Opening credits. Theme music. Fred's now in the main cast, while
Kate is gone.

Commercial for Smallville.

Commercial for reality show even tackier than Fox's.

Commercial for Maybelline with SMG.

The dancing GAP girl.

Promotional tie in for Burger King and Smallville. Win a top
prize of one million dollars by getting clues from commercials on
Smallville. Let's kick Buffy while she's down.

---

Cordelia lay on the couch and gasped, "Park. Tent. Men in
tuxedos running. Green monsters with yellow wattles. Sun was
up--air smoggy. Probably LA."

"Cordelia, any idea where or when?"

"No. Just a park. But soon, I think."

"Angel. A wedding, you think."

"It's a start."

"All right. Fred, can you look after Cordelia for a bit?" Fred
nodded. "Angel, please check the references for those demons."

"Okay, Wesley. I don't feel like researching weddings now."

"I thought not. I'll go to the library. Cordelia, is there
anything I can get you?"

"Codeine would be nice, but aspirin will have to do."

"I'll get it."

Angel retreats to an inner office, while Fred goes to the kitchen
and brings back an ice pack and a carafe. Wesley brings the
aspirin bottle, asks if Cordelia's okay, and she waves him away.

---

A group of men and women are sitting around a conference table,
in a room less modern than those at Wolfram and Hart's
building. A man in a black robe with embroidered symbols is
standing up; he's been speaking for a while.

"To sum up, Project Trade Wind is doing well. We can't cut down
on our client's pollution, but we can disguise the pollution and
blow it out of state, where it becomes someone else's problem. A
satisfactory outcome for us all."

"Unless you live in Utah, of course," says a woman further down
the table.

"Unless you live in Utah, yes. Notice, however, that none of us
live in Utah." Everyone around the table chuckles at that.

The chairman, a short black woman in a business suit, stands up
and says, "Thank you, Josephus. That's very good work. Eminently
satisfactory. Are there any further items of business?" She
pauses, and no one says anything. "Then this week's meeting of
the governing board of California Magery and Weathercraft is
concluded."

Everyone gets up except the chairman, and they move toward the
door. "Josephus, one moment."

"Yes, ma'am." Josephus turns back toward the chairman. Soon,
everyone but them have left the room, and the chairman asks, "And
how is the other project progressing?"

"We're on schedule. I've procured our assistants, and I've
prepared the bait too. Come next Saturday, we'll be ready to hurt
our competitors in a way they'll never recover from."

"And if someone dies?"

"Someone dies. So?"

"I'm glad you're not getting soft."

"Never, ma'am."

"When the enemy is down, knock 'em flat, I always say."

---

At the Hyperion, Wesley walks into the lobby. He carries a stack
of newspapers and magazines large enough that he can barely see
anything in front of him. Cordelia gets up from the couch and
takes some of the load.

"Should you be up, Cordelia?"

"I'm in pain, Wes. I'm not sick, I'm not dead. Deal with it." She
marches back to the couch and looks at half of Wesley's
papers. "People? Us? Variety? Billboard? The Social Register? Do
you want to find out whose wedding is going to get slammed, or do
you want to break into show business?"

"The back issues of the LA Times were not forthcoming with useful
information. I thought that this wedding would have to be of two
rich people, possibly two famous people. And in Los Angeles,
that usually means show business. Besides, an ordinary couple
would not arouse such enmity."

"Well, I don't see the National Enquirer here. What about that?"
Wesley cringes. "Oh."

"I prefer the Weekly World News. They're funny!"

"Fred, you read that?"

"Only on the checkout line, of course. No, the dorm had a
subscription."

"You didn't get the Weekly World News too, Wesley?"

"I'm afraid so, Cordelia. Here--my shame is apparent to all."

Charles Gunn walks through the front door, sees Wesley holding
the tabloid, and he whistles. "Hoo, boy, English. Finally found a
reliable source of demon info. Hello, Princess. And the
beautiful Winifred." Winifred giggles.

"We have to stop a wedding, Charles. Isn't that weird and fun?"

"Stop a wedding? Anyone we know?"

"No, Gunn. That's the problem."

"What Cordelia is trying to say is that she was given a vision of
demons attacking a wedding at some LA park. We're trying to
figure out whose wedding it is, when it will occur, and what's
going to be attacking it."

"And Angel?"

"Looking through my books on demonology. I don't want him
obsessing on weddings."

"Right. Give me the World News."

In a back office, Angel reads an illuminated manuscript. He taps
one of the figures on the page. It looks like one of the demons
in Cordelia's vision. He closes the book and takes it with him as
he heads to the lobby.

---

"So, Charles, how are things going with your friends?"

"They've learned to get along without me."

"At least they still know who you are. Mine don't."

Angel walks into the room, and holds the book up.

"Angel, you've found something."

"Possibly." He opens the book to the picture. "Cordy, is this
the demon from your vision?"

"I think so. Green monsters with pukey yellow parts. Some
fashion statement."

"I don't know, Princess. I've always thought of demons as being
fiery-red, or glowing yellow. These seem--dull."

Wesley takes the book from Angel. "Angel, this is Muller's
Daemonographia."

"So?"

"Muller was possibly the least reliable investigator of his
time. Nine out of ten of the statements he makes are delusions,
or distortions, or idle speculation, or they leave out the most
important part. He's utterly untrustworthy. He is even mentioned
in 'Extraordinary Popular Delusions.'"

"So, Wes, he's like you on a bad day."

"Cordelia, on my worst day, I was still more reliable than
Muller. Even when we were in Sunnydale, I made sense more
often than Muller."

"So, what do these demons do, and how do we kill them?"

"We won't necessarily have to kill them, Gunn."

"Surrrrre. As we say on my block, when you're poor, you can't
afford to be peaceful. You want to negotiate with those?"

"Let us see. 'The Divza are brutes. Because they are cursed never
to feel joy, they hate joy in others. They delight in
desecrating sacraments of joy, but it availeth them not. The
bride before the altar, the baby at his baptism, the father of
the newborn, all this the Divza hate.'"

"Nice guys."

"Reminds me of the masters--I don't think they ever were happy."

"I'll go on. 'Sorcerers enact dark pacts with them to curse their
rivals, though it requires rare magics and sacrifices. Storms
precede them, and sorrow follows them. None can best them in
battle, but they are vain and feel shame.'"

"That's it?"

"That's all. I told you Muller was unreliable."

"He must be exaggerating. 'None can best them in battle.' I've
never met anyone who was unbeatable. I'm not unbeatable, and I'm
very good."

"So you are, Angel. Did you see any more references to the
Divza?"

"I'm sorry."

"It's not much to go on. And we still have to find the wedding
they will attack." Everyone but Angel sits down and returns to
his or her reading, while Angel picks up a sword and starts to
head to the workout room.

Wesley picks up the last magazine in his stack, the Social
Register. He turns the front page, and he looks at the next page
in shock.

"Wes, you found it?"

"I found it. The wedding is next Saturday."

"How do you know this is the one?"

"Believe me, Cordelia, this is the one."

"So, English. You just warn the couple, they postpone the
wedding, and everyone's all fine and dandy."

"I can't warn the couple."

"Why, Wesley, can't you warn the couple?"

"Because, Cordelia, I knew the bride."

"But, that's good, isn't it? Perhaps you can get an invitation. I
like weddings. Should we send a present?"

"No, Winifred, I'm afraid it's not good at all."

"So, who's getting married, Wesley?" Wesley turns away from
Cordelia. "Wesley, if you know what's in one of my visions, you
will tell me, or else. Give me that!" Cordelia grabs the paper
from Wesley's hands and looks at the article. She's
appalled. "Well, Wesley, you really did know the bride." We see
the paper over Cordelia's shoulder. The headline is:


*** Virginia Bryce and Clarence O'Connell to Marry ***