Gloucester, 1643. The midst of the English Civil War.

The royal gates are wrenched open by Colonel Massey as he calls out to his brothers in arms. “Take the palace! Capture the royals!”

Within seconds, the people rage forward, descending upon the stronghold of Prince Rupert. Soon the Gloucester Road will be in the hands of the people. They shout, rallying each other, and nearly trample each other in the rush to get at the opulence that awaits inside.

And as they rage, ordinary citizens, spurred on by poverty, loyalty and power, a man walks through them, revelling in the chaos. He joins in with the Royalists and laughs alongside them.

He heads through the din, walking calmly. And as he walks, Angelus mocks the humans around him. “Yes, by all means, get those damn royals. Justice for the common folk and all that.”

By the time he puts his first foot on royal carpets, there’s a litter of bodies in his path. Royalists shot with muskets, stabbed with swords. Blood up the walls. Most of the people have already come through here, and Angelus grins as he sees a guard, aiding a lady in a long gown, out from their hiding place.

Hoisting her gown, the lady takes her guards hands, but has a surprise when she looks up. The guard is gone, out of sight, and she’s held up against the wall by a man with the face of the devil himself.

She shivers in fear, his fingers, trailing from her hair, down to her throat and lower still. She tries to scream, but he puts his finger on her lips, grinning at her. “Hello there, lass. I have a craving for blue blood, and you look like you’ll fit the bill just right.”

He lowers his mouth to her throat, and she doesn’t have time to scream. He savagely drinks and then discards the woman, like trash on the floor. One person is the same as any other, he shrugs.

He wipes his mouth with his sleeve and then does his coat up. Trying to look presentable in a hallway strewn with death. “I love a good revolution. It’s like a buffet. Blood runs in the streets!”

He turns when he hears a noise. It’s a Royalist, shouting at him, musket in his hand. “You monster!”

Angelus squints for a moment. No, it’s not a Royalist. It’s a police officer.

It’s a modern day cop, holding a firearm. “Hold it!”

But he feels himself now, gripping the man by his throat. He looks down, his face in full vampire mode. He’s dressed with his familiar coat. Even his hair is the same. And he feels the rush, the feeling of terror coming off the young officer in waves. He smells the scent, takes it in. Not Angelus now. No familiar cackling.

He’s Angel. And he feels delight in what he’s about to do. He lowers the man to his level, looks up at his eyes and then runs his finger over his throat.

As Angel smiles, he notices the bodies at his feet. Civilians, in modern clothing. The cries from the man in his grip brings him back to his attention. The man screams, begging loudly as Angel moves him towards his teeth. “No, no…”

“NO!”

Angel awakes with a start and a scream, the third, maybe fourth nightmare this week. But that one was different. That wasn’t Angelus. That was him. He throws the cover off himself and sits on the edge of the bed. He’s rattled.

He gets up and marches into his living area, still half asleep. He pours himself the final shot left in a large bottle of whiskey and knocks it back. It’s been a minute and a half since he got up.

In the Suriname jungle, relieved to have someone else to carry the load, even for a moment, Faith Lehane hangs on Samantha Finn’s every word. They’re on an embankment that looks familiar. Back the way they came.

“Okay, we’ve found the path back to the river. This will take you right back to the boat. If you keep moving, you should be all right. I’ll write down the coordinates. Send a chopper strike team as soon as you get back.”

As Sam points outward to where they need to go, Faith walks towards her. She still has her stakes in her hand, pointed outward. On the defensive, unsure of her next move. “What about you?” she asks Sam.

“I don’t think the vampires will circle back to follow you. But I’ll make sure. Then I have to race back to the vamp camp. If it looks like they’re about to do something to the prisoners, I won’t be able to wait for backup.”

Then she looks at Faith, in to her eyes for the first time. “Besides, they have my husband.”

Faith whispers his name, but Sam catches it. “Riley.”

“You know him?”

Faith gulps, but answers quickly, not wanting the moment to linger. “I… Yes. Sort of.” She deftly changes the subject, turning to the four members of her team still left. There’s Sarah and Martina, Mai and Reese Zane. She looks at them, locking with their eyes as she speaks: these will be her final orders.

“Take this and do what she says. And get Martina to a doctor.”

Mai steps forward in surprise. “You’re not coming?”

“Can’t let her traipse off into the jungle alone.” Mai looks at her defiantly. “Then I’m coming with you.”

“And I’m coming too.” Faith, expecting this one, sighs and turns to Reese Zane. “Not a good idea, Miss Zane. I can’t guarantee your safety if…”

Reese, as Faith knew she would, shuts her down. “I want to find my father, just like she wants to find her husband. It’s what people do. And I am not asking.”

Faith admits defeat, knowing Reese won’t be dissuaded. “Hey, you’re the one footing the bill.”

As Sarah nods and carries Martina back to the boat, the others follow Sam, back the way they came. She looks at them, thankfully. “I can’t say I think you’re making the wisest choice, but I have to admit I’m glad for some back-up. So… what do they call you?”

Faith stops when she realises she’s asking her. Mai looks at her with a gentle nudge. Faith answers Sam back, bracing for impact. “Faith.”

But Sam says nothing. She looks ahead, and they continue through the jungle, the night breeze making the only sound as it rustles against the trees.

In London, at a large townhouse, Alasdair Coames is delighted by the visitor who has come to call. “Angel. What a pleasant surprise!” He raises his arms in welcome, but then drops them after seeing Angel’s tired face. “But something tells me this isn’t a social call.”

Angel sighs and looks at his friend. “I wish I could say I popped around for tea.”

Alasdair shrugs with a grin. “Oh, I can do a little better than tea if you change your mind.”

Angel thinks for a moment, then wisely thinks otherwise. Instead, he quietly brings up his point. “Alasdair, did Whistler leave anything magical when he cleaned the place out?”

Alasdair puts his glass down with a sigh and pours an extra large brandy into it. “What sort of catastrophe is dropping on us this time? The face-eating demon from the poison dimension? A steampunk spaceship full of talking cockroaches? Amway salesmen?”

Angel chuckles slightly. “Nothing so dramatic. Maybe nothing at all. I’m dealing with a witch and wouldn’t mind having something in my back pocket. Maybe something that neutralises spells.”

Alasdair has downed his drink and decided against another, placing the kettle on. He turns to Angel, slight anger on his face, but not directed at his friend. “Between Whistler cleaning out the place and the rest of us using everything down to my last rune stone in that final battle, there’s nothing left that would…” He stops then, and Angel watches the imaginary cogs in his friend’s head. “Neutralise, you say?”

Without another word, he’s away, racing to his reliquary of books and moving his ladder into position. His voice is muffled as he moves up and across it, searching valiantly for his memory. “Perhaps in this instance, we need to think outside the box.”

Angel sighs and then pleads with Alasdair. “Oh, don’t do that. Why does everybody want to do that? I hate doing that.”

Alasdair slides down the ladder like a teenager, his face excited. He’s glad to help. “Well, I had a mace of the inquisition that the Templars used against witches. Whistler again.” He opens the book to Angel. “Ah. Here it is. ‘Bundege’s Lesser Demonic Creatures and their Uses.’”

Angel wasn’t expecting the title. “Creatures?”

Alasdair doesn’t look up at him, but directs his friend to the images in the book. “This is the one I was thinking of. It eats magic. I know a man, a sort of Curator. He can help us.”

Angel looks down, intrigued by what he sees. “Najakot?” he asks.

In the South American jungle, the troop have stopped, resting while they have the chance. Sam has taken command expertly. “Okay, rest easy while you can, people. It’ll be daylight soon. The vampire village is that way.”

Mai volunteers to go on ahead, check the surroundings. “I’ll have a look.”

Sam calls after her, shouting a warning. “Don’t get too close. They’ll have sentries.”

Around their camp, Reese is emptying her boots, pouring sand and rock out of them. She smiles. “I can’t believe how much I miss my desk. It was always Daddy who was the adventurer.”

Faith grins at her. She can relate. “Never rode a desk, but I can’t believe how much I miss that lumpy bunk back at DeepScan HQ.”

Sam picks up on this and comments. “Oh. You’re with that Slayer outfit. I thought you were standard Zane corporate security. The all-female unit should have been a tip-off.” She thinks for a moment quietly and then starts to speak again. “You know there was another Slayer called… Oh.”

She stops talking. Doesn’t say anything else. Reese goes quiet, intrigued. And then Faith turns, quietly to Sam. She sighs.

“Yeah. I was sort of working up to broaching that subject.”

In London, Angel is scouting. He tries the docks and the warehouses there, but finds no sign of magic peddlers or Pixies. Nothing out of the ordinary. Without intending to, he winds up facing a familiar flight of stairs. He walks down and walks straight into the busy demon bar, and Rory sighs as soon as the vampire walks in through the door. As Angel approaches the bar, Rory stops what he’s doing and pours Angel a drink.

“I’m always worried when I see you come in here, Angel.”

Angel makes no attempt to hide his frustration. “Can’t a guy stop in for a quiet drink?”

Rory doesn’t quite laugh, but grins profusely at the vampire. “You? Pull the other one. Where’s the lovely bird you were in here with the other night?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

Rory taps the bar in front of Angel. “I know this is your first stop whenever you’re looking for somebody. But I can’t help you. I haven’t seen her.”

Angel nods. But then he asks another question. “Okay. Let’s come at this from a different angle. Let’s say I’m brewing potions. I need eye of newt and whatnot. Where would I do my shopping?”

Rory smiles. He understands. “I think I see what you’re getting at.” He has a glint in his eyes. “Maybe try the pharmacist.”

An hour later, Angel is staring at an old Victorian-style shop front, that somehow missed the modernisation of the rest of the area. It’s filthy and the lettering above the shop has faded. Angel laughs as he understands Rory’s humour. He’s not looking for the pharmacy. He’s looking for a man named the Pharmacist.

He goes through the front door of the shop, an old-fashioned bell ringing as he enters. The Pharmacist is behind the counter. He’s a balding, middle-aged man, one of those types that’s run the business for years, kept it in the family. There’s nothing particularly special about the guy, but when he spots the vampire come in, Angel can sense the man’s fear – and his barriers going up.

The man turns to face him, rather nervously. “Ah, the infamous Angel. I was wondering when you’d get around to me. I don’t suppose it matters I haven’t done anything wrong?”

Angel doesn’t smile, or show any emotion on his face other than annoyance. “How come whenever people see me coming, they think I’m bringing trouble?”

“Your reputation precedes you.”

Angel approaches the counter, his face still passive. “Actually, I wanted to ask about your clientele.”

The Pharmacist doesn’t miss a beat. He sounds too rehearsed to the vampire’s ears. “My business changed when Magic Town changed. Anything synthetic or chemical stayed more or less the same. The more organic inventory transformed. And they came from all over to buy from me. Dabblers. Wannabe mages. But their money spends. And I don’t ask questions. I certainly don’t ask names.”

No, thinks Angel, which you felt the need to tell me before I’ve even asked a question. Game up.

Onto the gentleman, Angel doesn’t give up. He ignores names completely. “The young woman would be a recent customer. I’m looking for her. Nothing serious, no trouble for you.”

The Pharmacist shakes his head, more confident now. “I’m sorry, Angel. I’d help you if I could. Customers come and go. I don’t really pay attention.”

Angel doesn’t believe him for a second. Looks at him. His eyes tell the Pharmacist that he’s been caught out. “Right. Well, I appreciate your time. I hope if the young lady comes around, you’ll let me know. It’s important.”

The business owner watches as Angel leaves the shop in the early evening dusk and waits until he’s out of sight.

A voice comes from beneath the counter. Perry the Pixie.

“Thought that boring tosser would never leave,” the Irish creature says. He flitters up toward the Pharmacist, nodding. “You did good. Didn’t give Angel anything to chew on.”

The Pharmacist looks at him, intensely serious. “I’d never inform on one of my best customers. Here are the herbs your mistress wanted.”

Perry hovers over and struggles to pick up the bag. He grumbles under his breath for a moment struggling with the bag’s weight, but eventually finds a way to carry it that he’s comfortable with. As he leaves, the Pharmacist calls after him. “Please tell her that I welcome her business anytime.”

As he leaves, Perry looks about, making sure he’s not being followed. Angel is above, trailing him from the shop. He doesn’t see the Pixie smile a sneaky grin – he will lead the vampire to his mistress, post-haste.

Back in the jungle, Sam and Faith are observing sentries from one angle, while Mai and Reese scope out another. Faith has binoculars in her hands, searching through the valley below. “I don’t see any of the sentries… Wait. There’s our handsome fellow. Do you have a shot?”

Sam nods, not taking her eye from her scope. “I do, but that would give us away. We need to locate the other sentries and take them out quietly. Then, we can approach the camp.”

Faith gets up, hands the binoculars to Sam, who places them into her pack. “Let’s catch up with Mai and Miss Zane. Maybe they have a better view.”

As Sam starts to walk, ahead of her, Faith slowly brings up the rear. When she finally feels right, she speaks. “And since we have a few moments alone, maybe we should talk.”

Sam turns to her, not certain. “Should we?” Faith breathes in and then out, slowly.

“I take it Riley told you what I did.”

Sam doesn’t look back at her, focusses on the trail on the ground. “He did. He’s a clean-slate sort of guy and there was plenty he wanted off his chest before we tied the knot. Riley came out of Sunnydale with some trust issues. He couldn’t understand why Buffy was denying they’d slept together. She had to connect the dots for him… that you and Buffy had switched bodies.”

She stops and leans against a tree. She now turns to Faith, wanting to look at her. “Imagine how that felt. Standing there, while Buffy explained how he’d been duped.”

Faith looks down at the ground, away from Sam’s gaze. “I can imagine. And I’m just saying, if you’re pissed off, I get it.”

Sam makes sure she’s looking straight at Faith now. “I’m not pissed, Faith. I mean, I’m not exactly thrilled, but it was a long time ago, before I even knew Riley.”

“Still, I owe you an apology.”

Sam puts her hands up. Shakes her head. “Owe me? No, Faith, you don’t owe me.”

“I get you want to be let off the hook. You want some kind of absolution. But it’s not mine to give. It’s not in my power to make this easy for you. It’s Riley you’ve wronged, not me. You can’t do an end run around that by apologising to me.”

There’s silence in the air for a moment, neither woman saying anything. Finally, Sam turns away. “But you can help. Right now we need to stay focussed on rescuing people. I need you. That sound okay?”

Faith watches as Sam turns and walks onwards. Faith sighs and responds with a quiet “Roger Wilco.”

In Amy Madison‘s London Apartment, Perry has arrived back and has told Amy of his trip out. “He followed you?”

“That Angel’s a slippery one, mistress. But I think I glimpsed him on my tail.”

“Good. That means he’ll be coming with his answer.” She walks over to her table, the jar of Warren goop placed in the centre, like an altar to his memory. She picks up the jar, holds it in her hands for a moment, like it’s a stuffed animal. “You know darling, if we actually could bring you back…”

“You miss him, don’t you?”

A voice from the doorway gets her attention. Amy is surprised: she thought she would have more time. Angel stands there.

Amy puts the jar back down and looks at Angel. “Of course. He was taken away too soon by something that wasn’t his fault. You were part of that. I hope you’re here to make amends by offering your help.”

Angel walks into the flat. That tells him something, since he wasn’t invited. He talks slowly and calmly. There’s no anger or aggression from him. “When you first came to me with your request, I thought you were out of your mind. The answer was obvious. No. And then I got to thinking… Maybe you’re right.”

Amy listens to his words, and starts to smile. “Angel does what he wants, right? But if somebody else wants to do the same thing, he slams the door. Probably doesn’t seem fair. So, I’ve thought it through and I’ve decided.” He hesitates for a moment, enjoying himself. He turns to Amy and glares at her. He can see her anticipating his every word.

And then, clearly and quickly, he tells her: “I can live with that.”

Amy’s face drops, his words sinking in. She looks at him, inquisitively, wanting an explanation.

“There’s no way I’m helping you. Everyone who told me a resurrection was a bad idea was right. Doubly right when it comes to somebody like Warren.” He spits the name, a final flair of theatrics.

For a moment, Amy looks down. She’s upset. Angel turns to walk out the door, having given his answer, but Amy looks up at him before he has a chance to walk past the threshold, her eyes now a dark shade of black.

“Son of a bitch!” she yells and she’s engulfed instantly in a purple light. It comes from her hands and the air around her moves, swirling like smoke.

As she moves, the cloud transforms into a solid fist, which grabs Angel and begins to squeeze him. He screams out in pain.

Amy yells up at him, using her magics to move the fist, repeatedly smashing Angel against the ceiling. “You know, I don’t think I need you, Angel. Here in Magic Town, with so much power at my disposal, I doubt even Willow could stop me. So you don’t have to help if you don’t want to.”

She manipulates the fist to duplicate into another and each one grabs a side of Angel and pulls him, almost unconscious to Amy’s side. She cackles in his face.

“All you have to do is die.”

In the jungle, watching a sentry pace back and forth, Mai goes through Faith’s words in her head, and repeats them aloud under her breath. “Remember, hit the first sentry as fast as you can and move on to the next.”

She sneaks up behind the vampire and then stakes him. She smiles in triumph, until she hears a rustle behind her. She sees another sentry coming through the green, snarling at her. “Son of a…”

She’s not quite quick enough, but Faith comes to her rescue, flying through the air and kicking the sentry in the chest. The vampire lands in a pile, but soon flips himself up. Faith charges him from the front and then Mai comes from behind. They both stake the vampire at the same time, the vampire dusting between them.

“Is that all of them?” Mai asks Faith as they head back to the others. “I hope. Keep moving!”

Arriving at their vantage point, Sam looks at Faith with a grin. “Got mine. You?”

Faith nods. “All sentries staked and accounted for.”

Reese, calls them over, binoculars in her hand. She passes them to Faith. After a quick look through the lens, Faith comments. “I got the village.” Sam looks at her. “Prisoners?”

Faith looks through the lens again and starts observing and counting. “Three men. In bad shape. But still alive.” She goes along the prisoners, tied up on pikes in the middle of the village. She sees the last, and recognises him instantly. She turns to Sam. “There’s Riley. Sam, your husband is alive.”

Sam looks towards the village, but doesn’t look through the binoculars. She whispers under her breath. “Oh God. We’ve got to get in and get them, now.”

Faith nods at her. “We will. As soon as the backup gets here we’ll…” Sam looks at her, interrupting. She shakes her head. For the first time, Faith realises, she can see fear on the woman’s face.

“You don’t understand.” Sam says, tears behind her eyes. “When I left, there were seven prisoners. The vamps are feeding on them. We go in now…” She turns back, tears hidden, but nerves in her voice. “Or my husband is dead.”