Canonicity statement: For this novel (the second book of the Reunion Trilogy), all televised seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel are canonical to the best of the author's ability, while all non-televised ancillary material is not.

PROLOGUE

The Revenants

(January 2021)

Joshua paused a moment to stare at the stars visible through the jagged holes in the cavern roof, then resumed his grim, plodding trod. The smell of blood, a scent he found himself particularly attuned to, wafted through the enormous cave. Part of him had recoiled in revulsion the moment he'd realized that he could recognize the scent of his mother's death. Her blood, drying on the dais upon which, with a morbid synchronicity, he had also died, suffused the chamber. He felt grief at her passing, but not as much as he should. It was difficult to strongly feel any emotion besides rage.

He had always been a quick healer; all slayers were, so far as he knew. But now? Soon after awakening he had peeled back his shirt and confirmed that his chest, which no longer twitched with a heartbeat or rose with inhaled breaths, was unblemished where the boyfriend of that Summers bitch had stabbed him. His shattered legs had apparently knit themselves back together in a matter of hours, and he knew that if he could find a mirror, he would see that his neck bore no scars from the vampiric assault that had killed him.

Then again, a mirror wouldn't do him much good. Not anymore.

The aardclaw's rampage had destroyed most of the tents used to store blood for Ethan Rayne's vampire henchmen; he had been reduced to lapping what remained in a few of the less-trampled containers. The intoxicating, dark thrill that shot through him each time he fed upon the salty, room temperature liquid was nearly overpowering. A whisper in the back of his mind called for him to seek out fresh victims, to feed, to kill, to conquer. As he exhausted his supply of scavenged blood, the whisper grew ever stronger and more difficult to keep at bay. Part of him wondered why he bothered to resist the impulse.

He allowed himself time gather his thoughts and test his newfound abilities and senses, then decided he was done with skulking in an underground pit. Briefly he considered the possibility of climbing through one of the holes in the roof, but after having fallen from that height once already he was reluctant to repeat the experience. He opted for the only other alternative; heading back through the network of shafts that led to the castle.

With a renewed sense of purpose, he tucked the dark wooden stake he'd found on the dais into the waistband of his blood-soaked, torn pants, strode across the rocky ground, and entered the hard-packed, earthen walls of the tunnel's entrance. He listened intently for any sounds, but only silence greeted his ears. The automatic lights reliably clicked on and created a pocket of light as he doggedly traversed the subterranean passage. The walk was longer than he remembered, or perhaps the transformation had made him more impatient, but in any event, it seemed an interminable amount of time had passed before he reached the metal doors leading into the basement of the vineyard's castle.

He tested the doors and found them welded shut. Not surprising, he supposed, but nevertheless a shockingly intense rage at being thwarted, even temporarily, swelled within. The bones and muscles of his face began to shift and distort in anger; he closed his eyes for a moment and fought down the instinctive transformation.

After he'd regained his composure, he reached forward and ran his hands along the cold metal until he found the seam. Anchoring himself firmly with one arm, he reached back with the other and clenched his fist. After two blows, a crack in the door appeared; yellow light streamed in through the aperture. Feverishly, with a desperate strength, he grasped the twisted metal and heaved. With a grinding shriek and a torrent of sparks the weld gave way and the ruined doors swung open.

Joshua stepped into the vaulted, brick-lined basement. The last time he'd been here, wine had soaked the floor amidst smashed barrels and other signs of a vicious battle. Now, everything had been put to right as though Buffy Summers and her cohort of misfits had never rampaged through the castle, never murdered everyone who stood in their way … including Robin Hallett, his mother. He found himself clenching his jaw and baring his teeth involuntarily.

Ignoring the barrels and wine-making equipment, he stalked beneath the golden glow of massive chandeliers until he reached the stone stairway leading upwards. Without a backwards glance he began climbing, and in short order he had reached a plain wooden door. He swung it open and entered an antechamber. Large, intricately carved doors hung from enormous iron hinges on either side of the room, and past the open doors he spied long, ornately decorated rooms featuring high, vaulted ceilings stretched into the distance. Huge chandeliers of burnished, dark wood illuminated large, long wooden tables, and interspersed between stain glass windows, tapestries and frescoes hung upon the smooth stone walls. On the remaining wall of the antechamber, a stone archway framed an opening into a pillar-lined courtyard.

Despite the lateness of the hour, one of the rooms was oddly busy. Joshua reckoned that it had to be well past midnight, and yet the table was crowded with humans and non-humans of various sizes, shapes, and species. Most of them were busy pecking at laptops, poring through documents that appeared a mix of freshly printed and crumbling with age, or feverishly chatting with each other if they weren't chattering into cellphones.

What the hell is going on here?

Intrigued, he stepped closer. The hum of conversation and activity, after days of silence in the cavern below, representing an irritating, obnoxious din. Thirst rose involuntarily within him as he smelled humans within the room … one particular middle-aged woman in a dark business suit seemed especially delicious. Annoyed with his own animalistic instincts, he shook off the sensation before taking another step forward.

Evidently, he'd moved close enough to attract attention. Two large, horned demons flanking the doorway flinched in surprise at his appearance and stepped out to intercept him. A moment later a man stepped into view between them.

No, not a man, a vampire …

The vampire, who was dressed in a neatly fitted suit, looked him over with obvious disdain. Joshua resisted the urge to glance down at his ragged and filthy clothing.

"And just who the fuck are you?" the vampire asked in a brusque, condescending tone.

The two horned demons moved to either side of Joshua. They were close enough that he could see yellow fur tufting from between the joins of their thick, black leather armor. The creatures smelled rotten, like meat left too long on a carving block.

"How did you get in here?" the vamp asked.

Joshua tilted his head towards the vampire but did not otherwise react to the question.

The creature smoothly turned and closed the thick double doors behind him; Joshua found the muffling of the cacophonous chatter from the room beyond somewhat comforting.

"He asked you a question, boy," a demon growled ominously.

When Joshua attempted to take a step back, the other demon moved forward and grabbed his upper arm. He ignored the grip and stared at the vampire who had spoken.

"All I want is to leave," he said calmly.

The vampire's face contorted into a snarling, yellow-eyed rictus as the demon within emerged. "Boy, you aren't going anywhere until you start answering me." The vampire chuckled; it was a guttural, ugly sound. "And if we don't like what you have to say, you won't be going anywhere, ever."

Joshua let the anger wash over him. His gums shredded as teeth bristled from jaws grown heavy and elongated, and a sulfurous glow shone from pitted eyes that lay beneath a heavy brow. The feral, ravening presence he had felt ever since his rebirth clawed desperately for control over his psyche.

"Last chance," Joshua growled as he reached up and grasped the clawed paw that was gripping his bicep.

The two demons joined in the vampire's laughter.

"What, you didn't think we knew what you are?" the vampire asked as he gestured towards the two demons. "These are Sekkovians; a freshly-turned vamp might stand a chance if he had a dozen friends with him."

The demon screamed as Joshua calmly snapped his arm at the wrist. He continued twisting until jagged bones protruded through the thick skin, then he placed his foot on the monster's chest, and with a surge ripped the arm free at the shoulder joint.

The ensuing fight was brutal and short. A single blow with the stake Joshua had found in the cavern dispatched the vampire into a cloud of dust, while the demons put up a somewhat better fight. One of them, its shoulder socket spouting thick ichor, actually managed to crawl into the castle's courtyard before Joshua leapt upon its back, crouched, and twisted its head around until its eyes faced skyward.

He stepped away from the dead body and cautiously examined his surroundings. The cobblestone courtyard was lined with a series of pillars supporting balconies jutting from the upper levels; above the balconies, he could see the walls and towers of the castle. Metal stands bearing twisted, bronze lanterns protruded from the cobblestones at regular intervals, and sconces made of the same burnished bronze were mounted along the walls and pillars of the courtyard.

A middle-aged man of average height with gray-flecked red hair calmly stood watching him. Behind the man a large, ornate brazier smoldered; the air shimmered above the glowing metal. A cluster of hooded fingers who appeared to be awaiting instructions stood in a rough semicircle around the brazier.

The man glanced down at the dead demon, then made an odd clucking sound with his tongue as he shook his head. One of the hooded fingers spoke; it was an odd moaning keen in a language Joshua could not understand. No human throat could have produced the sound.

"No, I don't think that will be necessary," the man said in a measured tone. "In fact, leave us for a moment."

The cloaked demons excitedly began to object in that same discordant tone.

"Leave us," the man proclaimed sternly. Apparently, he gave the orders.

The cloaked figures bowed in unison, then shuffled into the shadows. Even to Joshua's preternaturally attuned eyes, they simply vanished from sight. He did, however, catch a few of their mutterings as they left. Likely they had spoken in English so that he could overhear the insults.

"Abomination" … "half-breed" …

Well, they aren't wrong.

"I was very much hoping we would meet, although I must admit that I didn't expect you for a few days yet." The man cast a disconcertingly appraising stare at him. "My, aren't you something? I wonder if you have any idea how singularly unique of a creation you are."

"You were expecting me?" Joshua asked. "Why?"

"Ah, the directness of youth, it can be quite refreshing." The man smiled broadly in an obvious attempt to appear benignly charming.

Joshua found the folksy routine entirely unpersuasive, particularly as the man apparently had a menagerie of demons at his beck and call.

"What do you want?" Joshua asked.

"Mr. Hallett, I'd like a chance to introduce myself, explain what my associates and I are doing here, and discuss the possibility that we might have something to offer each other." The man's smile deepened. "If I might be so bold, you look like you are in need of a friend. I happen to be in the same situation. Let me help you, and maybe in return, you can help me."

"In case you haven't noticed, I just killed three of your so-called associates," Joshua snarled. "I don't need your help."

The man clucked his tongue again and shook his head. "So angry, so unwilling to listen. Sure, you've got some unique problems, and I honestly understand that, but I can tell you, mister, that if you don't stop and really think about how you got where you are now, life is just going to keep giving you more of the same."

Joshua stared at the man with perplexed confusion. "Who the fuck are you, and what the fuck are you talking about?"

The man pointed a warning finger at Joshua. "Now, let's watch that language."

"Are you serious?" Joshua asked incredulously.

The man nodded. "There's no reason two people, even people like ourselves, shouldn't be able to converse with a certain amount of decorum."

Joshua could feel the demon inside struggling to break free. It was a wriggling, grasping thing that clawed at his innards and tore through his mind like a fever. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't kill you."

"Young man, with your abilities there's simply no limit to what you might accomplish, but you're going to have to make a choice."

"What choice?" Joshua asked.

"Tragedy may have left you homeless and without family, but it doesn't mean you have to be alone. There are two roads diverging in front of you. One is filled with purpose and fellowship, and the other is lonely, bereft of meaning, and murderous." The man narrowed his eyes in thought for a moment. "Well, actually, both paths would be murderous, I guess, but that isn't important. What's important is that you realize that you need guidance. Without it, you will not only find no peace, but you will become a blight upon on our community. In the long run, we just can't have that, can we?"

"And you see yourself as some sort of mentor?"

"If you'll let me," the man said with a nod.

Joshua glanced back at the dead bodies he'd left in his wake. "I don't feel like I'm in need of much mentoring."

The man shook his head. "Now, that's the demon in you talking."

"I'm a vampire," Joshua reminded him. "I am a demon."

The man smiled patiently. "I've got a certain amount of skill in reading people, and while I know you've got a hellspawn beastie rattling around in there," the man pointed at Joshua's chest, "there's still something else in there, too. A slayer's soul is not easy to extinguish. You've got a battle raging inside, and without my help, well, that struggle is going to eventually rip you apart."

"How did you know I used to be a slayer?"

"Still are a slayer," the man admonished him. "No need for past tense. Work with me and let me help assist you in finding your path."

"You're offering me a job?"

"What I'm offering is a helping hand and some badly needed direction," the man answered with a smile. "Or, if you prefer, you can wander back into that pit you just crawled out of. The choice is yours but come with me and I'll teach you what I know, and maybe more importantly, afford you an opportunity that no one else can."

"An opportunity for what?"

"Why, to bring back everything we've lost … and I do mean everything and everyone. Have a seat and let's talk about it." The man sat down on a folding chair on the far side of the smoldering brazier and gestured towards an empty, identical seat by his side.

Joshua, who found himself somewhat intrigued, walked across the cobblestones and sat down.

The red-haired man smiled broadly. "Now then, what shall we talk about? Maybe we should start with a topic that's probably on the forefront of your thoughts?"

"What topic is that?"

"Wouldn't you like to know who's responsible for your mother's death?"

Joshua flinched in surprise.

How does this guy know so much?

"I know who killed my mother," he said in a soft growl.

The man shook his head. "No, you don't." He held out his hands so that the fire would warm them. For the first time Joshua noticed that the bottom of the brazier was filled with charred bones. "But I do."

"If not Angel, then who?" Joshua asked in confusion.

The man brushed aside the question, "I understand grief, truly I do. I nearly went off my rocker mourning my dear, sweet wife, Edna May. Losing my children hurt even more." The man wiped at his eyes, though Joshua hadn't noticed any tears. "We have more in common than loss, though. We both find ourselves adrift in a world that's alien to us. You, metaphorically, me, literally."

"You're from another world? Is that what you're saying?"

"I am." The man looked up at the sky. "It was a place much like this one, but as Robert Frost might say, it represented the road not taken." He glanced over at Joshua. "Do you understand what I mean?"

"Not really," Joshua said with a growing sense of frustration.

The man smiled. "You will. Eventually. I'll tell you something else that you and I have in common, we've both died."

"You don't look dead."

The man laughed heartily in a bright, cheery tone. "That's fair, but then again, you don't look dead either."

"So … what are you?"

The man paused for a moment in thought. "Just a man, for now, but …" he held up a finger, "I've got something that no one else in this world has, and I'm going to use it to help us both. Do you know what I'm talking about?"

"A castle full of demon henchpeople?"

The man chuckled and shook his head. "No, no, I'm talking about the most dangerous thing in the world." He leaned closer to Joshua. "I'm talking about a fresh perspective." The man opened his hands wide. "You see, nothing is more threatening to the status quo, more disruptive, more paradigm shattering, more powerful, than a new idea."

"You sure about that?" Joshua asked skeptically.

The man nodded enthusiastically. "Even in this world full of irksome, pesky slayers, I promise you that I am right."

"A few minutes ago, you said you'd be able to bring the people we've lost; this 'new idea' can do that?" Joshua asked. "How?"

"Well, it won't be easy," the man replied. "We'll have to tread lightly at first, at least until I've firmed up some old alliances and located a few friends that currently are of the impression that I'm six feet under." He glanced at Joshua. "We'll have to do some traveling, too, but when we're done, and the seeds have been laid, well, I can promise you that the people of Moonridge will be lining up to help us."

"Why?"

"Because, Joshua Hallett, people need hope, and if you bring them a written guarantee with a smile, well, they're not going to ask to read the fine print." The man's voice had acquired a faintly ominous, chilling tinge.

"You know who I am and all about me, but who are you?"

The man shook his head. "It seems I've forgotten my manners. My name is Richard Wilkins, and I am very pleased to make your acquaintance."

. . . . . . . . .

Cordelia Chase peered downwards through thick, soupy, celestial fog, at Moonridge. Of course, it wasn't fog, not really. For that matter, she wasn't actually staring in any particular direction, standing on the balcony of a charmingly decorated post-modern mansion, or even using her eyes at all. Her teachers – she refused to think of them as bosses – called her body and the home she'd constructed for herself a 'psychological vestige of her corporeal form.' They assured her that at some point she'd transition away from such a 'limited perspective' and fully embrace the ethereal plane.

Bullpuckey was what she had to say about that.

There was a lot she didn't miss about being an actual living person, but there was a lot she did miss. She was in no hurry to shuck off whatever remained of her humanity. She envisioned an umbrella-decorated cocktail in her hand; a moment later, a Pina Colada appeared. She sucked absent-mindedly at the straw.

Calorie-free booze makes it almost worthwhile to be dead.

She harrumphed internally and resumed her gazing. It wasn't eavesdropping or peeping tom'ing, not really … this was business. Well, most of the time it was business. And when it wasn't, she took pains to stop watching or listening at an appropriately polite juncture. Usually.

It would make for a refreshing change of pace if her friends weren't always in trouble. And if it wasn't Buffy and Moonridge on the brink of chaos, it was somewhere else. She'd reached the conclusion that the Powers-That-Be didn't intervene in every affair, or answer every prayer, because they were just too darned tired from dealing with non-stop problems. It was ten times worse than Angel Investigations at its busiest; heck, maybe a hundred times worse. She had to constantly remind herself not to get lost in the ebb of flow of the endless calamities. Individual people still mattered, goshdarnit.

Her breath, or what passed for breath in the metaphysical realm she inhabited, caught in her throat as a familiar, yet impossible figure drifted into her mind's eye.

Oh, it can't be.

She craned forward and focused on the canyon rim that surrounded Moonridge.

You've got to be kidding me. We already killed him once! Doesn't anybody ever just stay dead?

"This is bad, this is really bad," she muttered to herself.

"You can say that again," a woman's voice resounded in agreement.

That wasn't one of the Powers – they preferred obnoxiously intrusive telepathic messages. Cordelia turned away from the balcony to find a woman with long, lustrous brown hair, high cheekbones, and a humorless demeanor staring at her. Cordelia surveyed the interloper's aggressively tailored charcoal pantsuit with a critical eye.

Goddamn does she make that look good.

"Lilah," Cordelia said flatly as she placed her hands on her hips. "You know fully well that you and all the other Wolfram & Hart minions aren't allowed on this plane. Do you see us risking war by traipsing around your undoubtedly dreary and depressing hell dimension? No, you don't. We stick to proxy battles, or fighting through champions, and all the other catchphrases everyone up here tosses about." Cordelia paused a moment and glanced at the dark scarf wrapped around Lilah's neck. "By the way, sorry about killing you," she said in a cloyingly sweet tone. "I hope you know that wasn't really me at the time."

Lilah rolled her eyes. "Do you have any idea how long ago that was?"

Cordelia thought for a moment. "Actually, not really … it's kind of easy to lose track of time up here."

Lilah stepped closer; Cordelia couldn't help but notice how absolutely gorgeous the woman's red-soled, four-inch Louboutins were.

"How the heck do you customize your footwear?" Cordelia asked. "I try, but everything I create is so generic." She gestured at the plain, tan-colored flats she was wearing.

Lilah arched an eyebrow and folded her arms. "Do you not realize that you're generating my appearance?"

Cordelia began to disagree, then she considered Lilah's words. She squinted, imagined a different outfit for Lilah, then giggled when the former attorney's garments shimmered and re-formed into a brightly colored Doublemeat Palace outfit. Cordelia covered her mouth in an attempt to stifle her laughter.

Lilah closed her eyes and rubbed her brow. "Is there anyone I can speak with who's not a juvenile idiot?"

"Hey!" Cordelia protested. "If anyone besides me had found you trespassing, they would have zapped you into Bolivia by now."

"Bolivia?" Lilah blinked in confusion. "Did you mean to say oblivion?"

"You know what I meant!"

Lilah flashed an evil grin. "If you'd prefer, I could send someone else in my stead. Maybe Eve?" Lilah's smirk intensified. "I can't recall if you and she ever met, but I do remember that Angel had quite the soft spot for her. Or maybe it was a hard spot?"

Cordelia crossed her arms and spat out a reply, "Oh, I wish I could slap you for that."

"We're getting off track," Lilah said in a conciliatory tone. "I'm here on business. Someone dangerous has arrived in Moonridge. Someone who could upset the balance in a way none of us have ever seen before."

Cordelia uncrossed her arms and nodded. "I think I know who you're talking about, and last time I checked, he kinda worked with you guys, before he died, so that kinda makes him your problem."

Lilah stepped closer. "Cordelia, if this isn't handled right, by your people and by mine, something will happen that will make the battle of Your Side versus Our Side look like absolutely nothing."

Cordelia felt a sickening sensation wash over her. "It's bad, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it is," Lilah replied.