What would you do for a new dress?

by Harriet Vane

Cor and Doyle get sent to a demonic talent agency

Disclaimer, I didn't come up with these heavenly characters (did you se that? A pun!) But I feel free to use them. In a totally hypocritical fashion, I would be extremely offended if you used my story (which is mine, by the by) without my permission. Double standards are wonderful things.

Prolog:

"What the hell do I pay you for?" Karros the Kitchna yelled into his cell phone as he paced his lush apartment hidden in the back half of an abandoned warehouse. "No, tell me, I want to know. . . . Yes, I like the apartment, very nice, great welcome, only thing is I don't feel safe. And what worth have the goods of the world if I don't feel safe? Egh, the apartment could have been provided by an interior decorator service, what I'm paying for, and correct me if I'm wrong, is security. I want to feel safe here in your lovely town and I don't. . . . You need to ask? This is grand, you don't have a clue. Well let me key you in. I'm being hunted by a particularly vicious vampire who obtained a soul somewhere along the way. Damned if I know how, probably picked it up from some street bum or something. The point is he's out for blood, mine! . . . I don't know, maybe he heard about Shangrala! . . . You blocked it from the news my ass, who cares how he heard! The point is he's out for blood, he doesn't want me to get what I want to get and it's your job to get them for me and keep him from finding them, or me! . . . oh, really I thought you were a full service law firm, serve already? . . . Yes, well, you do that and if I ever see that vampire again I'll have your head, right after I take his!" He pushed the end button before throwing the cell phone casually on the glass coffee table, next to a goblet of expensive wine and an even more expensive knife.

The demon picked up the wine with one hand and the knife with the other before sitting down on his leather couch next to the beautiful young woman who was bound and gaged and too afraid to cry. "So my dear," the demon purred, "where were we?"

What would you do for a new dress?

Kate poked her head into Angel investigations nervously. The office was empty, "Angel?" she called. No answer. She walked in a little further, it was eight a.m., early but still regular business hours, the office should be opened. "Angel?" she called again. "Cordelia, Doyle?"

She thought she heard voices in Angels office, cautiously she walked towards the door and, knowing she shouldn't as she did it, listened to the conversation.

"They were in cages," the Irish accented voice explained. "Like the one's you keep big dogs in. And there he was a Kitchna demon, he's the one that's keeping them."

Kate had no idea what the Irishman was talking about, but something inside of her told her that she really didn't want to find out. She quickly raped her knuckles on the door, effectively ending the conversation. "Angel?"

There was a pause, then the door opened, "Kate," the detective clipped. "What are you doing here?"

"I need your help."

He stepped back and held the door open, inviting her in. Once she cleared the doorway, Doyle smiled at her kindly before glancing at Angel, "I'm just going to go watch the phones," he said, closing the door on his way out.

For a second, the two detectives stood in silence, finally Angel broke it. "What can I do for you?"

"Eight girls have gone missing in the last two weeks."

"Did," Angel stuttered, "Did you say eight?"

"Yeah, why?"

"That's just a lot," he said quickly. "That's all."

Kate looked at him, knew he was lying but didn't feel like probing deeper into the phenomenon. "They all are registered as actresses or models at Heart's Talent Agency."

"Pretty good lead."

"That's what we thought, but we've examined that place backwards and forwards, traced all it's employs and former employees back ten years, nothing." She sighed with frustration of being forced to work inside of a system that didn't protect almost as often as it did. "It doesn't help that the Agency is connected to Wolfram and Heart, the law firm. They say their just trying to protect the Agency's rights as a private business and preserve their reputation, but I know they're hiding something. Eight girls in two weeks is not a coincidence."

"What do you want me to do?"

Kate took a deep breath, "I'm not entirely sure," she admitted. "I just got the feeling that you could do something. Here's a list of the victims, if you need anything else just let me know."

"Sure," Angel nodded, "I'll call you if I find anything."

Kate nodded, "thanks," she paused, for a second. She really wanted to ask about the conversation she had over heard, but she couldn't quite find the courage, so instead she nodded her head, said thanks again and left the office.

***

"So," Doyle asked, as Angel emerged.

"So?"

"What'd she want?"

"She wants me to find eight missing girls."

"That's great!" Doyle said, springing up from the desk.

"Great?"

"The girls, in the cages, there're eight of em."

Angel blinked, "How do you know they're the same eight."

"Do you believe in coincidence?"

"Not really."

"They're the same eight."

Angel nodded, "When is Cordelia coming in?"

"Around ten, I think she said. She had an audition for a bit part in a movie, she was real excited," Doyle suddenly sobered, which was a rare occasion for the half demon. "You're thinkin' of sending her to that agency."

"It's a means of investigation the police might not have tried."

"Yeah, on the other hand she could be kidnaped and put into a dog kennel and then killed by an evil demon!"

"I won't let that happen."

Doyle sighed and looked away.

"Besides," Angel said in his soft, low, voice, "You'll be with her."

"I'll be what?"

"You know what you're looking for, you can keep your eyes open, and she can be bait."

"There's one little detail you're missin' This is a talent agency."

Angel blinked, "I know."

"I don't have any talent. Although," he mused, "That hasn't stopped most of the people in L.A." He looked up, "You think Cor'ed go for it?"

"I'll throw in a new dress and she'll be thrilled."

"What about a new dress?" Cordy asked as she walked into the office. Both men turned around to see Cordy burst into the room. And burst she did. Angel had never gotten the time to get to know Cordelia in Sunnydale, and he had never counted that a loss. But since she had come to work for him he had seen something inside of her that he was surprised he had missed before. He had a feeling that there had always been gold in her, that which was precious and rare, but her position in life, or rather her parents fortune, had surrounded that part of her with dross. Most of it had been burned away by spending a year or two in poverty, and the pure gold shown through. Most of the time.

"How did the audition go?" Doyle asked, genuinely interested.

"Fine," she clipped, which Angel interpreted as, she didn't want to talk about it. "What was that about a new dress?"

"Angel's got a job fer us, sweetheart," Doyle informed her. "A bit of undercover work."

"I need you to switch agents," Angel said bluntly.

"Switch agents?" Cor said, shocked. "But Jerry has gotten me some really great auditions, like that one for the Back Street Boy's music video and the commercial for Little Hollywood Pizzeria."

Cordy's list was under impressive, in Angel's eyes, but she seemed content, and in a very real sense, that was all that mattered. "It can be temporary, just until we find a demon."

Cordy blinked, "You're kidding."

"I don't kid."

"So, what am I demon bait?"

"Essentially," Doyle said.

"No!"

"Doyle will be with you the whole time," Angel assured her, trying to keep her calm.

"Great, I'm demon bait and I'm going to be accompanied by a man who continually smells like Jack Daniels."

"Cordelia," Angel said, but he didn't get much of a chance to say more.

"I mean really, what possible talent could his agent sell, drinking is not exactly marketable."

"I can do more than drink," Doyle said defensively.

"Losing money on bad horses and in blackjack isn't marketable either."

Doyle opened his mouth to refute her, but he didn't have a rebuttal, as it turned out, he didn't need one, Angel spoke for him. "That doesn't matter, I just need the two of you to go to this address and sign up." He handed Doyle the card, but he was looking at Cordelia. "Feel the place out. Drop some of the missing girls names, then come back and tell me everything. You got it."

"Yeah," Doyle said, looking at the address and immediately placing it in the big city.

"So when do I get my new dress?" Cordy demanded, skipping the details to get to that which truly interested her.

"After we find the girls," Angel said, smiling ever so slightly. He didn't know why, but he loved her all the more when he saw the areas in which she hadn't grown, it reminded him of innocence and naivety and it was at least as refreshing as it was annoying. Doyle, however, didn't quite see it that way.

"You know, believe it or not, there are more important things here than your wardrobe. Like the lives of eight young woman and an impossible to find Kitchna demon."

Cordelia gave Doyle a belligerent, insulted glare, before blossoming into a smile. Doyle was suddenly assaulted with deep admiration, one smile from her and all his disgust at her shallowness evaporated. He knew he should stand more firmly in his conviction that she was a shallow ditz, but no matter how hard he tried, she could melt his heart with a smile. It wasn't fair. And to make it even more unfair, the fates had not seen it necessary for Cordelia's opinion of him as a useless drunk didn't dissolve when he smiled at her. The fates were cruel, but Doyle would never tell that to them too their faces, they were far to powerful. But he could think it and on Jack Daniels nights, those thoughts gave him much comfort.

***

"Harts Agency," The aunt-Bea like secretary said as she smiled up at Cordelia and Doyle. "We're all hearts because we care about our clients."

"That's really lovely," Doyle muttered. "We're here to, um, sign up."

The secretary continued to smile up at them. She blinked, but did very little else.

"We want to hire an agent through you," Cor said, matching the secretary's smile in fake warmth.

"Oh, that's wonderful, dearie!" The secretary purred. "Are you to married?"

"What?" Doyle asked, taken aback by the question.

"No!" Cordy said, more vehemently right on Doyle's heels. Doyle glance at her, but did not venture a word.

"Brother and sister then?" The secretary said, glowing. "I see a deep connection."

"Ah right," Doyle said uncertainly, "She's my sister."

"He's Danny," Cor said, still smiling. "I'm Marie."

"Oh what nice names," the secretary cooed.

"Original," Doyle muttered.

"What do you do?"

"I'm an actress," Cor said with enthusiasm.

"Oh how sweet," she turned to Doyle, "And what do you do?"

"I . . . um . . . ah . . . guess."

"You guess things."

"No," Doyle said, a bit unnerved by the secretary's stupidity. "Guess what I do."

"Voices!" She said excitedly.

"Yeah," Doyle said softly. "How'd you guess?"

"Oh, you work here long enough you can just tell."

"Oh," Doyle said accepting the form and pen she handed him. And then watching, somewhat bewildered as she handed one to Cordelia.

"Now, Dearies, you just fill out that form and then we'll introduce you to an agent and have you make an audition video, or tape in your case Danny."

Doyle looked at the woman, blankly for a moment before he felt Cordelia's elbow jab into his torso. "Hey," he said turning to Cor offended. She smiled at him one of those false, insulted smiles, suddenly Doyle got it. "Oh, right," he muttered, then turning back to the secretary. "T'anks," he tried to smile down at her, but he didn't have a Hollywood smile and he knew it. It sort of dissolved into a worried expression.

Before the secretary could tell him "don't be nervous sugar, you'll do just fine." Cordelia grabbed his arm and pulled him over to a little waiting area.

"Now sit down, fill out your little form and don't say another word," Cor whispered to him harshly. She collapsed into one of the big fluffy chairs in disgust. "God, you'd think you've never done this before."

"We'll for your information princess," Doyle said as he belligerently sat down himself. "I haven't."

Her only response was a barely audible "Humph,"

"It's not everybody's dream to get a star outside the Chinese theater, you know. Some people do have loftier goals."

Cor looked up, Doyle could see in her eyes that if they had been in Angels office, instead of under cover in a public place, she would have laughed out loud at him. "Oh please, like what? Finding the perfect bottle of Southern Comfort?"

Doyle's eyebrows shot up, "Since you mention it, yeah." He didn't have the courage to mention a class of eight-year-olds in clean uniforms listening intently as he read them 'the Hobbit' or a woman with golden hair walking down the aisle of the little chapel in his home town, or even a half a life of not knowing about demons and everything that such knowledge entailed. "Simple pleasures for a day are a thousand times better than Celebrity for a lifetime."

"Having never been anything but scum," Cordy said, not entirely maliciously. "I don't think your qualified to judge."

"Yeah, well, never being a celebrity you're not exactly an expert yourself."

"I was a celebrity back in Sunnydale. Voted most charismatic student in Sunnydale high."

"And yet seem to remember Angel sayin' something about you're not bein' crowned prom queen."

Cordelia's face filled with horror. "He told you about that?!"

Doyle didn't realize he had hit such a soft spot, he had meant gentle teasing, not outright insults. "Calm down, Darlin, I'm sure there were extenuating circumstances."

"I should say there were," Cor said defensively. "My father had just lost his money, I didn't have time to campaign, I had to work for money to earn my prom dress, and even then I . . ." her flame of anger suddenly fizzled out.

"You what?" Doyle asked concerned.

"I was too late to win prom queen," she said defensively.

Doyle had never really understood the American tradition of crowning queens at every highschool dance, but he didn't need the Powers That Be to tell him that there was more than a popularity contest behind that story. He determined that he would have to make a point of asking Angel about it.

"Danny," The secretary called melodically, "Marie, Mr. Smith is ready to see you."

"Mr. Smith?" Doyle asked, suddenly realizing that he had not filled out one slot on the form.

The secretary giggled, "the man who'll make you famous!"

***

Angel walked into a dark bar that stank of demons. It was four o'clock in the afternoon but the only thing in the bar to indicate that was the Budweiser clock, and even it was off by a couple minutes. The place was the same twenty four hours a day, always dark, shadowy, and quiet enough to do business, but loud enough to keep from being heard. It was a hotbed of information that the police didn't know about, plus it was the only place in town Angel knew of that served a decent rum and blood.

"Hey Angel!" The bar keep said warmly, but not loudly. "What can I get for you, the usual?"

"Sure," Angels said, sitting down at the bar and watched as the barkeep, a human/demon hybrid, poured his drink. He remained silent until the drink was set in front of him.

"Anything else I can get for you?"

"Yeah," Angel said, slipping the bartender a fifty-dollar bill, paying for his drink tenfold. "Do you know anything about Hart's Talent agency?"

The bartender palmed the cash and leaned forward. "I know it's a big name here in Hollywood, has the kind of pull that makes people."

"I'm thinking of starting an acting career, do you think they could work around my particular needs?"

"Hart's? Hell yeah, how do you think they got that kind of pull?"

Angel licked his lips, "really?"

"They're connected with Wolfram and Hart, you know. Might even be a direct offshoot."

"The law firm?"

"Hollywood makes a lot of money, anyone who's smart around here makes sure to get a piece of it. And Mr. Wolfram and Mr. Hart and all their little lawyers are smart."

"They certainly are," Angel said. "I don't suppose you could point me to anyone who would know anymore about it."

"Stay here, buy another drink, and I'll see what I can do."

Angel slipped the barkeep another fifty as more rum and blood was placed before him, and he waited.

***

"Great, great, you both are just great," Johnny Smith, the sleaziest of all Hollywood agents that Cordy had ever met, said.

"Gee t'anks," Doyle said, just hoping that the nightmarish interview was over.

"I see big things in your futures, rising stars. I tell you, talented brother sister acts go far, far, far!"

"We're not an act," Cordy said, glaring at Doyle as if he were the plague.

"Look, kids," Johnny said smoothly. "I hate bringing this up, cause you know, it's your first day and all and we never like asking people to work to hard on your first day, cause hey, it's our job to work for you," he laughed a laugh that made even Doyle's demonic skin crawl. Cordy, however, didn't seem to be bothered by it. "But the fact of the matter is we like to host parties, Saturday night things. I'll admit they're low brow, entry level, but believe it or not, that's where Sonny met Cher."

"Delightful," Doyle muttered.

"Now, we hate throwing these things and you hate going to them but this is our business, this is our work. This is where you meet people and this is where you vibe, if you know what I'm saying." He laughed again, "So," he finally asked. "Are you two up to it?"

"Up to a party?" Doyle asked nervously. He had always assumed that partying was something one did when they were not up to anything else. Of course he also considered a night alone with a few pints of Guinness a good party.

"We'll be there," Cordy said, smiling at Johnny and glaring at Doyle in the same, indescribable, expression.

"Great, good, really great," Johnny said. "Hollywood Hilton grand Ballroom eightish, Dress is formal, there'll be some hors d'oeuvres and some champaign, and a lot of opportunity." he stood up and walked to the door, urging Doyle and Cordy to do the same. He shook both there hands vigorously, kissed Cordy on the cheek, slapped Doyle on the back and yelled phrases like 'I love you kids' and 'you're golden' as they walked out.

Once they had cleared the agency and were walking back towards Angel's office on the busy, hot, L.A. streets, Cordelia's mind began to reel.

"You know how long it has been since I've been able to attend a Hollywood party?" She said excitedly, she was so excited that she didn't notice that she had been hanging on Doyle's arm, and now had hers locked solidly with his. Doyle was to busy being disgusted by the whole process to notice, so they continued down the street with unobserved affection.

"Not since that bash at Margo's where I ran into Angel and where that evil rich vampire saw me."

"That certainly opened a lot of doors for ya," Doyle observed Dryly.

"Not any that I particularly relish going through." She sighed. "Getting this new agent is the first good turn life has given me in, like, forever."

"Could I remind you that this little endeavor has a purpose greater than furthering your acting career?"

"Yeah, yeah," Cor sighed. "Girls in cages, big bad demons. Whatever, we need to go shopping."

"What?"

"You need something nice to wear. I'm not going to the party with someone dressed in the latest fashions from the salvation army," Cor scoffed. She took for granted that they would be going together, and that he would want and appreciate her help choosing clothes. Doyle didn't take it for granted nor did he mention it to Cordy for fear that she would reconsider upon reflection. He simply accepted the first good turn life had given him in, like, forever.

***

"So," a very clean, very professional and charismatic demon, who seemed to have no business being in the dark dank bar. "I hear you want a be an actor. Who do you know?"

"Who do I know?" Angel asked uncertainly.

"Yeah, who do you know, in the business."

"Oh," Angel stuttered. His mind raced as he tried to think of someone to impress the agent. "Cordelia Chase?"

"Who? She's nothing, I don't know the name, face can't be worth knowing either," he chuckled, not realizing how much he had just insulted someone Angel adored. Angel debated telling him, but decided that he didn't want to cripple the demons cool exterior just yet. "Who else?"

Angel licked his lips and nervously said, "Oliver."

"Oliver, god! That man is an animal! What you talking to me for?"

"Actually," Angel said keeping his voice low. "I'm interested in finding out what Hart's Talent Agency can do for me that Oliver can't."

The demon looked at him, apparently confused, but after Angel didn't back down he cracked a smile. "You want a snack on set?"

Angel smiled too, finally a good lead. "You got me."

"I see," The demon leaned back with a self-satisfied smile. "There are definitely services that we can provide but not through our talent agency. If you go through the law firm we're connected with, it will go more smoothly, discretely, so as not to interfere with your relationship with Oliver."

"Law firm," Angel mused. "I like lawyers, they don't hold standards like most humans. But before I sign over my soul," the demon laughed, assuming that Angel had none to sign over. "I want to know that my interests will be fully taken care of."

"What do you need?"

"Proof that they handle this kind of thing regularly," Angel said. "That they can."

The Demon nodded. "I've got just the thing to show you. We've been working with this guy, a Kitchna demon, who we're taking care of. I'll try to get you to look over what we've done. Now it takes purse to get a set up like his but with Oliver on your side,"

"He's an animal," Angel interjected.

"I think your credit will be good."

"Can we go now?"

The demon sighed, "I'd love to take you this minute and have you sign a contract before sunset, but unfortunately there are some security concerns. Apparently some detective, vamp with a soul I guess, is snooping around."

"Vamp with a soul?" Angel asked innocently.

"Sick, I know. But I'm sure I'll be able to clear you. Just give me your name . . ."

"Spike," Angel provided quickly. "Or do you need my human name?"

"Do you ever go by it?"

"Not for a hundred years or so."

"Great, fine, Spike." The demon said, rising from his chair and shaking Angel's hand vigorously. "Do you have a number I can reach you at?"

"Don't I get to know your name?"

"You don't need too, but because I like you so much I'll tell you. Cassie, short for Cassrijargartris. Old family name, I'm the eighteenth or something." Angel let a muted laugh escape his lips. "Now," Cassie said, returning to business, "That number?"

"Of course," Angel wrote down the 'undercover number' to his office on one of the bars cheep napkins and haded it over to Cassie.

"Oliver hasn't gotten you any business cards yet?" The demon asked, surprised.

"The stupid print shop messed them up," Angel said quickly. "Damn humans."

Cassie laughed, before taking one last swig of the martini he had been working on throughout the conversation. "It was a pleasure doing business with you," he said. "I'll be in touch."

***

There is something primitive about the idea of a dinner meeting. For some reason, eating in front of another is a basic way of showing trust, understanding, comradery. Most world religions have holy days or acts that center around food and business men always have luncheons. Angel Investigations was not an exception, at least, not really. It wasn't exactly a dinner meeting. Yes, they met, and Cor and Doyle ate deli sandwiches from the gas station down the street while Angel drank his diner from a mug.

"When is the party?" Angel asked.

"Saturday night at eight," Doyle said, with shredded lettuce hanging out of his mouth. Cordy handed Doyle a napkin and filled Angel in on the other important details.

"Angel, can we have the company credit card? Cause this party sounds pretty big deal and I don't think Doyle has any clothes nice enough."

That was the last thing that either of them expected. While it was clothing centered, and therefore in character, it was also selfless. She had been promised a new dress and Angel knew she would not forget about it, but in the matter of new clothes, Doyle came first.

If it occurred to Cordy that for one moment she had not put herself first, it did not occur to her how odd that was, while Angel sat in stunned silence, and Doyle tried to convince himself that he had heard correctly, she continued talking. "There are going to be a lot of important people there and I can't show up with Mr. Salvation-army-fashion-from-nineteen-seventy-eight."

"Hey," Doyle said, somewhat relived that eventually it all came back to her image. "I like my clothes."

"I'm not saying you have to give up polyester," Cor said. "I mean retro is in, which I believe proves the existence of some truly demonic forces in the fashion world."

"You want to buy Doyle clothes?" Angel asked, he couldn't quite hide the smile that was creeping up on his face.

"Well he obviously can't be trusted to do it for himself."

"I just happen to have a very unique sense of style," Doyle said only half-jokingly. "Is it my fault that not everyone appreciates it?"

"Angel, tell him he has to look good."

"Tell her to keep her mind on her own closet, lord knows it's big enough!"

"She's right," Angel said softly.

"Angel Man?" Doyle said, his expression conveyed the betrayal he felt. "You're siding with her?"

"Doyle, you do need to fit in at that party, no one can suspect anything or the plan doesn't work, and that means dressing the part."

"Told ya," Cor said glowing with pride. "So fork over the credit card."

"I don't have a credit card," Angel said matter of factly.

"And you claim to be assimilated into human society."

"Doyle, I'll give you enough cash to cover it."

"You're giving it to him!" Cordy said, very insulted. "Don't you trust me?" Both men looked at her with knowing eyes, she tried to hold her ground, but eventually recognized it as fruitless. "Fine," she moped, "But I still get a new outfit, right?"

"You two can go tomorrow, during the day," Angel said. "'Cause that's when the shops are open."

Doyle nodded, "Good plan, what will you be doing?"

"Waiting by the phone."

"Angel," Cor interjected, "You never answered my question."

"What? A beautiful woman promised she'd call?"

"No," Angel said, "A demon, I think I finally got a lead on our elusive Kitchna."

"And you expect him to call?"

"Hello?" Cordy chimed fruitlessly.

"No, the demon who I expect to lead me to him." Angel smiled at the irony. "He thinks I'm Spike."

Doyle chuckled, "How's your Cockney?"

"Rusty," Angel admitted.

"Guys!!" Cordy said, slamming her hands on the table and getting both of their attention. "I do get the dress, right?"

***

There was a banging on Doyle's door. Doyle's eye's cracked open and he saw a glowing red blurry 6:18 on his second hand clock radio. He didn't know anybody, at least not anyone he relished seeing, who would be not only up, but out before the sun. That thought made Doyle blink. Yes, he did know someone like that. He managed to stumble out of his bed and, silently, just in case the person was not who Doyle thought he might be, crept to the doorway and looked through his newly installed peep hole.

It wasn't his favorite, pre-dawn creature. But it was certainly one of his favorite creatures, so he opened the door.

"God!" Cordelia said as she stormed into his small apartment. "I thought you were going to leave me out there forever!" She sighed, and for the first time actually turned to face him. "Look at you, do you have any idea what time it is? Why aren't you ready? The stores open in like, forty-five minutes. And unless I am sorely mistaken the good shops are at least a half hour bus ride away."

Doyle looked at her, bewildered before yawning, and starting to respond. "Ta answer your first question," He said, annoyance being the distinguishing feature in his voice. "Yes, I do know what time it is. So early in the morning that the sun hasn't gotten out'a bed yet!"

"Take a shower and brush your teeth," Cordy said, not seeing Doyle's point at all. "We don't want them to kick us out of the store before they see the color of our money." She insisted, "But of course, they'll probably kick us out as soon as they see you."

Doyle glared at her, then turned and walked back into his bedroom, resigning to the fact that he would get no more sleep this morning. Cordy kept talking, however. "You know, like in pretty woman, when they wouldn't let Julia Roberts into the shop. Only you're not a hooker . . . or pretty . . . or a woman, come to think of it."

"Thanks for noticing," Doyle grumbled as he slammed the bedroom door shut. When he emerged fifteen minutes later, showered, more awake, no less grouchy, Cordelia was sitting on his couch, munching on a bag of tortilla chips she had found somewhere, and was looking through one of the very few truly personal effects he had.

"Who is this?" Cordelia asked, holding up the photo album and pointing to a young woman, about thirty, who looked ten years worse for wear.

Doyle grabbed the photo album and closed it, causing dust to erupt from the unused binding. "Me mum."

"She looks a lot like you," Cor said kindly, finally catching the subtle hints Doyle had been sending.

"Yeah well," Doyle said, shoving the album onto his bookshelf between the human scull and the nineteen fifty five reprint of 'Mugllers guide to demons, mortal, immortal, and eternal.'

"Was that picture taken in England?"

"England?"

"Where you grew up?"

"Ireland," Doyle said, "Small burg in the middle of no where."

"Nice place to grow up, huh? Different then L.A.?"

Doyle took a deep breath, her sudden interest in his fascinating life story came at the wrong time. "I thought you were all in a huff to get going."

"Yeah," Cor said, a bit ashamed that her attempts at reconciliation had not gone better.

"Well then, let's go."

***

"Angel," Kate said. Looking up from her desk and smiling at him. "What have you got?"

"Nothing yet," the vampire-detective admitted. "I need more information."

"How much more?" Kate said suspiciously.

"I think I know who's taking the girls," Angel said, deciding to lay it all out on the desk that separated him from her. "But I don't know where he's keeping them, I have to follow him there."

"Who is it?" Kate demanded. "We can bring him in for questioning and get the location out of him in no . . ."

"No," Angel said shaking his head. "I'm pretty sure he has accomplices, if he's caught they might kill the girls, and even if they don't, the guys evil," Angel decided not to mention the demon part. "He's not going to want to talk."

Kate looked very annoyed. Angel knew that she was not mad at him, but at a world in which eight young women could just disappear and the safest thing for the police to do was sit in their desks and wait. "What kind of information do you need?"

"Where were they last seen?"

Kate didn't have to dig through police reports, she knew these cases inside and out. "At a Hart's Talent Agency Party, but we checked that place inside and out."

"What do they look like?"

Kate started shifting through the papers on her desk, finally she found one vanilla folder with a mess of Glamor shots in it. Angel flipped through the shots, pretty girls, in their twenties, all smiles. Cordelia would seem to match his victim profile perfectly, he wasn't sure if he considered that good news or bad.

"Angel?" Kate asked. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm not sure," The vampire muttered as he closed the folder and handed back to her. "I'll call you the second I know anything for sure."

Kate nodded. "Thanks."

Angel almost smiled at her, then he turned around and walked out.

***

Cor paced in the little sitting area in front of the dressing rooms. She was suddenly reminded of why exactly she had not taken Xander shopping, ever. Guys did it all wrong. They looked at clothes on a hanger, sometimes glanced at the size and then decided that they should buy them. They had no concept of how cloths fit or hang or the colors they should wear.

When they had walked into the store Doyle had actually picked up the first suit he saw and said they should get that! It was brown, with his light skin and dark hair. What was he thinking?! What do they teach those children in Ireland anyway? But as she thought about it his confusion did make sense. She remembered that that small island assaulted the world with baggy wool sweaters and kilts. It probably wasn't entirely Doyle's fault.

As she came to this conclusion, she heard him clear his throat behind him. She turned around, mouth poised to criticize him, but once she saw him, she found that, for once, there was nothing she could say.

He had a very trendy black suit on with a nice blue and black patterned shirt. It He stood in front of her, just a little fearful of how she would react to this outfit. "Well?" he asked, his throat dry. "What do you think?"

She manage to close her mouth, but she still was speechless.

"Come-on," Doyle said, looking at her with a mix of terror and annoyance. "How I look?"

He was gorgeous, hot, fine, handsome, attractive, appealing, and just about every other adjective short of woohoo, Cordy could think of, but she couldn't say any of that. She licked her lips and finally managed to force the words, "That'll do."

Relief washed over his face. "Really?"

"Yeah," she croaked. "Now, ah, take it off so we can buy it."

Doyle nodded. "Right." He turned around and walked back into one of the dressing rooms. Once his back was turned, Cordy found the strength to breath again.

"That one's a keeper," a girl behind Cordy said. The young actress swivelled around and gasped for breath.

"What?!"

"I wouldn't mind taking a swig of his whisky, I'll tell you that much."

"Please tell me you're talking about the bottle in his liquor cabinet."

"Whatever you want to call it," the girl said, before moving on. Doyle had captured her attention, and now that he was gone there was nothing to hold her. Cordelia closed her eyes, "I think I'm going to be sick," she muttered.

"Y'allright, Cor?" Doyle asked. For the second time she gasped and pivoted, only to see Doyle's concerned eyes and out-of-style clothes in front of her. "You look pale."

"Let's just go." She said, grabbing the garment bag and storming to the cashiers counter. Doyle followed obediently and even began to dole out Angel's cold hard cash, but as he put down the third hundred dollar bill the Powers That Be decided that they had something they wanted to tell the young Irish man.

The pain came first, then the blinding light, then a gibberish of noise. The light changed into a kaleidoscope of images until one stuck out and the defining noise faded to one voice.

A girl was pleading for her life. She was young and pretty. Tears streamed down her cheeks and blood streamed just about everywhere else. She had been mutilated and molested, and as Doyle watched she was murdered by the long sharp claws of a Kitchna demon. He would have given his own life for the ability to close his eyes, but that option was not presented to him. And oddly, through the whole violent, chaotic, vision, a single girls voice sang a beautiful rendition of Amazing Grace. Doyle usually liked irony, but this just disturbed him. Then the kaleidoscope started again and the voices became louder and indistinguishable. There was another light and the pain tapered off.

Doyle opened his eyes and licked his lips.

"Are you Ok?" Cor said, putting her hand on his forehead to brush away the sweet.

"I'm calling the hospital," The panicked cashier said.

"No, no," Cordy insisted. "He's eclectic, this happens all the time," she turned to him. "It does, doesn't it? Happen all the time?"

"Much to my dismay," Doyle said, pushing himself into a sitting position. "We gotta find Angel." He caught his head in his hands as a wave of dizziness and pain swam over it, "And a bottle of single malt scotch."

***

"Angel?" Doyle said as he bonded down the stairs to the vampire's apartment. Cordy was right behind him.

"Doyle," Angel said as he walked out of the kitchen. "You're back early. I expected the trip to last at least an hour longer."

"I'm afraid the shopping was postponed due to a vision," Cordelia grumbled, throwing the garment bag on the couch before collapsing into a kitchen chair.

"Vision?"

"It was right in the middle of the of the store. This woman was totally freaked, she wanted to call an ambulance." Angel's eyes shifted from Doyle to Cordelia, obviously concerned. "Oh, it was ok," Cordy assured him. "I told her he was eclectic."

"Do you have anything stronger than O positive, man?" Doyle asked as he looked despairingly into Angel's refrigerator.

"There should be some whisky in the cupboard," He turned back to Cordy. "Eclectic?"

"You know, with seizures and stuff."

Angel blinked a couple of times, in an effort to step beyond Cordelia's world. "Now what was the vision?"

"Can we wait until I get a drink?" Doyle asked, there was a sort of desperation in his voice as he rummaged through the many cupboards in the kitchen,

"This might be important," Angel insisted.

"It is important." Doyle said. He had found the whisky and was watching the amber liquid flow into a tumbler.

"Is it about the missing girls?"

"Yeah."

Angel waited for a moment as Doyle downed half the tumbler. "You only have to find seven."

"One of them escaped?" Cordy asked innocently.

"She probably thought so," Doyle said. His voice was raw, from the whisky or the sorrow or both.

"We're not working fast enough," Angel grumbled. "We've been biding our time and now a girl is dead because of it."

The kitchen was silent. Doyle kept watching the murder in his mind, he took another swig of the whisky in hope that it would either make the picture blurry or undistinguishable or make him blurry and undistinguishable. Angel was thinking of the young girl who had been killed, he didn't know which of the faces on the glossy photos he had seen earlier was now lifeless. He felt as if he had killed the young girl through apathy or sloth or some other vice. He blamed himself for her death as much as he blamed the demon. Cordelia, originally, had wanted to ask why everybody was so mopey, girls escaping was a good thing. But then she picked up on what Doyle hadn't been able to say. She wanted to tell the moping men that they were doing all that they could, but she knew they wouldn't buy it. She wanted to say something happy, to lift the funk that had settled in the kitchen but that seemed somehow disrespectful. So she sat uncomfortably at the kitchen table, and waited for Angel and Doyle to say something. Finally Angel did.

"We have to change our tactics," Angel said. "We've been too laid back, we need to go on the offensive."

"How do we do that?" Cordy asked. "It's not like we know who they are, or where they are, or what they want."

"Cordelia, at the party, you need to be bait."

"I'm always bait," she whined.

"You need to present yourself as someone who will do anything for a job."

"I don't want to look pathetic," Cor said, slightly insulted.

"But that's how you will look," Angel ordered. "There will be a lot of tempting women in that room. You have to be the easiest to victimize."

"How do you know they'll go for her?" Doyle asked, "that he'll even be there?"

"The other girls disappeared after one of these parties," Angel informed her.

"Let's not forget he's killed one of them," Doyle said. "He's got a kennel to fill."

"Right," Cor chirped. "A pathetic, desperate, gorgeous girl, that's me. What are you two going to do?"

"Doyle, did you get a suit?"

"Yeah."

"Go to the party and watch out for Cordelia, but don't be obvious. If they suspect someone is protecting her they'll chose someone else."

"Right," Doyle nodded. "But what are you going to do?"

"Up the ante."

***

"I don't know!" Cassie said as he tried to pry Angel's hands off from around his neck.

"Funny, yesterday you did." The vampire had been looking for his 'agent' all night. Finally, around noonish on Friday, he had found him.

"What you want? Girls? I can get you girls, fresher girls, prettier girls!"

"That's not what this is about."

"What is it about then?"

"For you," Angel mused, "Your head. You tell me and I let you keep it."

"Only to have Wolfram and Hart take it later?"

"Key word, later."

The demon looked up at him, horror in his evil eyes. After a moment of panicked deliberation, he consented. "Fine, fine, I'll show you. But you gotta swear you won't kill me."

Angel let Cassie up and dusted off his turquoise sports jacket. "I don't make promises I can't keep." he said threateningly.

"But?" Cassie squeaked hopefully.

"I'm not going to kill you yet. Take me to the girls."

Cassie nodded helpfully, "right," then he sarcastically muttered, "anything for a client."

They wove their way through the tunnels that Angel knew too well. He's internal compass told him they were going west, and slightly south. So he wasn't at all surprised when he started smelling sea salt. Eventually they emerged into a warehouse that had been converted into a deluxe apartment.

"Where are we?" Angel demanded.

"The law firm set him up here, nice place huh?"

"Why?"

"Because he can pay for it," the demon chuckled. "How long you been around?"

"About two hundred years."

"Then you should know that cash can get you anything."

"Where is the demon?"

"Gone,"

"Where?"

"I don't know."

Angel grabbed him. "Where?"

"In the city somewhere, I swear I don't know."

"Where are the girls?"

The demon smiled a slick and slimy smile. "Right over here," He shook himself out of Angel's grasp and led the vampire to a door on the far side of the room. Wearily, Angel followed.

When he approached the door he could smell the fear and hear the beating harts and coursing veins of just over half a dozen frightened young ladies.

"Help yourself," He said, motioning towards the door.

"You first."

The demon took a deep breath, "Right," he nervously opened the door and cast light into the room.

The place stank of humans, the kind of scent that would have made Cordelia, and probably Doyle too, physically ill, but that didn't bother Angel or Cassie that much. There was the whimper of seven very frightened girls, and one girl that was too frightened to stop sobbing. Angel was very disturbed, the smell did not bother him, but the reality of such evil sickened him.

"Do you have a cell phone?" Angel demanded hoarsely.

"Yeah, sure," The demon said, affected by the sight in front of him much more than he thought he would be. He handed the vampire the phone and started creeping away. Angel momentarily considered stopping him, but there were more important things to think about.

"Detective Lockley."

"Kate it's me."

"Angel."

"I've got the girls,"

"Where are you?"

Angel put his hand over the receiver. "Hey," he yelled to the fleeing demon. "What's the address?"

"Eight-five south fourth street," The demon muttered as he backed away.

"Angel?" Kate asked again.

"Eight-five south fourth street."

"I'll be there in ten."

"Bring a couple of ambulances."

The line went dead. Less than ten minutes later, Kate was standing next to him, watching the gentler people help the traumatized girls. "Thanks," she said glancing up at the tall dark brooding stranger standing next to her. "I probably shouldn't tell you this, but, ah, we weren't even close."

"I'm just glad I could help," Angel said softly. "I wish I could have helped sooner."

"I hate to sound cynical," Kate said, knowing full well about the eight girl dismembered in the dumpster. "But seven out of eight isn't bad."

"Maybe not," Angel admitted. "But a girl died and I could have stopped it."

"You're not a super hero," Kate tried to remind him. "You were not put on earth to save everyone."

Angel cleared his throat, "Apparently not."

***

Cordelia looked in the mirror and smiled. She was beautiful, and she knew it, and she loved it. She closed her eyes and saw herself walking into a fabulous party with Doyle on her arm. She thought about how that would look, and she wished that she could have had him on her arm the last time she wore her dress. She would have loved to see Xander's face. Not that dancing with Wesley had been bad, it just hadn't been good. It had been neutral. Cordelia didn't let herself believe that dancing with Doyle would have been romantic, or magical, or one of "those dances" but she knew it would have been fun, and that was more than she could have said for Wesley.

With one last glance at her perfect hair, face and figure, she took a deep breath and walked out of the bathroom and into Angel's Apartment.

"So?" She asked as she walked up behind the two boys who were planing something out, like this was a war or something. "How do I look?"

They turned around and Cordelia watched as they both became enchanted with her. Doyle's eyes got just a little wider and Angel blinked a few times.

"Amazin'" Doyle finally stuttered.

"Isn't that your prom dress?"

"Yeah," Cordy said, taking a step forward. "But it also happens to be my lucky dress."

"Lucky?" Doyle asked.

"Yes," Cordy said, without going into why it was lucky, which she knew is what Doyle really wanted. She didn't tell him that it was lucky because she had gotten it through hard work, and a little bit of grace from Xander Harris, because it was the only beautiful thing she had ever earned, because she had worn it to the one perfect night in her high school career and even had someone to dance with, because she had made it four years without being besieged, bewitched, or bedeviled. And she didn't tell them the most important reason, It was lucky because at night she would look at the dress hanging in her near empty closed and it would remind her of the stars in the sky and that in order for something to be really beautiful it had to be, at least in part, a gift. She didn't tell the guys this because she knew they didn't expect that sort of thing from her. She remembered very well from her time at Sunnydale High that if she ever challenged someone's perception of her the way they would look, like she was a freak or something. Like those kind of thoughts had no business mixing in her mind with things so base as whose dating who and what are the latest fashions. It was condescending and made her feel like, somehow, she didn't deserve those thoughts. So she kept them to herself, her real treasures.

She took an elegant step forward, "So," she clipped. "What's the plan?"

"Angel found the girls," Doyle informed her. He had the suit on, but Cordelia had prepared herself for it. Her heart skipped a beat, but only one.

Cor blinked, "So what does that mean. We're not going?"

"No," Angel assured her. "You are. He's lost his prizes, he's going to be looking for new ones. We can still flush him out and kill him."

"Good, flushing out evil demons," Cordy mused. "Right up my alley. I take it Doyle's still coming."

"He's going to watch over you."

"I'm not a sissy girl," Cordy insisted. "I can look after myself."

"I'm not saying you can't," Angel said, not daring to incur her wrath. "But I can't show my face, Wolfram and Hart know me."

"I thought we were going to a Hart's Talent agency party."

"It would seem the two are connected," Doyle informed her. "Big surprise that."

"So I go, lure the demon, then what?"

"I kill it."

"Is there middle step?" Cor asked, brow wrinkled in concern. "'Cause I kinda think there should be."

The two men's expressions fell a little. "Well, ah, have to work on that," Doyle muttered.

"Yeah, well work on it fast, because we're almost late," she said, before turning around and talking the elevator to the office.

"I'd, ah, better . . ." Doyle pointed to the ceiling.

Angel nodded, "Yeah, I'll think fast."

***

Cordelia and Doyle danced with each other the entire night, but not in a conventional way. They didn't talk to each other all night. In fact they kept a safe distance from each other. But their eyes met a thousand times as they moved through circles on opposite sides of the room. If Angel had seen it, and asked Cor why she kept her eyes on Doyle she would not have admitted it was because she wanted to see what kind of girls singled out his company. Much to her surprise, all the girls did. As she talked to her fair share of handsome men, she continued to watch him, what did those girls see. He wasn't smart, he wasn't hot (well, maybe he was, but it was all the suit) he wasn't rich or powerful. Why was he so attractive? No matter how many powerful, cute, rich, etc. boys came and talked to her, she couldn't quite draw herself away from Doyle.

Once, as a guy with a great body, but about as much intellect as the pate he was munching on, tried to engage her in a conversation about the traffic on Hollywood Boulevard, she happened to be looking at Doyle, who was surrounded with at least three women who's chest measurement was undoubtably higher than their IQ, and he just happened to look up at her. Their eyes met, for a second, and then both of them jerked their gaze away.

The rest of the night Cordelia looked at him through a large mirror that lined an entire wall of the ballroom. What she didn't know was that she was making eye contact with people on the other side of the mirror.

"And tell me again?" Karros demanded as he watched the gay Hollywood party through a one way mirror. "How did this happen?"

"A demon connected with the agency proved to be untrustworthy," the Wolfram and Hart lawyer said, her voice a monotone. She was very pretty, as pretty as any of the girls socializing at the party, with long, shapely, legs, a flawless face, and gorgeous blond hair. But her hair was pulled back in a tight, unflappable bun, and her figure was covered with a stylish business suit that said quite clearly, don't touch me.

"Why doesn't that surprise me," the Kitchna demon muttered.

She glanced at her client, slightly offended, but continued talking in her monotone. "He led Angel,"

"Who?"

"The vampire with a soul, to your apartment. We are presently searching for the culprit and expect to have him in custody before daybreak."

"How will you deal with the culprit?"

"I believe I can arrange for that to be left up to you, sir."

The demon nodded, "Excellent, but that does not solve the problem of the vampire, or of my lack of food."

"As to that end," the lawyer said, taking a step closer to the window. "Do you see that girl?"

"The brunette who has been watching the Irishman all night?"

"Her name is Cordelia Chase, and the Irish man is Allen Doyle, they are both known associates of Angel's." The lawyer smothered a giggle, "They are undercover, trying to flush you out."

"She's pretty."

"Another fact that you might find interesting is he is half brachen demon."

"Yes," Karros said, scratching his chin with his horribly long claw. "Now the question is, how do we flush them out."

The lawyer reached into her briefcase and pulled out a yellow legal pad, "If I may offer a suggestion, sir," she said, as she handed it to him.

His yellow eyes skimmed the yellow paper, and then he nodded as a smile revealed his sharp, yellow, teeth. "Yes, very good," he laughed. "Get to it."

The Lawyer pulled out her cell phone and pushed number one on the speed dial, then send. "Go ahead," she clipped and then pushed the end button and slipped it back into her briefcase.

"Now all you have to do is watch," she said, forcing her tight lips into a smile. She must have known how unnatural it looked, because it did not stay for over a second.

On the other side of the looking glass all hell broke lose. That is, if hell was made of water not fire. The room was filled with a hundred women's high pitched screeches as the sprinkler system released gallons of cold water on party goers.

There was a good fifteen minutes of pure confusion as hotel staff, who had no idea what had happened, tried to evacuate the ball room.

The event made the evening news, and fifteen people were injured in the evacuation as well as proximately $120,000 in property damage. But the end was reached, Doyle and Cordelia ended up alone in an off shoot of the lobby.

"Y'all right?" Doyle asked, nearly panicked as he ran up to Cordelia. It was almost an hour after the first drops of water assaulted the Hollywood hopefuls, and both had gotten worried.

"Oh my god, Doyle," Cordy said, running towards him and giving him a strong, wet hug. Then, once she was assured he was real, she pushed him away, angrily. "Where were you? I asked everybody, at least some of those slutty chicks you managed to dig up."

Doyle flashed her an annoyed smile. "I just happen to have been helping the paramedics, Where have you been?"

"Getting us a room."

Doyle blinked. "What did you say?"

"Yeah, they're like handing them out or something." Cor said, holding up a shiny hotel key. "So we don't sue them I guess."

"So what will we do with our hotel room?" Doyle asked. He had to admit that he felt very conflicted, he wasn't sure that he really wanted what he had always thought he wanted to do in that situation. Not that he didn't want to do it, just, and he wasn't sure he wanted to wake up, see Cordelia, and know that what they had now was gone forever.

"Change," Cor said, totally unaware, or at least pretending to be totally unaware, of what was on the masculine mind.

"Change?" Doyle asked, "Change into what?"

"Dry clothes."

"I suppose the hotel is providing those too."

Cordelia shook her head in disgust, she knew for a fact that he had a brain but he never seemed to use it. "No," she said, showing him a small duffel bag that had been lying at her feet. "I brought some."

"You brought a change of cloths?"

"Yeah," Cor said. "Let's get going."

"Maybe I should wait for you in the lobby."

"You're not going to change?"

"This may come as a shock, Princess, but not everybody carries around an extra set of close just incase of a freak sprinkler accident."

Cor sneered at him. "I brought stuff for you, Lord knows you wouldn't have the foresight to bring an extra outfit."

"Lord knows," Doyle grumbled as he picked up the duffle bag and followed her down the hallway into a small hotel room.

"Which bed you want?" Doyle asked jokingly as he through the duffel bag on the queen sized bed in the middle of the room.

"Ha, ha," Cor said, digging through the bag until she found a large white bundle of cloths and a makeup bag. "Now don't be an idiot by folding up your clothes. I threw the garment bag for your suit in there."

"You really thought of everything didn't you?" Doyle muttered as Cordelia whisked herself into the bathroom leaving Doyle to put on the clothes she had packed for him. She had even been considerate enough to grab his brown leather jacket, the one that his uncle had given to him when he had moved to America. He was fairly curious as to how she got his favorite coat, or any of his clothes for that matter, without his knowledge. He decided to make it a point to ask her about it when she came out. But as Doyle was pondering these things he noticed something disturbing.

"Hey Cordelia," he said, walking to the bathroom door and rapping on it softly.

"Don't come in!" she screeched with such conviction that Doyle actually took a step backward.

"Do you smell something funny?"

"That would be the smell of clean, I know your not used to it but . . ."

"No," Doyle interjected. "It's something else. More of a taste then a smell." He patted his tung to his lips testing his pallet, trying to get a better grip on the oddity. "Kinda nutty."

The bathroom door opened and Cordelia, fully dressed in a matching top and skirt, walked into the room proper tentatively. "Yeah," she said slowly. "I taste it too."

It took a minute for Doyle and Cordelia to realize exactly what was happening, but once they did it only took a glance for them to form a plan of action. Cordelia ran to the door and desperately tried to open it while Doyle ran to the windows.

"It's stuck!" She yelled, there was panic in her voice and, if anyone heard her desperate pounding on the door they didn't try to help her open it.

"Windows are hopeless," Doyle said, banging them with his hands. The taste was getting stronger, Doyle was starting to get nauseous, but that was most likely due to his nerves, not the unknown poisons in the air.

"Doyle," Cordy whimpered. "I'm feeling really light headed."

"Believe me darlin'" Doyle said, taking a deep breath, which he knew would only make the situation worse. "The feelin's mutual."

"What about the ventilation system?" She asked desperately, her speech was starting to slur. "Maybe we could air condition it out or something?"

"How you think its getting in?" Doyle's voice sounded slow, even in his own ears.

"The windows?" She asked.

"Tried that, remember?"

"Yeah," she said after a beet before sinking onto one of the beds. "I think I need to sit down."

"No," Doyle said, keeping his feet but not able to spare any energy getting her to keep hers. "If you stand than the blood has to travel furder . . . or something . . . I'm sure it'll help."

Of course, in the end the only difference was that Cordelia was unconscious on the bed, while Doyle was unconscious on the floor.

***

"Angel investigations," Angel said more as a formality. He was sure he knew who was calling, but unfortunately, he was wrong.

"Am I correct in assuming I'm speaking to Mr. Angel?"

"Who is this?" Angel demanded, dread filling the pit of his stomach.

"My name is Joanna Brenner, I'm a representative of the law firm Wolfram and Hart.' She paused expecting a reaction. There was none, so she continued. "We are in possession of some information that you might find interesting."

"Oh really?" Angel said, his mouth was dry and he clutched the phone a little too tightly. "What might that be?"

"The location of two of your associates, a Miss Cordelia Chase, and a Mr. Allen Doyle."

"If you've touched a hair on either of there heads I swear to you that . . ."

"There is no need to get upset," the lawyer said, lying smoothly through her teeth. "They are presently in the company of one of our clients."

"He wouldn't happen to be a Kitchna demon by any chance?"

"They will remain in his care until you come to negotiate the terms of their release to you."

"I know this is a trap," Angel said. "I'm coming prepared."

"I'm sure that our client expects that, however he will not wait forever."

"I'll be there."

"I'll notify the client."

"Good."

"Goodbye Mr. Angel," She clipped. "I look forward to future dealings."

The line went dead.

"So do I." Angel muttered as he hung up the phone.

***

Doyle opened his eyes slowly. He felt like he had been drinking last night, a lot. His pules was loud in his ears and his mouth dry. The air seemed heavy and there was a constant buzzing noise. He licked his lips and stood up shakily. It wasn't fair, he shouldn't have to deal with a truly crushing hangover unless he had a truly wonderful night in front of it, not a night spent trying to weed out an evil demon, only to be caught by him in the end.

Once his head stopped spinning from the sudden change in altitude, he was able to better see the space he occupied. It looked like a warehouse, a building with one large room, a high ceiling and an uneven concrete floor. It was cold in the warehouse, probably around forty degrees, practically the arctic compared to normal L.A. weather. Doyle could see his breath.

The temperature was undoubtably due to the weather outside. He could see from the high windows, the only source of light in the building, that it was gray and cloudy out. He guessed that they were near the harbor and in the middle of one of those gray boggy days that not even all the shimmer of L.A. could escape.

"So what do you think of it?" A barbarically elegant voice said behind him. Doyle quickly turned to see the Kitchna, six feet tall dark red scales yellow teeth and eyes and claws that were at least three inches long. He was twice as horrifying as he had been in the young Irishman's vision. And to top it all off, he was standing right behind a couch where Cordelia was sleeping.

"Get away from her," Doyle said, the pulse in his ear was pounding. He took a step forward, the first step, he thought, in a charge against the demon that could decapitate him with a twitch of his finger. But he didn't get nearly close enough for that. As he tried to take his second step he rammed into a force or a pressure, more solid than a brick wall.

"Binding spell," the Kitchna laughed. "Uncomfortable, aren't they?"

"If you touch her," Doyle said, pressing against the wall that wasn't there. "I swear . . ."

"I intend to do whatever the hell I want," he said smiling, "Allen Francis Doyle."

"You can't control me by knowing my name," Doyle said. "I'm not a demon like you."

"Demon like me?" The Kitchna observed. "Indeed not."

Doyle pushed himself against the wall created by a circle of yellow dust on the floor.

"As I was about to say before you so crudely interrupted me, I usually like sparsity, but this seems like a little much." Doyle didn't dignify the demon's speech with a reply. "My old place was very nice," he continued. "Of course it's now crawling with police, thanks to your employer. And also, thanks to your employer, the seven beautiful women, whom I loved dearly, were confiscated."

"Loved dearly?" Doyle asked out of frustration. "In my experience one doesn't keep a person they love in a small metal cage."

"I enjoy beauty, I truly do. I enjoy the intensity of it. It's always so pure, beauty is, and all the things that sprout from it, greed, lust, fear, those are all pure to. Nothing is muddled by rational thought."

"Get to the point," Doyle said harshly. He was so frightened that the only way he could think to act was to pretend to be brave.

"Cordelia, that is her name isn't it." Doyle turned his face away from the demon. "Yes, Cordelia. She is beautiful, don't you think."

Doyle swallowed hard and grimaced. He felt sick with helplessness.

As if on cue, Cordelia moaned and started to sit up.

Both demons' attention was fully focused on her. Before her eyes were even open Doyle was pressing himself against the invisible barrier, yelling at the top of his lungs. "Cordy! Get up! RUN! CORDELIA! Get out'a here!!"

"Doyle?" She muttered, her eye's still shut as she pushed herself into a sitting position. "God, my head hurts."

"Cordy!" Doyle yelled, even though he knew it was too late. "Shake it off, get out!"

She blinked a couple of times, obviously confused. "Doyle?" She said a little louder as her mind cleared, "What are you yelling . . ." she opened her eyes and saw what was looking down on her. "Oh," she said under her breath. "God."

The demon smiled down on her, "Good morning, Miss Chase."

"Doyle!" She yelled, panicked as she tried to inch away from the monster on the couch. She could feel his hot breath and smell his sickening sweet smell and all she could find inside of herself was pure fear of the thing in front of her. She turned her head towards Doyle, expecting him, almost subconsciously, to save her, or at least find a way to wake that courage she knew she had within her. But instead, when she turned to look at him, he didn't do a thing. He looked back with pain filled, tortured eyes, and didn't make a move.

The foolish thought that, maybe, he didn't quite recognize the direness of the situation, maybe he didn't see the demon, or realize how frightened she was. Maybe he thought she didn't need rescuing, maybe he thought she didn't deserve it. No, as soon as Doyle figured it out, as soon as he saw how bad off she really was, he would come running.

"Doyle! Help!" she whimpered, with all the courage born of desperation she could muster.

She looked at him, her eyes saying much more than her voice, and he looked away. He looked away! Cordelia felt like someone had sucked all the air out of the room.

"Do you want him to be your knight in shining armor?" the demon asked. He extended his hand so one of his claws traced under her chin. All it would take for him to slit her throat or puncture her (one of those big important veins or arteries that flows through the neck) was the twitch of a mussel. "Do you want him to save you?"

Cordelia took a shake breath and tried to compose herself. She was not weak, she didn't need to be rescued by a man, and certainly not a man in a bad poly blend. She tried to say as much, but she couldn't seem to find her voice, and the longer she was unable to say as much, the less she was convinced it was true.

"It wouldn't be hard for him to save you," he informed her. "All he would have to do is walk over here, take your hand and lead you out." He smiled a horribly slick smile at her. "I wouldn't follow, I'd let you go."

He turned his attention to Doyle who was looking at the scene with utter contempt. "What do you say Allen Francis Doyle? Are you willing to save the beautiful, innocent, young woman?"

Doyle pushed against the air and muttered "Bastard," and then, as Cordelia watched in horror, he turned his back to the scene and took a step away.

"Doyle?" She whispered, she felt crushed. The claw, that still hovered on her vulnerable neck was no longer a concern. Doyle had turned his back, he was not even willing to come up take her hand and lead her out of the warehouse. What a coward! Suddenly Cordelia realized that she had a choice. She could either be afraid, tremble under the demon's evil glare, and cry, or be angry. With a deep breath she changed her entire demeanor, all the pathetic fear she had felt was channeled into contempt for Doyle, who wouldn't save her, and from him towards the demon, who had kidnaped her, and threatened her and might kill her.

"You're not afraid," The demon said, surprised and confused, which only gave Cordy more power. "I can still kill you!" To illustrate his point he sliced a deep, but harmless, cut with his thumb claw across her cheek.

Cordy took a deep breath, blinked a few times and channeled the pain into anger. She glared at the demon, but didn't say a word.

"So," the demon clipped, once he saw her reaction. "This is how we intend to play it is it?" Cordelia didn't respond. "I don't like this one bit, and things I don't like upset me, and when I'm upset, people get hurt!" He slashed his clawed hand at Cordelia, leaving a streak of blood down her arm. Another shaky breath, a few more blinks, a lot more anger.

"Ahhhhhhhhhh!" the demon growled, losing all his elegance. "I am a mighty force of evil. Fear ME!"

Cordy felt a smile creep onto her face. She was proud, he couldn't break her and he knew it. She was stronger than the mighty force of evil.

"Fine," the demon said, turning his back to her. Cordelia licked her lips and slowly started inching away from him as quickly as she dared, not willing to gamble turning her own back. "We can play it two ways!" he said, his voice echoing through the empty warehouse. He turned to her sharply and she froze, not quite angry enough to be caught trying to escape. He extended his hand and the curved portion of his claw ran from her bleeding cheek, down the curve of her neck, and onto her shoulder. Very delicately and smoothly he sliced one of the spaghetti straps that held her shirt on. "Or," he said, not losing a beat. "We could do this the hard way." With that he slashed at her shoulder, making a new deep cut across her chest as well as slicing the other spaghetti strap and causing her formally white top to fall on the floor.

Cordy inhaled sharply. That cut had been unexpected and she suddenly found herself topless. Her composer wavered and no matter how much she blinked she couldn't quite get it back.

***

Angel parked his car in front and got out, even though it was almost noon. Thank god for small favors. L.A., even L.A. harbor, has one foggy day a century. The day he needed to go outside, from warehouse to warehouse, and find his lost friends. He was sure they were down here, Kitchna demons liked a lot of space, and privacy. But Wolfram and Heart owned a disturbing number of warehouses and Angel didn't have time to hit them all underground. As he drove around the dock he couldn't help but think of the eight girls he had saved only a day ago, one in particular.

Her name was Mindy. He wouldn't have known that if Kate hadn't been there when the girl had run up to her with the help of a paramedic. Angel's soul was very troubled when he saw her, dark skin, dark hair, dark eyes, and a world of horror and pain behind it all. Her eyes had the same haunted look that a young gypsy girl he had once known had right before she died.

"Detective Lockley," she said, a nurse or paramedic was holding her shoulder, trying to edge her back to the other girls. "Can you explain what happened?"

"I know it was horrible," Kate said, in an amazingly reassuring tone. "But we will find this guy."

"Yeah," Mindy choked. She was so pretty, and Angel could tell that, if her voice hadn't been scared from crying and screaming, it would have been beautiful. "Yeah, but, this wasn't what it seems like. I mean he . . ." Words escaped her, which was not surprising, considering they had escaped. Doyle and he understood what she had faced far more than she did.

"We would sing spirituals," She stuttered on as Kate and Angel listened, too sympathetic to interrupt. "Hymns you know, like I'd heard my grandma sing when she did the laundry. It made us all feel better, but he'd get crazy. Jenny was singing Amazing Grace."

"Whoever did this," Kate assured her, "is an evil man. We will not let him get away. We'll catch him no matter what, and he will be punished."

"But," She was shaking her head, her innocence may had been taken form her, but her naivety has somehow survived. "I just can't understand."

"Like she said," Angel's deep voice said. She looked up at him with the eyes that saw more than Angel was comfortable with. He found himself stumbling through the second half of the statement. "He was evil."

"I guess sometimes that's all there is," She whispered.

"Don't worry about him," Kate said dismissvely, but kindly. "Just go to the hospital, everything will be alright."

"Thank you," she said, looking at Angel. Then she glanced over to Kate and gave the officer a stint under her intense eyes, "Thank you so much."

Only after Mindy was gone, wrapped in a blanket and taken to a place where a whole team of people could take care of her, did Angel dare to ask, "Who's Jenny?"

Kate took a deep breath, "the one that didn't make it."

As Angel drove around the doc he tried very hard not to think of Cordelia's body in the dumpster. He tried not to wondered what Doyle would say to him in that situation. Tried not to think about the way the Irishman's voice would crack, and the blame that was in his eyes would never quite be voiced but would always be there.

As he drove around, a rising dread filling his chest, he suddenly got a wif of something sweet and strong, like Indian perfume. A sent out of place among the salty smell of the sea and the foul smell of everything else in the area.

Humans don't realize the variety of Vampire's pallet. They don't understand that beautiful young women taste sweet and rich, while dirty old men taste bitter, like soap water. The blood Angel smelled was definitely sweet but more than that it was familiar, it was Cordelia.

Angel swallowed hard and pulled his car up next to the wear house where the blood sent was coming from. It was very strong and it was starting to make him gag, not so much from the smell, but from the image of Kate referring to Cordelia as 'the one that didn't make it'.

Angel jumped out of his car and grabbed a broad sward and a battle ax. He strapped the sward to his hip and carried the ax definitely into the warehouse, playing the emotional trick Cordy had tried earlier. He channeled all his fear and grief and gilt and anxiety into pure anger.

He kicked down the door with vampiric strength and, to put it mildly, made an entrance. It took him only a glance to sum up the situation. Doyle was trapped in a binding spell. Cordelia was unconscious and bleeding from multiple lacerations, not to mention in the hands of an evil demon. But she was alive, he could hear her heart pumping as strongly as he could smell her blood, and Angel would die before that changed.

"Angel!" Doyle yelled, relief in his voice. The vampire glanced at his friend and, although Doyle didn't say a word, the message 'kill the bloody bastard' was communicated quite clearly.

The Kitchna demon looked over Cordelia's limp head. He smiled at Angel, Angel smiled back. The demon flung his pray away, and wordlessly, the fight began.

***

Doyle watched Cordy hit the rough concrete floor. She whimpered a little, but didn't move. For the hundredth time be pressed against the invisible barrier, it still didn't give.

She was lying there, helpless, cold and injured while a vicious fight to the death roared on around her. The plan was, and had always been, that Angel would take care of the evil, Doyle and Cordelia would take care of each other. But Cordelia needed to be taken care of and Doyle couldn't reach her.

Angel must have, though he was fighting the brutal Kitchna demon for his life and the lives of his friends, noticed this. He started retreating, giving up ground. At first glance, Doyle was afraid that Angel might be losing, but then he realized, while Angel was giving up ground, he was not becoming more venerable, nor was he lessening his attack. He masterfully maneuvered the fight towards the powdered yellow circle on the floor. Doyle backed away from the place where the fight and the circle would meet, keeping one eye on Cordelia and one eye on the battle.

As soon as Angel's foot crossed the powdered line the vampire, for a split second turned his attention from the battle to Doyle, "Go!" he yelled, before returning to the attack whole heartedly. Doyle, however, didn't need to be told.

He didn't need to see Angel's foot cross the line, nor did he need to hear the vampire's order. The whole world seemed to change when the spell was broken. Both his ears popped and the air seemed lighter somehow. But he didn't have the time to think about that. The spell broke and a heartbeat latter he was by Cordelia's side as good and evil duked it out behind him.

"Cordelia," He said as he grabbed her ice cold shoulders and pulled her to a sitting position. "Cordy, are you alright?"

"Doyle?" she muttered, her eye's opening a sliver. "I'm so cold."

"Right," he winced, silently cursing himself for not thinking of this before hand. The girl was in a freezing warehouse without a shirt on, of course she would be cold. He slipped his warm, soft leather cote off of his shoulders and wrapped it around her, pulling her closer to him and his inherent warmth.

"Better?" he asked, his warm breath warming her cheek.

"What just happened?" She asked in a daze.

Doyle paused for a moment before answering. "Angel's here, princess," he said softly, stroking her hair subconsciously. "He'll take care of everything."

"Oh my god," Cordy said under her breath, as she became a little more conscious and remembered the part of the story Doyle hadn't mentioned. Tears started streaming out of her huge brown eyes. "Oh my god, he . . . he . . ."

"Shhhhhh," Doyle said, panicking just a little as she trembled in her arms. "Angel's here. It's all right now."

Cordelia buried her head in his shoulder and cried. No matter how close Doyle held her, or how soothing his consolation was, or how comforting his gentle rocking. She didn't stop crying. Even when she slipped into a deep sleep brought on by sheer exhaustion and, in part, loss of blood, tears escaped her eyes.

Doyle sat on the floor, comforting her, until he heard heavy footsteps behind him. The clanging had stopped a while ago, he had noted subconsciously, and he knew whoever was behind him was the victor. He turned his head, sure of who he would see and was not disappointed.

"How is she?" Angel asked, as he knelt down to where his two closest friends were huddled together.

"Sleeping," Doyle said softly. "She had a rough time of it."

"What did he do to her."

Doyle swallowed, "I da'know," he shifted his eyes from Cordy to Angel, "I couldn't watch."

Angel nodded, Doyle had seen quite intimately more than his fair share of this Demon's atrocities.

"We need to talk her to the hospital."

"I don't wanna wake her."

Angel looked at the blood on the floor around them. There was a lot of it, and all of it smelled sweet and strong, like Indian perfume. "She won't wake up."

***

Cordelia batted her eyelids and looked up. She was warm, and that was nice. She was also in a soft place with lots of light, that was nice too. And when she turned her head, she saw Angel looking down at her with fatherly concern. That was the nicest thing of all.

"Good morning," he said, his voice rough from not talking for a long time.

"What's the story?"

"You're in a hospital," Angel said. "The doctors found the remnants of a drug they couldn't identify in your system, they think it's some new kind of date-rape drug."

"So I got date-raped?" She asked, it might have just been the painkillers, but she found the idea amusing.

"You were last seen going into a hotel room with a dark man." Angel said, giving her the official version. "He just happened to be a psychopathic killer."

"Believable," she muttered.

"I found you, chased him away then I brought you here."

"Wait," she said slowly. "I went into the hotel room with Doyle."

"The best description any of the party-goers could come up with was a dark man who wasn't from around here. I added about a foot, a hundred pounds and a Russian accent."

Cordelia giggled at the thought of a big buff Russian Doyle.

"Cordelia," Angel said with overpowering kindness. "Can you tell me what you remember."

She blinked a couple of times, "Where do you want me to start?" she asked, her voice soft and frightened like a child's.

"Wherever you want to."

"We got this room in the hotel," she said softly, "to change in then all of a sudden there was this nutty taste in my mouth. We tried to get out but the doors and windows were locked." She blinked a couple of times as her eyes focused inward. "I woke up in this warehouse with the demon and he said that if Doyle would walk over to me we could go." Her brow wrinkled in concern and shifted her gaze to Angel, "Why didn't he?"

It didn't surprise Angel that she thought he would understand Doyle's actions, even though most of the time the Vampire was clueless. As it happened, though, this time he understood it perfectly.

"The demon cast a spell," Angel explained simply. "Doyle was taped in a magic circle, he couldn't get close."

Cordy nodded, and was quiet for a while. Finally, Angel got the nerve to push her a little harder. "Then what?'

"Then," she said slowly and carefully, as if she were walking on egg shells. "He, ah, cut me and, I, ah, passed out, I guess." She didn't tell him everything, Angel knew. But that was alright, he could surmise the rest.

"And I remember Doyle," she said softly. "I was so cold, and he put that smelly old cote of his from, like, nineteen-seventy-five. It was so warm and soft. And I remember that he kept looking me in the eyes. I felt so dirty after . . ." she trailed off. She didn't tell Angel that, in retrospect, she was surprised that Doyle hadn't taken advantage of her situation to sneak a peek at her more feminine feathers. But he hadn't, Cordelia felt guilty for thinking that he might. "And he was so gentle, he just held me and talked to me," her voice had a sense of wonder, and maybe thankfulness, in it. "I felt so safe."

Angel smiled down at her. Seeing was she was too stubborn to see, and what Doyle was to anxious to see. "You were."

Cordy smiled back up at him, "I know."

Epilog:

"Well," Cordy mumbled as she walked into Angel's office. "He's gone."

"Who's gone?" Angel said looking up from his book of Nietzcheian Ethics.

"Doyle," she muttered as she sat down on Angel's Desk. "He's gone."

"Where did he go?"

"The pub," she grumbled.

"Oh," was Angel's only response as he turned back to his book.

"He should be here," she continued, not catching Angel's non-to-subtle hints. "What if he has a vision or something, and we need to go but he's too drunk to tell us." She turned to look at Angel. "We could be killed by demons and he'd never know."

"I think you might be exaggerating."

"I mean, how is he supposed to tell the visions apart from the pink elephants?"

"Pink elephants?"

"Dumbo!" She said, before sighing in exasperation. Cordelia didn't realize it, but she was furious at Doyle for hurting himself that way. She couldn't help but see the sweetest guy she had ever known when she looked at him, and she couldn't understand why such a sweet guy would want to get hammered every night, or gamble all his money away, or get his thrills at strip clubs or with cheap porn. "What's his damage anyway?" She continued as much to Angel as to herself. "I mean, he's not a total scum bag, honestly, and he could do a lot better if he just cleaned up his act."

Angel glanced up, "How much better?"

Cordy squirmed nervously. "I'm just saying that there's a lot to him, and if he actually cared about himself a little he might have a better chance getting real women instead of those cyder-hotties he's so fond of."

"We all have reasons for doing what we do," Angel said, agreeing with Cordelia, but sympathizing with Doyle. "It's been my experience that people who have a lifestyle like Doyle's are trying to forget something."

"What on earth could Doyle want to forget?" Cordy demanded. "He talks to you, you must know."

There was the matter of being half-demon, but Angel didn't feel it was his place to bring that up, besides Angel had known hundreds of half-demons that were proud of their heritage, he wasn't entirely sure of why Doyle would want to hide his. "It's also been my experience that, when people want to forget something, they don't tell everyone they know."

"Well," Cordelia said. "He could tell us."

Angel sighed. "I'm sure he will, when he's ready."

"I want to know now."

"If there is on thing I know, it's that we can't always have what we want, no matter how good or noble that desire is. It's just the way the world works."

The End