Chapter 2

Rachel walked up the stairs out of the club, buttoning her coat against the evening chill. She stood aside to let a group of college students, laughing nervously, pass her by on their way in. The door swung open and the sound of a Botot demon painfully slaughtering Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic drifted out. Rachel winced at one particularly flat note.

Between the information in the file she'd received that morning and some hastily conducted snooping of her own, she'd chosen the karaoke club as the best place to do the job. The vampire wouldn't be expecting something like this here. She'd laid her bait. It wasn't very sophisticated bait. In point of fact, it was ridiculously simple bait. But she was pretty sure the vampire would bite (metaphorically speaking). If she'd had more time she might have come up with something more elegant, but she didn't. She wanted to get it over with, collect from the lawyers, and be out of this godforsaken city tonight.

There wasn't much foot traffic outside the club. That was good. Rachel walked the short distance to the narrow alley that she'd staked out earlier. The mouth was dimly lit by a dangling security light, and it stretched backwards into darkness. Rachel pulled two small gray orbs out of her pocket, and placed one carefully on either side of the mouth of the alley. They didn't have much of a charge, but they'd be good for one punch. There was nothing left to do. Rachel hunkered down behind the dumpster where she'd stashed her supplies and waited.

"Man, I can't believe how much I've been looking forward to this," Charles Gunn said as he and Angel walked down the steps into Caritas.

The gang at Angel Investigations had been working non-stop for the last two weeks. They had dispatched a group of Gracknor priests preparing a mass sacrifice at a preschool, a nasty sewer demon, a nest of baby Talith lizards, and eight vampires. What passed for downtime had been spent getting their new office set up at the Hyperion Hotel. The Hyperion had lain abandoned for years, and the accumulated crud practically qualified as a demonic life form in its own right.

Needless to say, they had been in need of some serious R& R.

"We're taking a night off," Cordy had decreed three days ago. "No ifs, ands, buts, arguments, or visions from on high. If we don't take a break, we won't be fit to play Parcheesi with demon nasties. Friday night, eight o'clock. Everyone comes. No excuses."

Angel, Wesley, and Gunn knew better than to argue when Cordelia used that tone. And the fact was they hadn't even wanted to.

"So have I," Angel admitted as they passed through security at the club's doors. "Cordelia was right. We really needed a night off."

"Boys! Right on time." The Host of Caritas, Seabreeze in hand, bustled forward to meet them. "Cordelia called me—I have a primo table reserved for you. So, where's the rest of the party?"

"On their way," Angel replied. "Wesley is picking Cordelia up, but they're running a little late."

"Good. Good," the Host replied. "Then maybe we can deal with this without Cordelia killing me."

"What are you talking about?"

The Host actually looked a bit regretful. "I hate to bring up shop talk on your night off, but--"

"Oh, come on," Gunn protested, but only mildly. That was the thing about helping the helpless. You could never really count on downtime.

"This was left for you a little while ago." The Host handed Angel a folded note.

Angel opened it. Gunn read over his shoulder.

"Who left this?" Angel asked.

"A girl. She was in here looking for you earlier. I told her you'd be by shortly. I asked her to wait, but she just told me to give that to you."

"Did she say anything to you?"

"She didn't say much at all. Pretty close-mouthed, actually. But she was sending out some serious vibes. She's in trouble."

"Who was she?"

"Never saw her before," the Host replied. "And, trust me, I would have remembered. Witches like that don't wander in here every night. I could feel the magic when she came through the door. Made my horns tingle."

"Witch? There are witches now?" Gunn asked.

"What did she look like?" Angel asked, suddenly alert.

The Host shrugged. "Young. Cute. On the short side. Red hair."

"Willow."

"Who's Willow?" Gun asked.

"She's a friend of Buffy's, from Sunnydale," Angel said. And if she'd shown up in LA without so much as a phone call, leaving cryptic notes in demon bars, something was very, very wrong.

"Wait here," Angel told Gunn. "I'll go get her. If Wes and Cordy show up while I'm gone, fill them in."

Angel ran up the stairs, out of the club. The street outside Caritas was deserted.

A noise, just ahead, coming from a narrow alley.

"Willow?" Angel called. What was she doing in Los Angeles? Why wouldn't she have waited for him inside Caritas? The note: Meet me outside. It's a matter of life and death. Come alone. What the hell was going on?

"Willow?" She was in the alley. Angel could hear the faint sound of a person shifting position. "Willow, it's Angel." He stepped into the alley, and immediately the ground began to spin under his feet.

At least, that's what it felt like. He hadn't felt so disoriented since the first time he'd gone on a modern carnival ride. A low buzzing filled his ears. Angel shook his head, stumbled drunkenly, and fell to his knees.

Footsteps ahead, and a figure came forward out of the shadows. With a great deal of effort, Angel raised his head. As his eyes moved upward he took in scuffed boots, jeans, a dark jacket open over a green shirt, and an unfamiliar face.

She was obviously not Willow Rosenberg. Her hair was light ginger red, and her eyes were brown. And Willow's face had never worn that expression of cold calculation.

"Are you Angel?" she asked.

Angel nodded slowly. "Yes," he replied. "What….?"

"I'm sorry," she said. She raised her arm, and pointed a crossbow directly at his heart. "It's nothing personal."