Unfolding himself from behind the relative safety of a dumpster, Sammy dusted off the grime as best he could, curling his upper lip in distaste. He still couldn't get his head around how he'd gone from being a hot shot dealer in New Orleans to a down beat vampire living in the slums of Los Angeles.
Because of the sweet little number that sired you, you idiot, he chided himself as he stepped out of the shadows, tugging the concealed wire loose from his collar and tossing it carelessly over one shoulder.
They had the kid down now, and Sammy knew that he and the other deadbeats that fed off the homeless, the drunks and the junkies, would get the breathing space they needed. Figuratively speaking, of course. Damn, he still couldn't get used to that, especially when it made smoking a joint all the more difficult.
Big, bad and mean was wiping blood from his hands and forehead with a handkerchief and Sammy unconsciously licked his lips at the sight, wanting a taste even though satiated from an earlier feed.
Put 'em away, Sammy, he warned himself, trying to get a hold on his killer's instincts. Losing it in front of a dozen highly trained demon hunters was a sure-fire way to get staked, so with an effort, he forced his elongated canines to shrink a little and slipped on his human disguise with the same casual air as putting on a hat.
"Do him no harm," Baron was ordering his men, speaking of the kid as they took him away. "We have sacrificed much tonight in order to bring him untouched before the priestess."
Shame that, Sammy thought, as delicious images of prolonged torture and eventual death ran through his devious, dead brain. The little murderer could do with a beating after the damage he'd done to vampire kindred throughout LA. Maybe flay the brat alive, put out those baby blues, cut off a limb here and there…
Stop droolin', idiot, he told himself, before they stake your lousy hide. "Uh, guys?" he queried aloud, moving to stand on the fringes of their little group. "Just wanted to say…great job." He gave them a thumbs up and a wide grin.
They ignored him, attending instead to their wounded and gathering up evidence of their illicit operation. Their leader, Baron, bent down to retrieve his sword, running a hand the length of the shining blade.
Sammy gulped and moved back, putting some distance between them. "Ok, then," he rambled, getting ready to run at the first hint of trouble. "Well, it's been a pleasure working with you and all. Hope to do it again some time."
To Sammy's relief, the human sheathed his sword, the blade sliding with a whisper of steel into the scabbard and took it as his cue to depart.
"So, maybe I'll catch up with you guys later then," he murmured, sidling along the wall, allowing his disguise to slip a little. It was as much a threat as he dared, thinly veiled and certainly not wise, but hello, he was a vampire with a reputation to uphold.
He began to edge passed the men, then saw Baron eyeing him with a strange gleam, hefting the kid's discarded stake in one hand.
"Crap," Sammy hissed and turned to run, unnatural speed carrying him to the chain link fence in a matter of seconds.
In one smooth, fluid motion, Baron twisted and threw the stake, the weapon tumbling over and over through the air.
Sammy felt the punch, the penetration and glanced down to see the sharp point of the stake poking through his favourite shirt, speared straight through his heart. He had time to utter a final, "Oh, sh…" before collapsing in a messy explosion of dust.
*****
Footsteps sprinted through the night, the first fast and tireless, the other two lagging behind. There was no chance of Gunn and Fred keeping up with their leader as Angel followed Connor's trail with unerring precision and silent desperation through the tiny alleyways, yet they still tried.
"Man," Gunn gasped, panting heavily, "I gotta…stay off…those cheeseburgers."
Fred's arm was wrapped around her middle and she nodded, struggling to stay with Gunn. "Me too. Where's…Angel?"
"Don't know. Lost him a while back," he answered, shortly.
They tapered off, knowing that whatever Angel had gone to face, he was going to do it alone. Fred paused and bent double, trying to catch her breath while Gunn waited, axe at the ready, keeping watch should any nasties try to jump them.
"We should keep moving," he advised, taking Fred's hand, and she allowed herself to be pulled along.
"Do you think…Connor's really in trouble?" she asked, quietly.
"With his track record, it's anyone's guess," Gunn replied. "And we both know he's been trying to catch Angel with his soul down since the kid came back from Quor-Toth. I just wish Angel could see that."
"He does," Fred said, in a small voice. "But maybe he's looking for other things too. Things only a father can see."
Gunn glanced down at her, raising an eyebrow. "You've sure changed your tune. I seem to recall the words 'corporal punishment with a large, heavy mallet' not so long ago."
She gave him a smile and squeezed his hand. "I haven't forgotten. But Angel's dealing with it in his own way. We have to respect that. Besides, I think Wesley was right, Connor wouldn't have hurt us."
She missed the way Gunn's face grew cold at the mention of their former colleague. "Come on," was all he said, and tugged her along.
*****
Angel slowly sank to his haunches, hands folded between his knees as he contemplated the evidence. Vampire dust, along with the stake Connor had carried earlier that night lying neatly on top. The alley was a dead end, no way for anything to scale the walls beyond, not a vampire, not even Connor. Yet the trail ended here, of that Angel was certain.
He rose and moved away from the chain link towards the enclosed space beyond. There were strange smells all around, of men, of human sweat and blood and fear. Looking at the scuffed ground, a fight had taken place, yet everything was clean. Too clean, as if someone had meticulously mopped up afterwards.
Angel moved to the centre, spreading his hands, using his enhanced abilities to judge how the fight had gone. A single person, Connor, had stood his ground here. Men, many of them, had attacked him, but he had held his own, had remained standing. Until…
A clatter drew his attention, but he didn't need to turn to see who it was. His senses tuned so acutely, he could hear not only Gunn and Fred's breathing, but the rapid beats of their hearts.
"It's a dead end," Fred said, unnecessarily, as Gunn kicked at the vamp dust.
"Any sign of Connor?" he asked Angel.
Angel shook his head, hunkering down once more at the spot where Connor had fell. "He was here."
Gunn glanced pointedly at the ashes once more. "I get that. So, Connor dusted this guy then took off, right?"
Angel didn't reply, reaching out a hand to touch the cold concrete. Think, dammit, he cursed himself, running over and over the scene within his mind's eye, witnessing Connor fight off his attackers. He had fought enough battles himself to know how it would have played out.
Yet one thought continued to trouble him. How could someone as strong, as quick as his son be taken down? Connor had proven his worth in Quor-Toth, earning the name of Destroyer. And later still, in the first moments of his return, he had taken on three men, all with skills above those of normal humans.
So how? And, more importantly, who?
A list ran through his mind, but his thoughts kept straying, refused to keep focused on the mission. Had Connor been scared? Had 'they' hurt him? The kid had only been in this world for three months, enough time to pick up some street talk, learn about road safety and pizza and TV, but not much else. And if something had happened to him, if he were…
Angel bit his lip, knowing that if Connor were truly dead, it would be a burden that would torment him for the rest of his immortal life.
"I never should have thrown him out."
He didn't realise he had spoken aloud until he heard Fred's voice.
"Angel, you had no choice."
"Sure I did," he retorted, angry, furious, all of a sudden. With himself, with Holtz, with Connor. Dammit, he could smell his own son's blood! He jumped to his feet, began to pace. "I could have let him stay, tried to work things out. But no." Fred and Gunn's worried looks only hardened his conviction. "All his life, he'd been manipulated by Holtz, conditioned to believe that I was the enemy. So why was I so surprised when he…"
Angel stopped pacing and fell silent, anger draining as he refused to give voice to that terrible deed, the one that continued to haunt him. The one that, during his darkest moments, made him doubt, made him wonder whether anything was real, made him think that, maybe, he was down there still, dreaming with the fishes.
Instead, he raised his head to the night sky, wishing somehow that Cordelia were with him still, his grounding force, his guiding light. She'd know exactly what to do, to say, but the silence that answered him gave no comfort, no peace.
"Too late," he murmured, then realised with a pang that he had unwittingly echoed the words Connor had spoken to him that fateful night when the girl, Sunny, had O.D in the squatters' bathroom.
Why was he always too late? Too late to save his baby son from Holtz, too late to tell Cordelia how he really felt…
"Look, the sun will be coming up soon," Gunn said, cutting off his brooding thoughts. "Why don't we head back to the hotel, come up with a plan? I mean, for all we know, Connor might be safe and well."
It was a painful hope and one that Angel couldn't afford to indulge in. "He's not."
"How do you know…?"
"I just know." Their doubtful looks made him add, "I'm his father. I just know."
Fred moved forward, thumbs jammed into the back pockets of her jeans, and Angel, attuned to body language, knew she wasn't convinced. But that was ok.
"Still," she said, "I think going back to the hotel might be a good idea. I've still got that list of Connor's enemies. True, he was a baby then, but it might help."
Angel nodded, conceding there was little he could do now. The trail was cooling and growing frostier by the minute. His only hope of finding Connor was now in the hands of his friends, and his own investigative skills.
He had started to walk away when something bright caught his eye. Puzzled, he reached down and picked up the dart, turning it back and forth, scenting something medicinal, and something else, something that brought the raging anger back in a flash. Dark magic.