Masks of Humanity

Wesley opened his door. Lilah smiled at him. "I come bearing gifts,"

she said teasingly, holding up a small, foil-wrapped box.

He stood aside to let her enter. She looked lovely, as always, hair

impeccably wavy and coiffed, eyes bright, wearing a dress of dark blue

silk that fell just to her knees, and accented her figure while still leaving

something to the imagination.

"A new outfit?" He knew she enjoyed shopping-- "what point is there to

money if I never spend it?" she'd asked once. He couldn't dispute her logic.


Part of him wondered if she'd chosen that particular shade of blue because

he'd complimented a blouse she wore that looked similar.
He wouldn't ask...though he was surprised to find himself thinking that

he hoped as much.

He kissed her. She responded with enthusiasm, but then drew away.
"Open your present first," she urged.
Smiling, he complied.
His eyes widened. "Lilah, that's....where did you ever find one?" He lifted

the silver chain out of the box, holding the amulet at the end with both hands.

It was a single, round emerald, engraved with a Greek symbol, an W.

"Found it at a place in San Francisco, part magic shop, part bookstore," she

answered. "Called Open Minds. The proprietor is a witch, the real deal...not

a powerhouse or anything, but very knowledgeable. I thought, with some of

your other activities, you could probably use it."

"So could you," he said. "Not that I'm ungrateful, far from it, but are you--"
"Wolfram and Hart sets up protection spells for its' employees," she said. "The

higher up you are, the more they offer. I might still be killed by a vampire if

I'm fool enough to be caught without a stake or cross after dark, but I don't have

to worry about being turned.  Haven't for a while now." She helped slide the

chain over his head. He felt the stone pulse against his skin, like a tiny, living

heart.

Lilah cupped his face in her hands. "I like those puppy-dog brown eyes of yours,

Wes," she said, a wry smile on her face. "I don't want to look into them some

fine night and see someone besides you looking back at me. One of us being

a cold bitch monster from hell is enough, thanks."

"Agreed. Hmm. I'll have to think of a way to express my gratitude, of course."
He glanced past her, raising an eyebrow. "Is there someone in your car?" he

asked in a low voice.

"New bodyguard. Since I was promoted. Some Scottish guy-- Duncan something

or other. He showed up with a message from the Senior Partners, saying he

was assigned to me. Don't worry. He won't interrupt us. "
Wesley reached around her to close the door. "Then we should make use of the

privacy." He swung her up into his arms, and turned to walk into the bedroom.

*                               *                                  *

Fred tossed and turned.
Her dreams often tended to be uneasy, since her years in Pylea. Since she joined

Angel Investigations permanently, the nightmares had all but disappeared.
It had helped that most of her co-workers tended to be "night owls", and didn't

mind her showing up in the kitchen--or at their respective doors-- at times when

most people were sound asleep. Angel in particular had been endlessly patient

and willing to listen.

Of course, when you're hundreds of years old and may live hundreds or even

thousands more, theoretically, letting someone cry on your shoulder for an

hour or two isn't all that bad, I would think.
She'd said as much to Angel, one night. He'd shaken his head.  "Theoretically,

yes. These days I know of only a handful of vampires still in existence who are

more than a milennium old. For one thing, Slayers are getting smarter, better

at their jobs. Surviving longer. And all the power in the world doesn't seem to

stop vampires from getting set in their ways. Their habits become patterns, they

don't adapt, and sooner or later someone notices them. Somebody who doesn't

see 'eat people for a living' as a career choice."  He'd told her about Dracula,

the real one, and Fred had laughed for the first time that week.

This dream, however, wasn't about anything she'd seen in the past.
Or if it was-- she didn't recognize it.

A young man--maybe nineteen years old--and a girl, surrounded by

vampires. Vamps who didn't seem interested in killing them.

Linwood Price entered the dimly lit room, followed by that slimy little creep

Gavin.

"Very well done."
"What do you want with us?" the young man demanded. "Let us go--"

" You can't deliberately kill or harm any living thing, Adam. Yes, we know

your weakness, as well as your...unusual talents. Talents that my employers

appreciate. We've recently had to....terminate several of our older assets, so

I was instructed to acquire new ones." Linwood smirked. "Don't worry. You'll

be treated well...so long as you don't make more trouble than you're worth

to your owners. Collar them and take them to the dormitory," he instructed

Gavin.

The girl struggled as two of the vampires held her, while Gavin fastened a

metal collar around her neck.
"Adam, don't let them-- get away!"

"I'm not leaving you!"
"What good are you doing me if you're locked up? Go!"

Adam hesitated-- then disappeared.

Linwood was clearly furious.  He turned on the vampires. "You said nothing

about teleportation--"
"I didn't know!"
The lawyer stared at the vampire who'd spoken. "All right," he said through

clenched teeth. "Sedate her and get her up to containment. Now."

Fred woke, gasping.

She'd had that dream several times in the past two nights.
If it had been Cordelia dreaming it, she would have thought, "vision",

but Fred had no such abilities....

But maybe they do, she realized, dismayed. Oh, I should have said

something before now.....if this is real, those kids are in so much trouble!
Stupid, Winifred!

She pushed aside her covers. Grabbing a bathrobe off a nearby chair,

she got out of bed.

Gunn was still out on a job, but Angel would be downstairs, getting ready

to "go to bed".... Sorry, Angel. There goes the schedule again.

*                *                   *

Sunrise.

Faith peeked out the grimy window of her motel room. The first light of

dawn was sneaking over the horizon.
She crossed the tiny room in three steps, stopping in front of the mirror.

She'd cut her hair to just above shoulder length, and used a take-home

hair color mix to change the shade. Now instead of dark brown, it was

auburn, and wavy rather than straight. Hell, were those curls?  What was

she, Shirley Temple? She ran a wet comb through her hair, with little

effect.

She'd tried to phone Angel Investigations right after she checked in, but

had gotten an answering machine. Somehow she didn't think it would be

especially smart to leave the message "Oh, hi, Angel, I broke out of jail

last night. How's tricks?"
She wasn't dressed in her usual style, leather and boots and T-shirts

either. Blue jeans, sneakers, a tank top. Not bad. A little too vanilla for her.

Hopefully, no one would pay that much attention.
She left several bills on her dresser and quietly slipped out.
She'd decided to go to Wesley's address first; it was closest.  By now the

police were almost certainly looking for her. She didn't want to stay out in

the open any longer than necessary.

Fifteen nervous minutes later, she was knocking on her former Watcher's

door. She heard someone come to the door, pause, presumably looking

through the peep hole. To Faith's surprise, she smelled perfume. Expensive

perfume.  Whoa, Wes, you been getting some non-vamp action? Interesting.

Her sense of humor went AWOL as the door opened.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she snarled at Lilah.
"I might ask you the same question," Lilah retorted. "I have a right to be

here. Last I looked, you don't."
Faith backhanded her.Lilah was thrown into the doorframe. Her lip began to

bleed.
"What did you do to Wesley, you little--"
 A hand grabbed Faith's arm, spinning her around.
"Miss Morgan?" The man holding the Slayer was tall, lean, muscular. Built

like a fighter, and held himself like one, Faith registered on one level.

She aimed the gun Maier had loaned her at the man's chest. "Back off,

tall-dark-and-trouble," she warned. "This is between the hellbitch and me."
The man didn't even acknowledge that she'd spoken. He jerked the gun out

of her grasp, and struck her in the stomach. Hard. Faith doubled over,

gasping in pain.
"Should I call the authorities?" she heard him ask.
"No, I'll handle this myself. It's personal."
He glanced at Lilah.
Faith snatched the knife she'd just spotted out of its' sheath in his boot, and

slashed it across his neck, just missing the jugular.
A moment later, she was back on her feet. She stalked toward Lilah.
"You want to answer my question?"

"What's going on?" Wesley appeared behind Lilah, dressed in only jeans

and socks. He paled slightly. "Faith. What, did Angel send you over to

finish the job?"
"What? Wes, what the hell is going on here?"

"You and he can compare notes," Wesley said. "He's recently started your

old hobby of trying to murder people who trust him." He rubbed at a

newly-healed scar across his throat.
Faith's eyes narrowed. "Angel did that to you? No. He wouldn't. No way."

"Just call the police, Wes," Lilah said in disgust. "You don't have to explain

anything to her."

"Actually, I believe I have first dibs on this one!"

Faith whirled.

The man she had just severely injured.....now didn't have a mark on him.

And oh brother was he pissed.
"You like to use blades? Let's see if you can take it as well as you dish it out."

He reached over his shoulder, drawing a sword from somewhere beneath his

trenchcoat.