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Chapter One: Prelude to a Search

Sticky. That's what the if felt like to crawl your way out of the depths of Hell. Hot and sticky. Not unlike sex.

Many unpleasant sensations rushed over Lilah Morgan as she forced herself to keep going, creeping ever so slowly upwards, inch by inch. The Senior Partners of Wolfram and Hart had gotten her this far. Now they expected Lilah to take herself the rest of the way. Never one to disappoint the higher-ups, Lilah kept moving, even though every pull ripped at her lungs.

Her right hand reached up, looking for purchase on the steep, burning rock tunnel that led up from Hades. But instead of hard, gritty stone, Lilah felt something entirely different: the edge of a portal. Swirling darkness. Her way out.

The climb from eternal torment to the portal had lasted weeks. The journey from the portal to the Land of the Living lasted seconds.

Lilah felt her insides turning over as the vortex twirled her around in an other-worldly sort of waltz before her body slammed into something cold and unyielding. Her ribs cracked in such a way that she wondered, for a moment,if she were still in Hell, being beaten by a gargantuan demon or crushed under thousands of stones. Then she realized she was cold. Hell was never cold. She had made it to her destination.

Lilah gulped for air. It took her several minutes to remember that there was no reason. She was still dead.

Wesley gulped for air. Two straight hours of sexual exertion were taking their toll on his respiratory system. Lilah slid from her position on top to the empty side of the bed. There was sweat stinging her eyes, whether his or hers, she couldn't tell….

Lilah shook the memory from her mind and forced her eyes open. It took her a moment to identify the stiff, gritty surface on which she was resting and which her fingernails were scratching: brick. And something else. Something that was clinging to her hands and her hair. Goo of some sort?

Lilah pushed herself up onto her knees and surveyed the dark liquid coating her skin. Reddish-black. Blood. There was no doubt of it. Especially once she spotted the bodies littering the ground around her. Hundreds upon hundreds of demons, big and small, humanoid and grotesque. All crammed into this narrow alley.

She looked around. This area struck a familiar chord in a faraway part of her mind. Was she near the Wolfram and Hart building? No, certainly not. All areas near the LA branch were kept meticulously clean. A good face for a bad clientele. But this alley was grimy and reeking. The garbage canisters were overflowing with rats.

The Hyperion. That was where she was. In the alley behind Angel's decrepit old headquarters.

Lilah stood up slowly, testing her legs. Sturdy as ever, even after an eternity of disuse.

Not really an eternity, thought Lilah. Just a little over a year.

But that wasn't exactly true. A little over a year, perhaps, in earthly time. But in Hell, every second lasted a century.

Why was she here, anyway? Why was she given the chance to surface? Ah, yes…. She had a job.

"We have a job for you, Ms. Morgan," came the voice. Lilah thought she recognized him as a Senior Partner, though it was hard to tell when you were lying on a table, having your chest ripped open. The Senior Partner, if that were indeed what he was, waved for the torturer to stop.

"A rather important job, in point of fact. Earlier tonight, a soul was stolen mid-flight. A soul that belongs to us. We want it back."

"A soul?" croaked Lilah. She was amazed her voice was still functional after so many ages.

"Yes, indeed," said the Partner, studying his nails. More like claws, really. "You may or may not have heard about The Battle that took place topside. Dreadful thing. But we had no choice. The whole of the Black Thorn was murdered; we had to retaliate with equal regard. Anyway, you'll be interested to know that an acquaintance of yours was killed. It is his soul which we lack, and which you are going to retrieve for us."

"Angel?" asked Lilah. It was the only logical choice. Surely nothing less than that sanctimonious bastard would bring a Senior Partner down to enlist the services of Lilah Morgan.

Yet, the aforementioned Senior Partner was shaking his head. "No. Angel, unfortunately, survived. Not to worry, though. We've got assassins hot on is trail, ready for blood. No, Ms. Morgan, we've got an entirely different fish in mind for you to catch."

And he had explained the situation, what was required of her, where she should begin. He had stuck her in the tunnel that led to life, and he had left her to worm her way up.

So here she was. Standing in the middle of this filthy lane, coated with demon blood. Ah, but not all demon, apparently. Lilah's eyes spotted Charles Gunn, the valiant warrior. Dead. He lay on his back, eyes wide open and his insides strewn about. He had died bravely, defending all that was Good and Pure. And yet, he would be in Hell by now. The contract he had signed before taking the job at Wolfram and Hell had made sure of that.

What would you say now, Angel? Lilah wondered. Here was a man who fought for what you would have called the "right side". The polar opposite of me. And yet he'll spend his eternity in the same place I've been spending mine. And the same place you'll eventually spend yours. That's your just rewards. Was it worth it?

Lilah couldn't help but smile at the irony of it. So many years of battling Angel Investigations in a multitude of ways. And in the end, they were really all on the same side. Stuck in the same boat, up the same creek, missing the same paddle.

She tore her eyes away from the eviscerated body of Charles Gunn to inspect herself. Thankfully, the Senior Partners had seen fit to provide her with clothes. Though by no means bashful, Lilah didn't particularly care for walking around downtown Los Angeles in the nude.

A purse. Prada, by the looks of it. Say what you will about the Senior Partners; at least they had fashion taste. Lilah picked it up and began examining the contents. The first thing her fingers found was a folded note written on expensive office stationary.

Ms. Morgan,

Please find enclosed appropriate identity papers: driver's license, birth certificate, social security card, etc. We have also seen fit to include a Platinum Visa business card. You are expected to use it accordingly and without frivolity (although, personally, I wouldn't begrudge you a pair of the new leather Gucci sling-backs; you should see their fall line-up).

Don't concern yourself over Angel. Our sources tell us he has recently left Montana, accompanied by a vampire and a demon-queen, neither of whose names you would know. They are unlikely to give you any trouble.

Regarding the particular soul we have previously discussed: The rest of the Senior Partners and I expect you to find said soul within the span of ninety days. If you have failed to complete this task in the appointed time, you will be deemed inadequate for the task, and we will have little choice but to demote you to a much more unpleasant level of Hell. We hope, therefore, that you will act posthaste.

On behalf of myself and my fellow Senior Partners, we wish you the best of luck.

Most sincerely,

Master Ecnel'ovelam

Lord of Discord and Vengeance

Senior Partner to Wolfram and Hart

King of the Eighth Circle

Lilah tore the letter in half, then in quarters, then in eighths. It would not do to have some casual passer-by or mugger discover the note and, on a whim, invoke the name of Ecnel'ovelam. He would be most displeased.

Ninety days…. Ninety days to find one soul that could be anywhere on God's green earth. And she had only a few clues at her disposal. Lilah scratched absent-mindedly at the scar running across her neck.

"What was it like?" Lilah had asked, her fingers dancing circles on her throat. "When she cut you?"

And suddenly, in less than an instant, Wesley's hand was closing over her windpipe. "Are you terribly anxious to find out?" he responded. There was no amusement in his gaze, no lust that she would later come to associate with his face. There was only venom, and Lilah realized that she was witnessing pure hatred for the first time in her life. And she was incredibly turned on.

She brushed as much dirt as she could from her clothes and exited the alleyway. In the dead of night, there were only a few cars traveling up and down the dim roads of Los Angeles. Was it starting to rain? No, just a slight mist. Too bad, thought Lilah. A downpour was just what she needed to wash off the demon blood caking her skin and clothes. Still, it was nothing a long, hot bath in a four-star hotel wouldn't cure.

After almost an hour standing out on the curb of the almost-empty street, Lilah was finally able to hail a passing taxi. As the cab whisked her away to the closest resort, Lilah leaned her head back and stretched her arms out, lettingher shoulders pop in their sockets.

She had a lot of planning to do. Not for nothing was she renowned as the shrewdest CEO Wolfram and Hart had seen in several centuries. If the Senior Partners thought she was going to allow herself to be pulled back into Hell once her task was completed, they had quite an unpleasant surprise in store. Lilah had made a long, brilliant career out of finding the loopholes in contracts. She would just as easily find a way to weasel out of hers.

But Lilah fully intended to find the missing soul. She had a much deeper interest in it... a grander reason for locating it than staying out of Hell.

"Not Angel's?" Lilah had asked, her eyes narrowing. "Whose, then? Whose soul?"

Ecnel'ovelam had grinned devilishly, the firelight glinting off of his long, sharp teeth. He looked as if he were about to tear her throat out. "Why, Ms. Morgan, I would have thought you would have guessed that by now." And Lilah knew. She knew why the Senior Partners had come to her with the problem of this missing soul. Whose soul it was.

Lilah swiped her keycard through her hotel room's magnetic lock. She didn't bother flicking on the light. It would be too harsh and bright. She could see well enough without it.

She crossed the room to the sink, grabbed one of the cheap, plastic cups, and filled it to the brim with cold water from the tap. She downed it in two seconds. Another cupful of water. And another. It took six cups of water to ease the burning in Lilah's throat.

"Besides," she had said, pulling down her scarf to reveal the red, irritated decapitation scar to Angel's crew. "My Wesley made sure I'd be spared."

And now, she had the chance to repay the favor. It was time to find her Wesley.

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More to come...

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