Chapter Six

Jo, Mama

He passed through the curious teleport mechanism just before dawn, and then spent half a day wandering through the aisles, stalls, and hidden nooks tucked within the massive ziggurat that comprised the Undermall. While Joshua had spent a few months traveling to Southeast Asia, the depths of central Africa, and Peoria, amongst other exotic locales, he'd never seen anything remotely close to the unending variety on display beneath the purple, lightning-streaked clouds that hovered overhead. The pyramid had to be at least a mile on each side, and it rose seven levels.

Joshua wandered into brick buildings featuring weaponry of every type imaginable, some which seemed to require more hands than any human offered. Tents, shacks, and huts of every hue and shape imaginable featured products from every corner of the globe, and quite a few places that clearly were not of Earth. Periodically, solid buildings of stone, or even modern construction, sat within stout walls guarded by unsmiling men, demons, and sometimes a mixture of the two. A few looked at him curiously, but something in his demeanor or expression caused them to quickly turn away.

Normally, he never drank where anyone could witness, whether it was warmed up blood from one of the refrigerators kept stocked at all times within his boss's castle, or from the periodic prisoner or enemy that required killing. A few of the stalls, however, had cried out to him with aromas that promised blood exotic spiced and seasoned in a way that called out to the thing that crouched upon his soul. He had given in, sampled the wares, and had not been disappointed. At first, he had been irritated on being sent on what felt like a laundry list of errands, but then he found himself enjoying the rare expanse of free time afforded him.

After noon had come and gone, he headed towards his destination. It was farther than he had thought, but he eventually made his way towards a far corner of the Undermall. The entrance was lined with six stanchions that bore red velvet ropes, and steps beyond led to lacquered wooden doors. Above the doors hung a large, inverted V with gleaming spears crossed behind it, and on either side of the entry two carved totem poles bearing stylized faces peered outwards. The walls were thatched with tan, woven plant fibers and the roof was covered entirely in palm fronds.

The security guards briefly delayed him while they confirmed he was amongst the bar's permitted clientele, and then he walked up the steps and opened the doors. From within, the faint sounds of calypso music wafted. He walked inside.

. . . . . . . . .

"And the symptoms started within days after the transplant?" Dr. Hu asked as he shined a light into Xander's red pupiled eye. The subtle golden hue of the iris twinkled as Xander considered the question.

"Yes," Emmy answered for Xander. "By the weekend it was already starting to glow."

Dr. Hu pondered the answer as clicked off the pen light. "And the other symptoms Emmy mentioned," he asked Xander, "those have been consistently growing stronger ever since?"

"I think they've plateaued," he explained. He steadfastly maintained his gaze on Dr. Hu while Emmy crossed her arms and frowned. Xander continued, "There's been some heat, some moodiness, and it was scary for a few months, but I'm getting used to it."

"Really," Dr. Hu said skeptically.

A yellow, gelatinous head sporting a dozen red-pupiled eyes undulating on stalks peered in from the doorway. "An unsatisfied customer?" Phil grumbled as each of the eyes narrowed in Xander's direction. "Anything went wrong, it isn't my merchandise, I can guarantee you that."

"C'mon Phil," Emmy snapped as she walked over to the door. "A little privacy, huh?" She swung the door closed, then swiveled back towards Dr. Hu and Xander.

"Sorry about that," Dr. Hu said as he continued to eye Xander thoughtfully. "I think we'd better do an MARI."

"An MRI?" Xander asked.

Dr. Hu shook his head. "No, a magical resonance image. Similar, but, well … I'm sure you can figure out the difference."

"Whatever you say, doc," Xander said.

Dr. Hu led him past the lobby and a wall adorned with medical degrees, down a white-tiled corridor, and finally into a small room barely larger than a closet. Within the room, a bare metal chair sat within a metal half-tube that had countless wires leading from it. Blinking LEDs and jewels of every hue sparkled within.

Xander glanced nervously at the chair while Dr. Hu walked over and patted the seat.

"It's perfectly safe. Go ahead," he said with a smile.

Xander reluctantly sat down. Emmy's honey tresses brushed against his neck and shoulder as he leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek.

"It'll be fine," she whispered.

He nodded and took a deep breath. "Okay, let's do it."

"Just sit still, it shouldn't take more than a minute," Dr. Hu instructed him. After he and Emmy left the room, claustrophobia quickly set in. The claustrophobia was quickly replaced by near-panic when the overhead lights turned off. The jewels and LEDs within the metal half-tube began to whirl and sparkle, and a loud hum reverberated throughout the room. After what seemed an interminable amount of time, the hum vanished, the machine shut down, and the overhead lights came back on.

Dr. Hu led him back to the examination room, had him take a seat, then left to retrieve the results.

"That wasn't so bad," Xander said to Emmy. She nodded and began to chew upon a fingernail. "Hey, I'm the one who's supposed to be anxious," he reminded her with a smile.

She yanked her hand away from her mouth and smiled back. "I'm sure it'll be fine."

Dr. Hu stepped inside, closed the door, and sat down on a chair next to Xander. His face remained expressionless as he examined the screen of a large tablet.

"I'm on pins and needles here, doc," Xander said. "How's it look?"

"Dr. Hu laid the tablet down on the sink counter and looked at him. "Emmy informed me of what you'd told her, but I'd like a few more details on any spells, enchantments, or occult rituals of any kind that might have affected your nervous system. Most importantly, when they happened."

Xander rubbed the back of his neck. "Back in high school, a spell gave me the memories and skills of a soldier. The spell was eventually broken, but I could still remember how to field strip a rifle or clean a latrine." He considered for a moment not telling the doctor about Dawn, but then decided a vague description couldn't possibly cause any harm. "A few years after that, a spell gave me, gave all of my friends, actually, memories of a particular person we hadn't known before."

"Anything after that?" Dr. Hu asked. "Anything at all that might have affected your memories or cognition?"

Xander thought for a moment. "Well, there was one forgetfulness spell that lasted a day, and also a love spell that went wrong … maybe a few others … but all of that was years ago. Back in my late teens and early twenties."

Dr. Hu tilted his head at him in surprise, then glanced at Emmy before returning his gaze back to Xander. "Let's set aside for a moment my immense curiosity as to what kind of lifestyle you have led that resulted in you being continuously involved in particularly potent magic, you're very sure that all of these incidents happened … what … twenty years ago?"

"About that, yeah," Xander replied. "Give or take a year or two."

"Mr. Harris," Dr. Hu said gravely, "while I certainly do wish that you'd taken a bit more care with your intake forms and medical disclosures, nothing you've told me could possibly explain this." He pointed the tablet screen at Xander. Xander could see the outline of his skull, a grayish interior, and what looked like a purple mass centered behind his left eye. From the mass, tendrils twisted into the left side of his brain and trailed down his neck vertebrae to disappear at the bottom of the display.

"That isn't normal?" Xander asked as he stared, horrified, at the image. He was proud that he managed to keep his voice neutral and level.

"You need to brace yourself, Mr. Harris," Dr. Hu replied. "Those glowing purple cords that you saw on the display, the graft has rooted itself far deeper than anticipated. I found traces of demonic tissue twisting down your neck and into the left side of your body. There are even traces that extend all the way through your left hand to the fingertips." The doctor breathed deeply before continuing. "Hrtzgoxx transplants are tremendously sensitive to any type of spells that affect neurological organs, and this type of massive conversion of human tissue to demonic can't be explained by anything that might have happened years ago."

"What is it then?" Xander asked

Dr. Hu leaned back. "The growth is centered upon regions of your brain that store and retrieve both long-term and short-term memories. My diagnosis, Mr. Harris, is that recently, within the last twelve to eighteen months, a tremendous infusion of magic beyond anything I have ever seen in my career re-wired a core chunk of your memories."

Xander blinked a few times as he processed the information. "What?" he finally said.

"A memory spell," Dr. Hu said. "A big one. We're not talking about someone rearranging a few details, this was a massive, substantial modification of how you perceive and recollect your life."

"You can't be serious." He looked at Emmy. "Tell me he's not serious."

"A recent, powerful spell would explain why the growth was so fast," Emmy explained.

"The growth was so fast," Dr. Hu continued, "that I suspect that whatever is affecting your memory may be ongoing."

"Ongoing?" Xander asked. "As in, this wasn't a one-time deal? Someone is still tampering with my memories?"

Dr. Hu shook his head. "I don't know for sure. Have you noticed any frequent visual phenomenon surrounding your own body? For example, any strands of magic leading to your head?"

"Not that I've noticed."

"It's possible that I'm mistaken," Dr. Hu mused, "Or, the magic could move so quickly, or so periodically, that your eye simply isn't picking up on it. Mr. Harris, I assume that all of this is new information for you?"

New information?" Xander asked with a raised voice. "Yeah, you might say that. I'm pretty sure you just told me that something about my life isn't right, that my memories aren't actually my memories. You could say that comes as a big surprise."

"What now?" Emmy asked. "Can you remove the spell?"

"And fix my memories?" Xander added.

Dr. Hu sighed apologetically. "I'm not a wizard. What you're asking is beyond my capabilities. Whoever did this to you, Mr. Harris, was a powerful mystic."

"What about his eye?" Emmy asked. "Should it be removed?"

"Emmy!" Xander yelled. Dr. Hu and Emmy flinched in their chairs, then both looked at him with concern. "Sorry," he said apologetically.

"Mr. Harris, this memory spell played havoc with your transplant. I can't undo the magical effect, but if we remove the eye, at least we can prevent it from modifying any more of your human tissue."

"Remove my eye?" Xander said as he felt panic begin to rise. "Why?"

"Because it might get worse," Emmy informed him.

The doctor nodded in agreement. "She's right, there's no guarantee the symptoms won't worsen. The growth will likely continue if someone keeps tinkering with your memories."

"But you're not sure?" Xander asked. "Can we try anything else before we start cutting off pieces of me that I'm still getting used to?"

"As I said, Mr. Harris, I'm a doctor, not a spellcaster," Dr. Hu reminded him. "You may wish to consult with specialists in the occult, but if you're looking for medical options, I'm afraid that the only solution I can offer you is to remove the transplant."

"I mean, could I have a new transplant later, once we figure out who's been playing with my memories?" Xander asked.

"Not from me, you ingrate!" Phil yelled through the closed door.

"PHIL!" Emmy yelled. Xander heard a shuffling sound as the demon moved away from the door.

"No, Mr. Harris," Dr. Hu replied. "I don't think that's advisable." The doctor rubbed his chin for a moment. "You could always tough it out, see if the symptoms stabilize, but if you want everything that's still human to remain human, extraction is what I recommend."

Emmy reached out and held his hand. Xander stared at the wall … for some reason, the vision through his left eye seemed more precious than it ever had before. It wasn't just the sight, the eye meant more to him now than that. As he contemplated what removal would mean, he realized that his vision, the abilities the procedure had given him, let him help Buffy in ways that he couldn't before. Hell, Angel counted on him, everyone … everyone … saw him differently. Lose all of that?

It makes me … special.

"I need to think about it," he announced.

Emmy's grip tightened. "Xander," she said softly. "You heard what Dr. Hu said, right?"

He nodded but didn't meet her eyes. "I heard. Given what I saw on there," he gestured at the tablet, "what's done is done. Before I go yanking bits of me out, we need to be sure it's absolutely necessary."

Dr. Hu and Emmy glanced at each other, then Dr. Hu replied. "A conservative posture at this point is medically acceptable, but only," he held up a cautionary hand, "if you come back next month so we can take another MARI and check the status. If we see no changes, that's a great sign. If we see additional growth, then Mr. Harris, I'm afraid that I will view this as an emergency situation."

Xander did his best to hide his enthusiasm as he replied, "That sounds like a good idea. I'll come back next month." He looked at Emmy, "What do you think?"

"Well, I'm worried," she admitted, "but if the doctor thinks it's safe to wait …" Emmy crossed her fingers and held out her hand.

He barely listened as Dr. Hu rattled off a few more instructions and warnings, then he shook Dr. Hu's hand and walked to the lobby. A young, buxom redhead whose hair had been woven into an elaborate French braid sat at the front desk.

Dr. Hu has excellent taste in receptionists.

He paid the bill, for a sum that astounded him given the brevity of the visit, then held the glazed glass door open for Emmy as they exited the office.

Xander breathed deeply and stared at the brightly hued, magically-illuminated splendor of the Undermall with new appreciation. The demons coursing through the aisles shone with their own unique colors and patterns; it suddenly struck him how beautiful it was.

I was that close to going back to how I used to be.

A thought occurred to him. "We're not in a hurry to head back to your apartment, are we?"

"I guess not. What did you have in mind?"

Xander pointed towards a distant corner of the Undermall. "There's this place I couldn't visit last time I was here, but I'd love to check it out."

"What kind of place?"

"A tiki bar," Xander said with a smile. "If you can believe that."

Emmy shrugged. "Sure, why not."

. . . . . . . . .

Angel had resorted to spreading out the maps so that they formed a continuous whole over the entire lobby desk. He had pinned, taped, and drawn so many X's on the map that you could scarcely go four or five inches in any direction without running into one.

There's a pattern here, I know it … I'm just not seeing it.

Examining the maps helped keep his mind off other problems. He'd hoped Buffy's enthusiasm for politics would wear off, but she remained convinced that she could beat a career politician at his own game. Meanwhile, Xander had given no indication as to when he might be back. Angel had made the executive decision that they wouldn't be taking on any files for the indefinite future, which would eventually pose a problem in regards to paying bills, but unless he disconnected the service the office phone would still keep ringing.

Those were his daytime problems, but there were also the nighttime concerns. Two Hellspots had been, at least for the time being, dealt with, but vampiric and demonic activity continued to grow. Though he would never call Spike unless it was literally life or death, apparently the Blond Annoyance had either turned off or thrown away his cell. That meant that until the other slayers or Connor arrived, the Anyaverse Buffy either patrolled by herself, or with Giles. Angel wasn't sure which of those options concerned him more.

I may have to suggest to Buffy that I begin patrolling with our newest Buffy.

He could think of few topics that might be more unpleasant to bring up.

Sunnydale's former mayor was his looming, overarching concern, but Wilkins appeared committed to maintaining the peace ordained by Wolfram & Hart. The serial killer who was stalking him, however, would be unlikely to exhibit any such restraint. Every night he wracked his brain trying to piece the fragments together, and every morning he woke up still at a complete loss. He was sure the killer was human, but Kate's photograph told a different story.

The door swung open, and a diminutive young woman stepped inside. Angel looked up in irritation; he'd meant to lock the door. The woman appeared to be in her early twenties, with thick brown hair and dusky skin. He guessed Latina.

I don't recognize her.

"Sorry, miss," he said politely. "We're actually closed today."

"Angel?" the woman asked. "I've come a few times before, and you weren't here. Is it really you?"

She's the one who's been stopping by these last few months.

He stood up, walked out from behind the desk, and examined the woman more carefully. She was shorter than Buffy, with a pleasant smile and no place to hide weapons beneath her tight blue jeans and thin cotton shirt.

If she's dangerous, she's got me fooled.

"You've been looking for me?" Angel asked. "I have to admit, if I've made your acquaintance, I'm afraid it's slipped my mind."

"Oh, we haven't met," the woman quickly explained. "My name is Angelina Machado. You knew my mother, Jo. You can't imagine how amazing it is to finally meet you, my mom told me the story about you so many times."

Angel blinked a few times as he tried to place the name. He slapped the lobby desk with the palm of his hand as the recollection came back to him.

"I remember your mother," he exclaimed. "Nice gal, I kind of misunderstood her situation at first, but I could never forget the Tribunal, or the Prio Motu … may he rest in peace … or the fighting from horseback, or any of it." He caught his breath and let the memories wash over him.

They aren't particularly good memories.

"Where have you and your mother been?" he asked Angelina. "If I remember correctly, you were going to be protected and raised by …"

"The Tribunal," Angelina answered before he could finish the asking the question. "They provided refuge to me and my mother until I turned eighteen. Then it was college, and now I'm here."

"And your mother?" Angel asked. "How is she?"

The smile vanished from Angelina's face. "She passed away a few years ago."

"Oh no, I'm so sorry," Angel said. "Your mother was a brave, kind woman." An unpleasant thought occurred to him. "It wasn't anything to do with the Cahair Binse, was it? Is that why you've been looking for me?"

The woman quickly shook her head. "No, it wasn't that. Natural causes." She wiped at her eyes. "But your question, that's actually why I'm here."

"I'm not sure I follow," Angel said as he leaned back against the desk.

"My mother and the Tribunal always told me that I had a destiny," Angelina explained. "That I could be a force for good in this world. I was going to join the police academy, but then I saw an article that changed my mind."

"What kind of article?"

"About Moonridge," Angelina explained. "About the kinds of things that happen here. Then I found more and more articles, and as I read, I started thinking, what if this was what I was meant for? Most people don't believe in magic, or demons, or any of it, but I know better. Maybe I can make a difference, like my mother always wanted."

"Angelina," Angel said delicately, "your heart is in the right place, but what you're talking about, it's dangerous. Your mother wouldn't have wanted that for you. I think she just wanted to forget all about me and the rest of it."

"If she wanted to forget about you, why did she name me after you?"

Angel blinked in surprise a few times.

I should have realized that possibility as soon as she said her name.

"I …" he sputtered, "I don't what to say. I only knew your mother a short time, but she made a real impression on me."

"And apparently you made one on her."

"There are ways to help that won't get you killed," Angel suggested gently.

"If you think I'm planning on jousting, like you did, no way," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I studied computers, programming, and website development, and there are people who live down here who are coming up with ways that people like me can help." She pulled out her phone, tapped on it, then held it up so that Angel could see the screen. "Maybe you've heard of them?"

Angel craned forward to get a better look.

You've got to be kidding me.

"Apocalytes," he said in as neutral of a tone as he could manage. "They mean well, but they may end doing more harm than good." He crossed his arms. "Angelina, the world could always use better programmers. Maybe you could help that way?"

Angelina tucked her phone into a pocket. "Maybe, but I think I'll stay in Moonridge, talk to some of these folks, and see what they're about."

Angel noticed immediately that she hadn't been dissuaded or affected by his opinion, nor did she ask that he share any more of his opinions with her.

She's tougher than she looks. Just like her mom.

Angel turned around and fished a business card out of a holder on the reception desk. "Here," he said as he offered it to her. "You need anything, you call me."

"Thank you," she said as she slipped the card in her pocket. "And you don't have to worry about me making a pest of myself, I know what happened with my mom was a long time ago and that you probably have lots of other people to save these days."

Angel stepped forward. "Angelina, stop by whenever you want." He put a hand on her shoulder. "You're a reminder that every once in a while, the good guys win. Just, be careful out there, okay?"

She smiled up at him. "Of course, Batvamp."

Every single apocalyte website needs to be taken down.

. . . . . . . . .

He watched the office across the street through narrowed eyes as a young woman he'd never seen before chatted with Angel.

Pretty, and more meat to cut than the last few.

He watched as Angel handed the woman a card, then watched as she exited and proceeded down the sidewalk.

She's special, isn't she?

Just thinking the thought made his blood boil. Angel, and all his friends, walking and talking and appearing normal, but they weren't. They weren't at all. His hands gripped the railing upon which he was leaning so tightly that his entire upper body began to vibrate from the strain. He forced himself to calm down, loosen his grasp, then release the railing.

He pulled a small calendar notebook out of his coat pocket, opened it to the appropriate date, then jotted down the time of the woman's arrival, her appearance, and the fact that Angel unexpectedly appeared to have been alone in the office that morning. When he was finished, he tucked the notebook away, pretended to tap on his cellphone while he walked, and followed the woman.

. . . . . . . . .

"Demon-only bar?" Emmy whispered as the bouncers lowered their detecting wands and waved them in. "How exciting. When did you find out about this place?"

Xander climbed a set of steps and pulled open one of the two lacquered entry doors. "I've actually never been inside." He pointed at his eye. "I was too human last time."

As he followed Emmy inside, a certain amount of satisfaction at having gained entry to a location previously denied him washed over him. The inside was larger than he had thought, and the walls and ceiling were thatched in the same manner as the roof outside. Gleaming wooden beams lined the walls, and on both sides of the central room, bars decorated with overhanging palm fronds extended nearly the entire length.

From the ceiling, glowing glass balls dangled within nets, and on the walls hung canoes, fake fish, and various tiki themed trinkets. Wicker baskets softly illuminated by battery-powered candles splashed light onto rattan tables spread around the room. Garish red, yellow, and white napkins were neatly laid upon each of the tables. The table and bars had green rattan stools and chairs.

Demons visible to his eyesight glittered in every possible shade of color as they mingled, chatted, and swirled within the bar. He spotted multiple demons, more than a couple vampires … they made him uncomfortable … and two robed figures in the corner who were cloaked in darkness shot through with sparks. In a gesture he hadn't used in a long time, Xander held a hand up to his left eye for a moment. All of the shining hues vanished.

"Ooh, karaoke," Emmy squealed with delight as she pointed at a set of microphones, speakers, and books of songs on the far side of the room."

Xander grimaced at the thought. "Not me, no way. I can't sing."

"You never know," Emmy said. "Maybe those new memories taught you how to be Frank Sinatra." She paled and held her hand up to her mouth. "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't joke about that."

Xander forced himself to grin. "If there is anything I've learned, try to take time to laugh no matter what, or you'll go crazy."

They embraced, then made their way to the bar.

"This guy Lorne, what does he look like?" Emmy asked.

A green-skinned demon behind the bar leaned back so he could see Xander and Emmy more clearly. "Lorne is about six feet, two inches, but close to six foot six when he wears his favorite pair of saddleback ankle boots. He's got green skin, red eyes, a devilishly handsome smile that will melt the heart of demonic goons from the roughest dimensions imaginable, and he has some rules about his bar. One rule reads as follows: Angel and the people who work for him aren't welcome here."

"And Lorne has horns, apparently," Emmy murmured.

Lorne smiled at Emmy as he looked her over. His teeth were gleamingly bright. "Well, aren't you just the cutest little part human, part demon ingenue this side of the Mississippi. Sweetheart, whatever mixture your parents blessed you with, it blended just right."

"I don't work for Angel, I work with him," Xander corrected Lorne angrily. "We're partners."

Lorne's smile vanished and his expression became decidedly less cheery. "Either way, Caritas is closed to you." He pointed at the door. "Get out."

Xander's face contorted with rage as he put his hands on the bar and leaned forward. "Hey, you've got a lot of nerve …"

Emmy put her hand on his forearm. He took a few deep breaths and forced himself to calm down. "It was a hell of a walk getting here, and we just wanted a few drinks. Then we're gone, I promise."

A young man whose aura gleamed a blinding mixture of red and white to Xander's vision swiveled on his stool to fix them with an irritated gaze. He had a shock of red hair, light green eyes, and Xander recognized him immediately.

"The Host asked you to leave," Joshua Hallett growled ominously. "And you're interrupting a private conversation." Joshua shifted his gaze to Lorne. "I find the timing of this moment rather interesting. I am here to remind you who to stay away from, or else, and one of them shows up here."

"Kid, I agreed to keep Angel and his merry men persona non grata in Caritas because that happens to also be what I want, but don't make the mistake of thinking I give a capybara's patootie about your request otherwise, and especially don't make the mistake of thinking you can threaten me here." Lorne casually brushed some dust off his shoulder. "In case you didn't get the memo, violence is literally impossible in Caritas." Lorne lowered his hands and took a sip from a highball.

Joshua extended his arm towards Lorne and a rippling, shimmering effect appeared in the air and wrapped around the young vamipre's hand. The muscles in Joshua's arm and shoulder flexed and his neck bulged with the strain as he fought against the dampening effect. With a single finger, he shoved Lorne hard enough to rock him backwards a few feet.

Lorne looked down in surprise. "How the hell did you manage that?"

Joshua stood from the bar and towered above Xander as he rotated his gaze. "We didn't have a chance to exchange pleasantries last time."

"I'm thinking we won't be exchanging pleasantries this time either," Xander growled as he stepped closer. He laid one hand on the bar and bunched the other into a fist.

Emmy leaned in close and whispered into his ear. "Xander, I think we should go."

"NOT YET!" Xander snarled as he reached towards Emmy. A shimmering force field appeared and kept him from pushing her away. He gazed at his own hand in horror as he realized what he was about to do.

Emmy turned white as she stepped away. "Xander, what's wrong with you?"

"She's pretty," Joshua said appreciatively as he eyed Emmy. "If you're not going to treat her right, maybe she'd like someone younger. I already know she doesn't mind boyfriends who aren't quite human."

Xander roared with anger as he tried to grab Joshua's shirt. That same force field once again appeared and prevented him from making contact. As he grabbed the edge of the bar with his left hand, heat, hotter than he had ever felt before, flared through his eye and down his neck and shoulder. His eye shone a blindingly bright red in the mirror.

He was gratified to see Joshua and Lorne flinch away from the sight, then he was as surprised as anyone when the wood of the bar caught fire.

"Fire!" Lorne screamed as he leapt away from the flames and batted at his clothes. A nearby barback held his arm against his mouth and nose as he grabbed a flexible hose connected to a sink behind the bar and began spraying water. A few moments later, the flames were extinguished. Smoke rose towards the ceiling and a charred, burnt outline in the shape of a hand was pressed into the edge of the bar.

"Xander!" Emmy yelped. "What just happened?"

"He just punched his ticket out of here, is just what happened!" Lorne exclaimed in a high-pitched squeal as he snapped his fingers towards the front door. Several security guards rushed over to surround Xander. "Get him out of here," Lorne commanded.

"Hey, I thought you were Angel's friend," Xander argued. "Why the hell is this thing even allowed in here?" He gestured towards Joshua.

"Well, at least he doesn't set my bar all a-blaze." Lorne pointed towards the front door. "Out. Now."

Joshua once again gazed at Emmy. "You should learn more about the people you hang with. It isn't safe to be around Buffy Summers or her friends."

Before Xander even had a chance to get angry, Emmy had darted in front of him and stepped close. "Xander, please." Fearfully, she met his eyes. "Can we please go."

Xander nodded and began back towards the door. "This isn't over, slaypire" he said as he pointed at Joshua.

Lorne, Emmy, and Joshua shot puzzled glances at Xander.

"What the hell did you call me?" Joshua asked.

"That's not important!" Xander called back. "Just stay away from us, or else."

Emmy half directed, half pulled, him through the front door.

Once they were outside and well away from Caritas, Emmy pulled him to the side of an aisle.

"Xander, we need to go back to Dr. Hu right now."

A sense of panic rose up in him at her words. "I'm supposed to go back next month," he reminded her. "To see if things had gotten worse."

"Gotten worse!" she yelled. A few passersby gazed at her in surprise. Emmy lowered her voice and continued, "Xander, you just set a bar on fire. It's obviously getting worse."

He decided to tell her the truth. "This isn't new," he admitted. "Something like it happened a few months ago."

"A few months ago," Emmy said in a quavering voice. "And you're just telling me now."

"I've told you about the heat in my face and down my arm," he tried to explain. "The fire, the last time it happened I mean, it was an unusual situation. I didn't think it would happen again."

"Well, it did," Emmy said. "We're going back to Dr. Hu."

"Next month," Xander said adamantly. "And if he takes that scan thing and says it's worse, then …" he made a snipping gesture at his eye.

"Why are you so hesitant?" she asked. "What is going on?"

Xander frowned at her. "You're talking about ripping my eye out. That already happened to me once, it sucked."

Emmy shook her head, "I get that, I really do, but this is something more." She crossed her arms and looked down. "I know it's only been five or six months, so I get that I'm new to your life. But I crash at your place, you crash at my place, we've met each other's friends, I know where the skeletons are buried … out with it Xander. Out with it, or I don't know what you and I are to each other."

"Emmy …" he said as he tried to find the words. "You've always been part demon."

"Yeah, so?" she asked in confusion.

"And I've just been me. Xander. Human. You don't know what it's like, for years, being there, fighting the fight, doing your part, but you always know that you're the only one who maybe doesn't belong."

When the words left his lips, he couldn't believe he'd said them. He hadn't spoken out loud that fear for a long time, decades, maybe, and voicing them felt poison being lanced from his skin.

I'm glad I told her.

"Thank you for telling me," Emmy said as she held his hand. They began walking towards the Caritas exit. "And I understand, really, I do. I mean, even amongst us quarter-breeds, there are pecking orders, cliques, bullies. Visiting my grandfather's family, the Prajjians, they always let me know where I stood."

"I like that Prajjian quarter part of you," he teased.

Xander reached up to her shoulder and ran his hand along the ridge of scales in a particular manner that he knew she liked and was gratified when Emmy bit her lower lip and shuddered in response.

"Not now!" she whispered as she brushed his hand away. She wiped a bead of sweat from her brow and composed herself. "Xander, the memory changes, the growth of the transplant, I'm worried that it's changing you."

"It's still me," he reassured you. "Just … better."

"Better how?" she asked.

"Let's just say I bring more to the table."

Emmy frowned. "You're talking about Angel and Buffy again, aren't you?"

He nodded, and then something occurred to him. "I'll tell you another thing, I don't want Dr. Hu doing anything until Willow figures out what is going on with this memory spell. Someone has screwed with my mind."

"Willow can't do magic, she's pregnant," Emmy reminded him.

"Giles, then."

Emmy nodded. "Let me know when you want us to talk to him."

Xander took a moment to compose an excuse before replied. "Memory spells have a bad history in our group, and it's kind of a sensitive subject," he explained. "Do me a favor, let me talk to them alone first?"

"But you will talk to them, right?"

Xander nodded. "Oh, absolutely."

They reached the opening that they'd use to enter the Undermall, and before them a white tiled path led to a portal that rippled and quivered like mercury.

I'm getting really sick of portals.

Emmy looked at him and nodded. "Okay, I trust you. It's your eye, it's your memories, I get it."

"Thank you." He leaned over and kissed her.

When they separated, both stared at each other as though they wanted to say something more, then the moment ended.

. . . . . . . . .

"That's good," Giles yelled in encouragement from behind a veritable mountain of padding. "You didn't twitch your shoulder that time."

Buffy … Giles was surprised to find that he often just thought of their Anyaverse refugee simply as 'Buffy' now … continued launching an assortment of leaping kicks, spinning punches, and attacks one after another until an alarm sounded in the corner of the room.

"Very good," Giles said as he caught his breath and began to disrobe. "The last few days you've seemed particularly inspired." Buffy hurried over to help him with the massive chest protector; he paused for a moment to nod at her gratefully.

That's new.

"Patrol tonight with Faith?" she asked.

Giles nodded. "Angel convinced her that, for now, it would be better if the two of you patrolled together. At least until more help arrives."

Or until Spike comes back. If he ever does.

Giles decided not to voice that last part.

"You get to stay home for once?" Buffy said with a smile as she wiped her head and neck with a towel. She stepped off the padded mat that occupied most of the basement of Giles and Olivia's home and tossed the towel in a nearby bin. "Maybe catch a movie while Faith and I dust the local wildlife?"

Giles grunted an acknowledgment. "I'll be here, but I'll be 'monitoring remotely,' to use Angel's terminology."

"I'll keep my cellphone on and my earpiece in," Buffy promised.

Now THAT is very new.

Giles stepped away from the pile of protective gear and retrieved his glasses. As he slipped them on, Buffy peered up the stairs to ensure they were alone, then turned back to him.

"Giles, do you mind if I ask you something?"

He nodded. "Anything."

"The mayor, I've been thinking about what he means."

"He isn't mayor yet," Giles corrected her. "And if Buffy wins, he won't be."

Buffy raised her eyebrows in skepticism but did not comment verbally upon her view of the likely election outcome.

"What was on your mind about the Richard Wilkins?" Giles prodded her.

"He isn't here because of me, is he?" she asked in a rush. "I mean, my being here didn't, like, summon him, did it?"

Giles shook his head. "Oh no, no. I imagine that the Richard Wilkins in the Anyaverse reality was investigating the portal, realized that his reality was collapsing, and took the opportunity to seek out greener pastures. He always was a slimy opportunist."

Buffy seemed to be considered whether she believed him, then finally she nodded. "That's good to know. That he isn't my fault, I mine."

Giles risked the gesture of putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Buffy, the mayor, and nothing else happening in this reality is your fault." He leaned forward, kissed the top of her head, and was gratified when she didn't recoil away. "We're lucky to have you."

"Thanks Giles," she said with a smile. The tone, the cadence, the moment was so achingly familiar that the nostalgia lanced a pain through his heart sharper than any dagger.

He grinned paternally and watched as she scampered up the steps. In only a few moments she'd physically recovered to the point that she showed no signs of having exerted herself non-stop for the past hour.

Giles slowly, and with the assistance of the handrail, climbed the steps.

I'm going to have to find someone else to play punching dummy.

When he reached the top of the stairs, he paused for a moment in the main hallway of the home to gather his thoughts. As he was doing so, the door swung open and Angel … ridiculously dressed in a long black coat, as always … hurried inside.

Giles frowned at him. "Is there some affliction besetting ex-vampires that prevents them from ringing doorbells, knocking, or even calling ahead?"

Angel brushed off the question as he glanced into the living room and then towards the kitchen.

"Can I help you with something, Angel?" Giles pointedly asked with a raised voice.

"Sorry I barged in," Angel said nonchalantly. "Nobody was answering."

Giles walked into the family room and sat down. "We were training, if you must know. It's difficult to hear much of anything with that much foam surrounding you."

"Buffy would have heard the doorbell, though," Angel pointed out.

Giles removed his glasses and began cleaning them. "We don't usually get daytime visitors unless they are solicitors or expected company. She probably simply ignored it." Giles slid his glasses back on. "Angel, let me ask again, did you need something?"

"I don't think it's a good idea for Buffy to patrol alone," Angel said hurriedly.

"You're here to discuss Buffy's patrols?" Giles asked slowly and deliberately.

Angel nodded.

Giles unhurriedly pondered Angel's comment before he replied, "I agree entirely."

Angel blinked in surprise. 'Then you think I should patrol with her?"

"Not quite what I had in mind."

Angel frowned. "Giles, I know you've been going out with Buffy regularly, and you totally salvaged that mess with the Hellspot last month, but I think she needs someone to guard her back in a pugilistic, rather than a magical, sense."

"But why you?" Giles asked.

"Because nobody can reach Spike, Xander is out of town, and Connor and the other slayers aren't here yet."

"It may ease your mind to know that Faith will be patrolling with Buffy for now," Giles informed him. "She may cover less ground, but as demons continue to flood into Moonridge, I imagine the precaution is necessary."

Angel rubbed the back of his neck. "I thought Faith prefers to patrol alone."

"Admittedly, Faith was not enthusiastic at first, but I convinced her," Giles said. "I think what changed her mind was the opportunity to spend time with the newest member of our group."

Giles's unspoken guess at the reason for Angel's visit lingered on the air.

And maybe, Angel, you want to spend time with the new Buffy, too

"Okay then," Angel said awkwardly.

Giles grabbed a book from the table and began to read. Angel hesitantly backed away, and was about to open the front door to exit when Buffy, still wearing her training gi, appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Oh hey, you," she exclaimed in surprise at Angel as she began to descend. "Were you at the door earlier? I didn't know we were expecting company." She rubbed at the scar crossing the right side of her mouth as she stopped a few steps from the bottom of the stairs. When Buffy realized what she was doing, she self-consciously dropped her hand.

"I didn't know we were expecting company either," Giles mumbled from his chair.

It was difficult for Angel not to think of Buffy, his Buffy, as he gazed at her younger counterpart. Same casual lean against the railing of the stairs, same expression as she watched him, it was the same … Buffy. Just with a lot more eye shadow than he was used to seeing.

"Earth to Angel," Buffy said as she snapped her fingers. "You awake?"

Angel snapped out of his reverie. "Sorry about that, you just reminded me of someone."

Giles scowled at Angel while Buffy turned the cutest shade of pink.

"Oh," she said. "I have no response to that."

Angel shook his head dismissively. "Sorry." He cleared his throat. "How's the training going?"

"Well."

"Has Giles finally cured your habit of dropping your shoulder before an offhand lead?"

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Yeah. Probably." She hopped down the last few steps and headed towards the kitchen.

Angel considered his options: either follow Buffy or stay with Giles. He decided to follow Buffy.

"Any sign of Spike?" he asked as they entered the kitchen.

"I didn't know you cared." Buffy opened the refrigerator and grabbed a diet coke.

That's new. Buffy never liked diet sodas.

"I don't," Angel explained. "At least, not personally. But … and if you ever repeat to Spike what I am about to say I will deny it to my dying breath … Spike knows his way around a fight. We might need him."

Buffy consumed half the bottle in one long swallow before replying. "Haven't seen him around lately, and I don't expect to in the immediate future, either." She finished the bottle. "Somehow I don't think you came here to ask about Spike."

Angel shook his head. "Nope. I wanted to chat with Giles about whether you should be patrolling alone."

"I'm going with Faith. You hadn't heard?"

"I have now," Angel replied.

"That's all you wanted? To discuss my patrols?"

Angel hesitated a moment, then continued. "There was something else I wanted to tell you about."

"What?" she asked curiously.

"The guy who killed the mayor, he's still killing, and I think he may be interested in anyone I know."

"Yeah, when you told us that the killer was knocking off your co-workers from that Wolverine Heart place, we figured that," Buffy replied.

Angel decided to ignore Buffy's mangled pronunciation. "I think the killer is human," Angel explained. "On patrol, don't rule anyone out as a potential threat, even if they don't have fangs or a tail."

"Gotta watch out for the people now, too?" Buffy replied. "This job just gets worse and worse all the time." She turned and called out to Giles. "Giles, can't you just cast a locater spell or something so we can find the serial killer that's stalking Angel?"

"No," Giles yelled back. "This is a human killer, with human victims, the kind of magic I'd have to cast would be too unreliable and carry too high of a price." Giles paused a moment, then continued shouting from the other room, "If you'd like to converse, by all means please join me in the living room."

"What I don't get," Buffy asked Angel, "is what the mayor killer is waiting for?"

"What do you mean?" Angel asked.

She gestured towards him. "He knows what town you live in, and he probably knows where you work. If this is about revenge, what's he waiting for?"

"I don't know," Angel admitted. "And that scares me most of all. All we can do is try to stay vigilant."

"Ooooooh," Buffy intoned ominously. "For the first time in my life, I feel like I might be in danger," she mockingly whispered in a frightened voice.

Angel and Buffy looked at each other, then they both laughed.

"You know," she said when the moment of merriment had passed, "I've been in this world for what, four months now, and this is the first time you and I are having an actual conversation."

"We've talked lots of times, Buffy," he protested.

"With a group," she pointed out. "With everyone around. Not like this. Not just you and me."

Angel found himself fumbling for words. "Well, I'm around. Just … busy."

"Busy?" she asked as she raised her eyebrows at him.

"Busy."

"Okay, Buffy said as she opened a cabinet and rummaged inside until she had found a bag of chips. "I hope that's all it is."

"That's all it is," Angel replied as he suddenly felt the urge to be elsewhere. "If you need anything, let me know."

"Anything at all?" she asked with a mischievous smirk as she opened her mouth, slowly inserted a chip, then pressed her lips closed.

"I'm going to go," Angel squeaked as he began to back out of the kitchen.

Buffy giggled.

Then she remembered something she had meant to ask him.

"Angel," she called out.

"Yes, Buffy?" Angel asked as he hurried back into the kitchen.

"I wanted to know about Angelus."

For some reason, she had the distinct sensation that Giles had frozen in place in the other room.

Angel, whose face had grown still and drawn, responded quietly, "Angelus is dead. I know, I felt him die inside me. Why are you asking about him?"

"He's mentioned in all of Giles's journals," she explained.

"You actually read them!" Giles called out.

"Giles!" she yelled in protest before continuing, "Angel, Giles felt I needed to be up to speed on what I, on what your Buffy, had done here. I read through the journals, they talked about Glory, Lord Carroll, that avatar of the First …"

"Caleb," Angel informed her. "That was his name."

Buffy resumed her litany of former adversaries, "there are sections on the mayor that seem rather topical, then there was that zombie funeral parlor guy …"

"Jean Laffitte Chevalier," Angel said as he interrupted her again. "He wasn't evil, not really, just misguided." Angel snorted at a particularly unpleasant memory. "His god, though, Granath? Now that thing was nightmare fuel. Killing a god isn't particularly easy, either." He paused a moment. "We had losses."

It took Buffy a moment to recall the name. "Kennedy?"

Angel nodded.

"Anyway, I read all about those old big bads," Buffy asked, "but there's almost nothing in Giles's journals about Angelus."

"I told you, he's dead," Angel said flatly. "Angelus was a monster, and every day I have to carry around the memories of what he did. Let him stay dead."

"I agree," Giles added as he walked into the kitchen. "Angelus, despite the danger he posed to us, was a singular and unique problem that we are unlikely to encounter a second time." Giles gazed dispassionately at Angel. "I feel that little can be gleaned by digging up painful memories."

Buffy detected an odd note to Giles's voice as he spoke.

Maybe it's best not to pry.

"Okay," she said. "Just curious, is all."

Giles spoke from behind an open cupboard door as he rummaged for tea. "If that is all, Angel, there are a few things I wanted to go over with Buffy. Plus, I need to get started on dinner."

"What are we having?" Buffy asked.

"Chicken enchiladas."

Buffy's face fell. "Again?"

Giles shot her a wounded expression. "I thought you loved them."

Buffy grunted noncommittally and retreated from the kitchen. Angel took his cue and headed towards the front door.

"Thanks for stopping by," Buffy said as she flopped upon the couch in the living room. "Let me know if you get any more info on this mayor killer guy. Particularly his name or at least what he looks like."

"I will," Angel promised as he reached for the doorknob. As he watched Buffy lounge upon the couch, a mental image intruded upon his thoughts: a vision of both Buffys laughing and gazing up at him as they fell backwards upon a bed.

"You're doing it again," Buffy called out.

"What?" Angel asked as he snapped out of the momentary daydream.

"Staring."

"Sorry," Angel said with a wince as he swung the door open.

Buffy watched the interplay of the muscles in Angel's hand and forearm as he swung open the door and exited.

. . . . . . . . .

Angel gathered his thoughts on the small patio outside the front door, then began walking towards his car. As if on cue, his phone began buzzing.

"Yes?" he asked as he held his cell up to his ear.

"That's what I get?" Buffy complained. "No, how are you doing? No, what are you wearing?"

"Well, what you are wearing?" Angel asked in a low, throaty whisper. "Is it something … indecent?"

"Angel!" Buffy squealed. She cleared her throat on the other end of the line. "Right now, I'm mostly up to my eyeballs in election printouts. Running for mayor is going to be a lot more paperwork than I thought."
"I can imagine."

"You at the office?" she asked.

Angel opened his car door and slid inside. "Not at the moment," he replied as he closed the door.

"Where are you then?"

Angel hesitated a moment, then replied, "I was checking on something at Giles."

"Oh."

He was relatively certain that Buffy's 'Oh' had a quite different intonation than the earlier portions of the conversation.

"What were you checking on?" she asked.

"The guy who's killing the mayor, I wanted to let Giles and Buffy know that I think he's human, and to watch out on patrols for more than just demons."

"Human? Even with the purple scaly skin?"

Angel triggered the ignition and then pulled away from the curb. "I know what the photo showed, but it's a man. I guarantee it."

"And you're sure it isn't just some goon who works for Wilkins?" Buffy asked.

"I don't think so," Angel replied. "He wouldn't have put on that big show of surprising us, reminding us of the truce, then just leaving peacefully if he didn't mean it. Plus, this just feels different … I mean, he killed an apocalyte? Why would a guy running for mayor even care about them? These killings are personal."

"It's pretty personal with Wilkins," Buffy replied.

"Maybe," Angel admitted. "But I still don't think it's him."

. . . . . . . . .

"Is it done?" Richard Wilkins asked Joshua while he strolled through a set of neatly trimmed, brightly blooming rosebushes that had been planted in a patch of lawn immediately in front of the castle.

Joshua handed over a bag. Richard Wilkins scanned the contents, then looked up. "And the other tasks?"

"I dropped the retainer off with Wolfram & Hart," Joshua replied. "And I paid a visit to that Lorne guy."

"The suspense is killing me," Richard Wilkins said as he set the bag down on a nearby bench and rubbed his hands with glee. "Is the Host going to be a problem?"

"I don't think so," Joshua replied. "He seemed to really dislike Angel."

"Understandable. He does have that effect on people."

"There was one complication?"

Richard Wilkins tilted his head. "Oh? What was that?"

"That Xander Harris guy, the one who used to have the construction company we use, he showed up with his girlfriend."

"Now that's a surprise. I hope he didn't expect to have his fortune told, as that was the very scenario you were there to prevent."

Joshua dismissively shook his head. "I don't think so. He and his gal pal just wanted to get a drink."

"We'll see," Richard Wilkins said thoughtfully. "I can tell you that I'll have a lot fewer concerns on my plate if those two mongrel shop owners would simply accept my exceedingly generous offer and sell. They've been sitting on my proposal for weeks."

"Why don't you just raise the offer?" Joshua asked.

Wilkins laid a hand on shoulder. "Here is a very important lesson, kiddo, never bid against yourself. You have to wait for them to make a counteroffer before you change your bid, otherwise you do two things: first, you reveal that you're desperate, and two, you make them suspicious."

"Suspicious about what?"

"Suspicious that you know something they don't, that whatever you want must be far more valuable than the price you're offering."

Joshua nodded thoughtfully. "Which is what's happening, right? The Valknut is worth more than everything else in that store combined."

Richard Wilkins leaned down to smell the roses. "It is."

"Tell me again why we don't just steal it?"

"Because then it wouldn't be of any use to me," Richard Wilkins explained as he stood up. "Every component of this spell must be acquired voluntarily. It's tedious and confusing, I know, but then, so is magic."

"But you're sure it will work?" Joshua asked.

"I know it will."

. . . . . . . . .

Spike stared at the setting sun, took a long swig from his flask, then tucked it away in his leather coat and popped a stick of gum into his mouth.

Bloody hell, hurry up and get dark already. I want to make this a fair fight.

The large, golden Greek letters neatly arranged above the front door of the three-story house glittered gold in the dying light. A low brick wall surrounded the astroturf front yard, a basketball hoop could be seen poking above the backyard fence, and the curtained windows allowed not even a glimpse of the interior.

The sun finally set.

He pulled a black-painted stake out of his pocket. It had felt supremely unnatural for the first few months to regularly use pointy wooden implements in a fight, but he'd gotten used to it.

Killing is killing.

The small water gun he extracted from another pocket hadn't required as much of an adjustment period. He'd covered his eyes a few months ago, sprayed a bit of holy water on his hand, and confirmed that he had well and truly left his cape and fang days behind.

He hopped over the brick wall, crouched, and crept towards the front door. His coat caught for a moment on the edge of a long bench, but he quickly shook it free. He reached the door and waited to see if he'd been spotted. After a minute passed with no signs of activity inside, he stood up, eyed the entry, and kicked at the knob.

The wooden frame burst into splinters, the door flew open, and Spike quickly stepped inside. A half dozen threadbare and torn couches were clustered around a big screen television and patio furniture was scattered haphazardly throughout. A pool table and stereo sat in one room, and in another, photographs of the house's occupants taken over the years were displayed in neat, orderly rows on every wall. He checked the two upper floors and found no signs of life, but plenty of signs of death. Blood was scattered in the bathrooms, bedrooms, and in every hallway. Furniture and bedding was in disarray, and food lay half-eaten and rotting as though something unexpected had happened mid-meal.

Nobody's home … that doesn't sound right.

He headed back downstairs and checked the rooms more carefully. Tucked away behind the staircase, he found a small, plain white door. He opened it and discovered a set of steps. He could hear murmurs and what sounded like crying and pleading from the basement below.

Bingo.

He tightened his grip on the stake and water gun. The staircase was lined with neon lights advertising various brewing companies, and the soft glow illuminated the carpeted steps as he steadily descended. When he reached the bottom, he emerged to discovery a large basement with no windows and a chipped wooden bar. Spike spotted the source of the noise right off; two bruised and bloody women were lying on a stained mattress. From the look of them, Spike decided they were coeds. On the floor next to them, in a pool of blood, sat the corpse of a young man whose throat had been ripped apart. The smell emanating from a closet door set in the back wall answered his question as to what had happened to the bodies of those murdered upstairs.

The two huddled figures scurried backwards and cowered against the wall when they saw him. Spike held a finger to his lips and knelt close. "Get out of here," he whispered.

"They'll catch us," a woman said so softly he could barely hear her. "They're up there."

Spike began to lean in close, then stopped when the woman flinched away. "They ain't," he he assured her.

A low, menacing voice interrupted from the stairs. "Yes, we are," said a vampire that appeared to have been more than twenty years old when he had been turned. The vamp stepped into the basement and two more quickly joined him.

"I was wondering where you fellows might have been," Spike said lightly. "Been searching all over for you."

The young vampire in the middle stepped forward and examined Spike. "We've heard of you," he announced as he ran a hand through his shoulder length brown hair. "The Cult of Ul-thar calls you a daywalker, right? Used to be a vampire?"

"Cult of Ul-thar?" Spike said in surprise. Connor's crowd is here already?" He idly tapped his stake against his leg in irritation. "Well, isn't that just bloody great? A bunch of pacifist vampires, it's just … unnatural, is what it is."

"You have become human," the vampire said. He made it sound like an insult.

Spike held out his hand and tilted it back and forth in an approximating gesture. "Not quite, but close enough."

"You can walk in the sun," a larger vampire, equally youthful and with a buzzed blonde haircut, said as he walked forward. "But you come here at night? All you had to do was yank down the blinds a few hours ago and we'd be dead meat."

Spike shrugged. "That doesn't sound very sporting, does it? I mean, you guys come here to my campus, start drifting through night classes, start taking out students … it feels like you've intruded on my turf. That makes it kinda personal."
"Can we kill him already?" the third vampire asked.

One of the women chose that moment to scream. It was piercingly, ear-splittingly loud in the enclosed space.

A vampire leaned over and casually backhanded the woman. She sobbed and curled into a ball while the other student protectively hovered over her.

Spike spit his wad of gum on the floor and cracked his knuckles. "You," he said as he pointed at the vampire who had struck the women, "I'm going to make it hurt."

The stake made short work of the other two vamps, but for the third, the one who had pummeled the crying woman, Spike used the holy water. He made every squirt count.