There were very few things Angel had as little concept about as computers. Cell phones were a possible runner up; he hated how they made him stand in the street hollering like an idiot, but computers were worse. Yet he somehow managed to be stuck with one for the evening. Cordelia had gone to bed with a vision headache hours ago, Gunn's shoulders had been burned pretty bad in the latest fight, Wesley was bandaging them, and he had told Angel to get the information about the fire-breathing demon into the computer. Since Angel could see the point in this he did try, but the dullness of it all made him sleepy. When someone knocked on the front door he was too apathetic to look up, counting on the others to take care of any potential client, but his head jerked up the moment he heard that familiar, slightly Southern voice say,

"I need your help."

Lindsey was dressed very like he had been when he left. His eyes mirrored Angel's automatic hostility, which only served to make Angel more irritated. He didn't trust the ex-lawyer any further than he could throw him, and didn't want him around. After all the trouble Lindsey had caused, no one here had any reason to help him, and he should have the decency to figure that out.

Of course Lindsey having decency was pretty much a contradiction in terms.

"I thought I told you to stay out of town."

"Takes a lot of nerve to show up like that," Gunn muttered in agreement.

Lindsey let the door fall shut behind him. "It wasn't exactly voluntary. I've been having dreams. About killing people."

"Why is your guilt trip our problem?" Gunn asked, straightening his back. Wesley immediately pushed him down again to get the bandages straight, but glanced at Lindsey for the answer.

He shook his head slowly, eyes not leaving Angel. "It's not a guilt trip. I didn't kill these people. They're being bitten to death by a vampire, and I'm the one doing it. It's not just the dreams either. There are times I don't recognise myself."


"Yeah, well, you've always been a bloodsucker, you might as well..." Angel silenced, as it occurred to him that if Lindsey was saying what it sounded like he was, his problem really did concern all of them. So maybe throwing him out of the nearest window wasn't the best option even without considering the expense of a glazier. But who could have caused this? It had never been Darla's style. "Go on."

"I think I'm turning into a Bathory vampire."

"Oh dear," Wesley breathed. It didn't surprise Angel that the Englishman knew of this obscure anomaly, rarely appreciated even by real vampires. If he knew him right, he probably knew more about it than Angel ever wanted to find out.

"Say what?" Gunn asked in disbelief. "Either you are a vampire or not. How can you slowly turn into one?"

"You can't - quite," Wesley said, his voice very low. He spun a pencil between his fingers. "Bathory vampires are human beings, who take on the personality and the blood lust of a vampire."

"Crazy people who think they're vampires?"

"Essentially, yes."

Gunn let his eyes rest on Lindsey for a moment. Then he shrugged, and winced. "Do they get the fangs and all that?"

"No. They're still human."

"Then what's the problem?"

"The problem," Lindsey said, raising his chin, "is that Elizabeth Bathory, the most well known victim of this form of insanity, killed six hundred young virgins and bathed in their blood."

Slowly, Gunn's mouth opened. It stayed that way. "Okay."

"But in order to become a Bathory vampire," said Wesley, who only now seemed to grasp what Angel had suspected right away, "you have to engage yourself in a blood ritual with an actual vampire. Have you recently... oh dear."

He sank down on the sofa next to Gunn, staring at Lindsey, who remained by the doorway.

"That's not really Darla's style, is it?" Angel said, and if it came out as an accusation, it wasn't really his fault. There were vampires who loved to make humans follow their every whims, and certainly, in some aspects they were more useful than ordinary minions. But after a while they became a damn nuisance, convinced they were vampires and causing troubles for the real ones. Elizabeth Bathory had wasted the blood of hundreds of women on hot baths because she couldn't understand that she was growing old; it wasn't something vampires did. If the Bathory vampires lacked nothing in cruelty, they tended to miss the part where playing with the food turned into actual eating. He'd known more than one ordinary vampire who had gotten tired of it all and demonstrated what happened to people who didn't finish their meals.

"Darla was never in on it," Lindsey said, with a calm only seen in the eye of a storm. "The firm took blood from her right after Drusilla turned her. They knew I cared for her. Maybe they figured I could help keep her controlled if the care turned into an obsession. I don't know. It's too late to ask now."

That was so entirely typical that Angel actually took a deep breath and let it out through his teeth. "And of course you'd go along with it like a good little boy."

"Didn't have much of a choice," Lindsey said, closing his fists.

"No, you never do, do you? Tell me, how is it that whenever you do something incredibly stupid, it's never your fault?"

"Are you going to help me or not?"

"Not", no matter how much Angel would want it, obviously wasn't an option. If Lindsey was going to start killing people, it was their duty to stop it. Only problem was that even though many older vampires knew how to make a human minion, and it didn't take a genius to figure out how to kill them when you were done with them, he hadn't actually heard of any way to reverse the procedure.

"You better sit down," he said. "This may take a while."

**********

Come morning, everyone was still browsing books. Wesley had made sure everyone was occupied, giving Cordelia a thick volume the moment she entered. Her nails now drummed a steady beat on the table. Every so often she let out a little sigh.

"Pointless," she said, turning a page. "Pointless. Pointless, pointless, pointless!" She slammed the book shut.

"Yes, thank you, Cordelia," Wesley said. He was too busy replacing one Watcher diary for another to bother much with what she was saying. The sixteenth century had held little of interest, perhaps he'd fare better with the seventeenth. "Can you please try one of the other books?"

"You know what I don't want to do?" she asked, standing up. "I don't want to read about what psycho wannabe vampires do when they psych out. Mostly because it's really gross. I would much prefer to find out how we're going to handle it when *this* guy psychs out. Preferably before he does."

Lindsey was doing an admirable job of not listening to what people said, regardless of the fact this was his fate they were discussing. He kept his face in a book and turned the pages from time to time, but didn't appear to be doing any active reading.

Halfway through the 1630's, Wesley suddenly found something that should have been circled in red and marked "clue". "Interesting," he said, putting his index finger in the book as he looked up at Lindsey, who stiffened.

"What's interesting?"

"How do you feel about Darla these days?"

"How I *feel* about her?" Lindsey laughed a little, but didn't answer the question.

"Come on now, Lindsey," Angel said. "Be a good boy and tell us how you feel."

A glint of murder showed in Lindsey's eyes for a second; then he sat back and shrugged. "Is there anyone here who doesn't know that? You all know what I did for that arrogant little bitch who wanted to boss everyone around." He suddenly frowned. "Hang on."

"*That's* how you feel about Darla?" Cordelia said, taking a pause in her annoyed sighing. "'Cause you could have fooled me."

"No," Lindsey said, looking as if he didn't know which way was up.

Wesley shook his head slowly. "No it isn't. It's how the vampire feels. According to this, he's not just taking on a vampire personality, he's taking on a *particular* vampire personality from Darla's bloodline. There may even be some memories seeping through."

"Oh, fabulous," Lindsey groaned, running his fingers through his hair.

Wesley reached for his notebook. He kept the facts about the most prominent members of the Order of Aurelius in his head, and was ready to write down any similarities.

"How do you feel about Angel?" Wesley continued the interrogation.

"Same way I always did, I guess." Lindsey loosened his collar a little. "He's a sodding bastard who can't stay away from what doesn't belong to him."

"Darla was never yours, you idiot," Angel snapped, standing up. Lindsey followed his example.

"No, you're the one they all have to adore. You can't even get properly laid, and still they all swoon when you walk by."

They seemed ready to take each other on, and Wesley held up a hand. "Hold on for a minute. Lindsey, are you absolutely sure that this is your own opinion? There's nothing about it that feels strange to you?"

"No." He was still trying to stare down Angel. "This is all me."

"*Very* interesting," Wesley said, noting it down. "Are you aware that you just used the word 'sodding'?"

Angel was the first one to look away, giving Wesley a shadow of the glare he'd been using on Lindsey. It was still more than intimidating. "Is there a point to this?"

"Yes," Wesley said, surprised Angel didn't see it. "The victim will have the possibility to take after any vampire in the bloodline. Usually, it's one they can relate to somehow. So if Lindsey's attitude towards you is similar to how the vampire feels, this may actually be the point of identification."

"Will that help me get better?" Lindsey asked in a low voice. You could have scrubbed clothes on Angel's frown.

"No," Wesley said, suddenly somewhat less enthusiastic. "I can't see how it would." He cleared his throat. "Nevertheless, it would be of significance for the future if we determined what personality we are dealing with."

"One who dislikes Angel." Lindsey offered a weak smile.

"And Darla," Cordelia pointed out.

"One who disliked Darla and..." Wesley's gaze drifted off to Angel, then to Lindsey. "...hated... Angel." Hate wasn't the word he was looking for, but even he didn't have the vocabulary to sum up Lindsey's strange emotions. Nor did he know which vampire would mirror it. Angel knew, he could see it in his eyes, but naturally he wouldn't say anything. That was the thing with Angel, he never disclosed any personal information if he could help it. That had been part of the problem in the Darla situation, and it was part of the problem now. Wesley could sympathise with it, really he could, but it didn't make anything any easier.

Lindsey licked his lips. "So, that means it can't be Darla herself, or Angel, right? And probably not Drusilla either."

"Could be Spike," Cordelia suggested.

Wesley sought confirmation in Angel's face and got it. Yes, it could be Spike. And fortunately, that was one vampire he actually had more than fleeting information about.

"When you remember killings," he asked Lindsey, taking his pencil, "what do you remember?"

"I... I grab them," Lindsey said, clearly not comfortable with the question. "Sometimes I fight them first. Those are the best times. But sooner or later I grab them hard, pull them close to me and rip out their throats with my teeth. I drink from them..."

"That wasn't what I meant." Obviously, this was something he should have clarified earlier, but the hunger in Lindsey's voice when he spoke of death was much too disturbing to interrupt. "What kind of victims are they? Men, women, children? Do you remember any particular faces?"

"All kinds of people," Lindsey said, his voice distant. "Sometimes just food... sometimes more than that. There are two in particular. An Asian girl that looks like someone from a Samurai movie, and a black chick in a subway..."

Wesley nodded. The description fitted the two Slayers Spike was infamous for having killed. The next thing Lindsey said was more surprising.

"And I remember a gypsy family."

The word "gypsy" alone was enough to make everyone look at Angel, who stood unfazed, as if nothing Lindsey said could surprise him

"As in the cursing gypsies?" Cordelia asked. "I thought those were yours."

"They weren't." Angel's voice was barely audible. "Spike killed them. But none of it would have happened if it hadn't been for me."

Of course, Angel was the expert at taking responsibility for the wrong things. Wesley let that go for the time being and concentrated on the problem.

"So I think we can determine that it's Spike. That means if this goes far enough for you to give in to the vampire completely, we'll have to alert Sunnydale, given Spike's obsession with Slayers. Then again, it's possible that you might try to find Drusilla."

"Yeah." Lindsey was obviously not thrilled at this glimpse of his future. "Any chance we can stop it from going that far?"

"I can kill you," Angel suggested amiably.

"There is a rite," Wesley said, cautious not to bring Lindsey's hopes up too much. "But I'm afraid most people who used it died from it."

"Oh." It was hardly surprising that this made Lindsey look seasick. "Still, better than eating people, right?"

"Uh... yes." Perhaps he had misjudged Lindsey earlier. Clearly he was brave enough to take responsibility for his actions. Wesley decided to make sure he did everything in his power to resolve this without bloodshed.

**********

Cordelia stared at the page she was reading, which described a successful "salvation of a damned man's soul", as the book had chosen to call it. Finding a basic description of the rite requested hadn't taken long. It was a bonding rite between the infected person and a living human, and although the description had been brief, and unspecific enough to annoy Wesley, it had spoken quite a lot about blood. Ew, but okay. That wasn't the problem. The problem was that this was only the third account of a success they had found all day.

Gunn had been the one to dig up the first, a Watcher whose Slayer had offered to bond with him. Three hours later, Lindsey had found an old witch who helped rescue a boy. And now, as the Chinese takeout boxes piled up beside her, Cordelia sat staring at the words in her book. "But a man from the nearest village, who was a half-wit, but said to be able to foresee the future, said to the people to choose him for their sacrifice. At first they mocked the idea, but he was persistent. Washed in the stricken man's blood, the half-wit blessed his soul, and the demons left him. They both fell senseless to the ground and were believed dead, but before the blood had dried on their bodies they awakened and could return to their homes."

A happy ending, but Cordelia was a lot less than happy reading the words "able to foresee the future". With Gunn's Slayer and Lindsey's witch, she was beginning to see a pattern, and she didn't like it one bit. She could only hope that nobody else would make the same connection until she figured out what to do about it, but she wasn't very hopeful.

"Got anything?" Gunn asked, diving into the fried rice. Cordelia jumped half an inch.

"Yeah," she said breathlessly before she had time to think.

"Really?" So he hadn't expected her to say yes. He'd just been asking a friendly question while he got some fried rice, and she could have told him "no" and gotten on with it. Nobody would have been the wiser. If they had found the story later she could have claimed to have accidentally turned two pages at once or something.

God, what was she thinking? Lying about something that could save lives? Even if one of them was - well, Lindsey. She couldn't have done that, even if she hadn't screwed it up by admitting she found something. It wasn't as if they could make her do it.

Gunn was reading over her shoulder, and she waited breathlessly for him to point out the obvious, but he just lifted the book up for a closer look.

"Do you mind?" he asked, and she shook her head, drawing her hands away from the cracked old volume as if it had burned her. The sound of her own pulse filled her ears, and she wasn't seeing too clearly, but she noticed how everyone took an immediate interest.

"We have a witch, a Slayer and a psychic," Wesley pointed out, and she cursed him for his intelligence. "It's quite possible that the supernatural connection somehow increases the chances of success."

Cordelia held her breath.

"I'm not letting him anywhere near Buffy," Angel said, frowning at Lindsey.

Lindsey just smirked. "Last I recall, there were two..."

"Or Faith."

They hadn't even thought of her. Of course not. Even after all this time, Buffy was still Angel's first priority, and everyone else followed Angel's lead, whatever the bills and business cards might say. She slowly let her breath out - and caught Lindsey's gaze. Damn that man. Even if the others had overlooked what she was, he very clearly hadn't. She watched him stand, daring him to speak up.

"I need a smoke."

And he was out the door.

**********

Lindsey circled the hotel over and over again, trying to walk off the craving for cigarettes. He wasn't a smoker. He'd never *been* a smoker, even as a kid, and once he got into law school he'd realised that was fortunate. Success didn't smell of nicotine, except possibly after a closed deal if someone offered you a Havana. Yet now he couldn't get rid of the longing. In a way it was worse than the lust for blood, because at least he knew that was supernatural.

He didn't think he was Spike. That would actually have been a lot less scary. As it was now, every new emotion sneaked into his personality and changed what being Lindsey meant. He believed that Spike was *him*. Before this was over their personalities would be indistinguishable, but he'd still call himself Lindsey and know that he was born and raised in nowhere, Oklahoma, even though Spike's memories told him differently. He'd know what was happening, know everything about it, except where he stopped and Spike started.

Well, he was going to fight it as long as he could, and he'd start right here. No smokes. He wasn't a smoker. He leaned his head back, watching the hotel facade, counting the windows. There were enough of them to keep him occupied for a while. Now, without multiplication or estimates, the final number would be...

There was a girl in one of the windows, looking down. He didn't think he'd ever seen her before, but when he raised his hand to wave to her she quickly disappeared from view. Odd. He briefly wondered if she could see the things he'd done in his face somehow, or maybe the things he was to become. Because, come on, he wasn't *that* scary, was he?

Not that he wouldn't like a taste of her. She looked too brittle to put up much of a dance, but if there wasn't much meat on the woman, he still had things to choose from. He liked it when they were so thin the arteries could practically be felt through the skin. There had been times when he closed his eyes and let his fingers wander over Drusilla's body like that... oh fuck.

He scratched his neck, trying to get his act together. Okay, he didn't get his kicks out of hurting girls, that much he knew. Whatever his flaws, that wasn't one of them. So, first priority, not killing any girls.

Except that there was this problem with Angel's secretary. It seemed as though she'd be able to help him, and it was pretty clear she had come to the same conclusion. Somehow, he would have to convince her to help him, maybe by pleading to her sense of duty. Doing this ritual must be a good thing in the big picture, right? Of course he could pick someone else. There had to be hundreds of people in L.A. who'd be useful for a binding rite - only they wouldn't be willing. And he wasn't in any position to force anyone. Force had never been his preferred method anyway. Why kill the cow when you can get the milk by talking?

Maybe she'd die - maybe they'd both die. It was still the better option. He belonged to himself for the first time in ten years, and he wasn't going to give up on that.

Averting his eyes from the facade he saw the neon sign of a convenience store down the street, and started to walk.

**********

There was a man outside the window. Fred didn't know who he was, but she knew she didn't like the way he looked at her. In this world, people treated her like a person, and she liked that. It was something she'd almost forgotten during her time in Pylea. But this man didn't look at her as if she was a person. Not a cow either. Humming to herself, she tried to remember where she had seen such a look before. There was something... One, four, nine, sixteen, twenty-five, thirty-six... The thing Angel had turned into. The one they said was the vampire part of him, although it didn't fit what she had heard of vampires. She wasn't a cow, she was tacos. That was funny, really, but she didn't want to be tacos, and she waited for him to go away.

She kept counting squares and was at 14,884 when she dared to look out again. At first she couldn't see the man, but then she noticed him walking up the street, lighting a cigarette. He had a pretty walk, relaxed and self-assured.

"Bad man," she whispered to herself. "Bad man."

As if he had heard her, he suddenly dropped the cigarette, and his entire posture changed. The sight of his hanging head made her wish she hadn't said anything. She stayed behind the curtain, but when he put out the cigarette with his shoe and looked up she was pretty convinced he still saw her. Only this time, she didn't feel like tacos. She wasn't even sure if it was really the same man. Of course, that was crazy talking, but you never knew. This world wasn't quite the one she had been born in, was it? Maybe you could be two people. Maybe the bad man was.

He walked into the hotel, and she withdrew from the window. If he lived here, she was sure she'd see him again. She could only hope she wouldn't be tacos to him then.

**********

"Is anyone else thinking that our biggest problem right now isn't finding the right person for the ritual, but actually *getting* the ritual?" Gunn asked in the middle of a somewhat lengthy discussion between Wesley and Angel. His shoulders hurt, and he was getting more than a little testy. "'Cause so far all we got is lots of blood."

"It's always blood, isn't it?" Lindsey said, entering the room. He didn't look any calmer or more pleased than he had walking out. Hardly surprising, really. The stuff he'd have to smoke to forget about this mess could probably give you a lifetime in jail - or longer in Hell.

"Yeah, well, just splashing your blood over people probably isn't going to help."

"It's worth a try," Angel muttered.

"We must consider the binding person, though," Wesley deadpanned, head still buried in the book. "It's quite traumatic to be splashed with blood. Gunn, since you're already up and about, could you find me Singh's 'Common Misconceptions About Famous Vampires'? I think there's something in there about Minna Murray."

Gunn was used to Wesley asking for peculiar stuff, and the name didn't immediately ring a bell. He already had his eyes on the book titles when Lindsey and Angel both said,

"Minna *Murray*!?"

"Or Harker, if there's nothing on Murray," Wesley continued, and then looked up. "What? The whole world knows she was tied to Dracula."

"Dracula," Gunn said, finally understanding why the others acted so strangely. "That Winona Ryder girl?"

"Well, yes, if you choose to canonise a version that's even *more* horribly wrong than what Bram Stoker wrote." He gave a sigh that was part laughter. "Will you just give me the damned book?"

"Dracula was real," Gunn said, returning his attention to the bookshelf. "Fine with me."

The book was big enough to be eye-catching even though the title was faded. He picked it out and returned to the others. By now, Lindsey looked so nervous he could have beaten every Olympic winner in history. It was pretty contagious, too. Gunn couldn't care less what happened to the lawyer, but he still found himself holding his breath as Wesley looked through the index to find Minna Murray and then read the article. And then he let it out as a smile spread over Wesley's face.

"You got the ritual?"

"'The most complete version of this ritual can be found in Zwerminskykowsky's Demonic Handbook'," Wesley read with obvious triumph.

"Do you have that one?" Lindsey asked, his voice rough.

"No, but I can order it quite easily. It will take a week, perhaps, no more than that. It's utterly unlikely that you'll reach critical condition before then."

Gunn raised his eyebrows. He wasn't sure having Lindsey around for a week would be very pleasant. Particularly not if Wolfram and Hart found out. Angel might be willing to forget old differences for the sake of good, even if he didn't seem happy about it, but the firm had pretty much *owned* Lindsey, and Gunn was willing to bet they held grudges. This was going to cause trouble. What could make it worth it?

"So, I know you can sing," he said slowly, "but can you make coffee?"

"Uhm... yeah," Lindsey said, clearly not catching on.

"That's enough for me."

**********