Ami wondered what she was doing here. Here being Club Indigo, the hotspot for south quad of campus. Here being the small table against the wall she had settled herself at while watching her roommate bounce around the dance floor, always flocked by at least two hopeful admirers. No, on second thought, she knew precisely what she was doing here – she was here because her roommate, Celia, just had to make certain that Ami finally met up with "the totally hot and awesome guy from your class. And he's a Delt." Well, the totally hot and awesome Delt, Pete, had one beer too many and had been escorted back to the frat house by two of his brothers.

Which really was a shame because Ami had actually been looking forward to tonight. For three weeks she had been watching him across Doleman Auditorium, and the chance to finally meet him was not an opportunity that she was going to pass up. Pete had been personable and fun, too - at least while he had been sober and before he had started trying to drink his friends under the table. Before he had decided that dancing meant trying to meld his body into Ami's and his vocabulary deteriorated to monosyllabic grunts.

All that excitement and it wasn't even one a.m. yet.

The worst part was that he had her phone number.

Still, the night hadn't been a total wash. She had a good time – until she got tired and found the first empty table that wasn't covered in spilled beer. She was trying really hard not to check her watch and not to think about the eight o' clock class that she would have to drag herself to in the morning – and wondering who in their insanity decided that college weekends started on Thursday night?

Stifling a yawn, Ami leaned forward on her arms, watching Celia dance.

"Just one more song," Celia had pleaded when Ami reminded her that some people had to get up early in the morning. That had been three songs ago. At least Ami thought it was three songs; as the lateness of the night kicked in and her thoughts scattered to the winds, she was having trouble keeping count.

In spite of Celia's overabundance of energy, Ami realized that she wouldn't have traded one moment of her life here. No one had understood her need to get away from London, to spread her wings and have a little independence. Her mother was still convinced that once the semester was over, Ami would be so homesick that she would catch the first red-eye back to London, ready to pick up and settle down, "As soon as your head is out of the clouds."

Her mother was about to be vastly disappointed. Even sitting in the corner of the club, and realizing that her prince of a date had turned into the proverbial frog, Ami was content. More content than she had been in quite a long while. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy being a Tomorrow Person; she did. She enjoyed the friends she had gained, and she wouldn't have traded her special abilities for anything in the world. Although she seldom used her telepathic or teleportative abilities, reserving them for times of dire need or when she would be safely unobserved, they were a blessing of a sort. But they were also a two edged sword – the other edge was a great responsibility, the responsibility carried by all the Tomorrow People as the first in what they hoped would be a long line of evolved humans. Yet, despite all that she had, for the longest time, she had felt like something was missing, that a part of her was empty or not quite whole. The feeling of total completeness hadn't been found yet. However, everyday she spent in Los Angeles, every hour she spent living in accord to her own rules, every moment of freedom, and every experience she gained led her to believe that she was on the path to that ultimate sense of satisfaction and completeness. Eventually she would, what was the figurative way of saying it, find herself.

For the first time in her life, she was doing something for herself, and there were no words to describe how that felt.

There were words to describe how she felt watching Celia, however. Or rather, one specific word: tired.

"Is this seat taken?" The sound of a soft, yet masculine voice interrupted her thoughts.

"No, go ahead. It's yours." Ami didn't even spare the owner of the voice a glance. There were a limited number of seats in Club Indigo tonight, probably because of the new band, Babylon River, that had been drawing increasing numbers of fans. While the five-man band wasn't particularly stunning, they weren't terribly bad either. And they steered clear of the techno-punk which seemed to be the all the growing rage of late; that music was the sort that made Ami want to run screaming whenever she heard it. To be an unknown band, Babylon River drew quite the crowd – her table was one of the few that still had an empty seat, but she doubted she would need the extra chair. Celia would not be returning to the table any time soon. Ami was going to have to drag her off the dance floor and back to the dorm.

"Then you don't mind if I sit here?" The hesitancy of the voice caused Ami to turn her head – and catch her breath. She was staring into the deepest set of dark brown eyes she had ever seen in her life. Those eyes were hypnotizing, inquisitive and concerned, watching her with an intensity that made her breath catch. Those dark orbs drew her in, and made her body flush warm with desires that she could barely identify.

And it wasn't just the eyes. As she looked up, she drank in the sight of one of the most beautiful men she had seen all night. In fact, the man standing by her table made Celia's Pete look like last week's leftovers. He was striking, dressed in a dark black shirt and black slacks, a long black coat flowing behind him. Thick, dark hair nearly the same shade as those eyes of his were a startling contrast against his pale skin. Handsome, intriguing and – waiting for her to answer him.

"No, not at all," the words came out breathlessly, her voice nearly squeaking.

"You're not from here," he observed as he sank to the seat across from her with an almost unnatural grace. Ami noticed that he clutched a drink glass in his hands. His dark eyes flickered to the glass then to her again. He seemed almost embarrassed. "I was noticing your accent. You're from England, right?"

"Right," Ami gave him a surprised and flattered smile.

Maybe tonight really hadn't been a total wash.

"What are you doing here in LA?" He shifted again, his eyes widening as though he was hearing his own words for the first time. He took a deep breath, which for some reason struck her as exaggerated, and gave a slight shake of his dark head. His smile was both apologetic and chagrined. "Oh boy. I'm being too personal. I'm sorry, I'm not really good at this kind of thing."

"That's okay, I don't mind you asking." Ami commented. "I'm going to UCLA."

"Why? That's awfully far from home." His genuine interest took her by surprise. Either he was honestly interested in her and her life story, or he was well practiced in the art of flirting with naïve college women. Ami resisted the urge to probe his mind to find out which. For one, it was incredibly rude; the other reason was that she was actually enjoying the illusion that someone like this could be interested in her.

Ami shrugged with more nonchalance than she was feeling. "I wanted to get as far away from my Mum as possible."

"And . . . are you happy?"

"Pardon me?" Ami stared at him. That certainly had to be one of the strangest ice-breakers that she had ever heard.

"Well, it's just that a lot of people run away from things when they aren't happy . . . and they try to be happy somewhere else." He paused, glancing down at the tabletop and then back at her, "So, I was just wondering if you're happy here. Now. Away from home."

"I'm fine," Ami answered cautiously, more than a little bit confused by this conversation – and the strange – albeit handsome – man who's name she didn't know.

"Because I can help you with that. If you're not happy."

Ami snapped her falling jaw shut. Now that had to be the absolute worse come-on she had ever heard – and during her first week on campus, she had been pretty sure that she heard most of them. At the same time the mysterious and handsome stranger seemed to realize exactly what he said and took another breath, sitting up straighter in his chair.

"I didn't mean –" He paused and shook his head. Reaching into his coat pocket he produced a business card which he held out to her. "This is my card. I help people who – need help."

"You think that I need help?" Ami took the card hesitantly. She slowly raked her eyes over the stylized drawing of – maybe an angel – and read the caption aloud, "Angel Investigations. You're a private investigator?"

"Private securities," he nodded, long fingers nervously shredding a napkin. Suddenly he extended his hand, "By the way, I'm Angel." As her eyes darted towards the drawing on the card, she heard him add, "I didn't draw the picture."

"Ami." She took the offered hand and the moment his skin touched hers, a chill climbed from her toes to the roots of her hair. For most people, tactile contact was simply contact, but for a someone like her, a telepath, it was a great deal more. Everything that an individual was, everything that they felt came through in simple tactile exchanges. Normally, Ami was able to blot out the random and chaotic images received tactily in the same way she filtered the constant buzz and hum that lurked on the fringes of her awareness. Normally, it was background noise, quickly forgotten and never registered.

This was not the case with Angel. Something dark, potent, and intense reared to life as she touched his hand. It lashed out hungrily, thirsting for blood and the essence of life. On some level that she could not even comprehend she knew that it thirsted for her blood and her life, not specifically but in the same way that it wanted the same from every individual in the club. It was complete darkness and pure destruction cloaked in a mask of intense passion that was as intoxicating as a drug.

It was, she recognized, his uncloaked psychic aura. Something no one else in the room probably could have sensed or noticed, but that drew her in and repelled her. His aura was like his eyes – compelling and enticing. It invited Ami; it seemed sing a siren song to some part of her soul – and her soul moved to answer. Being aware of him on this level was like eating a fine meal – she didn't want to stop. It was intoxicating and alluring; it was –

Positively insane. Ami pulled herself up short, reacting without thought as she jerked her hand from his. What was that she was feeling from him? It wasn't normal – she would venture to say that it wasn't even human. And as she struggled to realign her senses, she realized that the brief contact had left her disoriented and slightly confused.

"Ami? Are you okay?"

She forced herself to take a deep, comforting breath. The room was slowly coming back into focus. Angel stared at her, his face a mask of complete confusion. That couldn't have been his mind could it? No one and nothing alive felt like that.

Ever.

"Fine," Ami supplied quickly. She nearly knocked her chair over in an effort to stand. She had to get away from him. She had to get out of here and clear her head. "I'm just – it's really hot in here. I need some fresh air."

"I can walk with you if –"

"No!" Ami winced at the loudness and rudeness of her protest. She forced herself to speak a bit more softly. "No, I wouldn't want to put you through any trouble. It was nice meeting you, Angel."

"If you need anything call me," Angel stood, shoving his hands into the endless depths of his pockets.

"Right."

Ami couldn't escape the club quickly enough. The entire time she couldn't shake the feeling that Angel was watching her, those dark fathomless eyes boring holes into her back.

Taking a quick glance back over her shoulder, she shivered.

Angel – whoever and whatever he was – was gone.

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