"You what?!" Angel asked, his tone flying from neutral to red alert
in the time it took to get the words out. Faith felt his eyes burn through
her, but she refused to be the one to look away.
"Before you get all self-righteous on me, why don't you take a look at what's on the microchip?"
"Faith."
"Fine," she said, cutting off a lecture. "I agree with you. He's a liar and a bastard, and if he's lying about this I'll rip his head off and piss down his neck. But I need to give him one last shot."
After a few moments locked in a standoff, Angel relented.
This time they were gathered in Wesley's apartment, where Wes was reading the microchip with the help of a state-of-the-art, mega expensive computer he'd gotten courtesy of Wolfram & Hart. Wesley turned from the monitor.
"I have no idea how Lindsey got his hands on this information, but, if it's for real, there's enough here to make the Senior Partners very nervous," he said.
Wesley went on to explain the contents of the microchip. It held details of every facet of Wolfram and Hart's domain, including weaknesses and details Angel was sure the Partners didn't want leaking out.
Lorne asked, "You think this'll be enough to convince them to back off on your kid?"
"I'm gonna find out," Angel answered. He grabbed a sword from Wesley's weapons cabinet and headed for the door. The others followed, but he blocked their exit.
"You're not coming."
"Yes, we are," Faith replied.
"No you're not."
"Yes we are."
"No you're-enough!" he shouted. "You're all staying here."
Gunn stepped to the front of the group. "In case you've forgotten, Angel, you don't work alone."
"Yeah," Faith chimed in. "And if this is a trap, you'll need help fighting your way out of it."
The others nodded their agreement -- even Lorne, who looked as if he'd rather be manning the phones at casa de Price. Finally, Angel gave up.
It took them about 20 minutes to get to the Wolfram & Hart office. It was late, and once, again, the building was dark and silent. Angel led the group to the basement. The hallway was lit by a single wall sconce, and everything was so clean it shone -- literally, and with a creepy, unnatural green glow. An unmarked steel door blocked their way.
"Think I should knock?" Angel asked. He kicked the door hard, but this time an echo sounded through the hallway, and Angel howled in pain. As he danced around, shaking off the pain in his foot, Wesley leaned over and turned the doorknob. The door opened easily.
Angel walked in, with the others behind him, and Faith braced herself for an attack. When none came, she took a look around. The room was about the size of an office but decorated like an old lady's cozy living room. A floral-print couch was settled against the far wall, flanked on both sides by old-fashioned floor lamps, and photographs of cherubs and mountain landscapes adorned the walls. In the wall on the right there was a window, which revealed a view of the LA skyline -- and had no right to exist, since they were in the basement.
"Anyone home?" Gunn called out.
A diminutive old woman stepped in through the window. "Ooooh, I love visitors," she said in a high-pitched, auntie-Em voice. "Would you like some tea? I can make some right-"
"No games," Angel barked. "You know why we're here."
The old woman shook her head sadly. "Yes, I'm afraid I do. After everything we've done for you, you come here to threaten us."
"We have enough info on you to blow most of your plans right out of the water. In return for not doing just that, you're going to leave my son alone."
The woman paused a beat and then said, "OK. Would you like some tea now?"
Faith blinked hard. She'd expected a fight, some bloodshed, or at least some questionable language. She hadn't expected her mother's Aunt Louisa. Angel voiced her doubts when he said, "Is that it? We threaten you and you say OK?"
"Of course, dearie. But we didn't agree to let your son live because of your predictable threats." Her mouth twisted into a nasty smile. "We simply found another way to accomplish our goals." She waved her hand at the window, which was now showing a darkened building top illuminated only by moonlight and a faint glow from the streetlamps below.
"Lindsey," Faith whispered. Sure enough, he was standing on the edge of the roof, his back to the sky. An 8-foot-tall, nasty-looking demon that Faith couldn't identify was moving toward him, pushing him closer to oblivion. The expression on Lindsey's face was passive, and he didn't appear to be putting up a fight.
"What does HE have to do with this?" Angel asked.
The woman merely stared at him, her eyes glinting, and Wesley spoke.
"He's destined to father the one who's to help Connor defeat you, isn't he?" Wesley asked. "If you can get rid of him, Connor doesn't matter."
A stunned silence settled over the room, and Faith didn't protest when her mouth decided of its own volition to hang open stupidly. "How did you find out?" she asked, directing the question to Wesley and the woman.
"Mr. McDonald was good enough to turn himself in," she answered.
"It makes sense now when I think about it," Wesley explained. "The passage that described the second warrior was written differently from the rest. It was all written in Sanskrit, but that passage had a slightly different tone to it, as if someone had revised it to make it purposely vague."
"And you didn't think this was important enough to mention?" Angel asked.
"All prophesies are vague. Prophets in general are vague. I had no reason to suspect Lindsey."
The Lost One will return. That was part of the prophesy, Faith realized. They'd assumed it applied to Cordelia, but she was certain it referred to Lindsey.
"So you're going to kill him?" she asked.
The woman looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. "We're going to take what should have been ours years ago. His soul."
"So he turned himself in to save Connor?" Angel asked. He sounded as if someone had ordered him to sing.
"Yes," the woman said. "And the life of his child's mother." She looked at Faith pointedly. "It was you or him, dear, and he sucked it up pretty well when we pointed out his options."
Faith felt her face grow hot, and her hands tensed around the crossbow she'd packed. Without another word, she took a running leap through the window and vanished.
"Before you get all self-righteous on me, why don't you take a look at what's on the microchip?"
"Faith."
"Fine," she said, cutting off a lecture. "I agree with you. He's a liar and a bastard, and if he's lying about this I'll rip his head off and piss down his neck. But I need to give him one last shot."
After a few moments locked in a standoff, Angel relented.
This time they were gathered in Wesley's apartment, where Wes was reading the microchip with the help of a state-of-the-art, mega expensive computer he'd gotten courtesy of Wolfram & Hart. Wesley turned from the monitor.
"I have no idea how Lindsey got his hands on this information, but, if it's for real, there's enough here to make the Senior Partners very nervous," he said.
Wesley went on to explain the contents of the microchip. It held details of every facet of Wolfram and Hart's domain, including weaknesses and details Angel was sure the Partners didn't want leaking out.
Lorne asked, "You think this'll be enough to convince them to back off on your kid?"
"I'm gonna find out," Angel answered. He grabbed a sword from Wesley's weapons cabinet and headed for the door. The others followed, but he blocked their exit.
"You're not coming."
"Yes, we are," Faith replied.
"No you're not."
"Yes we are."
"No you're-enough!" he shouted. "You're all staying here."
Gunn stepped to the front of the group. "In case you've forgotten, Angel, you don't work alone."
"Yeah," Faith chimed in. "And if this is a trap, you'll need help fighting your way out of it."
The others nodded their agreement -- even Lorne, who looked as if he'd rather be manning the phones at casa de Price. Finally, Angel gave up.
It took them about 20 minutes to get to the Wolfram & Hart office. It was late, and once, again, the building was dark and silent. Angel led the group to the basement. The hallway was lit by a single wall sconce, and everything was so clean it shone -- literally, and with a creepy, unnatural green glow. An unmarked steel door blocked their way.
"Think I should knock?" Angel asked. He kicked the door hard, but this time an echo sounded through the hallway, and Angel howled in pain. As he danced around, shaking off the pain in his foot, Wesley leaned over and turned the doorknob. The door opened easily.
Angel walked in, with the others behind him, and Faith braced herself for an attack. When none came, she took a look around. The room was about the size of an office but decorated like an old lady's cozy living room. A floral-print couch was settled against the far wall, flanked on both sides by old-fashioned floor lamps, and photographs of cherubs and mountain landscapes adorned the walls. In the wall on the right there was a window, which revealed a view of the LA skyline -- and had no right to exist, since they were in the basement.
"Anyone home?" Gunn called out.
A diminutive old woman stepped in through the window. "Ooooh, I love visitors," she said in a high-pitched, auntie-Em voice. "Would you like some tea? I can make some right-"
"No games," Angel barked. "You know why we're here."
The old woman shook her head sadly. "Yes, I'm afraid I do. After everything we've done for you, you come here to threaten us."
"We have enough info on you to blow most of your plans right out of the water. In return for not doing just that, you're going to leave my son alone."
The woman paused a beat and then said, "OK. Would you like some tea now?"
Faith blinked hard. She'd expected a fight, some bloodshed, or at least some questionable language. She hadn't expected her mother's Aunt Louisa. Angel voiced her doubts when he said, "Is that it? We threaten you and you say OK?"
"Of course, dearie. But we didn't agree to let your son live because of your predictable threats." Her mouth twisted into a nasty smile. "We simply found another way to accomplish our goals." She waved her hand at the window, which was now showing a darkened building top illuminated only by moonlight and a faint glow from the streetlamps below.
"Lindsey," Faith whispered. Sure enough, he was standing on the edge of the roof, his back to the sky. An 8-foot-tall, nasty-looking demon that Faith couldn't identify was moving toward him, pushing him closer to oblivion. The expression on Lindsey's face was passive, and he didn't appear to be putting up a fight.
"What does HE have to do with this?" Angel asked.
The woman merely stared at him, her eyes glinting, and Wesley spoke.
"He's destined to father the one who's to help Connor defeat you, isn't he?" Wesley asked. "If you can get rid of him, Connor doesn't matter."
A stunned silence settled over the room, and Faith didn't protest when her mouth decided of its own volition to hang open stupidly. "How did you find out?" she asked, directing the question to Wesley and the woman.
"Mr. McDonald was good enough to turn himself in," she answered.
"It makes sense now when I think about it," Wesley explained. "The passage that described the second warrior was written differently from the rest. It was all written in Sanskrit, but that passage had a slightly different tone to it, as if someone had revised it to make it purposely vague."
"And you didn't think this was important enough to mention?" Angel asked.
"All prophesies are vague. Prophets in general are vague. I had no reason to suspect Lindsey."
The Lost One will return. That was part of the prophesy, Faith realized. They'd assumed it applied to Cordelia, but she was certain it referred to Lindsey.
"So you're going to kill him?" she asked.
The woman looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. "We're going to take what should have been ours years ago. His soul."
"So he turned himself in to save Connor?" Angel asked. He sounded as if someone had ordered him to sing.
"Yes," the woman said. "And the life of his child's mother." She looked at Faith pointedly. "It was you or him, dear, and he sucked it up pretty well when we pointed out his options."
Faith felt her face grow hot, and her hands tensed around the crossbow she'd packed. Without another word, she took a running leap through the window and vanished.