IV

The Lost Boy



Stepping out of the elevator on the first floor, Angel wasn't exactly sure where he was going to "lurk". Through the wide double doors he could see that even though the sky was starting to get cloudy, it was still bright enough outside to burn him. Still, he wasn't all that thrilled at the idea of seeking out the sewers. It seemed like no matter where he went he always wound up in a sewer. Frankly, he was tired of the damp, the stench and the strange, sometimes moving lumps that he spotted in the noisome waters that passed by him as he walked along narrow ledges. Just once he'd like to find some place underground that was comfortable and well lit.

At a loss as to what to do, Angel wandered around the lobby. The enchanted forest theme from the exterior had been carried into the wide lobby. The thick carpet beneath his feet was grass green speckled with brightly colored flowers. The walls were skillfully covered in a trompe l'oeil painting of a forest of vine-draped trees and plants. He could even spot an occasional shadow that might have been either a deer or even more fantastically, a nereid. Even the pillars that supported the arched ceiling of the lobby were of real wood carved to resemble the trunks of living trees which branched out to the ceiling that was painted to resemble a day bright blue sky filtered through the soft green of leaves. The effect was so overwhelming that Angel was torn between open-mouthed awe and dodging for the shadows.

He couldn't stand it. Angel dove for the elevator as soon as it opened and hurriedly hit the button for the basement. Even the worse sewers were better than that bizarre pseudo-forest. Once he stepped out into the basement, Angel felt a lot more comfortable. It looked like any other basement in any other building. Grey walls, grey concrete floors and the dusty, metallic smell of pipes, furnaces and all the rest of the equipment that keep a building's heart beating. This was the place where he could lurk in comfort.

Strangely enough, although considering the building in which he found himself, Angel could believe just about anything, he noticed that the basement did not seem as big as it should be. One of the far walls seemed to be newer than the others and the flooring seemed to be uneven as though it had been laid over another floor. Bending down, Angel swept his hand over the floor and found the faint traces of tiles. Should have figured that, Angel thought, But why would it be covered over?

Angel followed the wall until it disappeared behind stacks of old equipment. He should have decided to quit there and head back upstairs. He didn't. Something was going on that tantalized Angel's curiosity. He shoved the pieces out of his way until he saw what he had expected to find; the faint traces of a door. It was completely sealed up. There was no way he could get through it, at least not without making a lot of noise. He turned away.

Then his vampire sharp ears caught the faint wail of a scream. A woman's scream of terror. That was just what he needed. Angel threw himself at the sealed door, knowing that it was likely to be too strong for him to barge through. He was right and had the bruises to show for it. Angel looked quickly around for something to use. There it was, a heavy crowbar. He snatched it up and slammed it into the closed doorway. Chips of plaster flew out from a small hole through which he could see the tantalizing glimmer of light. Angel slammed the crowbar again and again until he had knocked out a hole that was big enough for him to squeeze through.

His efforts had been far from soundless. For only a few moments, a tableau of several men and women stood frozen around a woman who crouched on the ground in terror. They didn't stay still. As one, six vampire faces turned toward Angel. He had interrupted their feeding. Growling like a pack of hungry wolves, they charged him. Angel threw his attackers away from him, scattering them in several directions. One of them, apparently their leader, hissed at the others as they regained their feet.

"He is mine," he said to them. "I will show the intruder what it means to invade our domain."

Snarling, he screamed at Angel, "Die, human."

Angel dodged his charge, spun, lashed out with a fist, slamming it into the vampire leader's belly. "Who said I was human?" Angel said as his face went vampiric.

The vampire leader groaned in pain. "Who are you? Why do you interfere?" he demanded.

Angel shrugged. "The name's Angel. I'm from out of town and I'm looking for a little action."

"Angel," one of the other vampires hissed, "He's the one in California that hunts his own kind."

"Traitor!" the lead vampire screamed, grabbing up a large stake, "I will show you what happens to traitors in New York."

"Bring it on," Angel challenged.

The vampire charged at Angel, intending to impale him. Angel grabbed the long stake out of the creature's hands as it swept close enough to leave a small tear in his shirt. Angel snapped the stake in two then turned on his feet as neatly as a matador and buried one of the pieces into the leader as he grabbed for Angel's throat. Through the leader's dust another vampire attacked Angel. The sharp end of the other piece in Angel's hand mingled his dust with the leader's.

Deciding that the time for one on one was over, the remaining vampires attacked Angel, burying him under their sheer weight. Angel struggled to his feet, throwing one off after another only to find them coming back for more. There were too many. Angel found himself held down as a stake headed for his heart.

Suddenly the air reverberated from the blast of twin silver .45's. The stake clattered harmlessly to the ground. As Angel struggled to his feet he saw one of the shadows in the room separate itself from the walls. It flitted through the air, seeming to be a shadow of something, only to become the shadow of something else in the next moment. Sibilant, taunting laughter filled the air as the vampires tried to escape the flying lead. They screamed in terror as bullets bit into their undead flesh.. Although they could not be killed by bullets, the pain was still terrible. They fled down into the darkness. As they disappeared the words, "Shadow, Shadow, Shadow," echoed in the air.

Angel finally had the chance to check out the vampires' underground den. It was an old subway station that had been blocked off from the main routes several decades before. Built in the days of extravagance, it was high ceilinged and covered with fanciful mosaics matching those in the apartment building. Tattered broadsheets advertising vaudeville stars of yesteryear still covered the walls. The vampires had made it well lit and warm with electricity stolen from above. Old carpets and antiquated horsehair chairs and sofas made for a comfortable living space.

"They will return soon with more of their kind," said the man who faced Angel.

Angel could barely see his face. Nothing but glittering green eyes and a great hooked noise was visible between the black slouch hat and the red scarf that covered the his lower face. A heavy red-lined black cloak restlessly moved about the man even though there wasn't the merest breath of a breeze in the underground lair. "You're the Shadow, aren't you?" Angel asked.

"I am," was the reply.

"But wouldn't that make you...?" Angel began.

"The forces of good are as ageless as those of evil," the Shadow intoned mysteriously. "What brings you to New York, Vampire?"

"The name's Angel," Angel said, "I'm here on vacation."

"Does your vacations always include invading vampire dens?"

"No. I was exploring when I heard someone scream."

"So even when you are on vacation, you act to defend the helpless?"

"I guess you could say that," Angel answered thoughtfully.

"Interesting. I have heard of you before, Vampire called Angel. I have also heard that trouble of great import tends to follow your footsteps."

"I hope not," Angel said, "All I want to do is relax and get away from things for a while."

"You may not have the luxury of that choice."

"Angel. Angel," said a voice behind Angel. Angel turned to see the woman the vampires had captured. She pulled at frizzed red hair as faded blue eyes stared off into space. "The Lost Boy will destroy the Spirit of Christmas," she prophesied. "All the world will grieve. The greatest of wars between good and evil will destroy the world. Only an Angel can save us all." With the last word she collapsed in Angel's arms.

The Shadow commented to Angel as the vampire eased the woman onto a nearby couch, "I believe your vacation has come to an end."





At the Metropolitan Connor grimaced as he joined Gunn. "You see anything interesting?" he asked as Gunn poured over the museum's exhibit listings on a kiosk in the middle of the lobby.

"I don't know. What interests you?"

Connor shrugged. "I dunno. Knives, swords, broad axes... "

"You mean anything that's sharp and deadly."

"Guess so."

"Well, there's an exhibit on arms and armor. Sound good to you?"

Connor shrugged. "Sounds as good as anything. I don't suppose they'll let us try anything out."

"Doubt it," Gunn replied as he led the way to the exhibit. "These museum types aren't too cool on their patrons trying to slice each other up."



Following the directions from a map they had taken from the kiosk they found the exhibit on the next floor. Gunn headed for the exhibit room, but found that Connor was not beside him. The young man was looking toward another exhibit across the hallway. He could hear the strains of Christmas carols. "Would you like to see the Christmas exhibit first?" Gunn asked Connor who was looking into the gaily decorated hall curiously.

"Okay," Connor replied offhandedly.

"Before you take a look at the weapons?" Gunn asked in surprise.

"Sure. After all this is my first Christmas. I might as well see what all the excitement is about."

They stepped into a vast hall that was fragrant from the evergreen garlands that draped down from the center of the high ceiling to the far corners of the big room. While several of the rarer items were behind glass walls, many others were arrayed in roped enclosures that recalled Christmas throughout the ages and throughout the world. Antique teddy bears and wooden nutcrackers surrounded a Victorian Christmas tree decorated in lights that looked like lit candles. Next to it was one showing a Southwestern posada of children dressed as Mary and Joseph standing before a flat roofed adobe house decorated with flickering luminarias.

Gunn watched Connor closely as they moved from one exhibit to another. Although the boy tried hard not to show it, Gunn could see the shine of wonder in his eyes, something that he himself had never been lucky enough to experience.

"You look thoughtful," Connor said, breaking into Gunn's thoughts, "What is it?"

"Nothin'," Gunn replied, "I was just thinking."

"About what?"

"It's just that I never had much of a Christmas when I was growing up. I was real young when my folks were killed by vampires. The gang tried to make up for it, but it's kind of hard to get in the mood when you're fighting for your life."

"I know what you mean. Holtz mention how it used to be before Angelus killed his family, but in Quor toth, it didn't seem real. Like you said it's hard to celebrate when you're fighting for your life."

"Bastard..." Gunn hissed his opinion of Connor's kidnapper under his breath.

Connor looked sharply at the tall Black man. "What do you mean?"

"That's another thing we can lay at that bastard's door step. If it hadn't been for him and Wesley maybe we all could've had some real Christmases. It would've

been nice," he added sadly.

"Let's check out the weapons," Connor said, bitterness leaking through his voice, as he turned away from Gunn. "That is something closer to what our lives are really about." He gestured toward the exhibits around them, "This is all just a fantasy for children. Not for us."

Gunn muttered under his breath, "Bastard..." as he followed after Connor.

A scream and a wild laugh erupted behind them. Connor and Gunn turned as one. A small man dressed in a red suit was bubbling with glee as he skewered a Santa Claus manikin with a candy cane handled sword. He effortlessly leaped the velvet rope around the display and slashed through a rope surrounding a mountain of teddy bears. Stuffed heads and arms flew in all directions as the strange creature hacked merrily away.

"Hold it right there!" ordered a security guard, aiming his pistol at the little man.

The little man laughed, "So you have come to defend Christmas!" Suddenly he threw his sword, impaling the guard like a bug on a pin. "Fool," he screamed, "You are all fools," he screamed again at the stunned people around him.

Suddenly as if released from a magic spell, people began screaming and running for the nearest exits.

"Connor..." Gunn began, but the young man was nowhere to be seen. "Angel's gonna kill me," he growled, trying to spot Connor. There were so many people rushing past him that he had a hard time staying where he was. He didn't know what to do except to head toward the little man. Where there was trouble he was sure that Connor would be right in the middle of it.

A child's terrified cry mingled with a woman's scream caught Gunn's attention. A woman had fallen in the crowd's mad dash from the room. Over her stood a terrified little boy. Terrified because the little man was charging toward them. Suddenly Connor appeared in front of the little man with an ornately decorated battle axe in his hands.

"So you would oppose me, boy?" the little man demanded as he skid to a stop.

"Well duh...", Connor replied as he swung the battle axe. The little man laughed again. "Too high, boy. You must reach a little lower. Not that it will do you any good."

Connor chopped down at the little man, but he quickly dodged the blow, swinging his sword at the same time, knicking Connor across an ankle. "Try again, boy." the little man challenged. Suddenly he turned and ran.

Connor sped after him with Gunn close on their heels. The little man led them on a chase, leaping and dashing through exhibits. Every once in a while he would turn to slash at Connor or Gunn, seeming not intending to hurt them only to keep them after him. Connor swung the axe repeatedly at the little man, but managed only to catch air most of the time. One final lucky swing snared the little man's pointed hat, sending it flying to the top of an exhibit case.

Looking at the hat on its perch, the little man laughed as he rubbed his balding head, "Boy and man, doesn't matter," he taunted. "Doesn't matter a thing. Can't save Christmas, ain't worth saving." Suddenly he turned but there was nowhere else he could go. He was trapped in a corner.

"Hold it!" Gunn yelled to Connor who was prepared to slice into the little man, "What the hell is going on here?" he demanded of the little man.

"Don't you know?" the little man replied. "Don't you know that tomorrow's Christmas, but there ain't gonna be no Christmas. I'm gonna stop it, that's what I'm gonna do. And your boy here's gonna help me. That's what it takes. It takes the innocence of a child to kill Santa."

From out of nowhere a snow globe appeared in his outstretched hand. He tossed it at Connor. Connor dropped the battle axe to catch the globe.

"Connor, don't!" Gunn yelled.

Too late. Connor looked into the globe. "Connor," Gunn said, "Put it down."

Connor laid the snow globe down. Then he reached for the battle axe.

"Connor..." Gunn said uneasily.

Connor turned toward him. The blue of his eyes went pitch black. He swung at Gunn, slicing through his denim jacket.

"Oh, hell no, you're gonna pay for that. That was a new jacket, Peter Pan!" Gunn said angrily.

Connor swung at him again, but Gunn was ready for it this time. As the axe cut through the air he dodged it and then before Connor could bring the heavy weapon up for another swing he grabbed the shaft. They stood there for a moments staring at each other. Connor's are were totally empty of life, just black holes of nothingness. "Connor, come back to me." Gunn pleaded.

The young man released his hold on the weapon and, ignoring Gunn, knelt to pick up the globe from the ground. Gunn grabbed Connor's arm, but quickly pulled his hand back with a loud curse. His hand had immediately whitened with the burning chill of frostbite.

"Too late, too late, too late," the little man cackled. "Too late. It'll take an Angel, but it's too late. It's too late for you all." He pressed his middle finger against the side of his nose and nodded. There was a fire cracker pop and the little man and Connor were nowhere to be seen.

Gunn stared at where they had stood, "Oh, Sh...."