Chapter 2: Tuesday, the Fang Gang Gets a Case

Dear Buffy,

Spike’s here. He just showed up last night, and Angel and Wesley are letting him stay. I don’t think Cordy or Gunn are happy. I am, though. Now I’ve got two vampires guarding me. Maybe that’ll stop the nightmares.

I wish Cordy had stayed with me last night. She said she slept most of the day, so she wasn’t tired, but I think maybe if she’d stayed with me, I would’ve been able to sleep better. It took me forever to go to sleep, and then I kept waking up. I had that nightmare again, the one about Doc. Sometimes, when I wake up from that one, it feels like I can’t breathe. I have to lay real still, and after awhile, it goes away. It’s scary. I really think I’m going crazy.

Speaking of crazy, there are two new people here. One is Wesley’s niece, Rebecca something-Pryce. I don’t think I like her. Did you know about the Slayer-in-Waiting thing? The Watchers kept girls to replace you, and Rebecca was one of them. She said it was a miracle you lived as long as you did. Can you believe that? The other person is Fred. She’s a girl, and she’s crazy. She can see me. What I am, you know?

I wonder, if I went crazy, could I see the real me in the mirror?

***

"What’s he on about?"

Cordelia literally jumped away from the London accent that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. "No invading the personal bubble, Spike," she ordered.

"Awfully picky for a girl who used to chew on Xander’s lips," Spike shot back. "What’s me old sire muttering about in there?" He nodded toward the office.

"He just opened a letter from Wolfram & Hart," Cordelia explained. "They’re evil lawyers who want to take over the hotel. Angel doesn’t like them, and the feeling is very, very mutual."

Angel exited the office, letter in hand. "I can’t believe even Wolfram & Hart would stoop this low. They’re threatening to sue me if I don’t allow them to inspect the premises at their leisure."

"Do they happen to mention just when they’re planning on dropping by?" asked Cordelia.

Angel shook his head. "Hopefully not this week. No smoking in the lobby, Spike."

Spike disgustedly tucked the cigarette he’d been about to light behind his ear. "Think I’ll go up to the eighth floor. Unless you don’t want me smoking around the rats, that is."

"Eighth floor’s fine." Angel was still distractedly perusing the letter. "Just try not to burn down the hotel. If you do . . ." He trailed off and gave a laugh. "Burn the place down, and Wolfram & Hart can have it."

The phone rang. Angel went to answer it. After a short conversation, he re-emerged from the office.

"Kate’s coming by with a potential client at one," he told Cordelia. "She says to tell you that she’s even got a budget to pay us out of."

Cordelia perked up noticeably at that. "I always did like her."

Angel rolled his eyes. "I’m going to call Wesley and let him know." Wesley had taken Rebecca back to his apartment the previous night. "Is Dawn up yet?"

"She was showering when I checked on her," said Cordelia.

Dawn chose that moment to come down the stairs. "Morning," she said. She looked tired to Cordelia’s eyes.

"Mornin’, Platelet," greeted Spike.

"New rule, Spike: no referring to Dawn as any sort of blood cell." Angel turned back to Dawn. "Hey, Dawn. There are pancakes in the breakfast nook."

She gave him a minimal smile and headed there. Spike looked interested.

"Pancakes? With real butter and maple syrup?" He started after Dawn.

Angel’s hand stopped him. "Food is for people, Spike."

Spike batted Angel’s hand away. "Fine. I’ll just have a little cuppa while I keep Dawn company. Got a problem with that?"

Angel let him pass, then suddenly grabbed the younger vampire’s wrist and yanked the unlit cigarette out of his hand. "I remind you: no smoking around Dawn." Spike walked away, muttering. "And no swearing, either," Angel called after him. The elder vampire turned to find Cordelia grinning.

"Just think about all that bad karma you’re going to work off this week," the Seer said.

***

Just before one o’clock, Kate Lockley entered the Hyperion. With her were two others, Sandra Burnham and her daughter, Sarah Anne. Sandra was a twenty-eight-year-old woman with reddish-brown hair, green eyes, and a spattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. She was slim, too, but not in a healthy way. "Underweight" was more the correct word; it looked like she hadn’t been eating well for far too long. Aside from her unhealthy weight and the worried pinch between her eyes, though, she was remarkably attractive. Sarah Anne was five years old, a beautiful child with her mother’s hair color and blue eyes. She clung to Sandra’s hand and looked around wonderingly at the Hyperion as they came through the doors. Both mother and daughter had a distinctly nervous way about them.

As Kate looked into the lobby, she saw a few figures she recognized. One was Cordelia, standing at the main desk flipping through a magazine. As soon as the Seer saw Kate, she headed for the office and announced Kate’s presence to someone inside. The other person Kate recognized was Dawn. They’d met when Dawn had stayed at the Hyperion a few months earlier. The girl was sitting on the lobby couch reading a book.

Standing just behind the couch, apparently reading over Dawn’s shoulder, was a person Kate didn’t recognize at all. He was a young man, not bad-looking, dressed in black and sporting a shock of white-blond hair. He also had an aura, for lack of a better word, that made Kate instinctively mistrust him. Both he and Dawn looked up as Kate and her party entered.

"Hey, Kate," said Dawn. It struck Kate that there was something terribly wrong with the girl, but the former cop couldn’t put her finger on what made her think that.

"Hello, Dawn," Kate said. Her gaze strayed back to the young man, who was blatantly sizing her up. Yes, he most definitely made her nervous.

It was a relief when Angel and Wesley exited the office. Gunn, too, appeared from somewhere. Wesley was trailed by a young woman Kate didn’t recognize.

Wesley strode forward, Angel just behind him, and offered a hand to Kate. "Hello, Ms. Lockley." Angel, too, shook her hand and greeted her.

Kate looked at Wesley. "Wesley, please just call me Kate. I think we know each other well enough by now." She gestured toward her company. "I’d like you to meet Sandra Burnham and her daughter, Sarah Anne. Sandra, these are Angel, Wesley, Cordelia, and Gunn." She looked at the young woman shadowing Wesley.

"Hello," said the girl, holding out a hand. "I’m Rebecca Martin-Pryce. I’m an intern." She seemed most proud of herself.

Angel, meanwhile, had taken one look at Sarah Anne and gone over to have a quiet word with Dawn. The teen gave a nod of assent to whatever Angel said, set down her book, and followed him back over to where Kate was.

Kate also noted that the white-haired man was making a slow circuit of the room, eyes still on her.

Angel hunched down in front of Sarah Anne. "Hi, Sarah Anne. I’m Angel." He gave her his best smile. Sarah Anne leaned shyly on her mother and mumbled a greeting. "Sarah, I’d like you to meet my good friend Dawn," Angel continued. "Dawn, do you think you could take Sarah to see the flowers?"

Dawn stepped forward. "Hi, Sarah. Want to come with me?"

Sandra got down to eye level with her daughter. "Go with Miss Dawn, Sarah Anne. Mama’s going to talk with these people for a while." She kissed Sarah Anne’s forehead, and the girl took Dawn’s hand. The two left in the direction of the courtyard.

"Who’re you, luv?" asked a voice in Kate’s ear.

She turned to discover the white-haired man had somehow come up right behind her without her hearing him. He had a working-class English accent, and the way he was looking at her was very disturbing.

"Kate Lockley," she said in her best "I’m a cop, don’t mess with me" voice. "Who are you?"

His eyes had tracked to Kate’s neck, and his teeth flashed in a wicked smile at what he saw. "You can call me Spike. I’m part of Angel’s happy family."

Angel strode forward and grabbed Spike’s arm, yanking him a few feet away for a sotto voce conversation. "Spike. Client. Get lost."

Spike flicked a glance back at Kate and grinned viciously. "I recognize that mark on honey-blonde’s neck. What is it with you and the chomping of blondes? Oedipus complex?"

"That why you changed your hair, William?" Angel shot back.

"Poofter." He pulled his arm free of Angel’s grasp. "All right, I’ll get gone. Where’s the telly in this place?"

"We don’t have one."

"What?" Spike demanded. "It’s almost time for ‘Passions,’ and they’re in the middle of a very serious situation."

"I don’t care," stated Angel. "Find something to amuse yourself with. Chase rats on the eighth floor. Hunt down some secret passages. Take a long walk in the sunlight. Just don’t bother the clients."

"And don’t feed the animals." Angel glared. "Did I see a radio in the breakfast nook?"

"Yes."

"Good. I’ll go help Dr. Laura while you do the hero thing." The blond strutted out.

Angel shook his head, catching Kate’s eye. "There’s one in every family," he said dryly. "Let’s talk in the office."

Inside the office, coffee was served and everyone took seats.

"Kate, I understand you have a new job," said Wesley by means of getting the conversation rolling.

The former cop nodded. "Yes. It’s kind of funny how it happened. A woman I’d once helped press charges against her abusive husband contacted me just out of the blue. She’d started a women’s shelter, and when she heard I was out of work, she offered me a position as assistant director. I decided to try it out, and I’ve been working there for about a month now." She glanced at Sandra. "It’s not at all easy, but it can be very satisfying."

"Understandable," concurred Wesley.

"Most of the monsters I worry about nowadays are of the human variety," Kate went on. "In Sandra’s case, though, I think it goes a little beyond that. We’re both hoping you can help her."

Wesley turned his gaze on Sandra. "We shall certainly try."

Kate, too, turned to Sandra. "Why don’t you tell them what you told me, Sandra? The whole story."

Sandra took a deep breath, gazing nervously around. "It’s a little unbelievable," she warned them. Her voice held a soft Southern accent, subtly different from Fred’s.

Cordelia, seated on Sandra’s other side, waved her hand. "Don’t worry about that. The unbelievable is a daily thing around here."

Somewhat reassured by this reaction, Sandra began her story.

"When I was twenty-one, I met my future husband, Andrew Burnham. This was back in my home state of Virginia. He was handsome, well-off, intelligent—I fell for him right away, and he fell for me, too. We had a whirlwind courtship and got married barely a year after we met for the first time.

"At first, everything was wonderful. Andrew provided me with everything I could ever want. I didn’t question how; I just assumed he was making good money at his consulting job. When Sarah Anne came along, life seemed perfect."

Sandra paused a moment, taking a sip of her coffee. "There were things—things I noticed, but never knew what to make of. For instance, sometimes I’d look in the fridge and notice we had no milk, and I’d tell Andrew. He’d say sure, there was milk, just look again. And when I opened the fridge again, there it was. Or I’d be looking for something, and I’d tell Andrew, and he’d go right to it. Once in a while, too, I’d catch a glimpse of something out of the corner of my eye, something that didn’t look . . . right. But when I’d try and see what it was, it would be gone. Or I’d feel presences in the house when no one else was there except maybe Sarah Anne. But I’d just dismiss all of those things, because they were impossible, right?"

"Denial," said Cordelia. "It happens a lot."

"Yeah, I guess so." Sandra looked down at her coffee. "Then, one day, there was a hurricane warning. We had a beach vacation house, but we lived far enough inland that we didn’t have to evacuate. Andrew got this really strange look in his eye. He told me to stay inside with Sarah Anne, stay in the basement, and he was going to take care of something. The way he said it frightened me, but I did as he told me.

"When the storm passed and I saw Andrew again, he looked like hell. But our house hadn’t lost a single shingle, none of our trees had fallen—we hadn’t been touched by the hurricane, not really, even though all our neighbors had damage. What was even stranger was that our beach house was still standing, but the houses on either side of it were matchsticks.

"I knew Andrew had done something. I had no idea how, but I knew he had. It took me a long time to work up the courage to ask him, but I did eventually. And when I did . . ."

Sandra trailed off, looking haunted. Kate touched her shoulder gently, and Cordelia refilled her coffee. After a few minutes, Sandra continued her tale.

"He told me it was magic," she said. "I laughed a little at first, but then he proved it. He made things right in front of me—a candle, a flower, a necklace. He made the wind blow, then brought down rain out of the clear sky. I didn’t have a choice but to believe. Then he took my hands and . . . and he told me he was glad I knew, that he could give me anything and everything my heart desired, I only had to ask."

"I’ll bet he’s a Dalasian Sorcerer!" Rebecca suddenly broke in.

Before anyone could ask what that was, Wesley shook his head. "He couldn’t be, Rebecca. Dalasians are celibate, and the presence of Sarah Anne seems to argue against that in this case."

"But his control over the elements . . ."

"Is something most magic users can learn. Please don’t interrupt, Rebecca." He turned his gaze back to Sandra. "Please do continue."

She nodded. "For a little while after that, things seemed fine. He could do such beautiful things, and he seemed to only want to please me and take care of Sarah Anne. But then . . ." She swallowed hard. "I don’t know what it was that first made me worry. He was getting more and more powerful, and the more powerful he became, the less I knew him. It seemed to me he started to disdain ordinary humans. And there were things in our house."

"What kind of things?" asked Wesley quietly.

"Creatures. I’d hear them or see them, but they never paid attention to me or Sarah Anne. Except one. There was this woman. I-I don’t know how to describe her. It was always the same woman, but she had three different appearances. Sometimes, she’d be small and kind of dark—her hair and eyes would be almost black, and her skin was dusky. Other times, she’d be tall and very fair, with almost white hair and bright blue eyes, and she’d be reed-thin. And once in a while, she’d be a curvy redhead. She never walked—always floated at least a few inches off the ground—and Andrew was very proud of having her in the house. He told me that she was my personal servant.

"The worst thing was, she seemed so sad. She had to do anything I or Andrew asked of her, or she’d be in pain. I asked her what her name was once, and she told me she couldn’t tell me that, and then she suffered until I told her it was all right, I didn’t need to know. Then she told me I was so kind . . ."

A tear rolled down Sandra’s face. Gunn passed her a box of Kleenex. It took her a moment to pull herself together.

"All this time, Andrew was changing. He started to get controlling, telling me when I could leave the house, who I could talk to. When I’d try and argue with him, he’d make it so I couldn’t speak. If he got really angry, he’d . . . hurt me."

"Hit you?" asked Cordelia.

"No, he never laid a hand on me. He’d just make it so I hurt all over until I apologized for whatever I’d done to upset him." Sandra took a shuddering breath. "I wanted to leave him. I tried. But he always knew, and he could stop me in my tracks. I started to worry about Sarah Anne, how he’d treat her. Mostly, he just ignored her, but once in a while, he’d give her this look, almost like he was hungry, and it scared me so bad, but I couldn’t break free of him. Not until I got help."

She took another sip of her coffee. "When Sarah Anne turned five, on her birthday, the woman I told you about before came to me when I was alone. She told me something that just about made me wet myself—that Andrew was planning to kill Sarah Anne."

A murmur went around the room. Wesley leaned forward, concentrating totally on Sandra.

After a moment, she continued. "I begged her to help me, and she said she would. She said I was kind to her, and she would give me three gifts: one of the Fair, one of the Dark, and one of the Russet." She grimaced. "I’m trying to remember these things.

"The Fair gave me a pendant." Sandra pulled a golden chain with a flat, orange-brown, teardrop-shaped stone dangling from it. Wesley hissed when he saw it. "She said it would keep Andrew from being able to control me, but I had to wear it all the time, even at night, even when I bathed. I haven’t taken it off in almost a year."

"It’s good thinking," said Wesley. "What you’re wearing is a Fey stone. They’re vanishingly rare, and very powerful. She must have put a charm on it to break the spell your husband placed on you, and to protect you from further mind-control spells. But do go on."

Sandra took another look at the stone around her neck before she continued. "The Dark gave me a cloak, one I keep with my belongings. She said it would hide me from prying eyes, though not forever. Sarah Anne and I have had to use it sparingly, but at first, when we ran, we wore it for days on end—it’s big enough to cover the both of us.

"The Russet . . . she kissed me on the mouth, then told me her name. The weird thing is, I can’t say it. She said that when the time comes, I’ll be able to, but until then, my tongue is bound—those were her words.

"After that, I left with Sarah Anne. We wore the cloak and just walked out of the house. The woman told me she could give me a few days, but no more. I went straight to the bank and withdrew several thousand dollars, and after that, Sarah Anne and I hit the road."

"In Virginia?" Wesley sounded amazed. "You’ve run all the way across the country, then."

Sandra nodded. "We can’t stay in one place for too long. He has these things, these horrible monsters, that do his looking for him. Whenever we start to see them, Sarah Anne and I have to run again. The longest we’ve stayed anywhere is a month. I found a network of women who help other women escape abusive spouses, and they’ve helped me stay underground, but . . ." She started crying again. "Sarah Anne deserves better, and I can’t live like this anymore. But how can I fight his power? Sooner or later, he will catch us. I’m so scared, and I’ve been scared for so very long, I’ve forgotten what it was like to have a normal life. Please . . . can you help us?"

Wesley looked into her eyes. "We shall certainly endeavor to do so." He addressed the rest of the team. "The first thing is to find out exactly what sort of magic user he is."

"Finding out where he is would be helpful, too," put in Gunn.

"I’ve got some contacts that might help with that," offered Kate.

Cordelia looked at Wesley. "What do you think of putting Sandra and Sarah Anne up here? There’s room, and Angel could guard them better."

"We can have it warded more effectively, too," mused Wesley. "It’s a good idea."

Angel looked thoughtful. "There are some demons who sense strong magic. I can roust a few out, find out if they’re picking up any disturbances. Could give us some warning."

"Another good idea," said Wesley. "Sandra, I will want you to remember everything you can about Andrew’s magic—any amulets or objects he used, any incantations, whatever you can remember."

Sandra sagged in her seat. "You really—you’re really taking this seriously."

"We really are," agreed Cordelia. "I promise you, this is nowhere near the weirdest case we’ve had—not even in the last month."

"We will help you, Sandra," promised Wesley. "Whatever it takes, we’ll help you and your daughter get your lives back."

Sandra burst into tears.

***

"Angel, can I talk to you for a moment?"

Angel looked at Kate and pulled away from where Sandra was giving Wesley all the details she could remember about Andrew Burnham’s magic. "Sure. What is it?"

The two walked out of the office before Kate turned to face him. "The white-haired guy—Spike. Who is he?"

Angel sighed. "You remember Drusilla?" Kate nodded. "Spike was turned by her. They spent almost 120 years together."

"Then he is a vampire." Kate looked intently into Angel’s eyes. "Is he like you? Does he have a soul?"

"No. He’s not like me."

"Then how can he be trusted?" Kate asked. "I don’t mind telling you he gave me the creeps earlier. Frankly, I’m not sure I want Sandra and Sarah Anne staying anywhere near him. Is he staying here?"

"Yes." Angel rubbed his chin. "Spike’s . . . complicated. If it reassures you any, he is, for now, incapable of physically harming a living being."

"What, some kind of curse or something?"

"No." Angel gave a laugh. "A microchip implanted in his brain, if you can believe that. The government got ahold of him." Kate just stared at him. "Honestly, Kate, if I thought he’d be a problem, I’d chain him in the basement until they left. As it is, I doubt he’ll even pay much attention to them. He’s got too much of his mind focused on Dawn right now."

"On Dawn?"

"He made a promise to protect her, and it’s one he will keep. Like I said, Spike’s complicated."

Kate didn’t look happy, but she acquiesced. "I guess if you’re okay with it, I am, too." She looked down, a little uncomfortable. "Gunn told me about your loss. I’m very sorry, Angel." Angel nodded, fresh pain in his eyes. "She was your . . . friend?"

A moment. Then: "She was my dream."

Kate’s lips tightened minutely, and she nodded. "I’m sorry."

After Sandra gave as much detail to Wesley as she could, Kate took her and Sarah Anne back to the women’s shelter to retrieve their meager belongings. The Angel Investigations crew broke out the books.

Fred was just coming back in when suddenly, Spike heaved himself over the railing of the second-floor balcony and landed in the lobby directly in front of her. The young woman froze briefly, looking him up and down.

"Are you a Bad Thing?" she asked.

"Bad as they come, sweet pea."

"I thought so." With that, she continued on her beeline to the kitchen. Spike looked after her, a little disappointed. Angel smirked.

"Didn’t spook as easily as you thought she would, did she, Spike?"

Spike gestured vaguely in the direction Fred had gone. "Speaking as someone who spent 120 years with Dru—that girl’s a little strange."

"She is," agreed Angel. "By the way, Spike, Sandra and Sarah Anne, who Kate brought in earlier, are going to be staying with us here. If you cause them any trouble, I’ll chain you in the basement."

"Good, clean family fun." Spike grinned.

"Yeah, makes me all nostalgic, too," sighed Angel. He then became aware of the open-mouthed looks Cordelia, Wesley, and Gunn were giving him. "That was a joke."

"Just keep in mind there are things we don’t want to be hearin’ about," said Gunn.

"Motion seconded," added Cordelia.

"And passed," finished Wesley.

"Wimps," said Spike.

Angel dope-slapped him upside the head. Spike looked offended, but before he could protest, Dawn walked into the lobby.

"Hey, Niblet." Spike ruffled her hair, and she batted his hand away with a small smile.

"Dawn. Come sit down," said Angel, sitting on the couch. Dawn obligingly sat down beside him. "How’s Sarah Anne?"

Dawn shrugged and gathered her thoughts. "She didn’t talk all that much, but she did say something about her and her mom having to pack up and run in the middle of the night. I asked her if she had any friends, and she said she didn’t. That and she’s turning six on Saturday. What happened to her?"

Angel explained Sandra and Sarah Anne’s situation. "They’re going to be staying with us until we figure out how to stop Andrew Burnham," he told her, wrapping it up.

Dawn looked at him askance. "I’m not going to get stuck on permanent baby-sitting duty, am I?"

"No, don’t worry about that," Angel chuckled. "I have a feeling Sandra won’t be letting Sarah Anne out of her sight for more than a minute."

The group continued with their research. Even Dawn took a book to flip through. Spike stood around for a few minutes, then got stir-crazy and left.

Rebecca sighed and wiggled. "Can’t we just find this man and stop him?" she asked.

"We need to find out what he’s capable of first," pointed out Wesley. "Going unprepared into a battle with a powerful magic user . . ."

"Is a good way of getting very dead," finished Gunn.

"Precisely." Wesley looked at Rebecca. "Ninety-nine percent of this job is research, Rebecca. It’s only when there’s no other choice that we go into physical battle."

"What your uncle is trying to say is that our lives are weeks of mind-numbing boredom punctuated by seconds of sheer terror," Cordelia summed up.

"I would have to agree with that," concurred Wesley.

Rebecca looked discontented, but went back to her book.

"Wesley." The ex-Watcher looked up at Angel. "That creature Sandra described, the woman—did she sound like a Faery to you?"

"That’s exactly what I thought," said Wesley. "The three aspects, the stone, the fact that Sandra can’t say her name—it matches up with everything I’ve heard." He looked worried. "That’s the most puzzling thing. As far as I know, it’s impossible for a witch or warlock to control the Fey. Such a thing would take incredibly strong magicks."

"What exactly are we talking about?" asked Gunn.

Wesley explained. "The Faery, or the Fey, as they’re sometimes known, are spirits that can take a physical form in our world. They supposedly exist between dimensions. Normally, they have very little interaction with the mortal world, so the Watcher information on them is sketchy at best. What is known is that they almost always have three aspects and to have their names is to have power over them. In Sandra’s case, the Faery that was in her house has given out her name, but she’s also bound Sandra so she can’t use it until a certain point. Unfortunately, given how unpredictable the Fey are, I’ve no idea what that might mean."

Spike walked back in, munching on a bag of microwave popcorn. "Shouldn’t all you be concentrating less on this wind and more on getting this mausoleum warded?"

"We have been looking into that, Spike," Wesley informed him impatiently. "Unfortunately, most general warding spells would kick you and Angel right out the door."

"Which might not be so bad, in your case," Cordelia said.

Spike flashed his canines at her and offered the bag of popcorn to Dawn, who took a handful. "I don’t know, Miss Cordelia. You might find you like having me around."

"In your dreams, Bleach Boy," the Seer shot back.

"All my naughtiest ones, sweeting."

"Wanna get staked?" Gunn asked the blond vampire.

"Try it, Baldy." Spike tossed a piece of popcorn in the air and caught it neatly on his tongue.

"Much as I hate to interrupt the repartee," said Wesley loudly, "I must insist that we get back to researching. Gunn, keep looking for the description of those creatures Sandra said Andrew uses to hunt her. Cordelia, keep looking for warding spells. Something not too complicated, please; I’m no warlock."

Dawn took another handful of popcorn, looking thoughtful. "Why don’t you call Willow and Tara?" she asked. "I mean, classes are out, so all Willow’s probably doing is annoying Anya at the Magic Box. They could give you advice, or maybe even come down here and do a spell themselves. You could ask them about Andrew, too."

All eyes turned to Dawn. After a moment, Spike spoke up.

"You know, Little Bit, it’s very rude to suggest simple solutions to people who are in love with their dilemmas."

Angel smiled and gave Dawn a squeeze. "Spike’s right, Dawn. You’ve got to watch it with that." He looked over at Wesley. "What do you think?"

"I think it’s a good idea. Cordelia, would you . . ?"

"I’m on it." The Seer stood and walked into the office to place the call. A few minutes later, she returned. "I’d say that’s settled. Willow practically had an orgasm when I asked if they wanted to help ward the hotel."

"Cordelia!" Wesley scolded, taking a nervous glance at Dawn.

The girl rolled her eyes. "It’s not like I’ve never heard that word before, Wesley. You should hear the things Anya says. Once, she made Giles turn purple."

"Anyway," Cordelia went on, "she and Tara are going to come by tomorrow afternoon."

Not too long after that, Kate returned with Sandra and Sarah Anne. The ex-cop greeted them by asking, "Find anything?"

Wesley looked up at her. "Nothing too dramatic, I’m afraid. However, tomorrow, some friends are stopping by who will help us ward the hotel. They’ll most likely be able give us some direction as to what Andrew is, too."

"I still think he’s a sorcerer," insisted Rebecca.

"We don’t know that," said Wesley. "All we know is that he certainly isn’t your usual warlock. Even if he is a sorcerer, we’d still have to determine what kind."

"Do I want to know?" asked Kate.

"There are a lot of different kinds of magic users," Angel explained. "There are different titles for all of them—witch, wizard, sorcerer, mage, et cetera. Depending on what powers they use or what gods they worship, they can also differ within any given category. Once we can narrow Andrew down to one category, we’ll be a lot closer to determining what kinds of powers he has and how to defend against him—and we’ll also know a lot more about his weaknesses."

Kate didn’t look like that had cleared up too much for her. Angel took her and the mother and daughter upstairs to find a room for them.

"Thank you for doing this for us, Angel," said Sandra. "It’s such a relief, finally finding someone who’s willing to help us."

Angel nodded. "We’ll do our best." He glanced back at Kate, then pulled Sandra a little away from Sarah Anne. "There is something you have to know about myself and one other person at the Hyperion. Spike—the man with the white hair—and I are both vampires."

Sandra’s eyes widened. "Oh."

"Don’t worry—we don’t feed off humans, so neither of us will hurt you or Sarah Anne—but if it comes down to a fight, I don’t want you to be alarmed at what may happen. Do you understand?"

"I-I guess so." Sandra shook herself. "I’ve just never run across a vampire before."

Angel gave her a quick grin. "I wouldn’t suggest trusting vampires in general, but you can trust me. As for Spike—if he gives you any trouble, just let me know, and I’ll take care of it. Okay?"

"Okay."

Angel went back downstairs, where the research party continued. He lost track of time until Cordelia started making noises about dinner.

"What time is it?" the vampire asked.

Wesley checked his watch. "Almost six."

Angel swore, getting up and grabbing his coat. "I’ve got to go. I managed to get a face-to-face meeting to tell Faith about Buffy, and if I’m late . . ."

Rebecca looked up from her book. "Faith? You’re meeting with her?" There was distaste in her voice. But Angel was gone. Rebecca turned to Wesley. "Why is he meeting with her?"

Wesley’s lips tightened, the way they always did when the rogue Slayer was mentioned, but his voice betrayed nothing. "Angel has kept in touch with Faith, yes. He feels it’s important she knows she has at least one friend in the world, and I have to agree with him."

"But why? She’s evil."

"So was Angel, once. Keep looking through that book." With that, the conversation was over.

Two hours later, Angel returned, looking rough.

"How did it go?" asked Wesley.

The vampire shook his head. "She knew the second she saw me. Slayer’s instinct, I suppose. Didn’t mean she took it too well, though."

"I’d have imagined she’d be happy Buffy Summers is dead," said Rebecca.

Dawn promptly left the room.

Angel flicked Rebecca an irritated glance. "She isn’t. The thing she wanted to do most was make up with Buffy, and now she’ll never be able to." He turned to Cordelia. "Cordy, would you check on Dawn?"

"Sure." Cordelia glared at Rebecca. "Watch what you say about Buffy. Dawn’s not into reacting well, in case you haven’t noticed."

"Have you spent much time with her?" asked Wesley. "How is she doing?"

Cordelia shrugged a little. "I haven’t been able to spend much time with her, but . . . I think she’s dealing. She’s strong."

Angel nodded. "She is. It’ll just take time, is all."

"She’s certainly doing better than she was in Sunnydale," agreed Wesley.

"What, are you people barmy?" Spike’s voice startled everyone in the room. The blond vampire entered the lobby. "Any idiot can see that she’s barely hanging on. She’s putting up a false front because she thinks that’s what you all want to see."

"You don’t know that," said Cordelia.

"Yes I do, sweetheart. And so would you, if you’d open your eyes." He gave the group a disgusted look and walked out.

A little shaken at Spike’s words, Cordelia made her way to the room she and Dawn were sharing. The teen was sitting on the bed reading a book.

"Dawn?" There was no response. "I just came up to check on you. You doing okay?"

"Rebecca’s a moron," answered Dawn.

"I’ll give that a hearty ‘uh-huh.’ But how are you?"

"Fine."

This wasn’t going to be easy. "Funny, you don’t look or sound fine. Listen, Dawn . . ."

"I want to be alone," interrupted the teen, not looking up from her book.

Cordelia stopped, not quite sure of how to proceed. "Okay, if you want. But Dawn, if you need to talk or anything, I’m here."

Dawn didn’t respond. Less than satisfied and uncomfortably certain Spike knew what he was talking about, Cordelia left.