Canonicity statement:For this novel (the third book of the Reunion Trilogy), all televised seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel are canonical to the best of the author's ability, while all non-televised ancillary material is not.

PROLOGUE

The Undermall

Caritas's tiki lights were extinguished, darkness shrouded the empty lounges and shadowed the empty chairs and tables, and other than the sounds of an intruder rummaging behind the bar, the space lay silent. He had been hoping for company, a particularly handsome patron he'd been making eyes at, but alas, the Eromenite demon must have found other companionship.

So it goes.

As increasingly loud clinking sounds, undoubtedly emanating from bottles being roughly shoved about, became more difficult to ignore, Lorne rubbed at his red eyes … redder than normal due to lack of sleep … and stood up. He shuffled into his slippers and then stepped, bleary-eyed and yawning, into the main hall of Caritas. While the Undermall didn't really have a day or night, commerce was easier when everyone kept to the same, agreed-upon, schedule, and the current time was several hours past closing and many hours before they'd open for business again.

Where the hell is my security? I'm cutting Pete's talons off and jamming them up his ass for not watching the door.

The interloper who was fixing himself a drink at the far end of the bar didn't turn around, but Lorne suspected that the man was fully aware of his presence. The lights behind the bar had been turned on, the ceiling lights were off, and the gleaming wooden beams of the walls and ceiling pressed in close.

Lorne reached out, swept aside an errant palm frond dangling from the awning above, and strode towards the figure. Judging by the black coat, dark hair, and height, he suspected who he would find, and once he'd neared to within a few paces he confirmed his suspicion.

"Angel, what an unpleasant surprise," he announced as he brushed some lint off the sushi-themed pajamas he was wearing. "I don't even care to ask how you got in here, or what you could possibly want … in fact, I have only one word for you. Aloha." He extended his middle finger towards Angel, affected a pedantic, instructive tone, and said, "Just for your edification, that means both hello and goodbye." He pointed at the front door. "With emphasis on the goodbye part."

Angel smiled, but there was no warmth behind it and his dark eyes glittered in a cold and menacing fashion. "Krevlornswath, bubbie, I think you have me confused with someone else."

Something in Angel's voice gave Lorne pause. He stepped back, swallowed nervously, and glanced the ex-vampire over from head to toe. Same insolent grin, same ominously dull wardrobe choices, but something was wrong.

That isn't Angel.

"Who are you?" he asked. "I'd guess Angelus, but Angelus is dead." He tilted his head and took another step back. "Isn't he?"

"We'll get to that in a minute," the creature said as it sipped at the drink it had made, pulled a face, then set the glass down.

"Why are you here?" Lorne asked.

The thing wearing his former friend's face twisted into a thoughtful expression. "You see, Krev, ol' pal, this miserable little shithole of a pocket reality happens to have everything a growing me needs. It's a nexus that connects into countless other dimensions that are just waiting to be devoured, it has a captive audience that will serve to amuse me while I work, and oh yeah … it has you."

The bar seemed to be closing in on Lorne as he continued to retreat. "Me?"

The not-Angel leaned against the bar and smiled again. "You've always been so helpful to folks out there in need of guidance. Reading their auras … or whatevers … showing 'em their path, helping them avoid troubles … you're an honest-to-god good Samaritan. You know what else you've been?" The room grew cold as the thing smiled again. "Annoying."

"I'm out of the business, as of now," Lorne said as he reached for the door to his quarters. He scrabbled at the doorknob as the creature walked closer to him.

The not-Angel raised a finger and waggled it at him. "Not quite yet, my dear Krevlornswath." It raised a hand to its mouth, coughed dramatically, then rubbed its chin. "I'd like to know what my aura tells you, and I'm thinking a little ditty made famous by Mick Jagger would be appropriate." The thing spread its arms wide and sang.

Please allow me to introduce myself …

He hadn't made it more than a few words into the song before Lorne raised his hands to his head, pressed his palms tightly against his ears, and screamed.

I'm a man of wealth and taste …

Lorne's cries of pain were deafening as blood spurted from between the fingers pressed tightly against his ears and dripped from his eyes. He fell to his knees, black liquid pooled on the floor beneath his knees, and when the thing stopped singing, Lorne fell silent, collapsed on his side, and twitched spasmodically on the floor. His eyes stared vacantly into space as blood continued to trickle from his ears.

"I guess I won't be getting a callback," the creature said in a rueful, uncaring manner as it stared at Lorne. "Don't worry, though, I already know my future." It crouched down and leaned over so it could whisper in a conspiratorial fashion to the near-unconscious figure lying beneath him. "I'm going to eat this dimension first, and then I'm going to spread through every dimension that links to this decadent hub of scum and villainy. And when all of those dimensions are nothing besides me, I'll just keep going. I mean, why? It's not like I don't find the notion of space-time continuums to be overrated."

The thing stood back up, laid its hands upon the bar, and darkness spread like a stain along the wood. The inky, shadowy substance raced along the floor, seeped into the walls, and then expanded like a coating of nothingness. Lorne convulsed once as the darkness swept over his flesh, then his body folded upon itself and vanished with a brief ripple of nothingness. Shortly after that, a growing cascade of screams started to resonate throughout the Undermall.

. . . . . . . . .

"Do you know why there's only one of me, but so countless many of you?" the thing that wore Buffy Summers's face asked Cordelia.

Cordelia, still attached to the memory of her physical body, actually leapt at the sound of the voice. She swung away from the balcony view afforded of her mental construct, stared at the black clad Buffy standing on the far side of the balcony, and the space that had seemed so unassailable, so safe for years, was now a place of terror.

The thing crossed its arms and waited for her reply.

"I'm not sure …" Cordelia admitted as she pressed against the stone balustrade behind her.

"Because life comes in so many different shades, and colors, and species," the not-Buffy said in a tone that reminded Cordelia of a high school lecture. "On the other hand, darkness … well … there really isn't much in the way of variety."

"Fascinating," Cordelia replied. "How'd you get in here?"

"The walls are breaking down, Cordy," the First said. "Nowhere is safe from me."

Cordelia squinted and took the measure of the intruder. "You aren't the First … at least, you aren't the aspect that corporealized as Angelus," she said as she straightened her back and tensed in defiance. "I'm thinking you're some guard dog that got left behind."

The First shrugged. "Trying to explain the nature of my existence would take eons, and it doesn't really matter. All you need to know is that I'm going to keep an eye on things here … mostly making sure the people we want to stay alive, stay alive, and killing anyone whose death might amuse me."

"And which group am I in?" Cordelia asked as she wondered where the hell the other Powers were.

The First smiled at her, and while it had all the superficial charm and irritatingly innocent good looks that Buffy had possessed in her early twenties, the smile did nothing except frighten her to the very core of what would-be-her-bones-if-she-had-a-body.

"You'd be dead already if we didn't have some very interesting plans for you," the First replied. It glanced down towards her feet, then frowned. "Terrible shoes, by the way." The figure crumped upon itself, like a piece of tinfoil crushed within the palm of an unseen hand, and vanished with a brief ripple of darkness.

A moment later, a brilliant white light shone in the corner of the balcony.

"Thanks for the help!" Cordelia yelped. The moment the words left her mouth, she realized that she now understood exactly how Buffy and Faith had felt when the Powers failed to intervene on their behalf.

Crap, we are assholes.

The light blinked again, more insistently this time.

The big guy wants a meeting … that can't be good.

"Is he mad at me?" Cordelia asked as she wrinkled her brow and wrung her hands. As soon as she realized what she was doing, she dropped her arms by her sides.

The light blinked again.

Cordelia waved off the reply and said, "Yeah, yeah, I know he doesn't get mad, but is he doing that thing my mom used to do where she'd tell me she wasn't angry with me, she was just disappointed?"

The light blinked again, and Cordelia wiped at her forehead and exhaled in relief.

"Thank heavens," she said.