“Well, it seems your grand plan has come together nicely.”

In his townhouse, Alasdair Coames covers up the cadaver on the slab in front of him: the body of Rupert Giles.

“You have the corpse of Rupert Giles, restored to vitality if not life by the Crown of Coils. You have his soul, fully reassembled and contained within the Essuary. All that remains is to bring them together.”

He turns to address his current visitors: Angel, Faith and Spike are gathered around him, listening to Alasdair’s summary of the plan.

“And while I still think it’s a terrible idea, I’m eager to hear how you plan to do it in a world where spells no longer function. There is a plan, I hope? I’m spending entirely too much time stopping my cats from using my poor friend as a scratching post.”

Angel pulls some paper out of his coat pocket. He’s been researching this plan for quite some time, he explains again, and realised that he wouldn’t be able to find a single artifact that could resurrect simply by itself.

Spike nods, lighting a cigarette despite the look on Alasdair’s face. “No such thing.”

Angel agrees. “That was the consensus. Resurrection is a tricky business. You need a spell.” He unfolds the paper from his coat and shows them what’s on it – it’s an incantation, in an ancient hieroglyphic language. “And I found one.”

Alasdair perks up at the sight of the scroll, excited. “The Lazarus Incantation? Good choice. High chance of killing the user, but as you’re already dead, that won’t be an issue.”

Spike asks how he plans to do a spell without magic. Faith seems happy until she hears that and remembers, but then turns to Angel. “Unless there’s something else you’re not telling me?”

Angel shakes his head. “Spells don’t work because the Seed was destroyed. Other dimensions are closed off. No more ambient mystical energy. We need a new source. And Whistler showed me how to get it.”

Faith then raises her voice at him in anger. “Crazy Whistler? Mr. I’m-Gonna-Kill-Two-Billion-People-To-Bring-Magic-Back Whistler? Not exactly loving your sources of inspiration here, Angel.”

“Whistler, Pearl and Nash have been hoarding magic items. They plan to tap them for their power. I’m going to do the same thing, on a much smaller scale.”

Faith throws her hands in the air and turns her back on him, unimpressed. “Oh, perfect. A mini-apocalypse. That’s okay then!”

Spike picks up on the mention of the demon twins and mentions that he ran into them recently, at the bottom of the Sunnydale crater. They were looking for pieces of the Seed. Angel turns to him in shock. And you didn’t mention this because?

“Am I meant to be a mind reader? I didn’t know it was bloody relevant! Last time I saw them they were a pair of idiot kids sleeping with every demon they could find!”

Faith ignores their argument: she’s seen them bicker too many times. Her cell phone goes off in her pocket and she looks at the collar ID. She recognises the name and excuses herself. The call is important. She leaves the vampires to it.

“Well, they’re a hell of a lot more deadlier now! Did they get a piece of the Seed?”

“Course not! I clean up my messes, unlike some people in this room. And besides, I owe those two a thumping. Your latest windmill tilt just got a fair bit more interesting.”

“Good. Because we need all the help we can get.” Faith comes back towards them, her face slightly confused. “That was Buffy.”

Angel looks at her. “Good, then she can…” but Faith stops him.

“No go. They’ve got their own crisis over there. Some girl named Dawn’s sick. B sounded pretty upset. Called me self-centred.”

Spike instantly moves at this. “Dawn? Sick how?”

“Got the feeling magic was involved.”

“Do they need help?”

Faith stands there, confused by his questioning. “That’s why she called, but I told her we were up to our necks in it. I feel bad, but we don’t even know this chick.”

Spike stares at her incredulously. “I realise you weren’t bloody close, but bloody Hell, you fought the First together. Dawn Summers. Buffy’s sister.”

“What are you talking about? Buffy’s an only child.” Angel now also looks confused.

Spike turns instantly, heading for the door. “Right. I can see there’s no point explaining. I’m off.”

Angel calls after him. “You’re kidding? A second ago you wanted payback! This is important Spike. If you’re trying to impress Buffy…”

“You know me. Can’t resist a damsel in distress. I saved you, didn’t I? Besides you’ve got the vampire-with-a-soul quota filled. You don’t need me.” He exits and is halfway down the stairs and out of the building before Angel or Faith can say anymore.

“You don’t need me,” Spike says to himself. “She does.”

And like that, Spike is gone, into the night.

Now they’ve finished, an irritated Alasdair asks them if he could continue. “If we could get back on topic?” he says, raising his hand to his head as if he has a headache. “I have specific concerns about your plan, Angel. Distilling magic items into pure energy is incredibly dangerous. Besides, Whistler, Pearl and Nash stole all Rupert’s artifacts. Where do you plan to get enough..?” He looks up, mid-sentence and sees the pair, both looking around and over him, above him at the shelves and shelves of magical items in Alasdair’s collection.

“No!. Absolutely not!” He waves his arms in alarm. Even if I wasn’t opposed to tampering with the forces of life and death, each of the items is precious. I will never allow you to destroy them in pursuit of a selfish goal that could do incalculable harm.”

“Won’t allow?” Angel looks Alasdair in his eyes, lowering his neck so he’s at the Englishman’s eye level. “You really think you could stop me?”

He goes behind Alasdair, gesturing at the shelving. “You’re pretty attached to this stuff, aren’t you? We’ve got three cosmically powered nutjobs going around stealing every magic item they can get their hands on. But they haven’t hit the biggest collection in London? That strike you as funny? Because there’s only one way it makes sense to me.”

He leans into Alasdair’s face again, close enough for Alasdair to flinch. “You went from one of the most powerful wizards in the world to a tired old man. Whistler and his crew want to bring magic back by any means. That’d be pretty nice for you, wouldn’t it?”

Faith perks up behind Alasdair, who’s eyes are looking everywhere but at her. “I knew it. I knew there was something hinky about him. All my instincts said run.” She sighs and rolls her eyes. “Geez, does every old guy in the world get his rocks off by screwing me over?”

Alasdair doesn’t turn to face her. He walks over to the nearest shelf without uttering a word. He reaches for an object, a black rock that has energy humming around it.

“What do you call it when assassins accuse the assassin? A lie. Apocalypse, Now. Brilliant film.”

Angel yells at him, reaches out to stop him taking the artifact into his hands, ordering Coames not to touch it. Coames ignores him.

“Very well. You touch it, if you wish. It’s the Maskstone. It absorbs mystic emanations. In essence, it cloaks my collection from all known means of magic detection. Our enemies haven’t stolen my things because they don’t know they’re here!”

Angel approaches him, but Alasdair turns his back on the shelves, guarding them with his outstretched arms.

“You’re right, Angel. If you want to steal from me, I can’t stop you. But there is one thing you will not get from me: an excuse to justify your actions.”

Angel, deeply affected by the Englishman’s words, hangs his head in shame. Faith comes over to him, placing her hand on Angel’s shoulder. “I kinda believe him.”

“Faith, please, from the start, you’ve had reservations about this.” Alasdair reminds the Slayer of their conversation months ago. “I realise you feel like you need Rupert. His guidance, his wisdom and support, and yes, his love. But is that a reason to take such chances? Don’t you see that if you do this, you’re only doing it for yourselves?”

Faith agrees. Sure, she admits, there’s self-interest, for either side. And she understands what it’s like to have something that makes you feel special – she gets why Alasdair doesn’t want to lose that either – but she has the urge to be honest, and she’s not got time to hold back.

“I read G’s diaries. So, you know he didn’t want to die. That he had a lot of unfinished business. Stuff he wanted to do. I know, because I was supposed to do it with him.” She picks a small wooden box off the shelf. It’s beautifully carved, with a metal casing around it. It looks old.

“But you’re not about to lose a couple of your mint-in-the-box limited editions to give him that chance.” She throws the box, straight at Alasdair, who struggles to catch it before it falls and breaks.

She looks straight at him, truth in her eyes. “Ain’t no saints in this room.”

Then she turns to Angel. She says that Alasdair couldn’t stop him, but she could. And Giles would want her to. She looks at her friend with intent, asking him honestly. “You gonna make me?”

Angel shakes his head. “No. Sorry. I used to be able to trust my instincts.”

“You used to be wrong a lot.”

“I’m not sure where else we can get what we need in one place, or even several.”

Faith tells him that if they have to take the bad guys out, they could use their stolen objects, but Angel wanted to get Giles back safely before engaging the enemy: he’s not convinced they have a good chance of surviving this one. He tries to tell Faith that he’ll do it alone, but she’s not having it.

“Pearl and Nash are going to kill continents of people if Whistler’s plan works.” This is about stopping them, not Angel’s’ eternal quest for redemption!

But Angel starts to argue with her. “Someone has to bring Giles back. Someone has to make this right. He deserves better.”

“Don’t you tell me what he deserves!” Faith snaps, pointing at him. “I went to war with the guy. Yeah, he didn’t want to check out, but he was always ready to, for the right cause. If all those people die cause we played it safe to bring him back, because you made it all about you…. AGAIN…”

Alasdair is busy thinking, staring at the wooden box that Faith had thrown. He can hear her behind him.

“I promise you, wherever Giles is, he’ll be in Hell. So suck it up Angel. Welcome to the club. Put on your big boy pants and…”

“Stop.”

Alasdair says it loud enough to get their attention immediately. “It’s yours. Take whatever you need.”

Angel looks at him, completely surprised. “You mean it?”

“Clearly, you’re going to do it anyway,” Alasdair concedes. “I don’t like you taking foolish risks with the safety of humanity, but I’m beginning to see that not helping you could do more harm than cooperating.”

He walks slowly over to Giles’ body, puts his hands at his old friend’s side. “And despite, what you may think, I miss him too.” A tear runs down his cheek, which prompts Faith to squeeze his arm in comfort.

“Thanks. For real. What do we have to do?”

Alasdair smiles and straightens up, his resolve evident. “Bring Lavinia and Sophronia here. They cared for Rupert as much as anyone. And they have some experience with mystic forces. The only other thing I ask is that you understand – truly understand – what could go wrong.”

His eyes lock with Angel’s.

“If you still want to go through with it… I’ll see you in a few hours.” Then he turns to the shelving and starts his gathering.

Arriving shortly afterward at her home, Faith and Angel are pleased to find the Fairweather sisters already waiting for them. They’re eager to talk.

In the main library, Angel takes Lavinia to one side and tells her it’s time. She’s delighted, and he tells her he’ll start the ritual and get hit by the Death curse which will not affect him. Lavinia suggests if something goes wrong, Alasdair can take over, and herself if need be, but Angel insists her memories and her feelings towards Giles is what Alasdair, who’s busy melting down his artifacts. really needs.

“Giles is going to be reduced to his essence and reassembled. Guided by our thoughts. It’s crucial we don’t lose our focus, or he could just disperse.”

Lavinia stares at him in silence for a moment, hands on her hips. When she speaks, her tone is gentle and sincere. “Angel, I realise I can appear flighty and immature. But I want you to listen and believe when I tell you this, because I think you of all people will understand.”

She looks at the family portrait on the wall, the picture of her with the young Rupert. “My sister and I once destroyed our nephew’s life. If we are given a chance to rectify that deed, there is no power on Earth that is going to stop us.”

Faith, elsewhere, is with Sophie. “You recall the last conversation we had on the subject?”

Faith nods as the older woman looks at her. “Yeah. You said if this went bad, it was up to me to shut it down.”

Sophie smiles. “Don’t misunderstand, I hope you succeed, more than you know. But I’ve seen what can happen…”

She sits down, her head lowered. “During the war, there was a young man I…” She stops for a second, emotion on her face. “Cared for. He died in the Blitz. I couldn’t bear the thought of living without him. The pain it would cause me. And why should I have to? I had magic…”

She looks more serious at Faith now. “I was stupid. Stupid and selfish. The hardest thing I’ve ever had to do was put it right. End his suffering.” Tears start to fall down her cheeks. “I fear Angel has invested too much in this succeeding to know when to let go. I thought you could be more clear headed.” Now her tone changes. It’s slightly on the accusatory side. “But you seem to have bought in quite heavily.”

Faith avoids her gaze and turns away from the Fairweather sister. “Sure. I want him back. Even need him back. I’ve managed to screw up pretty damn beautifully on my own.” She looks down at her axe, grips the handle more tightly.

“I owe Giles too much to let him suffer. If it comes down to it, I’ll step up.” Faith gets up and leaves the room, with a grateful Sophie emotional as she goes.

“Good girl. I knew I could count on you,” she smiles.

On the roof-top, Angel and Faith are discussing their conversations. Faith thinks Sophie will be fine. Angel is even impressed with Lavinia. This labels them as ‘tough old broads,’ Faith jokes.

She turns to Angel, asks him how he feels. Angel is hesitant, but calm. “I’m okay. Just. I know how much things can go wrong. Don’t want to get my hopes up.”

“Good, but that’s not what I meant. Angel, even if this works, it’s not going to undo Twilight. It’s not going to bring back magic, or anyone else who died. It won’t change how people feel.”

She puts her hand on his shoulder. He knows, he says, but Giles will be alive. “And with all the things I’ve done, all the mistakes… at least I would have put one right.”

An hour later, Alasdair Coames gathers Angel, Faith and the sisters around the slab where a covered Giles waits. The Essuary is glowing, the magical artifacts having been burned, melted down and their essences put together. Alasdair looks each of them in the eyes and exhales slowly. “Is everyone ready?”

Nobody except Angel takes their eyes from Giles. A fire, needed for the ritual, is burning in a basin next to them. “Just do it,” Angel says.

“Let’s begin then.” Alasdair pulls the sheet from the cadaver, exposing Giles to them for the first time. The sheet is placed in the burning basin. The flames start to get higher, reacting to the spell. Faith backs away at an unexpected crackle and Alasdair checks on her.

“Quickly! Apollo’s Brazier should hold the energy for a short time, but it will dissipate, and I’m not keen to lose any more of my treasures than necessary!”

Angel nods, unrolls the ancient scroll, the Lazarus Incantation, and begins to speak and chant in the ancient language. As he continues, the Essuary vibrates and hums, the blue energy inside it becoming more flame-like and intense.

Angel suddenly groans in pain. “I think that was supposed to kill me,” he winces, as Alasdair takes the scroll. “Good. Now give me that,” he says quickly. “Your Aramaic is appalling.”

As Coames continues the chant, Angel, recovering, looks at Faith with a grin. “I think it’s working. I think it might actually be…”

Suddenly, a bright green and familiar light floods Alasdair’s home. There’s a loud crash from the front of the house and furniture goes flying through the air. Sophie ducks behind the slab as glass showers everywhere.

Alasdair looks horrified at the sound. Angel and Faith react by gripping their weapons.

Whistler, Pearl and Nash float into the room, the green lightning flashing around the demonic twins. “Well, well, well… ” Whistler exclaims as he takes in the scene in front of him. “Someone’s been holding out.”

Angel looks back at Alasdair and the sisters. “We’ve got this,” he orders. “Stay with the spell!”

The noise in the room is deafening as Pearl and Nash charge up, the mix of blue and green in the air showering the combatants in cool, ethereal light. Whistler orders the twins to keep Angel and Faith busy while he raids Alasdair’s vault. “This place is a gold mine,” he grins.

Nash is delighted to be in battle, conjuring a large spike of green energy, sharp as a blade, from his forearm. “Everyone I want to kill. All in one place. It’s like Christmas!”

Faith swings her axe at Pearl. “You took the words out of my mouth, Bowie,” the Slayer quips as she avoids Pearl’s green eye beams. “Soon to be followed by your tongue and your entrails,” Pearl spits at her, avoiding the Slayer’s blow.

Angel is caught in the face by one of Nash’s eyebeams and yells in agony. Nash smiles. “You would have made yourself a paradise and left us to burn. Seems only fair to return the favour!”

Angel stops his yelling and ignores the smell. The right side of his face is blistered and bubbling, burned beyond recognition. Unfortunately for Nash, this simply makes the vampire angrier. His fangs unfurl and he rushes at Nash, his voice filled with rage and devilish anger. For a moment, it reminds Faith of Angelus and not Angel.

“You think anything will stop me now?” He slices Nash across the neck with his blade and knocks him to the floor. “You miss Twilight? You want the murderer? You’ve got him!”

And with that, Nash is screaming, pulling at Angel’s hair in desperation as the vampire with a soul sinks his teeth into the demon’s neck and begins to drink.

Nash, taken completely by surprise, shouts at Angel to release him, blasting him with the eyebeams and piercing Angel straight through his chest. The beams slice through his body and emerge, violently, shredding the skin from Angel’s back as it does so.

Pearl, noting her brother’s bleeding throat, brushes Faith aside with a telekinetic blast, calling her brother’s name. She races to his side and asks if Angel hurt him, calling the vampire a mongrel, but Nash, holding and pressing his wound, says he’s fine.

They’re interrupted by Faith, who yells for their attention. “Hey! Pro tip: Don’t take your eyes off the bitch with the axe.” She throws it with deadly accuracy, and it spins, slicing against Pearl’s side, causing her to screech in pain. “Filth! Animals!” She fires several blasts in every direction.

One of them slices through Alasdair, who’s helped by a quickly moving Sophie. “The spell,” he insists, struggling to stand up. Sophie tells him he can do it, but he yells at her and Lavinia that he can’t breathe.

He shoves the scroll into Lavinia’s hand. “Oh bugger,” she sighs, but begins chanting the Aramaic as soon as she can. The blue glow around Giles’s body is getting brighter and brighter and the sister’s can barely seen the outline of the corpse now. They’re both shielding their eyes as Lavinia struggles to chant, the eldritch energies encompassing the room.

Whistler exits the vault and looks at the demon twins. “Let’s go,” he orders, a full sack of artifacts on his back. Pearl doesn’t want to leave: she wants to cook her enemy’s hearts in something, but Whistler throws a telekinetic blast towards a book case, which collapses between Faith and the demon, blocking Pearl’s way.

“Quit screwing around,” Whistler tells her. “We got what we need. Eyes on the prize.” Pearl grunts, but picks up her brother and Whistler and takes to the skies, retreating as fast as she can. Faith watches after her and curses.

“I hate not being able to fly.”

Angel is soon next to her, but tells her to ignore the enemy. They turn to Giles’s body and the blue light, where they can just about make out the sisters chanting together. “Oh no,” Angel says, whispering quietly.

Faith helps Alasdair to his feet and walks towards the sisters. Sophie calls to them. “Get over here! Now!” Lavinia is still chanting, and waning fast, but she holds the scroll steadfast, completely bathed in light.

“Wait. I think I’ve got it. I’ve…”

She’s cut off by a scream. It’s an all mighty roar as the body on the slab convulses and shakes. It floats above the table, contorting and gasping, but the light is too bright to see the body itself.

“Oh my God,” whispers Faith in shock as the screaming from the corpse fills the house.

“What did we do?”