Morpheus did not generally do grunt work; it was more in his nature to sit back and have his orders carried out swiftly, and often brutally. He would call, and they would come, be they kings or paupers. But this upstart law firm…it amused him, and so he allowed himself to be used by them, to see where their plans would take him. Of course, the core of Wolfram & Hart was far older than its Special Projects staff. Far, far older. As long as there was evil, there had been those who flocked to it in hopes to profit from it. A lesser, sycophantic evil, was Wolfram & Hart, but quite evil all the same. And recently, it was evolving, making its own plots, desperate to live its own dreams. To gain power that was solely its own, and no one else's.
Lilah Morgan. She was one of those who were changing things. Morpheus had known her but a short time, by his own reckoning, but already he could see that she was filled with pride…and hatred. He could see her dreams, her deepest desires. Besides power, which was a goal in itself, she wanted revenge and in her own twisted way, happiness. Morpheus understood twisted happiness all to well. Vampires lived (such as they were) for such pleasures. They were twisted beings, who had no place in the universe, such as Morpheus saw.
When one is as old, and as powerful as I, thought the ancient Master, one has time to ponder the philosophy of being. And to take pleasure in the thrill of the hunt, which was quickly what this was becoming. The hunt was always a thrill to a vampire, and a difficult hunt, against prey that could defend itself…that was the greatest thrill of all. To be denied a real kill was not so much of a disappointment when compared to the joy of a dangerous hunt.
He had this man's trail now. He'd picked it up outside the bar Lilah said he frequented. Wesley, he believed the name was, Wesley Wyndham-Price. Not that it mattered to Morpheus what his name was, except that a name was power. In his day, the common people had believed that knowing a name was to have power and influence over a person. Morpheus still believed it, had in fact, found it to be true. It gave him purchase in an otherwise foreign territory.
His prey had left the bar, long ago it seemed, as the trail smelled stale, but it led in a clear direction, and Morpheus followed. It seemed the man had wandered, with no destination but the one his feet set in front of him. The stale, but steadily warming, trail led him to a park. Few people were around, it being well after nightfall, and most people in L.A. were intelligent enough not to be alone in a park when the sun had gone down. Evidently, this Wesley was not one of them. That, or he felt he could handle himself against what came after him in the night. And against most creatures of the dark, Morpheus was sure the man probably could…but he was not most. He was old, and thus powerful and not without guile. His prey was outclassed.
Morpheus moved with supernatural speed across the ground, ever mindful to the quickly warming trail. He would not want to get too near, to quickly, and lose the element of surprise.
And so he came to a street. And the trail led straight ahead. All he had to do now was find a way into a house owned and thus protected by a warrior who dabbled in ancient magics.
