New All Over

by Wyndhamfan (miliandrah @hotmail.com)

Rating: PG-13

Fandom: Angel

Category: Action/Adventure, Angst

Spoilers: Through Season 3, post-"Tomorrow"

Disclaimer: Angel, Wesley and all the characters of the show do not belong to me. I mean, I wish they did, but reality doesn't work that way, does it? And yeah, I don't have any rights to them. This fiction is not for profit.

Summary: Post season 3. Wesley descends deeper into darkness when he does something unthinkable to himself. Meanwhile, Gunn and Fred tries to keep Angel Investigations going as they search for Angel and Cordelia. Unfortunately their search is interrupted by some new demon thugs in the neighbourhood.

CHAPTER ONE

"So - your former boss has a soul and you're losing yours. Why, you're just new all over, aren't ya?"

Wesley heard her say the words, but it left him feeling oddly hollow. He returned Lilah's twisted smirk with a disinterested stare and watched as she picked up her clothes and sashayed out of his apartment. He turned his gaze to the ceiling and only took his eyes off when he heard the door click shut.

He got up slowly -- like an old man -- from his bed. He walked to the windows, staring at the grimy streets below, not bothering to cover himself.

As he watched an old woman push a shopping trolley across the road, he ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

How low could you go, Wesley?

Apparently, quite low, he mused, thinking about his misguided night of passion with the Wolfram and Hart lawyer. It had been so easy then -- she was there, and he had a need -- to feel again; anything except the black bitterness and despair that had been eating him alive for weeks.

The blackness stayed away for about 10 seconds in Lilah's arms. The sex was good for about that long -- then it became a desperate act of pushing back the darkness with mindless sex. The whole experience left him with a sour taste in his mouth.

His need was simple. He wanted to feel something good once more, something that could resurrect that old Wesley, the Wesley he was before he lost Connor.

Connor.

The thought of what he did brought familiar stabs of pain and regret into his heart. It usually set off a chain reaction of dark thoughts -- of Angel's attempt to suffocate him to death; of Gunn and Fred's abandonment; of Cordelia's casual dismissal of his existence. But he stopped it this time. Why? Because he was tired, damn it. Tired of sitting around and letting the blackness eat him. Tired of fighting the good fight but always failing.

He had tried to be a good Watcher to Buffy and Faith; sure that doing things by the book would ensure that success. He failed.

He tried hunting down rogue demons -- that was a laughable attempt at best. Then came Angel, and for a while his dreams seem to come true. He found acceptance and a life mission. For once, his aimless life had a path to follow. He may have faced bullet wounds, stabbings, torture and mutilation at the hands of demons, vampires, zombies, rogue slayers and near-apocalypses; but as long as he had Gunn, Angel, Fred and Cordelia, life was just peachy.

He should have recognized the signs of his impending doom. There was Darla, then came Sahjhan, then Connor; Holtz, Justine ... then the *bloody* prophecies. For goodness sakes, he should have realized his fate when he worked with the undead and fraternized with demons and semi-demons.

If he had a sane thought in his noggin and was not obsessed with a bleedin' noble cause, he would have hightailed the hell out of LA and headed straight back to merry old England. He would have been an English teacher with an unusual amount of knowledge in demonology in some godforsaken but quaint village in the moors.

Instead, he had to stay in sunny Los Angeles -- despite the bombings, gunshot wounds and numerous near death experiences at the hands of ghouls -- to fight the good fight.

*Who am I kidding? What good fight? Father was right. I am a failure. I will never-*

"Stop it, you bloody idiot!" he said out loud. He was momentarily startled by the strange, grating voice that came from his scarred throat. Funny -- it had been weeks, and he was still not used to the change. It wasn?t so much the injury that caused the change -- but the strange darkness that hid behind it.

Wesley headed for the bathroom and stared at his reflection. He took in the disheveled hair, the unshaven appearance and the deep frown. Wesley Wyndham-Pryce would have been shocked at his appearance. He was a Watcher, and a Watcher always had himself together. He is always ready for anything and everything. He had to train slayers, slay demons and get the right spells ready -- all in an immaculate suit and with nary a hair out of place.

Who was this man staring back at him? He lifted an eyebrow. The sight amused him and he found himself grinning stupidly at himself.

"Oh Wesley, maybe Lilah was right. Only the world's most evil law firm would take you in now. After all, you look a bloody mess - like a man without a soul," he said to his reflection and chuckled. His chuckle turned into sardonic laughter and then into painful sobs.

He turned away when he felt the pain of unshed tears behind his eyes. He could not bear seeing himself breaking down. Don't you dare cry, Wesley, his father used to rail at him. A Watcher cannot be moved by his emotions. Never let your emotions rule over you! They will ruin you!

He was right. He was right ...

He choked back a sob and tried to push the tears back. He sat down on the toilet seat, gripping his head as if he wanted to crush the emotion out of it.

*Oh Lord, I am tired. So tired of fighting, of trying to know what's the best thing to do ... the memories haunt me. They're killing me, drinking me alive. I don't want to be concerned anymore. I'm tired. I'm sick of it all. I've had enough of all this shit-*

After a while, he gathered himself enough to walk into his excuse of a living room. He stared at the scattered debris of food stuff, ancient manuscripts and books on the floor. Then at the door. And then a thought occurred to him:

He had invited Angel in.

He remembered -- was it last year? After he was shot by the zombie cop and was reduced to a man in a wheelchair. Angel had just had his epiphany after sleeping with Darla and had decided to come rescue him from vengeful Skilosh demons.

He recalled Angel's bumbling attempts at reconciliation after the whole "You're fired" episode with an amused smile. Wesley didn't think that he could win Cordelia back with a few articles of designer clothing though. Nor would he be so easily forgiven by the others like Angel.

So, Angel could waltz in here to finish the job he started in the hospital anytime. He hadn't though -- second thoughts perhaps? Or just plain 'don't-care-Wesley-doesn't-exist-anymore' attitude?

Worse, Gunn and Fred knew where he lived too. His face soured at the memory of Gunn visiting him; only to remind him that he didn't want to have anything to do with him anymore and, oh, by the way -- do you happen to know a way to get rid of this slug demon?

He was sick of them. He was sick of himself. It was time to change. Move on and forget the whole Angel Investigation episode of his life.

Move on.

Ah ... like Angel, he just had an epiphany.

And frankly, he couldn't believe how stupid he had been to not think of this sooner.

CHAPTER TWO

"You're movin' house?" Mrs. DeLores exclaimed. Her white, curly hair bounced a little in her astonishment. Then she lowered her voice, "Was it because of the mugging?" her eyes shifted to his neck.

He fingered his scar absently for a while and shrugged.

"I need a change. To leave some people behind so that they don't bother me anymore."

"Those damn street thugs," Mrs. DeLores sniffed, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief that magically appeared out of nowhere. "You are such a sweet, young man. When I heard about what happened to you, it nearly made my heart stop. I hate to see anything else happen to you. But I also hate to see such a good tenant leave," she sighed dramatically.

Wesley just stared at her. He spoke to the woman only three times since he moved here three years ago. First, to find out if the apartment was available, second to get the key, and third to vacate the apartment. Their monthly dealings involved rental payment reminder notes and cheques slipped under the door.

Mrs. DeLores was unperturbed at his scrutiny. "Have you found a place?"

He gave her a small smile. "Not yet, but I did hear about a potential neighborhood."

SIX DAYS AGO

"Avarice is the worst place to live in the whole of California."

Wesley turned to see who spoke. He was only half interested in the conversation. He would've ignored it completely if not for the tantalizing sight of Bob, the greasy cook behind the counter, flipping meat patties.

The speaker was a disgruntled looking man in work overalls. As he sat at his table in the diner, he gave the waitress -- Myrtle, was it? -- a sour look.

"If I work there another day, I'm gonna go nuts."

"What's with the place, Joe?" Myrtle asked, only half interested. She patted her peroxide blonde hairdo absently as she readied her notebook for his order. "And do you want your usual or do you want my coffee surprise?"

"Yeah, my usual, and your coffee is a surprise only because Bob allowed you to serve it to us for so long."

This made some of the diners at Bob's Side Café laugh.

Myrtle hit Joe with her notebook. "Get on with the story," she complained. By then, Joe had some of the diners interested - they shifted in their seats to look at him.

"Well, you wouldn't believe the crime rate for one. People go missing there like you won't believe. Muggings, lootings - Yeah, you would expect it for a place called Avarice -- who think up these stupid names anyway? Anyway, so I'm working at my construction site, right? And Bob told me that another guy went missing again."

"Hey, you did tell us that someone went missing last week, right?" A man spoke up from a corner.

Joe turned to look at the man. "Yeah, it was Herman."

"Herman?" Myrtle piped up. "Alice's Herman?"

"Yeah. Poor guy. They found him like four days ago -- apparently he had some bite marks on his neck. Police say it's some kind of animal. Near tore his throat out. Not a drop of blood left in him -- or anywhere around him for that matter. Weird, for a wound like that."

"Oh man, no shit?" said another guy.

"You're kidding, right?" Myrtle said.

"Nope. And now, Harry's missing. I don't want to be next, you know?"

The crowd murmured in agreement.

Wesley returned to his very bad coffee and thought to himself: Vampires. Avarice had a bad vampire problem, if he was not mistaken. It was not an area Angel Investigations liked to frequent -- despite their line of work. They were investigators getting assignments from the Powers That Be, not Vampire Slayers. Los Angeles had other pockets of demon activity that they were more concerned about.

"Frankly, I have no idea why they're building something there," Joe was saying. "Nobody wants to live there. But it's the cheapest place to live in LA -- if you don't mind getting your throat ripped out."

THE PRESENT

"Avarice?" the petite red-headed woman stared at him, stunned, before quickly replacing her shock with a smile that was too bright to be true. "You've come to the right place. We have several houses that you might be interested in," she said, leading him to her desk.

Wesley sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair and looked around the office. The real estate office was mostly empty except for Mona -- the petite woman serving him -- and a near-catatonic receptionist near the door. The walls were filled with pictures of outdated architecture harking back to the 50s, and the furniture were the type you cobbled together from those DIY sections in hypermarts.

Norston Realtors was run down, like many of the offices at the fringes of Avarice. It would seem that nobody wanted to live *near* Avarice either.

"No, I don't want a house. I want something bigger. Much bigger," he said, giving Mona a small smile.

Mona could not hide her shock this time. "There are no mansions in Avarice," she said pointedly.

*She probably thinks that this British guy is an eccentric recluse along the lines of Howard Hughes. If life could be that simple.* Wesley mused.

"No, not mansions. Warehouses."

"Warehouses?" she echoed stupidly.

"You know, buildings where they keep things?"

"Oh!" Mona laughed nervously and then giggled. "Warehouses. Right. Plenty of them in Avarice. Of course that's why you're interested in Avarice. It's not as if you're going to-" Mona visibly gulped as she realized that she might have said too much.

Wesley knew what she was getting at, but he wanted to needle her just a bit. He had not had this much fun since ... well, ever. "Going to what?"

"Nothing," she gave him a big smile and disappeared under the desk, presumably to look for files.

Wesley tried to see what she was doing. "Going to what?" he repeated.

Mona came up from below her desk with a file. Then she sighed dramatically. "Live there," she said, exasperated.

"Well," Wesley drawled. "That *was* my idea."

"Oh ... er ... live there? In a converted warehouse?"

"I need space. Lots of it. For weapons practice."

Mona stared, then burst out laughing. "Of course. Hah! Weapons practice," she chortled as she flipped through her file. She turned the file over to his side.

"Here's one you might be interested in -- a former warehouse that stored plastic goods."

Wesley studied the black and white building and then the note 'Vacant since 1998' at the side. It had clean lines and enough space to store a 600 pound Garmak demon and its entire spawn.

"It's too sterile. It reminds me of lawyers. I hate lawyers."

"Okay..." Mona drawled and flashed him an odd look before she flipped a few pages further to show him another. And another.

And another.

"Does every warehouse remind you of lawyers?" Mona asked 20 warehouses later, annoyed.

"It's the modern architecture and glass windows. As cold and attractive as a certain she-lawyer I know. May I have a look?" he reached out for the file. Mona let him have it reluctantly.

He flipped through a few more until he finally caught something he truly liked. He felt his lips tugging into a big smile. He didn't know why anyone bothered to put Grecian columns to flank the entrance of a warehouse, but he liked it -- along with the row of Georgian windows that lined the second storey of the building. The walls were a very faded yellow that could formerly be white. Overgrown grass flanked the property.

He read the notes at the side of the faded black and white photograph: Built, circa 1920. Vacant since 1985. Shifted hands numerous times; the frequency increasing as the 80s approached. It was sometime after the vampire infestation began, he supposed.

Mona saw him staring at the photo, but she did not look overjoyed.

"Sir ... Mr. Pryce?"

"Wyndham-Pryce," he corrected her, his eyes still on the photograph.

"Mr. Wyndham-Pryce, I cannot recommend you Baylor House."

"Baylor House? It sounds rather elegant. When can we visit it?"

"I don't think you'd like living in that neighbourhood," Mona was saying.

"And the price? Can I have the quotation?"

"Mr. Wyndham-"

"Call me Wesley. My surname can be quite a mouthful," he said, still staring at Baylor House.

"Why don't we look at another potential place?" Mona reached over and tried to tug the file from his hands. He gave her a glare and she sat back with a nervous smile and continued, "I have a great looking warehouse -- with no glass windows or hint of modern architecture in sight -- somewhere outside Avarice..." she trailed off when she noticed the thin line around his neck. Her lips pulled back in a grimace when she realized that it was a recently healed scar of a knife wound.

Wesley closed the file with a loud snap. It made Mona jump.

"I like this one."

Mona swallowed.

After a beat, Wesley said, "I'm truly puzzled here. I'm giving you a sale, after all."

"Sir ... alright. I don?t like selling places to people when the places are not..."

He lifted an eyebrow.

Mona sighed deeply. "It's haunted."

He perked up. "Oh really? With what?"

Mona truly looked confused now. "Excuse me?"

"Is it a ghost? Vampires? Garnak demons? Maybe the occasional Juju spirit?"

Mona blinked.

He squinted at her. "Or maybe you're possessed?"

Mona came to her senses. "O-Kay. Here's a weird British customer!" She pointed at him accusingly. "You're probably a serial killer aren't you?"

Before he could answer, Mona flung her hands upward.

"Why couldn't I get a job in LA like any other decent real estate graduate? Maybe I should have accepted Jonah's offer to open a firm in Sunnydale like he suggested," she trailed off, distracted.

"I wouldn't advise that. The Hellmouth is there. And the property in Sunnydale never appreciates."

Mona stared at him long and hard before saying, "Mr. Wyndham-Pryce, if I was anyone else, I would've sold you that property in a snap. It has been sitting in our files for years. But I don't like selling people houses where they can be killed in. People have died in that house. There's even talk about vampires living there -- as if they exist! Not only is it haunted, Baylor House is in the worst section of the worst neighbourhood in LA. Do you know what that means?"

"That you're an honest woman, and I like that," he said sincerely.

Mona blushed at his unexpected praise. "Sir-"

"Wesley; and as a reward for your honesty, I would like to relieve you of that piece of property as soon as possible. Please."

Mona looked as if she still couldn't believe it. "Sure. Eat your heart out, but I did warn you. Why in the world do you want a haunted house in a bad neighborhood anyway?"

Wesley gave her a ghost of a smile. "To see who dies first -- the vampires or me."

CHAPTER THREE

After his little speech about vampires and dying, Mona wasn't very enthusiastic about accompanying him to Baylor House. She gave him the keys, showed him the door and asked him to call if he wanted the place. Then she bolted the office door and shut the windows. At 2pm in the afternoon.

He was now at Furton Street, and Baylor House stood before him, tall and imposing. Compared to the other warehouses that Mona showed him, Baylor was comparatively small. The other buildings around Baylor House were very much abandoned - exposed windows appeared as baleful eyes glaring at his intrusion.

After some research, he discovered that Mona was correct -- a few bodies had appeared around Baylor house since the early 80s. The total body count so far: 20. And Wesley noted the condition of the bodies discovered: drained of blood, strange bite marks on the neck.

Police officers that have ventured into the house to investigate often reported strange noises and movements in the basement. None had dared to venture into the cavernous depths of Baylor House's basement. In 1984, two policemen disappeared, never to be seen again. It had gotten so bad that people began to leave Furton street in droves. By 1991, Furton Street was a ghost street.

Charging into the house unprepared was probably a very bad idea.

Frankly, Wesley was surprised that Baylor House was not abandoned by the owner. It looked like the owner was willing to settle with anything, as long as he got something out of the dump. That something amounted to $4,240. An amazingly ridiculous price that would make sane people look twice. Wesley, however, was nowhere near sane right now.

After all, he planned to wipe the vampire nest in Baylor House all by himself. He was not a Slayer, just an ex-Watcher who happens to know a few ways to kill a vampire. But he also knew an avenue that could turn him into something close to a Slayer.

His name was Gavin Rice, and he was, by profession, a warlock. Unlike many of his line, he didn't go for the white or black magic label. He liked to call himself a practicer of neutral magics; though with a little monetary persuasion he could go a little dark once in a while.

The door creaked open. Gavin lifted a blonde eyebrow and watched as his visitor walked in. His other eyebrow shot up when he realized who it was. He shifted a little on his velvet settee and placed his glass of bourbon on the side table beside him.

"My, my, my ... I never thought I'd have the likes of you in my abode twice in my lifetime -- all 500 years of it," he said, his upper-crust English accent smooth as honey.

His visitor looked around the plushy surroundings absently before gesturing towards the swords hanging on the wall on the far right.

"The swords of Amondias. Quite a catch. Did you bribe it off a customer?"

"Nothing so crass, my dear Mr. Watcher. Oh, I must apologize. It's Mr. Big Boss of Angel Investigations now, isn't it??

Wesley gave him a sharp glare.

"Oh, has that changed too?" Gavin asked innocently. "News travels a little slow around these magically shifting parts. So?" he picked up his wineglass once more, "-who are you now? Frankly, it's tiring to keep track of you do-gooder types-"

"Shut up Rice. You know what I want," Wesley hissed.

"Do I?" he took a big gulp of the drink and settled it down. He got up and walked towards the ex-Watcher who flinched when he came too close.

"Granted I have significant powers in mind reading, and my mind reading talents tell me this. I sense much darkness in you, Wesley," Gavin said gravely, his brow heavy with a frown. Then he smiled brightly. "That was my Yoda impression. Good eh?"

"I'm not here to banter with you, Rice. I want..." Wesley swallowed and turned away abruptly.

"That's a good boy, Wesley. Turn away while you still can."

Wesley quickly turned back. "I'm not going to."

"Why not? Because what you're proposing is quite insane, by the way. I may be a beigish sort of warlock, but this will destroy you for certain."

"Since when were you concerned about my welfare?"

"You're right. Why am I concerned? Oh wait, how about I don't want you to come back and bite me in my arse when this is all over?"

"I won't."

"Hah!" Gavin clapped his hands and laughed out loud. "So says the man who proposes to dabble in magics he has no understanding of." His tone became serious. "I was not lying when I said that you have a lot of darkness in you. I've not seen such anger, hatred and bitterness in a man for a long while -- maybe in Hitler, and see how *he* turned out? I can see it in my mind now," he closed his eyes. "-a big, swirling ... fire. Green fire at that. Never a good sign, green fire. The most uncontrollable of the lot, you know."

"Are you going to open me or not Gavin?" Wesley snapped, impatient.

Gavin's eyes flew open and the warlock stared at him, speechless for a moment at Wesley's tone.

"Well," he finally said after a while. "Let it be stated in the contract that I did warn you. It's not going to be a pleasant experience, by the way."

"I know," Wesley said softly. His hands turned cold at the thought of what he would endure.

Gavin broke into a strange smile and shook his head, his long, blonde hair tossing around him eerily. Magic crackled around him as he did so -- this man was soaked in magic, Wesley thought.

"Not as much as you think, Wesley. This-" he snapped his fingers and a flash of light erupted; "-is just static. Now, before I 'open' you up, there is a matter of monies?"

"I have it."

"Angel Investigations paying you that well, Wesley?"

Wesley removed something from his long coat, and Gavin was honestly taken aback by what he produced. He touched the long blade reverently. "The blade of Karnak. How?"

"Questions later." Wesley placed the knife back into the confines of his long coat. Gavin watched the knife longingly, then gave a small laugh.

"Dear boy ... you have changed, haven't you? When I first saw you, you were a reed of a Watcher, you and that Rupert fellow. You were trembling in your boots when both of you came to me for some 'information'," Gavin mused, tilting his head aside. "I wonder what has brought you to such desperation? If it is that undead creature and those pathetic mortals you 'hang' with, I have some news for you. They are not worth this trouble. If it is revenge you want, I can cook you up a decent cocktail of unpleasant illnesses or even call my good friend D'Hoffryn for a few of his vengeance gals. This is really madness, Wesley," his voice turned strangely gentle. He placed a hand on Wesley's shoulder. "Turn back now."

Wesley stared at the hand on his shoulder and smiled humorlessly. "Do you want the blade of Karnak or not?"

Gavin removed his hand as if he just touched acid. "Right then. When shall we begin?"

CHAPTER FOUR

Fred didn't think she would visit Wesley again. She had been hurt by his betrayal. His actions had cost Connor his childhood and his bond with Angel. It hurt her. No, it made her furious. They were happy and Wesley ruined it all for them.

But now, with Angel gone for a month and Cordelia too -- perspective returned and she realized that the family she lived with after returning from Pylea had fallen apart. She only had Gunn now.

And maybe Wesley too.

But she found that she could not knock on his door. Closing her eyes, she remembered another occasion like this. He had been tainted by Billy's blood and she wanted to make him feel better after the episode. He had been in despair for nearly hurting her. Her lips thinned and she shook her head. It was hard. So hard to pretend that Wesley never existed during those bleak weeks after he was exiled from Angel Investigations. She had played along, partly because she was hurt and furious herself, and partly because she didn't want to remind Angel of the man responsible for stealing his shred of happiness that was Connor.

"Can I help you?"

The voice startled her and she turned to see an elderly woman with a shock of white curls in a flower print summer dress staring at her in puzzlement.

"Oh ... ah, yes. I ... I'm a friend of Wesley, and I want to see if he was here," she gave the woman a smile.

"Oh. I'm Janice DeLores by the way," she gave Fred her hand.

"Winnifred Burke. Just call me Fred," she returned, shaking her hand.

"Fred? Girls these days. It's all about equality now, isn't it?"

Not sure whether Janice was saying something nice or insulting, Fred said, "Where is Wesley?"

"Ah. I was about to tell you that he's not here anymore, dear. The poor boy, after that mugging he wasn't really the same. Stayed in his apartment all the time, looking like he never got much sleep."

Fred swallowed, unable to quench the guilt she felt. Then she realized what DeLores just said.

"You mean he's-"

"He moved away two days ago. Took most of his things."

"Did he say where he went?"

"No," DeLores shook her head sadly. "He said that he wanted to leave some people behind so that they won't bother him anymore. Can't say I blame him. Street thugs. This neighbourhood is going to the dogs," she hurrumphed.

Fred blinked away unexpected tears. She knew who he wanted to leave behind. Why should she be sad, though? Why?

"Are you alright my dear?" DeLores asked gently.

Fred realized that tears she was trying so hard to hold back were rolling down her cheeks. Embarrassed, she quickly wiped them away.

"I'm sorry. I just didn't expect him to...leave. Somehow I thought he'd always be here."

"Oh dear," DeLores placed a gentle hand on Fred's shoulder. "Is he your ex-boyfriend?"

"Uh ... no, no ... just a friend."

"Well, if you do care for him so much, I'm sure you will find him eventually."

Fred gave her a weak smile. "Thanks. Can I ... uh, go into his apartment?"

"Why, are you interested in it?"

"Yeah," she said, hoping she sounded convincing -- it wasn't really a lie, after all. She *was* interested in what she could find in the apartment -- some clues to where he went, for one.

DeLores let her in the apartment, and left her there, saying that she would be back in a few minutes.

When Fred saw the apartment, she was taken aback by its emptiness. For a moment, she could picture him at his desk next to the window, studying one of his moldy books. She could almost see him now, looking up and smiling at her. His blue eyes laughing with his smile, he would gesture her over...

Fred walked in, closing the door behind her.

The furniture was still there, and the normally filled to the brim bookshelves were desolately empty. Fred clenched her hands at the sudden grief she felt in her chest.

He was gone. Really gone.

Fred saw something sparkling in a corner near the window. She walked hesitantly towards it and saw that it was glass shards ... and something else.

She bent down and gently brushed the shards away. Photo frames. Two of them. The simple plastic frames were badly cracked, as if someone threw them down with great force or stomped on them. Behind the shattered glass panels of the frames were photographs -- familiar photographs. Photographs of happier times.

One was of Wesley, Angel and Cordelia. Didn't Cordelia have a similar photo? The other was of Gunn, herself and Wesley.

This time, she couldn't stop her tears. She sat down amidst the shards, the torn photographs in her hands, and sobbed.

"I'm sorry Wesley. I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice echoing hollowly in the abandoned apartment.

"I'm sorry Wesley. I should have warned you that it would take hours."

Gavin felt quite sorry for the young man. Enduring such agony for six hours was inhuman, he knew, but Wesley had been insistent. It was foolhardy of him, Gavin thought -- but the man is clearly on the edge of insanity now -- if he wasn't there before.

Wesley was still quivering, his eyes rolled up into his head. Gavin could see the elemental energies whipping inside the man's body, wrecking havoc with his pain centers.

"Uncontrollable," Gavin whispered. "Fire may be the strongest of the elements, but it is also the most uncontrollable."

Wesley chose that moment to cry out in pain. With a last shudder, he forced himself to sit up. After several attempts, his eyes opened and began to focus.

"Feeling better?" Gavin asked lamely.

"It burns," Wesley whispered, his voice guttural with the force of the magic.

"Yes ... that's what you get when you deal with fire," Gavin mused. Then sighing, he helped the man up, ignoring the elemental energy that tried to prick his shields.

"You didn't tell me that you were bound," Gavin accused.

Wesley didn't answer - or couldn't.

"Bindings are notoriously stubborn. If it weren't for the binding, the pain would've lasted only two hours -- tops."

He settled Wesley onto his velvet settee.

"Now, my payment-"

The flash of light startled him, but Gavin recovered quickly enough to catch the Blade of Karnak that materialized before him before it fell.

"Careful!" Gavin hissed. "Do not engage in elemental magic unnecessarily! Goodness, Wyndham-Pryce, you know better than anyone that elemental energies are highly unstable. The more you use them-"

"-the more I become the Element. I know," Wesley wheezed. "And I didn't do that. Or ... at least I didn't think I did. Could I..." he took a deep breath. "Could I do that unconsciously?"

Gavin sighed. "Yes. That's a big warning not to use your newfound 'openness' unless very, very necessary. It's also a bloody revelation. The things you have been hiding from your friends ... the Watcher's Council. You are more deceptive than I thought!"

"Be quiet, Gavin," Wesley whispered, trying to stand up.

Gavin flinched, expecting a spell. But it didn't come -- thank goodness. Wesley had restrained himself. He was more than a match for Wesley, but now that the man was open to elemental energies, Wesley was raw with power and highly unstable. He didn't want to deal with a mad Elemental just yet.

Gavin gave Wesley a year before he spontaneously combusted into Kingdom Come, or whatever dimension he blew himself into. Unless he was a Natural, which was preposterous. Hadn't been one in 600 years. And they're rare breeds, Naturals. So rare that the Watcher's Council would snag those kiddies with the talent and lock them up forever. At least ... he didn't think that Wesley was a natural channeler ... if he was, boy, were they in deep-

"Where is the door?" Wesley slurred.

Distracted, Gavin flicked a hand, and muttered, "Reveal".

The door appeared and Wesley stumbled towards it.

"Oh. A word of caution."

Wesley turned drunkenly towards him.

"Or at least, another word or two. Be careful of the Element, Wesley. It will sing to you and seduce you into using it. Remember, fire can be your servant, but let loose -- she is your enemy. She is traitorous ... as traitorous as you," he gave Wesley a sardonic smile.

He barely had his full shields up when Wesley reacted, hitting him in the jaw. Wesley was so filled with supernatural strength that despite his shield, Gavin flew clear across the room to land heavily on the opposite wall. Thankfully, the shielding worked in time to cushion him from the brunt of it, but the unexpected attack left him winded.

He saw Wesley's blue eyes turn a glowing green. Smoke began to rise from Gavin's expensive Persian carpets, and the air around Wesley began distort.

"Suck it in, Wesley -- or you can say bye-bye to whatever kooky revenge you planned," Gavin barked.

This seem to shake Wesley out of his stupor. Slowly, the glow faded from his eyes and the heat in the room began to dissipate.

He looked shaken and more than a little frightened.

"I did warn you," Gavin snarled, rising to his feet. "You're in over your head here. So another piece of advice -- take anger management classes. You will need it."

Wesley stared at him for a while before walking out. His hair was plastered with sweat, and he was breathing heavily, as if he just ran a marathon.

Gavin watched the man go, suddenly uncomfortable that he may have let his greed go to his head this time and released something really bad into the world.

The Blade of Karnak sparkled prettily for him. He took it and studied its sheen -- yes, it was the real one alright. With this beauty, he could slice open conduits and drink up magic energy like a sponge.

"But you are worth any trouble, aren't you my pretty? What's a mad Elemental anyway? So they tend to kill millions once in a while. Big deal. Now, where shall I hang you?"

CHAPTER FIVE

When he was alive, Gordon would have busted guys who jaywalked. That was the highlight of his career as a cop -- the occasional speeding ticket and jaywalking. Heck, back in the 70s, Avarice was a relatively decent neighbourhood -- unpaid parking tickets were exciting. Then things got worse -- bad hats started moving in; the big projects became slums and then -- the vampires began to rule.

He didn't know that then, of course. He didn't even believe in them. Until that fateful night when his squad was called to investigate a body found in Baylor House.

While there, his squad team egged him to investigate the famous basement, and he remembered being afraid. Then John Maskins said he would, and he decided -- why the hell not?

Well, it certainly paid off. Four vamps came out of the darkness and took them. Gordon was fortunate enough to be turned. John was sucked dry and his body used for a dartboard for the next few weeks.

Life as a vamp certainly had its perks. First, there wasn't any pesky conscience to deal with, so he was pretty much happy to do the things he hadn't been able to do before like killing lots of people and torturing few and there when he was in the mood. And then there were the fringe benefits like super strength and immortality. He had a gang to hang out with and he lived in a posh, albeit a bit run down, warehouse.

So, when you find out that this peaceful existence is going to be disturbed, you're not exactly happy are you?

"I mean, this guy's stupid. Haven't we killed enough people to tell them -- hey, this is our pad, no touch?" said Arnold Thomas, a recently turned vamp.

Gordon watched as the movers began moving boxes into the first floor. The two of them looked nervous, as if they really didn't want to be here.

The smell of the blood running beneath their skins was intoxicating. Gordon sighed in happiness.

"Shall we get 'em?" Arnold asked.

"Why not?" Gordon replied.

"Wait!"

Surprised, the two vampires turned.

"Oh ... hey April."

The leader of their gang, April, walked from the shadows.

"I don't want to scare our visitor, guys. I want to have fun with him -- so let's wait till he moves in, shall we?"

There were many smiles under the basement at Baylor House that day.

He found that he had slept for a long time in his motel room. When Wesley finally got off his bed, feeling a little like his normal self, he found a pile of newspapers at his doorway.

When he checked the dates, he realized that he had slept for three days.

However, he was glad for it. The pain was nearly gone -- and so was the uncontrollable energy that was coursing through his body. He felt almost normal, no hint of magic around him.

He stumbled to the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked ... very terrible. There were dark circles beneath his eyes; his hair was limp and his skin pasty. Wesley bet vampires looked better than he did now.

As he washed up and brushed his teeth, he tried not to think about what he had done.

It was the only way, he reasoned. Fighting vampires alone without backup was foolhardy -- and what backup did he have now? So the only way was to have the strength of a Slayer or something better. He decided to give himself some power.

He looked in the mirror again once he cleaned up. Presentable, but not exactly great either. Old Wesley would still be appalled. Old Wesley would also be shocked at what he just did to himself.

He knew very well that Elemental magic would burn him out one day. It was something every Watcher knew -- of all the magics in the world, Elemental magic was the strongest -- and the most destructive to its wielder. Which is why no sane witch would touch it, even with a ten yard pole. Occasionally, some did attempt it -- and history recorded grisly deaths for all of them. Only very few could wield elemental magic for long and survive. They were called Naturals, or Elementals; wizards like Merlin, Othego, Ayas. But they were extremely rare, and Wesley doubted he even had a smidgen of their ability. He wasn't even very well versed in magic to begin with; he was just a typical 'by the book' magic dabbler that didn't have much power to dip in. That was why he needed power.

He needed power to do what he must do. He needed the strength to make sure that Sahjhan wouldn't succeed. His friends -- sorry, his former partners, have no idea how to deal with the monster. But he did.

So, what's done is done. And now, it was time to act.

He opened the weapons bag he had hastily packed from his apartment and took out a crossbow, a few stakes and then his favourite sword. He looked at the sword, gazing at his distorted reflection on the blade and smiled humorously.

Let the games begin.

CHAPTER SIX

Fred walked into the Hyperion and realized that she didn't really want to be here right now. But where could she go to anyway? She looked around the huge lobby sadly. It used to be the center of activity for AI, and now it was just painfully empty.

"Hey, you're back," she heard Gunn say.

She turned to see him sitting on the table Wesley used to sit when he did his research. Not only that -- he was doing what Wesley used to do; leafing through old, worn books.

She lifted an eyebrow. "What are you doing?" she asked, puzzled.

"What do you think I'm doing? Trying to figure out what's up with those green horny things we fought two days ago."

"Oh, you mean the two green horny things we ran from two days ago?" Fred reminded him, taking a seat beside him. She took a look at the book he was reading and realized that it was in one of the many languages that no one but Wesley could read.

"Hmm ... what do you think that is? Ancient Sumerian or Babylonian?" she wondered out loud.

Gunn sighed and closed the book with a thud. It released a cloud of dust. Fred sneezed.

"You okay, baby?"

"Yeah," she lied. She still felt depressed. Gunn wasn't buying it though -- he saw her drooping shoulders and her teary eyes as big indications that Fred Was Upset.

"Okay. What's wrong?" Gunn said in a tone that meant business. Fred gave him a weak smile and gestured to the book.

"We're lousy at this, you know."

Gunn sighed heavily. They'd had these conversations before, and it never ended well. It always ended with Fred bringing up that man's name.

"Now, don't start with me-" Gunn started to stand up.

"Hey. At least let me finish!" Fred snapped.

Surprised at her sudden burst of temper, Gunn sat down.

"I'm sorry. But I don't want to have anything to do with him anymore and you know that," Gunn said as gently as he could.

"Yes, and I also know that we're useless at reading extinct languages and pinpointing demon species!"

"So, what are you saying? We need to call Wesley? Ask him - hey man, we know you betrayed us and all, but we need you to translate this for us?"

Fred couldn't answer him.

"Because, I used to think that Wesley wasn't the type to kidnap the boss' son and hand him to Holtz-"

"He didn't do that," Fred said.

"Yeah? But why didn't he tell us, huh? Why didn't he say something? He betrayed us, Fred! We can't trust anyone like that!"

"Newsflash, Gunn. Didn't Angel betray you guys once?"

Gunn looked away. "That was different. It wasn't about betrayal. He was just ... protecting us, that's all."

"Well, so was Wesley. He was trying to protect Connor," Fred found herself trying to convince herself as well.

"Are you defending him?" Gunn asked in disbelief.

There was something in his tone that made Fred uncomfortable. It took her a moment to realize that he was jealous. Why in the world for?

"Wesley's gone," she said, deciding to get to the point.

"What?" Gunn looked shocked, though he tried his best to hide it.

"His apartment is empty. He's gone."

"You visited him?" Now he really sounded jealous.

Fred lifted her head, determined to ignore his jealousy. "Maybe he went back to England," she continued bravely.

Gunn snorted and left his chair. He put his hands on his hips and looked out the exit, imagining Wesley packing up his stuff and flying back to England. Strangely, it left him feeling pained.

"Yeah? Well, he did something right for once," he muttered hollowly.

The sudden bang behind him startled him and he turned back to see the table overturned, the books on the floor. He looked at Fred in shock -- she was livid and tears were trailing down her cheeks.

"I'm sick of this, Charles! I don't know what I feel about Wesley. I don't know why I'm defending him. I don't even know if I can forgive him for what he did! All I know is that the family I was so happy with for the past year is gone! Lorne and Groo left, Angel is missing, Connor and Cordy too and now Wesley!"

She covered her face with her hands and begin to cry.

Pained, Gunn went to her and hugged her, at a loss of what to say. She buried her face into his jacket.

"What's happening to us, Gunn? What can we do without them?" she moaned, her voice muffled.

"I don't know. But you have me, Fred. You have me."

She tightened her grip around him.

Noon. The sun was harsh and stark on the deserted lanes of Furton street, but it never seem to penetrate the cold dampness of Baylor House.

The main doors to Baylor House groaned loudly as it opened and Wesley found himself in a large space -- perhaps around 3,000 sq feet or so. Windows lined the sides of the warehouse, making the hall look longer than it seemed. Most of the windows had been boarded up. Streams of sunlight came from somewhere above. When Wesley looked up, he noticed a skylight. That too was covered -- but not very well. A tarp was hastily hammered around it. It looked as if it was going to come off any second.

He noticed a spiral staircase at the far left side, leading to the second storey - which wasn't really a floor at all but a walkway around the warehouse.

*More than enough space for my bed,* Wesley mused. *Bookshelves there-* his gaze shifted to the bay windows beside the spiral staircase. And then at the long hall before him:

"And a great place to practice archery," he said out loud. His voice bounced eerily around the empty warehouse.

Only, he knew very well that Baylor House was not empty. Great efforts had been made to make the place habitable to sun shy creatures of the night during the day, so they are in here alright.

*Probably watching and stalking me, thinking I'm a good meal.*

They were right of course. Only an idiot would venture into a vampire's lair alone.

He was more than an idiot. He was an insane idiot.

"Come out, come out wherever you are," he sang. He walked to the first window and yanked out the boards covering it. It was surprisingly easy to do. He looked on with amazement at the wooden plank in his hand.

*New strength. New all over.* He smiled. He threw the board aside.

The second window. He ran his gloved fist through the boards. It splintered apart like cheese sticks. He felt a surge of exhilaration tinged with fear of what he had become, and realized, perversely, that he liked it. It made him feel good. And he hadn't felt this good in a long time.

Third window -- he ripped out the boards and threw it against the wall. They broke into pieces.

Sunlight streamed into the darkened hall. He turned to see the still empty hall.

*They're taking their time. I hate procrastinators. They're so tardy.*

With that, he ran his fist into the fourth boarded window.

"What's he doing?" Arnold cried out, alarmed.

"Ripping the place apart!" Gordon said, sharing Arnold's alarm. He wasn't used to prey that ripped things apart. He wasn't used to prey that had super strength either. The man took out the tightly nailed boards from the windows like they were made of papier mâché.

A thought occurred to him. "Say ... er, April. What if he's a Slayer?"

April appeared beside him, peeking at the activity going on behind the wall. Her face was vamped out, and she was ready for action. Unlike many of them, April wasn't recently turned. She was at least a hundred years old, but you wouldn't know that by looking at her. When she had her human face on, she was what Arnold called 'Baby Spice with fangs'. She had long blonde hair, baby blue eyes and a rosebud mouth. When she smiled at her victims, they thought she was there to comfort them.

"Don't be stupid," she said in her lilting voice. "Slayers are women. Unless our visitor had a sex change operation. Which, if it's the case..." she smiled to herself. "...is a very good one."

"Are you saying he's cute? At a time like this?" Arnold snorted.

"I'm saying that he?s something else. Prepare the rest. We're going to meet our friend soon."

"Outside?" Gordon said, alarmed at the thought of being singed by the sun.

"No, we wait for him here, like we always do. Strength in numbers and in darkness, my dear," she laughed and bounded away into the depths of the basement.

After removing the final board from the last window, Wesley had had enough. If the noise didn't alert the vampires to his presence and had them charging out, it meant that they were waiting for him elsewhere. And that elsewhere is the basement.

"How inconvenient," he muttered, stepping reluctantly to the entrance of the basement. It was tucked beneath the stairs, and he gazed at the narrow door with a sigh. With a quick motion, he kicked the door open.

The door broke from its hinges and fell to the floor.

Narrow stairs ran to the impenetrable darkness below.

He hated this. The basement is probably full of vermin (besides the vampiric kind) and cockroaches. He fumbled for his torchlight and shone it into the darkness. Nothing, just more stairs.

"Who built this place anyway?" he muttered as he descended the stairs.

The stairs creaked eerily as he walked down. Eventually, his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he could make out the faint online of objects in the basement. Like the hall above, the basement was huge. It could house a LOT of vampires.

When his feet finally landed on solid ground at the bottom of the stairs, he heard a chuckle beside him.

He whirled, and the light shone on a vampire -- a man who probably died in his early twenties -- and probably in the 80s, judging from the Duran Duran tee shirt he wore.

"I see you have great taste in music," he mocked.

The vampire snarled and leapt at him.

Adrenaline kicked in then. Wesley reached for the stake in his coat pocket and drove it into the vamp's chest as he was almost on top of him. The vamp exploded into a shower of dust.

At that, he heard more noises -- hisses and snarls behind him. He whirled around again, and his torchlight shone on the most angelic looking woman he had seen. She was dressed in a white, gauzy dress and her blonde hair was tied in two braids. She smiled at him sweetly.

"You don't happen to be fans of Duran Duran too, are you? Because I'm sorry if I insulted your taste," he said with a grin.

The woman smiled. She had been a teenager when she was killed, Wesley realized. What was she like before she was turned? He wondered.

"So you're the new tenant of Baylor House. It is good to have someone from England again. These Yanks have no taste, as you might have seen," said the girl. Judging from the accent, she was probably Irish.

"Well, I wouldn't hold out against them. They are a young nation," he answered absently. As she spoke, more figures shifted around her. They grew to an alarming number and Wesley realized that he was not dealing with a handful of vampires here but a possible army.

"And I see you have company. Lots of it," he mused.

"Well, it can get quite lonely down here. A lady needs company. And food," the innocent face disappeared as the vampire revealed her true face.

"You know," he said as he backed up the stairs. "I don't think there's enough of me to go around. Perhaps you should get used to the fact that I'm here to destroy you," he said, curiously unmoved by his impending death.

"Get him!" she snarled.

The shadowy figures behind her turned into a tide, and Wesley saw yellow eyes and fangs as they descended on him.

He unslung his crossbow and muttered, "Well, this is fun."

CHAPTER SEVEN

"Oh no. Not you again."

"Come on Earl, I can't look that bad!" Gunn said throwing his hands wide for a hug.

"Forget it. And keep your icky paws off me. You guys caused me enough trouble already. Don't think I don't know what happened to your last informant! I'm not going to end up in li'l chopped pieces like he did! And how in the 27th level of hell did you find me anyway? I thought I left you guys behind for good."

"Well, I have sources. Like you have," Gunn stressed.

The green skinned demon rolled his eyes. "Well, you scared them all off. You happy? And hey-" Earl noticed Fred in a corner. "-you brought your girl with you? Is she an offering?"

Gunn's expression darkened.

Earl raised his hands in protest. "Can't you guys laugh when you hear a joke? Sheesh!"

"I need information on a pair of demons."

"Eh?"

Gunn sighed. "I need to know what they are," and went on to explain how the demons looked like.

"Wow. You're desperate, aren't you? Don't you guys have people that do this? That British guy?"

Fred looked away, biting her lower lip.

"Oh wait ... I remember. A friend of mine told me you guys had some kinda falling out. He okay?"

"Shut up and tell me." Gunn snapped.

"Hey! Mind your manners. You know, that's the problem with you and Angel. No manners. Not like that English guy -- he knew how to appreciate good help like me. Hey, once he even-"

"Earl," Gunn warned.

"Okay! Getting on with it. For free. Again. Just to let ya know, it's because I like you guys."

Gunn shifted impatiently on his feet.

"Gurnak demons."

Gunn waited for more, but Earl was silent. "And?" he prompted.

"That'll be $100."

Gunn moved threateningly towards Earl, but before he could do anything, Fred moved to intercept a possible confrontation.

"Please," Fred put on her best winning smile. "It's Anne, you know, at the shelter house? These demons are stalking her."

Earl looked puzzled. "So? Am I supposed to be touched here? Hey, I'm a demon. I don't care about gooey stuff."

Fred put a restraining hand on Gunn. Then reluctantly she reached into her purse and gave him a fifty.

"That's all I have," she looked at him morosely.

Earl took the note quickly and said, "Don't look at me like that. A guy needs his dough."

"Sure you do," Gunn said bitterly.

"Alright. Gurnak demons. If they're stalking her, it means that they want her for a sacrifice. Means that a female Gurnak is giving birth soon and Junior has to be fed."

"So they chose females as sacrifices? Really, this is discrimination!" Fred protested.

"Especially blondes. Real blondes. And you can't get more blondes in California," Earl said with a big smile.

"So we have demons with a blonde fetish," Gunn said dryly.

"Well, yeah -- it's a preference thing. You guys better move fast though -- usually these sacrifices take place during a full moon, and there's one comin' up in two weeks."

"Only the full moon?"

"Yeah. Only then. If the sacrifice is made after, Junior can get a li'l testy and eat mommy."

"Great. Maybe we can keep Annie safe until it happens. How can we shake them off?" Gunn turned expectantly to Earl.

"Hey. Do I look like I know how to kill every single demon out there? It's not my style to hand out ways to kill my own kind. Ask your British guy," Earl snorted. With that, he made a quick beeline out of the alley into the night.

He took out three vampires with his crossbow easily enough, and for a while the horde stood back uncertainly. He used the time to make his way further up the stairs.

"I didn't take the lot of you to be cowards," he commented dryly.

At that, the pack of vamps snarled once more and surged forward.

Wesley tossed his crossbow aside and took out another stake. He dusted the first foolish vampire up the stairs, and then another.

"His feet! Get his feet!" he heard someone shout.

Too late -- someone snagged his feet and pulled him down the stairs. His head slammed on the stairs, and for a while Wesley saw only stars. Then his vision cleared, and he realized that he was on his back.

"Hello pretty," said the angelic vampire. Her cronies leered around her.

"Can we eat him now, April?" asked the vampire beside him.

The female vampire, April, shrugged. "Sure. But leave the neck for me. It's smooth and nice ... and warm," she crooned, stroking his neck. He jerked away, but she only clamped his hand around his neck.

"What's this? You've been bitten before! By a knife, unfortunately," she murmured, tracing his scar. "I'll be more gentle, my pet," she whispered, bending forward.

He heard a snarl, then a sharp pain on his thigh. Wesley bit back a cry and fought to get to his feet, but the vampires held him in a viselike grip.

"What were you thinking anyway?" asked April, so close they could almost kiss. "Comin' all alone likes, my lamb" Don't you have any friends?"

Wesley felt another sharp pain -- this time on his right wrist. He was starting to feel light-headed.

The vampiress reached out with a pale hand to brush a lock of his hair aside. "Maybe I shall turn you and we can be playmates forever ... my beautiful, warm, English dove," she crooned in her sweet, sing song voice.

"No thank you," he whispered, wincing against the pain. "I don't date females who call me names." He gathered his will and hissed: "Dego!"

April shrieked when she was flung away by the spell. She barreled into the vampires standing behind her, and they dropped together in a heap.

Distracted by the spell, the feeding vamps released their hold on him.

Wesley took the chance to move, and he did, bursting out of the mass of vampires surrounding him to float seven feet off the floor.

"Oh man! He's a warlock!"

Wesley did not hear that. He could only hear the voice of the Fire Element as she whispered suggestions on what he could do; he could only feel the savage strength coursing through his veins and filling his being with magical energy. And he felt fury. Fury!

His eyes snapped open. They were glowing a furious green.

"Now. Who bit me?"

Two vampires tried to discreetly creep away.

"Estrudo!" he snarled, flinging a ball of energy towards them. The ball barreled into them and crushed them through a wall of the basement. The vampires stared at the hole in shock, then back at Wesley. Some started to back away, hissing apprehensively.

He landed gently in the circle they created, his eyes on the female vampire.

"I'm here to cleanse this place of your filth. After all, it's now my house. But first. We need light."

He motioned towards the ceiling of the basement and clenched his fist. There was a rumble and then the floorboards above began to crack. With a loud groan it gave way, showering splinters of wood and plaster on all of them.

The vampires shrieked in terror and covered their faces, sure that the blazing noon sun would fry them. Then-

Nothing.

Wesley looked up in astonishment. At the same time, he heard the rumble of thunder. It was raining, and from what he could see from the hole he made in the ceiling, very dark.

"Drat," he muttered.

"Get him!" April shrieked. "Don't let him speak!"

CHAPTER EIGHT

"I thought you said the hotel was infested with demon slugs once."

"Oh, that was a long time ago," Gunn reassured her.

Anne looked around the lobby uncertainly, still clutching her overnight bag.

"I don't know. I don't feel safe leaving the shelter-"

"Your helpers will take care of the place," Fred said, placing her hand reassuringly on Anne's shoulder. "Plus, we thought you could take some time off from work and hang with us! We have cable! Well...at least sometimes, when we hit the TV right." She gave Anne an overly bright smile.

Annie smiled weakly at Fred's attempt to comfort her and stepped into the lobby, looking around. Paper littered the main reception where Cordy used to rule. The table where Gunn did his best imitation of research was still overturned; the books still on the floor. A light was failing; flickering on and off in its death throes.

"Wow. You guys did some changes to the place. I mean, it looks kinda ... empty." Anne frowned and looked at Gunn uncertainly. "Where's everyone?"

Fred shrugged. "Away."

"Away? Where's Angel? Or Wesley-"

"He doesn't work here anymore," Gunn said quickly.

Before Anne could say anything, Fred took her hand and ushered her to the stairs. "Here, let me show you your room."

As they went up the stairs, Fred gave Gunn a sad glance. He only looked away.

Wesley jumped.

Or rather, he flew and found himself above the basement, peering down at the vampires through the hole he made. He heard snarls to his right and saw that some of them have run up the stairs already.

Curiously, he felt no fear. This should scare him, or at least freak him out in a bad way. After all, he was outnumbered 1 to 50 by the undead. Once, he would have screamed like a girl.

He whirled and kicked a vamp in the head. Its head flew away and the rest of the body disintegrated into dust.

It should have pleased him, but it didn't. It only filled him with rage, the only emotion he seemed to feel with any clarity these days.

"What did they do to me?!" he snarled at the nearest vampire. The vamp screeched to a halt and stared at him puzzlement.

Fed up, Wes threw a stake at its chest, straight into its heart. It yelled in surprise and disintegrated.

"I was loyal! I fought by their side! I did everything for them!" he punched another in the face and staked him too.

"Hell, I even took a bullet for that sodding ingrate!" he grabbed one and hurled him easily against a pack of vamps standing to his right. They went down like toy soliders.

"I thought they were my friends! I thought they would listen to my side of the story!" he screamed. He hurled himself at a vamp. The vamp yelled in surprise, but the cry died halfway when he landed on a broken piece of wood from one of the boards that once covered the windows.

Wesley screamed in rage when a vampire took a bite of his leg. He grabbed the vampire by the cuff of his neck and with a quick twist, broke his neck. Furious, he tossed the vampire violently through the bay windows by the stairs.

The vampire screamed in agony as it burst into flames.

"I'm not a traitor! I'm not Judas!!" his voice was at an unnatural shriek now. The vampires looked around in shock when the building began to vibrate.

He fought mindlessly, grabbing vamp after vamp, staking one after another. They became a blur of fangs and dust; some tried to bite him and some succeeded, but none lasted long. It was a whirl in his mind, and he remembered yelling, "Burn!" and seeing flames shoot up from some of them, but it didn't matter whether it was real or not because all he wanted was to drive the darkness away.

But it didn't go back. It consumed him.

"I'm not evil! I'm not going to Wolfram and Hart! I'm not evil!"

He was hitting someone -- a vampire -- of course, just hitting and hitting and hitting till his hands became bloody. The vampire's face was bloody too, and it was still, but it was still alive, not dusted. It lay there looking at him from half shut eyes. The blue eyes were filled with terror. A vampire was looking at him in terror. Imagine that.

"I'm not evil..." he whispered, staring at the face that he had mutilated. Its blonde hair was bloody too. How long had he been at it?

Slowly, he raised his bloody hands and stared.

"I'm not," he said pathetically.

He realized that the vampire was making funny noises. He looked down.

"Please ... please don't hurt me anymore," it croaked through swollen lips.

That voice ... it was...

"Fred?" he whispered.

Fred's bloody face looked up at him. Terror in her eyes. Just like that time when Billy...

"Please," she slurred, blood dribbling from her lips.

How did she get in here? Was she trying to help him slay the vampires? He must've grabbed her and- No, she can't be dying!

He gripped her shoulders and shook her. "Don't die. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I didn't see you. I don't kill my friends," he whispered, his voice shaking, his eyes blurring with tears.

"You're ... you're crazy!" Fred croaked.

Wesley stared at her in pain and suddenly, she wasn't Fred anymore but April, the vampiress with the angelic face. Only, it was no longer so angelic. It was more of a bloody pulp.

"It's you," he said dumbly.

"Let me go," April begged. "I swear I won't bother you again," she begged.

He stared at her in horror, drawing back fitfully. April looked monstrous, and her once pristine white dress was now splattered with blood. He did this. He made a monster beg.

"No you won't," he agreed. "Because I'm setting you free." April's eyes widened as the stake came down.

Perversely, as the leader of the gang of vampires that terrorized Avarice turned into dust, the sun returned and bathed Baylor House in its light.

Wesley finally got a good look at the carnage that he had made. Piles of dust littered the floor, windows were cracked, walls were ripped of plaster...

*I did this*, he mused, looking down at his bloody hands.

He could still feel the Element coursing through him, and the rush of its strength deadened the pain he felt from the numerous cuts and bruises he had obtained.

"Suck it in, dear boy. It makes you mad, doesn't it? Mad with power. Fire is like that. Strong but uncontrollable. Don't let it take you away, dear boy..." Gavin taunted.

Absently, he looked around, although he knew that the warlock was not here.

"I did this to myself," he murmured, staring at his hands again. "Wow. Am I moving on," he grinned. And then he laughed crazily.

CHAPTER NINE

"Hey! You're supposed to be asleep," Gunn said at Anne's doorway.

Anne sighed and tossed the John Grisham book she had been trying to read on the side table. "It's not easy to sleep when you know that there are demons stalking you and hoping to make you into a sacrifice."

"Okay. I dig," he sighed and sat beside her on the bed.

"Gunn. What the hell happened?" Anne asked softly.

Gunn knew what she meant, but he just shrugged. "I guess the demons thought you'd make a nice blonde sacrifice."

"Shut up, Gunn. You know what I mean."

Gunn looked away and stared at his hands. After a beat, he said, "Hell, I don't know. Things just got ... wild, you know. Wesley ... he kidnapped Connor-"

"Angel's kid?" Anne asked in disbelief.

"Yeah. And ended up with his throat slit-"

"What?!" Anne cried out in horror.

"-and Connor ended up in a hell dimension with this vampire hunter and then Connor came back-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Rewind! Slow down!"

Gunn just stared at her.

"Wesley ... is he dead then?"

Gunn frowned. "Nah. He survived."

"Is he still in the hospital?"

His frown deepened. ?No. He bailed out some time ago."

"And you're not with him?"

Gunn sighed. "What's up with you females? He betrayed us!"

"I'm just checking to see if he's okay...I mean, he seemed like such a nice guy. I don't think he had a reason to kidnap-"

"Look Annie. It's nice to see you again and all, but I'm rather tired and I don't like to talk about Wes. Okay?"

He walked to the door, and as he was about to close it, he felt guilty at snapping at Anne like that.

"I'm sorry Annie," he said, turning around.

Anne nodded. "I don't know the whole picture," she agreed.

"Yeah."

"But I know this. He took a bullet for you. A guy like that don't just do things without a good reason. He cares for you Gunn."

Gunn shook his head. "Yeah. Yeah, I know. It doesn't change a thing though."

And he closed the door.

After the violence it had witnessed when the sun was high in the sky, it seemed ironic that peace finally settled into Baylor House at midnight; a time where the creatures of the night reigned supreme on the streets of Avarice.

And for the first time in many years, light glowed in Baylor House. It looked very lonely on a street full of dead buildings.

"It's never easy - the pull of divided loyalties - Whatever choice we do end up making we feel as though we've betrayed someone," said a voice in the dimly lighted hall of the House.

Life is full of ironies, and that remark was one of them. He remembered saying that to Gunn after his former gang went on a demon hunting rampage and nearly got them all killed.

Wesley chuckled and swallowed. He closed his eyes and sighed as the liquor burned down his throat. He lay on the sofa he managed to salvage from one of the many abandoned buildings around the area and sighed.

With contentment? Tiredness? Despair?

He lifted his glass and stared at the light it reflected from the oil lamp next to him.

*I feel dead.*

Well, partly from all that sweeping he had to do. Nothing like some domestic work to put you in your place and give you some extra aches and pains. Then there was the scrounging around for furniture bit that managed to unsettle four vampires in the neighbouring building. It got him so fed up that he simply threw them all out of the fourth floor of the building, watching with a satisfied gleam in his eyes when they burst into flames on the way down.

*A man needs his rest, you know? Can't go around getting disturbed by the undead ALL the time*

He looked up at the now exposed skylight. It showed nothing but inky blackness.

He heard his voice from the past; full of self-righteousness and indignation:

"If you ever withhold information or attempt to subvert me again, I will fire you. I can't have any one member of the team compromising the safety of the group, no matter who it is. If you do it again you will be dismissed, bag and baggage, out of a job onto the streets."

Wesley found that incredibly funny now. He placed a hand on his mouth and began to giggle; and the giggles turned into full blown laughter. His hysterical laughter echoed in the empty warehouse and spilled into the empty street outside. It also startled a few vampires in the building opposite who had been keeping watch on Baylor House. They slunk back into the darkness, not sure whether they want the new owner of Baylor House to know of their existence.

"Oh Wesley, you bloody wanker! You're full of ironies! You're so funny! You're a bleeding entertainment troupe by yourself!" he said loudly, collapsing backwards on the sofa. Mirth bubbled again from the bitterness inside. It threatened to make him giggle like a schoolboy again, and Wesley didn't think his giggles were particularly attractive.

That set him off again. He threw the glass he had in his hands on the floor. It broke apart in a shower of sparkling shards.

He tossed himself one side to stare at the remains of the wineglass. The pieces seem to sparkle with an orange light.

"Look at you ... you're like little pieces of fire..." he murmured, suddenly intoxicated by the sight.

Fire ... fire ... it was seductive, the strength it had promised him.

*We can do all things together,* the Element had whispered. *I will destroy all that desire to destroy you. I will give you the justice you seek. I will show you everything that you need to know.*

Wesley gasped, bolting upright.

What was he doing?

He ran a hand through his unruly hair and walked hurriedly to the dilapidated bathroom at the back of the hall. Through the flickering light, he stared at his reflection on the cracked mirror, willing some sanity back into himself.

He looked frightening. There was something in his eyes that make him quiver with fear inside. He looked feral and wild, as if something had been let loose inside that he could not control.

Don't let it control you. The Element thinks that it could play you. Don't even let it think that way. Aren't you tired of people playing you?

"I'm not going mad," he told his reflection. "Not yet. I have too much to do. Get a grip of yourself," he snarled. Quickly, he washed his face and not letting himself pause to think, he marched into the hall towards a stack of boxes and sank to his knees. He went to work immediately, ripping apart the boxes in his desperation to get to their contents.

His removed his mouldy tomes from the ripped apart box and strided to lone table in the hall and dragged a chair from next to the sofa to it. Quickly, he opened the volumes before him, not caring whether it had nothing to do with his research.

He sat and looked at the mass of books before him, breathing hard. His hands were shaking badly. Swallowing convulsively, he reached for the notebook where he had scrawled the prophecies relating to Angel and Connor.

CHAPTER TEN

Fred felt the bed sink beside her and turned automatically to snuggle closer.

"How is Anne?" she murmured, her voice heavy with sleep.

"She's fine," Gunn said, but his voice was grim.

Fred blinked sleepily and peered at him. "What's wrong?"

Gunn sighed and snuggled closer to her. "You're right."

"I am?"

"About life being a mess right now."

"Oh that. I thought you meant the equations I was trying to crack this morning."

Gunn laughed. "You can always make me laugh. You're amazing, you know that?"

"Hmm," Fred snuggled closer and gave him a peck on his cheek. "I know because you tell me that every time I smother honey on my pancake."

"How are we gonna kill the demons?" Gunn wondered out loud.

"Slice and dice?" Fred suggested.

"It usually works with most demons ... but it didn't work on these, remember?"

"Oh, yeah ... you cut off his head-"

"And he said 'it tickles'."

Fred was pensive. "Do you think if we cut them into little pieces they would say "Ow...?"

"Maybe you were right about Wesley too."

Fred stiffened and then studied his eyes.

"We need him," Gunn said.

When Fred didn't answer him, he said, "In an emotions unattached kind of way."

"Charles..." Fred said after a moment, "...if I did something like Wesley did, would you close me out and hate me too?" she asked in a small voice.

Gunn was shocked. "No! You'd never do something like that!"

"How do you know that?"

"What?" Gunn frowned.

"I mean, we didn't know Wesley would do the things he did, did we? So how do you know if I won't betray you one day?"

"Because..."

"Because I'm your girlfriend? Please, Charles. Do you know me that well?"

"Fred ... don't talk like that."

Fred sniffed, turned away and snuggled deeper into the blanket. "Sorry. I...don't know what got into me. I just ... I guess I just miss him. A little. Very little. Like maybe 10% little."

Fred shifted, and soon after, her breathing evened out and grew slower. She was sound asleep.

Gunn had more trouble sleeping. He lay his head on the pillow and stared at the ceiling.

He wanted Wesley out of his life. Permanently. But his ghost was around, bothering him and Fred.

"Can't sleep?"

The loud, pounding music of the discotheque did nothing to drown out the smug, smooth tones of Lilah Morgan's voice.

He didn't bother to entertain her with an answer. Instead, he stared at the mass of revelers below, nursing his tenth shot of liquor.

"Mine if I join you?" she purred seductively.

He got up and moved away.

"You know," said Lilah who caught up with him, "I was trying to start a conversation here," she said coyly.

Wesley stopped and leaned against the banister. He lifted his shot and downed it.

"I'm trying to end it," he grated.

"My, you're in a bad mood today," Lilah teased.

He glared at her.

She ran a hand up his arm, bringing back unpleasant memories of their sweaty tryst. "I thought, after the little nasties we whispered to each other the other night, we would have some kind of connection..." her hand caressed his neck, tracing his scar. "...but here you go, leaving me without a forwarding address."

He gripped her roving hand in a tight grasp.

Against her will, Lilah gasped, her face pale. She stared at his hand with a mix of puzzlement and fear, but quickly tried to look nonchalant.

"Been working out?"

Instead of answering her, Wesley gripped her waist and flung her to a nearby wall. He placed his hands on her shoulders and pinned her to the wall.

"Watch those dirty looks," Lilah whispered, staring into his stormy blue eyes. "You're getting me going again," she said.

She would never admit this to him, but she couldn't stay away. She knew he was the key to Angel, but there was something else there that she could not identify. Something that was drawing her to him. Lust? Who would have thought that the English pain in the ass would be so good in bed?

Her eyes widened when his hand traveled down her body to-

She closed her eyes and bit her lip in pleasure.

"Do you want entertainment, Lilah?" Wesley whispered harshly. "Because I'm up for some cheap entertainment," he mocked.

Lilah stiffened and willed herself to smile. "In your new place? So we can break in your new bed?"

"I just cleaned the place. Don't want to bring filth in so soon," he responded smoothly.

Lilah flinched. He could talk nasty alright. Sometimes his words pricked more than she wanted them to.

He didn't let her say anything more. He crushed her against the wall and moved in for the kill.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

So smooth. Her neck lay exposed to his touch, and he traced the contours of her vulnerable neck slowly with a finger, surprised that she did not even stir.

Just a little pressure; and it would all be over.

He found his hands around her neck...

Her eyes shot open in surprise.

"What are you doing?" she cried out, reaching for his hands.

He tightened his grip.

Lilah gasped in shock. Then she began to writhe in his grasp, gasping for breath. Her eyes pleaded for him to stop, but he couldn't -- he could only see her eyes stare at his in terror; the capillaries in them bursting, spilling red into the whites of her eyes-

Wesley awoke with a strangled gasp. He looked around fearfully at the strange surroundings, and then at the figure sprawled beside him on the bed.

For a frightening moment, he thought he had done it; he had strangled Lilah Morgan to death.

But he saw her chest rise and fall slowly, and sighed in relief.

How ironic. I am glad she is alive.

He threw the bedcovers aside and reached for his jeans, which he had thrown on the dressing table. Then he put on his rumpled shirt and began buttoning it, all the while watching Lilah as she slept.

Last night was better than their first together. It was pure mindlessness, and he had not allowed himself to think this time. He did not feel the sinking feeling he had felt before.

Could he be so ill? To enjoy having sex with a twisted lawyer that had made life hell for AI for so long?

He tucked his shirt in slowly, recalling their frantic attempts to get at each other's clothes and how he had literally ripped the clothes off her.

Like a beast. Like an animal.

But he had felt something. Feeling something was good.

Wesley reached for his car keys and headed for the exit.

When the door slammed shut, Lilah allowed her eyes to open.

Last night was ... harsh.

She lifted herself on her elbows, watching him head towards his car through the partially obscured window. When he finally drove away, she allowed herself to groan from the aches and pains of yesterday.

"Wesley, you're just different now, aren't you?" she rasped, massaging her aching arm. She looked at her bruised shoulder, remembering how paranormally strong his grip had been.

"You did something didn't you? Increased strength does not happen overnight," she murmured to herself. She wondered what it was -- or why he did it. Perhaps the man was just loosing it; madmen do have above average strength when driven to it.

But she wasn't going to just sit here and do nothing and be surprised in the end. Bending over the side of the bed, she rummaged through her fallen handbag and found her cell phone.

It was late evening. Had he been with Lilah that long? The thought sickened him. He wrapped the long coat tighter around him, wishing he could get the feel of her hands off him.

*Don't be a prissy, Wesley. You were the one that initiated it. Like the last time.*

What had he become? That he could casually use a woman -- even if she was a heartless bitch -- for his pleasure and discard her like a sack of trash? It wasn't in him.

Oh really? He heard a voice mock him. Strangely, it was Ryan -- the boy who nearly drove a cross through his neck two years ago.

Remember Billy? He just brought what was in there to the surface. You're just like father anyway -- no matter how many times he locked you under the stairs, you still never learn-

"Shut up!" he growled.

A wino looked up from his corner in the alley, wine bottle in mid air. He stared at Wesley as if he was about to do something bad to him.

He looked away and continued to walk. He had left his car at Bob?s diner because he had too much restless energy and needed to work it off with a long walk.

*Scratch. Scratch.*

Something was behind him. It added extra footsteps in the empty alley.

*Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.*

A scuffle of a foot. Then-

"Hey. You look all lonesome here tonight."

The figure was hidden by the shadows, but he didn't have to do much guessing to figure out what he was facing. For goodness sakes, couldn't a man have a walk without being bothered by creatures of the night?

"I'm not up for a meal right now. Especially if I'm the main course," he said in a low voice.

"Ooh, and you have a fancy accent too."

"It's British, you ignorant Yank!" he snapped, his patience at an all time low.

"You heard that Roy? He dissed me!" the figure said, amused.

He felt someone behind him. Before he could react, he felt strong hands grip his shoulders and turn him around.

He faced one of the ugliest vampires he had ever seen. The ridge brows were especially pronounced in this one, and his yellow eyes were mere slits as they glared at him. The vampire had a row of sharp teeth that looked unnaturally large for his small mouth and-

"-your breath stinks!" he declared, scrunching up his nose.

"Mavin. This guy dissed me too," Roy was as amazed as Mavin was. "I thought prey was supposed to yell, kick and scream."

Wesley glared at Roy. "You don't want to do this now. I'm in a very bad mood, and I really don't think I'll be especially kind to your kind tonight." A pause. "Not that I ever was."

"And he just gave me a speech!" Roy laughed, just as Wesley gave Roy a powerful right hook to his chin.

Roy yelped and hit a nearby wall hard, sliding slowly to the street with a befuddled expression on his face.

"It is rude to talk about a man when he is standing right before you," he growled.

Roy got up as Mavin stepped closer towards him. Wesley noted that he didn't look much better than Roy.

"That was some right hook," Roy muttered. Then frowned, increasing his general ugliness. "Hey. I'm not even supposed to feel that right hook." He gave Wesley a puzzled look. "But you're a guy..."

Wesley realized what he meant. "Oh, a Slayer? I wish I was one. At least my life would have been laid out before me -- kill vampires and demons and then die. But males aren't really afforded that choice, are we?"

"He talks too much," Mavin muttered. "Get him!"

Roy pounced on him before Wesley could react. The vampire slammed him against the wall and bared his fangs to take a bite out of his neck, but Wesley grabbed Roy's neck and pushed the vampire away from him. The vamp stumbled backwards and nearly collided with Mavin.

"You're really strong," Roy murmured when he regained his footing. He hunched low and hissed at him.

Wesley spotted a crate nearby and kicked it hard, sending it splintering into pieces against the wall. The two vamps flinched visibly at the sound then turned to glare at him.

Mavin wasted no time. He lunged forward, fangs ready --

Wesley picked a splinter of wood and kneeled; tripping a surprised Mavin.

The vampire went down.

"What the-"

That was the last thing Mavin said before Wesley plunged the improvised stake into his chest.

Mavin did not have the time to properly disintegrate when Roy attacked. He grabbed Wesley by the shoulders and threw him across the alley. Wesley fell to the dirty alley street heavily. Before he could get to his feet, Roy kicked him hard at the ribs.

Wesley gasped and doubled over in pain.

"You killed Roy! Sure, he smells -- but he's funny and an all-around evil guy. I'm pissed!" Roy snarled, and hauled Wesley up to his feet.

"This is for Roy. You stinkin' human!"

The punch sent Wesley flying. He crashed against a wall, but caught himself before he slid down the wall. Head ringing, he squinted at the figure before him, breathing heavily.

"You're not so tough are you? Huh. Poor Mavin. Taken by a puny-" his tirade broke off when Wesley reached out to clamp his hand around the vampire's throat. His strength surprised the vampire, who could only try vainly to pry Wesley's fingers off his throat.

Wesley stood up, slowly lifting Roy by the throat until he was inches off the floor.

"Wait ... ack! I ... ack ... okay, maybe ... (gasp) ... not puny ... maybe-"

"Shut up," Wesley growled.

Roy's eyes widened when he saw Wesley's eyes begin to glow. In his relatively short career as a blood sucking fiend (10 years of glorious havoc), he had never been afraid of a human. Humans were like cows; ready to be milked by the next vampire. But he was afraid now. Because this human wasn't really human.

"Okay ... sorry ... didn't know you were ... demon, so let's-"

Wesley tightened his grip. Roy's eyes bulged out from the pressure.

"I'm human," he hissed. "If I was a demon, I wouldn't have to live with the shit I have to live with now. And which part of shut up do you not understand?"

Roy was beginning to feel alarmed now. Smoke was hissing around them from some unseen heat source; and Roy had a pretty good idea where it was coming from. He struggled wildly in the man's grasp, but the man was paranormally strong -- maybe stronger than a Slayer. He couldn't get free! Then he saw a change in the man's eyes. They had stopped glowing, but there was a look of steely determination in them that didn't give Roy a good feeling. Roy knew he was in trouble now.

"Wait!" he protested.

Wesley didn't wait. He quickly brought his other hand to the vampire's throat and twisted sharply. The force of the motion decapitated the vampire.

"Oh Roy ... I knew him well," Wesley murmured, staring at the head in his hands. It burst into a shower of dust.

"But now he's no more..." he whispered, letting the dust fall from between his fingers.

He allowed himself to feel some satisfaction at the job well done. Killing vampires seem amazingly easy now; especially after having dispatched fifty of them yesterday.

"I feel better already," he murmured to himself. Wesley brushed the dust from his hands and wrapped his long coat more snugly around him. As he walked away from the two piles of dust in the alley, he whistled a little tune.

When the alley was finally dark and quiet, a figure emerged from behind the large trash bin at the corner. The form studied the departing figure intently before quietly following Wesley.

Night settled at the Hyperion. Midnight arrived, and the people from the nearby cafes began to dwindle in number. When the clock struck one, the Hyperion was alone -- without a living soul on the streets. Only a lone window at the Hyperion was lighted, but it was shut off soon after.

On the streets below, not a soul stirred.

But a demon did.

Disembodied yellow eyes were riveted to a window on the fourth floor of the former hotel. More yellow eyes appeared, and they watched the same window.

They watched 'til daylight.

Two Days Later
Baylor House

"Tell me why I shouldn't kill you right now."

Arnold Swanson gulped, and turned around slowly to face the man he had come to see. His bodyguards -- he should have them fired, the good the lot did protecting him -- stood around him, pointing their guns at Mr. Wesley Wyndham-Pryce.

Logically, none of them should be threatened by Wyndham-Pryce's presence. He was of slighter build than his three bodyguards. They had guns. He had no weapon he could see of. Dressed in faded jeans and a rumpled shirt, the man looked about as dangerous as an annoyed librarian-

Swanson changed his mind when Wyndham-Pryce shifted his glare from his bodyguards to him. All he did was narrow his icy-blue eyes, but Swanson could almost feel the room growing a few degrees colder from the glare.

Wyndham-Pryce might look unassuming, but a man who took a mere day to kill a lair of vampires -- sixty, if his hired wizard was correct -- should not be underestimated.

"I am sorry we dropped in unannounced, Mr. Wyndham-Pryce, but I was curious about you."

Silence.

Swanson cleared his throat and rocked on his heels -- just to demonstrate that he was not nervous, despite the sweat that beaded on his brow and the nervous tick of his eyebrow.

"You cleaned the place up well," he said, gesturing in the general direction of the hall.

Again, silence.

"I used to own Baylor House. When I found out that someone bought it, I thought it was a joke. So imagine my surprise when I heard that the vampires that controlled this building were wiped out in a day."

A mere lift of an eyebrow.

Swanson played with his tie before continuing. "Okay, I'll cut to the chase. I want to hire you, Mr. Wyndham Pryce. You're obviously good at what you do. You see, my grandfather made some bad investments in property in Avarice. They got infested with vampires, as you know, and I really want to reclaim my family heritage."

A stare.

"And I'll pay you ... er, $5,000 for your efforts."

"Out," the word was spoken in a low hiss.

"Mr Wyndham-Pryce ... please reconsider-"

"I bought this dump for that amount, whoever you are. If you want to hire me, try better." The man gestured towards the door and said, "Out."

"$10,000," Swanson choked out.

"Not interested," Wyndham-Pryce grabbed his arm to lead him out. The bodyguards made an attempt to separate them, but Wyndham-Pryce only glared to send them backing away.

When they almost neared the door, Swanson struggled out of his grasp. "Okay!" he whispered harshly. "I'll pay you whatever it takes!"

This made Wesley pause. "You are desperate, aren't you?"

At this, Swanson reddened. "My family has been trying to get back the houses for almost a century. We almost bought it back ten years ago, then the vampires got it. It's very important to us," his voice ended on a pleading note.

Wesley's natural curiosity began to kick in at what Swanson said. Important? How important? Perhaps there's buried treasure, a dimensional portal -- maybe even an ancient relic in the building? But best not show his curiosity to the man. It would scare the man off -- and the idea of cash wasn't unappealing at all.

"So, er name your price," Swanson said bravely.

Wesley did.

Swanson reddened and composed himself. "Okay. Done -- the houses are nearby actually-"

"I want half the amount today. Cash. No cheques."

"W-What?" Swanson blubbered.

"What makes you think I believe you are who you claim you are? You could be someone masquerading as Mr. Arnold Swanson, with nary a penny to give me after I've done your dirty work," he said, remembering how Angel was once tricked this way.

Swanson gave him a nervous smile then laughed shortly. "Oh, you're crafty. Sure, sure," he snapped his fingers at one of the bodyguards. It was then that Wesley realized he carried a briefcase.

"We came prepared. But er ... we don't have the amount you requested. But it should be enough. $15,000."

He lifted an eyebrow at that. "And your starting offer was $5000?"

"I'm a businessman, Mr Wyndham-Pryce. We always try to look for bargains," he snickered -- then paled when he realized what he just said.

Wesley laughed sardonically and slung his arm around Swanson's round shoulders. "I like you, Swanson. There's a healthy sleaziness in you that you don't bother to hide. You're a breath of fresh air," he declared, slapping the man on the shoulder. Still holding Swanson, he gestured to the bodyguard holding the briefcase.

"Open it."

He did, and there was indeed money in it. He let go of Swanson and studied the money - none of it fake; the man was too desperate. And that usually meant a good mystery.

He tossed the money back into the case. "Alright, Swanson. I accept your offer. Now, tell me your story."

CHAPTER TWELVE

The Hyperion
Two Weeks Later : Noon

Anne could not help being curious about 'the room noone wants to go into unless very necessary': a.k.a. Wesley's ex-office. Anne noticed how Fred and Gunn studiously avoided looking at the office each time they passed it.

Like the rest of the Hyperion, it was in disarray. Books were left opened on the table, and judging from the layer of dust on them -- they had not been touched for weeks.

Looking around to make sure that neither Fred or Gunn was around, Anne snuck in. She wasn't usually this much of a busy body. But two days sitting around doing nothing was driving her crazy. Worse, two days sitting around doing nothing with Gunn and Fred avoiding the issue of 'what happened this year' was driving her over the edge. Her curiosity just demanded to be satisfied, even if it meant doing underhanded things like sneaking around and going where she shouldn't.

It was a very traditional looking study. Row upon row of leather bound books lined the bookshelves -- and from the look of some of them, they were probably older than her. She spotted a potted plant near the table, but it looked half dead.

Anne frowned. She still remembered the guy. He was a nice guy -- even if he was a little on the bookish side. She still remembered how horrified she was at seeing him wounded during the Night of the Living Dead Cops. Since then, he had come to the shelter off an on to drop off some stuff, but his visits petered off this year. She had not seen him for the past ten months, actually.

Her eye caught a photo frame lying face down on one of the old books. She picked it up and saw that it was a photograph of Wesley, Angel, Gunn, Fred and Cordelia. They looked as if they were goofing around when they took this picture -- all of them had a sparkle of mischief in their eyes. She frowned -- they looked so happy together. What happened to tear Angel Investigations apart? What did Wesley do to have him ostracized like this? And why I am hunted by demons? Isn't life crazy enough?

"Looking around?"

Anne gasped and dropped the frame. She winced when it landed on the hard, uncarpeted floor with a loud thwack. She gave Fred a guilty look.

Fred picked the frame up and frowned at the picture. Thankfully, the frame was plastic -- it didn't look damaged.

Fred brushed the frame, as if getting rid of the dust on it. She gave Anne a sad smile.

"We took this just before Darla came back to us with news of Angel's baby. Wesley wanted to try out the new digital camera he bought and Gunn kept making faces till we all cracked up," Fred laughed at the memory. "We were so ... relaxed that day."

"You mean happy?" Anne crossed her arms.

Fred looked puzzled. "Huh?"

"Why don't you say it? You were happy together. Why are you and Gunn pretending that you don't care for Wesley?"

"Because we don't!" Fred found herself saying. She flushed at her curt remark, and walked quickly to Wes's table to return the frame to its former position -- face down, on the book.

"He took away Connor. Because of that, Connor grew up in a hell dimension. He took Angel's happiness away from him. He hurt all of us," Fred said. But tears were in her eyes. She blinked them furiously away.

"Yes, Gunn told me about it," Anne said tiredly.

"You don't know how it's like -- to trust someone only to have them do this to you."

"No I don't. But ... have you guys asked him why he did it?"

"It was all because of a prophecy. It was false. It was all for nothing," Fred winced at the sound of the words. They were the exact words she said to Wesley. She had told him never to come back again.

"So he didn't do it for a bad reason," Anne summarized.

Fred pursed her lips. "Angel thinks he gave Connor to Holtz. Gunn has no idea what to think. I think he was misled. But it doesn't make it all better, Anne," she said defensively.

Anne gave a big sigh. "Yes, yes, that's what Gunn told me too. Frankly all this 'don't tell Anne what happened' business is making me crazy. I have a healthy curiosity too, you know."

At least Fred looked guilty at what she said. "Gunn and I thought you wouldn't be able to digest what we would tell you."

Anne crossed her arms. "I don't know. A few years ago I didn't know vampires exist. Now I'm living in a hotel owned by one. You tell me."

Fred smiled. It would be good to have someone to confide in. Someone who didn't have the emotional baggage caused by Wesley's actions to deal with.

"Maybe we can get lunch while we're at it?" she suggested.

"Yo G, haven't seen you in awhile. What's up bro?"

Gunn walked up to a young black man lounging on the stairs leading to an apartment complex. He sat beside him.

"Hey J-Bob. I need your help," he said after a moment's pause.

The man paused while lighting his cigarette. "You? Mr. Detective wants my help?"

Gunn sighed with annoyance. "When are y'all gonna stop beating me up over this Angel Investigations thing?"

"Like never," said a voice behind them.

A young Hispanic woman stood there with hands on her hips, giving him an amused look. "Yeah, we know you doin' good with Angel Investigations. S'okay. But we like to see you riled up," she gave J-Bob a high-five and settled beside Gunn, chuckling.

"Hey Lisle. You okay?"

"Doin' good," said Lisle with a smile. "So what's the help that you need?" she asked.

"I need some men. With demon fightin' experience."

J-Bob and Lisle exchanged an amused look.

"Hmm. I guess we're it," J-Bob said with a snort.

"Just the two of you?" Gunn said with more than a tinge of shock.

"Well, there's this thing with Gio-" J-Bob began.

"Being dead and all," Lisle volunteered. Gunn pursed his lips and nodded.

"Then Rondell's gone to Alaska with this chick-"

"They're getting married," Lisle added.

"Huh? Alaska? Marriage?" Gunn wondered out loud.

"Then Janet got signed on by Virgin Records-" J-Bob smiled big.

"No kidding?" Gunn was amazed.

"She sang 'What's up, vamp face'," Lisle said.

"Oh yeah ... heard that one. Thought it had a mighty familiar story-" Gunn reminisced.

"Billy Bob went off to college-" J-Bob ticked two fingers off his left hand.

"Doing Health sciences. Scholarship. Mom's really proud," said Lisle.

"Then Tony and Mary Sue are in Hawaii for a holiday. They won tickets," J-Bob finally said.

Gunn could only stare at them, floored, but then smiled big. "Well, looks like y'all havin' a good time while I'm..." he trailed off, thinking about the hellish few months they've had.

"...slaying demons?" J-Bob helped add.

"Well. Yeah," Gunn sighed. "But uh, we're kinda tapped now. On manpower, that is. So we need some hands at the hotel-"

He explained Anne's situation, and Angel, Cordelia, Connor being missing. He studiously avoided mentioning Wesley. Not that it stopped his friends.

"What about that British guy?" Lisle asked.

"He's out," he said shortly.

Lisle and J-Bob exchanged another look.

"You guys fought," Lisle concluded. "Pity, I like him. He's cute and he has that fancy accent."

Gunn gave Lisle a look.

"I know," J-Bob said, catching Gunn's look. "I tell her that true-blue Americans are the way to go too, but the chick never listens."

Lisle elbowed him.

"So, you still want us, or are we not it?" J-Bob asked.

"You guys helpin' would be great. It's just that we're fightin' demons that don't get hurt if we chop 'em up."

"Oh, that kind," Lisle chuckled nervously.

"Damn. How did Anne get in this mess?" J-Bob asked.

"She's blonde. The demons have a fetish."

"Man, suddenly I'm glad for my Mayan roots," Lisle smiled, running her hand through her dark locks.

"Somehow, we managed to ditch them for the past two weeks. But I have this bad feeling that they're just buying time, that they know where we live and don't want to go chasin' us around till the right time. Want Annie where they can get her. As it is I'm scared of leavin' Fred and Annie alone at the hotel. But Earl said they don't come out in sunlight. Every night we wait for them to attack. Barely slept in weeks," Gunn sighed in frustration, running a hand over his head.

Lisle and J-Bob each gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

"Tell ya what. Maybe we know someone who could really help you," J-Bob said suddenly.

Gunn's interest was piqued.

Lisle seem to realize what J-Bob was getting at. "Oh, *him*! Gosh, he's hot."

J-Bob rolled his eyes at Lisle and returned his gaze to Gunn. "There's this guy -- he's new in town. And word has it that the vamps are afraid of him."

"He hunts them like you won't believe. We were staking out this group of vamps and we heard them talking. Seems that he wiped out an entire nest all by himself in one day. And this is not your average nest. This was like a nest of army proportions," Lisle said excitedly.

"Lisle had a close encounter with Mr. Mysterious," J-Bob added sheepishly.

"Yeah," Lisle's eyes began to take on a dreamy cast. "I was attacked by two vamps and he swooped out of the darkness and took them out. Bam! Bam!" she mimicked staking vamps. "And they're dust. They didn't even have time to look surprised. Then there's this amazing thing. Another one jumped out from an alley and he just grabbed him by the throat, lifted him up like a teddy bear and tossed him waaaay across the street. The vamp got the message and ran for his undead life."

"The guy has freaky strength," J-Bob agreed.

"What he look like?" Gunn asked.

"He was in the shadows, so I didn't have a good look at him. But he looked cute."

"And you could see that?" J-Bob said sarcastically.

"He feels cute, okay, Mr. Oh-so-jealous? Well, he was carrying a crossbow too. And he had a neat accent. British."

Gunn became suspicious. Could it be? Nah ... Holtz was too old for this kinda stuff now, wasn't he? And last time he checked, he had normal strength like everyone else. Anyway, didn't hear about him after everyone went missing. He hoped that Holtz didn't have anything to do with Connor, Cordelia and Angel missing. Please, no.

"He said, 'Are you suicidal, young lady? The streets of Avarice are not Disneyland'," Lisle giggled.

"You're disgusting," J-Bob complained.

"So, naturally I got curious about the Vampire Hunter ...because that's what he is. I asked around a little more, and I found out some stuff about him."

"He's like a mercenary. Heard that some big industrialist guy hired him to clean out some warehouses in Avarice. Did a good job, and the guy was paid a lot of money for it," J-Bob said.

"Great, the last thing we need now is a mercenary. We're not just tapped out of people, we're clean out of money."

"I'm sure he'll help you guys once he knows about Anne," Lisle said hopefully. "I didn't pay him to rescue me."

Gunn nodded. "Maybe you're right. Even if you're right -- how do we find him?"

Lisle thought for a while then smiled, "Easy. We go back to Avarice. There's where he rescued me."

"Oh, brilliant plan, Lisle," J-Bob said in a very bad English accent. "Avarice is the vamp nest of LA. Maybe some nutcase like Mr. British Vampire Hunter with Super Strength can patrol the streets at midnight alone, but I'm not gonna be stupid enough to do it," J-Bob said with finality.

They fell silent.

Then Gunn said, "Still, a guy with freaky strength and tons of vampire hunting experience could be a valuable addition to the team."

Lisle and J-Bob exchanged another look.

"Oh great," J-Bob muttered.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

St Luke's Cross was in a more habitable area of Avarice, but the lone apartment complex in the area was barely occupied. It should not even have been considered an apartment complex anymore -- its walls were nearly grey from dirt and its corridors were littered with winos, junkies and trash. Most of its apartments were abandoned. The ones occupied were heavily barricaded from the inside at all times. Its residents just did not have the means to leave.

A figure emerged from the near-ruins of the complex's lobby. He cut a strange figure; not because he wore all black despite the heat, but because he carried a large, black longbow with his right hand.

The man stepped over a junkie and walked up the apartment stairs. When he reached his desired floor, he entered an empty unit and stood at the window, watching the warehouse across the street. He dropped the bow gently by his side and took out something from his leather jacket.

"Wonderful. Ten vampires. Having a party. In a warehouse full of holes. In the middle of the afternoon. Don't they make them smart anymore?" he muttered, his voice heavy with cynicism.

Gloved hands replaced the binoculars in his jacket. They reached for the longbow at his side and for several arrows next to it.

"Who should go first? Should I take out the man with the Britney Spears tee-shirt or should I send the man with his hair standing up to hell first?" he reminisced.

Wesley squinted at his target as he mounted the arrow and stretched the bow string.

"Eeny, meeny, mienie..."

He released the arrow.

The arrow traveled swiftly and pierced the heart of the vampire with spiky hair. He reared back in shock, stared at the arrow, then cried out in horror before exploding in a shower of dust. His other vampire friends scuttled away into the relative darkness of the warehouse and gestured wildly at the hole made by the arrow.

"Sorry old fellow. You remind me of someone who tried to smother me to death once," Wesley said as he prepared another arrow.

"I think you're next, Britney fan," he murmured. "I like the girl, but you insult her by wearing the shirt."

Another arrow.

Another vamp biting the dust.

"What's your agenda, Mr. Swanson?"

Another arrow. This time it was a female vampire.

"I've cleaned out four of your warehouses, and they were such easy kills I'm beginning to suspect something."

He released another arrow.

"Or perhaps I'm paranoid, like that Thesulac demon said those many naïve months ago. Oh wait, it was last year when I actually thought I had a purpose."

Another vampire dead. More dead, sorry.

"Hmm. Perhaps it's a standard assignment. Nothing to worry about. Play demon exterminator. Cash for job well done. But why are my alarm bells ringing? Why do I feel as if there's something more to you, Mr. Swanson? What game are you trying to play?"

Two more dusted. Six gone, four more to go.

"Granted you're paying me an obscene amount of money. More money than I've earned with Angel Investigations. Good lord, how I loathe that word now. Angel. Angelic. Hmm. Why are you hiding behind the beam, dear boy? Don't make me go down there and ruin my jacket."

Two more gone. They didn't know how to hide like that marginally smarter vampire.

"Did your family have such abysmal luck that they ended up buying so much property in Avarice? What game are you playing, Mr. Swanson?" he murmured. He quickly shot the ninth vampire to ashes.

The last vampire was still huddled behind the beam. And not making a move, it looked like.

Wesley hissed in annoyance and slung his bow over his shoulder. He took out a stake from his jacket and ran down the stairs. While he did so, his mind was buzzing with questions and theories. For a supposedly shrewd businessman, Swanson was too eager to part with his money. He did put up a fight, but it was a pathetic attempt at bravado than anything else.

Wesley was being used for some shady purpose. He could feel it.

The afternoon sunlight nearly blinded him, but he ignored the brief darkness of his vision and walked purposely to the front doors of the warehouse. With a quick flick of his wrist, he snapped the chain that held the doors of the warehouse bolted. It came apart, releasing the doors. Wesley kicked it open and stepped through.

Loud music assaulted him. One of those screaming numbers devoid of sense and rhythm. As he looked around the warehouse he saw piles of dust, some already being blown away by the hot, afternoon breeze that filtered through the numerous holes he had made with his arrows.

"Hey, don't stake me man!" a frightened voice begged him.

He took his earlier remark back. This man was not marginally smarter. Maybe microscopically so. Wesley walked towards the sound of the voice, lifting his stake.

"I mean, what did I do to you?"

Wesley did not bother giving him a reply. He frowned, inching towards the beam where he knew the vampire was hiding.

"I mean, we were in the middle of lunch!" the vampire yelled.

Something was not right. Wesley stopped.

"So that was really rude."

Wesley whirled in surprise -- just in time to feel something sharp stab him in the side. He gasped, dropping the stake in shock. He looked at the penknife sticking at his side in fascination, then at the vampire that stood before him. Without thinking he asked -

"How did you-?"

The vampire backhanded him across the face.

Surprised at the attack, Wesley stumbled back and hit the pillar. That sent waves of nausea from the wound. Grunting in pain, he pulled the penknife out. That brought another wave of pain, but he was glad to see that it didn't bleed too much. It was just a flesh wound.

"I was a ventriloquist. I learnt how to throw my voice. Neat, huh? Guess my human phase wasn't such a total loss after all."

The vampire lunged and caught Wesley around the throat. Wesley clutched the penknife in his right hand and brought it to the vampire's chest-

"And I'm going to crush your pathetic throat like-"

The creature's eyes widened suddenly. Then he said, "Cripes" -- and dissolved into a shower of dust.

A figure emerged from the cloud of dust.

"Do they always talk this much?" the figure asked.

Wesley could only stare at his saviour. He was young -- just a teenager. His brown hair was a wild mess of locks; his eyes hard and cold for one so young. No, Wesley was not surprised that his rescuer was young. He had seen him fight before after all.

Wesley threw the penknife aside, clutched his wounded side and continue to stare at the young man in amazement.

It was Connor.

"Umm. Pizza," Anne remarked, admiring the slice pepperoni pizza in her hands. She took a bite and said while munching -- to hell with manners -- "Though, it'd be better if we ate it in an *actual* pizza place."

They were seated in the living room of Fred and Gunn?s converted apartment. It was quite neat really -- in the past month with Angel and Connor missing, Gunn had occupied his time doing, as Fred called it, 'macho man renovation work'. Thankfully, in Gunn's case -- he was actually quite good at home improvement. He had converted a few rooms on the fourth floor into their own abode. Fred had her own study, which looked like a labyrinth of technological equipment Anne was sure she could not name. Gunn had added decorating touches to the apartment too -- mostly posters of baseball players.

"Sorry," Fred was saying. "Gunn said he couldn't risk them finding you."

"I feel like a prisoner," Anne moaned, then took another bite.

"It'll be over soon. The full moon phase will be over in a few days and then you'll be free."

At least for now, Fred thought worriedly. But she flashed Anne a big smile to reassure her.

They were taking a breather from Fred's long narration of the year's events. It felt good to unload everything on Anne, who didn't appear to mind. When she told Anne how Angel nearly suffocated Wesley to death, she nearly cried and admitted to Anne how horrified she had been.

"Because a part of me wanted to do it to Wesley before Angel did it for me, but I didn't really want to do it -- but when I saw Angel nearly kill Wes, I thought -- what the hell happened? What's going on? What have we become? I want things to be the way they were. I want Connor back!" she had babbled.

Anne had just hugged her and said that it was okay to feel that way; they were only human aft