AN: Sorry for the delay, life got in the way of my writing.

Disclaimer: See chapter one.

Angel wondered how much longer he could appear interested in the soggy paper umbrella he was twirling between his fingers without Cordelia guessing that he wasn't really paying attention to her ramblings.

Not surprisingly, she hadn't really taken to their new client and was currently picking Yeva's fashion choices apart bit by bit. He reckoned that it wasn't anything personal against the hybrid, but really it was down the fact that right now, she was very aware it wasn't herself consoling Doyle in a dark alley at the moment.

"I mean, wedge shoes with flared jeans? That is so 1996!" Cordelia's voice had reached a new pitch and it stirred the vampire from his own thoughts.

Angel could tell her heart wasn't really in it, but if it made her happy for now…

"You know what I mean right?" She continued. A second or two later he realised she was addressing him and opened his mouth to make out some lame reply. However, the sudden bang of a door diverted both their attentions before he could answer.

"Angel, Cordelia, come quick!" Yeva was in and out in a heartbeat, leaving the door wide open for the other two to follow.

Outside, they hurried down the few steps to kneel next to a very still Doyle. He was lying on his back near the stairwell, blood matted across one side of his head; eyes closed.

For a terrifying second Angel thought the worst, horrified at the sight of Doyle's pale face clashing against the deep red smeared down his cheek. But the next rational thought the vampire had forced him to check his friend's pulse and the knot in his stomach relaxed.

"He's breathing."Angel said to no one in particular.

"What happened?" Cordelia demanded of Yeva, while Angel cast a quick glance around in case their hulking demon friend had made a return appearance.

Yeva was wringing her hands and withered under Cordelia's harsh stare.

She stammered out a reply, the words rushing out at once, "I don't know! We were talking and all of a sudden he just went…weird! Started shaking and his eyes rolled back, I thought he was having a seizure! I'm sorry; I didn't know what to do and then he fell and hit his head on the stair there."

Angel turned to where she had pointed, the faint gleam of blood drops visible on the stone steps, "He was having a vision." Angel deducted.

The statement seemed to bring Yeva back to the here and now and she crouched down beside him, "Vision?"

Angel nodded, "He has visions, I'll explain later. We need to get him home."

Cordelia stood up, "His home or yours?"

"Mine, probably best not to leave him alone 'til he wakes up." Angel replied, standing up, heaving the limp form of his friend into his arms. He followed the two girls to the parking lot, still wary of any demon attacks that may still be coming from the dark.

Doyle's head wound had not been as bad as it looked and after half an hour of lying on Angel's bed, he had woken, though with a terrible headache and fuzzy memory.

Angel's hopes that the vision would yield more information proved futile; the head injury had clouded Doyle's memory and he couldn't remember anything after the vision had hit. The Irishman had appeared quite distressed by this and so, not wanting him to feel useless, Angel had assigned him and Yeva to research, looking up any ritual or spell that showed any similarities with the murders.

It was a thinly veiled effort but Doyle gladly accepted the chance to be helpful, as did Yeva.

Sitting amongst the piles of books and half-drunk cups of tea, Doyle now felt more like an extra from some old English drama, the kind shown on television on a summer afternoon. Across from where he was seated, Yeva was flicking lazily through one of the large dusty books that were scattered about.

Angel and Cordelia had left about an hour ago, off to glean some information out of some of Angel's contacts. Doyle was now wishing he'd gone with them, if Angel had let him. The enthusiasm he had previously felt at helping their comrades through research had dissolved under mountains of scriptures and scrolls and now the hours of trying to read chicken scratch scrawls had taken their toll.

"Fancy somethin' a little stronger than tea, love?" Doyle asked Yeva, before standing up and cracking his back, feeling the muscles spasm in protest.

"Sure, got any cyanide?" Yeva slammed the book shut with a frustrated grunt. "It's the only way I can see to end all this."

"Seems overwhelming doesn't it." Doyle wandered over to the kitchen and poured two ample amounts of single malt for the both of them. "Angel really needs to work on his filing system in the near future.

"Amen to that." She took the drink and gulped at it greedily, before choking out a strained grin in appreciation. The break seemed to breathe a bit of life into the room and Doyle felt himself relaxing slightly, the first time really since this case had started.

Cordelia could be smart, funny and brave and, for an ex-cheerleader valley girl, she could pretty much hold her own against things that would send the average jock running for his mother. But right now, at this very moment, Angel really, really wished she wasn't quite so bold.

"I'll have you know I'm a soon-to-be world famous actress so you better let us in buddy-boy!" She was yelling at the bouncer of one of L.A's less advertised bars, somewhere Angel hoped the clientele will have heard something about the murders, something not in the police reports.

His patience was wearing thin though; this was the sixth bar they'd visited and so far the patrons were either too scared or too drunk to make much sense. The toll was showing on his travelling companion as well and he could have sworn that her voice had gotten shriller with every passing hour. But at least he understood her frustration at the lack of progress they were making. It was starting to grate and it was getting harder and harder not to break down each door they came to, rather than knocking on it.

But still, Cordelia's rant wasn't getting the door open any faster and so with a swift move he placed himself between her and the hulking bouncer, earning himself a protesting squeak from the girl.

"Think about it; let us in and she goes away." Angel whispered. "Believe me; the alternative is leaving her out here with you."

The bouncer's eyes widened slightly, "Go on in." He stepped aside and Angel breezed past, turning only to grab Cordelia's arm before she had time to shoot off any 'witty' remarks.

The doorway led to a set of stairs, dimly lit by a couple of bare bulbs. The smell of stale beer and sweat drifted up from the visible light emanating from the bottom, as well as a few less recognisable scents. This was definitely a demon bar.

However, something felt wrong. It was quiet and there was a tense atmosphere that was almost as thick as the smoke hanging around the ceiling. It was only when he and Cordelia reached the bottom of the stairs that Angel realised what was so wrong with the scene in front of him. All the patrons, the demons, vampires and other assorted creatures, were all seated at one end of the room. Huddled round small tables and crammed around the bar, no one was anywhere near the far side of the room.

No one spoke as the duo walked across the floor. Scoping out the room, Angel noted the door slightly ajar over the other side of the dance floor. There was light coming from inside and the vampire noted how everyone seemed to be purposefully avoiding eye contact with that very door.

"I think we've found what we're looking for." Angel whispered to Cordelia, drawing her attention away from the motley crew at the bar. "Stay close to me."

He walked slowly over to the door, feeling the eyes of everyone in the room burning into the back of his head. Cordelia had her hand on his back, not pushing but just checking he was close, keeping her safe. With a quick glance back to reassure his partner, Angel pushed open the door...

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