Two more vampires met them at the mansion door, both with palms raised in an obviously non-confrontational gesture.

          "William the Bloody?" One of them asked. He wore a white vest over a black dress shirt and slacks, the kind of neat outfit Spike expected from the Don's men.

          "What of it?"

          "Come in. You're expected."

          "Coulda fooled me," Faith said.

          "Slayer," the vampire hissed angrily, "you're expected, too, but raise a hand in this house and you'll be an empty husk of dead flesh."

          "Bit o' the theatrical in you, eh, mate? You don't hurt us, we won't hurt you. That's what the Don wants, innit?" Spike casually lit a cigarette; the vampire nodded. "Good. Now that we're all friends and whatnot, take us to him."

          The whole mansion had been furnished in light, airy colors, completely at odds with the fact that sunlight never touched the inside. Spike and Faith followed the minions through a marble entryway, down a long corridor with closed doors on both sides, and through an open doorway into an inner courtyard. An elaborate arrangement of outdoor tables and chairs congregated around a raised platform; the whole space was shaded from direct light with an elaborate canopy of overhanging trees and scaffolding.

          "Impressive," Spike said under his breath. "Bastard always liked to act human."

          "You know this clown?" Faith asked. She had heard about his last visit with Angel, but nothing else.

          "From way back. Long story – Angel can tell it better, since he was the one who almost got our asses barbecued."

          The minion left them once they stood in front of the platform. The Don, dressed casually in a polo shirt and slacks, sipped at a glass of brown liquid as he watched the three visitors. Dobby, terrified by the number of vampires and even more by the horned vampire in front of him, cowered behind Spike.

          "William. So nice to see you again. Who is your lovely companion?"

          Faith glared at him. "I'm Faith."

          "Aah, the Slayer with the naughty streak. I've heard of you. It was my understanding that you were in prison."

          "Well, I'm not. Work-release, y'know?" She drew her stake. Spike put a restraining hand on her arm, but the Don chuckled.

          "She's lively, isn't she? I like that."

          "Don't mess with him, Slayer. I need him."

          The Don's eyebrows rose. "So, finally decided to take me up on my offer, have you? Couldn't find that soul in Africa?"

          "No."

          "Of course not. Pretty absurd, spending three months chasing a myth, William. Wasting all that time when you could have come straight here."

          "I was hopin' for a better deal."

          "You think I'd gouge you? I'm offended. He's very presumptuous, isn't he my dear?" He said to Faith. She shrugged warily; she had never met a vampire who talked quite like this. "Would either of you care for something to drink while we talk?" He gestured with his glass. "It's single malt."

          "Let's cut the bullshit for a minute. You know why I'm here. Tell me what I need to know."

          "Sorry, William, that I can not do. What I can do is name the price, and point you on the way to paying it. I'm afraid it will be rather high, unfortunately, though not unreasonable. A soul without strings attached is a rare thing. You could always try one of those Gypsy curses, of course, but I'm told they have unpleasant side effects."

          "We could carve on him until he tells us," Faith suggested. Behind her, Dobby gulped audibly.

          Spike didn't answer right away. They could kidnap him and try that, but odds were that he could fool them. If they then staked him and found out he had lied, Spike would have no options. If they left him alive, he would hunt them down viciously.

          "No, we can't," he said finally. "He's got the cards. If I pay up, he'll be straight with me. That's what I need most."

          "A wise decision, William," the Don flashed a deadly smile, "since the second you approached me you would be shot down like dogs. Before we begin, you should know that we have evidence that the Slayer," he paused, glancing at Faith, "your Slayer, is in danger from this Prince of Lust already."

          "Evidence? What bloody evidence are you talking about?"

          "As a show of good faith, no pun intended I assure you, I will share that with you." He turned and spoke to a minion somewhere inside the house, "Bring me Cass, will you?" To Spike, he continued, "You remember Cass, don't you?"

          "His seer," Spike told Faith. She nodded. "Yeah, I remember. So?"

          "She had a most interesting vision. Do you perchance know Yeats' Second Coming?"

          Carefully not looking at Faith, Spike nodded. "Heard him read it once."

          "You'll recall that she expresses her visions through the words of others?"

          "Yeah. Which part did she point to?"

          "The second verse."

          "The whole bloody thing?" Spike's eyes were wide with shock. If that poem was now a prophecy … "The end, that's what makes you think Buffy's in danger. Lion body with the head of a man an' all that? The rough beast whose hour's come 'round at last?"

          "And he can quote it, as well," the Don said to Faith. "William's just full of surprises, isn't he?"

          "Looks like he is," Faith said, her gaze fixed on Spike.

          "When did she say that?"

          "Two days ago, and then … ah, here she is now. Come, my dear." The Don extended his hand and the dark-haired vampiress approached the platform. At well over six feet, she dwarfed them all, an Amazon vision in black leather. Her eyes stared past the Don, empty orbs that might have been carved from wax. Spike knew she could not speak or write, and was probably the closest thing to a catatonic he had ever seen in a vampire. "Now, shall we discuss the price of my information? It's possible you may already be able to pay it, but we need Cass to verify that."

          "Tell me what it is."

          "Certainly. First, a bit of background: several months ago, before you and Angel visited, Cass had a vision regarding me. While you need not know the specifics, in broad terms it appears that I am in peril, so to speak. To prevent my imminent demise, I require a protection spell of immense power. I need you to fetch me an ingredient for that spell."

          "Me? Why not have a lackey do it?"

          His lips curled up in a smile without warmth. "Simply put, they do not have access to your resources, and the nature of the ingredient is a bit tricky. You're the man to find it for me, I believe."

          "So first I come to get somethin' for a spell, an' now I have to go get somethin' for another one?"

          "Yes. Apropos, is it not?"

          "What is it?"

          "I require a vial of blood from," his tone changed, and Spike could hear the capital letters on the words, "The True Chosen One."

          "Buffy?"

          "Sadly, no," the Don said with a shake of his head. "We delved further, and it seems the prophecy is more complicated than that. This true chosen one, according to Cass' vision, is also 'the ally of my ally and the enemy of my enemy.' We know that you are the ally; I have suspicions about the enemy, but it won't help. He's everyone's enemy, so it will not narrow the field any."

          "Who?"

          The Don pondered thought about whether to tell him, but decided it could only hasten the search. "Do you know of the dark wizard known as Lord Voldemort?"

          "Bloody hell," Spike said. "We had the bastard at the point of a sword last spring."

          "You what?"

          "What did he say after you explained?" Angel asked. Spike and the Angel Investigations group were gathered in the Hyperion Lobby.

          "Once he stopped ranting about your incompetence. He asked Faith if Cass could read her, to see if it was her blood, which it wasn't. I wouldn't go asking him for any favors for a bit, by the way. He seemed a tad honked off about you letting Voldemort get away."

          "Guess I'm not the chosen Chosen one, you know? As usual," she added with only a trace of bitterness. She stood by the door, watching the blurred reflection of halogen lights speed by outside the hotel.

          "Hey, Slayer, you were chosen enough that we kicked vampire ass out on the street. That's good enough for me."

          "Oh, thanks, blondie. That'll help me sleep at night."

          "So what now?" Angel asked, steering the conversation back on track.

          "I'm off to Sunnyhell," Spike said. "Buffy's in trouble, and the nibblet can help me research this true chosen one."

          "What will you say about why you're there?" Wesley asked.

          Spike shrugged. "I'll tell her I'm doin' research for Peaches, an' I wanted to stop in. Shouldn't take too long."

          "And if the answer isn't there?"

          "Then I guess I'll drop in on Dumbledore, see if he knows who I'm lookin' for."

          "I can't leave here," Angel said. "You'd have to go on without my help."

          "You found the Don an' watched my back with 'im, Peaches. Even if he didn't see you, I knew it." His eyes met his sire's, the look more meaningful than any of the words. "That's more help than I thought you'd give. I can do the rest on my own."

          Angel watched him for a minute more. The vampire in front of him was hardly the one he knew from days past. If he ever got past being so obnoxious, Angel thought he might even like him.

          That realization hit him like a sledgehammer.

"You're welcome here, if … things don't happen."

          Stunned, Spike said nothing; he simply nodded.

          "Dobby will go with you to this Sunnyhell, Mister Spike," the elf said from the couch. He and Fred were perched together on the couch, each eating a bowl of ice cream. The sight was so incongruous that Spike had decided to ignore it rather than try and process it. The L.A. version of Red seemed taken with the tiny elf, and he with her. "Dobby does not like the sound of it, but I'se will help. Professor Dumbledore wants Dobby to help, sir."

          "Thanks, Dobby," Spike said. "It's not the nicest place, but you'll be safe, if that's what's got your knickers in a twist." Dobby nodded vigorously.

          "I'm in," Faith said from the window.

          "Are you certain, Faith?" They were the first words Wesley had spoken to her since their talk. "It will be difficult, and you have been out of the game for some time."

          "Lookin' to keep me here, Wes? Color me wicked surprised."

          Wesley narrowed his eyes. "I am merely pointing out that there will be considerable risk in returning to combat. It would be … unfortunate if the stress were to prove too much."

          "Hey, sitting around here staring at the walls is fun and all, but I'm a Slayer. Maybe not the Slayer, but even the bargain basement version can do some good."

          Angel started to protest, but she stopped him short. "You guys have your shit together here. You need me like I need one of these creepy little elves." Dobby frowned. "If I could … I'd like to help B, y'know? If she's in love with the bleached wonder over there, helping get them together … it's the best thing I could do for her."

          "She won't accept you," Angel said, shaking his head. "No matter what you do."

          "She doesn't have to. I'm doing this for her whether she wants me to or not."