, and took hold of her shoulders instead. "Just talk to me."
"There's not a lot more to tell. Lox is very often at Lorne's club. Apparently you can't go there... which is interesting, but not entirely unexpected. I guessed that something of the kind must be stopping you from visiting the jolly green giant."
"Don't joke about Lorne." He turned away from her, lost in thought, and she pouted.
"Oh, right. Honestly, you drill a hole in a guy's head and suck out part of his brain, and suddenly no one will forgive you."
"It's not up to me to forgive you for what you did to him." He stood up, beginning to pace. "If Lox is at this club, how are we supposed to get to him? We can't go anywhere near Lorne."
"No, but Lox has got to leave sometime. And anyway - so you can't get near Lorne. Didn't you ever wonder if he could get near you?" He frowned at her, and she shrugged. "Hey, it's only a theory, so don't go shooting me down in flames, but it's possible, right? This spell or whatever it is was set up to protect Lorne - and I'm guessing you knew that, or you'd have tried to get around it yourself. You're probably powerful enough by now to do that."
"Maybe." He stopped his pacing. "You think that if it's for his own protection that we're not allowed to visit him, it might only work one way?"
"It's just a theory, Wes." She smiled at him gently, in one of her off-putting displays of courtesy and consideration. "But I think it's worth testing don't you? Now I'd go down there myself and suggest that he drop by here for a visit, but we both know what Lorne thinks of me. He'd go back to his home dimension rather than go anywhere on my say so."
"Not entirely untrue." He frowned at her. "Why do you care? Is Lox working against Wolfram & Hart?"
"Lox is Lox." She shrugged, apparently indifferent. "He works for himself and his people, never anybody else."
"Meaning you tried to get him to work for you, and couldn't?"
"Meaning..." She smiled. "He's eight feet tall, with teeth that would put Dracula to shame. Of course we wanted him on our side. You know he can crush a human skull with his hands?"
"You've tested him?"
"Not intentionally. We were trying to recruit him, and I think we got him a little pissed." She shrugged. "It was only one of our accountants, so it was no great loss."
"I hope he appreciated that."
"Shouldn't think so. Weasly little fellow. There's not many like that who appreciate that the office looks better without them in it." Her expression changed to one of faint distaste. "Although, for the record? Brain matter stains. Not like blood - a good detergent can get rid of blood these days. But brain matter? Forget it. I had to replace the entire outfit, as well as some miscellaneous office furniture and haberdashery."
"Haberdashery?" He had the feeling that he was going to regret asking. She nodded.
"Curtains. There was splattering."
"Ah." He nodded slowly. "Right. So, a telephone call then."
"To Lorne? I'd guess so. It's possible that you won't be allowed to contact him that way either, but I could make the call. If I start singing straight away, he'll know I'm on the level, right?"
"You're never on the level."
"He'll know I'm not planning to suck anything else out of his head, then. Does his song reading thing work on dead people?"
"It works on vampires. Technically they're the reanimated dead, so it should work on you too. You'd really let him read you?"
"Why not? Look." She stood up and went over to him, taking both his hands. "Lox is up to something, and I want to stay on top of it all. Wolfram & Hart know what my position is regarding you, and they've made no objection to this little piece of co-operation. It's all innocent enough, in a... completely un-innocent sense. Lighten up, Wes. We can be on the same side on occasions, you know."
"I know, and I find it positively terrifying." For now, though, it did all seem to make sense. "You know the number of the club?"
"Yes. I also know the address, fax number and URL. Lorne's pretty good at self-promotion."
"I think he has dreams of Hollywood super-stardom. It all kind of goes with the territory." He smiled gently, and nodded. "Make the call. Ask him to come here. And sing something by Barry Manilow." He grinned at her expression of dismay. "It'll help to get him on board. Trust me. Sing a few bars of Mandy, and he'll listen a lot more readily."
"Manilow." She winced. "The things I do for you, Pryce."
"I know." He began to guide her back into the building, to where the nearest phone awaited. "And I appreciate it. Now make the call."
Lorne was happy. He thought he was happy. He enjoyed himself more often than he didn't, which, as far as he could tell, was a reasonable definition of happiness. He had a club, which no longer got trashed on a regular basis by Angel and his friends and enemies. He had returned to a life providing sanctuary, allowing the members of every race of human and demon on Earth to get together in peace and safety, without judgement, prejudice or disapproval. He sang, he listened to others sing, he employed live bands, and he coyly courted show business agents who wanted to know what he looked like beneath his "make up". Life was good. Life was the way he had always wanted it to be, ever since getting sucked through the portal that had dropped him into this world, this city, this opportunity. This place of music.
So he didn't know what to think when the telephone rang, just as he was mixing his third Seabreeze of the day, and a horribly familiar voice began singing Manilow's Mandy right into his left ear. He winced, assaulted by unasked for images of past misdeeds and probable future ones, as well as by a very clear picture of the canary in question in bed with a decidedly under-clad Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. Lorne didn't know whether to laugh, wince, or enjoy the scenery with that one, but he brought the concert to an immediate end nonetheless.
"Okay! Okay, okay, okay. Man!" He waved his free hand around as though she could see it, and recognise the meaning of the gesture. "Enough, please! My ear drums don't deserve the torture, and my brain certainly doesn't. What the hell do you want? And whilst we're on the subject, why is a dead woman phoning me up anyway? Don't you have creepy houses to haunt, and chains to go and rattle at people?"
"I'm calling on behalf of"
"Wes. Yeah, I know. I caught the charming imagery. And incidentally, if that's really what you're hoping to do with him the next evening you get alone together... well honey, you're more imaginative than I gave you credit for. Put him on."
"Can't." She shrugged, smiling at her end of the receiver. He could hear the smirk in her voice, and scowled at it - as much as Krevlorneswath of the Deathwok Clan ever scowled. "There's a magic thing. Barriers. Spells. You wanted out, and I'm guessing something took you at your word."
"It did?" He frowned. "Is he... I mean, did he... They all died, Lilah. I got that from a very reliable source, who happened to witness everything. They're all dead. And if Wes is talking to you, given where I'm pretty certain you ended up, then I don't think that I really want to know about it. That boy doesn't belong in hell. And why is hell on the telephone, anyway?"
"I'm not in hell. Wes isn't in hell. The telephone isn't in hell." She rolled her eyes, shooting a meaningful glare at her companion. "Look, Lorne. Wes wants to talk to you, but he can't get near you. None of them can. We're hoping you can come to us. At the hotel, okay?"
"Us? There's an us now? You're an us?" He took the telephone away from his ear and stared at it for a moment, then returned it to its proper position and sighed. "Is this a trap?"
"Lorne..."
"Because there have been traps before. Nasty ones, with chairs and ropes and drills and... I'm not planning on going there again."
"Lorne..."
"I'm wearing a terrific suit right now, and I'm not getting it creased by your minions and their heavy-handedness. Or their ropes. And bloodstains would not look good on this silk."
"It's not a trap. Didn't you see that when I sang? I don't have any minions, and I don't have any evil plans."
"Well sugar, that's a lie right there. Seer, remember? And this Seer just Saw, so don't go into the innocent little girl act. We both know how false that is. But you're right, I didn't see anything that looked like a trap."
"Then you'll come?"
"To the hotel?" He hesitated then. He was happy, wasn't he? His life had been great since severing all ties with his friends. There was no longer any conflict of interest, any being torn in ten different directions at once. He would do, and had done, anything for Angel. Anything at all. That simple fact - that complex, multi-layered loyalty - had left him confused, sad and hurting. Not without reason had he told the vampire that it was all over between them for good. And yet... Once again he lowered the phone, and once again he stared at it. This time it wasn't for any kind of comic effect.
"Lorne?" Lilah's voice floated up to him faintly, though the receiver now rested on the bar. He sighed. "Lorne?"
"Yeah." He put the receiver back up against his ear, and tried to gather his thoughts. "Is Angel there?"
"Not at the moment, no. He's out wandering the streets. Either he's looking for information or enjoying the fact that he's not flammable anymore, I don't know."
"He's not there, then." That made things difficult again. Did he want to see Angel, or didn't he? Was he sorry that the vampire wouldn't be there? Lorne had never quite worked out just how he felt about Angel, but he knew that those feelings were by no means simple. They certainly weren't simple now. He nodded his head, tired, confused, but not sure that he wasn't still happy. Happier, maybe? He sighed. Who knew? It was all a hell of a jumble. "Alright. I'll be there as soon as I can. Just make sure that there's a drink waiting when I arrive." And he hung up, swallowed down the Seabreeze in one quick mouthful, and drew in a deep, deep breath. It was funny how everything could change in two minutes. He wasn't sure of anything now.
Spike wandered in off the streets just after noon, bearing a six pack of beer and a copy of Classic Rock Magazine, a cigarette dangling idly from his lips. His hair seemed spikier than normal, his long leather coat more battered, and his entire demeanour more studiously based on the stereotype of seventies punk rebellion. He growled a greeting at Wesley, raised his eyebrows appreciatively at Lilah, and hurled a can of beer at each of them. Wesley's passed straight through his hand, and bounced away across the floor.
"Pussy," muttered Spike around the cigarette. Wesley just glared.
"I can't drink it anyway, Spike," he pointed out. "And for that matter neither can you. Is there some particular point to this ritual?"
"No, not really." Spike spat the cigarette onto the floor, and ground it out underfoot with some considerable enthusiasm. "Wishful thinking, maybe. Same as the cigarette. Can't taste it, can't smell it. I can try to suck in the smoke, but it's not like I've got any actual lungs to fill up."
"Or pollute and destroy," added Wesley. Spike glared at him again.
"I appreciate the beer, anyway." Neatly cutting off whatever insult Spike had planned, Lilah opened her can and took a long pull. "There are benefits to being a reamimated corpse, you know. Evil, magical Wolfram & Hart contracts aren't always a bad thing."
"Evil Girl's got a point." Spike threw the rest of the cans onto the reception desk, then slumped scowlingly into the nearest seat. "Wolfram & Hart know how to look after their dead employees, which is more than Cordelia does."
"Any time you want to jump ship and join the enemy, I'm sure you'd only get encouragement from Angel." Wesley went to fetch the can he had failed to catch, and made a few experimental attempts to pick it up. It didn't work, so he levitated it instead, using his ever-growing magical powers to move it over to join its fellows on the counter. Spike laughed.
"Angel loves me really. We have that father-son thing that... clearly you wouldn't understand." Spike pulled out a packet of cigarettes, and lit up for a second time. "Although technically he's my grandfather, so he's supposed to be kindly and loving, and give me candy and stuff." He shrugged. "Where is the big ponce, anyway?"
"New case. He's out looking for information." Wesley headed over to the nearby cupboard, where a stock of alcohol left behind by Lorne still dwelt. Several dusty bottles of vodka stared back at him, but there was little left to mix with it. He remembered all too well the demon's insistence on the importance of freshly squeezed grapefruit in his Seabreezes, and there didn't seem to be any fresh anything in the hotel these days. Over on his chair, Spike laughed loudly and with sarcasm.
"Looking for information! Bollocks. He's out there standing in the sunshine, telling passers-by how great it is not to burst into flame. He always was a poser, and these days he's worse than ever." The vampire's amusement caused him to lose concentration, and the cigarette dropped neatly through the bottom of his mouth, falling through his legs and landing on the seat of the chair. "Bugger."
"You're a ghost, Spike. Don't be such a wuss." Lilah smiled sweetly in the face of his furious glower. "Hardly going to burn to death, are you."
"Children, please." Wesley left the vodka pouring several measures of itself into a glass, and went in search of a mixer. There was blood in the fridge, of a vintage that he could only guess at, as well some orange juice that he was fairly sure Cordelia had bought recently - if higher beings actually needed to buy their orange juice, that was. For all he knew there might be a special grove of orange trees in the higher dimension, which were cultivated for the special use of angels. He sent some over to join the vodka in the waiting glass, and had it mix itself. Spike, leaving Lilah to prevent the fallen cigarette from setting fire to the chair, wandered over to take a look.
"That magic thing is still working, then," he observed, in the sort of tone of voice that suggested he might be thinking of asking for lessons. Wesley shrugged.
"It helps," he said, going back out into the lobby by walking through the reception desk. "Corporeality still eludes me much of the time."
"Yeah. Bummer." Spike's lack of sympathy was legendary. "I used to be into magic, you know. In my early vampire days. Dru's idea."
"You had the patience to study and perfect the art of magic?" Wesley was sceptical. Spike smirked.
"Hardly, mate. I had a life. Well, a death, or an unlife, or whatever. Had better things to do than pore over old books and chant things in dead languages, anyway. You should try it. An eternity of near youth to enjoy, and you're spending it in your own personal library, reading books that even the Victorians thought were boring."
"And yet oddly enough it's me and my boring pastimes that have the ability to seal you up in a pocket dimension for the next two hundred years." Wesley went over to sit beside Lilah, caught between wanting to keep his distance from her, and enjoying the chance to flaunt his relationship in front of Spike. "Which is the highbrow way of sticking my tongue out and making 'nyah nyah' noises."
"Screw you," shot back Spike, cheerfully enough, and flung himself back into his chair. Lilah had successfully extinguished the flames, but a few wisps of smoke still drifted up from the seat. The guilty cigarette lay on the ground, doing its best to ruin the flooring. "Although at a guess that's already being taken care of. Which is pretty weird even by my standards."
"Pocket dimension, Spike. Two hundred years."
"Cordelia'd be pissed off with you. Needs me around, doesn't she. Hence the whole ghost thing."
"Cordelia would understand. Given how regularly she banishes you to help out Andrew, I think it's safe to say that she doesn't consider you a hugely important part of the team here." Wesley smiled triumphantly, and Lilah rolled her eyes.
"Do you two ever shut up?"
"I do." Spike leaned back in his chair looking superior. "It's just Percy here who likes to babble. Confidence issues. Stems from his childhood. English public school, you know how it is."
"Shut up, Spike." Wesley started to get to his feet, but Lilah pushed him back down again.
"Grow up, the pair of you. It's worse than the old conference room, being stuck here with you two. At least the Wolfram & Hart crowd killed each other instead of just sticking to insults."
"Great. I leave the sanctuary of my club for you guys, and what do I get in exchange? Arguments, enmity and bloodthirsty nostalgia." The loud voice of Lorne came from the direction of the hotel doors, taking them all by surprise. "You guys really know how to throw a welcome party."
"Lorne!" Delighted, Wesley bounded to his feet, crossing over to the door and completely failing to shake the demon's hand. Lorne looked momentarily flummoxed by the Englishman's lack of physical substance, then shrugged and tried to pull the ghost into a hug anyway. His arms went straight through Wesley's body, and wound up more or less hugging themselves.
"Hey, Wes honey." There was real affection in the demon's melodious voice. "How you been?"
"Dead, mostly. You?"
"Oh, you know. Not dead. Which is the way I prefer it." He shrugged. "Not the heroic type. Big, dramatic struggles to the death have never been my kind of thing."
"We were worried about you, when you said goodbye like that."
"Yeah, well." Lorne shrugged, looking awkward. "Things were... as things were. You know. I had to make a decision."
"I know." Wesley, who had long ago sold his soul to Angel, and had suffered for it a thousand times over, understood that not everybody was capable of that kind of commitment. Not everybody needed to make it, for not everybody was driven by the need to atone. The need to serve. "Angel understood your decision. He respected it."
"Yeah. Maybe." Lorne's eyes trailed away, unable to meet Wesley's all of a sudden. Leaving the team had been the only decision that had made any sense to him at the time, and in all honesty he didn't regret it. He couldn't. But the mention of Angel, as always, made his head and his heart start to argue about everything all over again. To defuse the situation he looked past Wesley, and smiled over at Spike. "Hello."
"Hey." Spike was busy lighting another cigarette, never being one to admit defeat. "Thought you'd buggered off."
"Don't you have something you'd rather be doing, Spike?" Trying not to sound too exasperated, since that would only inspire the vampire to even greater feats of annoyance, Wesley shot him a half-hearted glower. "A car you'd like to be crashing? You could always go and find Angel, and spend the rest of the afternoon helping him."
"True." Spike shrugged. "But I couldn't be bothered. What's going on here, anyway? Green Boy goes off claiming that he doesn't want anything to do with us anymore, and now here he is trying to pretend that he's not looking for Angel. He's not here, mate. Went off to ponce around on street corners in the sunshine."
"So I hear." Lorne walked down the steps, managing as always to look as though he were making an entrance on stage. "We need to talk, apparently. About something important."
"Yes." With an effort Wesley picked up the drink he had prepared, and handed it over. "Just a screwdriver, I'm afraid. We didn't have much in the way of ingredients."
"That's fine, pet." Lorne smiled his thanks, then sat down on the sofa. Nearby Spike was trying to blow smoke rings, and failing completely. Being a ghost was rather a hindrance when it came to tricks involving oxygen. "So what is it, Wes? And why is You Know Who involved?"
"Hey!" Spike lost control of his cigarette again, and skidded about on the seat trying to pat out the flame with his suddenly insubstantial hands. "I've got a name, you know."
"I don't mean you, sugar. I mean the Evil Witch From The Hell That Has No Name. Or Wolfram & Hart, as others call it." The bright red eyes sparked with as much ill will as they could - which wasn't usually very much, though Lorne was generally prepared to make exceptions where Lilah was concerned. "Otherwise known as Her Over There."
"Oh, right. Lilah." Spike smirked with his usual measure of glee. "Otherwise known as Wesley's Bit Of"
"Pocket dimension, Spike. Two hundred years." Wesley's glower was fiery blue. "One click of the fingers, one quick sentence in Latin. I mean it."
"Ponce." Spike was glowering like a sulky child, though he made no effort to challenge the other ghost's claim. "Fight like a sodding man, can't you?"
"Possibly. On occasions." Wesley made a fist, and passed it through the back of the nearest chair. "But apparently not today. Anyway, Lorne's right. We called him here for a reason. If you want to stay here and listen to all of this, fine. But shut the hell up, alright?"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Spike folded his arms, doing his best to glower and look tough, whilst sitting on a seat that was still smouldering gently. "Just bloody get on with it."
"I'd be delighted." Wesley sat down next to Lilah. "Okay. We need your help, Lorne. And I'm sorry that we didn't get in touch until now, but honestly it was because we didn't know where you were. We all tried looking, but we couldn't get close. Some kind of magic spell."
"Yeah, honey. Evil Girl already explained all that." Lorne was frowning at him in confusion. "How can you be sitting down on a chair that you just walked through?"
"It's a ghost thing." Wesley shot him a look that clearly said Shut up and listen. "You know a demon called Lox, yes?"
"Yes..." There was a wariness in Lorne's bright eyes now. Wesley had seen it before, during the days back at Caritas, when the demon had thought that he was being called upon to betray a confidence. "What about him?"
"We don't know. Not exactly. Cordelia has received some kind of an alert about him. Apparently he's up to something, and we have to find out what. And stop him, presumably, if he needs stopping."
"You wouldn't be wanting me to tell you things I don't want to be telling you, would you?" Lorne was frowning, though not with anger. "Lox is a friend, Wes. And I don't just mean that he's a client, or something like that. He's a friend. And even if he wasn't, there's still that little thing called confidentiality. I don't break that for anybody, honey. Not even for Angel."
"I know." Wes smiled gently, showing that he understood the demon's commitment. There was something about Lorne's impartiality that appealed to the side of Wesley Wyndam-Pryce that remained forever clothed in murky layers of grey. "Look, we just want to find out what he's up to. You know how it works with Cordelia. How she knows some things, but not everything? For some reason she's been alerted to something that's going on with Lox. We can't not investigate, even if he's the best friend you've ever had."
"Sure." Lorne frowned again, looking from one to the other of them. There was deep thought etched into the fine lines of his warm green face, and Wesley felt for him. So too did Spike, who had always understood what it meant to fall between two camps. He threw his packet of cigarettes over to the demon, and followed it with a can of beer.
"Keep your beer, Spike. Thanks, but it doesn't quite hit the spot, you know?" Lorne took out one of the cigarettes, though, lighting it slowly with what looked like a diamanté Zippo. "This is why I left you people behind. I'm not pointing fingers, and I'm not laying blame, but Wes... you should know better than this. I expect it from Angel. He never understood. But you? Lox is a great guy. I left Wolfram & Hart that night with nothing but the suit I was wearing, you know that? I left everything behind. Didn't dare go home in case there was something waiting for me. Didn't dare go to see any of my friends. For all I knew my greatest friends were dying right there and then, and I couldn't stand to see it happen. So I left everything behind, and I decided to start anew right there and then. Get back to all the things that used to matter, before Mr Tall, Dark and... Captivating... got in the way. Lox was there, Wes. When nobody else could be, Lox was there. It's thanks to him I've got a club again. A nice, big, shiny club, with better anti-violence spells than ever before. Life's good, at least for those of us who managed to hold onto it. So I'm sorry. I ain't singing that tune, sugar, if you get my meaning."
"Yes." Wesley looked down at the floor, nodding his head slowly. He understood. He sympathised. He had seen the torn look in Lorne's eyes too many times in the past to fail to understand now. When he looked up again, Lorne was pouring himself another measure of vodka, this time without a mixer.
"I could do with some firewater," commented the demon, as he wandered back over, bottle in hand, to sit back in his seat. "At least that stuff really lets me drown my sorrows."
"You got that many sorrows to drown?" asked Lilah. He glared at her.
"I don't expect you to understand things like loyalty, glamour puss. Or about doing what you think is right. And is somebody finally going to tell me what the Queen of Tartarus is doing here anyway?"
"She's been keeping Wesley warm," smirked Spike. Lilah shot him a poisonous look.
"I'm here because Wolfram & Hart are also interested in Lox, and because for the time being at least, they think that their concerns and those of Cordelia's team are actually the same. Lox is looking for power. For some reason he suddenly thinks that he's got a chance to muscle in on the action in this city. Something has boosted his confidence."
"Not asking for betrayals, man." Spike who sympathised perhaps more than anybody, managed a gentle and consoling smile of the kind that most people would never have believed him capable. "We just want to talk to the guy. You don't have to tell us anything about him. If you know anything, you can keep it to yourself. We just want to speak to him."
"You do, huh." Lorne drained the glass of vodka, and refilled it again immediately. His eyes scanned over the group, skipping neatly over Lilah, and focusing only upon Wesley and Spike. He was clearly caught in indecision. "You just want to talk to him?"
"If he's your friend, and you really think he's alright, talking will probably be all we need to do." Wesley didn't add that Lorne had included all manner of dubious types amongst his friends in the past, so it was no great proof of Lox's good nature that the Pylean professed to like him so much. "We don't know why Cordelia was pointed in his direction."
"I suppose it can't hurt." Lorne nodded slowly, his eyes oddly watchful through the drifting smoke from his cigarette. "Alright. You can come to the club. Or... can you come to the club?"
"Maybe, if you've invited us. Or maybe Cordelia can arrange something. It's worth a try." Wesley nodded. "Alright. If that's the deal."
"It is, honey, and you'll have to take it or leave it. At the club there's nothing that you can do to hurt him. I'm not saying that I don't trust your word, but if you were to suddenly decide that you disapprove of him, I don't know what might happen. Once upon a time I'd have worried about him and you, but you're dead now. No offence, but I don't need to worry about you now. I just have to worry about him."
"Then the club it is." Wesley wondered if he should add that there was no way of knowing if Lorne's spells would work on a group of ghosts and pseudo-angels. He was confident that he could negate the spells anyway, now that his magical prowess had developed so very much. In the end he said nothing of the kind, for there was really no need to disturb Lorne still further. Instead he stood up, smiling the way he had once smiled at nervous human clients. "We appreciate it."
"Yeah." Lorne drained the glass of vodka once again. "You'd better. And you'd better appreciate my position, too. It gets around that I'm willing to help you, my clientele might well start drifting away. It took time for some of them to trust me again, now that my reputation has been tarred with the Angel brush." He winced slightly. "Not that I'm sorry about... Not that I regret... Well you know. You guys are my friends. You always will be, and I'm not sorry that we spent all that time together. But a lot of my old customers didn't take too kindly to me joining Team Angel. I've won them back. I don't want to lose them again."
"We'll be discreet," promised Wesley. "We don't want to draw too much attention to ourselves anyway. It's easier, if only a few people know about us."
"Sure. Kills our own reputation if people know we're dead." Spike flashed Lorne an easy grin. "Makes us look less than infallible, if you get my drift. Plus it can be hard to get people to take you seriously. I don't know if it's deadism or just ghostism, but demons are generally less scared of somebody who doesn't really exist."
"I've had ghosts do karaoke." Lorne smiled, looking carefree again, though his eyes still held shadows. "They exist. I wouldn't be able to read their auras if they didn't." His expression changed suddenly, as he came to his final decision, and he stood up in a rush of sudden action. "Alright. Tonight, at nine. The club is called Haven, and it's on twenty-first street. You won't miss it, not if you know it's there." He paused, staring at the empty glass in his hand, though not making any attempt to refill it. "But Wes, listen. If you're going to be coming down there, then there's something you really have to..." He trailed off. From very close by the sounds of singing were drifting towards them; an untrained voice that didn't easily carry a tune. It sounded like Gypsy Rover, mumbled with enthusiasm and good cheer. Lorne winced. He recognised the voice, he recognised the aura, and he recognised the way it made his insides churn. Angel.
"Hey guys." The vampire threw open the front door, bounding in with a bright smile and a swing in his step. "No luck on the street particularly, but a few people suggested we should be looking at the night life if we want to" He broke off, dark brown eyes meeting bright red ones; a wince crinkling the edges of his face. "Lorne. Hey. I... I didn't think..."
"Neither did I, Angel." Lorne's expression had turned guarded and strange, his eyes showing the turmoil he couldn't hide. He smiled faintly, though it wasn't a comfortable expression. He had come here against his better judgement, but had managed to stay true to himself; had managed to cling to his principles. Now here was Angel, and he was suddenly afraid. All Angel had to do was ask. All Angel ever had to do was ask. It would all be over then - the club, the impartiality, the life he had just won back. All that Angel had ever needed do was ask.
"You come here for a reason? Are you staying?" Suddenly grinning broadly, the vampire was coming towards him with a hand outstretched in greeting. "Where did you spring from all of a sudden? It's great to see you. Really great."
"Yeah." Lorne's eyes shifted restlessly, as his innards did much the same thing. "I've got to go."
"Now?" Angel faltered, looking suddenly unsure of himself. "Is everything okay? Do you need our help with something?"
"Leave it, huh doll?" Lorne smiled at him shakily, wanting suddenly to be out of the building, speeding through the streets behind the mirrored glass of his customised Jaguar, and putting as much distance as he could between himself and the Hyperion hotel. He wanted to be back in his club, where he was master of everything - except, perhaps, for his own screwed up feelings. "I'll, er.. I'll see you."
"Yeah." Angel turned to watch him leave, obviously a little hurt, but Lorne didn't trust himself to stay long enough to put the vampire's feelings at ease. He didn't trust anything at all during those few moments that it took him to put down the glass and hurry towards the door. He had escaped once. He had managed once to turn his back on Angel, and walk on into a new life. Only now was he realising just how precarious that new life truly was. One word - that was all that it would take. One word, and he would stay here in the hotel forever. It wasn't until later that he found himself wondering if he was running from the chance of that word being spoken, or from the fear that perhaps it wouldn't. He didn't stop to think about it. Turning the radio up very loud, he lay down on his bed and stared up at the ceiling. Music, just think about the music. Music made sense. It was just where his world met Angel's that it all fell apart.
Haven proved to be easy to find, just as Lorne had promised. Set back from the road, and up a short flight of stairs, it had a large blue sign outside that shone down onto the white steps, making them seem to glow. The effect was oddly ethereal, and certainly enticing. Spike looked about at it all with approval as they mounted the stairs.
"Very nice."
"Yes. It's certainly very effective." Wesley led the way up the steps, partly because he was eager to see what kind of clientele Lorne had collected for himself this time, and partly because he was half expecting Lilah to turn up, and wanted to be the first to see her. If Angel spotted her first there would be fireworks, and of the not-so-pretty kind. She was keeping a low profile for now though, apparently trusting Team Angel to do the investigative work for her. It was odd to think that she must therefore be confident of getting the information later, one way or another. Either that or they were being watched by Wolfram & Hart all the time. Both options were unsettling, to say the least.
"Very nice." Angel sounded awkward, but then night-clubs always tended to inspire that reaction from him. It was the level of exposure, Wesley thought; he had seemed to take forever to relax at Caritas in the old days. He had been acting oddly all day, though, clearly thrown by the sudden arrival of Lorne. Wesley had tried to explain it all to him, and it seemed as though the vampire had understood - but you could never be sure, with Angel. He could be so singular, and had never really seemed to appreciate why Lorne had felt that he needed to leave them all. It was impossible to know if he understood now why the demon would find it hard to be back amongst them again.
"Sorry I never saw this Caritas place, now. A special night-club where vampires are welcome? Cool." Pushing open the doors, in a merry flaunting of the fact that he could, Spike led the way inside. "Anybody feel themselves in danger of being zapped back to the hotel?"
"There's no danger of that. I thought I told you that already?" Stalking through the doors after him with all the bearing of royalty, glowing white dress alive with the complex lighting inside the club, Cordelia looked about with apparent excitement. Lorne had definitely landed on his feet. A massive dance floor framed a central stage, where waiting instruments showed that a live band played at least on occasions. A second stage against a side wall bore all the accoutrements of karaoke, including a massive orange demon clad in sky blue leather, belting out Night Fever to the delight of the crowds. The dance floor was alive with whirling, twirling bodies - every colour, every texture. Furred, scaled, hairy and hairless; clothed, unclothed, two legged, four legged, six armed, two headed - a breathtaking celebration of the diversity of life in the City of Angels. Overhead the lights swirled and throbbed, recreating the disco effect of the seventies, and clearly designed to match the mood of the current song. They slowed to a more uniform, natural colour as the song came to its end, and Angel chose that moment to lead the way through the clapping, cheering throngs towards the bar.
"And there's some kind of anti-violence spell on the place? Neat idea." Spike was looking about in evident interest, and doing his damnedest all the while not to slip up and walk through anybody. Such things were embarrassing, and some people found it offensive. Different cultures had differing approaches to ghosts.
"It used to be just that demons couldn't hurt each other over at Caritas," explained Cordelia, beginning to sway appreciatively as a new singer launched into Living La Vida Loca. The lights flashed out a rough approximation of sun on an Acapulco beach, and Angel reached the far side of the dance floor with a sigh of obvious relief.
"Why can't Lorne run a nice quiet restaurant somewhere?" he muttered, keeping his voice low. Cordelia slid an arm though his.
"Because he's a six foot, bright green demon, who's never quite got his head around the word 'subtle'?" she asked jokingly, and steered him into a seat at the bar. He smiled.
"Could be."
"Hey, the guy's got style." Spike sat down on another stool, and looked longingly at the array of bottles of alcohol, none of which he could begin to enjoy. "Okay, this is just plain cruel."
"You didn't have to come, Spike." Angel ordered a beer for himself, and a glass of white wine for Cordelia, in the hope that they would come under less scrutiny from the bartender if they were drinking. The drinks arrived a few seconds later, borne down the length of the bar by a three foot tall blue demon with a head that appeared to be little more than a ball of fur. It stepped into Wesley's legs, squeaked a torrent of its native tongue in obvious mortification, and began bowing profusely. Angel wasn't sure whether to try to console it, or just to laugh at the sight of a fuzzy blue creature trying to apologise. Wesley spoke to it, apparently in its own language, and it squeaked in surprise, before baring a set of previously hidden and extremely impressive fangs, and running away in a blur of bright blue. Cordelia choked back a laugh.
"What was all that about?"
"Cerus demon." He shrugged. "They have a very complex social strata, and a lot of rules governing their contact with others. I think it needs to go and check the phase of the moon to find out what's its next step should be. Either a purification ceremony, or the ritual sacrifice of a bean plant. Apparently it all depends on whether the moon is waxing or waning."
"Vegetarian sacrifices?" Spike stared after the little blue demon. "With teeth like that?"
"Upsetting my employees already?" Sounding perfectly composed, in extreme contrast to earlier, Lorne emerged out of the whirl of dancing patrons with a red-lipped smile. He was dressed in a suit of a deep royal blue, with a shirt and shoes that matched the red of his eyes, and a new flash of blond to highlight his perfectly gelled hair. Glitter shone in his eye-shadow and in his hair gel, and the hand that held his ever present glass flashed with a glint of jewellery. A silver ring, by the look of things, bearing a ruby that sparkled the same shade as his eyes. The whole effect was dazzling, and he knew it. His smile was almost as bright. "Hi guys. So what do you think?"
"It's very..." Wesley smiled faintly. "Cheerful."
"It's alright, my little wallflower. I know it's hardly your scene." Lorne gestured with his free hand towards the massed clientele. "Worth looking at though, right? You could write a hundred theses with that lot as research."
"True." They shared a smile. Spike, who was once again attempting to suck upon a smouldering cigarette, nodded his head.
"It's pretty cool. Never really dug the karaoke thing myself. More a live music fan. Plus the disco thing tends to leave me cold." He shrugged. "But this is cool. Nice work, man."
"Aw, that's sweet of you." Lorne beamed at him. "I'd offer you a drink on the house, but..."
"Yeah." Spike's eyes trailed back to the rows of bottles. "Not bloody fair, is it."
"Sing us something raucous later, honey. Make yourself feel better that way." Lorne perched on a stool nearby, apparently taking a moment to compose himself before turning up the wattage on his smile as he directed it towards Angel and Cordelia. "And look at you two! And you are a 'you two', right? At last? Congratulations. You deserve it. Some would say it would have been better if you'd got it together when you were both still alive, but I guess later is better than never." His eyes shone. "It's good to see you again, Cordy. And looking... wow."
"Hey, wow yourself." She gave him an impulsive hug. "You look out of this world."
"It's a natural talent, honey." He returned the hug with real warmth. "I really never thought I'd ever see you again."
"Never say never in this world. I've learnt that." She sat down next to him. "Life after death isn't so hard to believe when you're sitting in a night club full of creatures from other dimensions."
"Touché, sweetie." He waggled his glass at the bartender for a refill, though it was the bartender himself who delivered the drink this time. The little blue Cerus demon still had not reappeared. "Now, you lot have business with a friend of mine, I believe."
"Yeah." Angel stood up, trying not to look too eager to get talking to Lox. Whatever Lorne had told the others about being friends with the other demon, Angel himself was not so quick to believe good things of a creature that the higher powers had apparently seen fit to warn them about. "Where is he?"
"In my place. I have rooms here." Lorne's eyes drifted towards a door at the other side of the room. It was not easy to see it through the crowds and the flashing lights, but it appeared to be emblazoned with a shining star, and Lorne's familiar, slanting signature. "You're all welcome there, but there's something you really ought to know first."
"We know, Lorne. You trust Lox, and that's great. Maybe he really is a good guy." Angel smiled as reassuringly as he could with his mind so fully on the mission. "We just want to talk to him."
"That's not what I mean, Angel. Listen, the night that you all... well the night that you all died. Wesley... I tried to tell you this earlier, but I let myself get distracted, and you really have got to know before you go in there." He broke off, for the door to his inner sanctum was opening, and he knew that he was about to run out of time. "Wes, honey, listen to me..."
"I am listening, Lorne." Wesley, who had been watching the dancing crowds, turned his head back towards the worried demon, eyes lingering upon the opening door on the way. "What do you" He stopped. Lorne closed his eyes momentarily, and shook his head a little sadly.
"I'm sorry, Wes. Really sorry. You deserved some forewarning."
"Yeah." The shape of the woman coming through the door was familiar. Everything about her was familiar - even the weirdness, the oddness, the alienness of her. The peculiar, jerky movement of her head, the way that her body was at once both right and wrong. Even before the bright lights picked out the sheen of blue that decorated her face and hair; even before she was close enough for him to see the details of her appearance, Wesley was sinking onto a barstool, and wishing that the world would swallow him up. She was beautiful, and horrible, and she made the bottom drop out of everything. She was the end of everything, at least to him. The architect of his madness. Illyria. The walking corpse of the woman he had loved.