It was a clear night, with no moon, and no smog from Los Angeles. If one stared up, they could pick out most of the stars, although the ambient glow from the lights of Sunnydale would prevent one from seeing the more faint of the stars.

But Darla wasn't interested in stars on this night.

She waited by the docks, seemingly incongruous in a a school-girls outfit, an innocent smile on her face. But Darla was far from innocent, and her mission was anything but a mission of mercy by a naive school girl.

Where is he? the blonde growled mentally, resisting the urge to pace. Losing her self-control now would do no one any good, much less herself. I paid well for my Childe to be tracked down, and even a fool would know...

"Lady."

Darla turned, annoyed that she hadn't noticed the approach of the man. Her eyes swept over him almost automatically, assessing him.

The man was dressed in casual black jeans and a t-shirt. To all appearances, he was a college student, out for a night on the town, or, more likely by the docks, searching for someone to warm his bed.

"Did you find out where he was?" she demanded.

"Yes, Lady Darla." the man replied. He lit a ciggarette. As his wrist turned, Darla caught sight of the Psi sign tattooed to his wrist. A sign of occult knowledge and experience... the mark of a Watcher. "He's on his way here."

"Here?" Her eyes widened incredulously. "Why?"

The Watcher shrugged. "Evidently he thinks he's going to save the world."

The blonde vampiress smiled. "Poor Angelus... deluded himself into thinking he's a hero, has he?" She gave the man a piercing look. "You want the tome?" She pulled a single key out of her pocket and tossed it at him. He caught it easily in midair. "Locker fifty-one at the bus depot."

He bowed slightly, then turned and walked away.

Darla's smile vanished. Angelus was coming. This deserved careful planning... and a certain amount of observance on her part.

"You won't slip away again, my love..." She turned and walked away, towards the transformer station a few blocks away. Easy sewer access... and she'd have to tell Luke that her childe was hers to deal with. No one else's. /Hers/.

Nighttime again. Angel opened his eyes to darkness and the distinct feeling of a crick in his neck. Reaching over, he unlatched the trunk release, and crawled out into the semi-darkness of the truck stop parking lot.

He strode across the lot, aware of the stares he was getting from the truck-drivers. He didn't exactly fit in, clad from head to toe in black, with the duster flaring out behind him. It wasn't like he had much of a choice with the duster, though. There was no inconspicuous way to carry a sword in leather pants and a black silk shirt.

The convenience store of the truck stop yielded a map of California. So far, he had been driving by night, sleeping by day, and relying on instructions from Whistler.

Unfortunately, Whistler gave /terrible/ instructions.

Angel left the building and returned to his car. He ran a possessive hand over it. The car was his, bought with some of the money he'd had the foresight to hide away in various accounts.

The same money would pay for what little he needed where he was going.

He could smell exhaust in the wind as he pulled out onto the freeway and hit the gas.

By nights end, he'd be where he belonged. Sunnydale. The Mouth of Hell.