It's cold, and it's dark, and I don't know what I'm doing.

Ethan's good at this. Too bloody good. He hasn't left a single clue. I don't know where he's gone. I don't even know where to start looking.

Instinctively, I stick to the shadows, trying not to be seen. Of course I know that trying to look inconspicuous is like hanging a flashing sign around your neck saying 'Here I am, come and get me!' but I can't help it. I feel safer in the shadows.

I want to put as much distance between myself and Giles as I possibly can.

I want to find Xander before they find me. If nothing else, I want to know how to start looking for somewhere to look.

I want not to die. I want… hell, there are so many things I want.

I want another cigarette. That one at least I can deal with. I light up and puff desperately. I've been chain smoking ever since I left Giles' house; after all, there's no need to worry about bloody lung cancer anymore.

A hand claps down on my shoulder from behind, and I almost drop my cigarette in shock. Without pausing to think, I lash out, slamming my fist into the face of the guy standing behind me.

'Bloody hell, what was that for?' A slightly Americanised cockney accent. Bleached blond hair and a full-length leather jacket. It's Buffy's vampire. I've split his lip. Blood trickles down his chin.

'You crept up behind me! What did you expect me to do?'

He shrugs, wipes at his mouth with his hand.

'I was looking out for you,' he mutters. I throw him an incredulous look. 'Look, I don't think the slayer'd be too pleased to see you dead. What you doing out on your own at this time of night anyway?' he adds sarcastically. 'I thought the forces of hell were after you.'

'They are,' I snap. 'What do you care what the slayer wants anyway?' He scowls and looks away.

'I… don't…' he mutters through gritted teeth.

'You're a liar,' I murmur.

'You're an arsehole,' he retorts. I sigh.

'I don't have time for this.'

'Cos the forces of hell are after you?' he mocks.

'No. Yes. Well, sort of. I have to find Xander,' I explain, without quite knowing why. Suddenly, his eyes flick up to my face.

'Why? What's happened?' he asks quickly, and then tries to look indifferent. 'Not that… not that I care,' he adds awkwardly. I smile inwardly. I think I've found the break I needed.

'Ethan's got him,' I explain.

'That bastard,' Spike mutters.

'I've promised the slayer I'll get him back, but… I don't even know where to start looking,' I admit. 'And I'm running out of time…'

'Cos the forces of hell are after you?' Spike says with a raised eyebrow.

'Something like that,' I say, wearily. 'Look, have you seen him?'

'Xander? No. Not since this morning,' he says, sincerely.

I swear quietly. So much for a lucky break.

But Spike's deep in thought.

'Hang on a second…' he says slowly. 'Ethan… Ethan I might have seen…'

'Really? When? Where? What was he doing?' I ask urgently. Spike looks up at me, his eyes narrowed.

'What's it worth?' he asks.

'I don't have time for this!' I say, warningly.

'All right, all right. It was worth a try,' Spike says. 'He was driving a van down the high street. I think he was heading for one of the disused factories on the edge of town.'

'How do you know that?'

'He's worked from there before, I think,' he says with a shrug. 'Come to think of it, so have I. There's only so many places in Sunnydale where you can carry out an evil plan. I'd say that's your best bet.' I nod.

'Which way?' I ask. He jerks a finger in the right general direction.

'You can't really miss it,' he says.

'Thanks,' I say, turning to follow his gesture.

'Don't mention it,' he mutters. I get the impression he means it literally. I glance back at him over my shoulder, and hurry off in the direction he pointed. Before I've got very far, he calls my name.

'Constantine!'

I turn back to him

'What is it?'

'Look, do you… do you want any help?' he says. 'It's not like I care about Xander or the slayer or anything…' he adds quickly. 'But I haven't got anything better to do…'

I consider, quickly.

'All right. Thanks. Just try not to get in the way…'

'This'd be a whole lot quicker if we had wheels,' Spike points out. 'Can you hotwire a car? I know Giles can…'

'I can do better than that,' I say with a grin. I put my hand over the lock of the nearest car, which is big and macho and unmistakably American. After a moment's concentration, the door clicks open. Spike tries not to look impressed.

'Hop in,' I say, revving up the engine. 'Who needs mechanics when you've got magic?'

He directs me to a derelict warehouse on the outskirts of town. It looks like every other derelict warehouse I've ever seen. Seedy and grotty and threatening. Derelict warehouses are universal; they're the same in England and America and Japan probably in Swaziland. The first time I saw a place like this, I thought it had been taken straight out of the set of a Hollywood action adventure movie. Now I know better. It's the other way round, Hollywood uses the scene because it's so common, and so recognisable, and so instantly sinister. The hanging chains from wrecked machinery, the broken glass from smashed windows… it makes me think of torture, and I shudder. Spike, on the other hand, looks right at home.

'Perfect place for the forces of hell to be unleashed, no?' he says with a grin. I glare at him. He rolls his eyes.

There's no sign of life. Still, we're both edgy; on guard despite the bantering, listening out for the slightest sign of trouble. We make our way quietly round to the back of the warehouse. After a moment, he touches my shoulder.

'Constantine…' he says softly. I follow his gaze; he's staring pointedly at a battered van a few feet along the driveway, half hidden behind a pile of rubble.

'Ethan's?' I murmur. He nods.

'He's got Xander here. I'm pretty bloody sure of it,' he says under his breath.

From somewhere within the building comes a noise that might just be a door slamming, but might be something far worse. Instinctively, both me and Spike press close to the wall of the building, trying to keep as silent as possible. The sound of my heartbeat is loud in my ears. Spike catches his breath in a strange sort of half growl. I turn to look at him, and catch back a cry of shock. Something's happened to his face… he shakes his head, as though getting used to seldom used muscles, and then stares back at me with yellow demon's eyes, bearing his fangs in an already familiar grin. Again, the image of Giles' eyes, flaming and dark as something inhuman looked out though them, flashes unwelcome through my mind.

I shake my head. Spike's demon was there all along, but that doesn't make the transformation much less unsettling. He rolls his eyes at me again, as if to say 'Constantine, I'm a bloody vampire, of course I have fangs…'

I glare in annoyance, more at myself than him… and then we both freeze as the sound of footsteps begins to echo through the warehouse.

'I don't know what else you expected from me,' a voice mutters. The sound is muffled by the concrete walls, but audible nonetheless.

'That's quite simply not true,' someone replies, sounding almost bored. 'You knew exactly what we expected from it. And you knew what the consequences of failing to provide it would be, too.' There's a sudden whimper of pain, and some hastily stifled cursing. 'I'm sure you can answer for yourself. What did we expect of you?' the second man says viciously. The words are strangely clear, only slightly distorted by the thick walls. There must be a ventilation brick nearby, or something.

'The slayer, or the mage,' the first voice replies dully. 'Bloody bastard Constantine or that stupid bitch of a slayer. But I didn't know how… I don't know why you expected me to be able to…' The speaker breaks off with another yell of pain.

'And if you failed us?'

A sharp intake of breath. A stifled moan, and then loud, ragged breathing.

'If you failed us?'

'Unspeakable… unending… agony. For the… the rest of… my miserable… life… Or something… like that, I seem to… remember…' The voice is almost sarcastic, even through the obvious pain. Beside me, Spike's eyes widen in sudden recognition. I frown at him in confusion. He gestures wildly at me, but I don't understand.

'And did you believe that we'd be unable to deliver that? Is that why you brought us the boy, when we'd asked for the slayer?'

And then suddenly, I recognise the voice too. I bite back a gasp of… of shock, I suppose. And anger. And… and almost… sympathy.

It's Ethan. He must be very close, only just the other side of the wall.

'I… couldn't…' he mutters bitterly through clenched teeth. 'The slayer will come for the boy, though! I promise it!' he adds desperately.

'Ensure that she does,' the other voice adds coldly. 'Now get out of here, before I really hurt you.'

More footsteps. I hardly dare breathe as Ethan emerges through the ruined doorway. He passes us by without even noticing, heading towards the half hidden van, muttering curses under his breath. Spike looks at me. I give him a half nod.

He grabs Ethan from behind, silencing him quickly and effectively with a hand over his mouth. Ethan barely even struggles, slumps in his grip, screwing his eyes shut.

'Please…' he mouths, silently, begging, 'Please…'

'Ethan!' I murmur quietly.

His eyes fly open and he stares at me with shock, horror, and finally something that might well be relief flickering across his eyes. New bruises streak his face, and his lip is badly cut.

'Constantine…' he whispers. 'Oh… god…'

For a moment I'm afraid he's going to start crying. Then his face is once again twisted with anger.

'Let me go! They'll kill me, Constantine! Please!'

'Shh! Don't be an idiot, someone'll hear you! Ethan shut up!'

He shuts up. I gesture Spike to let him go, and he leans against the wall, breathing hard.

'They were threatening you?' I say, almost gently, but unable to keep the anger and disgust out of my voice. 'That was why?'

He nods.

'Tell me,' I order him.

He groans, and looks away.

'I… I did something stupid,' he whispers. 'Summoned up something I had no hope of controlling. It would have destroyed me. They… they bound it.' He looks up at me. 'I didn't ask them to,' he insists. There's a pause, and then he buries his face in his hands. 'It's only contained,' he continues. 'Not destroyed. They could… they could release it on me any time. It'd kill me.' He breaks off.

'So they're black-mailing you,' I finish for him. 'They sent you after the slayer.' He doesn't answer, but then he really doesn't need to.

'What do they want with Xander?' I ask. He shrugs and grimaces.

'They don't,' he says. My eyes are drawn to his split lip, and I nod slowly.

'Is it me or the slayer that they're after?'

He's silent. 'I don't know,' he says after a moment. 'I thought they'd told Giles the truth over the phone. I thought it was you they were after. But… it was the Slayer they wanted me to take. I don't know why. Maybe they don't want you after all.'

I shake my head.

'I got another phone call,' I say. 'They're still after their pound of flesh from me.'

Ethan shrugs.

'I don't know about that,' he says. Then he looks up desperately. 'You'd better let me go,' he says. 'They… they want me to pass on a message to the Slayer. To tell her they're going to… to torture him. Until she shows up…'

'Ethan don't be a fool!' I interrupt him. 'We guessed it was something like that. Why do you think I'm here? We're not going to let you go that easily. I don't bloody trust you…'

For some reason, Ethan isn't even the slightest bit angered by this. In fact, he's visibly relieved.

'I… I thought you were here for me…' he whispers. His eyes dart from my face to Spike's, and I know what he's thinking: if our positions were switched, he'd kill me without a second thought.

But… he's not worth it. I don't even hate him enough for that. He's pathetic. I almost laugh, and then shake my head. Much as it might once have given me pleasure to rearrange his arrogant, grovelling face, now I don't have time for it. And anyway, there's no sense of justice in kicking a man when he's down.

'No. I'm not one for holding petty grudges,' I say seriously. 'We've come for Xander. You're going to help us.'

Ethan nods reluctantly. Spike snarls in irritation, but I glare it him.

'All right, all right. The more the merrier,' he growls.

'How well do you know the building,' I ask Ethan. He shrugs.

'Well enough.'

'Can we get in? Is there a back entrance?' He nods again, still reluctant.

'Constantine, don't you think…' he says, but I don't let him finish.

'Show us!' I insist. He shrugs, and begins to lead us round the back of the warehouse, to where a flight of flimsy, metal stairs climbs up the side of the building. An emergency exit, leading to a doorway high above our heads.

'I think it must come out on a walk-way, above where they're holding him,' Ethan says. 'I don't know if you'll be able to get down, but you should be able to see…'

'And how do we know that there isn't someone waiting for us on the other side? Someone who'll shoot at your signal?' Spike mutters. Ethan glances over at him, half smiling, half glaring.

'You're just going to have to trust me, aren't you?' he says. 'But I'd have to be pretty certain they were going to shoot to kill, because I'm sure you wouldn't let me live long enough for them to re-load.' Spike seems satisfied by this. And me? I don't trust Ethan one tiny bit. But I'm fairly sure he's not cooperating with whoever it is that has Xander held on the other side of that door. The bruises on his face are proof of that.

I open the door as quietly as possible. It's rusty, hasn't been opened for years, and I hold my breath, certain that everyone must be able to hear the grating of metal on metal. But there's no shouting, no volley of shots, and it only takes a moment before I've got the door open wide enough to see the scene below.

From up here, I can see all of the room below. There're only two other ways in; on the right hand wall, the ruined doorway that Ethan came out from, and opposite us, the main door at the front of the building. Both are guarded by tall, suited men in dark glasses. Five of them watch over the main entrance, opposite us. The door to the right is a slightly less daunting prospect; there, only two men stand to attention.

The fourth wall, the wall to the left, has no door. But it's where the greatest number of people are concentrated.

Xander is chained to the wall, his arms outstretched, his head bowed. So far, it seems like they haven't hurt him; there are no visible marks on his body, anyway. But they've got his shirt ripped off which is never a good sign, and he doesn't seem to be struggling at all, which must mean they've got him scared already.

A man paces in front of him. He's wearing a suit, his eyes shaded with dark glasses. It's not Quentin, I don't think. I only remember his face dimly, but I think he was older than this man, less confident in his movements. Quentin I remember as a bureaucrat, a paper pusher, but this man looks like he's prepared to get his hands dirty. This man looks dangerous.

'I wanted the Slayer,' he says slowly, 'But it looks like I've ended up with the Slayer's puppy…' He's not shouting, not yet, but his voice carries. Behind me, Spike pushes forward, trying to see. I take a step further out onto the walkway, gripping the railings, pressing close against the wall, trying not to cast a shadow on the room below. Spike steps into place in the doorway. I glance back, making sure that Ethan still doesn't having a way of making a dash for it, but Spike is still gripping his arm hard.

'Alexander, the Slayer's puppy!' the man continues. 'Do you think she'll come for you? You'd better hope she does. For both of our sakes…'

'What do you want with her?' Xander asks sullenly, suddenly looking up in defiance. Maybe I was wrong about them having him scared. Suddenly he seems braver than he looks.

The man smiles cruelly at him, and he looks away.

'What do I want with her? You're better off not knowing, Alexander. You wouldn't want to know that rescuing you had condemned your friend to a slow and painful death, now, would you?'

'You couldn't kill Buffy,' Xander says quietly. I can only just make out the words.

'You're probably right,' the man says with a laugh. 'The boy has brains after all!' he says loudly. 'I was lead to believe otherwise. Alexander, the Slayer's harmless, brainless, hopeless sidekick…'

Xander stares at the floor.

'My name's Xander,' he mutters bravely, so quietly that I can hardly hear him at all.

'What did you say?' The man asks incredulously. Xander pales, but keeps going.

'I said my name is Xander,' he says, slightly louder. Spike grins at me, impressed despite himself. I can't help admiring the kid's bravery, but I have to admit, I think he's going to make things worse for himself.

'Ah, but you see I am in control of more than you can ever imagine,' the man says dangerously. 'And if say your name is Alexander, then your name is Alexander. If I decide that you are going to be called Alexander, or anything else for that matter… if, say, I decided that from now on the world was going to know you as 'Mr Worthless-piece-of-shit', then by tomorrow lunchtime at the latest, your driving licence would say 'Mr Worthless-piece-of-shit', your passport would be in the name of 'Mr Worthless-piece-of-shit', and your high-school diploma would state that 'Mr Worthless-piece-of-shit' had achieved the lowest SAT score in the whole of Sunnydale's history. In less than twenty four hours, everyone would be calling you 'Mr Worthless-piece of shit': your friends, your parents, your girlfriend… have I forgotten anyone?'

Xander clenches his fists and stares hard at the floor.

'…yes…' he mumbles through gritted teeth. The suited guy raises an eyebrow.

'What did you say?' Xander looks up, his eyes suddenly glinting with anger.

'I said yes. You have forgotten someone. You've forgotten Buffy. See, I know that whoever and whatever else you might control, you sure don't control her, and she knows that my name is Xander, and that the only 'Mr Worthless-piece-of-shit' around here is standing right in front of me…'

The guy in the suit backhands Xander across the face, hard. Xander falls silent, but glares defiantly at him, contempt written all over his face.

'You think you can intimidate me by calling me worthless?' he says suddenly. 'Hell, people have been calling me worthless all my life. And you know something? I've learned not to believe them!'

For a moment, I think the man is going to hit him again, but then he laughs, mirthlessly.

'Bravely said!' he says coldly. He leans in close, and grips Xander's shoulder painfully. 'I can't intimidate you with words, huh?' he says softly, dangerously, still smiling. 'Let's move swiftly on to the next step, then.'

He gestures with on hand, and from out of the shadows in the corner of the room, a man approaches. The knife in his hand catches the light and glints threateningly.

Now Xander does look scared.

'You can't hurt me,' he says desperately. 'I know you can't hurt me. When Buffy comes, if you've touched me at all, she'll… she'll kill you,' he gasps. The words are probably true, but Xander doesn't sound as though he believes them.

'Maybe it's a risk I'm willing to take,' the man says. Xander cringes.

Now the man is holding the knife, touching the point of it to Xander's shoulder. I catch my breath, wanting desperately to look away, but somehow I don't dare.

'Can I hurt you, Alexander? Dare I?'

Xander whimpers, instinctively trying to pull away, but the chains hold him still.

I didn't see him cut, but now there's blood on his chest. Not much, but enough that it must have hurt. And perhaps more importantly, enough to scare him.

'Oh, god…' he whispers. 'Oh god…'

They're so unnecessary, these power games. It's not Xander they want. There's no need for him to suffer. It's just needless cruelty, love of suffering.

And these people think that evil is something found only in the demon-dimensions.

The man begins to play with the knife, throwing it from hand to hand, feinting towards Xander, jabbing at him and pulling back just before the blade connects, making him thrash and struggle.

'Did the Slayer stop me, boy?' he demands. Xander hangs his head. 'Will she stop me from hurting you again? I could slice your throat open with that knife, boy. Do you think the Slayer will stop me from killing you?'

Xander's breathing echoes loudly and painfully through the room. I'm gripping the railings so hard that my knuckles ache. Xander trusts the Slayer to rescue him. Trusts her to show up on time, trusts her to make them stop.

But she's not going to.

Because I said that I'd find him. I said I'd bring him back.

And I don't think I can.

She said she trusted me. But all I can do is watch him suffer.

I thought it was just Ethan I was up against. And Ethan may be a clever bastard, but he's also a coward. Ethan I can deal with.

This… this I'm not so sure I can.

The man puts the knife down, carefully, leaving it so it's still in Xander's line of sight. Xander's gasp of relief is audible. The man glares at him.

'You think I need a knife to hurt you?' he taunts. Xander shudders, but doesn't say anything. The man leans in close, takes Xander's face in his hands.

'Nothing to say?' he mocks. He runs a hand down Xander's neck, drags it painfully across the slash on his chest. Xander flinches and tries not to cry out. The man laughs, and continues to run his hand up Xander's arm, until Xander's hand is caught in his. They are frozen like that for a long moment. Then:

'Imagine if that had been the knife,' the man murmurs. I can imagine it only to clearly, the trail of blood across his shoulder and chest, the muscles in his arm laid bare. It seems that Xander can too; he begins to tremble.

'No…' he mouths, over and over again, desperately. The word makes no sound but I can read it on his lips.

Now the man has Xander's hand caught in both of his. He grips the wrist hard, and Xander's tightly clenched fist is forced to uncurl. Xander turns his face away and screws his eyes shut, perhaps sensing what's coming next.

'Will the Slayer stop it hurting?' the man says harshly.

The crack of a breaking bone is audible even from where I am standing. He must have snapped a finger.

Xander screams.

Without thought, I dash forward. I have to do something, I can't wait and watch any longer. It's a good three-meter drop to the floor below, but I don't care. I have to act.

I get one foot up onto the railings, and then Spike pulls me back.

'Constantine, no!' he hisses. I turn on him wildly.

'Why not? What else am I supposed to do?'

He grabs my arm, my bandaged left arm, suddenly and hard. I stifle a cry of pain.

'That's why not! That's why bloody not! You won't do any good!'

I slump back against the railings. He's fucking right, of course. What's more, I'd have snapped my injured ankle if I'd jumped three meters onto a concrete floor.

'But I can't do nothing!' I say desperately.

'Look, mate, I'm normally the last person to say this, but you can't just act! You've got to think! Come up with some sort of a plan! You can't just go jumping in, you'll just get yourself killed!'

'Keep your voice down,' I say wearily. The sound of our conversation is covered by Xander's ragged sobbing, but there's no need to push our luck. 'I know I ought to think before I act,' I continue. 'But I haven't got any ideas, and I can't bear watching this. I'm an action sort of person, I'm no good a bloody well thinking things through,' I finish in frustration.

'And I'm really Mr Thinker, myself!' Spike snaps sarcastically. 'I still know that jumping in without any clue as to how you're going to get out again is a pretty good way of getting everyone concerned killed!'

'You must be learning, Spike,' a quiet voice says deprecatingly. 'That always used to be exactly your style.'

I turn around so fast that I almost knock into Spike. He grips the railings and stares, not knowing whether to scowl or smile. Ethan swears quietly and buries his face in his hands.

Buffy stands outlined in the doorway, a crossbow in her hands, every inch the Slayer.

'He said you'd come for him,' I say. 'He said if they hurt him, you'd kill them.'

Buffy glances down over the edge of the walkway at Xander, and her eyes soften.

'He was right,' she says.