The bells chime in the night air of London, in the year of our Lord 1860. As the cloud-covered gray sky merges with the smog to become thicker, a police officer, whistle around his neck, carries a lantern aloft to light the path ahead.

He stops, respectfully, at the convent of St. Mary’s, it’s gates wide open as the Sisters lead themselves into their sanctuary, candles lit. They walk in solemn silence, and the police officer prays under his breath as they walk inside.

As the bells of the convent continue to chime, marking the passage of one task to another, the police officer checks his watch. It’s midnight. The witching hour.

Inside the corridors of the convent, the sisters move without sound. The only thing anyone can hear is the bells, melodic, pushing them forward in diligence. As they enter the main chamber, a voice from ahead of them, guttural, as if made from pain and trauma, speaks loudly, frightening the sisters, causing them to gasp.

“You’re out rather late, aren’t you ladies?”

Atop an ornate golden chair in the centre of the room, obviously one of great importance to the sisters, sits a man, with an Irish accent. He has handsome, almost angelic features, which seem at odds with the depth of his tenor. He sits in a rogue, casual way, his legs spread, with a mischievous grin on his face.

“We’ll you’re not dressed for a party, but we can fix that, can’t we now?”

He moves from the chair with lightning speed, the nuns not having time to react. As they scatter, candles and plates crashing to the ground, the man grabs one with a devilish grin and cups her around her waist, pressing himself against her greedily. “Not so fast, lass.”

The screams are so loud now that the bells can’t be heard. As Angelus pulls the nun close, he traces his hand from her waist and up her chest, her body shivering against the violation. He looks down at her and she locks eyes with the man. She’s too scared to gasp as she sees his face – no longer handsome, the evil visage of a demon, with sharp fangs. “Aren’t you a pretty thing? And a nun. Such a waste.”

He rips the wimple from her head and laughs, unfolding her hair. “Your blood smells warm,” he spits, leering at her. And then, he plunges his teeth into her neck.

The nun doesn’t scream. She doesn’t whimper. She gasps in pain. Or is it pleasure? Angelus doesn’t care. He drinks his fill, slaughters every nun in the place that he can find.

Several nuns have fled, and he shrugs. He’ll let them escape. His reputation needs to get out to the girl Darla showed him – the one he knows now will head to St. Josephine’s three blocks away, just to escape his stalking.

He doesn’t stop as the drapes catch fire. He doesn’t even smile. He simply takes his leave.

In the London of 2009, the modern day sisters of St. Mary’s run outside of the convent, which is ablaze. As fire trucks and officers attend to the scene and rally to tackle the blaze, their leader yells his commands to his team. “Come on now! Get those hoses out!”

In the flames, he thinks he sees a figure, but he can’t be too sure. “What the bloody Hell?”

It’s dark and musty, smoke stinging his eyes. And then, when he looks up again, the figure in black is gone.

Across London, later the next day, the sun shines in the mid-morning sky. In his bedroom, Angel wakes with a start, the memory of Angelus and the nuns on his mind.

“What?” he exclaims, using his hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead. He freshens up, gets dressed and grabs his coat.

Okay. That was weird.

There are dreams and then there are nightmares. And then there’s… whatever that was…

Trying to ignore the nightmare, Angel walks deep into the bowels of the apartment building, stopping at the basement entrance. Descending down into the dark, his eyes adjusting instantly, Angel moves forward.

Normally, I would sleep until sundown, but I’m too restless now. And I know just where I need to go.

Above Angel on the city streets, specifically the busy shopping district known as Bond Street, a woman, carrying multiple bags of shopping, is talking into her phone. It’s pressed against her shoulder and her face, and she’s clearly struggling.

“Yes, Reggie. I picked up your collar stays – you don’t need to keep asking. Yes, darling, I’ve done all the shopping. It’s just been exhausting. Look, I have to go and… Oh!”

A man with a punk look walks behind her, hitting her on her posterior as he goes past, wolf whistling as he goes. She yelps at the undesired touch – and grumbles when she realises her phone, as well as all her bags, are now scattered around her on the ground. She looks angrily at the man who grabbed her and calls him out, but he simply waves off her concerns and tells her to get stuffed.

“I’ll help you miss.” A young voice gets through the woman’s anger and she looks for its source. It’s a young teenage boy, in a school uniform, one from an exclusive academy. The woman recognises the tie colours.

She thanks him for his offer and he bends down to help her, picking up her bags and helping her to her feet.

“I saw what that lout did. Let me take these to your car for you. It’s too much for one person to manage.” He smiles, and, picking up some of her belongings, the woman gestures towards the parking garage, the location of her car.

“It’s so nice to find out there are still people with manners. Thank you, so much…”

The boy looks at her. He says his name is Parnell, and she smiles at the interesting name.

They head towards a green car, not the latest model, but the one from two years ago. She hates the colour: her husband’s choice. Something about a sports team. She fumbles for the keys with her free hand. “Just let me get the packages into the boot, and I’ll take care of you. You must at least let me give you a fiver.”

Parnell smiles, as she opens the boot and places her shopping inside. “That’s not necessary, miss. Good deeds are their own reward.”

She closes the boot and she turns.

And then the parking garage is filled with gut-wrenching screams of horror. Then, unseen by anyone, her body is dragged away, behind the cars, out of sight, save for the trail of blood it leaves on the concrete.

In his underground establishment, Rory looks squarely at the man in front of him and barks. “Oi. We don’t see many of your lot in here.”

Inspector Brandt doesn’t look too concerned. He’s seen enough by now. “You’re not prejudiced against us human types, I hope.”

The werewolf hybrid looks at him and guesses who he is straight away. “Huh. So you’re Brandt. How about one on the house?”

Brandt nods and gives his order. “Boddingtons… Angel?”

As Rory places the pint in front of Brandt, he takes it and Rory points to the far corner of the makeshift bar. “Corner table.”

Angel barely looks up from his bourbon to look at the young officer as he approaches the table. Instead, he knocks the drink back. “Inspector Brandt. Why do I think you’re about to ruin my day?”

Brandt doesn’t smile, but he does sit down. “Here I am to give your life meaning, and this is the thanks I get?” Angel makes a grumbling sound, clearly not in a good mood.

Brandt throws a file on the table. It hits the table with a snap and Angel notices the label. It’s nothing to do with him.

“All copies in there, so you can take it with you.”

Angel pours more bourbon into his glass. “I’m sorry. Do I work for you now?”

Brandt picks his drink up, appreciates the smell for a moment and then takes a sip. He nods at the file. “Just listen and see if your curiosity itches. Nice woman, upstanding citizen. Found dead in a parking garage on Bond Street. A pair of holes in her throat that you might recognise. She was just about drained.”

Angel knocks his drink back and pours another. He’s not worried at all. “Vampires were a problem way before Magic Town. My curiosity remains itch free.”

Brandt watches as Angel puts the bourbon bottle down. He notices he keeps his hand on the neck of the bottle. He chooses to ignore it for now, and continues his story about the case.

“Her phone records show her talking with her husband at 3:08 in the afternoon and the body was discovered about 4:30 – squarely in daylight hours. We’re talking an ordinary indoor car park. No tunnels or hidden rooms or anything tricky.”

Angel sits back, takes another sip of his drink, seemingly aware of the officer’s suspicions. He lets go of the bottle. “Vampires can figure ways into the daylight if they have to.”

Brandt shrugs, but shakes his head afterward. “But they’d rather not. This is three dead in a week. Almost like the buggers prefer sunshine. So, it’s either something acting like a vamp that isn’t… or it’s a vamp acting very un-vampish.”

Finishing what’s left of his drink, Angel stares at a photo of the woman’s corpse, taken at the crime scene. Without taking his eyes off it, he replies to the inspector.

“Okay, Brandt. You got my attention.”

Later, as he pours over the files, scattering the details in front of him, picture by picture, gruesome detail by gruesome detail, Angel thinks about the case. He opens a bottle of brandy as he works.

Like I said, it can be done. Going out during the day, I mean. Heading out into daylight means layers of clothes, a blanket over my head, but only when I have to. It’s never first choice. Ever.

And it’s certainly a bad way to hunt. Three woman in five days, all in broad daylight. Why?

Night is when we hunt. It’s easier. It’s better. I’m intrigued. Or maybe I just don’t want to sleep.

He blinks his eyes for a moment, pours a drink and knocks it back in one go. He gets up, picks up a DVD from the file and turns to the player by the television. He presses the wrong button at first, almost shouts at the technology, but then the player opens and it plays automatically. Angel looks at the remote, and thanks a higher power for automation.

All the killings happened with a few blocks of Bond Street. So that narrows it down at least. Brandt urged me to take a look at the parking garage security footage. I don’t know what he thought I could see that the police couldn’t see for themselves.

He sees the woman on the monitor and jumps up, fumbling with the remote, and struggling to find the pause button. Eventually he manages it. The boy she’s with. Angel stares at the picture, grainy on his small tv.

Or maybe, he knew exactly what I’d see.

He walks over to the other side of the room. He picks the phone and dials a familiar number, programmed into the keypad. The person on the other end answers quickly.

“Hello? Lavinia? When’s the last time you and your sister went on a good-old fashioned shopping spree?”

Five days later, the sun once again shines brightly over a busy Bond Street. Now, Lavinia and Sophronia Fairweather are standing in the middle of the streets, bags everywhere, boxes piled in Lavinia’s hands.

Sophie looks around dramatically and puts on a performance for the people around them. She is not the world’s best actor, her sister mutters under her breath.

“Oh, no! Lavinia, is that the time?” She pretends to look at her non-existent watch and gets louder as she speaks, ensuring that people, including a cute young man she’s spotted, hear her.

“Darling, you’ve got to take my bags home for me. I’ve only got fifteen minutes to make my hair appointment. I hate to leave you alone with the shopping but it just cannot be helped!”

Lavinia struggles now as Sophie loads the shopping onto her arms, looping bags on her wrists and places yet more boxes on top of the already wobbling pile. She growls at her sister under her breath now. “Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t you?”

This only seems to make Sophie louder. “If I miss, Andre won’t be able to work me in again for months.” She looks around, seeing if she’s attracted attention.

As Sophie walks off loudly, her part in the play completed, Lavinia has spotted the flaw in her plot. “But how can I possibly manage by myself?” She calls back to her sister.

Rushing back to her sister’s side, Sophie whispers hilariously into her ear, trying to remain discreet, but failing epically. “You’re a resourceful woman, Lavinia. You’ll figure it out.”

She then resumes her loudness and follows the cute guy.

Leaning against a parked car, or rather stumbling against it, Lavinia watches as the boxes start to tumble to the floor. She can still hear Sophie cooing in the distance. “Bloody woman. Next time, you juggle the packages while I run off!”

She looks down at her feet and suddenly sees a pair of hands, reaching out for one of the boxes. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full, miss. I saw how your friend abandoned you. Let me help you to your car.”

Lavinia smiles at the boy and spits out the next two words. “My sister. She will be hearing about this, I can tell you. Oh, but I didn’t drive. My home’s not so far. Would you mind terribly walking me? I hate to be a bother, but you’ve been so nice.”

The boy grins. This will be easier than he thought. “Your home? Yes. That’s no problem at all.”

As they walk, the young teenager turns to Lavinia, sparking up a conversation. “Don’t be too hard on your sister. Older siblings like her always feel so entitled.”

At the mention of the word older, Lavinia smiles at him. “I quite like you, young man.”

As they walk in the direction of the Giles Townhouse, Angel lurks in an alley way, watching them walk away, keeping to the shadows, clinging to the shade.

Four days in a row, making scenes up and down Bond Street, but we finally hit pay dirt. Is that our culprit actually standing there in broad daylight?

Taking the direct tunnels should get me there ahead of Lavinia in plenty of time to…

He turns into the next tunnel, expecting a clear path back towards the townhouse. He finds it blocked however, a group of workmen at the scene. He’s horrified now, worried.

Uh-Oh. Roadblock. Now I need an alternative route. Fast.

At the townhouse, Lavinia is opening the front door. She walks in without a care, calling after her to the young man. “Thank you so much… Parnell, wasn’t it? Please do come in and set those down anywhere. I can at least offer you a cup of tea.”

The boy grins behind Lavinia’s back. “That would be lovely.”

As Lavinia leaves the room, she walks into the kitchen, lighting the gas stove and putting the kettle to boil on the flame. She calls back in to her guest. “Make yourself comfortable. It’ll be just a minute.”

She turns, and comes face to face, their noses almost touching, with her sister. “Sophie!”

“Hush!” silences Sophie, resisting the urge to gag Lavinia. “Where’s Angel?”

Lavinia looks behind her sister, looking for the vampire. “He’s not here?”

“No!”

“That’s bad.”

“Yes.”

Their quiet whispers stop as a voice comes from the kitchen door. “Ladies, I’m feeling peckish. I thought with my tea…” He steps fully into the kitchen now, sunlight on his face. And his fangs unfurled.

“I might have a bite.” He growls at the sisters, his eyes a fierce red.

Rather than scream in fear or try to flee, the sisters both sigh and roll their eyes. Lavinia was expecting so much better. “Oh darling, really?”

Sophie looks at him, seemingly confused. “That can’t be your banter.”

Lavinia is relieved the act is over, and Sophie passes her a stake, hidden behind her back, out of sight. “You’ve been a perfectly awful guest, Parnell. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

The vampire chuckles, delighted. “I do so enjoy being scolded. I think it’s why I pick older women.”

That word again gets a reaction out of Lavinia, but this time it’s one of anger instead of playful flirting. She yells in the vampire’s face and lunges at him, stake in hand, screaming. “‘OLDER?’”

The vampire growls, lets her come, but laughs in her face as Lavinia tries to pierce his chest with the stake. “Blast, it’s like trying to puncture elephant hide!”

He grabs Lavinia by the wrists, stopping the stake. He smells her. “You on the other hand, are very soft and very warm.”

Opening one of the shopping bags from their trip, Sophie grabs a heavy object and spins around. There’s a metal skillet in her hands, and it collides with Parnell’s face with a satisfying clunk. “Get your filthy hands off my sister!”

Sophie lets the pan fall to the floor, grabs her sister by the wrist and races for the front door. “Come on!”

When they reach the foyer, however, Sophie turns, remembering something vital and rushes back, off the drawing room in the other direction. “Sophie, where are you going?”

“I need something from the Sundries closet in the hall!”

Sighing and cursing again, Lavinia considers following, but is stunned when Parnell appears, quicker than she expected. She races across the room, and opens the washroom door, locking it fast behind her.

She looks around the room as Parnell starts pounding on the washroom door. “Playing hard to get? I don’t mind earning it. Makes a change from those docile birds I had before.”

Tipping over jars and creams, Lavinia desperately shoves things aside and finally finds something useful.

As Parnell splinters through the door and reaches in, he peers at her and then stops. Lavinia, can of hairspray in her hand, flicks a lighter that she found discarded on the side by the incense, and lights the stream.

The gas lights instantly, and catches Parnell by surprise. He doesn’t scream, but he does move from the flame, rushing backwards.

Having recovered her item, one of Faith’s crossbows, Sophie enters and smiles at her sister’s make-shift flame thrower. “Well done, Vin. I’ll finish him!”

But as the arrow flies through the air, the vampire cackles and turns into mist, the arrow passing harmlessly through him. Both sisters are stunned.

He reforms, solid now above Sophie and moves for her throat. She gasps, and closes her eyes, waiting for the sharp sting in her neck, but it doesn’t come. She opens her eyes to see Parnell’s shocked look as a hand clutches around his throat and removes him from Sophie, throwing him across the room. Angel words of warning to him fill the air.

“Hey. Stay away from the Aunts.”

As Parnell rises again, he punches Angel to the ground, taking the vampire by surprise when he turns into a bat and flutters above them. Angel swings for the creature, but it’s too quick.

Sophie however has a look of concentration on her face. Satisfied she’s right, she screeches at the bat.

“Smile for me, you son of a…” She lets the arrow go and is not surprised at all as it hits the bat in the stomach. It recoils for a minute and falls, almost lifeless to the ground. When it hits, it’s in the form of Parnell again, the arrow sticking out of the school uniform. Sophie recognises the colours.

But he still gets up. Angel is behind him however and, before Parnell can turn, Angel’s sword goes through his neck, decapitating him, rendering the rest of his body to a dusty skeleton on the carpet.

His body seems to fade away slower than usual however. The three look down at the abnormal vampire, all three confused and in shock.

Angel rubs his chin with his hand. “Okay. Kind of strong for a little guy.”

Lavinia steps beside him, her arms folded in a serious manner. “And he can turn into a bat?”

Sophie finally lowers her crossbow and goes to speak, choking on the dust as she does. “And mist!”

Later, Angel decides to head out, walking the streets now to unwind. He thinks about the vampire he has just faced. He doesn’t know what it was. Where did it get it’s new powers from? His thoughts overtake him as he walks, and he barely notices the evening bustle of life happening around him as the sun begins to set.

So yeah, we’ve got problems. I was hoping Brandt had made a mistake. No such luck.

I need to walk and think. And I don’t want tunnels.

I want fresh air and the night.

Vampires don’t turn into bats and mist. That’s B-Movie stuff. Okay, maybe Dracula can. And attacking in daylight… I sure as Hell can’t.

Something’s changed. First zompires. Now this?

Is this just more Magic Town fallout? Maybe. But these attacks weren’t in Magic Town.

I should call Buffy. I don’t think I’m ready for that. Pretty sure she’s not.

I don’t like it when all my guesses turn out to be wrong. But I have to face facts. For whatever reason, vampires are different. Again.

I guess that’s one more thing to keep me up at night.

Angel hopes he can sleep that night. But if he had only noticed the headlines that the street vendor was clearing away. Today’s London news will, after all, be old news and forgotten about by tomorrow.

Including the fire at St. Mary’s. A fire started the same way as the one hundreds of years before, in 1860. Six sisters dead, but not killed in the fire.

They were killed by teeth. And there are reports of a figure seen escaping the blaze.

But Angel doesn’t notice.

And some force, some essence, some evil somewhere, cackles. His plan has begun.

And his family will all return. Especially the one called Angelus.