TITLE: Darkest Before Dawn 28 "The Annual Review"

AUTHOR: Nmissi

PART:28/?

DISCLAIMER: I own Nothing and No one. Especially not Spike. If I

did,

what makes you think I'd share him with you?

DISTRIBUTION: Want it? Take it. Just let me know where it's going.

Feedback: Please. Nmissi@aol.com

SUMMARY: The way the world would work if I wrote the Buffyverse.

There were eleven beings seated around a long rosewood table inside the law offices of Wolfram and Hart. A twelfth seat stood empty, the gap as noticeable in the room as an absent tooth in an otherwise beautiful smile.

A tall man headed the table, visibly nonhuman only by the color of his skin, a high-toned greenish grey. He wore an expensive three-piece suit, and an emerald signet ring.

He looked over the remainder of the assemblage, before calling the meeting to order.

"Thank you for joining me here today."

He turned his head, addressing a small brunette woman behind him.

"Would you please read the minutes of the last board meeting, Ms. Smith."

She did so, then retired to the back of the room to take notes for the duration of the meeting.

"Firstly, I would like to congratulate us all on a very successful year. If you'll please take up the briefing before you,"

At this, the room's occupants collected leather-bound folios from the table, and opened them. The sounds of turning pages filled the room. Then the leader continued.

"You'll see this has been a very profitable period for the Firm. Gross profits are up 27%, across the board. We've increased our holdings by 20%, and turnover is at a record low. All told, the new millennium is shaping up to be one of our best."

"There is a proposal on the table, you've all had ample time to acquaint yourselves with its particulars. We will now vote on it."

He dropped something into a gold urn, and then passed it to his left. It circled the room, the metal clink announcing that a vote had been cast each time it changed hands. Finally it returned to the table's head, and he reached into his pocket, and made to cast a second vote.

"As Aurelius' proxy, I cast this vote in his name."

Before he could let go of the stone, he was interrupted.

"Actually, N'aoth, I don't think you should do that."

The speaker was a small woman, with fine features and long fingers. Her unearthly beauty proclaimed her race as Fae.

She rose, and the leader addressed her.

"Speak your piece, Maab."

His voice was pleasant, but his eyes were cold.

"It has come to my attention that the line of Aurelius has NOT been expunged, as we'd previously been informed."

She swept her luminous green eyes across the assemblage.

"In fact, there are numerous heirs to that bloodline."

The lone vampire at the table curled his elegant hands into fists.

"Pray continue, Lady Maab."

She smiled at him with gentle remonstrance.

"Vlad, I should think you'd be very pleased to hear about your cousins! Now, I have here with me the name and whereabouts of the eldest of Aurelius' lineage. He is called Angel, and he resides right her in the City of Angels, not ten blocks from this very building."

She shook out hair that swept her ankles, as she went on.

"I also list several of his descendants in this very state. Drusilla the Mad, William the Bloody, Darla -"

Vlad cut her off.

"That's impossible. He staked Darla three years ago. And she was his SIRE. Surely if she lives, the seat is hers by right of birth."

"You were aware of this descendant, Vlad?"

She turned amused, twinkling eyes on him.

His wallachian accent was thick upon his words.

"I thought him dead these three years, woman. Angelus heads the rolls in Hell."

"And yet he rolls heads in L.A." she quipped.

Then she added.

"But I was not finished. Darla the reborn, sired out of Drusilla's blood."

She looked over the blue notepad in her hand.

"There is also a newborn named Harmony," she added.

She sank gracefully back into her seat, waiting for the Senior Partners to digest her information.

"Are you certain of your information, Maab?" questioned N'aoth.

She nodded with a sly smile.

"Utterly certain, gentlemen. But in case there were any doubts,"

She gestured towards the heavy wooden doors, as they opened.

A pretty blonde girl entered the room, garbed in Gucci shoes and a stylish black dress.

"This is Harmony. Harmony, make your curtsey to the gentlemen."

The girl bobbed an awkward bow, and the fairy queen winced.

"Scent her, Vlad. You'll know her bloodline, I'm sure."

TITLE: Darkest Before Dawn 29 "Harsh Truths"

AUTHOR: Nmissi

PART:29/?

DISCLAIMER: I own Nothing and No one. Especially not Spike. If I

did,

what makes you think I'd share him with you?

DISTRIBUTION: Want it? Take it. Just let me know where it's going.

Feedback: Please. Nmissi@aol.com

SUMMARY: The way the world would work if I wrote the Buffyverse.

It was pink. The little line in the control window was also pink.

Two pink lines.

Two tests with two pink lines, lying side by side on the vanity's edge. Like matching toothbrushes, but without bristles.

She picked up the box, and reread the same text she'd already been over thrice. Then she sighed, and tossed both empty boxes into the trash.

"Buffy?"

She looked over at Willow, waiting patiently outside the bathroom door.

"It's the same."

"Oh."

Willow thought for a moment, then approached Buffy smiling nervously.

"Congratulations?"

Buffy dropped the first, then the second test stick into the wastebasket, and brushed her hair back out of her eyes.

"Yeah. Yaay Me."

Willow hugged Buffy close. Behind them, Tara stood uncertainly. She wanted to go to them, but didn't want to intrude. No matter how much time she spent with Buffy, Willow and Buffy had years of history between them. Sometimes she still felt very much the outsider. She was ONE of Buffy's friends. But Willow was The Best Friend. Consequently, Tara stood apart from them at a time like this, waiting to be asked, before she offered herself. Willow raised her eyes to her lover, and smiled at her in invitation. Buffy looked up, and beckoned her over with one arm. Tara rose, and moved in towards them.

"Group Hug," announced Willow as Tara wrapped strong arms around them.

The car moved along Sunnydale back roads steadily, moving its occupants through the half-glow of dusk, towards the other side of town.

"So the way I figure it, you owe me a rematch. And seein' as how you've gone all drunken lush, my odds are improving."

Spike rolled his eyes, but he didn't rise to the bait. Eventually they'd have it out- He'd just rather not do it while Xander's car swerved all about the road.

Instead he settled for lighting up a cigarette, enjoying how the smoke in an enclosed space made Xander's eyes water.

They pulled up outside of the Bronze, and climbed out. Together they entered, and made for the billiard table.

It was early evening. The dinner patrons had all gone home, but the nightclub kids and the night creatures were still an hour or so away. That's why Xander had chosen this time of day for their game. It was always better to quarrel with Spike in a room with fewer innocent bystanders. He didn't think this whole "Humanity" thing was likely to have changed things in that respect.

Spike racked, and Xander broke.

"I didn't think you'd take the money, by the way."

He meant it almost apologetically, and it came across in his tone.

Spike quirked an eyebrow at him, his cigarette dangling from his lip as he readied his shot.

"Then why'd you help him do it? Why'd you come along with him?"

The boy shrugged.

"I couldn't talk him out of it. So I came to observe- In case it all gets back to Buffy later, I can tell her the truth."

He gave Spike a look full of meaning.

"I don't really trust either one of you to do that anymore."

The blonde smirked, as Xander's shot banked.

Xander ignored him, and stepped away from the table slightly.

"I told Giles it'd never work. Why should you give up Buffy for money? You don't know how to spend it."

He made a face.

"You don't really need money for anything except Booze, and Buffy buys you that."

His eyes met Spike's, and Spike saw something in their depths that chilled him.

"You know what I would have done?"

"Enlighten me, please," he drawled.

Xander lined up his next shot.

"There should have been a hypodermic syringe and rope in that bag. I'd have drugged you, trussed you up, drove out into the desert and dumped your ass. You'd have had to figure out how to live as a human, or you wouldn't have had to do it for very long."

He smiled as his shot completed beautifully.

Spike raised his cigarette at him in mock salute.

"You know? That might have Actually Have Worked. Or then again, maybe not."

He moved with superhuman speed to pin Xander Harris up against the pool table, the cue poised to break his windpipe. When he saw the fear flit through his eyes, he smiled at him, and stepped away, offering the cue.

Xander took it, presenting his back to Spike as he readied another shot. Behind him, his opponent added, almost plaintively,

"You know, I do love her. You lot seem to discount that, but its true. She's the only thing I'm living for these days, her and the girl."

His voice held a note of wonder as he explained.

"They're my family."

Xander wheeled on him, furious.

"Since when do they get to be YOUR family, Spike? You were dead for about a hundred years, and you spent the last four of them trying to KILL Buffy. You don't have any family. WE"RE their family. You don't have a right to them."

The smoke rose between them, and Spike's cigarette was one long ash. It fell away from his lip, and as Xander's gaze pulled up from it they met the pain in those blue depths.

"No. I don't. Don't you think I know that?"

He sighed, and ground out the dead cigarette stub into a little aluminum ashtray on the side of the table.

"But it doesn't do any good to pretend like I don't love them. I can't. I did that for years and I'm all done with it. And as long as they'll have me, I'm staying. I don't give a good bloody damn what you Scoobies think about it."

Xander's face tightened as he absorbed the impact of Spike's words. Then he thought for a moment, and spoke carefully to him.

"Then if you're gonna be around awhile, maybe you could try NOT to be such a drag on Buffy. You say you love her- Fine. Let's say I believe you. What have you got to offer her? What kind of a life can you give her? You don't have a job. You don't have a home. Meanwhile Buffy busts her ass to make ends meet, trying to raise Dawn- and what do you do, Spike? What do you contribute around there?"

"Hey, I do my bit. I take out the trash, I mow the lawn..."

Xander cut him off.

"The little stuff you do around there, it doesn't count for much. I tell you what...You get a job. You start paying some bills. You do stuff around the house, and you help her take care of Dawn. You do all that and I'll shut the hell up about what a freeloading loser you've turned out to be, okay?"

Then he considered for a moment.

"And maybe you oughtta be patrolling for her some. If my new bruise is any indication, you're still pretty damn strong in a fight." He rubbed his side awkwardly where he'd hit the table.

Spike nodded, almost imperceptibly.

Then he questioned,

"So are we gonna do Oprah all night or are you ever going to shut up and play the game?"

Xander hefted the cue.

"I think I've said my piece. Hand me the little blue cube thingie."

Spike rolled his eyes and tossed him the resin.

TITLE: Darkest Before Dawn 30 "Disharmony"

AUTHOR: Nmissi

PART:30/?

DISCLAIMER: I own Nothing and No one. Especially not Spike. If I

did,

what makes you think I'd share him with you?

DISTRIBUTION: Want it? Take it. Just let me know where it's going.

Feedback: Please. Nmissi@aol.com

SUMMARY: The way the world would work if I wrote the Buffyverse.

Harmony kicked her shoes off and sank back against the high-backed Victorian sofa, relishing the feel of velvet underneath her.

After all those miserable months in that smelly crypt, she'd never thought to see the likes of this again. But here she was, in a posh hotel in Los Angeles, with room service and cable TV.

Unlife doesn't get any better than this, she reflected

A knock sounded at the door, and she bounded up.

"Room service sure is quick here. ` Just a minute," she called, as she rummaged through her purse for a tip.

But she opened the door not on a bellhop, but on a pretty brunette in a stylish business suit.

"Harmony?" she questioned.

The blonde vamp tried to decide whether she should admit to her identity. To the best of her somewhat limited knowledge, only Lady Maab and her minions knew where she was right now.

The brunette realized her mistake, and extended a hand forward.

"Please excuse me, I didn't introduce myself. I'm Lilah Morgan, with Wolfram and Hart? I have some business to go over with you; it shouldn't take long."

She was all ease and friendliness; Harmony felt herself warming to her instinctually. She stepped back, welcoming and gracious.

"Oh. Sorry. Didn't recognize you. Were you at the meeting this morning?"

An odd look passed through Lilah's eyes.

"Unfortunately, no. I was unavoidably detained."

She moved towards the table by the window, and laid her briefcase upon it. She clicked it open, and brought out a steno tape machine.

"I'm here to take your official statement. For the Senior Partners," she explained.

Harmony's brow wrinkled.

"I thought we were doing that tomorrow," she said.

Lilah nodded.

"We've had to adjust our timeframe a bit. Something's come up, and I won't be available in the morning."

She pulled out a seat, and motioned for Harmony to join her. The young vamp did so, and Lilah began a restrained interrogation.

"You can imagine how surprised and pleased we all were, to learn about you, Harmony. The Seat of Aurelius has been unoccupied for some time. The best information we had indicated the line died out about five years ago. So it was with no small amount of amazement we greeted this morning's disclosure."

Harmony looked at her, confused.

Too many large words, thought the lawyer. Damn. She'd have to come down to the girl's level.

"I mean, it's a very happy day for us at the Firm. We've handled the accounts of the House of Aurelius for many generations. Most of the funds and properties have been locked up in probate for a good while, now."

She flashed the girl an avaricious grin.

"And locked up accounts don't really experience much activity, as you can well imagine. And if the money doesn't move, we don't get very much of it."

Harmony's eyes glittered.

"You mean, I might, y'know, "Unlock" those accounts?"

Lilah nodded.

"I have papers here to create you an expense account, for the interim- Until everything's settled. But there's a good deal of property to be disposed of amongst the heirs. Homes, jewels, money- I believe there's even a medieval title involved somewhere."

Her shoulders sagged and a sigh of disapproval came into her words.

"Of course, that will likely go to Angel, as the eldest male. All these old bloodlines follow archaic rules of Primogeniture, "Eldest male" heir, you know how it goes."

Then she continued.

"But there's still a tidy sum available for proven descendants. And since there seems to be so few of them, you, my dear, stand to become very rich."

Harmony was so excited she nearly bounced in her seat.

" Wow!"

The pleasure dropped off her face as she struggled to grasp the numbers involved.

"Just how much money are we talking about here?" she asked.

Lilah gave her a toothpaste-commercial smile.

"Millions."

Then she went businesslike again.

"We just need to verify you as a claimant. It's routine procedure. Let's begin with your birth. Who was your sire, Harmony?"

Harmony cast her eyes downward.

"I really, uh, I really don't know. I mean, I didn't get his

name."

Sympathy washed over Lilah's face.

"You were orphaned?"

Orphaned. Yeah, that's what Spike called it, the girl thought. When he was feeling all miserable and lonely, and sometimes would be nice to me. He'd say we were both orphans in the world.

Fucking Asshole.

Hope he's blistering in the sun.

She looked back up at the lawyer.

"Yeah, I guess so. I woke up in the Moorman Bros. Funeral home."

She'd woken up on a tilted table, her blood being drained into the side groove. A few minutes more, and all she would have had in her veins was embalming fluid. She was grateful they hadn't planned her an autopsy. But it wasn't like her cause of death was a mystery or anything.

The old man in the room, the mortician, she supposed; he'd reacted instantly to her awakening. Apparently it wasn't all that unusual in his line of work- He'd gone for a wooden stake from the instruments table.

To her everlasting shame and horror, she'd been so frightened and hungry she'd eaten him. After he was drained, she'd been physically ill, her mortal self still coming to grips with her demon.

She'd vomited in the room, and cried over the body as she stuffed it into the refrigeration unit. Then she'd searched the room, and been pleasantly surprised to find her new DkNy dress there.

She remembered the horror of putting it on, thinking about her parents. They'd sent it there to have her buried in it, most likely.

She was dead to them.

Even now, that part was still terribly painful.

Lilah's voice dragged her back to the present.

"What can you tell me about your maker, then? You did see him, didn't you?"

She nodded.

"Just some vamp at Graduation."

She motioned with her hands.

"He was Yaay big, `bout this tall. Big shoulders."

Lilah licked her lips, and her eyes darkened.

"What did he taste like?" she asked softly.

Harmony's eyes darted away.

"I dunno. Kind of like ice cream. All cold, and wet. His

blood was thick, y'know? Really rich, and good."

Lilah nodded imperceptibly.

"Go on. What else do you remember? It is vital we establish your link to the line."

Harmony shrugged.

"I don't know what else I can tell you. I never saw him again."

Lilah pressed onward.

"But why did he make you, why not just kill you?"

Harmony remembered that night very vividly. The way his vamp face fell away as she died in his arms. Such a look of sorrow. She'd almost believe he hadn't meant to kill her, that he wasn't able to control himself. He'd fed her from his arm, and then blackness had claimed her.

She had to believe he'd been staked in the commotion. Surely he would never have left her to rise alone like that, in the funeral home. She sort of thought maybe he'd cared about her, from the look on his face when he bit his arm. He had just looked so damn SORRY about the whole thing.

"I don't really know why. He seemed to feel kinda bad about killing me."

She shrugged.

"Maybe it was his way of making it up to me."

Lilah's phone buzzed, and she reached into the valise to retrieve it. Apologetically she glanced over to Harmony, as she switched off the recorder.

"Sorry. I have to take this."

Harmony nodded.

"Yes? Um Hm. Yes I'm here with her right now."

She put her hand over the receiver.

"It's a coworker, he's got some papers for me. Would you mind if he brought them up? It'll only take a second."

Harmony nodded, waving her hand dismissively.

"Sure. No problem."

Lilah spoke back into the phone.

"Yes. Room 312. We'll be waiting for you."

She turned back to the girl.

" It'll be a few minutes. Tell me, is the hotel to your liking? Is there anything that you need? The firm is most happy to oblige you in whatever way possible."

Harmony ruminated on her circumstances since waking up that night, and decided things were finally looking up for her.

"No, really, you guys have been TOO kind. New clothes, new haven...Fresh blood I didn't have to hunt for. What more could a girl ask for?"

Someone rapped the door.

Lilah rose.

"Do you mind?"

She made to open it, and Harmony nodded.

"Go ahead."

Lilah opened it, and let two men into the room.

"Is she?" Angel asked.

Lilah shook her head affirmatively.

"I think so. Vlad ID'ed her, you know. But you'll know best

if she's ours."

Angel advanced upon a now confused Harmony.

"Hey, who are you?"

Her voice rose in anger.

"Wait a minute, I know you, You're-"

He cut her off as he seized her wrist.

"Your family," he finished for her, as he inhaled the potent

smell of her blood.

Looking over his shoulder, he nodded to the pair.

"Looks like she's our girl, Lilah, Lindsay."

His dark eyes sought hers, and put fear in her unbeating heart.

"We're taking you out of here. If you're a good girl, I'll see to it you're well taken care of. If you're not-"

He smiled wickedly.

"If you're not, well, I'll exercise my rights as head of the Line"

He looked at her, and softened his voice.

"Do you know what that means?"

She shook her head fiercely as she struggled to escape his viselike grip.

"The head of the Bloodline, the Master, he has the power of life and death over his childer. It means if I want to, I can kill you. And no one can contest my right to do so."

TITLE: Darkest Before Dawn 31 "Tame"

AUTHOR: Nmissi

PART:31/?

DISCLAIMER: I own Nothing and No one. Especially not Spike. If I

did,

what makes you think I'd share him with you?

DISTRIBUTION: Want it? Take it. Just let me know where it's going.

Feedback: Please. Nmissi@aol.com

SUMMARY: The way the world would work if I wrote the Buffyverse.

She paused inside the doorway, taking in the scene laid before her with new eyes. The living room, to her left, was disheartening. Beer cans lined the coffee table. Today's newspaper lay spread about the floor, in pieces. As she walked into the room, she tripped over a boot.

Her ire rose with each step. Beer cans. Cigarette ashes on the carpet. Dirty socks in the floor.

She was supposed to bring a baby into filth like this?

Oh God. Where did that thought come from? Buffy had been very carefully NOT thinking about it as a "Baby". No matter how she juggled the dates, no way could she make this kid Riley's. Which meant that it was Spike's- an irony too twisted to contemplate.

"There's one the Council of Watchers didn't have a prophecy for." She said to herself, "Nope. I don't think there's a big dusty book out there someplace warning that William the Bloody was going to get a heartbeat and a healthy sperm count."

She picked up the beer cans and tucked them into the crook of her arm, as she went on in to the kitchen. She tossed them at the recycle bin, as Spike greeted her.

"Morning, Sunshine."

He was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping on a can of Budweiser and reading the classifieds. One bare foot was propped on the edge of the table.

He was also smoking. In fact, the entire room was a little hazy with it.

She sat her purse down on the table, and spoke to him.

"Spike, You can't smoke in the house anymore. You'll have to move it out onto the back porch."

He looked at her in disbelief.

" And just when did you become the poster girl for the temperance society?" he asked.

She looked at him in bewilderment.

"Huh?"

He shook his head at her.

"I mean, it's one thing you giving up the smokes. Fine. Bully for you- Always thought it was a nasty, unfeminine habit for a woman anyway."

She opened her mouth to go off on him, but he shut her down with a glare.

"And hey- More Ciggies for me that way. But what gives? You don't like them anymore, so you're telling me I can't smoke them in here? I have to go lurk in the bushes again?"

He snorted at her.

"That's hypocrisy, Slayer."

Enough. She'd had more than enough. It was choking her in here. She opened the windows and the back door, and flipped on the fan.

He made mocking noises behind her back.

"Oh, come off it, woman. It can't bother you that bad; you were smoking them yourself last week."

She whirled on him, angry and unthinking.

"They're bad for the baby."

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wished them back. This was not the way she'd meant to break the news. Okay, she hadn't really come up with a way to tell him yet, but she was relatively certain this one was not in the top ten recommended ways to inform the prospective parent.

He looked at her askance, his head cocked to one side.

"Come again?" he asked.

She strode over to him, and reached into the side pouch of her purse, pulling out brochures from the clinic, lots of pretty pamphlets detailing her options as a Young Unwed Knockup. Everything from natural childbirth, to legal abortion- All bases covered. It was standard fare at the campus clinic.

She tossed them out onto the table before him.

"I'm six weeks pregnant. Put out that damn cigarette before I do it for you; someplace on your skin."

He ground the fag to a blackened stub, inside the green glass ashtray, and struggled to make sense of what she was saying.

"Buffy, I-"

His brow furrowed, as he searched for the right words.

"I don't understand."

She gave him an ugly smile, hard and cynical.

"Oh, come ON, Spike. You're how old? I'm sure you know how it works. You've shared my bed for months."

"But I didn't- Buffy I swear- I didn't think we could-"

She shrugged at him then.

"It didn't occur to me either, Spike. I mean, I thought the ONE thing I might not have to worry about, being with a vampire, was the whole "protection" issue. No "Will he or won't he, Should I be the one to bring it up?"

She gave him a hard look.

"Angel had already explained it to me. You guys are dead, and life can't come from dead things."

She turned her back to him, and started stacking dishes in the sink.

"I didn't even consider-."

She stopped filling the sink, and turned back around to him.

He was still sitting at the table, the pile of papers in his hands.

"You know, I'm tired. I think I'm gonna go upstairs and get a nap."

He looked up as she left the room. Then with shaking hands he collected his beer and his ashtray, and went out onto the porch.

They'd penciled her next appointment date onto a little white card. He turned it over in his hand.

Somehow, this made it all more real. He was really human, there would be no going back. He'd been existing in a sort of mental limbo; a vampire in a human shell. He'd counted time in bottles of Jack Daniels, in cans of beer, in cigarette butts. For the first time he realized he was no longer outside of time; but moving with it. He was aging, changing. Every day was one day less he had left to spend on this earth. He would henceforth count time in minutes, days, years. And some sixty or seventy of them from now, he would lie down and die.

If he didn't pop off in a fight sometime before that. Or contract lung cancer. Or get cirrhosis of the liver.

Yeah, that was more like it. He might still have some demonic strength, some advanced healing abilities- But he was mortal. He could die.

He hadn't really given it a great deal of thought before now.

His eyes stared out, unseeing, into the morning light. In his mind's eye, he could make out the faces of children, he could see again his sisters and his brothers, as they'd been in life, as they'd been in the nursery, round baby faces, drooling baby smiles, rosy baby cheeks.

His mind wandered out to the faces of his victims. There were children among their number as well. Angelus LIKED children. And in the first, early years of his turning, William had tried desperately to prove himself to his grandsire, to prove himself demon enough to deserve his affection.

Oh yes, there had been a great many children in those early years, because Angelus liked the easy kill of a frightened innocent. He'd lacked Spike's taste for the chase and for the battle.

Infants were fragile, and delicate. They got sick easily. They were incredibly breakable. He remembered the feel of their small bodies in his hands, the way their bones crunched-

Spike leaned in to the hydrangea bushes and vomited up two pints of Jack Daniels and half a beer. His stomach heaved itself empty, but the shudders continued, as his brain replayed the events of his past for him in living color. He sprawled on the wooden deck stairs, resting his head against the railing as he fought to catch his breath.

Finally the dry heaves ceased, and he got slowly, tiredly to his feet. He trudged back inside of the house.

His eyes swept over the countertop, where his bottles of liquor were lined up enticingly. Their colorful bottles promised sweet oblivion, a world without miracles, or babies, or sweet little girls who might die on you one day. They promised to make him forget it all, everything that tormented him.

But the papers on the table caught his eye again, and he walked over and leafed through them.

Dietary recommendations. A prescription for prenatal vitamins. "Baby Roulette- What every mother should know about teratogens."

There was also another booklet, underneath the vitamin prescript. "So you're about to become a family!"

A pretty couple cuddled on its front cover, clutching a disgustingly pink-cheeked infant.

"Bollocks. I'm not some domesticated `Husband'. And I'm definitely not the `Daddy' type."

Nonetheless, he found himself at the sink again. He washed up the dishes, leaving them on the drain board to dry. Then he looked over his bottles, and began opening them up. One by one, he poured them each down the sink. Stolichnaya vodka, Jim Beam and Jack Daniels, good Kentucky bourbon and fine malt scotch, all piled into the recycle bin. He then fetched himself a beer from the fridge.

He stopped at one this time.

TITLE: Darkest Before Dawn 32 "Conundrum"

AUTHOR: Nmissi

PART:32/?

DISCLAIMER: I own Nothing and No one. Especially not Spike. If I

did,

what makes you think I'd share him with you?

DISTRIBUTION: Want it? Take it. Just let me know where it's going.

Feedback: Please. Nmissi@aol.com

SUMMARY: The way the world would work if I wrote the Buffyverse.

No matter what he did in this current lifetime, it seemed the dark deeds from his life as Angelus kept coming back on him. Darla; Drusilla; Spike. Now there was Harmony.

That was a laugh. He'd made fledglings in Sunnydale, during that short return to soulless ness. And despite his thoughts to the contrary, they had not all died. One of them, at least, had lived long enough to lead him to this point. That child, or one of his offspring, had joined up with the mayor, and had been present at that disastrous graduation. And so here he stood, several centuries from his origin, and feeling closer to his past than he had in years.

Lilah's slamming door interrupted his reverie.

"I don't have any sick days left, Angel. They're going to start getting suspicious."

He turned around, enjoying the sight of her. She was pale and lovely, her dark hair gleaming in the moonlight as it poured through the window. She opened the briefcase in front of her, and plugged in the laptop. Gracefully, she sat down before it to work.

He strolled up to her, and stood behind her, watching over her shoulder as she worked.

"I got in to the system, and acquired the notes from this morning's meeting. But I don't think it'll work again. If we want to get the rest of those files, one of us is going to have to get inside the building."

He rested his hand on her shoulder.

"That would be you, Lilah."

She sighed.

"How did I know you were going to say that?"

He squeezed her reassuringly.

"It'll work, Lilah. It has to. Lindsay no longer has access. As soon as they learn about you, you won't either."

She looked up at him.

"What makes you think they don't know already? The contract was broken the minute Junior turned me. I'm neither `living', nor dead. Nice little loophole, there. I don't see how they could be unaware."

He took a deep and unnecessary breath.

"They know something important, Lilah, something vital enough to try to kill me and mine. They couldn't corrupt me, couldn't get control of me- So they decided to remove me. I'm certain they were behind the shooting at the club. I'm positive of it. We need that information."

He looked down into her upturned face. She had to understand him, had to realize the importance of this.

" They may know about you, yes. But more importantly, they may be able to tell us why you're like this, why I can make children like Lindsay, why he can make a child like you."

He tossed his head in the direction of the stairs.

"Moreover, we need to know why they wanted someone like her. What use was she to them?"

Lilah answered him roughly.

"Angel, I should think the answer to that is obvious. She's of the line, and therefore an heir to Aurelius. She's also vapid, shallow, and easy to control. They remove you and the others; she becomes their puppet. All nice and neat."

"Except the Senior Partners didn't know about her until this morning. Only the fairy woman knew."

He had the pieces laid out on the table, but they weren't coming together to form a picture. Not yet, anyway. There was more to this, something he'd not figured out yet. But he planned to. And he planned to very soon.

Lindsay came in out of the kitchen, carrying two mugs.

"Sorry, Lilah. I didn't know you were back."

He passed a mug to Angel, and then leaned over Lilah's shoulder.

"ooh. Nice. `Skipper' still works."

"How do you know my password?" she asked.

He shrugged.

"I made it my business to know it, my business to know everything there was to know about you. Besides- Once I knew you collected dolls, I just went through the names of all Barbie's little friends until I located the right one."

Angel smirked, and Lilah rolled her eyes.

"If not for my soon-to-be-fired status, I'd have to do something about that." She said this with a straight face, but Lindsay smiled anyway. He'd come to understand her form of teasing. He kissed the top of her head lightly.

"You want something to drink?"

She nodded, and he went back into the kitchen.

"Can you go up and check on Harmony for me? She's probably awake by now. She might be scared, maybe you can put her at ease. We need her on our side, for now."

Lilah groaned, but she got up.

"I feel myself losing brain cells every time she opens her mouth."

Angel smiled at her.

"I wouldn't worry, Lilah. You can spare them."

He watched her head into the kitchen, presumably to fetch that drink Lindsay'd gone after. He looked up at the ceiling, trying to imagine what his `guest' was doing right now.

She was decidedly not what he'd expected. Oh, he realized she was very young. But she was one of the most Human demons he'd ever met.

And despite her lack of a "soul", she didn't really strike him as evil.

It added to the puzzle.

His children emerged from the kitchen, and his eyes drank in the sight of them; beautiful, strong, and crafty; children to be proud of. Lindsay had abandoned the uniform of wall street in favor of blue jeans and a flannel shirt. He looked surprisingly well in such a get up.

Lilah still dressed in the mode of the corporate killer, all hard angles and dark colors. But there was softness about her, a difference in her expression, in her eyes. She had yet to succumb to guilt, as Lindsay had. It was more as if she'd somehow regained her innocence.

The irony inherent in such a situation could drive one mad, if speculated upon for too long. He'd somehow taken two very evil humans, and made them, well...

Was "Good" too strong a word? He'd infected them with conscience and empathy, and a desire to right their wrongs.

Yes, he decided. They needed to know more, and they needed to know it now.

TITLE: Darkest Before Dawn 33 "Recon"

AUTHOR: Nmissi

PART:33/?

DISCLAIMER: I own Nothing and No one. Especially not Spike. If I

did, what makes you think I'd share him with you?

DISTRIBUTION: Want it? Take it. Just let me know where it's going.

Feedback: Please. Nmissi@aol.com

SUMMARY: The way the world would work if I wrote the Buffyverse.

Cordelia moved the empty pizza boxes off of the pile of papers she wanted.

"Guys?"

She held up an orangey-stained list for their inspection.

"Maybe can we NOT sit the greasy pizza box right on TOP of the admissions reports? I mean, I might actually need these things for something."

Gunn hung his head sadly.

"Sorry, C." he said. It had been his idea not to get Chinese again tonight.

Wesley headed over to survey the damage.

"Yes, well...it seems to have missed our notes. That's a positive sign."

He took the stained sheets from Cordy, and looked them over intently.

"It appears she's branching out into a new area. Admissions are up 22% in Brentwood, now."

Cordy answered him through a mouthful of mozzarella.

"That matches with," she chewed for a moment, and then swallowed loudly.

"That matches what I picked up at the hospital. They're drowning in Psych consults, having to call in extra staff just to handle the overrun."

Gunn scratched his head, and joined the discussion.

"Man, I don't feel right about this. Just sittin' back, chillin' and compiling statistics like some kinda paranormal census taker. It don't seem right. Not with this little `g' god runnin' around, makin' people freaky."

Wesley shared his concerns, and was equally uneasy about their inaction. But Giles had told him not to engage Glory, and he respected the watcher's wisdom.

"Gunn, I do understand how you feel. But we simply aren't equipped to stop her right now. Any action we take would be literal madness, you do realize that, don't you?"

"Yeah, man. I get that. But it still don't sit right, y'know? It feels, I dunno. All cowardly and shit."

There was silence in the room as they all considered this.

Cordelia broke it after several minutes with a well- placed observation.

"We can't keep doing our research here."

They all looked around, taking in the piles of papers, the boxes of records, and the overflowing trashcan full of Chinese take out boxes.

"Not only is your place filthy, Gunn. But it's too small. And we need our books back."

She looked over at Wes.

"When did Angel say they'd be finished with the floors, again?"

Wesley gazed at her overtop his glasses.

"He didn't. He just said he was refinishing all the hardwoods throughout the hotel, and we shouldn't be in it for awhile because of the fumes."

Cordy's lips drew into a hard line.

"Do you think that's really why we can't go over there?"

Both men were unable to meet her eyes. All three had the same thought, but no one really wanted to voice it. Not since their disastrous confrontation with Angel had they even discussed it.

Ultimately Cordelia was unable to keep her silence.

"I think we ought to go over there and get a good look at her. I mean, she's gone and stolen Angel from us. Let's see what the competition's like."

Wes raised an eyebrow at Gunn, who raised his shoulders in a questioning shrug.

"Should we?" said Wes.

"I don't know." Said Gunn.

Cordy rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically.

"Well I for one, am going over there. He can't just make me sit here and call hospitals all night. I'm a woman of action!"

Wes choked back a giggle, and Gunn snorted, but she ignored them and grabbed up her purse.

As she headed out the door, Gunn looked back over at Wesley.

"You game for it, man?"

The Englishman smiled.

"Always."

"Harmony, I just don't see what the problem is. You're perfectly safe here- So long as you don't get in the way, or cause trouble, Angel will look after you. And your room here is certainly as nice as the one at the Radisson."

Harm pouted.

"You say Wolfram and Hart are the "bad guys", that they want to use me to hurt Angel. But they aren't really interested in him- Or they'd have gone to get him, instead of me!"

The girl's intellect was truly mind-blowing for its complete lack of scope. Lilah took a breath and counted to ten.

"Harmony, they wanted you because you're young and inexperienced. We have reason to believe they've actively tried to kill Angel- There's no reason to believe they won't go after the rest of us as well. Drusilla, Darla, Spike- all of them are fair game right now."

The blonde exploded.

"Like I even CARE what they do to that two-timing, good for

nothing-"

Ouch. Bad blood there, Lilah could tell.

"You know them personally?"

Harm rolled her eyes heavenward.

"Oh, yeah. I know them. Droodzilla- Spike's crazy ex. And Spike- You might say I know him REAL well. We lived together for about five months. He's a bastard and I hate him."

`Note to self- investigate "the Spike connection" further,' thought Lilah.

"Well then, you and Angel have something in common. He doesn't seem to like your Spike very well either."

"He's not my Spike anymore. I don't think he ever really was."

Her whine was soft and plaintive. Oddly Lilah felt sorry for her. She dropped her voice and made her words gentle.

"Look. Angel sent up these clothes, just for you. He's prepared this room with you in mind. He cares about your welfare, Harmony, and if you made the slightest attempt to ingratiate yourself with him, you'd have him eating out of your hand in no time. Just get dressed and come downstairs, all right? You'll see you're not a prisoner here."

She tried to reach out her hand to the girl, but she drew back, demon to the fore, hissing.

Lilah sighed.

"I can't make you come down, I know that. But if you grow bored up here, maybe you'd like to join us. We'd like to include you in our discussions and see if you can help us out."

She left the girl alone then to consider her options.

"Can you see yet?"

Cordy's harsh whisper crackled in the night air, making Gunn jump slightly. He whistled softly through his teeth at her.

"Cordelia, please...Quiet, remember?" Wesley reminded her gently.

She rolled her eyes.

Then Gunn sat up a little straighter, the binoculars jutting out from his handsome face, spoiling its symmetry.

"Dude! I can see her! I can see her! She's sitting across from him, at that little table. She's blonde-"

"I knew it!" shrilled Cordelia.

"SSH!" Wesley hissed at her. Then quietly to Gunn he said.

"What else can you see?"

Gunn waited a beat, then excitedly continued.

"Waitaminute! There's two of them in there! He's got himself a blonde, AND a brunette. The brunette's all snuggled up alongside of him, real cozy like. They seem to be talking to the blonde. She's gesturing around, waiving her hands like this."

His swishy arm gestures were effeminate and amusing. Cordelia jumped in again.

"But what do they look like? Are they pretty?"

He nodded.

"Uh huh. Brunette gets at least a 9.5- she's wearing this tight black suit, and Damn, those'r some fine curves! Can't see the blonde though, she's got her back to the window."

Minutes passed in complete silence before he broke it with a disgusted outburst.

"Aw, Man...He's got a guy in there too! And he looks even cozier than the girls. He's drapin' himself over Angel like a sweater or something, hanging around his neck."

Cordelia's protracted "Eeww" seemed to sum things up nicely for the group. Then Gunn's posture changed, his shoulders tightened and he leaned forward slightly.

"I don't know, but I'm thinkin' that guy looks kinda familiar."

He took the binoculars down, and passed them over to Wesley in the driver's seat. He put them to his face, and leaned over in front of Gunn. Behind them Cordelia was waving her hands, trying to get them to hand them back to her.

"Who is it? Come on, let me see."

Wesley lowered the binoculars, a look of despair in his eyes.

"Cordelia, I believe those people are from Wolfram and Hart. Angel's young man is Mr. McDonald."

Imprudently, the girl opened up the backdoor.

"What are you doing?" asked Gunn, as Wesley stammered out a similar question.

She climbed out, and shut the door. Then she addressed them from the street, determination stiffening her spine.

"I'm gonna go find out just what the HELL is going on in there."

She headed for the door, and her partners quickly fumbled their way out of the car, to follow her.

TITLE: Darkest Before Dawn 34 "The Gallery"

AUTHOR: Nmissi

PART:34/?

DISCLAIMER: I own Nothing and No one. Especially not Spike. If I

did,

what makes you think I'd share him with you?

DISTRIBUTION: Want it? Take it. Just let me know where it's going.

Feedback: Please. Nmissi@aol.com

SUMMARY: The way the world would work if I wrote the Buffyverse.

NOTE: If you don't like the way I write my story, hey, write your

own! Don't email me with your ideas, just write them and let me enjoy

them as your story. I've got notes, an outline- It's way too late for

me to "incorporate" anyone's suggestions, okay?

Back out onto the street, he squinted into the daylight as he fumbled with his watch. He still wasn't used to wearing one all the time, and it itched terribly, but not as badly as the godforsaken tie he was wearing. Somehow he could feel the dratted thing through the fabric of his collar, chafing and choking him.

It was one thirty. He'd been out since eight this morning, after dropping the Nibblet off at school. So far, no luck- thirteen "thank you, we'll be in touch"-es, and no hire yet. He folded the classifieds under his arm, grumbling.

"that stripper gig is lookin' better all the time," he mumbled.

He realized he was only a block or so from Joyce's Gallery. Although he'd never been there, he knew the address. He'd passed by before, after hours, of course. Sometimes he'd peeked in the windows, and imagined Joyce working there. The idea of breaking in had occurred to him, naturally- But he had too much respect for Joyce to do that, so he'd settled for the windows. She'd run a beautiful shop, full of treasured antiquities that glittered like jewels.

"Mayhap the Slayer'd like a bit of company," he thought. Yeah, maybe he'd see if she'd want to go get lunch or something. She hadn't been eating very well of late. Maybe it was the morning sickness, or maybe it was the stress, but either way- It wasn't good. Buffy was shrinking daily, right before his eyes.

Yeah, that was it. He'd go get Buffy, take her to get a decent meal. Then he'd go back to pedaling his phony work history and his equally artificial credentials.

He pushed the door open, and was immediately greeted by the scent of freesia in the air. It was welcoming. He stepped inside, and took in the atmosphere of the gallery.

It was nominally an art gallery, but it did a thriving business in antiquities as well. California style was growing to encompass bits of Mayan and Incan, as well as references to the classical- Grecian urns and roman amphorae had become sought after conversation pieces. Spike noted the absence of the commonly found knock offs, and smiled. Joyce had always enjoyed flawless taste.

A short brunette behind the counter looked up as he came over.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

He smiled at her, but a customer stepped between them and blocked his view.

"Yes. You can. I want to know how much this is worth."

The woman was stout, broad built, and middle aged. Her shrill voice was like nails on a chalkboard, as she waved hunks of broken pottery under the merchant's nose.

"I need to get an estimate on these, what they're worth. The sign says you do estimates."

The girl tried to answer her.

"We do, normally, but our buyer is not available right now. I'm afraid I'm not knowledgeable enough to help you. Also, it helps to have an appointment for appraisals."

The thick woman was not happy with this response; she reiterated that the sign stated that they did appraisals. She wanted one, now. She might sell them her potshards if the price was right.

The girl explained again that the buyer was out. The woman complained about business that led the public on, with lies.

At this point, Spike interjected himself into the conversation. The older woman was getting rapidly worse, her speech becoming abusive. The girl behind the counter seemed unused to confrontation, cringing away from her.

He dripped charm as he enquired after the pieces, in cultured tones he rarely used.

"Madam, might I see your pieces?"

She presented three potshards, and Spike quickly marked them as authentic. Native American, probably Anasazi.

"Is this all you have?" he asked.

She shook her head, and furtively withdrew a larger, intact pot from her oversized bag.

She handed it to him.

He looked it over, marked it to be twelfth century, concurrent to the bits. He turned it over, and frowned intently at the small hole drilled in it.

His voice was brittle, as he queried her.

"Where did you get this?"

There was none of his Eton accent now; he was north London and a little bit angry.

She stuttered as she spoke to him.

"Give that back! Never mind, I don't want an estimate. I'll get one someplace else."

He held the piece out of her reach, as he looked over at the now terrified shop girl.

"Call the police, please. It seems our friend here must have done a bit of vacationing in Colorado recently. Right?"

He looked at the irate woman, and fear crept into her face. She stopped demanding her pot back.

"And what did you do on vacation, Madam? Bit o' sightseein'? Some pueblo visiting? I recall the Anasazi ruins to be lovely, even by moonlight."

He sneered at her, as she backed away.

"But unfortunately our little friend did herself a bit o' grave robbing, too."

The woman fled the shop, leaving her evidence behind. He turned to the shop girl, already hanging up with the police."

"They'll be here any minute, but I don't think they'll catch her."

"Ever see her before?"

"No. Never, sorry."

"Did you get her name by chance?"

The girl shook her head.

"No. I didn't even ask."

He sighed.

"Oh, well. We've contacted the police, and they'll get these back to Colorado at least. I wonder how badly she disturbed the site."

"How did you know where she got them?" the girl asked him.

He flipped the pot, and showed her the hole.

"This is a `Killed Pot'- it's been bored out. That means it was used as a funeral offering. It's a burial pot. Coloration and thickness of the shards is similar; they were interred together. Those three pieces also look to be from the same vessel."

He turned them in his hands, showing her what to look for. He explained about the markings and the coloration, and wished for something from a later period to help her better understand the differences.

"Anyway, it's a damn shame they won't get her. She'll probably do it again, if she can find a disreputable buyer. It's easy money, the stuff's just lyin' around the canyon. You don't even have to dig for it half the time."

He realized he'd been talking, but hadn't introduced himself, so he put out his hand.

"Hi, I'm Sp- William. William Walthrop."

She shook his hand, smiling.

"Jeanette Dupres. And thank you, you were quite a help!"

She glanced at the newspaper under his arm.

"Oh! You're here about the job! Of course!"

He opened his mouth to correct her, but she rambled on ahead of him excitedly.

"I know Buffy will just love you! It's been very difficult around here the last few months. Our owner died recently, and her daughter's taken over the running of the business. But she and I, we don't really have that much experience in the field. You saw me with that lady- I know very little about southwest pottery. Buffy probably knows less. But You! You were wonderful!"

She ran on in this manner for several minutes, and he found himself considering it. He had over a hundred years experience with history. He'd traveled the world several dozen times. He was no expert, but he had a good deal of broad knowledge with regards to art and art history. And he confessed to a secret love of archaeology.

Maybe it would work.

If it didn't, there was always the gay club down the street. They'd doubtless love him as a dancing boy in a cage.

Yeah, the Gallery might just be the ticket, he decided.

And wouldn't Buffy be surprised....

TITLE: Darkest Before Dawn #35 "Confession"

AUTHOR: Nmissi

PART: 35/?

DISCLAIMER: I own Nothing and No one. Especially not Spike. If I

did,

what makes you think I'd share him with you?

DISTRIBUTION: Anybody, just credit me and let me know where it's

going.

Feedback: Please. Nmissi@aol.com

SUMMARY: The way the world would work if I wrote the Buffyverse.

The front door slammed shut with a bang, and the trio looked up as one. Slowly, and lastly, the blonde sitting alone turned around in her seat.

Cordelia Chase stood in the doorway, hopping mad.

"What are they doing here?" she asked. She hadn't yet noticed Harmony; her blazing brown eyes were trained sharply on the lawyers.

"Cordy. Won't you please come in?" Angel's monotone belied the fire behind his eyes. He was none too pleased about this.

Behind Cordy, the door swung open once more, and her partners entered the room. Gunn looked a little confused, and Wesley, a bit embarrassed.

"Good evening, Angel," said Wes softly.

"Evening, Wesley. Gunn. Glad you three could stop by."

Except that he wasn't, and his face was stormy.

Harmony interrupted, jumping gleefully to her feet.

"Cordelia! Omigosh, HI! I didn't know you were in L.A.!"

Cordy's head swiveled that direction and she lost focus on her anger, becoming perplexed.

"Harmony? What are you doing here?"

But she headed over to her anyway, and the two `friends' came in close to kiss the air alongside their cheeks.

"You look great! Love the hair!"

"You too. Black becomes you. But I thought you were-"

"A- HEM. If you two are done making goo goo eyes at each other, maybe we can all get back to business. You were,"

Angel gestured at Cordelia.

"About to make a fool of yourself, I believe? And Harmony, you were going to sit quietly and not get in the way, right?"

Harmony plopped back down in her seat with a pout.

"I want new ancestors. You suck."

He smiled at her benevolently.

"Yes, I do. And damn well, I might add. Now sit down and shut up before I drain you."

She mumbled inarticulately and under her voice, so only the dead could hear her.

"Prick."

Cordelia looked back at Angel, hurt in her eyes.

"Why are they here? What, are you working with them now?"

Lilah tried to intervene.

"There are things you don't understand, here."

"Damn Right I don't understand!" Cordelia was livid. Behind her, Wes shifted uncomfortably on his feet. Gunn merely looked interested.

Cordy continued.

"You tell us we can't be here. You make up some asinine reason why, and send us on a wild goose chase to keep us out of your hair. Meanwhile, you're hanging out here with them?"

She looked at Lindsay with disgust, watching as he took his place at Angel's side. They were too close together, their arms nearly touching, and the look in Lindsay's eyes disturbed her.

"And what is it with him? I saw him, hanging all over you. You that hard up without Darla?"

Her comment was directed at Angel, but both men shrank back from her hard allegation.

Lindsay moved forward, as if to say something, but Angel placed a gentle hand on his arm.

"Take the girls upstairs, Lin. I'll handle this."

Lindsay shook him off.

"You need to come clean with them."

His eyes softened.

"Keeping secrets from them is tearing you up inside. I know it, I hear it in your voice every time she calls. Let's get this out in the open finally."

His voice dropped.

"Maybe they can help us. And surely they'll be safer with all three of us to watch their backs."

Angel considered his words, and nodded.

"Okay. But I don't need to do this with an audience. Take the girls upstairs. Take the laptop too, see if you can find what we need. We don't know how much longer her password's going to get us in there."

Lindsay reached for his hand, and squeezed it.

"Okay."

Over his shoulder, he addressed Lilah.

"Get the laptop."

To Harmony, he added.

"And go grab something from the fridge, okay? We might be in for a long night."

She headed into the kitchen, bitching all the way.

Cordelia sat down in a chair, looking up at Angel insolently.

"Start talking." She demanded.

Wes and Gunn moved in protectively, taking the chairs alongside her.

Angel sat down across from her, and sighed deeply.

"They're my children."

Cordy snickered, and Wesley choked. But Angel went on.

"Lindsay was an accident. I killed him. I know it was wrong, and I did it anyway. I flat out killed the bastard, beat the shit out of him and drained him. He'd come here and shot me, and I'd had enough. But that doesn't excuse it, I know. There's no excuse for it."

They watched him blankly, waiting for more, so he continued.

" As I was feeding on him, his mouth touched the bullet wound in my shoulder. He tasted my blood, swallowed some of it."

Angel noted the horrified comprehension in Wesley's eyes.

"That's all it took. You know that. I should have staked him, but I didn't. I waited. While you all were here, working with me on the shooting at Caritas- he was chained upstairs, dead, waiting to rise. I don't know why I didn't stake him. Maybe I wanted to punish him. Maybe I was curious. I don't know exactly."

"Perhaps you were lonely," Wes said sadly. His eyes held understanding, and a hint of compassion. It bolstered Angel's nerve, and he went forward with his story.

"Something was wrong with Lindsay, though. He woke weeping. He wouldn't speak, he wouldn't eat. It was days before I could make him feed. He seemed to be broken, damaged. The nearest thing I'd ever seen to it was Drusilla, right before I turned her. Or myself, after I got my soul back the first time. When I realized what had happened , it blew me away."

He studied their faces closely for reactions to his disclosure.

"Lindsay sold his soul as a condition of his contract at Wolfram and Hart. When I turned him, he got it back. With everything that entails. All the grief and remorse, the self-loathing. All of it."

Wesley leaned forward.

"He has a- a soul?" he enquired.

Angel nodded.

Cordy jumped in.

"How do you know he's not just saying that?"

She was belligerent and disbelieving. But Angel just shook his head at her.

"I KNOW he's got a soul, Cordy. I can feel it. He's my child, I just know."

He shrugged. How to make her understand the vagaries of blood ties?

"It's like I can feel my bond with him- with all my kind. But he feels different, he feels- I don't know. More like me."

"This is fascinating, Angel. Why didn't you tell us before? We need to study this, to research-"

Wesley's excited words were cut off by Cordelia's angry interjection.

"So you've got a `kid' now. Great, I'm really happy for you. Sorry I missed the shower and everything."

Angel ignored her. She'd come around. It was more important to have Wesley's understanding, and Gunn's. Cordy was full of hurt feminine pride right now, but he could sway her. Gunn was too calm for him, however. The look of distrust in his face was painful.

"So you vamped Lindsay. That don't explain the other lawyer, why she's working with you two."

Gunn's voice implied there was more to the story, and he knew it. Angel nodded, resuming the narrative.

"We needed to know if it was a fluke, a one-time deal. Or if it was something that could happen again. But more than that, we needed inside of Wolfram and Hart."

He raised his hands to cut off the impending protests.

"It's not like that. I think they were behind Caritas. I think it was an attempt to kill me, you know that. Well, I think they ordered it, and I wanted to know why. They've got information we don't have, they know something about me. Something that scares them enough to quit trying to "Corrupt" me, and just flat out try to kill me. I'm starting to put the pieces together, but I don't have them all just yet."

He raked a hand through fistfuls of his dark hair. Cordelia noticed for the first time how unkempt it was tonight, a riot of unregulated curls.

"Whatever it is, if affects not only me, but also my relations. You guys got that yourselves, when you interviewed the Snitch. I think they knew about Lin, before it happened. I think they might have suspected it was possible, or that it was going to happen."

He leaned back in his seat, and tried to decide how best to tell them about Lilah. Gunn's dark eyes were still on him, waiting expectantly. They felt like weapons, aimed his way.

"We needed someone who could get into Wolfram and Hart, an inside connection. Lindsay suggested Lilah. She's important enough to have access to all the information he was no longer privy to. I debated a long time whether we could do it, whether we should do it. But he pointed out to me that she was really no more human than we are. None of them are, none of the salaried contract players. It's part of the conditions of employment; your soul is nonnegotiable. He went to her at home. He got inside her apartment. He turned her. And she got her soul back."

He smiled over at them, this warm, wondrous sort of pride in his face.

"It worked a second time. Instead of one vampire with a human soul, there are now three."

He looked at them silently, trying to decipher their feelings from the expressions on their faces.

Wesley was lost in thought, biting his lower lip as he considered.

Cordy was hurt, but the anger had sort of wilted during his confession.

Gunn was unreadable, his face stoic, his eyes inscrutable. It was he who broke the silence.

"What about the other chick?"

Angel nodded.

"Harmony. She was turned by one of the Mayor's vamps at Graduation in Sunnydale. I'm sure you've heard about it. It was a bloodbath. Anyway, Wolfram and Hart were keeping her in a nice hotel room over at the Radisson. She was present at a meeting yesterday, with the Senior Partners."

He gave them a moment to digest this, then added,

"She doesn't have any names to give us but one. And she didn't pay attention to the meeting, doesn't really know what went on there."

"Then what good is she, and why isn't she dust yet?" quarreled Cordy.

"Give me a minute, Delia. I'm getting there, okay? They had her put up nice. Lilah got hold of the notes from the meeting, and found out some very interesting details."

He stood up, and got the hard copies of the minutes off the table. He carried them back over, and placed them into Wesley's hands.

"You can look them over, but basically it says there was a motion put on the table to eliminate one of the seats on the board of directors. It's been unoccupied for five years, belonging to a dead line of demons. As I understand it, the Senior Partners are comprised of the heads of various prestigious demonic lineages. They control vast wealth and resources in the mortal plane. They seem preoccupied with the acquisition of human souls."

He waited a minute, watching Wesley turn pages.

"Angel, this says-"

" I know, Wes. It says the line of Aurelius is dead. There are no descendants. No claimants to the seat."

He smiled bitterly.

"At the meeting, a woman referred to as Lady Maab produced Harmony for the board's inspection. It seems her sire was one of my descendants. She's of my blood."

"How's that?" Gunn's question came in clipped tones that echoed his mood.

Angel faced him.

"Angelus reemerged in Sunnydale a few years ago, I'm sure you've been told. I made a fair number of Vampires before Buffy ran me through. Some of them might still live, I suppose it's possible. One or more of them link Harmony to me. I don't know her generation because she doesn't know her sire. She was orphaned.

"You say that like it's supposed to make me care, Angel. I don't. Okay, let's say I believe you about Lilah and Lindsay. And By the Way. …Ick. I sort of thought you were, I don't know , STRAIGHT. But then you make a habit of doing your enemies, I guess."

Angel tried to shut Cordelia off, but she was having none of it. She smacked at his hands as he tried to touch her.

" But Harmony WASN"T sired by `you-with-a-soul'. So she's a regular vamp, right? Again, Why not the stakeage?"

He sat back down, dejected.

"That's just it, Delia. She doesn't have a soul. Not that I can prove. But she feels different to me, more like Lilah and Lindsay than say, I don't know- Darla. But I don't know why. That's why I'm still investigating Wolfram and Hart, guys. I think maybe they do."