Disclaimer: Characters and Premise are borrowed from the show "Buffy, the Vampire Slayer" and "Angel". "The Case of the Misplaced Bodies" by Kizmet (kkizmet@hotmail.com) Tightly packed bodies twist and writhe in time to the blaring, pounding music, visible only in flashes, snap shots. One man stands frozen in the throng, mouth open in an unheard scream. The crush of bodies holds him upright for a time, but slowly he sinks bonelessly to the floor. Even more gradually those around him noticed. It's a stone thrown into a still pond in reverse. Movement ceases in ripples spreading out through the crowd from the fallen man. Each flash of the strobe light reveals a few less dancers and a few more confused, still forms. Finally the pool of gawkers overflows the dance floor, spilling into other areas of the club. The DJ stops the music and the lights come up bring reality into the situation. "He's not breathing!" A man yells. "Someone call 911." A few of the club's patrons slip out of the doors with fugitive expressions. "I think he's dead," a woman says as she lets the fallen man's arm flop back to the floor. "He's already cold." * * * Stripped of shadow and mystery the club is an ugly place. Stained concrete floors, walls of cracked and ancient paint discolored by decades of smoke. The patrons are gone, all save one. In their place are police officers, technicians, an ME, the club's manager and a few other employees, who determinedly avoid looking toward their one remaining customer. He lies where he fell; brown eyes staring, empty and vacant, at the ceiling overhead. Shoulder length muddy blond hair fans around his head. His mouth hangs open. His features and limbs are lax. "No ID Detective, just like the others," a tech reports. "How'd he get in here?" the detective, a plain-looking man with cropped black hair asks, looking to the club's staff. "You were manning the door tonight Rob," the manager says. The man singled out was your stereotypical bouncer; large, shaved- head, tight tee shirt showing off impressive muscles. "I didn't want to argue with that one about ID," the muscle man admits. The detective looks from the two hundred and twenty plus pound bouncer to the slender twenty-something lying dead on the floor, an eyebrow arcs skeptically over a flat gray eye. "I know, I know," Rob-the-bouncer mumbles. "There was something about that one though. He said he was more than old enough to be in here and the way he said it, I didn't want to ask questions. He must have been on something." "We can always hope," a uniformed officer mutters under his breath. A glare from the detective sends him scurrying back to his business. "That's all the questions I have right now," the detective tells the club's staff. "Officer Richs will be taking your names and contact information in case anything else comes up, but you're done for tonight." * * * A fluorescent light flickers in the corner of the antiseptic looking room. The bulb is nearing the end of its life; it was still in better shape than most of the things it had illuminated. The ME's assistant looks at the bag on the table, then to the armed officer sitting near the door. "What, you think it's going to get up and attack you," the officer snorts, leaning his chair back on two legs. "Maybe you should go talk with Lockley, looks like the two of you have some common ground." "Six members of my staff have been killed in the last two months. There's been a rash of disappearing bodies with no discernible cause of death, which appears to be connected. I think John has reason to be nervous, if you'd any sense you would be too Biggs," the short bearded ME says. "Yeah, well, get to it," Biggs said, the legs of his chair thump noisily on the tiled floor as he straightens, one hand brushing past his holstered gun, as if he's looking for reassurance. The ME unzips the bag and waves over his assistant to help him lift the body onto the cold, stainless steel examination table. There's no need to concern one's self with the patient's comfort here. The ME bent the corpse's fingers. "It's one of them," he confirms. "There's still no hint of rigor mortis. The college intern observing the procedure shifts restlessly. "I hope the bastard gets shot," she exclaims. "Samantha," the ME reprimands gently. "Well it makes sense doesn't it?" Samantha asks, stepping closer to the table. She gestured forcefully at the corpse. "Whoever's killing these people has to be the one stealing the bodies and when Carol got in the way they killed her too! Carol was really nice to me," she finishes in a softer voice. "You're jumping to conclusions," the ME says in a lecture's tone. "We need facts, not speculation. The MO was different. Carol and the others were violently assaulted, the missing bodies showed no overt sighs of trauma. The fact of the matter is we still don't know what killed them. The tox screens came back clean and the bodies were all taken before a more intensive examination could be preformed." "That's probably why they were taken," Samantha theorizes. "To keep us from finding out how they did it." "It's possible," the ME admits. "That's why we're doing a full autopsy immediately on this one. We'll begin with an external examination=85" * * * The office is decidedly shabby. Two men sit, waiting, one looks like a grown street tough, the other wouldn't have looked out of place at the front of a lecture hall. The telephone's ringing causes them both to start, their faces quickening with anticipation. "Angel Investigations, we help the hopeless," The scholarly type says, answering the phone. A brunette, her dark hair streaked with bleach, pokes her head in through the door and scowls irritably at the man talking on the phone. ", a night club... The "Last Call"? Have you talked to the police?" he asks. "They weren't helpful, Of course, we'll certainly look into it." "So?" the tough asks, as the other man hangs up the phone. "We have a case?" "We do indeed," the scholar sounds deeply anticipatory. "I'm phone-girl," the woman says, glaring accusingly at the scholar. "I won't stop you from contacting Angel," he retorts. "We can handle things without him," the other man objects. "Come on, we said we'd give him a chance," the woman hedges. "You said," the tough replies. * * * The flickering, blood spattered fluorescent light gives the morgue room a lurid appearance. "His gun was fired." The dark haired Detective uses a pen to carefully pry open the fingers curled around the handgun's stock. "He emptied it before whatever did this ripped off his arm." He glances across the room to where the rest of Officer Biggs' body lay. The ME is sprawled over his examination table, a hole clear through his torso where his heart used to be. His assistant is slumped in the corner; the wall above him is patterned with blood from the man's smashed skull. "We just found the missing intern," Officer Richs says in a grave voice. "She made it up to the ground floor before the assailant caught up to her, he broke her neck, came damn close to ripping off her head." The detective looks around the gore-spattered room again. "The next time one of these bodies comes in I want a full SWAT team here," he says. "There's definitely a connections between those bodies and our people getting killed. This is the sixth time we've lost people when one of these bodies goes missing, the other times no one was actually in this area of the building when the body disappeared. I want whatever's responsible." "Don't you mean whoever?" Richs asks. "No, I don't think I do," the detective replies thoughtfully. * * * "Is there something you wanted Detective Mave?" The precinct Captain asks as the detective walks into his flawlessly neat office. "I want to bring Kate Lockley in on this missing bodies case," the detective replies. "Detective Lockley was dismissed after having a nervous breakdown," the captain says, frowning as he put a pen in the cup on the corner of his desk. Mave glances at the floor for long moment, then takes a deep breath and meets his Captain's eyes squarely. "What if it wasn't a nervous breakdown," he states. "What if she just knew something we didn't." The Captain stands up behind his desk and glares at Mave "Now you're going to start tell me how monsters are committing these murders?" he asks sardonically. "I thought you had a better head on your shoulders than to blame what you can't explain on monsters." The detective stood his ground. "Whatever killed Biggs walked up to him and ripped his arm off while the officer was shooting at it. That means point blank range; Biggs didn't miss. Then it chased down and nearly ripped the head off a formerly healthy and able-bodied young woman before disappearing with the body of an adult man in tow. You'll forgive me if I'm not in a mood to joke about monsters right now Captain," he says levelly. "People are dying, our people. Kate may know something that could help." "Call her," the Captain says. "But I expect sound reasoning from you." He smirks, "What would your hero say if you started chasing shadows?" Detective Mave nods once as he turns to leave. "A.C. Doyle believed in spirits," he says quietly. "And leaps of deduction were his creation's specialty." "Don't make me regret this," the Captain warns. * * * A pile of newspapers litters the table; all of them open to the classifieds. A few ads are circled. More are crossed out. A tired looking woman, her light blonde hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, sits in front of a computer, staring at a polite `don't call us we'll call you' email. She signs out of her account with a groan. "I don't even know what I'm looking for," she says to herself. "I thought a change would be a good idea, but a change to what?" She jumps at the sound of her doorbell. A slight frown creases her forehead as she glances first at the clock then at the pool of sunlight on the floor. "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," she yells moving the classifieds into a corner. She opens the door; her eyes flicker over the man standing there. "Jeff, come to slum with the crazy?" she asks, despite her words her tone lacked any real bitterness. "Actually this is a business call," Detective Jeff Mave says. "I hope you don't mind Kate, but I could really use your help." Kate steps back from the door, giving Mave room to come in. "It's really bad isn't it?" she asks. "Ten people working on this case have been killed," Mave says. "We've got twenty-seven bodies missing from the morgue. Both sexes, multiple races, ages range from early twenties to forties, all are John Does. We don't know why they died either. These people simply collapsed in bars and nightclubs all over the city, and within six hours of dying their bodies were removed from the morgue. Whatever's taking them seems to also being killing anyone that has seen them with the bodies." "And for some reason, something about this cases, makes you wonder about how crazy I really am," Kate says. "I shouldn't be surprised it's you that saw it Jeff. You always did love Sherlock Holmes. What was that line you were always quoting?" " `Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable=85' " Jeff says with a half smile, then his face goes deathly serious. "Did you ever meet Officer Biggs? He was one of the most recent victims. I looked up his records, the man was a crack shot and his gun was fired multiple times before he was killed. If we were dealing with something human he would have killed it. Instead it ripped off his arm and left him to bleed to death on the morgue floor." "You said all the missing bodies were unidentified?" Kate asks. "Twenty-seven people, none of whom were carrying a wallet on a night out?" "It's stranger than that," Mave says. "Better than half of them were carrying ID's that turned out to be fakes." "Faked huh," Kate says, staring piercingly at Mave. "Several of the ID's belonged to people killed in the last few years, the rest were straight forgeries, not even good ones. I've seen high school kids with more convincing fakes," Mave explains. "And the people killed at the morgue? Did they die of puncture wounds to the throat?" Kate asks, her eyes narrowing. "No, why? They were practically ripped apart," Mave answers, sounding confused. Kate shakes her head, pushing a tendril of hair out of her face. "It's nothing," she says. "An old obsession I've got to shake=85. Oh what the hell, I've been wanting to tell someone. My father was killed by vampires. They're real, along with almost every other thing your parents told you not to be afraid of. So its not like there's any shortage of possibilities, but I had a special dislike reserved just for vampires." Mave's face stays expressionless, "That's understandable, they killed your father." "Well it's more complicated than that," Kate sighs. "But that part of the story isn't worth going into. You want to escort me down to the station? I'll go over your case notes see if anything jumps out at me. After that I should introduce you to a friend of mine, he can probably help you more than I can." * * * The flashing multicolored lights make it hard to see anything in the crowded club. It provides an atmosphere of anonymity, privacy in a crowd. The tall, handsome, dark haired man with too serious eyes scans the interior of the club then directs his companion, the brunette from the detective agency, off toward the right. They join her miss-matched colleagues sitting at a table along the wall. "Any sign of the cult?" the woman asks, yelling to be heard over the music. "Cordelia! Discretion," the bespectacled, neatly, primly dressed member of the pair at the table reprimands her. "Haven't seen hide nor hair," the other man answers, rocking back in his chair to put booted feet up on the table, a neon light gleams off his shaved head. " `Bout time you showed. I was beginning to wonder if you'd bailed," he was talking solely to the third man now, whose expression goes painfully blank at his words. "Parking," Cordelia explains with a dismissive wave of her hand, "We're blocks away." "Of course," the first man says, absently straightening his glasses. "We were never really concerned." The tough swings his feet off the table and stands. "Have fun Cordy, call us if anything shows." "I'll see that she's safe Gunn," the woman's escort says. "You do that," Gunn replies over his shoulder. "Come on Wes, let's blow this joint." After about fifteen minutes of uncomfortable silence between her and her companion, Cordelia get up to circulate around the club. The somber looking man remains alone at the table, diligently scanning the room, although his eyes tend to turn wistful and sad whenever they drifted back to the woman he came in with. Suddenly his face twists with pain. Rapidly he locates Cordelia in the crowd. He pushes his way to her side and presses a stake into her hand. "Vampires?" she asks staring at the stake in confusion. "My soul," he replies. "You have to=85" He trails off with a gasp of pain. "Angel, how?" she demands accusingly, grabbing him by the shoulder and shaking him ineffectually. "Don't know, Please, Cordelia," Angel pants. Cordelia pulls him on the dance floor; she presses the stake to his chest, her eyes lock intently on his. "Do it," Angel commands. "I can't, not to you, not now," Cordelia protests angrily. "Why do you have to do this to me now? Just when I thought everything was going to be okay again? Do you make a hobby of screwing up my life?" Angel opens his mouth; his expression is both hurt and argumentative. Then his eyes slide past Cordelia to focus on some point in the distance. Tears gleaming in her eyes, Cordelia draws back the stake. "I hate you!" she exclaims. "What the?" Angel asks; his tone is confused. Cordelia pauses, she watches as the light fades from his eyes leaving them empty, his features go slack and his knees buckle. Reflexively Cordelia catches him as he falls, his dead weight takes them both to the floor. "Angel?" Cordelia asks, shaking him roughly. "Angel!?" A brown haired man knees beside them. "Oh shit! Hang on, hang on, I took the first aid class, but I've never done it for real." He grabs another dancer. "Call 911 and get the music turned off so I can think." "I bet he's dead," A girl with dark red hair nature never intended for her to possess says staring down at Angel. She looks a little nauseated. "Look at his eyes." "Where'd you get your medical degree? Off the internet?" Cordelia snaps. "He has, um, narcolepsy, you know, sleeping sickness, He forgets to take his medication sometimes. Just help me get him to our car. I'll take care of everything." The take-charge guy with brown hair sets Angel's limp arm back on the floor and tilts the souled vampire's head back, searching for a pulse that hasn't existed in centuries. "Turn off the Goddamned music and get the lights on!" he yells. "I need to take him home," Cordelia states, trying to tug the man away from Angel. "Everything will be fine if I can just get him to the car." The would-be hero shrugs her off impatiently, "Someone get her out of the way," He orders. A woman gently, but firmly pulls Cordelia back. "The ambulance will be here soon, they'll take care of your friend sweetie," she says reassuringly. "He doesn't need an ambulance," Cordelia insists struggling against the well-meaning hands that restrain her. "You don't understand! You're all about to be really dead here." "It's gonna be okay. I know you're scared," the woman sooths. "Is there anyone you could call?" * * * Kate sits at Mave's desk in the precinct, reading his case notes. Her shoulders are pulled in defensively, her head lowered over the pages, her eyes locked determinedly on the words. Around her the station is unnaturally quiet. "We could go somewhere else if you'd like," Mave offers. "I still haven't decided which are worse," Kate says with a tight smile. "The ones who look scornful or the ones that pity me. Sometimes I envy them their ignorance." "I'm starting to wish this case had never crossed my desk," Mave confides. "And I haven't even faced the monsters yet." "At least you figured it out on your own," Kate replies. "That should spare you the whole kill-the-messenger phase that I'm seriously regretting now that it's run its course." Mave's cell phone rings, he stands up and takes a few steps back as he answers. He listens for a few minutes then sighs. "I'm on my way." Kate looks up at him questioningly. "We've got another body," he says. "Do you want to ride with me?" "Sure, let me make a call first. There's someone else who should see the body," Kate replies. "The friend I mentioned earlier, he's a PI, he specializes in these sorts of cases." Mave hands her his cell phone. "Call on the way," he says. "I shouldn't bring in civilians but I need to know what's happening." "He'll think you're the civilian," Kate replies as they leave the station. Once she was situated in the other detective's car she dials the number. She grimaces slightly as the answering machine picks up. "This is Kate Lockley, I've got a case you should look at. You can contact me at=85" she looks to Mave for the number. "(218) 366-5550," he supplies. As Kate repeats the number he adds. "The body's at a night club called "Last Call". Downtown, the historic section, 4789 West 3rd street." Kate relays that information as well, then disconnects and hands Mave his phone. There is a police line holding back a crowd outside the club when Kate and Mave arrive. She looks pleased as she recognizes Wes who is arguing earnestly with a uniformed officer, Gunn hovers over his shoulder glaring angrily at the officer. "Yes, I understand that this is a crime scene, but I was called here," Wes explains, stress strengthening his English accent. "Wesley," Kate exclaims. "Did Angel already get my message?" she asks. "Message?" Wesley repeats, turning to face her. "Detective Lockley=85" he trails off his expression is guarded. "What are you threatening us with today?" Gunn asks crossing his arms and glaring at Kate. "Gunn," Wesley says quietly. "I'm sorry. We got off on the wrong foot last time," Kate says. "When I called Angel, all I wanted was his help with a case. I'm done making baseless accusations, I thought Angel knew that." "You called Angel?" Wesley asks in a confused fashion. "Cordelia called us, she was rather distraught. We've been trying to explain that we are needed inside." Kate glances back at Mave, making eye contact. He nods to the uniformed officer, who steps aside. The foursome walk into the club. The first thing they hear is Cordelia's voice, raised in panicky anger. "I keep telling you, I have to keep that and I have to stay with him! I have to!" Gunn hurries ahead; Wesley begins to follow but slowed after a few steps, pressing a hand to his abdomen. Cordelia stands in a circle of EMT's and police officers clutching a stake and glaring at all of them. "You okay?" Gunn asks breaking through the circle. Cordelia's stance relaxes as she sees him. "I'm fine, but they won't listen to me." "Where's Angel?" Wesley asks as the other three catch up. Cordelia points to another knot of activity. "He thought he was loosing his soul," she whispers to the two men. "Then he just collapsed. I don't know how this works; we need to get him chained up. You know, in case he did and he wakes up all `Grrr'. But no pulse, not breathing, how do we explain that he could wake up at any time and it could be a very bad thing?" "Angel's the one down?" Kate asks, joining the little group of friends as Mave moves off to get a report from the on-site officer. Cordelia glares venomously at the former detective. "I had a hunch that the missing bodies were actually vampires," Kate continues. "But I dismissed it when I learned that the other victims weren't being drained." "Other victims?" Wesley asks. "Angel's the twenty-eighth, then there are the ten people killed at the morgue when the bodies disappeared," Kate reports. "That means this has nothing to do with his soul," Wesley comments with relief. "If other vampires are being affected it has to be something else." "Which is great and all, but we still have a problem," Cordelia reminds them. "Namely getting Angel out of here and figuring out what is wrong with him." "Yes, of course," Wesley stammers. He fidgeted with his glasses. "If you'd assist us Detective? Please? You know we are better prepared to deal with this sort of thing than the police. And regardless of your personal feeling toward Angel it would still be akin to torture to allow an autopsy to be preformed on him, if not murder." Kate's posture slumps. "Was I really that bad?" she asks. "You honestly think I'm capable of that?" "You did threaten to burn him to death," Cordelia says. Kate flinches. "Maybe I was that bad. I guess it was well past time that I got a wake-up call." "A lot of epiphanies going around these days," Gunn snorts. * * * The Hyperion's lobby shows evidence of recent cleaning, but somehow it still looks hollow, cold and abandoned. Wesley and Cordelia pause on the threshold, looking about. "It's changed," Cordelia says quietly. "Move out of the way," Gunn orders. "Vamp isn't getting any lighter." "He's really a vampire?" Mave asks as he and Gunn carry Angel into the building. "Is there something wrong with his hearing? He keeps asking the same thing over and over again," Cordelia asks Kate irritably. "Note his complete lack of a tan despite living in sunny southern Cal for at least the past five years." "Sorry, but it's not every night where I have to arrange for the disappearance of the corpse who's death I'm investigating," Mave replies as they deposit Angel's unresponsive form on the couch. "It tends to put me off my game a little. And that's not even considering the whole vampire angle. So what do we do now?" Cordelia shoots several nervous glances at Angel as Mave speaks. "Do you mean now do we consult the spirit world?" Gunn challenges. Cordelia takes a deep breath and slowly stretches out her hand. "If that's how you go about this," Mave says blandly meeting Gunn's I- dare-you attitude with cool composure. Cordelia's hand trembles slightly as her fingers touch Angel's cool forehead. "Come on guys we're all on the same team," Kate says stepping between Gunn and Mave, making placating gestures. Very cautiously Cordelia brushes her hand over Angel's face, closing his empty eyes. "We wait," Wesley says. "If the original victims are all vampires we can solve your problem by staking them before they recover, that should put an end to the other deaths. Simply touching the body with a cross is an adequate test for vampirism." Cordelia stares at her hand for a moment, then at Angel. A choked noise escapes her throat, drawing the other's attention as she begins to shake. "Cordelia?" Wesley asks in concern. "I thought if I closed his eyes he would look like he was just sleeping," Cordelia says. "Then I remembered that that's what they do when you die. They make you look like you're sleeping, but you're not." "Angel will be fine," Wesley reassures her. "If what we suspect is true he'll be up and around before morning." "Angel isn't your normal vampire, I take it?" Mave asks. "Cursed by gypsies a hundred years ago with his soul," Cordelia recites still seeming very out of it. Kate looks at Angel, her mouth opening in an `o' of enlightenment. "That's when he stopped killing wasn't it?" she asks. "Boy, you are behind in your homework," Cordelia says scornfully. "It took you a whole year to figure out what makes him different?" "I'm not looking forward to explaining this case to my Captain," Mave comments. "We don't have a clue why people are dropping dead all over the city, but that's okay because they're vampires so we'll just stick a piece of wood through their heart and call things good." "Not seeing your problem," Gunn says with a shrug. "Who cares why vamps are being targeted, just be glad they are. If you've got a moral problem with killing `em look at it as taking a serial killer off the streets every time you destroy one." "Actually we should find out why this is happening," Wesley says thoughtfully. "It could be the greatest advance in vampire slaying in centuries. We don't have the manpower to put it to good use, but I know of an organization that does. If they could recreate this effect in a controlled manner they could protect people in known hunting grounds with a single human operative." "I think I speak for everyone if Sunnydale if I cheer for the idea of making the Bronze a vamp-free zone," Cordelia comments. "Yes, exactly." Wesley says "The Council has been rather useless since Faith went rogue and Buffy quit co-operating with them. I'm certain they could be persuaded to arrange a plausible explanation for your superiors detective, if we offer them this in exchange." Kate is still watching Angel. "He's proof positive that souls actually exist apart from the body, of an afterlife, isn't he?" she says. "My dad always said `You live until you die and there's nothing more,' but Angel died and over a century later his soul was still around to be put back into his body." As Kate stares at the souled vampire, Angel's eyes open, simply open, without even a single blink. He rolls to his feet, graceful, catlike, and lethal. There is a wet ripping, crunching sound as the handcuffs Mave put on him slip over one of his hands tearing flesh and breaking bones as he frees himself, yet his face is a mask, blank, lifeless. "Angel?" Cordelia asks, a quaver in her voice. He lungs at Kate, a blur of speed, lifting her off the floor, his good hand locks around her throat. The handcuffs dangle from his wrist, dripping with blood. Mave jerks his gun free of its holster and leveled it at the pair. Wesley tackles Angel breaking his grip and sending all three of them to the floor. Angel uses the momentum to turn the fall into a controlled roll; he is down for less than a second. As the vampire rises to his feet Mave shoots him twice, the slight jerk as the bullets impact Angel's body is the only sign that he's been shot. The vampire takes two steps toward Mave only to be confronted by Gunn. Wielding a sword with comfortable familiarity, Gunn aims a blow at the vampire's neck, attempting to decapitate him. Angel blocks the blow with his forearm, the heavy leather duster he habitually wears acting as armor and deflecting most of the damage. He pushes the sword aside leaving Gunn's defenses open. The heel of his palm slams forcefully into Gunn's chest, sending him flying backward to impact against the front desk with a sickening thud. The vampire's attention returns to Mave. The detective shudders as empty eyes cut through him. Nothing in those eyes recognizes him as anything but an obstacle to be removed. Mave's gun clattered to the floor as he makes a desperate grab for Gunn's dropped sword. There is a flat popping sound and Angel pauses, without the slightest flicker of expression crossing his face he crumples to the floor. Cordelia lowers a bulky looking dart gun. "I had Willow send me one after the Rebecca Lowell incident," she comments to no one in particular. "Is it hard to get a concealed weapons permit for a tranquilizer gun, `cause this is really something I never want to leave home without." "So that was the evil Angel," Gunn says struggling to his feet then retrieving his sword from Mave. "No," Cordelia disagrees. "Looked pretty damn evil to me," Gunn argues, cautiously approaching the unconscious vampire. "She's right," Wesley says, rising to his feet with a helping hand from Kate, cradling the mostly healed injury to his stomach. "One thing all the accounts agreed on was Angelus' malevolence, that he enjoyed the pain he inflicted. That wasn't Angelus, just a killing tool." "So he can be worse," Gunn says, raising the sword over Angel. "This was still evil Angel." "Don't," Wesley says. "Why the hell not?" Gunn demands. "During the past four months he showed us just how much damage he can do with a soul. He just finished trying to kill all of us. You tell me he can be worse, but I can't kill him?" "I don't want to kill him," Cordelia says. "I want things like they were." "Ain't gonna happen," Gunn replies. "I'm not fond of the idea of killing him out of hand either," Wesley sighs. "He's saved us too many times, gave Cordelia and I both a secure foundation to build on. Things have been bad between us lately, but I still owe him some loyalty and it's all irrelevant anyway. We need him alive." "Why?" Gunn asks. "We need to find out what happened to Angel. His lack of reaction to pain, his absence of expression are eerily reminiscent of the zombies we faced a few weeks ago. I find the thought of an army of zombified vampires extremely alarming. Can you imagine the damage a group of creatures with a vampire's strength and speed, utterly dedicated to a goal, with no instinct for self-preservation could cause?" "It would be the Scourge all over again," Cordelia says, dread thick in her voice. "I'll get the chains. Make that a whole bunch of chains." "The who?" Gunn asks as Cordelia hurries off. * * * Books heavy with age lay scattered, piled haphazardly about the lobby. Wesley reads a few pages in one then sets it aside in favor of another. His movements are focused, purposeful. He takes a few notes before absently placing his pen in his mouth and diving back into the pile of books for another source. Gunn flips through his text restlessly, stopping every few minutes stretch, or just to fidget. Mave leans over the tome he selected hours ago, giving every sign of being totally enthralled by the new world opening up before him. Kate glances up at the stairs every few minutes, only pretending to read. She is the first to notice Cordelia's return. "How is he?" Kate asks. "Not interested in eating," Cordelia reports. "Which lends credence to my theory," Wesley says, not looking up from his latest find. "He hasn't eaten in days, he should be ravenous." "I wonder where they go," Mave comments, setting aside his book. "What?" Gunn asks. "The effected vampires," Mave explains. "They aren't walking about the city on random killing sprees, that would be noticed. Angel attacked us; the other people killed when the vampires regained consciousness were all presumably in the room where the body was being kept at the time. They're killing anyone who sees them apparently rising from the dead. Then they disappear. They must go somewhere." "You're thinking that if we let Angel go he'll lead us to them," Kate says. "I'm thinking we should knock him out again, wire him up with a homing beacon and not be anywhere near him when he wakes up. I doubt he'll kill if there's no one to see him rise," Mave theorizes. "So what happens when we find the lair?" Gunn asks. "Most spells require a physical focus," Wesley points out. "If we could smash that it should break the spell." "And turn loose almost thirty pissed off vamps," Cordelia comments. "I'm against breaking the spell." "Could we take over control of the affected vampires somehow?" Kate asks. "Possibly, or if we could drop them back into an inactive state such as when they're first enchanted," Wesley says polishing his glasses thoughtfully. "If we could make them unconscious again we could catch the wizard in possession of the missing bodies," Mave states. "I like it." "If he's caught with the bodies, you'll probably be able to make murder one stick," Kate says. "Except killing vampire; which he isn't even doing; isn't murder," Cordelia comments. "They're already dead." "The people who were killed by the vampires while they were under this spell were alive," Mave replies. "He's as responsible for those deaths as surely as if he'd used a gun." "And after you get your evidence on the spell caster, we quietly stake the vamps, twenty-some less blood suckers roaming the streets," Gunn adds. "Except for Angel," Cordelia says. "Didn't say that," Gunn replies coldly. * * * The building looks deserted. The twenty-nine vampires, including Angel, standing about like statues made of flesh didn't make it feel any more lived in. After several days of watching the place; Mave and Kate called it a stake out; Gunn called it casing the joint and smiled every time his terminology made the detectives wince; they knew the routine. The sorcerer, a mousy looking man with a nasal voice and bitter eyes never left. They'd learned from Virginia that he'd made quite a number of enemies in her father's circles. Rumor had it that he'd pushed someone too far and had a price on his head. It showed in how he lived. He sent a few of the vampires out on various errands. They brought him supplies, food, money, whatever. They set up the spells to ensnare other vampires, but the majority seemed to act as bodyguards. There were vampires posted at all the building's egress points. Silent, motionless sentries. You'd never notice them unless you were looking. Vampire seemed to have a natural talent for lurking and this group's petrified stillness only made them more invisible. Angel had been stationed in the shadows around the front entrance with two other vampires when he first arrived and hadn't moved since. None of the vampires moved unless it was to perform a specific task. During the second day spent observing the place Cordelia had commented, "I know they're just vampires, but would it kill him if he had them stop by the butchers and pick-up some blood for themselves when they get his food?" That had been three days ago. Now they knew everything they needed to. They knew where the vampires were and what caused them to react, they knew what the focus of the spell was; an ugly little statuette; and where to find it; a windowless room near the back of the building. They even had a plan for getting it and bringing it into the safety of the sunlit street to give them time to reset the spell to its initial stage. The zombified vampires were good at following orders, too good at it. That was the key to the plan. "Ready?" Gunn asks. Wesley, Mave and Kate nod. Cordelia hefts her crossbow. They array themselves around the side door. Gunn begins strolling casually along the alley; they know the two vampires guarding the door will ignore him as long as he ignores the door. Wesley and Mave send radio controlled toy cars toward the door. Kate holds hers in reserve, while Cordelia aims her crossbow at the empty door. As the first toy car crossed the threshold the vampires react. They have no choice, their orders are the same as those given to Angel; destroy anything that enters the building without permission. Cordelia shoots the first vampire to step out of his protected nitch in order to attack the car. Gunn is even with the door as the second car enters, without the slightest hesitation, despite the ashes of his partner, which are still floating gently toward the ground the second vampire leans down to grab the electric intruder. He completely ignores Gunn; the car is in the building Gunn isn't. According to the vampire's orders the car is the greater threat. Gunn's sword flashed in the afternoon light as he draws it, steps into the shadows and cleanly decapitates the second sentry. Hurrying now, Gunn kicks down the door and charges in, the statue is barely three meters down the hall; the next closest vampire is five meters away. It could easily cut Gunn's escape off, but the door he entered through isn't that vampire's concern, not until he receives new orders. Gunn has the statue and is on his way back as the vampire turns. You'd think it would be stiff, it had been days, possibly weeks since it last moved, but vampires aren't alive, those rules didn't apply. One moment it's doing a perfect impression of a statue and the next it's flowing into smooth movement, scanning the halls behind it with a predator's sharp eyes. It attacks Gunn the instant it sees him. It's obvious this one's new orders are considerably more vague, it chooses instantly between Gunn and the car Kate sends in to distract it. Gunn quickly deposits the statue in a coat pocket and takes a two handed grip on his sword as the vampire charges him. The vampire catches Gunn's blade in mid-swing, its fingers are half severed by the impact but it still manages to jerk the sword from Gunn's hands. It grabs the lapel of the duster Gunn wears with its good hand and pulls him toward it, loosing its human seeming as it does so. The hunger radiating off the creature is practically tangible. Then it`s dust, Cordelia waves cheerfully from the doorway as she lowers her crossbow. Gunn tosses her a grateful smile as he reaches the safety of the sunny street. In the shadowed alley behind them the vampires slowly gather. After a few moments the sorcerer appears in the doorway. He glares angrily at the quintet in the street. Wesley takes the statue from Gunn and begins laying out the components for the spell that will transfer control of the zombified vampires to him. "You ten, go kill them," the spell caster commands, waving a group of vampire forward. "It's daylight stupid," Cordelia jeers. "They'll just burn up out here." "Not fast enough to save you," the sorcerer replies with a nasty smile. And then the vampires are attacking them. Cordelia shoots the lead vampire with her crossbow then pauses to reload as Gunn, Mave and Kate form a protective barrier between Wesley and the approaching vampires. The vampires are smoking, bursting into flames, as they fight, but the spell caster is right, they aren't dying quickly enough. Still their numbers are decreasing. The sorcerer waves another group forward. They're safe from the sun in the shadowed alleyway, but not from Cordelia's bolts. She picks off two more before they can reach the street and selects a third target only to realize that it's Angel. "Wesley, chant faster!" she yells back to the ex-watcher, jerking the crossbow to a different target. Gunn stakes one of the vampires that made it to the street, but not before it's touch managed to catch Mave's jacket on fire. Kate grabs the burning coat by the back of the collar and strips it off the detective before the flames can spread. She stomps it out as Mave and Gunn move to the edge of the shadows, unwilling to fight any more fire-laden vampires. Seeing Angel about to join the fray Gunn yells to Wesley "Just smash the damn thing!" Wesley glances up from his spell to see Kate trying to knock Angel out rather then killing him. Without hesitation Wesley picks up the statue and hurls it to the ground. The vampires stop advancing, for a few moments they simply stand there, then they begin retreating back into the deeper shadows. With an unconcerned shrug Cordelia picks off two of the retreating vampires before they can make it back to the building. "I'm sorry" Angel says, releasing Kate as he moves away from the sunlit street. "Not your fault," she replies with a half smile. "I'm still sorry, about earlier too," Angel says with a nod toward the ring of bruises his hand left around her throat. "You remember that?" Wesley asks. A thud followed by a pained yelp draws their attention back to the building. A vampire is holding the spell caster by the back of his neck, blood pours down the man's face, courtesy of the damage he'd sustained when his head was rammed into the door frame. The other vampires drift closer, circling like wolves. Many lost their human appearance at the first scent of blood in the air. Angel takes two steps toward the group before visibly shaking himself. "I'm guessing I won't have to worry about loosing the evidence against this guy," Mave comments. Angel closes his eyes for a moment, when he opens them again he looks more controlled. "I can't just let you kill him," he says to the vampire. "Even you can't justify saving this one, Hero," the vampire replies. "You know what he did to us. He made us his toys, his puppets. I'd rather be dust than some human's plaything. I'm in a generous mood, your friends wouldn't freed us if not for you, I'll let you go." "Don't do me any favors," Angel replies darkly. "You know who I am, who I was. I don't need your generosity. Let the human go and I'll let you walk." The vampire twists the spell caster's head sharply; eliciting a snapping noise then lets the body fall to the ground at his feet. "Oops, I guess we've nothing to fight over now Angelus." "You're still here," Angel says. "Ahh, Angel, I'm still counting three to one against us," Wesley points out. "Perhaps now would be a good time to simply go home?" "I can't," Angel replies. Behind them the vampires have fallen hungrily on the body of their erstwhile capture, literally ripping him apart. "This is stupid Angel," Cordelia snaps. "Haven't you had enough vengeance fun with Wolfram and Hart?" "It's not that," Angel replies. "I can't come with you right now." "Sure you can, we'll drive the car closer, and you still keep blanket's in the trunk right?" Cordelia says. "No!" Angel protests. "It wouldn't be safe. It's been to long=85" His gaze strays back to the frenzy around the remains of the sorcerer. He takes a few steps closer. "Why wouldn't it be safe?" Cordelia demands. "You've dealt with more sunlight than that." One of the vampires rips the spell caster's arm from its socket, blood sprays into the air as it jerks its prize out the fray. Some of the blood splatters on to Angel's face. He absently collects it with his fingers then, realizing what he was doing, stops. "You're just being stupid and stubborn and you're gonna get killed," Cordelia shouts angrily at Angel. He turns back to face her. "Not safe for you," he says, deliberately sucking the blood from his fingers. The looks on their faces are distinctly uncomfortable, and Angel's expression immediately becomes remorseful. "I'm sorry," he says, "But it's really not safe. It's been better than a week." "Okay, we get the picture," Gunn says. "Meet us back at the office, after you've taken care of a few things." The humans turn and leave. * * * Cordelia stands near the Hyperion's entrance. Gunn is leaning against the front desk, sharpening his sword trying to look casual. Wesley paces in front of the stair leading down from the entrance. "Angel should be back by now," Cordelia says angrily. "We shouldn't have left." "What were we supposed to do?" Gunn demands. "He told us he wasn't safe, Hell, to go to all the trouble of saving him only to have him get killed cause he hadn't eaten recently." His tone is regretful "Angel can handle himself," Wesley replies uncertainly. "He'll be fine." "It's been over an hour since sunset," Cordelia points out worriedly. "Maybe we should go look for him." The door swings open. "Angel!" Cordelia squeals, giving the dark haired vampire an impulsive hug, then backing off quickly. "You've eaten right?" she asks. "You're all here," Angel says, sounding startled. "I went to the office. I thought you all had already left." "We figured you'd come here first," Gunn replies, as if it were meaningless, as if they hadn't been waiting anxiously to see if Angel would make it back. "We were worried," Wesley adds. "You were?" Angel asks, sounding surprised and pleased. "Well duh," Cordelia says. "You are our friend even if you have been a jerk lately." A rare smile transforms Angel's normally solemn face at her words.