A Union of Souls

Have you ever seen anyone do a version two of their Part 0? Well, now you have!

A Little Bit o' Background (aka Author's Notes) and Disclaimer

A LITTE BIT O' BACKGROUND: This story grows out of a thought that has been plaguing me for a little over a year. It was originally supposed to be a Buffy, the Vampire Slayer/New Series Tomorrow People Crossover, but it never could seem to get its feet off the ground. Then, the Angel series aired. And the Muse spoke and the writing juices got flowing again. And, lo and behold, "A Union of Souls" was finally born. Or rather, reborn as an Angel/New Series Tomorrow People Crossover.

Because I am so hideously terrible at writing one story and simply leaving it at that, and because the Muse has been a tease for this past year, this story will have at least two sequels (not including little fluff and interlude pieces like "Understanding" and "Conversations in a Bar" which I have previously posted). Because of this, I have created a universe all its own for these stories, and it is called "Shadows and Light." (Blah, blah, blah. I'll spare you the details here, but you can find more information on the Shadows and Light universe if you visit my website after November 21, 1999. [Long story, don't ask.] ). With the universe/sequel factor in mind, it should be noted that this story might (okay, will) leave some things opened and unresolved. Not to spoil the story, I won't go into those issues here.

Now, for the question of canon and continuity. I'll start with The Tomorrow People because it's easier. The story takes place two to three years after the events of "The Living Stones." While not important to this story, just as an aside, the reader should know that Kevin has returned to fold and that there are two additional Tomorrow People. (Restrain curiosity; they don't show up in this story. I'll cover that when it becomes necessary.)

As for Angel. Well, the story is true to canon up to Episode five, "Room with a Vu." This also means that it is entirely canonical for all of Season Four of Buffy, the Vampire Slayer. There are a few differences, however, one being the time frame. The episodes of Angel did not occur on the time and dates that they aired. Rather, this story occurs at the beginning of October, and all the episodes up to "Room with a Vu" have previously occurred. My universe, my story, my rules. Along this same line, it should be noted that Cordelia does know that Doyle is a half-demon.

From the point of "Room with a Vu" forward, I'll have fun with the Angel series and basically pick and choose the parts that fit and parts that don' t. I will also warn with spoilers, but considering that this first story doesn't really have any spoilers, I don't have to give any warnings.

If you've never seen Buffy, the Vampire Slayer or Angel, then some of Angel' s thoughts and comments, as well as those of the people around him, might confuse you. Don't worry, all will be explained eventually. Hey, it's a novella, have a little patience with me.

Now the dreaded legalese:

DISCLAIMER: The following characters do not belong to me: Angel, Doyle, Cordelia Chase, Rupert Giles, Whistler, and Buffy Summers and Wesley (who appear in name only) are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and Fox. Likewise, Ami Jackson, Megabyte Damon and Adam Newman belong to Roger Damon Price, Thames/Tetra Television, ITV and Nickelodeon. I am using all the characters here without permission, but I am not making a profit off of this. Kristoph Cordovan, Giselle, Derrick, Phillipe, Celia and Pete are the creations of my own warped and sometimes twisted imagination. I don't think there is a Book of Isiri; I don't know anything about magick and never claimed to. This is fiction and I'm simply having fun and using the imagination that I have been blessed with.

Please send feedback, please, please! You can send it to mbumbarger@neo.rr.com or mbumbarg@pair.com.

Enjoy! Michele Mason Bumbarger Author, Archivist, and Webmistress http://www.jaggededge.pair.com

Prologue

They were sheep. No, they were worse than sheep. They were insects; they were annoying little ants wheedling away time in the glass confines of their ant farms. Tiny little people living their tiny little lives and scurrying to and fro as if their needs and missions were the most important things in the world. They were too blind and too ignorant to even know that more existed in the world than what they saw and felt with their meager five senses. They were at his mercy; his mercy and those like him. The creatures of shadow and night, born of darkness and born to bring the world pain. Someday, when the Old Ones came again, they would be crushed. They would live their puny lives in misery, and that would be a glorious time.

But until then, he could find other ways to use them for his own personal amusement.

"Mr. Cordovan, sir?" The voice, polite and crisp, interrupted his musings.

Kristoph Cordovan, for that was his name in this time and place, did not turn away from his picture window. He recognized the voice, and even if he had not, it would have given him no fear or cause for alarm. His Hollywood Hills fortress was impenetrable; no one entered the wrought iron gates that he did not want to enter. If by some fluke an undesirable did make it past his gates, they had to get past his security force -- a nearly impossible feat, particularly if his select breed of security had not fed recently.

This voice, that of one of the thousands of fragile mortals that inhabited the world, was familiar and even welcome. After all, even some insects were beneficial.

"Yes, Phillippe?" Cordovan did not pull his gaze from the picturesque view. All of Los Angeles sprawled beneath him, a jungle of concrete and glass as far as the eye could discern. Flickering lights danced gold and white against the dark canopy of the night sky. The nighttime was his time. The darkness made him feel powerful, invincible. He could walk in the daylight, but the blood of his father, the demon blood that moved through his veins made him a creature of the night.

"That issue with Elizabeth Rodin has been resolved." Via the reflection in the picture window, Cordovan watched his young lawyer place his briefcase on the coffee table and begin to remove papers. "There is no chance that the police will be able to connect you with her . . . unfortunate accident. I have here your travel itinerary for the night of her . . . accident. You and Giselle were enjoying a romantic weekend away."

Accident. How he loved these humans and their euphemisms. Accident -- what a properly polite way to describe the woman's death. A death that saddened Cordovan, but a death that had been necessary. The woman had been a wonderful aid and assistant; she would have been a wonderful asset to Cerulean Enterprises, but the same brilliant mind and burning curiosity that had placed her by his side also signed her death warrant. Elizabeth asked too many questions, found out too many answers. But rather than bite her lip and turn the other way, she threatened him with exposure. She threatened to go to the police.

No one threatened Kristoph Cordovan and lived.

Elizabeth learned that the hard way. He remembered the shock in her blue eyes as his hands closed around her throat; he remembered her terror as he reached into her chest and wrapped his hand around her still beating heart.

The newspaper described the crime as 'grisly,' but Cordovan disagreed. He always believed that there was beauty in death.

"Thank you, Phillippe." Cordovan raised his glass of cognac to his lips, savoring the smell of the drink before sipping. He drank to the insects scurrying in the streets below. He drank to the dependability and skill of Phillippe's law firm, Wolfram & Hart. And, he drank to Elizabeth. She had died well. Terrified, but with pride.

"It was our pleasure, Mr. Cordovan. We strive to protect the interests, all of the varied and diverse interests, of our varied and diverse clients." Phillippe straightened, and looked directly into the glass window. He and Cordovan had stood in this room often enough and talked with the window open and the lights dimmed for long enough for Phillippe to know that his client was aware of his every action. "Will you be needing anything else, sir?"

"No, that will be all."

Phillippe nodded, and with a bow of his head, gathered his leather briefcase and turned to leave. Cordovan watched as Phillippe suddenly stopped, as though he had collided with something, although nothing was reflected in the window. The lawyer made a wide berth around the nonreflecting obstacle, but somehow managed to keep his aplomb and dignity in tact. It was one of Phillippe's most admirable traits.

Cordovan waited until the lawyer was gone before directing his attention to the company that currently shared this room with him. He could not see the creature, but he didn't need to. Cordovan had sensed him the moment he entered, and he sensed him now, hovering in the background, waiting to be acknowledged.

He took another sip of cognac. In the distance he could hear the soft click-clack of a woman's heels on the polished Spanish tiles beyond his private offices. Ah, the benefits of what his mother had called his 'tainted blood.' "Did you procure the book, Derrick?"

"Yes. It wasn't much of a challenge, sir."

Turning, Cordovan could not supress a bemused grin. It only widened when he saw the vampire's defiant pose. Hazel eyes met his gaze, seemingly glazed with boredom, but Cordovan knew better. Just as Derrick's appearance was deceiving - his striking model looks drew women to him like magnets, trusting him with their lives, which they very soon lost - he knew that the vampire was ever alert and missed nothing. "Does everything have to be a challenge for you? I thought that even you would like - how do they say it on the streets - an easy score - every now and then."

"Easy gets boring and I like excitement." The vampire dumped the contents of his knapsack unceremoniously onto the coffee table, the old worn leather-bound tome spilling out. Cordovan flinched at the disrespect the undead creature gave to the book, but said nothing. Derrick was an asset, although he was at times stubborn and obstinate, and an asset such as Derrick could be indulged occasionally. "When I get bored, I start to find my own entertainment and you don't seem to like that very much."

"That's because I need you here, not running amok through the streets of LA feeding at your leisure." Cordovan set his glass on the bar and strolled casually towards the vampire. He stopped at the table and leaning forward, ran his fingers lightly over the cover of the book. "The woman was not a problem?"

Derrick snorted. "No more than a child would be."

"The body?"

"There was no body."

Cordovan paused in lifting the cover of the book, turning his gaze to Derrick. "I don't like the sound of that, Derrick."

"I told you, I don't like to get bored." A slight smile turned up the corners of the vampire's mouth, a dangerous smile that made the blood of others congeal. "Besides, I thought you might want her alive a bit longer - in case you need help with that book."

"You doubt me, Derrick? I'm so disappointed," the melodic voice that drifted across the room brought the first genuine smile to Cordovan's face that evening. Even before he raised his head to gaze in her direction, he was be-spelled - as he had been for years. She may have only been human, but she was a human like no other he had ever met or would ever meet.

Tall and shapely, with large green eyes and skin the color of mocha, she glided into the room with a feline grace that Cordovan had seen turn even the most faithful of men into slobbering idiots. Ebony hair fell to her waist in waves, highlights glittering blue under the low lights of the room. A perfectly manicured hand reached around him, lacquered black nails scraping down the cover of the book. When she spoke, her voice accent was a mixture of southern velvet and Caribbean magic. "Still, it can't hurt to have an academic mind around until I've fully translated this jewel."

"And then, Giselle?" Derrick was not easily persuaded.

With a twinkling smile that would have melted a mortal man where he stood, Giselle patted the vampire lightly on the chest. "And then, the fun begins. Once the Enslavement has been completed, everything will change."

"And what is the Enslavement? You keep going on about it, but you aren't exactly handing out information." Very few would have stood before Giselle with such scorn and challenge in their voice, very few dared to question the woman that even the vampires secretly referred to as the 'Dark Witch.' It was part of Derrick's arrogance and egocentrism that made him so bold. That, and Giselle's genuine fondness for the centuries old creature.

"And you ask too many questions," Giselle turned away, her attention refocused on the leather bound tome. "You need to trust me, Derrick. I've never let you down before, and I've certainly never failed. When the Enslavement is completed, it will be our finest hour. Have faith. And patience."

Emerald eyes still sparkling, this time with a passion and desire that could only be rivaled by pure lust, Giselle sank to the sofa closest to the tome and the coffee table. Her hands lovingly caressed the cover, her whisper caressing the entire room. "Above all things, have patience."

Chapter One

As the gate to the freight elevator snapped upwards and Angel stepped onto the main floor of the building, the sound of an earsplitting shriek pierced him through. It was enough to cause the demon inside of him to stir, hopeful for a taste of blood - or at least a taste of violence. It was enough to cause every muscle in his body to tense. Immediately and instinctively, the more than two centuries old vampire was on the defensive, charging anxiously towards the source of the shriek.

Finding the source of the keening wail made him skid to a halt, torn between a desire to break into relieved laughter or to fall into his natural demonic face for the simple shock value of it.

Cordelia Chase bounced on the balls of her feet, a bright smile on her face. She held a slip of green paper by each of the corners and her smile seemed to grow even wider at the sight of Angel in the doorway. "It's a check!"

"Cordelia?" Angel prompted her for further explanation. He gave an annoyed groan as Doyle bumped solidly into him from behind, forcing him to brace himself in the doorway.

"What?" The former cheerleader and May Queen stared back with bright, laughing eyes. The smile did not wan or waver. "It's a real check from a real paying client. See, I told you that eventually if we helped the right person we would be suitably compensated. Ten thousand dollars compensated, by the way."

"Ten -" Angel couldn't manage to get the remainder of the words out. Ten thousand dollars was no small chunk of change, and usually the souls in need that he helped didn't have that kind of money to throw around.

Doyle made a more elaborate statement with a low whistle. The half-man/half-demon pushed past the vampire and made his way into the office. "Ten G's is a lot cash. Let me see that."

Cordelia snatched the check out of his reach. "Angel gets to see it first. He did all the work anyway."

"I had the vision. And the headache. Didn't I?"

Angel might have laughed at Doyle's indignation and confusion if he hadn't still been trying to come to terms with the idea that Cordelia held a check for ten thousand dollars in her hands. These days, it wasn't always Doyle's visions that led Angel to souls in peril; sometimes it seemed as though Angel simply found them - or they were drawn to him like a magnet.

"Who could afford to pay us that much?" Angel finally managed to form words. He made no move towards his 'secretary' or the check in her hands, although his eyes did scan it intently. From this distance, it appeared to be a legitimate cashier's check, but Angel didn't know if he could have spotted a forgery anyway.

"Remember that housewife who was afflicted with a case of beating-cheating-I 'm-gonna-take-away-the-kids-and-kill-you-husband? Well-"

"She was living in a trailer park Cordelia," Doyle interrupted, "She didn't even have enough money for diapers and formula."

"If you will let me finish." Cordelia rolled her eyes in Doyle's direction before returning her attention to the vampire. "It turns out that her father is very rich. Or was very rich. Anyway, he died. But she didn't know that because she had kind of runaway to marry the sleaze-from-hell. Once you got her back on her feet and got him off of her back, she called Mommy. The check is from Mommy, with all of her gratitude for helping bring her daughter and her grandchildren home.

"The letter was very touching. I almost cried."

"See, this is exactly what I've been trying to tell you, Angel," Doyle sat down in the nearest seat and propped his feet up on the desk. "You never know who you may be helping or whose life you may touching."

Cordelia snorted, her voice heavy with sarcasm. "You're so very Hallmark. Make me gag, all ready."

Stepping forward hesitantly, Angel reached tentatively for the check. It was still a little too much to believe.

"Well, are you going to take it or just stare at it a while longer?" Doyle asked. "Because I think you need to get your hands on it so the little 'actress' over there can stop bouncing and then we can celebrate. On you, of course."

"You would celebrate if it was a check for ten dollars," Cordelia accused. Then she turned to her boss, prompting, "Angel?"

"Hey, you gotta have your reasons for creating a little joy."

Angel took the check and simply stared at it. "It seems a little - surreal."

"No, it seems like we've earned it," Cordelia leaned back against the desk, raising her eyes inquiringly, "I mean how many of those nasty migraine-headache visions does Doyle have to get, hmm? How many icky demon monster things do we have to kill before the Powers That Be wake up and realize that this is the turn of the century? Real life revolves around income. Substantial. So, does this mean we can finally talk raise?"

Angel was spared the task of having to answer her as his ears registered the sound of the front door opening. Instinctively, he sniffed the air, and blinked a bit in surprise. The scent was human, but it was also familiar. He turned slowly towards the door as the figure came into view, less surprised than Cordelia by the individual he saw standing there.

"Giles?" Cordelia's surprised question was tinged with a note of excitement. Angel had always thought she was more homesick for Sunnydale than she would ever admit.

"Giles?" Angel gave the former Watcher and librarian a curt nod, his question different from Cordelia's. His eyes took in the rumpled tweed coat with a ripped sleeve, the slightly dishelved hair and the spot of blood on his shirt collar. The blood drew his attention the longest, the smell of it permeating the air, causing Angel's inner demon to stir yet again. It was still fresh, although it was drying. It made Angel hungry and reminded him that he had not fed before coming up to the office this evening.

Rupert Giles nodded politely, although it did not escape Angel's finely tuned vampiric senses that the man's body still pulsed with adrenaline, that his heart beat quicker than normal and that his breathing was rapid. "Cordelia, Angel. I was hoping to find you here."

"You're in LA looking for Angel? What? Did the hellmouth open up again?"

Angel ignored Cordelia's prattle. "Something happened. Vampire." At Giles' questioning gaze, Angel flicked his eyes towards the man's throat in response. "You were bit."

"You were bit by a vampire? Can't you just get knocked out like you usually do?"

Giles' hand rose to touch the bite mark, although he seemed less than concerned about it. "That's nothing really."

"You really are from Sunnydale if you think that getting bit by a vampire is nothing," Doyle remarked from where he sat, reminding Angel of his presence.

The librarian became aware of him at the same time, his attention shifting to take in the other occupant of the room. "You must be Doyle. Oz mentioned you."

"Did he mention me?" Cordelia chimed in.

Giles touched his throat again. "Of course, Cordelia. I had to see it with my own eyes to believe it, however."

Realizing that this probably wasn't the best time for a reunion, Angel cut in before Cordelia could begin to pry into Giles for all of the latest Sunnydale gossip -- or demand to know what the man's last remark implied. He motioned Giles towards a chair. "Sit down. You need medical attention. Doyle, get the first aid kit. Cordelia," Angel paused, handing the check that he still held with the reverence that a Christian would hold the Holy Grail, back to her, "Put that in the lock box."

"We don't have a lock-" She stopped in mid-sentence as her eyes met Angel's and shrugged in surrender. "Whatever."

"You know, Angel, I'm offended that you trust her more than you trust me with that check," Doyle said as he passed the vampire and headed off in search of the first aid kit.

"Giles, what happened?" Angel took a seat across from the former Watcher, not daring to get too close to the man's personal space. Their relationship had remained forever awkward since he had been returned from hell - and he did not mean in the figurative sense. Angel had literally spent years in the bowels of hell, only to be thrown back into this world and this reality for reasons still unknown to him. Things had not improved when the man learned that Angel had fed from Buffy Summers when he lay so near death. It didn't matter that Buffy had driven him to it, pulling forth the demon that was so intimately a part of Angel. Feeding from Giles' Slayer was nearly as unforgivable as the murder of Jenny Calendar.

Angel shook off the morbid thoughts and the bad memories. Giles was here, once again putting aside personal opinion when the need required it, so he wouldn't dwell -- for now -- on what couldn't be undone.

"I came to LA to visit an old friend from my Oxford days," Giles sank wearily into the nearest chair, slowly - and painfully - pulling off his jacket. He pulled the glasses from his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose thoughtfully before continuing. "Amanda Skerrit, she's an archeologist, and also a student of the occult. Or at least she was."

"She's dead?"

"She is now," Giles closed his eyes for a moment and Angel watched a ripple of pain play across his face. Two hundred and forty odd years and several years of knowing Giles gave Angel all the information he needed. The bite on his throat came from his former friend; no doubt the dust on the shirt and jacket also came from her as well.

"What happened to her?" Cordelia had returned from her assigned task and sat down next to Giles. She frowned at him, "You know, that blood stain is never going to come out. Why do vampires have to be so messy when they bite anyway?" Her hazel eyes darted to Angel, "Well? Can't you be neat about it?"

"Cordelia, I hardly think that when a vampire bites they are much concerned with table etiquette. The victim is not supposed to survive the -" Giles stopped abruptly, blinking and shaking his head in slight exasperation. He dismissed her with a polite, "Never mind, it isn't important.

"Amanda had acquired the Book of Isiri," Giles directed his words towards the vampire. Something in Angel clicked and made a connection. He knew of the Book of Isiri; just as he had known of the Codex and the Gem of Amarra. Some things were just common knowledge to creatures of the supernatural and darkness. The powerful magicks locked up within that spellbook were not something that should fall into the wrong hands.

"That Book has been lost for - well for longer than I've been around," Angel noted.

"That's a pretty long time," Cordelia commented. "What are you? At least three hundred now?"

"Amanda found it. At least that what she told me when we talked," Giles easily ignored Cordelia. Angel imagined that it was simple enough to fall back into the old patterns of Sunnydale. "I was supposed to come down sooner to aid her in studying it and translating, however events on the hellmouth prevented my traveling until now.

"Fortunately, I feel that I couldn't have chosen a better weekend to do it. I am saved from listening to Buffy and Willow prattle on inanely about Homecoming."

"Homecoming? Buffy and Willow are going to Homecoming?" Cordelia asked with rapt interest, her attention drawn towards the news of her former -- well, not quite friends but certainly more than associates. "What are they wearing? I mean, even I have to admit that Willow did pull off a very nice prom ensemble. And Buffy and I looked great at Homecoming senior year and -"

Angel interrupted Cordelia's babble before Giles died of old age and he died of boredom. "Cordelia, I'm sure that Giles is probably thirsty. Why don't you get him something to drink. And find Doyle."

"I'm here. Love how you keep this thing hidden in the bathroom," Doyle complained. The man dropped the first aid kit to the desk and opened it up.

"The bathroom is where it belongs," Cordelia pointed out.

"Oh, I should have known this was your handiwork."

Giles looked from one to the other, then cast a genuinely sympathetic glance at the vampire. "Are they always like this?"

"No, usually they're worse," Angel answered with a straight face and without missing a beat.

Blinking in surprise, the librarian stared at Angel for half a heartbeat. "A sense of humor. That's unexpected."

"He does that every now and then," Cordelia supplied. "It's LA. It's good for him. He doesn't spend nearly as much time going the whole broody and mopey and I'm-the-horrible-vampire-oh-stake-me-now-routine."

"I'd very much like that glass of water now, Cordelia."

"What, are you kidding? And let Doyle butcher you?" The brunette was on her feet in flash, pushing the half-man away from the first aid kit. "My friend would like a glass of water. I'll take care of this."

"Get the first aid kit, Doyle. My friend would like a glass of water, Doyle. Don't touch the check, Doyle," Doyle's mutterings followed him out of the office.

"You were saying?" Angel prompted the other man. "The Book of Isiri?"

"Oh yes," Giles shifted, obligingly tilting his head as Cordelia knelt beside his chair and began to wipe away the blood. Angel was grateful for the antiseptic smell that filtered from that direction, glad that the blood wouldn't be a source of distraction. "Amanda had it and I came to see it and hopefully take it back to Sunnydale. When I arrived at Amanda's I initially thought that place had been broken into. I found her in the kitchen and apparently, she hadn't fed recently."

"Ew," Cordelia complained, raising her eyes briefly from her task. "Your friend got vamped and bit you? Gross. And incredibly rude."

Giles only gave the young woman a moment's consideration before continuing. "I had no choice but to destroy her. Anyway, I searched for the Book but didn't find it anywhere."

"Way to go, Giles. Stake a vamp and go through her underwear drawer."

"I did not-" Giles began a loud objection, then slumped his shoulders in sil ent defeat. In the familiar gesture of annoyance, he rubbed frantically at the bridge of his nose, much to Cordelia's dismay as she yelled at him to stay still. He stared plaintively at Angel. "I was hoping that perhaps you could help me find the Book of Isiri."

"The Book of Isiri?" Doyle reappeared, thrusting the glass of water towards the older man. "Here in LA? How'd that happen?"

"Giles had a friend. Who had the book. Who got vamped. Who tried to eat him -"

Angel interrupted. "Are you certain it wasn't at her apartment?"

"Well, I'll admit I didn't do a thorough search of the premises. I was afraid that our scuffle might have attracted some attention and I really didn't wish to have to explain myself to the LAPD. I thought that perhaps knowing the power structure here in LA, you might know who would have wanted to do this to Amanda - or would want the Book of Isiri."

"I'll bet you a drink that it didn't have anything to do with your friend Amanda and everything to do with the Book of Isiri," Doyle hopped up onto the desk.

Angel cut his eyes towards his 'partner.' "You're thinking Cordovan."

"Aren't you?" Doyle challenged. "He sent Derrick for the book, and Derrick left his mark."

At the sound of the other vampire's name, Angel gave a low growl. The demon stirred, striking once, then twice against the bars of its cage. Derrick had been a thorn in Angel's side since their first encounter. He was sly and devious, and it was no secret that he was Cordovan's right-hand man. It galled Angel that he had never been able to get close enough to the vampire to kill him; it also galled him that he had never been able to get close to Cordovan.

"Who is Cordovan? A master vampire?"

"No," Cordelia paused in bandaging Giles' throat. "He's a psychotic sociopathic half-demon. Like Doyle. Minus the psychotic sociopathic part."

Giles stared at Doyle, a flicker of fear and curiosity lighting his light eyes. "You're a demon?"

Doyle leveled a glare at the top of Cordelia's head. "No, I'm fully human on my mother's side of the family."

"Cordovan runs the show here in LA," Angel explained, feeling a temporary pang of sympathy and pity for Doyle. Giles would either avoid him like the plague now - or worry him incessantly with questions. Either way, his friend and partner was in for quite a time of it. "He runs a gigantic corporation and hides behind his lawyers. They will do anything and everything it takes to keep his hands clean while he kills and destroys at his leisure."

"Lawyers? They work for him?"

"Wolfram and Hart, my friend," Doyle said helpfully. "All their clients are guilty of some crime or another, but you'd never be able to prove it. Gives a new meaning to the idea that lawyers are sharks."

"This is beginning to sound far more complicated than a routine seek and find in Sunnydale," Giles muttered.

"Welcome to the big city," Angel actually felt the corners of his mouth jerk into a wan smile. "We'll start looking for that book. We should probably make certain that it isn't at Amanda's apartment before I try to track it down to Cordovan."

"A little breaking and entering? You seem to have expanded your skills, Angel."

"Oh it's cool," Cordelia finished her work and stood. "Angel has an in with the police department. One of the undercovers has the hots for him."

This time it was Angel who leveled a glare in Cordelia's direction.

Before Giles could ask questions or Angel could clarify Cordelia's offhand statement, Doyle gave a pained shout and tumbled forward off the desk. The man clutched his head in with one hand, crying in agony, the other hand clutching the desk.

Giles was on his feet, a look of complete wariness on his face. "What's wrong with him?"

Angel was already kneeling beside his friend, offering support as Doyle struggled to cope with another of the visions. "He's having a vision."

"A vision?"

Cordelia nodded, this time there was no malice or sarcasm in her voice. Instead, she sounded subdued and a bit worried. "He gets these visions. Of people in trouble and then he and Angel - and I - go off and save them."

"Visions from?"

"The Powers That Be, whoever they are."

"The downside is, I also get splitting headaches to go along with them." Doyle drew a ragged breath, gripping Angel's arm tightly as he allowed the vampire to haul him to his feet. He staggered to the nearest chair and slumped into it, closing his eyes with a groan. He looked terrible - pale and haggard - but he never looked good after one of his visions left its mark on him.

"Fascinating," Giles murmured, studying the half-man/half-demon with an academic's eyes.

"You think so? You try havin' one or two of them," Doyle grumbled.

"What did you see, Doyle?" Angel knelt besides Doyle's chair.

"Yeah, anything about this weird book?"

Doyle shook his head, and then winced. He took another breath, opening his eyes slowly to focus on Angel. "It's a place, near south quad on UCLA's campus. Indigo Club. There's a girl there."

"What does she look like?"

"You're going to need more than a description, Indigo Club tends to be a hot spot on Thursday nights. I'll pick her out when we get there."

"I hate to interrupt but," Giles looked from Angel to Doyle and back again, "The Book of Isiri?"

Angel and Doyle exchanged a glance and Angel swallowed nervously. He rose to his feet, smoothing his hands on his black jeans. "We can do both. But I have to check this out Giles. This girl - whoever she is -"

"Her soul is in peril," Cordelia cut in. "Angel has to save her. That's what Doyle was sent to help him do. Hey, I know!"

Three sets of eyes actually looked at her, each in various states of questioning.

"I can go with Giles and search his friend's apartment while you guys go check out this club and this girl."

"I'm not sure that is such a good idea, Cordy," Angel stated. He noticed Giles' eyebrows raise at the use of Cordelia's nickname, but he ignored it. This wasn't Sunnydale anymore and there wasn't really a lot of time for argument or explanation.

"Hey, I shoot a mean crossbow, you know. And I'm with Giles. Watcher guy. Research guy. Ripper guy."

Giles groaned, "Please don't call me that."

"Indigo Club?" Doyle prompted, pulling himself to sluggishly to his feet.

Angel leveled a dark and warning glare at Cordelia. "Be careful. And don't do anything stupid. We'll meet back here later."

With an apologetic nod at Giles, he left the office with Doyle following on his heels. Cordelia and Gile's conversation followed him.

"You appear to work rather well with Angel."

"He needs me."

The door closed behind him.

Chapter Two

Ami wondered what she was doing here. Here being Indigo Club, the hotspot for south quad of campus. Here being the small table against the wall she had settled herself at while watching her roommate bounce around the dance floor, always flocked by at least two hopeful admirers. No, on second thought, she knew precisely what she was doing here - she was here because her roommate, Celia, just had to make certain that Ami finally met up with "the totally hot and awesome guy from your class. And he's a Delt." Well, the totally hot and awesome Delt, Pete, had one beer too many and had been escorted back to the frat house by two of his brothers.

Which really was a shame because Ami had actually been looking forward to tonight. For three weeks she had been watching him across Doleman Auditorium, and the chance to finally meet him was not an opportunity that she was going to pass up. Pete had been personable and fun, too -- at least while he had been sober and before he had started trying to drink his friends under the table. Before he had decided that dancing meant trying to meld his body into Ami's and his vocabulary deteriorated to monosyllabic grunts.

All that excitement and it wasn't even one a.m. yet.

The worst part was that he had her phone number.

Still, the night hadn't been a total wash. She had a good time - until she got tired and found the first empty table that wasn't covered in spilled beer. She was trying really hard not to check her watch and not to think about the eight o' clock class that she would have to drag herself to in the morning - and wondering who in their insanity decided that college weekends started on Thursday night?

Stifling a yawn, Ami leaned forward on her arms, watching Celia dance.

"Just one more song," Celia had pleaded when Ami reminded her that some people had to get up early in the morning. That had been three songs ago. At least Ami thought it was three songs; as the lateness of the night kicked in and her thoughts scattered to the winds, she was having trouble keeping count.

In spite of Celia's overabundance of energy, Ami realized that she wouldn't have traded one moment of her life here. No one had understood her need to get away from London, to spread her wings and have a little independence. Her mother was still convinced that once the semester was over, Ami would be so homesick that she would catch the first red-eye back to London, ready to pick up and settle down, "As soon as your head is out of the clouds."

Her mother was about to be vastly disappointed. Even sitting in the corner of the club, and realizing that her prince of a date had turned into the proverbial frog, Ami was content. More content than she had been in quite a long while. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy being a Tomorrow Person; she did. She enjoyed the friends she had gained, and she wouldn't have traded her special abilities for anything in the world. Although she seldom used her telepathic or teleportative abilities, reserving them for times of dire need or when she would be safely unobserved, they were a blessing of a sort. But they were also a two edged sword - the other edge was a great responsibility, the responsibility carried by all the Tomorrow People as the first in what they hoped would be a long line of evolved humans. Yet, despite all that she had, for the longest time, she had felt like something was missing, that a part of her was empty or not quite whole. The feeling of total completeness hadn't been found yet. However, everyday she spent in Los Angeles, every hour she spent living in accord to her own rules, every moment of freedom, and every experience she gained led her to believe that she was on the path to that ultimate sense of satisfaction and completeness. Eventually she would, what was the figurative way of saying it, find herself.

For the first time in her life, she was doing something for herself, and there were no words to describe how that felt.

There were words to describe how she felt watching Celia, however. Or rather, one specific word: tired.

"Is this seat taken?" The sound of a soft, yet masculine voice interrupted her thoughts.

"No, go ahead. It's yours." Ami didn't even spare the owner of the voice a glance. There were a limited number of seats in Indigo Club tonight, probably because of the new band, Babylon River, that had been drawing increasing numbers of fans. While the five-man band wasn't particularly stunning, they weren't terribly bad either. And they steered clear of the techno-punk which seemed to be the all the growing rage of late; that music was the sort that made Ami want to run screaming whenever she heard it. To be an unknown band, Babylon River drew quite the crowd - her table was one of the few that still had an empty seat, but she doubted she would need the extra chair. Celia would not be returning to the table any time soon. Ami was going to have to drag her off the dance floor and back to the dorm.

"Then you don't mind if I sit here?" The hesitancy of the voice caused Ami to turn her head - and catch her breath. She was staring into the deepest set of dark brown eyes she had ever seen in her life. Those eyes were hypnotizing, inquisitive and concerned, watching her with an intensity that made her heart still. Those dark orbs drew her in, and made her body flush warm with desires that she could barely identify.

And it wasn't just the eyes. As she looked up, she drank in the sight of one of the most beautiful men she had seen all night. In fact, the man standing by her table made Pete look like last week's leftovers. He was striking, dressed in a dark black shirt and black slacks, a long black coat flowing behind him. Thick, dark hair nearly the same shade as those eyes of his were a startling contrast against his pale skin. Handsome, intriguing and - waiting for her to answer him.

"No, not at all," the words came out breathlessly, her voice nearly squeaking.

"You're not from here," he observed as he sank to the seat across from her with an almost unnatural grace. Ami noticed that he clutched a drink glass in his hands. His dark eyes flickered to the glass then to her again. He seemed almost embarrassed. "I was noticing your accent. You're from England, right?"

"Right," Ami gave him a surprised and flattered smile.

Maybe tonight really hadn't been a total wash.

"What are you doing here in LA?" He shifted again, his eyes widening as though he was hearing his own words for the first time. He took a deep breath, which for some reason struck her as exaggerated, and gave a slight shake of his dark head. His smile was both apologetic and chagrined. "Oh boy. I'm being too personal. I'm sorry, I'm not really good at this kind of thing."

"That's okay, I don't mind you asking." Ami commented. "I'm going to UCLA."

"Why? That's awfully far from home." His genuine interest took her by surprise. Either he was honestly interested in her and her life story, or he was well practiced in the art of flirting with naïve college women. Ami resisted the urge to probe his mind to find out which. For one, it was incredibly rude; the other reason was that she was actually enjoying the illusion that someone like this could be interested in her.

Ami shrugged with more nonchalance than she was feeling. "I wanted to get as far away from my Mum as possible."

"And . . . are you happy?"

"Pardon me?" Ami stared at him. That certainly had to be one of the strangest ice-breakers that she had ever heard.

"Well, it's just that a lot of people run away from things when they aren't happy . . . and they try to be happy somewhere else." He paused, glancing down at the tabletop and then back at her, "So, I was just wondering if you' re happy here. Now. Away from home."

"I'm fine," Ami answered cautiously, more than a little bit confused by this conversation - and the strange - albeit handsome - man who's name she didn't know.

"Because I can help you with that. If you're not happy."

Ami snapped her falling jaw shut. Now that had to be the absolute worse come-on she had ever heard - and during her first week on campus, she had been pretty sure that she heard most of them. At the same time the mysterious and handsome stranger seemed to realize exactly what he said and took another breath, sitting up straighter in his chair.

"I didn't mean -" He paused and shook his head. Reaching into his coat pocket he produced a business card which he held out to her. "This is my card. I help people who - need help."

"You think that I need help?" Ami took the card hesitantly. She slowly raked her eyes over the stylized drawing of - maybe an angel - and read the caption aloud, "Angel Investigations. You're a private investigator?"

"Private securities," he nodded, long fingers nervously shredding a napkin. Suddenly he extended his hand, "By the way, I'm Angel." As her eyes darted towards the drawing on the card, she heard him add, "I didn't draw the picture."

"Ami." She took the offered hand and the moment his skin touched hers, a chill climbed from her toes to the roots of her hair. For most people, tactile contact was simply contact, but for a someone like her, a telepath, it was a great deal more. Everything that an individual was, everything that they felt came through in simple tactile exchanges. Normally, Ami was able to blot out the random and chaotic images received tactily in the same way she filtered the constant buzz and hum that lurked on the fringes of her awareness. Normally, it was background noise, quickly forgotten and never registered.

This was not the case with Angel. Something dark, potent, and intense reared to life as she touched his hand. It lashed out hungrily, thirsting for blood and the essence of life. On some level that she could not even comprehend she knew that it thirsted for her blood and her life, not specifically but in the same way that it wanted the same from every individual in the club. It was complete darkness and pure destruction cloaked in a mask of intense passion that was as intoxicating as a drug.

It was, she recognized, his uncloaked psychic aura. Something no one else in the room probably could have sensed or noticed, but that drew her in and repelled her. His aura was like his eyes - compelling and enticing. It invited Ami; it seemed sing a siren song to some part of her soul - and her soul moved to answer. Being aware of him on this level was like eating a fine meal - she didn't want to stop. It was intoxicating and alluring; it was -

Positively insane. Ami pulled herself up short, reacting without thought as she jerked her hand from his. What was that she was feeling from him? It wasn't normal - she would venture to say that it wasn't even human. And as she struggled to realign her senses, she realized that the brief contact had left her disoriented and slightly confused.

"Ami? Are you okay?"

She forced herself to take a deep, comforting breath. The room was slowly coming back into focus. Angel stared at her, his face a mask of complete confusion. That couldn't have been his mind could it? No one and nothing alive felt like that.

Ever.

"Fine," Ami supplied quickly. She nearly knocked her chair over in an effort to stand. She had to get away from him. She had to get out of here and clear her head. "I'm just - it's really hot in here. I need some fresh air."

"I can walk with you if -

"No!" Ami winced at the loudness and rudeness of her protest. She forced herself to speak a bit more softly. "No, I wouldn't want to put you through any trouble. It was nice meeting you, Angel."

"If you need anything call me," Angel stood, shoving his hands into the endless depths of his pockets.

"Right."

Ami couldn't escape the club quickly enough. The entire time she couldn't shake the feeling that Angel was watching her, those dark fathomless eyes boring holes into her back.

Taking a quick glance back over her shoulder, she shivered.

Angel - whomever and whatever he was - was gone.

Chapter Three

"I didn't know we had taken up stalking as part of our services." Doyle's Irish brogue drifted to Angel's ears as the half-demon stepped up beside him. They were standing in an alley outside of Club Indigo, blending into the meandering college students. Ami Jackson was talking - seemingly somewhat distractedly - with a cute and overly bubbly blonde and a flock of admirers. Mostly of the cute and bubbly blonde it seemed. Not that Ami wasn't an attractive girl in her own right, but she appeared about as interested in flirting as most people were in having a root canal.

"I think I scared her." Angel remarked thoughtfully. He narrowed his focus, trying to ignore the humans surrounding Ami and focus just on the young woman. There was a familiar sense about her, something that he had sensed once or twice before but hadn't sensed since . . .

Since Druscilla.

"Well, you certainly aren't going to win any awards for being smooth." The new voice caused both Angel and his companion to turn and stare.

"Whistler." Angel's greeting lacked anything even remotely resembling warmth. The last time he had heard that the demon was around had been during his reversion to Angelus. The demon appeared in Sunnydale in time to give Buffy the insight she needed to be able to send Angelus - or rather the newly ensouled Angel - directly to hell. For someone who considered himself to be a messenger of 'The Powers That Be' his timing had been pretty lousy.

"Whistler." Doyle's even less than enthusiastic and more than disdainful greeting pulled Angel from his thoughts.

Angel blinked at Doyle. "You know him?"

"Unfortunately," Doyle muttered. "We travel in the same circles."

Angel looked from the half-demon to the full one and back again. "Use the same tailor too?"

"Hey," Doyle waved a finger at the vampire, "I dress better than him any day of the week. I, at least, avoid bad hats. Besides not everyone can pull off that mysterious-stranger-flowing-black-coat thing that you do so well."

"What's wrong with my hat?" Whistler protested, pulling the aforementioned garment from his head to examine it. "I like it. It's my favorite hat. It's my lucky hat."

"And the rest of us are lucky that the fashion industry had the good sense to only make one like it."

With a frustrated shake of his head, Angel interrupted what could probably turn into a lengthy dialogue of insults and the like. "Whistler, what are you doing here?"

"They sent me."

"They?"

"The same ones that sent him." The demon placed his hat on his head and indicated Doyle. "I guess they thought you two might need some backup with the pretty little Brit. This one's major."

The vampire stared at Whistler, wondering why 'The Powers That Be' felt the need to guide his path in the form of demons and half-demons who dressed badly or received cryptic visions. For not the first time since moving to LA, he considered the fact that maybe dealing with Doyle - and certainly now dealing with Whistler - was a part of his penance. "She didn't seem to be in any trouble."

"They never are right away, now are they? I mean, if they were so deep in trouble by the time Doyle had one of his little visions then what would be the use of the vision?" Whistler straightened his hat, "She's in trouble, my oblivious undead friend. She just doesn't know it yet."

"Well, why don't you save us some leg work and tell us what the big trouble is?" Doyle suggested. "Then Angel can go destroy it and we can all go on with our lives. And you can leave LA."

"What makes you think that I know what sort of danger she's in?"

"You're here," Angel said simply.

"I'm here because they sent me. They think you might need a little extra help, but they don't tell me everything. If they did we might have avoided that whole nasty happiness business with your pretty Slayer. By the way, how is she?"

The mention of Buffy was a splinter meant to get under Angel's skin. Even knowing that, it still worked. And knowing that it worked made Angel restrain the urge to throttle the demon on the spot. "I don't know."

"Ah, that's right. Love 'em and leave 'em. Always been my philosophy anyway." Whistler checked his watch. "I'm hungry. There's a really great all night deli about two blocks up. You already ate, right?"

"Yeah, but I'm feeling hungry again."

"I knew you when you were feeding on rats, so I'm not worried about my throat."

"Whistler. Why are you here? To bore us to death?" Angel heard the annoyance in Doyle's voice. He was beginning to feel more than a little annoyed himself.

"To help you help her. She's important. Special. Just like the Slayer." Whistler looked from one to the other. "What do you know about Cordovan?"

"That he's virtually untouchable," Angel felt the demon stir at the sound of the half-demon's name. "And that one day I'm going to kill him."

"You think she's in danger from Cordovan?"

"If it's not improbable, then it's definitely possible. Cordovan and his little witch just might have some interest in her."

"Witch?" Angel raised his eyebrows in interest.

"You really haven't been doing your homework, have you? You think someone like him works alone? You think he just has piranha lawyers and a vamp army? I'll bet my lucky hat that it's related to our girl over there, I just don't know why yet. But I guess we'll all find out together." Whistler turned on his heel and started down the street in the other direction, calling over his shoulder, "Now, stop talking and start walking. I really need some food."

"You were feeding on rats?" Doyle's mouth curled in distaste. "Come on, Angel, even house pets would have been better than that. A stray kitten every now and then?"

With a low growl, Angel stalked off after Whistler. "Shut-up, Doyle."

Chapter Four

// She moved like a wraith between the flickering shadows and candles which lit the underground cavern. Her feet floated lightly over the arcane symbols painted on the floor and her hands glowed faintly as she gathered the magick around her. Everything was coming together. Tonight would be their finest hour.

// Approaching the stone altar, she felt the corners of her mouth turn into a hungry smile. Her body pulsed and tingled with the magick, but she knew that it was not time yet. The moon had not reached its full apex . . . but it would soon. And then the moment would come. Cat like eyes traveled over the altar, taking in the details of the figure lying there. Not dead, dead would not do for this ceremony. The chosen one had to be alive - the chosen one had to be willing - or at least offer no resistance.

// Long fingers with nails painted lacquer black, smoothed a hand affectionately over the dark hair of the chosen one. From the hair, her fingertips traveled to trace the arcane symbols painted on the face and exposed skin of the young girl. Already the spell and the magick began to take hold of their chosen sacrifice. The symbols flickered and glowed dimly with a pale, sickly red light. Soon that light would be bright and blinding; soon it would be hot enough to rival fire.

// Soon. Soon was not soon enough.

// Abruptly, the chosen one's eyes opened. Dark, empty pools that seemed to stare nowhere and focus on nothing.

// And then the chosen one began to scream.//

* * * * *

"You're worried too."

Cordovan lifted his head from the file folder in his lap, his eyes locking with the intense emerald gaze that met his own in the vanity mirror. Blue highlights reflected in his lover's hair as the woman pulled a brush through the raven tresses. "Worried, Giselle?"

Her full lips formed a slight pout as her hands continued to brush her hair. "You don't think the book was worth the trouble."

"I have never doubted you, witch." He said the last with an affectionate growl and her pout turned to the barest hint of a smile. "If you say that you need the book, then you need the book. However, I am as curious as Derrick. And you know that I'm not quite as endeared with your mystery as my undead friend is."

Turning on the vanity seat, Giselle placed the brush aside. "I don't need the book. You do." As she spoke, she rose from the vanity and moved across the bedroom with the grace of a dancer. The silk gown moved with her, hugging and clinging to her lithe and graceful form and Cordovan's eyes traveled the length of her body hungrily. Very few women had the magick and power that Giselle did and for not the first time, he was glad that he found her in New Orleans all those years ago. She had merely been a defiant child then, practicing black magick that she didn't truly understand. He had known; he had understood . . . and he had taught her or introduced her to those who could. Now . . . now she was his Dark Witch, and her soul belonged to the darker powers as much as his own did.

"But I'm no witch, am I?"

"For centuries the wisest and the strongest have used The Enslavement to create eternally loyal followers. Have you ever heard the stories of the zombies raised by voodoo priests and priestesses?" Giselle spoke slowly, her voice a sultry whisper as she crawled across the bed, moving towards him like a cat on prowl.

"Magick."

"Weak magick. A fool's magick. Mostly the power of suggestion and belief in powers that we can't see and control. Idiots who stumble around blindly because this is what their religion told them would happen to them." She stopped by his legs, her nails drawing a slow line from his kneecaps to his thighs. "The Enslavement is real, Kristoph. It's magick allows you to capture and control the soul - any soul, no matter how weak or how strong whether they believe in such things or not. But not just one soul, darling. As many as you could possibly want. Living, breathing slaves who bow to your every whim; and when you're done with them, you can feed on those very souls that you possess."

Kristoph was intrigued. He had heard rumors of such a spell, but he had not known that it was hidden within the pages of the spellbook that Giselle had so plainly wanted. He truly hadn't cared what was inside that book, only that she wanted it. The fact that she wanted it after waking from one of her trance-dreams - dreams which had saved his life and given him the power and position that he now held - only gave him more reason for sending Derrick after it.

Having this knowledge changed everything. He traced her cheek with his fingertips. "And why would you share this with me? Why not keep this for yourself."

"I share everything with you. I live to serve you. I just do it better than most of those you keep around here." Giselle's fingers wound a crooked path up his abdomen and chest. "Do you want to hear the rest, or have you turned into a man of small desires?"

"There's more?"

"There's always more." Dropping her hands, Giselle sat back on her ankles, turning from playful to serious. "Once every dawning millennium The Enslavement becomes more than a simple spell. It comes to mean more than merely enslaving the soul of another. Under the right conditions, it can provide one with ultimate power. There are those walking this world who have psychic powers that you can not even imagine . . . and when you trap and enslave one of those, their power is at your disposal. Properly maintained and you will have an eternal fountain of power and energy. The spell and the timing of it make it so.

"I've seen it, Kristoph. I've seen her in my mind's eye. I've dreamt of her."

"Her?"

"The source of your ultimate power. I've seen it all."

"Are you certain of this, Giselle?"

"Have I ever been wrong before?"

Chapter Five

It was impossible for Ami to shake the feeling that she was being watched. Even after returning to her dorm last night, she couldn't stop her skin from crawling. She shut out all the lights and stared out of the dorm room window for the longest amount of time, but saw nothing other than the usual nightly movements. Still, the disturbing effects of Angel's psychic aura stayed with her, making it difficult to relax or sleep, and plaguing her with barely remembered dreams upon waking.

Last night had been the first night she slept with her curtains pulled. An attack of paranoia, maybe, but certainly a needed defense that she hadn't been able to explain even after Celia gave her several curious stares. Luckily, her roommate hadn't pushed the issue, and she hadn't questioned the reason that her own curtains were also drawn upon waking this morning. With the curtains drawn she felt less on display, less able to be spied upon although the feeling of unease never vanished completely.

Even now, walking across campus in broad daylight, Ami couldn't help but glancing over her shoulder every few steps. Her shields were slightly lowered, and her senses were awash with the buzz and hum of the minds around her. Nothing felt strange or out of sorts; just the usual test anxiety or good-natured enthusiasm which heralded the forthcoming weekend. It was just a normal Friday afternoon and Ami was surrounded by normal people.

So why did the invisible fingers of fear and unease continue to stroke her spine?

"And now that I've exhausted myself talking to you, I think I'll dash over and find out what the nearest brick wall is doing tonight."

Celia's sarcasm pulled Ami from her thoughts and she shook her head to clear it. It required tightening her mental shields a bit, forcing all the background noise back to where it belonged - in the background.

"I'm sorry, Cee-Cee," Ami smiled sheepishly, "I'm just a little distracted today."

"So I noticed. It wouldn't have anything to do with that hottie that you were talking to last night?"

"Hottie?" Ami stared blankly at her roommate then realized that the girl meant the mysterious Angel. "Oh, Angel."

"Oh, Angel?" Celia rolled her eyes. "How can you be so blasé? He was a demi-god. He was even cuter than your Australian friend, and all you can say is 'Oh, Angel?' "

"We just talked. It wasn't -" Ami stopped and considered her words. There was no way she could explain to Celia the 'vibe' that she received from Angel. Just as she hadn't been able to explain her sudden paranoia and need for darkness last night. "I really don't think that he was trying to ask me out. I think he was just . . . weird."

"Sounds to me like he was just a little gun shy. Which is so cool when he was so hot." Celia made a display of frantically fanning herself, causing Ami to smile in spite of herself. "Are you going to call him?"

"No!" Ami answered loudly and quickly, receiving a few stares from people passing them on the quad. She lowered her voice, "No, I am not going to call some really weird guy that I don't know anything about. That's just asking for trouble."

"Ami, I really don't mean to be rude but you really are sounding like a stick in the mud. Not every guy on campus is a date rapist despite whatever you Brits think about us Yanks. And not every guy is going to turn into a drunken slob with a bad case of groping paws either. You've got a whole year here and you can't keep going paranoia girl on me every time a guy turns creepy."

"And why not?" Ami demanded.

"Because," Celia gripped her playfully by the upper arms and gave her a gentle shake, "I swear that I will be forced to kill you if you do." Releasing her, Celia dropped to the nearby bench, sliding her purse-pack from her shoulders and dropping it at her feet. "I just don't get you sometimes, Jackson. I mean, I could totally see it if you were this fat, ugly geek who had absolutely nothing going for them except a brain like Einstein - well, then you would be allowed to personally off yourself or I would have requested a new roommate on grounds of mental cruelty.

"But you're not. You're smart and you're pretty. And you've got that total accent thing going on that guys just love, but every time there's a guy around who's even remotely interested in you, you go from bouncy-girl to turtle girl."

Ami shifted impatiently from foot to foot. She had heard this speech from Celia before, and she liked it less and less each time she heard it. Again, she realized that Celia honestly thought that she was helping Ami, lecturing the Tomorrow Person for her own good, but there were just things that Celia could never understand. There were things that normal people could never understand. Getting close to people was a touch and go situation, but there was no way to put that into words that Celia would comprehend. "I do not," Ami protested stubbornly.

"Then what do you call last night?"

"Trying to keep my clothes on?"

"Pete's a really nice guy. And he likes you."

"Well, he can like me just as well when he's sober."

"Fine." Celia dismissed the argument with a wave of a perfectly manicured hand. "Hey, I know." Grabbing Ami's sleeve, she tugged the Tomorrow Person onto the bench beside her, her blue eyes glittering and nearly matching the color of the overhead sky. "Come to the Tau Kappa party with me tonight. It is going to be a total blast. Maybe you'll meet someone even hotter than this Angel guy that you think is so weird."

"Another frat party?" Ami didn't try to hide the disdain in her voice.

"Oh, don't be like that, Jackson." Slumping back against the bench, Celia pouted. It was a pout that probably got her whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted it. A patented pout that was meant to wrap men around her finger and a few women too. Even Ami had discovered she wasn't one hundred percent immune to Celia's pouting.

Ami sighed heavily. If she didn't go to this party with Celia, she wouldn't put it past her roommate to throw her in a burlap sack and drag her there. Besides, it wasn't like she had anything else planned - and watching other people make idiots of themselves could be fun. As long as they kept their hands to themselves. That was where Pete, the "totally awesome and hot" Delt messed up. "Okay, fine. And this is your last chance to show me how much of a good time I should be having."

"Yes, I love you, roomie!" Celia gave a delighted squeal and threw her arms around the other girl. Ami had just enough warning to tighten her mental shields a bit more before she risked being drowned by Celia's enthusiasm. "I promise you it will be a total blast! You're gonna love it."

"Last chance, Celia. If I have a miserable time, I'm not doing it again."

"Yes, ma'am. I promise you will have so much fun, you will be begging me to take you to the next one." Celia grabbed Ami's wrist and checked Ami's watch. In a flash she was on her feet. "I'm gonna be late to class! See ya!"

Ami watched the blonde hurricane dash off across campus, ponytail bobbing behind her and heads turning in her wake. She was pretty certain that she just let herself in for something she would regret - just like going to Club Indigo last night. That's where she met Angel.

Thinking of the mysterious stranger, Ami slid her hand into her jumper pocket and touched the business card. She still didn't know what had possessed her to fish the thing out of the trash can this morning and shove it into her pocket as she left for class. If anything, she should throw it away and be done with it - and Angel.

But her curiosity was her downfall. Despite being put off by Angel, she was curious about him. Curious enough that she just might work up the courage to at least go have a look at 'Angel Investigations.' She didn't have to go inside. She didn't even have to talk to him. Or see him.

Slipping the card from her pocket, Ami looked at it. The drawing was the most interesting thing about it - although Angel had given her the feeling that he didn't like the drawing. He had made a point of mentioning that he wasn't responsible for it. The rest of the card was plain - plain black letters that read 'Angel Investigations' followed by an address and a phone number.

'A lot of people run away from things when they aren't happy . . . and they try to be happy somewhere else. I help people who need help.' His words repeated themselves in her head.

He had seen into her soul. As irrational as it was, she couldn't shake the feeling that he had actually read her mind and seen into her soul.

Just as she couldn't shake the sudden climbing chill that crept its way up her spine. She looked upward, blinking into the bright sun, and still she shivered slightly. A million tiny fingers pressed into the base of her skull, a million tiny voices whispered beyond the fringes of her shields. She felt eyes on her back, she felt eyes peeling away the layers of her mind and body.

She felt exposed.

Heart pounding, Ami leaped to her feet, clutching her book bag tightly. Her eyes darted aroudn the quad, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. Yet, the feeling did not fade, but rather it grew stronger. It mocked her, it taunted her from the shadows.

Ami shivered again, tightening her shields against the delicate but deliberate probe that she could feel. Him. It had to be him.

But it wasn't.

The figure stood so far across the quad that Ami almost had not spotted her. So far across the quad that Ami didn't know how she identified the figure as a female and not a male. She didn't know how she knew that it was a set of piercing green eyes that met hers and tried to force their way into her mind and heart and soul.

"Ami?"

The unexpected touch on her shoulder caused her to spin and give a startled yelp.

"Adam!" Ami didn't know whether to cry or laugh with relief at the sight of the eldest of the Tomorrow People. The dark haired Australian was the most beautiful sight that could have greeted her at that moment.

"I didn't mean to scare you, but you seemed kind of out of it. I had been calling your name for a while," Adam Newman gave her an apologetic smile, reaching down to retrieve the book bag that had dropped from her hands in her surprise. "You all right? You look like you've seen a ghost?"

"There's a woman trying to read my mind," Ami blurted the words out quickly, without thinking. Too late, she looked around, relieved that no one was in hearing distance.

Adam looked up, the good humor vanishing from his face and being replaced with concern. "Who? Where?"

"Across the quad -" Ami turned, raised her hand to point and stopped.

The figure was gone - faded away into the shadows the same way that Angel had last night.

"Oh God, Adam. Something weird is going on."

Chapter Six

"A guy gives you his business card and you get paranoid? Geez, Ami, most girls like to be hit on."

With a frustrated groan, Ami pressed her face into her pillow, recalling precisely why she had wanted to talk to Adam -- and only Adam -- about what happened at Club Indigo - and on the quad. As much as Megabyte Damon was her friend and fellow Tomorrow Person, there were times when she wanted to strangle the red-headed American. And this was one of them.

"I knew that you wouldn't take me seriously." With her face buried in the pillow, Ami knew that her words came out muffled, but she didn't really care. "You never take anything seriously, Megabyte."

She heard her friend snort with indignation. "I'm hurt. I teleported all the way from London just because you were upset and this is -"

Lifting her head, Ami shot him a disbelieving glare. "You were just hoping that Celia would show up in her athletic bra and bike shorts again."

"No, not exactly," Megabyte protested, but his words lacked vehemence and fire. As Ami continued to glare pointedly at him, he lowered his head and began shoving potato chips into his mouth.

"I can't believe this." Sprawled on her bed, Ami rolled over onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. "I'm being stalked and the only thing one of my best friends is concerned about is seeing my roommate half-naked." Ami tried to summon a hint of guilt as she heard Megabyte choke, but couldn't seem to manage it.

"All right you two, knock it off," Adam gave a handful of her braids a playful tug. "I swear, sometimes you two are as bad as Kevin and Jade. You know, I'm beginning to think there's something to that theory about repressed attraction."

This time it was Ami who choked, strangling on the bubble of laughter that swelled up in her chest and throat. The strangled laughter turned into a violent coughing fit that left her throat raw and hoarse, and left Megabyte glaring indignantly at her when she finally recovered.

"It wasn't that funny," Megabyte muttered.

"You're right," Ami gave a little cough and took a sip of water, "It was actually a rather frightening and disturbing thought."

"As disturbing as your stalker?" Megabyte challenged. "That's if, you really are being stalked?"

She ignored his disbelief. "Then what do you call it? I run into some really weird guy at the club last night and then this woman today - it has to be more than coincidence."

"Or they could be just coincidence," Adam said softly. He held up his hands to ward off her objections and hurriedly continued. "I'm not saying that Angel wasn't weird or that it's your imagination that you were being probed today, but I think that maybe - maybe you might be misinterpreting things with this Angel?"

"Oh, you too now. Thank you so much, Brutus."

"Brutus?" Megabyte frowned in confusion at her words.

"Julius Caesar." Adam explained the reference. "The play?" When Megabyte continued to stare blankly at him, Adam shook his head sadly. "Megabyte, there are other things in the world besides comic books and science-fiction novels."

"I know that," Megabyte muttered, "I just haven't gotten around to reading that stuff yet."

Adam turned to Ami, evidently deciding that Megabyte was a lost cause and to just ignore him for the moment. "I'm not against you, Ami. You know that. But, you admitted that you were tired last night, there were all sorts of things going through your shields. Couldn't you have just overreacted to a random thought or emotion that Angel was having?"

"I could have but -" Ami paused, looking down at her lap. She tugged on a few of her braids, a gesture that was both nervous and comforting. "I just have a feeling. I can't even put it into words, but something's not right."

"I have to admit, when you put it like that, I start to take you seriously," Megabyte admitted. "Trust Ami's feelings. That's one thing you're good at - bad feelings that are always right."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Ami looked up, feeling a chill creep over her bones. Teasing she could handle; the reminder that her feelings tended to be 'right on the money,' as Megabyte was fond of saying, was not what she wanted to hear. She hated mysteries, especially the ones that centered around her and her fellow Tomorrow People. Especially when the mystery in question didn't appear to have any clues.

"No," Megabyte said honestly. "But it doesn't make me feel any better either."

"Then let's say that you're right," Adam supposed. He leaned back against the foot of Ami's bed, reaching out to pull the braid of hair from her mouth. She hadn't even realized that she was chewing on it; it was a nervous habit that she was trying to break, with very little success. "This woman and Angel are somehow connected and they're following you. This man, Angel, is our only connection. We could go talk to him at his office."

"No," Ami shook her head. She didn't know why the thought of going to Angel' s office seemed less than viable, when that had been precisely her plan before Adam and Megabyte showed up in LA. "I mean, what if you're right and he was just a really strange guy. He's a private investigator. He'll get suspicious or curious if we start asking questions."

"Hey I know," Megabyte pushed aside the bag of potato chips. "You could hire him."

"What?" Ami and Adam asked the question in unison.

"Well, if you go talk to him and he seems level, then you hire him to find out who the weird lady is."

"And what exactly do I say, Megabyte? Hello, I'm Ami. I'm a telepath and I happen to know for an absolute fact that there's this psychic woman hanging around campus trying to read my mind. Do you think you could find her for me?"

"You really need a date, don't you?"

Before Ami could word an objection the door opened and Celia flounced into the room. At the sight of Adam and Megabyte, she gave a delighted - and somewhat annoying --squeal, "Company! Great, are you guys staying for dinner?"

One glance at the admiring look on Megabyte's face told Ami the answer to that question.

She really had to hand it to her roommate. She did have the most impeccable of timing.

[Don't worry about it,] Adam's telepathic voice sounded clearly in her mind, relaying support and understanding. [We'll figure it out. The answer is out there. We just have to find it.]

[Whatever you say, Mulder,] Ami responded with a grateful smile. Then hearing Celia's flirtatious giggle at whatever Megabyte said to her, Ami rolled her eyes. [Can we just make sure he doesn't drool too much? I kind of like that rug.]

Chapter Seven

"This is a strong argument for why the British prefer tea." Angel entered the office in time to see Giles placing a cup - of what Angel suspected to be bad coffee - aside.

"What?" Cordelia stared at the former Watcher from across the desk. "You don 't like my coffee?"

"It's - it's a bit strong for my tastes, Cordelia."

"Ah, don't spare her feelings, we're an honest lot around here," Doyle stretched out behind the desk that he had claimed as his, propping his feet up. "You can tell her the truth. That it's absolutely wretched."

"And that from someone who starts the day with a shot out of the closest bottle on hand that isn't empty."

"Did Ami call?" Angel stepped fully into the office, pausing before the coffee machine. He lifted the pot and with a sigh, poured it into a mug. The smell of it caught him instantly, and he decided that maybe Giles - and the British - had the right idea about tea.

Or maybe they needed either to teach Cordelia to make coffee, or to keep her away from the coffeemaker.

"Who?" Cordelia asked.

"The girl from the college club," Doyle supplied. To Angel he added, "No, she didn't."

Giles pushed his glasses up on his nose and peered thoughtfully at the half-demon. "This would be the young lady from your vision? You two didn't come to her aid last night?"

Angel took a tentative sip of the coffee. The taste of it made him grateful that he was already dead and couldn't die from unintentional poisoning. Putting the cup quickly aside, he turned to Giles. "It doesn't exactly work like that, Giles. Doyle has the vision, but it only tells him who's in trouble. We never know exactly what the trouble is, or really how to help.

"Sometimes, I don't think the people we help know right away."

That had definitely been the case with Ami. The young woman was not in any trouble or danger that he could see. But Doyle had the vision and Whistler - the knowledge that the demon was lurking around LA gave Angel a serious case of what Buffy called 'the wiggins.' Usually Doyle's visions were enough; if Whistler was sent to help him as well, then things were definitely going to escalate. And they would probably escalate pretty quickly.

"But you met with her and determined that she is in some sort of soul endangering peril?"

"I talked to her," Angel nodded, leaning back against the file cabinet. "There's something."

The vampire's voice trailed off as his mind returned to the meeting the previous night. As usual, his attempts at social finesse fell flat, but that wasn't what disturbed him. There had been something about the girl herself - something about her that screamed out power and energy. Last night at the club, he had only been able to briefly put his finger on what it was - before Whistler's unexpected entry and subsequent distraction. But this morning, upon waking, it came back to him with complete clarity.

Ami Jackson had an aura that was far different from normal mortals. In his two centuries, he had seldom encountered its like - and one of those encounters had been in the form of Drusilla. The aura buzzed of psychic energy, frighteningly strong amounts of psychic energy if he could be so easily aware of it. Even Ronald Meltzer, with the things he could do, hadn't had this particular signature. But then again, Meltzer's entire being radiated darkness, a darkness that tainted everything.

The girl - Ami - was not like that. And had it not been for Doyle's vision, Angel might have simply dismissed her and figured that with that much psychic potential, she could take care of herself.

But maybe that was what Doyle's vision had been about. Maybe that's why Whistler was here. There was a good chance that she couldn't take care of herself. There was a good chance that she didn't know the potential at her fingertips, or how to control it.

Somehow, though, deep inside Angel doubted that. There was something more there that they hadn't seen, or couldn't see.

"So, are you going to take a private moment or clue the rest of us in, here?" Doyle's voice pulled Angel from his meandering thoughts.

"She felt-" Angel paused, his eyes darting from one face to the next. There was really no easy way to say this that wouldn't raise hackles - or even create some worry and fear. "She reminded me of Dru."

"Oh," Cordelia plopped down behind her desk. "So, she's a psycho college student who's desperately in need of our help. Which, by the way, does anyone here see a problem with helping a college student?"

Three faces stared at her blankly.

She rolled her eyes exaggeratedly in exasperation. "I'm talking payment options here. We are trying to run a business and quite frankly, college students are - well they're poor as dirt."

Angel looked away from her. The money issue was still a sensitive spot between the three of them. He understood Doyle's point of view; he even understood Cordelia's somewhat less than altruistic ideas. What they didn't understand was that it wasn't about the money; he could never let it be about the money or he might lose touch with who he was and what he was doing.

Some people just needed help no matter what.

"It isn't always about the money Cordelia."

"Besides," Doyle's voice interrupted them, "College students just use Mommy and Daddy's credit cards. And I had a vision. We can't turn our back on her. Well, Angel can't turn his back on her."

"You charge people?" Angel felt Giles' eyes on him, but he didn't look in that direction. If it had been possible for a vampire to blush, Angel knew that he would have been at that moment.

"No duh. We are running a business here, Giles. We have bills and rent and necessities."

"It's a necessary evil," Doyle explained. "Angel likes to be the mysterious knight in shining armor, but people don't need saviors. They can get salvation at church. They just need a nice guy who's doing his job and getting paid for it."

"No attachment, no lingering guilt," Giles mused. Angel turned to look at the man, hearing a note of thoughtfulness creep into his voice. "It actually makes a bit of twisted sense. And you are still doing a good thing, Angel. Helping people.

"But, I'd rather like to get back to the subject on hand. What did you mean when you said that she reminded you of Drusilla?"

Angel felt a hint of relief. Leave it to Giles to keep the conversation on track. "She feels like Dru. I can't really explain it except that Dru was different from everyone else. She had this . . . energy . . . it's what attracted me to her to begin with."

"You mean bad-vamp you, right?" Cordelia blinked up at him from behind the desk.

"Yes," Angel nodded. He looked at Giles, offering further explanation. "It's been a long time since I've felt anything like that at all."

"You think that's why Whistler's in town?" Doyle asked.

"Whistler? The demon?" The former Watcher looked up expectantly.

"What demon?" Cordelia demanded from behind her desk.

"You know him?"

"I know of him. Buffy mentioned an encounter with a demon around the time that you," the Watcher paused and stumbled, "That Angelus was going to release Acathala." Giles removed his glasses and began to clean them. "She said that she thought he was on our side, but she wasn't in the mood for his 'know-it-all-chit-chat.' "

Doyle nodded. "That would be Whistler."

"Hello? Am I invisible? Who is Whistler? Since when do we talk about demons like they're old friends?" Cordelia paused, her eyes flickering towards Doyle whose face was approaching indignation, "You don't count, you're only half-demon. And you're really not that scary or that evil. Unless we count your apartment. Or your wardrobe."

Doyle appeared to be somewhat mollified. "Whistler found Angel in New York. Pulled him out of the sewers, cleaned him up and sent him to Sunnydale to help the Slayer. I don't think he expected it to blow up in his face the way it did though."

"So, what if it's related?" Angel broke into the conversation before he could feel the usual stinging barbs of guilt and remorse. He noted the three pairs of confused eyes that focused on him.

"If what is related, Angel?"

"This girl and the Book of Isiri."

"I'm not following."

Doyle muttered, "You're not alone."

"Okay, it's pretty much a given that Cordovan has the Book. Whistler implied that Cordovan might have a witch - and we're not talking benevolent Wicca magick here - working for him. What if something in that Book connects Cordovan to Ami?"

"It's a possibility." Giles pointed his folded glasses at the vampire. "You do however realize that if this Cordovan has a witch in his employ, someone familiar with the black arts, this makes him a much more formidable adversary?"

"And sounds like all the more reason we need to get that book back," Doyle pointed out. "What's in it, anyway?"

"I'm afraid that I don't know. It has been lost for nearly two centuries. The rituals and spells contained in its pages are reported to have great powers of destruction and at times, to even be capable of bending the fabric of reality itself. In my greatest imaginings, I can not begin to fathom what may lie in its pages -

"Well, that's not necessarily true, I have lived on the hellmouth for quite some time. However, I must confess that -"

Cordelia slammed her chair backwards away from the desk. It collided with the wall, loudly. "The short version is that you don't know, right?"

"I fear that is correct."

"Great, so Watcher-guy doesn't know. And if Watcher-guy doesn't know, we should probably all just bend over and kiss our asses good-bye."

"Your optimism is infectious, Cordelia."

"Watcher-guy." Angel said the word slowly, a thought forming in his head. He ignored the chagrined and insulted glance that Giles tossed in his direction as he proceeded to explain. "You were a Watcher, Giles. You said the Watchers Council had the Book for a while. Wouldn't they have made notes? Journals?"

"It is possible, Angel, but you must remember that I am not part of the Watchers Council anymore. They really don't speak to me at all. And since Buffy quit the Council - I'm not quite sure what our recourse would be."

"Wesley's a member of the Council," Cordelia pointed out. "He didn't get fired like you did."

Doyle sat up attentively. "Who's Wesley?" The half-man's jealousy would have been humorous if not for the situation.

"Do you think that Wesley would help us, Giles?"

"He helped at graduation," Cordelia defended the absent Watcher. "He swallowed his pride and let Giles be in charge guy again. Not like blowing up the library was that hard but -"

"I shall give him a call," Giles cut off Cordelia's prattle, for which Angel was grateful. The last thing he wanted to hear was Cordelia extolling the virtues of one of the most inept and bumbling Watchers Angel had ever met. Of course that was in comparison to Giles, so there was a chance that he was being biased.

"I'm going to find Whistler," Angel announced. It would give him something to do while waiting for Giles to get the information they needed.

Giles paused in mid-dial. "In broad daylight?"

"He uses sewers and electrical tunnel thingies," Cordelia explained. "He's really good at it."

"Who's Wesley?" Doyle's question drifted to Angel's ears as he left the office. "What makes you think you can trust some one named Wesley? I think - "

The lowering of the freight elevator gate thankfully drowned out the rest of the conversation.

Chapter Eight

The party at the Tau Kappa house was exactly what Ami expected: it was loud, and it was obnoxious. But even more importantly, it was proving to be exactly what the doctor ordered. Among the madness, mayhem and music that shook the walls to their very foundations, Ami found distraction. After her 'encounter' in the quad and after talking to Adam and Megabyte, she had been ready to beg off tonight's engagement with Celia for an evening of sitting at home and -

"Completely upsetting yourself more than you already are," had been Adam's description of her intentions. She had a hard time believing that Adam was encouraging her to simply shrug off the oddities that had pervaded her life within less than twelve hours, but his explanation made sense. "Unless this woman shows up again, there's no reason to tie yourself in knots over it. Let me handle the paranoia around here. And besides, you can always keep an eye out for her; if it wasn't a fluke, and you see her again at the party, maybe someone else will too."

And most importantly, Ami knew that if she did see the mystery figure again, her two white knights - Adam Newman and Megabyte Damon - would come charging in to save her.

But right at this moment, the only thing she wanted saving from was the noise and racket inside the fraternity house. Weaving her way through the crowds, she made her way onto the front porch of the house. After a repeated check to make certain that the porch steps were dry, she plopped down and took a deep breath.

"Ami?"

The sound of her name caused her to turn and look up . . . and to cringe inwardly.

Standing no less than two feet away from her was a very attractive - and seemingly sober Delta Rho. "Pete. Hello."

Her blind date disaster absently pushed a lock of dark blonde hair away from his eyes and gave her what she had to admit was an extremely attractive smile. "I thought that was you. What's the matter, don't like the party?"

"It's a bit loud," Ami admitted. She lifted her drink of choice - bottled spring water - to her lips and wondered where a stampeding herd of elephants was when she needed one. "And hot and smoky."

"There's just no pleasing you, is there?" Ami would later wish that she had a mirror, because she would have loved to see the look on her face. Whatever it was, it made Pete instantly contrite as he held up a hand in protest and shook his head. "I meant that in a completely friendly teasing banter sort of way. It's just that when I get a little nervous or uneasy, I start to say the first thing that pops into my head. And usually end up eating my foot."

"Nervous?"

"Yeah. See, I'm trying to score points right now with the girl that I made a complete ass out of myself in front of last night, so this is kind of shaky ground." He looked absently around, stepping out of the path of three weaving girls who had more than enough to drink already. When he looked back, honey brown eyes pleaded with her. "A little encouragement would go a long way, here."

As much as Ami wanted to dismiss him, as much as she had been extremely disappointed last night, she couldn't help but smile slightly. Pete was charming. Despite her better judgment, she slid to the side making room for him to sit on the steps beside her and not block the entrance to Tau Kappa house. "You can sit down."

Pete released a visible sigh of relief as he lowered himself to the stone steps. "Let me say that I am really, really sorry about last night. I don't normally behave like that."

"You don't normally get so drunk that your friends have to carry you home when you go out on blind dates?"

"Well, I wouldn't call it a blind date. I mean, I stare at you every Tuesday and Thursday morning across Doleman Auditorium."

"I know," Ami looked away, feeling a warm blush rise to her cheeks. It had taken two weeks for Celia to convince her that the unidentified upperclassmen was watching her with interest and another two weeks for Celia to ingratiate herself into Pete's circle of friends and arrange last night' s failed date. "So, that's your excuse?"

"No, hormones are my excuse. I was listening to the call of testosterone and trying to impress you. This morning I woke up with a terrible hangover and the realization that acting like a neanderthal did not impress you."

"You're right. It didn't."

"Ouch," Pete gave a low whistle. "You're harsh. I thought you British were supposed to be polite and unflappable."

Ami shrugs, "America's wearing off on me."

Pete smiled. "Can I get another chance, here? Take you to a movie? Buy you dinner? Show you my really cool and personable side?"

She smiled in spite of herself. She had to admit she actually did like this guy. As long as he stayed sober. "I'd like that."

"She smiles and she says yes. I had to do something right in a former life." Pete stood and looked to her a bit sheepishly. For the first time, she noticed the backpack he slung over one shoulder. "Well, as much as I hate to leave, I need to get to the library."

"On a Friday night?"

"Yeah. Remember that hangover that I told you about? It kept me out of class with Dr. Death, the professor from hell. However, in a rare moment of compassion, he is allowing me to make up the quiz I managed to . be sick through . this morning. The only caveat is that he also teaches the same class for three hours on Saturday. I have to be there tomorrow morning."

Pete fingered his shoulder strap thoughtfully. "I'm sure there's a lesson to be learned somewhere in there, but I haven't figured out what it is yet." Then he flashed her a smile, "I'll call you, all right?"

Ami nodded. "That'll be fine."

She was still smiling when he rounded the corner, disappearing in the direction of central campus. She even obliging slid aside making room for the slightly tipsy girl who joined her and began to babble about what hunky fun guys the Tau Kappas were.

"Hello, earth to Ami?"

Startled Ami gave a yelp and jumped back away from the hand being waved in front of her face. Celia stared at her, confusion apparent. "Boy, whatever she told you must have knocked your socks off."

"Who? What -" Ami blinked, suddenly aware that her head felt heavy and leaded. She felt as if someone had stuffed her head full of cotton. She leaned against the tree - tree, she didn't remember a tree, she had been sitting on the porch -

Ami's eyes focused on the frat house across the street, the party still in full swing. She didn't remember leaving the porch. She would have remembered walking across the street, wouldn't she? Her head spun and she took a few deep gulps of air to steady her breathing.

Something was very wrong.

The Tomorrow Person tried to focus on her roommate's words, but it was difficult. She could barely hold her shields in place, all of the background noise rising to sound like the din of a thousand tractor trailers on a bridge.

"Who was that skanky ho anyway? My god, I have never seen anything so nasty before. And the way she looked at me, as if I was interrupting her precious conversation. Please tell me that you know her from one of her classes and that she isn't -"

"Who are you talking about Celia?" Ami clutched the tree. Her head was throbbing; the noise just kept getting louder and louder.

"Miss Goth trash that you were talking to just now?"

"Goth trash. I wasn't - I didn't -" Ami gave up trying to talk. She didn't remember talking to anyone since the drunk girl took up residence in Pete's abandoned seat.

Something was very, very, very wrong.

"Celia. I'm going home. I don't feel too good." Before her roommate could say a word in objection, Ami lurched away. She stumbled to a halt in the first dark shadow she could find, and summoning all of her concentration, disappeared in crackle of light and energy.

Chapter Nine

"She came back." Shivering and hugging herself, Ami re-materialized half-way around the world, a mile beneath the surface of an uncharted desert island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. She stood surrounded by millennia old alien technology, a spaceship that was a living, knowing entity and the one place that she could always call home. The one place she could always feel safe. Only she didn't feel safe now.

The Ship buzzed and hummed, a telepathic lullaby meant to calm and soothe. Alien blue light filled the open chamber, pulsing and dimming in accordance with its soothing music.

Seated on the floor, Adam looked up at her sudden appearance, "Ami?"

"She came back," Ami repeated the words. The Ship's awareness touched her own, wrapping around her like a pair of loving arms. It enabled her to calm her breathing, to gather together the thoughts that had been scattered to the winds. "The woman from earlier, Adam. She came back."

Adam rose, his confusion immediately replaced by concern. She felt the concern rolling off of him in waves and it provided a comfort all its own. He touched her arm gently, rubbing lightly and with affection, "Are you certain?"

"Oh, yes, I am completely certain." Ami nodded, feeling tears suddenly begin to sting her eyes. The feeling of light headedness had not passed entirely, but it was fading. She was becoming more sure of herself with every passing moment; more certain that something terrible would have happened if Celia hadn't shown up when she did.

Something more terrible than what had already happened.

"She did something to me." Ami choked on the sobs she couldn't control. She lowered her head in embarrassment, hot tears streaming down her cheeks. "She got inside my head and I couldn't stop her."

"Are you all right?"

Ami shook her head, her words nearly lost to her sobs. "I don't know."

She gave over to her cries then, clinging to Adam and the comfort he provided while she bawled onto his shoulder. Adam didn't laugh or tease; he didn't even ask useless questions. He understood her pain and her fear. She had been violated, attacked. Ami felt vulnerable and helpless.

And she was deathly afraid.

Only when she recovered herself enough to talk coherently and when her thoughts were actually making sense, did Adam -- start asking questions. But always in a subdued tone, always being supportive and understanding, never making assumptions.

"What do you remember?" Adam asked. They were sitting against one of the bulk heads of the ship, drinking the juice provided by the Ship. She was sandwiched between Adam and Megabyte - who had teleported in sometime during her hysterical sobbing.

"I don't remember a lot of anything," Ami admitted.

"Try." Megabyte's words and attitude were devoid of his usual teasing and humor. When push came to shove, her fellow Tomorrow Person knew when to shelve the banter.

"I don't -- one minute I was talking to Pete and then Celia was acting like she had been trying to get my attention for hours."

Adam studied her. "Who's Pete?"

"Just a guy," she shook her head, and then realizing that Adam planned on leaving no stone unturned, she continued, "He's a sophomore, we have a class together and I guess he likes me." Somehow, she couldn't call up the same excitement and enthusiasm for Pete's interest as she had earlier.

"He was at the party?"

"No, he missed class because of a hang over. He was on his way to the library to study for a make-up quiz."

Megabyte frowned skeptically. "On a Friday night?"

Ami shrugged. "Stranger things have happened."

"Not that strange."

Adam toyed with the medallion that hung around his neck, his eyes distant. Ami knew that he was turning inward, analyzing and re-analyzing every single word she said and every detail that she gave him. "Was there anyone else there?"

"No, just -" Ami stopped, a vague image rising from the clouds of her memory. "Wait, there was - a girl. I thought she was just drunk so I started trying to ignore her but -"

Adam waited. When she said nothing else, he prompted her. "But?"

"I can't remember a lot about her," Ami admitted after a few frustrating moments of even failing to recall the girl's face. "I don't even remember what she looks like."

Ami watched her two friends exchange a glance.

"I think we have our mind-reader," Megabyte commented.

Adam nodded in agreement. "I think you're probably right. But if you don't remember anything, Ami, then we don't have a lot to go on."

"We could mind-merge," Megabyte suggested.

"Ami? Are you up to it?"

With a resigned sigh, Ami pushed herself to her feet. To be truthful, she wasn't really up to much of anything. The last thing she wanted was to have her mind wide open and exposed again so soon after what happened. On the other hand, however, she didn't want a repeat performance of tonight. It was the lesser of two evils. "Let's just get this over with."

Adam and Megabyte stood with her and in a matter of moments, the three had joined their minds, the two boys' thoughts merging with Ami's awareness and memories.

[Think about the party,] Adam instructed her.

It took some fumbling and mis-steps; her mind truly did not want to reflect on the party or what had happened. But then suddenly, they were there. Inside her mind. Inside what was forgotten.

Inside her dreams.

*****

// Ami wandered the darkened stone corridors alone. She could see nothing in the pitch blackness that surrounded her, but somehow her feet, or perhaps it was instinct guided her along. She knew the corridors were stone because she could feel the cool roughness beneath her feet. She trailed her fingertips along unseen walls and felt the bumps and ridges of the stone there.

// She was alone here. Utterly, completely and totally alone. There was not a single voice in her mind, not a single awareness other than her own. The silence was deafening. She tried not to think too much about it because each time she did it brought tears to her eyes. At least it had gotten easier to deal with. At first, awakening in the strange darkness, alone with only her thoughts for the first time in years, it had been nearly maddening. So accustomed she was to having the minds of the others, she almost could not handle it. Yet, somehow, she had found the strength to stand against the silence and the darkness. Somehow she found the strength to wander nameless, soundless corridors always seeking, but never finding.

// Finding what? She didn't know anymore. Ami didn't know whether she wanted to find a way out or if she simply wanted to find another soul. All she knew was that she was trapped here. Here, in the absolute null space that was nowhere and made of nothing. Here, where if she allowed her imagination to roam long enough, she could feel her soul slipping away from her.

// A light. That was new. She looked away from it. It was bright, it was glowing hot and red and it hurt her eyes. It hurt more than just her eyes. The light burned her and she backed away from it, making a whimpering sound. She stumbled over the hem of her gauzy white dress - for the first time she knew that it was white. Made of light lace. It reminded her of her baptismal gown.

// But the light that burned like a flame was distracting. The more she moved away from it, the more it tried to reach for her. Phantom red and orange hands reached from the light, brushing across her skin, her arms, grabbing her legs. The phantom fingers hurt. They burned symbols into her flesh - onto her forehead and chest and arms. They cut into her very soul and she screamed in agonizing pain. No one heard her screams which echoed off the stone walls. She was alone; she was alone and she was being slowly and mercilessly killed.

// She would die alone.

// That thought was more frightening than any of her other ones. She fought and twisted in the grip of those phantom fingers. She fought against being pulled into the light.

// "Fighting is useless," a voice whispered in her mind, "You belong to us now."

// Ami fought harder.

// The light blinded her. She scrambled away from it, back to the safety and haven that was the stone corridors. Rough hands caught her, glowing green eyes stripped away her shields and defenses, she was laid bare.

// Ami screamed.

// She was in the corridor again. Suddenly and abruptly. Without warning. But something was different this time. There was light; not the ghastly red light that seemed to burn from the inferno of hell itself, but a soft white and blue light that called to her and beckoned. A light that offered her safety.

// "I won't let them have you." The voice came from the soft white light. The voice was soothing, familiar. She drifted closer and closer; Ami could see a figure bathed in the light, but it was too bright to make out the features. She could clearly make out the hand that extended towards her, a hand that was large and masculine. A strong hand. A hand that would help her find her way home. "Take my hand."

// Ami hesitated, she didn't know why. This was the way home; this was the way to safety and freedom. Yet, she stared at that hand, stared at the mark of infinity that suddenly branded itself in the palm and hesitated. "There's no other way, is there?"

// "There is. If you want to take it. I won't stop you."

// Ami stared over his shoulder at the bright light. It scared her. She looked back at the hand of hope. "I'm not ready to die, Angel."

// Angel. She looked up and saw his face clearly. Somehow her soul knew him before she did. He was here; he was her savior. "This way could be worse."

// The blue light was fading now. Angel was fading. Her chances were fading.

// "I'll take that chance." She took his hand.

// The world fell away beneath them.

*****

Abruptly, Ami jerked out of the mind-merge. Her heart was pounding, her knees were shaking. She literally slumped to the floor as her legs gave way beneath her. The dream - the memory of the dream - was more potent than anything she had ever recalled in a mind-merge before. The red light, the cold hands - all of it played and replayed in her mind while she tried to make sense of it.

"Ami?" The young woman startled at the feeling of Megabyte's hand on her shoulder.

"Whoa," her friend's voice and touch were soothing, "You really are freaked aren't you?"

"It's all right," Adam took Ami's hand and gave it a soft squeeze. Comfort radiated from his touch, filtering through the mental shields that she had instinctively drawn around her when breaking the merge. "You're with us. It was just a dream."

Ami shook her head, body still trembling. "But it wasn't." As she said the words, she felt the ring of truth in them. It wasn't just a dream; it had been so much more than a dream. Everything there, every touch, every sound, had been real. The stone beneath her feet and the gown she wore were as real as the Ship and the clothes on her back.

It had all been vividly and hauntingly real.

And it meant something. She realized now that she had known what it meant when experiencing the dream. The dream-she, the person she was in that dream, knew what it meant and knew the true meaning behind her conversation with Angel. But Ami of the waking world didn't know; Ami of the waking world didn't even remember that dream.

And Ami of the waking world had no desire to go back and explore it any time soon.

She must have been projecting her thoughts, because Megabyte gave her shoulder a squeeze. "You don't have to, if you don't want to. No one is going to make you."

"It still doesn't tell us anything," Ami whispered, giving the American a grateful smile. For all that they tried to get under one another's skin - and usually succeeded - she was glad to have him as a friend and fellow Tomorrow Person.

"Yes, it does," Adam sat back on his haunches. "It tells us that we really need to talk to this Angel. If you're up to it?"

"Now?" Ami asked. She wasn't sure she was up to doing anything or going anywhere at the moment; but she wasn't sure that she would ever be up to it anytime soon. And she wasn't so daft to not understand that they had to get to the bottom of things - and quickly.

Angel was the only key.

"No time like the present, right?"

"Um, Adam," Megabyte checked his watch, "You know it's like late in LA, right? I mean, it's sort of past the nine to five hours?"

"Exactly, even better. Maybe we can take a look around his office. Find out something about him and what he's doing in Ami's suppressed dreams."

Megabyte shrugged and pushed himself to his feet. "I've never turned down a good misdemeanor. Why not?"

"Not you, Megabyte."

"Excuse me?"

"You're not going." Adam gave the other Tomorrow Person his very patented don't-even-think-about-arguing-with-me-look. Ami knew that look all too well. "Just me and Ami. He did contact her. You stay here, just in case."

"In case what?"

"Just in case," Adam repeated the words with a finality that earned him a dark glare from Megabyte. He extended his hand to Ami, helping her to her feet. "Are you up to this?"

"I better be." She flashed him what she hoped was her most confidant and reassuring smile.

"What if you need my help?" Megabyte protested.

"Then we'll call you," Adam answered right before they teleported away.

Chapter Ten

"Where's Whistler?" Doyle greeted Angel as he walked back through the doors of the office. The Irishman sat in front of the computer, Cordelia leaning over his shoulder while they both peered at the screen. He saw Giles on the telephone in the other office, and the former Watcher nodded to him in greeting and acknowledgment as Angel sank discouraged into the nearest chair. "You didn't find him?"

"No, I didn't find him," Angel admitted reluctantly. "I know Whistler. At least I thought that I knew Whistler. I checked all the places that I thought he would be, but - nothing. How about you? Did you learn anything about the Book of Isiri?"

"It's like trying to find a needle in a haystack," Cordelia grumbled, slumping back into a chair. "I can't believe that I am going to say this, but I really wish Willow was here right now."

Angel lifted a questioning eyebrow at her.

"Well, she's like Wicca computer girl. This would be a piece of cake for her. I mean even Doyle can't find anything occult or magick related. And the dork can usually find something on the computer."

"I think there was a thinly veiled compliment in there somewhere," Doyle remarked, staring at her in disbelief.

"Very thinly," Angel said. He looked up expectantly as he heard Giles end his phone call and step into the outer office. Four years of knowing Giles told him how to interpret the look on the man's face. "You found something?"

Giles nodded solemnly. His pale eyes moved from one interested face to another, finally stopping when his gaze again rested on the ensouled vampire. "I'm afraid you're not going to like it."

"Ooh! There's a news flash," Cordelia chimed. "Something bad is happening, it involves magick and we're not going to like it. Boy, and I thought this was party weekend."

Giles turned his head to give Cordelia a dark, warning glare. Angel merely sighed. One thing he had learned in the few months of working with Cordelia was that she tended to return more and more to bitch mode the later the hour and the more tired that she was. Giles' reaction was a clear illustration of how much things had changed and how far apart lives had drifted. Once upon a time, Cordelia's cutting remark would not have phased the man at all. Now, it was Angel and Doyle who easily ignored and shrugged her off.

"What's the news, Giles?" Angel asked carefully.

The librarian took a seat on the couch, removing his glasses as he did so. For a moment, he pinched the bridge of his nose, and then set to his course, replaced glasses and addressed those in the room. "I was able to contact Wesley, whom after some persuasion was willing to check the Watcher Journals relating to the Book of Isiri. Mind you, he didn't find a great deal of information, and he does intend to keep working, but the one spell in that book that we should be wary of is known as 'The Enslavement.' "

"I'm already wary of it," Doyle commented. "I certainly don't like the sound of it."

"As well you shouldn't." Giles paused, his eyes straying towards the coffeepot. He barely suppressed a grimace as he looked away from it and back at Angel. "The Enslavement is something of a rather nasty spell. It allows the caster - or a vessel appointed by the caster - to enslave the souls of living beings. To in essence, capture them and use them and their bodies as the caster deems necessary and appropriate."

"Gee, some of us don't speak Watcher, can we try that in English?"

This time it was actually Doyle who gave Cordelia an exasperated glare. "Did you ever see the movie 'Serpent and the Rainbow' Princess?"

"Yeah, what about it? And don't call me 'Princess.'"

"Soul capturing, Cordy. Zombies. For real," Doyle glanced at Giles for confirmation, "That's if I'm hearing you right."

"You are indeed," Giles nodded. "If this spell was to be used, the person would effectively be a puppet Cordelia. No free will, no choices. Everything they ever did, said, thought would all be controlled until the caster tired of them - or ate them."

"Ate them?" Three voices echoed the man's comment.

"Not literally, not in the cannibalistic sense of the word," Giles explained. "But once the Enslavement has been performed, the soul which is enslaved belongs to the caster - the master - as the case may be. One of the fringe benefits of the spell is that the caster may devour that soul, receiving energy and unspecified magickal power for an unspecified amount of time."

Doyle rapped his fingers on the desktop loudly. "I'm not liking that word unspecified. You used it twice too much for me."

"As I said, Doyle, Wesley didn't have much information for me. We can only hope that he finds us more. I certainly don't like the thought of that book being in the wrong hands."

"Cordovan's hands," Angel corrected. The vampire rubbed the back of his neck, trying to brush away the chill that washed over him as his thoughts took shape and form. He hadn't expected good news from Giles, but he had hoped that it wouldn't be quite as unsettling. "If Cordovan starts casting that spell he'll be able to raise an army of killers and assassins."

"And spies," Giles added. "The Master is able to see through the eyes of the enslaved."

"Then I guess the answer is simple enough." Angel stood and started forming an attack plan in his mind. "I'm going to get that book back. We can't let Cordovan cast that spell."

"You're going by yourself?" Doyle sprang to his feet instantly, nearly sputtering. "After what you just heard?"

"Doyle, I don't have a choice. We can't let Cordovan cast that spell."

"But what if he's already cast it?" Cordelia asked. Gone was the sarcasm and ice, replaced with the genuine concern she liked to pretend didn't exist. "Did you stop and think about that? Even if you go all 'grr' you might still get your ass kicked. Or worse."

"As much as I hate to admit it, Angel, Cordelia is right." Giles rose from the sofa. "You simply cannot go charging in to confront Cordovan without knowing what you might be up against. It's suicide. And while we may have had our differences, I don't intend to watch you throw your life - unlife - whatever - away."

"And I can't just sit around here and wait and see what happens. He has to be stopped."

"Whoa, slow down, Angel." Doyle rounded the desk coming to stand in front of him. "This isn't just about your vendetta against Cordovan, there's a bit more at stake here. We're behind you on this, but we gotta have a plan. 'Cause I don't know about you, but I happen to like having my body parts attached and not bleeding from every orifice."

The sound of three very slow and hesitant knocks on the outside door caused all four heads to turn. So caught up in his conversation with Giles, Doyle and Cordelia, even Angel's vampiric senses had not detected the two people entering the building. One of them, he didn't recognize at all; a young man in his early twenties, with a lean angular face, dark haired and dark eyed.

The young woman was another matter entirely. Familiar almond shaped dark eyes stared at him as she lowered her hand from rapping on the door and tugged listlessly on a handful of the tiny braids that covered her head.

"I was looking for Angel," her British accent rang out crisp and clear, her eyes never leaving his. "I guess I found you."

Doyle's mutter was soft enough that Angel was certain he was the only one who heard it. "And just in the nick of time, I might say."

Chapter Eleven

"Ami."

Angel remembered her. Ami didn't know why that surprised her so much or why she had expected him not to. After the dream revealed by the mind-merge, she could no longer buy into the thought that her encounter with Angel at Club Indigo had been mere coincidence, or that he was simply an overly shy and socially inept man trying to hit on the naïve college girl.

An uncomfortable moment of silence passed while they stared at one another. It was odd enough that the man was still in his office at this time of night, but he also seemed completely unsurprised to see her at his office this time of night.

"Come in," Angel motioned her inside the office, "Please."

Ami hesitated, giving a quick glance at Adam before crossing the threshold. Her eyes quickly took in the group in the office, an attractive brunette, a cute dark haired man and an older gentleman who was polishing his glasses. And none of them seemed at all surprised to see someone showing up at the office at nearly midnight.

Ami couldn't resist commenting on that. "You keep late hours."

Angel looked at her oddly and she sensed he was debating how to respond to that question. Finally, he said simply, "So do you." He indicated the empty sofa, dark eyes darting with unveiled curiosity towards Adam, although he said nothing. "Please, sit down."

"Coffee?" The brunette perked up, her voice so incredibly chipper that it had to be forced.

"No!" Three male voices answered the question before Ami or Adam could word an answer.

Angel gave her a half-smile, at least Ami thought it was a half-smile. "It's old. The coffee."

"Yeah, we haven't gotten around to makin' a fresh pot yet," the dark-haired man spoke with an Irish brogue.

"But we can. If you want coffee," Angel said.

[You were right,] Adam's mind brushed hers, his words echoing as her own thoughts. [He is a little on the odd side.]

[They all seem to be,] Ami sent the telepathic response as she gave Angel a strained smile. "No, that's all right. It's late, I really don't want to drink coffee this late."

"What about your friend?" The Irishman asked.

"No thank you, I'm fine," Adam responded.

Another moment of awkward silence passed. Ami couldn't shake the feeling that her and Adam's arrival had interrupted something - something important.

The brunette gave a delicate cough and noticeably elbowed the Irishman in the rib cage. He, in turn, gave her a quick glance and then coughed as well.

"Oh, yeah." Angel indicated them with a nod of his head as he leaned against the desk. "This is Doyle and Cordelia. They work here with me." He paused, waving his hand in the direction of the older man, "And that's Giles. He's - he's -"

"A researcher," Giles replied. Having returned his glasses to his face, he pushed them up on the bridge of his nose. Ami immediately noticed his accent, so similar to her own. "Angel and I exchange information and help one another from time to time. You would be?"

"Ami," Ami supplied her name politely, feeling like she had made a connection with someone for the first time since walking into the office. Maybe it was this researcher's attitude and bearing, or maybe it was simply hearing the familiar traces of home, but whatever it was, she responded to him. "And this is Adam. He's a friend."

Giles sank into a nearby chair, folding his arms across his chest. "I presume you are here because you're in need of Angel's help?"

"Wow, Giles all those years at Oxford really did -" The brunette, Cordelia, began speaking, but suddenly stopped in mid-sentence at a look from Angel. She held her hands up, turned and walked behind the desk, "Fine, I'll just type. Or something."

"How can I help you?" Angel asked. No preliminaries, he simply picked up the conversation where he wanted.

Again, Ami hesitated giving a quick glance at Adam - pleading for guidance. She knew that the elder Tomorrow Person wouldn't say or do anything unless she asked him to. He was going to allow her to take the lead, mostly because she was the person whom Angel had contacted. And she was the one who was having dreams about him.

[The card,] Adam prompted.

Reaching into her pocket, Ami produced the business card and flashed it at Angel. "Why did you give me this?"

"It's my business card."

"But what made you think that I would need your help?"

"So you are in trouble then?" The Irishman, Doyle, spoke up, his voice rising slightly in excitement. "Something's happened to you?"

The chill that crept down Ami's spine was beginning to become as familiar as an intimate friend. She felt Adam's ripple of surprise at the man's words and she looked from him to Angel and back again. "Why do you say that?"

"Because that's what we do here," Doyle responded without a pause. "We help people. And normally people who walk through those doors -" He nodded his dark head towards the open office door, " - aren't just stoppin' by to discuss the sports scores."

"Yeah. We help the hopeless," Cordelia added cheerfully. She glanced from Angel to Doyle, who were both staring at her with equally unreadable expressions, and back to Angel. "What? What?"

"Fine," she added with a dejected sigh and began to shuffle the papers on the desk. "Fine."

"What Doyle," Angel gave a final glance at the young woman behind the desk before turning his full attention to Ami, "Is trying to say is that people come to us with problems that they don't feel the police can handle. And we handle them. So?"

"So?" Ami aimed the question right back at him. She was only here to see if she could puzzle out the relationship between him, her dream and the woman who had violated her mind, but so far she was batting zero.

"Allow me." Giles leaned forward in his chair, folding his hands in his lap. "At the risk of sounding entirely mad, has anything particularly unusual happened to you since meeting with Angel last night? Anything out of the ordinary that might possibly be deemed as inexplicable or even supernatural in nature?"

Ami touched the man's mind before she could stop herself. Something about his question put her off and made her exceptionally wary. Unfortunately, as she quickly glanced his thoughts, she didn't know whether to be more wary or less wary. The man believed every word that he spoke - even more importantly, he accepted the supernatural with the ease that most people accepted that the sky was blue and that human beings breathe air to live.

[Ami--] Adam's words had a note of warning. He sensed what she was doing and chances were good that she would get a reprimand for her 'rudeness' later.

[He believes what he's saying, Adam.]

[I know that.] Ami detected the note of worry in Adam's 'voice' that she had not detected before. [But there's something more going on here, Ami. I felt what you felt from Angel and it's not - it's not normal. His friend, Doyle, doesn't feel normal either. I don't even think that they're human.]

[Alien then?] As she asked the question, Ami recalled a time when asking such a question not only wouldn't have occurred to her, but would have seemed ludicrous as well.

[I don't know.] The tone of his voice told her that Adam did not like not knowing.

"Well, I enjoy a good ballet as much as the next person, but this elaborate dance that you all are doing isn't going to add any cultural enrichment to my life. So, here's a better idea. Why don't we all just cut to the chase? Because I tell you what, friends, time grows short." The new voice and the words caused every head in the room to turn toward the doorway. A short stocky man leaned then, an ugly battered hat on his head and a bored look on his face. His eyes skipped from one face to the next, landing lastly on Adam and then Ami. "And don't you two realize how rude that is?"

Ami had been wary before. Now, she felt blind panic. Instinctively she clutched Adam's arm. She didn't know what was going on here and she wasn't sure that she wanted to know. But as this man's eyes met hers, she knew without a doubt that he knew precisely who she was and what she was; he knew that she and Adam had been speaking and he quite possibly had heard their conversation.

[Let's get out of here,] Adam kept his voice calm, but clutching his sleeve as she was, Ami could feel his trepidation as well.

"Whistler, I presume." Giles rose from his chair, and Ami detected the slightest hint of wariness from the researcher.

That was not a good sign.

[Let's go,] Ami agreed. She and Adam rose in unison, attracting everyone's attention.

"Stay put," the man said, "No one here is going to hurt you, but there's a pretty good chance that something out there will." When they made no move to sit back down, he shrugged. "Stand then, it's not bothering me any, but your legs might get tired after a while.

"I'm not your enemy though kids. Nobody here is. Check it out if you want to, but I'm giving you fair warning that you might not like what you see. By the way, Doyle, nice shirt."

"Great," Doyle muttered, "Now I have to burn it."

"I thought that from the first time I saw it on you," Cordelia remarked. Her eyes bounced from the man called Whistler to Doyle. "And what is it with the bad clothes anyway? Genetics?"

"We really need to go," Ami interjected, hedging towards the door. "I don't think that you can help me after all, Angel."

"Sorry to have disturbed you," Adam apologized, falling into step protectively behind her. "We'll just see ourselves out."

"You two kids think you can just walk away? You think you have a choice?" Whistler called after them. "You don't. This isn't about choice, this is about fate, destiny, whatever you want to call it. It's out of your hands, so don't fight it. Your dream had a meaning, little girl, and if you walk out that door you'll probably get killed before you figure out what that meaning is.

"Besides, you lot have been saving the world for a while now. What's one more night in the grand scheme of things?"

Chapter Twelve

Ami watched the mysterious and odd man, Whistler, seat himself behind one of the office desks. He removed his hat and placed it carefully on the desk, leaning back in chosen seat and propping booted feet on the desk. She and Adam were alone with the odd man; everyone else had gone downstairs to Angel's apartment after Whistler's assurances that he needed to talk to Ami and Adam alone. He could explain things, he claimed, "If you two kids are willing to suspend disbelief for a little while."

Ami didn't trust Whistler; she knew that Adam didn't either. And she didn't know whether to be comforted or worried by the fact that Angel and his co-workers were wary of the man as well. However, lack of trust aside, they both wanted to get to the bottom of what was going on. If he had answers about her resurfaced dream, or about that mysterious woman, Ami wanted them.

But, most importantly, what they wanted to know was what Whistler knew about them - and how he knew it.

"Who are you?" Adam demanded. Ami allowed Adam to take charge of the situation. He tended to be better at this sort of thing than she was. Maybe if he had taken charge in the other room instead of allowing her to bumble out, they wouldn't be talking to Whistler right now.

Fat chance, a voice inside her responded.

"Is that what you really want to know 'mate?'" Whistler said the last word in a very bad Australian accent, which Ami got the distinct feeling was done simply to annoy Adam and rattle his cage just a bit. Which made no sense at all. Why would someone who claimed to want to help them want to also annoy them?

Of course judging from the man's earlier behavior, chances were good that this was just a natural personality quirk.

"No, what you really want to know is what I know about the two of you and how I know it." Whistler tapped his heel against the desktop and folded his arms across his chest. His eyes flicked back and forth between Adam and Ami, and he smiled in faint amusement. "You know, you two can sit down any time now. This might take a while. Besides, I'm going to get hell of a crick in my neck looking up at you."

"What do you want?" Ami asked from behind Adam.

"It's not what I want. It's what you want." Whistler shook his head. Sliding the seat backwards, he pulled his feet off the desk and stood. "And you want answers. You want to know all about my boy Angel - who really is one of the good guys by the way - you want to know what you're doing here, you want to know about to me. Mostly you're terrified about what I know about you."

"What do you know about us?" Adam asked carefully.

"The Tomorrow People. The next step in human evolution." Whistler deposited the hat back on his head as he strolled around the desk. If he noticed the startled looks that Ami exchanged with Adam, or Ami's sharp intake of breath, he gave no indication. "I have to say, you bunch of kids make me think that there is some hope for mortals. Humans spend way too much time killing each other for religion or land or something even less significant - and you call us evil. Strange world, I've always thought that.

"Anyway," Whistler hopped up on the desk and folded his hands in his lap. "Tomorrow People. You teleport, you read minds, yadda yadda yadda. Did you ever stop to think that you kids would really make a great teen tv show? Ordinary teens with extraordinary powers. Better than that hormone angst ridden Dawson's Creek crap anyway-"

"How do you-"

"They told me." Whistler pointed at the ceiling. "Right before they told me that I had to get to LA and see what the fallen angel was up to."

"God told you?" Ami's voice was riddled with sarcasm and skepticism. If she had been wary of this man before, it had faded the moment he said the la