When the pounding on the door began, Cordelia almost fell off the couch. Her headache, which had been slowly easing away, returned with a sudden rush. She jumped up, which only made things worse. "Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow," she muttered as she rushed to the door and flung it open. "What?" she snapped at Angel and Wesley.

Angel pushed past her and began searching her apartment, cautious and alert. Wesley put an arm around Cordelia and led her back to the couch, where they sat down.

"There's been an interesting twist," he started to explain.

Then Cordelia noticed that both he and Angel were carrying crossbows, and that Wesley's jacket pockets were bulging with what appeared to be vials of holy water, packets of crushed leaves, and five or six votive candles.

Angel returned. "No one here but Phantom Dennis. Who was going through your closet, by the way."

"I warned him about that!" Cordelia said. "Knock it off!" she yelled toward the bedroom. "I know some exorcists!"

"None of this is to the point at hand," said Wesley, eager to get on with his explanation.

"Let's back to the office," Angel intervened. "All of us. We'll explain on the way."

"So to sum up," Cordelia said, "I'm a demon magnet."

"That's a bit of an oversimplification," objected Wesley.

"Not by much," Angel said. Wesley shot him a dirty look, and the vampire shrugged. "Just saying."

"Hey, no big deal," said Cordelia. "Just make it stop. I have complete and total faith in you guys. Exorcise me."

"Exorcism is not something to be done lightly," said Wesley. "There aren't many one-size-fits-all exorcism spells. Our first priority is to determine the type of demon that is inhabiting you. Even once we have that information, exorcism is a dangerous procedure."

"Yet still not as dangerous as 'kerblooey.'"

"If there is anything else you can let us know about the demon…." said Angel.

"You want me to channel a demon? Um, no! Just give me those demon-dictionary-things and that gibberish I was speaking and let's all get to work. Come on. Hurry." She looked hesitantly into the worried faces of her friends. "I'm doing it again, aren't I?"

"I'm getting a tape recorder," said Wesley, going to one of Cordelia's desk drawers.

"No rush," said Cordelia. "I'll just stand here speaking in demon. Wesley, has any demon ever told you you're the biggest geek on the planet?"

"Not so far," Wesley responded. "But there's still time for that."

"It would be really nice to know when this thing switches on and off." Cordelia felt her throat as if that was where the presence was located.

Angel handed her a dictionary. "Find out what it is, and we'll switch it off for you."

"Wait, what are you guys doing?"

"Finding a way to protect the other several million people in this city," said Wesley, "and potentially the world."

"Ah, prioritizing," said Cordelia, sitting at her desk with the dictionary and the demon transcription in front of her. She turned the paper so the arrow pointed away from her. "I see. Don't mind me, then. I'll be fine. Oh, and if you find my mutilated remains, I want Angel to have my library."

"You mean your romance novels?" asked Angel skeptically.

"Or not."

"If anyone comes in, let us know," said Angel.

"I think you'll hear the screaming," she said.

Wesley and Angel retreated to the inner office to review books of ancient lore. Cordelia was left to wade through the dictionary, but she found it very hard to concentrate.

It was the strongest sensation he had felt within memory. If one could call it memory at all. A deep sense of need assailed him from within and without. The Voice was in trouble. It was his fault, or at least it was partly his fault. He had begun to assert himself. He now knew that he was a prisoner to the Voice—no, within the Voice, of course, not to it. It had been odd to hear another voice, and to know that voice was his. It was empowering.

But he didn't want to hurt the Voice. He didn't want to stop it. The need from without warned him against taking over. The need from within told him that it was his only chance to survive. It was the second need that he felt growing steadily stronger, pulsing out in waves so great that he surprised himself. And as the need grew, his sense of consciousness grew. And as he became more aware of himself, he began to remember. The first thing he remembered was her face.

"Cordelia!"

She jerked awake. "I wasn't asleep. I was thinking."

"Your 'thinking' was getting too loud for us to think," said Wesley. "Not making much progress, are you?"

"I'm a little too tired to deal with you," Cordelia said. "I know the world is in some major trouble, but I've had a vision headache, I've found out I'm demon-life-force-possessed and a walking magnet for more 'living' demons, I've been drudging through this awful, awful book..." She began to cry. "I feel like my head is going to explode, and it doesn't make it any better that an exploding head is a clear and present danger right now."

Wesley watched in shock. Cordelia's tears did not come easily. He didn't know what to do. Angel came out of his office, took one look at Cordelia, and went to stand by her side, putting a hand on her shoulder. She sobbed even harder at that, and leaned against him as if he were her only source of strength.

"I'm sorry," he said. "We've been working you too hard. You can't handle this now."

"I'm so tired," she moaned, "and my head hurts, and demon dialects are so hard to decipher, and I don't want to die!"

Angel helped her to her feet and to the office couch. "Lay down and get some rest. Wesley, find a way to stop the Convergence. I'll find the dialect Cordelia is speaking." He glanced down at their colleague, huddled on the couch. "After I get her a cup of tea."

"Tea doesn't fix everything, Angel," she said, but she felt a little better nonetheless.

Which didn't explain why, after Wesley and Angel had left the room, Cordelia got up, crept to the door, and left the office without a sound.

He knew what he was doing, he thought uneasily. He had begun to think again. He knew what was happening. His sense of self-preservation told him he needed to be away from the other two voices when it happened. But when it happened, the owner of the Voice should not be in a dangerous place. Delicately, he planted the suggestion to her. Go home.

Cordelia was awakened by a knock on the door. She found herself in her apartment, with all of the lights off. As she lay trying to sort out why she was there at all, there was another knock. "That must be Angel," she mumbled, bringing herself to a sitting position and massaging the kink in her neck. "It must have been a dream, then. You can just come right in," she called, switching on the lamp next to the couch. "Oh, wait, that's right...I forgot. I was going to get you an extra key," she said conversationally, moving to the door, "so you can water my plants and stuff if I ever get to go on a vacation or something…." She trailed off as she opened the door. The man standing there was not Angel. He was attractive, but he was probably just some door-to-door salesman or Jehovah's Witness or something. "I'm sorry," Cordelia smiled. "I thought you were someone else."

The man did not smile back. His eyes were fixed straight ahead of him, as if he could not see her at all. "Kill me," he said.

"I beg your pardon?" asked Cordelia.

"Now. Before it's too late."

"Listen," said Cordelia, concerned, "whatever it is you're going through, there are people who can help. And I mean whatever it is. In fact, I work for an organization that specializes in…helping. I have a business card somewhere…."

"You don't understand," said the man, with increased urgency. In one fluid motion, he stepped into the apartment and backed Cordelia into a wall. His right hand held her neck tightly, and a horrified Cordelia found herself looking into the eyes of a vampire. "You invited me in."

There was no time for a struggle. Cordelia had seen vampires, she had seen pictures of their victims, but even in her worst Sunnydale nightmares she had never imagined that the pain of the attack would be so intense, like fire shooting through her body. She tried to push the vampire away, but he had the advantage of position and size. Then came a surge of energy, as if an electric charge were pulsing along the current of blood. She screamed, and as she felt herself losing consciousness, she felt the fangs pull back, saw the vampire recoil, and had a glimpse of the look of agony she had seen on so many faces in her vision before her eyes closed. She could hear the sound of blood rushing in her ears, and then she heard the sound of a voice.

"Saints above! Cordelia?"

"Angel," she sighed, and then the sounds stopped.