Principles of Evil - Act 1
Vaguely like a wolf. That was the impression Logan got when the case was slapped down on his desk. One nasty looking demon. And it was only a head shot.
The defense attorney drew in a breath and drew his hand slowly down the side of his tired cheek. Should have been a poet.
Wehx. The demon allegedly responsible for the slaughter of over seventy people. Logan knew by now that if Wolfram and Hart had accepted the case, then it was because they knew he was guilty. Logan didn't want to think about how Wehx was going to appear for arraignment, or how the police had managed to take him into custody in the first place – looking like a wolf as he did. There was undoubtedly an explanation. The explanation undoubtedly involved Tawnie, someone she knew or someone she had extorted and a great deal of the sort of magic Logan couldn't yet touch.
Logan examined the file closer and sighed. Wehx had been charged early last year for a similar crime, but this very firm had got him acquitted. The demon's lawyer for that case had been Gregory Rhoyle. Now deceased.
Logan knew he'd be going over the transcript of that case, considering how similar they were, but obviously the prosecution felt they had more on Wehx this time or they wouldn't have bothered wasting taxpayers' money.
Logan examined the police report. The city's investigation had been short. Depressingly short. Damningly short. Someone had reported screams coming from Wehx's residence. Police had arrived and found a human finger in the overgrown weeds outside his door. They had broken in and found twenty seven people bound in the basement. There were dozens of other bodies in various stages of decomposition apparently having died to satisfy Wehx's peculiar taste for human marrow.
As Logan turned the page, a small 8 ½ by 11 inch blue sheaf slid out from among the legal paper. On it was stamped his firm's crest and the W&H symbol. Logan knew the format. This was privileged information which the prosecution would never get their hands on and was for the eyes of this firm only. There was an entire shift of people, working day and night somewhere in this very building, whose job it was to shred these blue documents. Then incinerate the shreddings.
Logan Kilpatrick closed his eyes and massaged his eyelids. He was beginning to get the distinct impression that this evil law firm might just be corrupt. He had to hand it to them, though. The efficiency of their corruption shamed the legitimate productivity of most other firms. They were good at what they did. Even if what they did wasn't good at all.
But Logan wasn't like that. He couldn't in good conscience, something he was sure he had, continue to participate in this sort of blatant circumvention of justice. Logan had felt he was committed to justice, even if the line between justice and personal vengeance was often a blurry one. But he was certain there was a line. There was a limit between questionably good and simply evil.
Logan let the file fall from his fingers onto the desk and stood. He marched towards the office now occupied by the liaison to the Senior Partners. Tawnie had hired someone to take care of reception for her and had moved up here to the prestigious floor. She had even hired someone to take care of her office up here in the prestigious floor.
"Excuse me, you can't just go in there–" the secretary cautioned as Logan made his way for the door to Tawnie's inner office. "Ms. Fischer is in with someone."
"I'll wait," Logan said shortly, sitting impatiently on one of the chairs laid out in the outer office.
After several moments, the door opened and a young man with sandy brown hair and a mullet stepped from the office, his face unreadable.
"Thank you for coming to me first," Tawnie said from behind him. "It'll be dealt with very soon." She looked around the reception office and saw Logan standing there. She sighed impatiently.
Logan stood and opened his mouth to speak when a voice cut him off. "I'm here for my one twenty seven." The voice was cool and soft. Logan turned and saw a young black man with tight black pants and a white shirt which flowed about as if it were made of silk. There was a blue silk tie holding it to his neck at the collar but otherwise it moved about like a sail in a calm wind. "Name's Michael."
The secretary checked her schedule. One twenty seven. Micheal. She nodded and the man stepped forward but Logan stepped in front of him. "I'll just be a minute." And with that he stepped past Tawnie into her office. She rolled her eyes and closed the door behind them.
"Look, Logan, I'm a busy woman. I don't have time for a little tryst today."
"I want another case," he said, folding his arms and turning back to face her.
"Don't you have enough work as it is?" She came around to sit down at her desk.
"No, I mean I want a different case. Not this mass murdering Wehx demon." He stepped forward and took a seat across from her.
Tawnie raised an eyebrow and replied with a wry grin. "Too hard for you?"
He sneered. "Hardly. I got that creepy shaman off and he was as guilty as Manson."
The liaison held up a cautionary finger. "Be careful," she said with stern eyes. "Guilt or innocence is determined by twelve jurors. Not by you."
"Bullshit," he spat. "You've been feeding me nothing but this faith in the system bullshit since your firm came in here and ate my firm for lunch. Not one of my clients hasn't actually committed the crime for which I've gotten them an acquittal. Is that a coincidence?" She was silent for a moment. "Is it a coincidence?" he demanded louder, leaning forward and planting his hands on her desk.
"How's Rachel?"
The question was like a cold hand brushing up against him. He slowly took his hands from the table. "What are you saying?"
"I'm asking a question," she shrugged. "I'm wondering about the well-being of your wife. I understand you recently had a bit of an argument."
"We're fine," he said coldly.
"You said we're fine," Tawnie noticed with a nod. "You and your wife are like one, aren't you?" Logan said nothing. "You know what Shakespear would have called Rachel? A hostage to fortune. You're in this —whatever this is— and so is she. If you cross me, so does she."
Logan took her meaning as clear as could be. He said nothing. If they could get to Rachel, they could get to Hanna. He was very quiet. Very quietly working against the urge to strangle this woman. Maybe turn her to ice. Maybe set her on fire. It would only put them at risk. He had only one option.
"Do you know what Friedrich Nietzsche said?" Tawnie interrupted his thoughts. "He said
'He who lives by fighting with an enemy has an interest in the preservation of the enemy's life.' Don't think everyone here is evil just because we represent evil. There are some good people within these walls. In the end, corruption is a choice each of us has to make."
"I quit," Logan said simply. After a moment, he stood from the desk and turned away. "I'll have my office cleaned out by the end of the day."
"You don't quit," she said as he reached for the doorknob. This made him turn back, but his hand still held the door. "You have one more case to handle."
"I don't think so," Logan turned and opened the door. Michael was waiting patiently on the other side. He looked up as Logan appeared at the open door.
"Believe me, you'll want this case." Tawnie swiveled in her chair and lifted the file from her desk. She came to the door and handed it to Logan.
The attorney gave her a resentful glance before opening the folder. Then the color drained from his face. His eyes never left the page. "You're giving this case to me?" Tawnie nodded, and though he didn't see her, he knew it. "Is this a coincidence too?"
"There's no such thing as coincidences," she answered with satisfaction. "Finish Wehx's case, then you'll find this on your desk. After that, you can quit to your heart's content."
Logan, his eyes glued to the page before him —the privileged blue sheet on top— swallowed. What would Nietzsche say about this? "Fuck me," he whispered.
Tawnie grinned. "I knew you'd come around." She snatched the file from Logan's hands and nodded towards Michael who wandered in with a sideward glance toward the stunned attorney. "Oh, and by the way," she said with a grin, as Logan turned to go, "Wehx's former lawyer —the late Gregory Rhoyle..." She cocked her head slightly, "Wehx drank his bone marrow before ripping his throat out." She blinked. "And that was after the verdict of not guilty."
The door closed in Logan's face.
--
Richard Addison dropped his suitcase but kept his steel briefcase, looking about the apartment suspiciously. Niki made a grab for the briefcase but he held onto it, absently examining every detail about the kitchen as if something was dreadfully wrong.
"Want me to take that?" Niki looked with poorly concealed interest at the metal case the old Watcher still held. He hadn't had it when he left for England.
"They're just some confidential files," he said distantly, his eyes finally finding the whiteboard on the fridge. "Are you seeing Logan again?"
She followed his gaze to the fridge and cursed in her mind. Got to go - see you tonite, said the whiteboard, and not in the Slayer's handwriting. She had made a mental note to erase that. Obviously mental notes weren't as prominent as physical ones. She sighed.
"No, I'm not seeing Logan. His name's Jesse. I've been seeing him for a month now. Don't worry – he doesn't know anything."
"Hmm," the Watcher grumbled, dragging one of his many suitcases into the room reserved for him and wandering out of sight of the door in order to place his steel case somewhere Niki couldn't see. "I suppose there's no harm," he said. "Assuming he's not married or psychotic or anything like that?"
Niki frowned a little. "Logan wasn't psychotic."
The Watcher emerged from his room with raised eyebrow. "There's still time."
Niki laughed. "How was your trip, pops?"
"Relaxing," he said with a sigh. "It was good to be back where people know what a lorry is." He plunked down in the sofa. "So how is the Goth situation progressing?"
"It's been resolved," the Slayer answered, rubbing off the message on the whiteboard. "We won't be hearing from them again."
The man with the white hair nodded appreciatively. "Good, good. Any other news?" He had been looking distractedly at the softy reporting television news man, but now glanced to her back as she began to doodle on the fridge with the black marker.
"News?" She answered, sketching stars and stripes and bolding GOD BLESS — "What kinda news?"
"Oh, any kinds," Addison dismissed. "Never mind."
Niki turned on him and capped the marker with a frown. "You have news, don't you?"
Addison raised his eyebrows and let out a deep breath. "I met Whistler at the airport," he said at last. "He wants you to go see Jessica. I don't know who Jessica is, but I expect this isn't good."
Niki studied his face. No, it wasn't good. But then, when had it ever been— scratch that. She wouldn't lie to herself. It had been good. When everything was clear and simple. It was good then. When she and Logan and a man in a KISS shirt had spent nights at the Nail Biter. It was good then.
"It'll be fine," she said with a convincing smile. "Everything will be fine."
--
Principles of Evil - Act 2
Logan had had to drive for forty five minutes to find a bar where he was sure he could get what he wanted. He had spent the drive alternately thinking about Rachel and Hanna and what he had gotten them into — what they didn't know they were in and how he was going to get out of this... and how he was going to ask for what he wanted.
What he wanted was simple. In all the vast and interlocking network of evil in the state of New York, there had to be death on demand for those who could pay. It was practically a given.
He realized, as he pulled his car through the alley towards the back lot of the bar, what he looked like now. What he was doing —what he was— was a far cry from what he had imagined when he was younger. A far cry from what he had anticipated the 'good fight' would be when he had first met Niki on that lonely little bridge in Central Park. His whole life was a far cry. And the words it was crying weren't pleasant.
Logan had finally decided, in the solitude of his office earlier today, that there was only one thing he could in all conscience do with his client. And now he was in search of a hit man who could make it happen.
The moment he stepped into the bar he wrinkled his nose. 'Hole in the wall' wasn't an adequate description. Every surface in sight, he imagined, was sticky. Every surface which wasn't in sight... he didn't want to think about that.
The patchy concrete floor no doubt contributed to the dank cave-smell which permeated the place. He yearned for the smell of the Biter – cigarettes and beer. No one drank beer at this place.
Logan made his way towards the pool of red light which illuminated the bar at the center of the room. There were only a few people sitting there. The rest seemed to be doing something else — something noisy in a room beyond a curtain towards the back.
"What can I get you?" The muscle at the bar grunted, as if he was annoyed just to have to ask this question.
Logan looked up to a small chalkboard on which had been scrawled some illegible drink names. The one he could read he ordered. "Smyte," he said with authority.
The barkeep began mixing, filling a small glass with rye, added a few ice cubes and finally taking out a small glass bottle. At first Logan thought it might be vodka, but, turned in the light, the bottle showed its label; a small cruciform. The barkeep pulled the glass stopper from the bottle and allowed a few drops of holy water to drip into the rye.
He slid the smyte in front of Logan and replaced the glass bottle under the bar. "Six fifty," he said with a grunt.
Logan payed him and looked around the nearly empty establishment. "Slow night?"
The barkeep snorted. "All the business is in back," he thumbed towards the curtain from behind which all sorts of vile noises were coming.
"Party?" Logan asked, craning his neck.
The muscle laughed heartily at Logan's expense. "Yeah... that's right. A party."
"Am I invited?" Logan wasn't sure he wanted to be invited, but there was no one here who could help him. The back seemed more promising.
The barkeep eyed him suspiciously for a minute, more for having asked than for having wanted in. Everyone who was currently at the 'party' had either just walked in or had been dragged, screaming and kicking. "You ain't gonna throw a fit and call the cops?" Logan scoffed at this, acting as insulted as he imagined anyone else might. The barkeep finally nodded. "Ten bucks cover charge."
Logan nodded and payed, leaving his smyte untouched. He approached the curtain with internal hesitation but only confidence showing in his stride. He could handle anything this party could offer.
Sweeping the curtain aside, his stomach told him how wrong he was. His legs, on the other hand, still imbued with false confidence, carried him over the threshold and into certainly someone's version of hell.
The cement wall between this room and the bar had done well to cover the ear-splitting pounding of the music – if it could be called that. The curtain had done its part and kept the smell contained. This room was lit by black lights and strobe lights, giving everything the quality of an intermittent photographic negative, making all eyes and fingernails come alive with light, even if they belonged to things which had been dead for hours.
From the high ceiling hung five naked women, strips of their flesh removed occasionally by readily available knives or claws, and eaten by the partygoers. Logan looked up and could see that the corpses were hanging by their feet from the vertices of a phosphorescent pentagram painted on the ceiling.
Upon further inspection, he could see that only two of the five were in fact genuine corpses. The other three were still struggling against their ropes as they were slowly turned into hors d'oeuvres. Logan knew he was going to be sick. It was just a question of when.
He closed his eyes and concentrated on the image of a peaceful lake. Gentle ripples crossed its surface. A boat drifted lazily— Then he opened his eyes again. He had a job to do... or rather, a job to undermine.
Logan made his way through the sea of moving bodies, demons and vampires and humans alike, all having a wonderful time. Near the walls there were large cushions upon which vampires and humans were laying, seemingly passed out, tourniquets wrapped tightly around their arms.
Logan began to understand what this was, as he found a table at the center of the room, between the five women, upon which was a large bin of needles and several kilograms of heroine. Some sort of elaborate demon shooting party. He turned away and found himself facing a young woman, her face thin and drawn, her eyes flashing white in the strobe light. Her hands clutched his arms and she was drawing him towards one of the mats on the floor.
Logan, with horror, managed to extricate himself only by shoving her to the floor and disappearing back into the crowd. He was now resolved to find what he wanted and get the hell out.
Just then, a potential candidate took him by the shoulder and spun him around. Logan found himself looking at the ugly mug of a demon. Though the strobe light was flashing unstoppably and the black light was flooding the room otherwise with its ultraviolet rays, this demons eyes remained unlit.
"I need someone killed," Logan shouted immediately over the incomparably loud music and, he realized, screams. He was sure he hadn't been heard as the demon turned around and began to move away. But when Logan didn't follow, the demon turned back and inclined his head towards the curtain and the quieter bar beyond.
The demon exited into the bar with the lawyer in tow. The demon selected a table particularly concealed by darkness and sat down, finding a handful of nuts from a bowl at the center. "Speak," he said once Logan had seated himself.
Logan slid the file photo of Wehx onto the table. "I need him killed as soon as possible. I don't care how."
The demon shrugged. "I only kill for free if I'm hungry."
"How much do you want?" Logan reached for his chequebook but the demon laughed.
"And I only kill for money when I'm very, very drunk." He munched on the nuts and reached for more. "I work for favors. Is that something you can handle?"
Logan stayed his hand in his jacket. He was extremely uncomfortable promising favors to this demon. He would much rather part with, say, a kidney. But what choice did he have. "I can handle that," he agreed.
"Good," the demon nodded, taking the picture from the table. "Now... tell me, what sort of favors would you possibly be able to promise me?"
Logan looked around the bar for a moment, then down at the small bowl of nuts. He swallowed and pointed a finger. Presto. Roasted nuts. The slight wisp of smoke rose to the ceiling.
The demon nodded, his smile pulling back to reveal large, disturbing teeth. "Interesting."
--
Jessica held the teen's hand, thinking hard about how to tell her what was involved in her future. It wouldn't do to tell them that her father was going to be in a car accident. Too specific. She pretended to examine the young woman's hand with a troubled look. The troubled look soon spread to the owner of the hand, then to her boyfriend.
"What is it?" she asked in a voice masking worry.
Assuming they wouldn't believe what Jessica would tell them, it was pointless to have them feel guilty about it later. What a terribly futile job she had. But the futility was a shield against the ignorance of society.
"You will be drawn closer to ones you love," she said as if reading it from the woman's palm, "the bonds of family will be strained very soon, but will only prove stronger." Then Jessica looked up suddenly, another vision forcing its way into her mind. She blinked rapidly and her vision resolved upon the now very worried look of her customer. "Uh... Your life line is strong and healthy, you will discover love that will prove true." She pulled her hand back and swallowed as the girl turned to her boyfriend and smiled.
"I already have," she said warmly, taking his hand into hers.
Jessica gagged internally but forced the smile onto her face. The jerk was banging the girl's younger sister. Tonight he was going to ask for a threesome. She would dump him and after her father's death would move closer to home and find true love with the boy next door. Well... true enough.
"Have a lovely day," she said, knowing who her next customer would be.
"You too," they smiled and left. Niki stepped forward, her arms crossed.
The Slayer held her fingers crossed over her temple, as if projecting her thoughts. "I'm thinking... gag me with a... spoon?"
Jessica sneered and flipped the sign from 'open' to 'back in 5'. "Sit down, Knicks."
"Whistler said I should come and see you."
Jessica nodded. "I told him to pass it along. You don't frequent these halls as often as a normal girl ought to."
"That's not what you need to tell me, I'm guessing," Niki raised an eyebrow and held her arms tighter.
"No." There was silence for a moment and Niki let her head sag.
"Silence is never a good sign." The Slayer threw up her hands. "I never get good signs — just once I'd like a seer to tell me 'you will be very wealthy...'"
"Someone's betrayed you," Jessica said outright.
"Been conversing with my dearly departed parents, have you?" Niki crossed her arms again. "They were similarly vague."
"They were vague for a reason. I'm being as specific as I can be." Jessica leaned in close, her expression completely serious. "You need to run away. Go home, pack your things and run as far away as you can — get out of the country if you can, but you'll have to leave tonight."
"Why?" Niki hissed, leaning in close as well. "What's going on? Who's betrayed me?"
Jessica shrugged harshly. "I don't know everything!" She glanced left and right and leaned in a bit farther. "I just get flashes. I don't control it. Gimme a frickin' break already." She calmed herself and sat back a little. "All I know is, you've been betrayed by someone close to you and you need to run away. Quickly." There was a pause as Niki tried comprehend if Jessica was serious. The seer cocked her head, unsure of the delay. "Like... now!"
Niki jumped to her feet and turned to go. Jessica stopped her. "There's one more thing," the seer called after her. Niki turned with a frown. What could possibly be—
"Harrison's awake."
--
Addison pulled the steel case from the closet where he had buried it under some of his old clothes. He lifted it carefully onto his bed and slid the key into the lock, popping the latches and opening the lid.
Nestled inside the black foam were four small objects. Three side by side, one along the top. He lifted the first from the middle and looked at it in the light of the bedside lamp. Amanitin. He looked down at the other two but left them where they were. Coniine and batrachotoxin sat innocently inside their own glass vials. Amanitin was a cyclic peptide. The other two were neurotoxins. All of them were lethal in surprisingly small concentrations. Across the top, nestled into the black foam was a hypodermic syringe, its needle encased in a plastic tube.
Addison set the Amanitin back in its place. He gently closed the lid of the briefcase. This was the Council's solution. Amanitin was derived from the flesh of the Destroying Angel fungus. Coniine from Poison Hemlock. Batrachotoxin from the South American Poison Dart frog. Each one was classic and vicious. In the age of the sniper rifle, no one used poison any more.
But Niki could dodge bullets.
--
Principles of Evil - Act 3
Wehx growled in a very wolfish fashion through his W&H sustained disguise. The man who lay dead at his feet had not been disguised. The man who lay dead at his feet had been a hit man. A cheap hit man. Wehx growled again. So cheap he had given up his client after only five minutes of torture. This new lawyer... he was a fool.
The wolf disguised as a small oriental man stepped away from the body and hailed a cab. He couldn't risk drinking this demon's marrow. He had an acquittal to get. Logan had won him bail so he could be killed, but Wehx still intended to get acquitted. Once Wolfram and Hart discovered that his lawyer had been killed, they would find him a new one. Perhaps a better one.
The taxi sped off into the night.
The demon found Logan leaving the office building and jumped from the cab to chase after him. The cabby was shouting something, but Wehx had Logan in his sights and wasn't about to let him get away.
The demon leapt high into the air to cross the distance between them faster, ignoring the fact that he had given away his identity. The lawyer would have figured it out eventually anyway, perhaps when the strange oriental man began eating his flesh and drinking his bone marrow in a dark alley somewhere.
Wehx cursed. No, couldn't do that; need the acquittal. When his hands grasped the man's tan jacket, they immediately pulled away, as if burnt. What the bloodied farg was this? He had signed a contract with Wolfram and Hart which protected him against magic!
Wehx snarled and snatched the puny lawyer again, ignoring the burning sensation and shoving him onto the ground. Instantly, a bolt of fiery yellow light seared towards him and sizzled across his skin. Wehx looked down and saw that his disguise was dissolving off his body. In a few moments, a hulking wolf-like thing was standing where before had been a short man.
The bolts of energy continued, but now Wehx could not feel them, the terms of his contract falling into place. Wehx the demon was immune to low-level magical interference which might adversely affect the quality of his defense or otherwise return an unfavorable verdict at trial. Designed to protect W&H clients from magical tampering during trial, the contract now left Logan quite helpless.
Wehx took a deep breath and roared a blast of foul smelling breath at the man on the ground. The taxi behind him did a U-turn in the middle of the street and sped away with the screech of tires. Wehx made a lunge for the lawyer, his fangs bared.
There was a twist of light and the man vanished. The demon shouted in rage, then looked over as the small brown car with Logan in the driver's seat came charging out of the underground lot and screeched around the corner and down the street.
A smile spread across the demon's face. It was a chase he wanted. A chase he would get.
--
Niki shoved a handful of white T-shirts into one of the suitcases Addison had emptied earlier. He was asleep now and could not protest her decision to leave. She'd write him a message on the whiteboard.
For all she knew, it was Addison who had betrayed her, though she didn't see how. He hadn't even been around. That didn't leave many other options though, did it? The same seer who had told her to run because she had been betrayed had told her to stick with someone she trusted. If she had trusted anyone, then the betrayal would just be worse, wouldn't it?
She grabbed some stakes from her bottom drawer and slid them into the suitcase. She'd be needing them where she was going. There was at least one coven in Cleveland.
Just then the phone startled her out of her packing frenzy. She jumped and ran for the kitchen, seizing the phone from the wall before it could ring again and wake the sleeping Watcher.
"What?" she hissed into it. It was an ungodly hour, meaning it was probably an ungodly phone call.
"Niki," Logan's voice was hurried and urgent. "I need you, I need your help— there's a really pissed off demon after me and he—"
"Hey, that's not my fault," the Slayer hissed into the phone. "You've got powers; use 'em."
"I can't– I can't," he sucked in a breath. "I know it's not your fault: it's my fault. I tried to have this demon killed but he's after me now. He's got some kind of anti-magic protection spell on him. I need you. Niki he's going to kill me and then he's going to kill my family."
Niki let out an angry breath. She swallowed, looking around the kitchen as if it would provide some answers. "Where are you?"
"I've tried to lead it away from Freeport and closer to you— I'm in a phone booth near East 40th street. How soon can you get here— he's right behind me."
"I'm leaving right now." She hung up the phone and donned her leather jacket. Before heading for the door she stopped in front of Addison's room. She put her ear up to the door. Hearing nothing, she gently opened the door. In the darkness she could detect no movement. She wanted him still asleep when she got back. She had no intention of having another one of their 'discussions' where he would make her sit for three hours and tell her she was a failure and that's why she couldn't just run away. She would have to finish off this demon and be back before sunrise.
Closing the door she made her way to the front door and left with as little noise as she could.
--
Addison, for his part, was nowhere near his room. And despite the ungodly hour, he was fully awake. He was, in fact, sitting across from a particularly ungodly woman.
"Well, it's what we do," the woman argued. "And this is going to be particularly satisfying."
"And that's your final position?" the Watcher asked, his fingers clasped on her desk, his white eyebrow raised diplomatically. "There's nothing I can do to change your mind?"
Tawnie smiled broadly. "Your charm doesn't go that far, Richard. Your days of sweeping women off their feet are gone."
"You understand why I have to try," he lifted his hands from her desk and sat back, the charm melting from his face. "You know I can't allow this to happen."
Tawnie smiled, this time with a sinister gleam in her eyes. "Just try and stop us. We've got the system on our side. What have you got?"
Addison drew in a breath and shrugged. "We've got me."
Tawnie scoffed. "The entire state of New York is trembling, I'm sure. You can be sure the state will get a tremendous amount of pleasure from this, but I guarantee you not nearly as much as the Senior Partners. Your incompetence has handed us this on a silver platter." She lowered her head as a mocking bow. "Our thanks."
"You underestimate me," Addison remained impassive to her mockery. "I may be too old to sweep women off their feet, but I can knock them down like I'm in my twenties. What you call incompetence I call subtlety... shrewdness perhaps. At the end of the day, I promise you, all you'll be left with is your damned silver platter."
"We'll see," Tawnie didn't let his words get to her. He was a foolish old man. Perhaps he would have been considered shrewd in his prime, but that was thirty years ago. "We'll see very soon how shrewd you still are."
"And if I fail," he said with sudden amicability, "I've still got resources. In fact, I'd probably still be employed. You on the other hand, should you fail, would have to explain to your revered Senior Partners exactly why they shouldn't feed you to the crabs." He frowned as if pondering something. "I think there must be a Nietzsche quote there somewhere." He snapped his fingers. "'Distrust all in whom the impulse to punish is powerful,'" he quoted with a triumphant grin.
"Let's not forget who was responsible for Nietzsche's death." Tawnie raised an eyebrow. "What a credit to the Senior Partners: they killed the man who killed God."
Addison chuckled. "And how they have fallen from grace, picking on a pathetic little girl."
Tawnie shrugged. "We do what we can."
--
Principles of Evil - Act 4
Logan let the bolts of energy fly, backing up. Wehx didn't seem to feel it, but at least it made him blink. The ground was frozen with each step Logan made, but he knew it wasn't on his account. It was winter now and the biting wind was making him shiver. The trick of heating his body didn't work to simply keep him warm. And teleportation was too exhausting to do more than once in such a short period of time. He didn't want to end up ten feet away but too tired to run.
Logan reached out with an invisible hand and took hold of a mailbox, ripping it from the sidewalk and throwing it at the advancing wolf-demon. The demon didn't even flinch as the metal box wrapped itself around him and clattered to the street.
Wehx advanced slowly, intent on backing this man into an alley or somewhere where he could take his time. He didn't want anyone seeing and giving Wolfram and Hart a harder time than necessary to get him acquitted. He wasn't an insensitive client.
With a howl he charged, going down on all fours and gnashing his teeth. With a shout of fear, Logan rose suddenly into the air, hovering about twenty feet up the side of the building.
Wehx stopped beneath him, leaping once and realizing he couldn't reach. He let out a whine of disappointment and pawed at the wall of the building.
Logan struggled to breath. It was taking all his strength to keep this high. If he let it slip — if he even looked down, he was sure he would fall into the waiting jaws.
Wehx licked his lips. He could wait. Soon the lawyer would tire, then— the demon's head snapped to the side as Niki's foot connected with its jaw. She did a back flip out of range as it swung its paws towards her, then rolled to the side as it charged her. She drove her foot under its stomach as it tried to turn towards her mid-charge, making it yelp in pain.
Wehx scampered back and got back up onto two legs. With a snarl of a smile, he looked over to see Logan standing on the street again, one hand against the wall, panting. The demon dropped back onto all fours to charge.
But the Slayer took him in a bear hug, pulling the wolf-thing onto its back. She drove her fist into its throat since she didn't want to risk getting a tooth lodged in her knuckle. It whined and she slammed her elbow into its ribs.
Finally Wehx got a hind paw under her and threw her off. She landed hard and he charged, fell on her, tearing at her leather coat with his claws. Then something heavy landed on his back, striking him over and over.
The demon snarled and turned his head from Niki's defensive arms and caught the mail box to the face. The demon leapt from the fallen Slayer and jumped back a safe distance as Logan raised the bent metal for another swing. Instead he helped Niki to her feet and the two stood panting, waiting for the demon's next move.
"What did you do," Niki panted, slowly removing her nearly shredded leather jacket, "to get him so pissed off?"
Logan slowly set down the heavy hunk of twisted metal. "I decided the penal system wasn't right for him."
"He's your client?" she demanded with an incredulous expression. "Did I miss something?"
"Didn't I tell you I was a criminal defense lawyer now?" both kept their eyes firmly on the hulking wolf which was deciding exactly how to disembowel them both.
"Hm," Niki said with a raised eyebrow. "You any good?"
Logan slowly turned to look at her. "So far I haven't really had an opportunity to—"
"Look out," Niki shoved him out of the way as Wehx chose his moment to attack. He landed on the Slayer and they rolled to the ground, exchanging punches for slashes and bites for curses.
Logan limped away from the pair and doubled over, breathing deeply as he tried to summon power he prayed he still had. With a rush of cold winter wind, he raised his hands and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, his pupils had darkened to nearly black and in the quiet street, wind was rushing only around him.
Niki got her hands under the wolf's chin and held his deadly mouth as far away as she could, while the bulk of his body kept her pinned to the ground. Finally, she got her knee under his ribs and gave him a vicious jerk. A distant rushing soon got louder and Niki tried to look past the twisting wolfish form to see what was making it.
Suddenly the wolf's body was torn from her own as a huge dark mass swept over them. With an earsplitting crash and the sound of shattering glass, Logan's small brown car flew a foot off the ground and ploughed into the demon, smashing into the brick wall and pinning him there.
Niki slowly got to her feet, brushing the bits of glass from her clothes and hair. She turned and looked at the remains of the car sandwiching the demon against the wall. Its neck was broken and a faint gurgling was coming from deep in its throat.
She turned and looked towards Logan who was sitting on the cold sidewalk, his head cradled in his hand. She stared at him for some minutes, thinking what to do. Two years ago she wouldn't have hesitated to go over to him. She would have cradled him in her arms, kissed him. Maybe more. But he wasn't her addiction anymore. She let her gaze fall and swallowed. With quiet steps she made her way away from the mangled wrack of the car and the mangled wreck of the man and headed for home.
Logan wondered seriously if he would have enough strength in a few moments to draw breath. He tried not to move, tried not to think. Tried not to think about how hard he was trying not to move. His brain felt like an empty vacuum which might implode his skull at any moment.
When thinking became easier, he finally allowed the mess to sink in. So much for taking the law into his own hands. He laughed inside. Who, if not a lawyer, was more justified in taking the law into his own hands? Hadn't that demon been evil? But it certainly would have won. The injustice in the simple order of nature had made sure of that. Injustice wasn't just a fact of the system, or even of his place in the firm which thrived in the system. Injustice was the air he breathed and the cruel choices he was given.
The air was thin now and the choices... Logan chuckled and immediately regretted it. His choices were the evil. Choosing virtue got you killed. Choosing good over evil made you evil's first target.
He slowly tilted his head to search the street for Niki. She was gone. Good. He had chosen her, once upon a time. What an evil that had turned out to be. Chosen to help a seemingly helpless girl. Chosen to be the only one to give her love. How could the cruel divinity which guided the universe possibly let him get away with that choice?
Logan slowly lowered his head so it was cradled by both hands. Soon the police would come to clean up this mess. The result of yet another of his priceless decisions.
--
Niki rode the elevator in silence, carrying her beloved leather jacket in her arms. It had endured gunshots, knife wounds, teeth, claws and probably a tryst or two. In her weary state she didn't want to put it back on for fear of shoving her arm out one of the tear holes and making things worse. She laughed. How could things possibly get worse?
She took a breath as the elevator doors opened. Well, for one, Addison could be awake and wondering why his bags were packed with her things. That would certainly make things worse. She wondered as she walked down the hall to her room if she had the stones to just knock him out once and for all. Massaging her shoulder, she realized she probably couldn't beat up a six year old.
She blinked. Her door was open. She was sure she had—
An officer saw her and called to the others. Soon she was surrounded by uniforms and her arms were being forced behind her back. She was shoved against the wall. Hands moved all over her body, patting her arms and legs and torso. Her jacket was snatched from her grip and she felt metal around her wrists.
Niki Valtaine, you are under arrest for the murder of Megan Brandon. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney...