Harm's Way

Part One

As the time on the pink clock flipped over from 6:59 to 7:00, the alarm went off and the radio switched on. A hand snaked out from under the covers and fumbled with the buttons until it found the off switch and the radio went quiet. Then Harmony groaned and rolled out of bed and headed for the bathroom.

Once she had finished showering, she wrapped a pink towel around herself and crossed to the sink. The mirror remained empty, even though she was stood right in front of it. She missed her reflection - that was why she had decorated the mirror with flower stickers and a little motivational quote, to have something to look at whilst she brushed her teeth now she could no longer see her own face. They helped remind her that she was still really there - she had never got used to the blankness of the mirror.

She brushed her teeth, spat out into the sink and then morphed into vamp face so she could take care of her fangs. Then she washed her face - carefully exfoliating her skin. Just because she was dead didn't mean she could afford to get sloppy about dry patches. Once she was done, she headed back out into her bedroom to get dry and dressed. She brushed out her hair and applied her makeup - way difficult now she couldn't see her reflection - and then spritzed her neck with a little perfume.

Then it was time to decide what to wear. She took out two blouses from her closet - a pink and a turquoise - and held them both up, deciding. In the end she went for the pink - and cast the blue one aside. Fully dressed, she sat on her bed and put on her first shoe - a beige, open toed pump. She reached under the bed for the second shoe and found nothing. She tutted in irritation and got down on the floor to peer under the bed. It wasn't there. She crawled around the room, looking, and eventually found it underneath the dresser. It was too far back for her to reach, her arm groped but her fingers closed on only air - so she picked the whole dresser up one handed and grabbed the shoe, before putting the dresser back down.

She got the elevator down to the basement garage. An old lady, still in her nightgown, walked her miniature schnauzer right past her without even glancing up. Harmony smiled and waved, 'morning Mrs. Jacobi,' but the old lady didn't reply and the dog only growled at her. Harmony frowned, it was like Mrs. Jacobi didn't even realise she was there - and the dog hated her. It was like she was dead … which she was, of course. But she wasn't - you know - dead dead - she was still there! The occasional 'hello' shouldn't be too much to ask for. Even the stiffs six feet under sometimes got visitors and flowers. It was like she was as invisible to Mrs. Jacobi as she was to the mirror.

...

An hour later, she arrived at work; coffee in hand and Angel's dry cleaning slung over her shoulder. She put her coffee down on her desk, hung the dry cleaning on a hook in her cubicle and took her coat off. Then she picked up Angel's #No1 Boss mug and headed for the staff room. As she entered, she bumped into a young woman just leaving - their collision caused the woman to spill her coffee all over her smart clothes. The woman looked supremely irritated: 'hey!'.

'Oops! Sorry' Harmony said, but the woman just shook her head and stalked off.

'So then at 2 am my boss calls me,' two women were sat at a table comparing notes on the unreasonable absurdity of their respective bosses, 'wants me to search her car for - get this - a stray vicodin!'

'Shut up!'

Harmony approached them, a big, friendly smile on her face. 'Hello fellow grunts.'

The first woman looked at her for a moment, 'hey', but her tone and expression were unwelcoming. Then she turned back to her friend, ignoring Harmony completely. 'I mean, making me drop off her stool sample was one thing, but this? I'm asking for a raise.'

'Yeah!' Harmony agreed, enthusiastically, trying once more to interject herself into the conversation. 'You know, I was thinking I've been due a raise too, 'cause….'

'Did I tell you that cute new shaman has been put in my department now?' The second woman cut across Harmony's words, speaking only to her friend. Harmony fell silent, and then backed away in defeat. 'Right … nice chatting with you, too.' The two women didn't even so much as look up.

Giving up the attempts to be friendly, she went over to the fridge and opened it up. There were two thermoses sat side by side, one covered in unicorn stickers and the other with a label on that read, 'Angel's do not touch.' She picked up Angel's thermos and poured its contents into the #No1 Boss mug, then took his mug o' blood over to the microwave.

The microwave was already in use, a blue bowl was spinning around inside heating up someone's, like, oatmeal or whatever. She didn't care. Angel got cranky if his blood was late - his needs came first. She opened the door, took out the bowl and put the mug inside instead, pressing the buttons to heat it up to just the right temperature for Mr. Grouchy Pants.

'Hey!' Lorne's assistant - Dan - came over to her. 'Morning,' she smiled, though his 'hey' had not been a friendly greeting - he had sounded as annoyed with her as everyone else had this morning.

'You can't just…' he pointed at the microwave and at the bowl, 'there are rules!'

'Oh I know, it's so unfair,' she agreed. 'The way my boss is your bosses boss - his needs coming first and all.' The microwave beeped and she took the mug out, smiled and shrugged, 'see ya.' She walked out of the staff room - Dan glared at her the whole time.

...

Back at her desk - the boss man, himself, was waiting for his blood. She handed it over and started to update him on everything she had done for him so far today. 'So you've got your meeting with department heads scheduled for 11. Your one o'clock with human - sorry non-human - resources has been pushed back to 2. I swung by the cleaners. Zippo luck getting out the Frophla slime. Oh and I took care of the catering for the big, feuding demon clan confab… unless you have any requests?'

'Achite vong mochzinite,' Angel stuttered uncertainly, and then made a series of clicks with his tongue. Harmony wrinkled her nose. 'Yuhuh … could you spell that?' But he didn't answer - instead he ripped an earpiece out of his ear - the tinny voice of a language instructor could be heard coming out of it. 'Greetings your eminence - may I take your staff? Lopenghote Vong click click click.' Angel stopped the tape and wound up the wires from his headphones, sighing in frustration. 'My clicks are all wrong.' He shook his head and finally looked at Harmony, 'did you sort out the caterers for tomorrow?'

He hadn't even been listening to her! 'Hello! I just..'

'You ready to do this?' Gunn approached the desk - and Angel - cutting Harmony off mid sentence. The two men walked away, headed for Angel's office. Harmony got out of her chair and chased after them. 'So about the - uh - catering? I really went above and beyond because I know this …' but the men ignored her and the office door swung shut in her face. She nodded to herself, biting her lip. 'You're welcome,' she said quietly and walked back to her desk.

She was just getting down to work on her computer, when she was interrupted by a man in a lab coat, 'you're up today,' he told her.

'Oh come on, Rudy,' she protested, 'you know I've been off human blood for months.'

'Company policy, you know the rules. Give me your finger.'

She got back to her feet and held her finger out so that Rudy could take a blood sample. The phone rang, and she picked it up with her left hand. 'Good morning Wolfram and … ow!' she cried out as she was pricked with the needle. 'I'm sorry,' she said into the phone and listened to their request. 'Wrong extension,' she told them. 'You need 529 for curses. Foiled again, huh?' she chuckled at her own joke - but the voice down the line didn't join in. There was only dead air. 'Hello?' She hung up the phone just as the blood test results came through on Rudy's device. 'You're clean,' he said, 'have a good one,' and walked away.

She sat back down, as yet another person approached the desk. This one was a demon, with red skin and curling horns. 'Eli, hi!' she greeted him enthusiastically.

He smiled at her, 'hey … you. I just got called up for a meeting with your boss man.'

Harmony glanced down at her schedule, she hadn't seen anything like that pencilled in for today. But Eli wasn't listening to her. 'Don't wanna count my hatchlings,' he said to her, 'but I think the honchos are finally beginning to recognise my work in accounting.'

'Hey, good for you!'

Angel's office door opened and Gunn stepped out, 'Eli, come on in,' he said.

'Wish me luck, kiddo,' Eli said to Harmony, as he followed Gunn through the door. Harmony grinned and stuck two thumbs up at him - and the door swung close behind the men and Harmony was left alone once more.

That was when she noticed the #No1 Boss mug still sat on the desk. She sighed - the blood would be getting cold. And Angel was so unreasonable - he would totally blame her for the fact that he left his breakfast lying around and didn't drink it whilst it was warm. Whatever was going on in the office- it couldn't be so important that she couldn't deliver Angel his blood, not when it was her who would get it in the neck once the blood was cold and Angel was peckish and cranky. She picked up the mug and walked across the lobby, pushing the door to the office open, 'Angel you forgot your…'

Angel swung an axe and Eli's head was cleaved clean from his shoulders. It bounced on the floor and rolled along the ground, coming to a stop at Harmony's feet. She stared down at it in horror, and then up at Angel who was still gripping the now blood stained axe. 'Clean that up, would you?' he said to her.

Doyle sat alone in the office, a cup of coffee in one hand, turning the brittle and yellowing pages of the leather bound Lister demon prophecy book. Cordelia was out at another photo-shoot - catalogue work this time. It was good that she was getting work, Lord knows they needed the money, but Doyle missed her every day she was gone; the office was too quiet and the work too boring without Cordy there to make it more fun. Not that she could help him with this particular problem, trying to decipher the vague clues and hints that made up Lister holy text, but it was still better when she was around. The writings were interminable, and making his head hurt, and he could really do with one of her unique brand of pep talks to keep him going.

He took a sip of coffee, turned the next page and then forced himself to squint down at the tiny writing, 'concentratin',' he muttered to himself, 'I'm concentratin'... real hard. Concentratin' concentration. To concentrate. That's me. Doin' the whole … concentration thing, yes sir - I am payin' attention.' He turned the next page and stared. 'I'm not payin' attention,' he finally admitted.

He sighed, leaned back in his chair and clasped his fingers together behind his head. 'I need to be concentratin',' he muttered to himself. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. 'This is life and death stuff, I gotta be ready, I gotta focus - even though the print is really tiny and the language really weird and none o' it makes sense. I gotta do this.' In the blackness behind his eyelids, he conjured up a picture of Cordelia in his mind's eye. She was frowning at him.

'I mean it's fine,' imaginary Cordelia snapped at him. 'You can sit here and not take this seriously, not bother using your superpowers specifically gifted to you so you could do this very thing, I mean it's only life and death. No biggie. It's only you that's gonna die if you don't do this properly, Little Irish Man. Leave me all alone. To grieve. Forever. But hey - it's your choice. Maybe once you're gone, I can just marry Angel in your place...'

His eyes snapped back open, 'yep, that's done it,' he muttered, 'thanks, Princess.' He rubbed his eyes and went back to peering blearily at the text. He traced his finger along the words, his lips moved slightly as he read, and he tried to blank his mind - get it into the zone so his powers would kick in without his own normal brain power slowing them down and dragging them back. That was the key to this, to let it happen subconsciously. That was how it had worked with the false prophecy about Connor and the Dactylic Hexameter. And how it had worked with the runes and pictograms that the Svea priestesses had written in an attempt to banish The Beast. And it was how he solved the word jumble every morning. Before he had these powers, it could keep him occupied for most of the day - now he could complete it in seconds.

He was only scanning for mentions of The Scourge, or anything that could be an oblique reference to them. He had a pad and pen ready to scribble down anything he found. His finger continued to trace line by line, his eyes glazed over and little by little he felt his own thoughts go quiet and take a back seat, as the power absorbed from the Nadrah demons took over. His finger suddenly came to a dead stop - as if by itself. It was hovering above the word 'ancients,' he took a deep breath and went back and read all the surrounding words.

For surely shall come the day when The People must flee before the ancients, else perish instead. As did those of our kind that live amongst the treetops and those of our kind that dwell beneath the sandy banks.

The date in the margin dated this prophecy from 1792 - though whoever the long dead Lister who wrote it was must have known, somehow, that it was a revelation meant for the 20th century, to put it into this book rather than the 18th century text. The writing was fading, and the script was curling and difficult to read. But, nevertheless, Doyle knew he was reading it right.

And, furthermore, he understood it. It was obvious.

The first letters of the phrase 'The People' were capitalised, it was being used as a proper noun not a common one - and therefore must refer to the Lister demons themselves. After all this was their holy writings, of course they would name themselves as being the true 'people'. And 'the Ancients' was just another way of saying 'the old ones', and - as all the other old ones were either dead or banished - in this context 'old one' must refer to The Scourge. So … roughly translated, one day the Lister demons would either have to run away from The Scourge or die at their hands. Which, of course, was a reference to that night four years ago; with the truck, and the Quintessa and Cordy and Doyle's mad getaway drive to freedom.

So that was that - and that was obvious. And unhelpful. He looked at the next sentence.

As did those of our kind that live amongst the treetops and those of our kind that dwell beneath the sandy banks.

Doyle felt sure - though he didn't really understand how - that the words 'our kind', did not refer to more Lister demons. They had talked of themselves as 'people' - if they were referencing more Listers in this extract then they would have written 'those of our people.' No … 'kind' meant other types of demons. He just knew it. Earthbound demons - hybrids in The Scourge's eyes. Demonkind as opposed to humankind.

'Live amongst the treetops…' demons that lived in … with a jolt he realised that this passage referred to his own species, to the Brachen clan. The prophecy was saying if the Lister's did not run then they would die, just like the Brachen's had died - and that meant ... their massacre was preordained.

He closed his eyes, feeling the blood pounding in his ears as the realisation washed over him. It was preordained that he would send his relatives away, refuse to help them and so allow them to be killed. Because that was what led to him gaining the visions, which was what in turn gave him the power to be The Promised One. If he hadn't turned those Brachen demons away, he wouldn't be who he was now - and the Lister's had known - if not understood - that this was going to happen since … he squinted at the date in the margin again … 1792.

He felt funny. His head felt like cotton wool and his knees were all wobbly. He needed to sit down - but was already sitting down. 1792. His betrayal of his people had already been a certainty in the universe since nearly 200 years before he was born. It made his head spin. And then, behind the wobbly, dizzying, spinning feeling came a sudden, red hot surge of anger.

It was the kind of anger he'd felt back in his early demon days, an anger he hadn't felt for years now, at the unfairness of what had happened to him. It wasn't fair. The universe had decided it needed a halfbreed, to screw up - throw his life away and allow half his family to be killed, in order to punish it with the visions and send it on a one way mission of atonement, so it could die protecting a whole load of others. So it could be The Promised One.

The universe had decided that's what it wanted - 200 years ago - and then it had bided it's time. For two centuries. And then it had sent his demon father to Ireland, where he had forced himself on a human woman and so created Doyle - the halfbreed - who had no choice but to follow along the path the universe had preordained for him; every screw up, his lost marriage, his alcoholism, his life of crime, his rage and his guilt and his shame - all preordained to turn him into exactly what the universe had needed him to be. Doyle had never stood a chance. Not since 1792.

His head swam. He wanted a drink - but this wasn't the old days, he didn't keep liquor in the office anymore and he didn't trust his legs to get him downstairs to the apartment. He wished Cordy were there, so he could just curl up against her and wallow - and rage … but she wasn't.

And turning his rage on Cordy, making her watch as he lost control like that … that was what he had done to Harri. That was how he had screwed up his first marriage - his unrelenting anger at the unfairness of his life. It wasn't fair, he took a deep breath … but then nobodies was. It wasn't fair for Harri that she lost her husband, the man she loved, to his own anger and his drinking problem. It wasn't fair on Cordy - or all those other girls - turning them into slayers, changing their lives overnight, handing them a destiny they didn't want and didn't ask for. It wasn't fair for Rief and Rayna stuck on Briole because there was no place for them in America. And it wasn't fair for all those people, butchered down alleyways by The Scourge - Xandra and Arnie and Mahatmik and all the rest. 5 years lost in Pylea wasn't fair on Fred, and losing his sister wasn't fair on Gunn, being abandoned by the team and betrayed by Doyle hadn't been fair for Wesley and getting trapped at Wolfram and Hart wasn't fair for Angel. Even Spike - he'd saved the world and now he was a ghost - that wasn't fair. Not by a long shot.

So … sure… he took a few more deep, calming breaths and willed himself to be more reasonable, less self centred. He had been screwed. Royally and big time. But then - who hadn't been screwed one way or the other? Getting angry at the unfairness of it all wouldn't change anything, wouldn't solve any problems - wouldn't get the universe off his back. No it wasn't fair he had this job to do, but nevertheless he had to do it - and whining about it wouldn't make it go away. He had to work the problem, his feelings didn't come into it. He had to accept that. It was pretty much what he'd tried to tell Cordy when she was struggling with being the slayer. It was what it was - and you could either cope, or you could drink. And - after all these years - he was finally able to cope.

He took another deep breath and rubbed his face. OK - so the massacre against the Brachen demons - his own people, though it still felt funny to think of them as that - was preordained and mentioned in Lister Prophecy. And he was the only one left, apparently, and he knew nothing about Brachen demons - nothing that could help anyway. But, the prophecy also mentioned another massacre 'our kind that dwell beneath sandy banks'. Well, whoever they were … maybe there were some of them left. And maybe, if they were mentioned in Lister Prophecy in relation to The Scourge - maybe they had some prophecies of their own that could help.

He nodded grimly to himself, pushed all ideas of destiny and fairness firmly out of his mind, flexed his fingers and then began a search on the demons demons demons database.

Harmony was back at her desk, fighting back tears, as Gunn and Angel stood over her. Across the lobby two men were bagging up Eli's headless body and carrying him out. 'I just don't get it,' she said, 'why'd you kill Eli?'

'Didn't much care for what he was doing in his off hours,' Angel told her tersely.

She frowned, 'well, that's not right. What Eli got up to on his own time…'

'Is dismembering virgins,' Gunn told her.

'Well…' she frowned deeper, 'a person's religious beliefs…'

'He did it for his own amusement.'

'Oh - well - OK. But … couldn't you have given him like a stern warning first or something?'

But Angel shook his head, 'it's called a 'zero tolerance' policy not a 'maybe just this once' policy. Nobody in this office gets away with murder. Not any more.'

Harmony bit her lip and looked down. Sure - what Eli had been doing was wrong but … maybe Angel was just a little too happy to get his axe out? It's not like people weren't trying - but this was a place of evil, it took a lot to - you know - stop being evil, and they didn't all have fancy souls like the boss. It was harder for the rest of them. Shouldn't he cut them some slack - it's not like going against your entire nature was a walk in the park.

As she was still brooding on Angel's chop first policy, the rest of the team - the other bigwigs of Wolfram and Hart - turned up for the scheduled 11 o'clock. Lorne looked over at where Eli was being carted off. 'Position just opened up in accounting?' he asked.

Gunn nodded, 'hardest part of the job - terminating an employee.'

'Once again, keeping corporate America safe from evil.' They all turned, at the sound of this new voice, to see Spike swaggering towards them, his grin in place - looking highly amused at the dead accountant being carried away out of the lobby.

'I was wondering when you'd turn up,' Gunn said to him.

'Where have you been - it's been days?' Fred asked.

His smile became softer. 'Out enjoying freedom from my ghostly confines, love,' he told her.

'There haven't been any side effects since you recorporealised have there?'

'Bit of a hangover,' he admitted, 'but then it's only to be expected what with all the drinking.' Fred giggled. 'Anyway, I'd thought I'd swing by and say my final farewells,' Spike told the whole team. 'Figured I'd push off … seeing as how I got someone waiting for me.' He eyeballed Angel, who rolled his own eyes and tutted.

'I'm not sure that's wise,' Wesley counselled, 'considering the Shanshu Prophecy is still unresolved.'

But Spike was done with it - Angel was welcome to his heroic destiny, whether he deserved it or not. Spike had better things to do than sit around waiting for the four bloody horsemen. He began to walk away. 'Spike…' Wesley called after him, but Angel shook his head, 'let him go,' he said. Seeing the back of Captain Peroxide, whatever it meant for the Shanshu, was going to come as a welcome relief. As far as he was concerned, Blondie Bear couldn't get out of here fast enough.

But sadly, Spike was not gone yet - and instead of walking out, he turned back to his old grand sire 'yeah - here's the thing, I could do with some walkabout money - how 'bout a couple of hundred?'

'How 'bout no?'

'You miserable sod - alright - I'll settle for some wheels.'

Angel sighed - if it got him out of here faster … 'just not the Viper,' he warned.

'Right then, Viper it is,' Spike grinned. Angel rolled his eyes again and turned to walk back to his office. 'Any messages for Buffy?' he heard William the Bloody Irritating Git call after him. 'Tell her you're a moron,' he yelled back - and walked into his office without looking back. Wes and Gunn followed him in.

Out in the lobby, Lorne wished the vampire a Bon Voyage and told him not to be a stranger, before heading into the meeting. Then it was just Spike and Fred. 'Fred…' he said softly, smiling the sincere, quiet smile that he reserved only for her in this place. 'I want you to know - all that work you put in - trying to cure me of the ghosties…'

She smiled bashfully and looked down, 'I didn't do anything.'

'No you did,' he told her earnestly, 'you believed in me … I won't forget it.'

They smiled at each other for a moment, quiet and sincere and heartfelt, and then she walked away. Spike turned to leave, walking past the front desk and not even glancing at Harmony. 'What?' she choked out, as he walked past her blithely. He came to a stop and looked at her, puzzled. She sniffed, and had trouble stopping the tears. 'I don't get a goodbye just because I went crazy and tried to rip your throat out during sex?'

'Keep it simple, Harm. It suits you.' And he walked away, leaving her alone to her tears.

It hadn't been much to go on, but after a few minutes of searching words like 'sand', 'river' and 'burrows' Doyle had managed to get a hit. The Fluggler clan were a group of pink skinned, spiny demons with hands that were more like shovels, or the front paws of a mole, who lived along the banks of the Colorado river, well - more strictly - beneath them, out in the Sonoron desert; just north of Yuma, Arizona. And - according to their entry on the database - many of them had been slain in a massacre back in 1998. Many - but not all. This looked promising. Not for the massacre victims, admittedly, but there was a good chance that this was the clan the Lister demons had referenced in their prophecy. He just needed to find some living family members.

He reached out for the phone and dialled Vito's number, the Lubbock demon who ran Doyle's poker ring. If anyone knew of any Fluggler demons in town, it would be Vito - he knew everybody - and was on good terms with most of them. He heard his contact pick up on the other end of the line, 'hey, Vito,' he greeted him, 'it's Doyle.'

'Doyle. You find out who's been killing off my poker ring yet?' It had been Vito who had come up with the number for Xandra's family, and who had given the Irishman more info about the other deaths going on around the city. Doyle had promised him that he and Cordy would sort it out.

'Yep,' he nodded his head, though he couldn't be seen, 'it's…' He hesitated before naming them - he didn't want to cause a panic in the demon underworld. Or tip The Scourge off that Angel Investigations was on the case. 'It's bad,' he said instead, 'really bad - you need to get word out to every demon you know, and every demon they know - lie low. Get outta town if they can.'

'You said you were gonna sort it.'

'I'm workin' on it - but until then, safety first, yeah? Get the word out. Listen...' Doyle swapped the receiver to his other ear and leaned back in his chair, 'I'm lookin' to make contact with someone right now - it's to help out with … all this. Could be vital. Can you help me?'

'What is it you want?' Vito asked him, sounding wary.

'I was wonderin', do you know if there are any Fluggler demons in the city?' Doyle asked, 'and if there are - you know how I can get in contact with 'em?'

'Flugglers?... yeah - I know a couple of Flugglers. They moved here after their clan was killed a while back. Real nervy types.'

'Great - you got a number?'

'Lemme check.'

Doyle waited with baited breath as he listened to the distant sounds of Vito leaving the phone, crossing the room and then coming back. Then he heard the sound of pages turning. Vito must be looking through his book. Doyle had one just like it - though, time was, he had been dodging half of the people in there because he owed them money. But Vito knew everybody and got along with everybody - his book would prove more helpful than any contact list Doyle could scrape together.

Sure enough - after a minute or so - Vito was back on the line. 'Uhuh, I got a Fluggler - name of Sammael.' He read out the number and Doyle scribbled it down hastily on his pad. 'Thanks, bud I owe y',' he said once he had got the details.

'Uhuh - remember what I said about these guys. Real nervy.'

'Well, havin' your whole clan killed will do that to y'. I'll go gentle - thanks again.' He hung up the phone, went to pour himself another coffee and then sat back down and perused the phone number. Then he reached out and dialled once again.

The team were sat round the table in the conference room, whilst Harmony perched on her chair in the corner and took the minutes. Gunn was filling them all in on what was to come. There was a demon war going on - two clans, the Vinjis and the Sahrvin, had been battling out for five generations. Before that they had gotten along OK - shared a few hundred miles of desert, traded livestock, even partied together on the odd occasion. But then a Vinji used the wrong fork at a Sahrvin bonding ceremony, the Sahrvin's took offence, and they'd been slaughtering each other ever since.

Fred looked surprised, 'all this started over a fork faux pas?' Gunn nodded. They were pretty finicky when it came to manners. But all the clans had agreed to negotiate a truce, at Wolfram and Hart, tomorrow.

'Why now?' Fred asked.

'Demon activist by the name of Tobias Dupree got involved,' Gunn told them all. 'He's liaison to both clans. Only guy in the world they all trust, and he called us for help.'

Wesley nodded slowly, he held a printout out of customs and beliefs of the tribes and was reading it with an ever higher raised eyebrow. 'Etiquette aside, the Vinji and the Sahrvin are notoriously vicious, why not let them wipe each other out?'

'Hey, I got no love for these guys,' Gunn explained, 'but we manage to push through a peace plan and the whole demon world's gonna know we got game.'

Fred frowned, 'well that makes sense, in a grey, Machiavellian sort of way.'

Angel frowned at her words, as well. Grey - it was always shades of grey here. This was just one more example, but he had to go along with it for some unknown greater good - some cosmic game he was playing, though he didn't know the rules. Though he said nothing of what he was thinking. 'Obviously both clans are sensitive to the smallest slight,' he said, instead. 'If we don't dot an i or cross a t then this whole thing could explode in our faces.'

Wesley was inclined to agree - he was still reading the printout and felt it would be best if everyone memorised the whole lot. Apparently, gazing at a Vinji's ankles could lead to eye gouging. Everyone stared down at their own copy of the list, eyes bulging as they saw how much there was to remember.

Lorne's assistant - Dan - appeared in the doorway, clutching a printout of his own - and hovered nervously. Lorne called him, smiling encouragingly. 'He gets a bit shy in front of the big boss,' he explained, 'that's it Dandito, all the way in.'

'I - uh - finished that seating chart,' Dan told Lorne, handing his piece of paper over. Lorne took it, glanced at it, grinned and then handed it across to Angel. 'Alright, he was up all night jigsawing where everyone is gonna sit for this little shindig, he's a real up and comer this one.' Dan blushed and left the room.

Fred started explaining about how her team had upgraded the weapons scanner - after the incident at Halloween with Sebassis and his entourage getting in fully armed - they didn't want to take any chances. Then Gunn told them all he would be doing the talking. No one in the clans spoke any English - but, along with the Gilbert and Sullivan - he had been given a whole load of demon languages along with his legal upgrade.

Angel and Wesley exchanged a dark look at that news - but neither of them said anything. 'So, aside from forks, ankles and us not knowing what they're saying … any other potential minefields?' Fred asked.

'All their etiquette issues go along with a huge dose of superstition,' Angel informed them all.

Harmony suddenly looked excited and leaned forward in her chair, speaking up at last. 'You don't know the half of it,' she told them, enthusiastically. 'I've been doing a whole load of research on these guys - their customs and stuff? Did you know that they think poodles are, like, wicked bad luck?'

'Harmony, I'm glad you're here,' Wesley said. Harmony smiled proudly and sat up even straighter. 'We'll need lunch,' he told her. She deflated.

...

Once she'd ordered and served them lunch, received very little in the way of thanks, and not been given an opportunity to share with them all the oodles of stuff she had learned ready for this summit, she made her way back to the staff room to have her own lunch. She took out the unicorn covered thermos and sat at a table, drinking her blood, alone.

At the very next table, the two women from earlier were talking as they ate together - she could hear every word from where she was. 'Burkle's always giving Mr. Gunn the eye,' one of them said. 'Heard they used to be a thing.'

'I don't know. Alice said she and that Knox guy are pretty friendly,' the other one said.

'Maybe she's sleeping with both of them!'

'That's what I'd do.'

'Don't forget about Wesley,' Harmony couldn't contain herself anymore, and she interrupted their conversation to give her own take on the hot office gossip. 'There's something freaky going on with that Lilah chick and him, but at the same time, I get the vibe that he's, like, totally crushing on Fred.'

'Mr. Wyndam Pryce?' one of the women scoffed in utter disbelief, looking at Harmony like she was something stupid she had just discovered on the bottom of her shoe. 'Everyone knows he's … muffins!' She interrupted herself when she saw Dan come in carrying a large wicker basket filled with sweet treats.

'They're from Lorne,' he told the others. 'Well, actually, they're from Shaq, but Lorne has declared his office a carb free zone so…'

'He's totally grooming you,' the woman said.

'You think? He does call me Dan the man…'

'Angel grooms me too,' Harmony blurted out. There was an awkward pause, that hadn't come out quite right, but then she prattled on over the top to cover the moment. 'I'm his right arm. He's taking me places.' Her cell phone began to ring, she glanced down and saw his name on the screen, 'we're so connected.'

She answered the phone - and as soon as she did, he began yelling down the line at her - she could only hope that the others couldn't hear … although their faces suggested that they could. She fixed a big grin on her face. 'Uh sure,' she gabbled, getting to her feet, 'no, no trouble at all. That's what I'm here for. Bye.' She hung up the phone and rushed out, feeling the smirks and laughs of the other workers following her from the room.

...

When she got back up to the lobby, she found Angel standing in the middle of it, his hands on his hips and a very dark glower on his face. The caterers had arrived - and it seemed Angel wasn't happy about it. 'Harmony - do you wanna explain this?'

'OK - this is totally my fault,' she admitted, hoping to smooth things over. 'I specifically told the caterers that the delivery was for tomorrow. But I should have called to confirm … you know caterers - not the best listeners.'

The elevator opened behind them, and Fred stepped out reading the list of customs and manners, still trying to memorise it. She glanced up and then gave a startled cry as she came face to face with the delivery.

'Harmony got us a camel,' Angel explained to her, through gritted teeth.

'Uhuh,' Fred stared up weakly at the massive, living camel standing placidly in the lobby, chewing the cud.

'Like I said,' Harmony cut in, trying to explain. 'I did a lot of research. Camel meat is like a delicacy. So I thought it would be a great way to kick off the summit. 'Cause of the clans being so uptight? … like comfort food.'

'Comfort food,' Angel repeated.

'Yuh huh. And as host, you get the honour of slicing off its hump and sticking a hot poker through its heart. And then the demon clans rip its carcass apart with their bare hands,' she said enthusiastically. She was proud of how much effort she had gone to, and how much she had managed to learn about these warring clans in a short space of time. She'd surprised herself, she'd never been one to look stuff up and learn stuff from books before. That sort of thing was for nerds. But she'd been good at it!

Angel laughed - though it wasn't a happy laugh. 'Are you … I don't even know how…'

'Maybe the camel was the wrong way to go,' Fred said to Harmony. Her voice was kind. Harmony frowned. Something wasn't right - and she didn't know what - because it certainly wasn't the camel. The clans would go nuts for this.

'Harmony you are supposed to answer the phones, make appointments and anticipate my needs, which does not include a petting zoo in the lobby.' He sounded furious again.

'OK… but, the caterer said no returns.'

'Get rid of it!' He stormed away.

'Maybe you could go with a nice cheese platter?' Fred said, still keeping her voice kind. But it wasn't enough - Harmony began to cry. 'Or chips and dip! Chips and dip would be fine.'

'I did everything right,' Harmony told her, 'this is what they eat.' She gestured at the camel. Fred turned to look at it, and then turned back to Harmony. 'Angel's just feeling a little off - and he's not in the mood to, you know, butcher a camel.'

'No - he hates me.'

'No!' Fred tried to reassure her, 'he'll get over it.'

'Everybody hates me,' she was still crying.

'I don't!' Fred smiled brightly, 'It's just … I don't know you that well…'

Harmony stopped crying and began to smile, 'what are you doing tonight?' she asked.