Wesley walked into Angel's office, settled into a chair, grabbed a book, and instantly began poring over it as if he had been there for hours.
"How does he do it?" Cordelia asked aloud.
Wesley looked up. "I beg your pardon?"
She shook her head and changed the subject. "How's Buffy?"
"Good, I suppose. Spike answered the phone."
"Spike?"
"Yes," said Wesley, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "It surprised me, too. But perhaps it's something to speak of after we find a way to stop the Convergence."
"Boring ol' Convergence," said Cordelia, holding her book by one cover and swinging it back and forth.
"Cordelia," warned Wesley.
"Sorry." She put the book back on the desk and began studying again.
The phone rang. Cordelia lunged for it. "Angel Investigators, we help the…. It's you! Why are you calling here? How did you get this number?" Her eyes widened. "How dare you call me that?"
Wesley pried the phone out of her hand. "Spike, I presume," he spoke into it.
"You're not the only ones who want to stop the Convergence," answered Spike.
"How did you know….?"
"The Slayer and I are very tight these days. We've really bonded. I help her kill demons, she slaps me around if I get too lippy…it's a magical relationship."
"Spike, I'm quite busy."
"The point is, there aren't many vamps out there who relish the thought of being possessed by other demons. Your problem is that very few will believe in the Convergence at all. It's sort of a bogeyman story—one of the first things a newly sired vampire hears when his superiors are trying to keep him in his place."
"I didn't know vampires scared so easily."
"We don't," Spike replied matter-of-factly. "Hence the failure of the Convergence story. Unless you actually believe it's real. Then you're just royally enraged at the whole idea."
"You believe it?"
"I've been undead for quite a while now. Long enough to know that if something sounds too bad to be true, it's probably true."
"I learned that just from living in Sunnydale," said Wesley.
"There's a contingency plan," Spike continued.
"Does it involve a spell? Some kind of ritual?"
"More like a bunch of vampires joining forces in an effort to beat the living tar out of anyone that crosses them. Oh, and a fast. Can't go around drinking from just anyone these days. Even that pig's blood your nancy friend slurps up could be contaminated."
"Demons in pigs?"
"There is historical precedent for that. I'm surprised that the resident scholar didn't already know it."
"So if you already have a plan, why are you calling me?"
"I wasn't calling for you, Watson," said Spike. "I'm trying to reach your boss. You know, the real brains of the operation?" He laughed. "Sorry, just couldn't say that with a straight face."
"Angel's on patrol."
"Angel's going to the nearest local vampire hideout, is what you mean. He knows this story as well as I do, being the one who first told me, and all. What really kills me is that he wouldn't tell you. Must not trust you as much as I thought he did. Be a good lackey and tell him to look me up if he survives his little outing, will you?" He hung up.
Angel swung around, pivoting on his left foot as his right leg made for its target. He felt the crunch of bones as he made contact with his opponent's ribcage. The other man grimaced, an expression that was occasionally difficult to discern on a vampire when the impulse to feed was upon it. His last remaining cohort charged Angel from behind, but Angel was ready for him. At the last second, he bent over, causing his attacker to tumble over him and onto the ground. In that moment of vulnerability, Angel took his chance. A stake flashed, a cloud of dust burst, and there were only two vampires left standing. That is, Angel was standing, and the other was cowering. Angel grabbed him by the lapels and shoved him against the dumpster.
"Where is it?" he asked. The other spit at him. Reflexively, Angel's face distorted. "Now you're just making me cranky," he said, mentally trying to calm himself. He was better than this.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"The Place of Resistance. Where is it?"
"Resistance?"
"Look, I know you probably don't have to pretend to be dumb, but surely you're not dumb enough to overlook the face," said Angel. "I know vampires pretty well. I know there are five major clans in the Los Angeles area alone, and I know that I saw members of at least three of those clans in the group I found you with."
"And?"
"And it was so touching to watch you all chatting pleasantly on this street corner, I was going to book you on my lecture circuit." Angel jerked the other vampire forward and then slammed him back against the dumpster. "Now you can tell me where the Place of Resistance is, or we can stand here and wait for the next demon consciousness to come along. Oh, I forgot. I already have a soul. I'm going to miss out on all the fun. But think what a great story this will make for your memoirs."
"Of course!" Wesley's sudden exclamation made Doyle and Cordelia both start. He jumped out of his chair and raced out of the room.
Doyle looked at Cordelia. "Is he always like this?"
She shrugged. "Kind of. But not usually this much."
Doyle nodded. After a brief silence, he asked, "Is this the Wesley you used to date?"
Cordelia's eye widened guiltily. "I never…."
Wesley rushed back into the room, flourishing an old book. "The Witch-Demon Riots of 1325! How could I have forgotten?"
"Seriously!" said Cordelia. "Because it's so obvious!"
Wesley paused. "Oh. Right. Sorry. Got a little carried away."
"Just a little," Cordelia agreed.
Wesley set the book down and flipped through its pages as he began his explanation.
"It's common knowledge that witches and demons aren't always the best of friends," he said, ignoring the confused looks from both Cordelia and Doyle. "There have been many little skirmishes between the two groups throughout history. But in Romania in the spring of 1325, three young witches were found dead, their corpses horribly mutilated in such a way that the idea that theirs had been ritual slayings seemed likely, if not probable."
"Why does all the really freaky stuff happen in Romania?" asked Cordelia.
"Boredom, I suspect," offered Doyle. "Have ya ever been to Romania?"
"A witches' tribunal convened that very night, and over the course of the following two weeks they arrived at the conclusion that demons had been responsible for the killings."
"Whoa, whoa," said Cordelia. "It took them two whole weeks to figure that out?"
"There were other options, after all. They may have been having special problems with the demons, but the witches weren't too popular with many other groups of the day, either."
"Imagine that," Doyle said.
"The council intended to spend at least another two weeks debating a course of action," said Wesley. "However, somehow word got out that the demons had been officially condemned for this horrendous act. The sister of one of the victims made a raid on a nearby demon compound and single-handedly killed ten demons before being killed herself. Demons having a much looser justice code than witches, they were not as slow to retaliate."
"So the demons attacked the witches again," said Doyle impatiently. "We get it. When do we get to the part where we stop the Convergence?"
"At first the riots were confined to the maiming, killing, and looting that have historically accompanied riots."
"Hello? We're in L.A., here," said Cordelia. "We know what riots are."
"Then came the first wave of demon possessions," continued Wesley. "Within a few days, 75% of the witches in the area were demon-possessed, and thus aiding the demons in the traditional maiming, killing—"
"The point, man, the point!" erupted Doyle.
Wesley turned another page, drew in his breath sharply, and lifted the book, turning it to face the others. A woodcut illustration showed an overhead view of a group of men and women standing in an elaborate configuration, a chalk diagram on the floor in the center.
"The point is that the end of the Witch-Demon Riots of 1325 came with the creation of the most sweeping exorcism spell ever performed. One that had never been performed before or since: the Rite of Merkoris."
Doyle grinned. "Now we're gettin' somewhere."