*Prologue*

The sudden appearance of the Eye of Horus on his computer screen caused him to drop the report he was reading, scattering the pages across the floor. Swallowing hard, he ignored the mess and hurried to lock his door, before returning to his computer. With a few clicks of the mouse and typing in a password he had never used at work, he entered into his email program.

Not the public one he used for outside correspondence, or the network one he used for in-school messages.

The secret one.

The one he was never contacted at during the day.

Something big must be happening.

Licking his suddenly dry lips, he opened the one new message waiting for him and started the decryption program that would unveil the message but also render it invisible to all but him, just in case someone stumbled upon it.

And when he was done reading it, hitting the delete key would make it vanish forever, leaving no trace that it had ever been on his computer, the network or any server.

Magic had its uses.

The decryption program finished and the runes and arcane symbols turned to letters. He leaned forward, reading quickly.

As he read, he grew more and more stunned.

How long had this been going on?

Done with the too brief message, he stared at the screen for a long moment, then punched the delete button on the keyboard. His screen dissolved back into the attendance records that had been up only minutes before, but he ignored them, his mind racing.

Six killed in the last fortnight. Six between the ages of sixteen and twenty.

Quick mental calculations left him with the frightening knowledge that only three remained in the necessary age group. Below thirteen they were too young. Over twenty they were about to be retired, never to be chosen. After the ceremony, their powers quickly faded from them, to be recycled within the newborn.

How many did that leave outside the teen years? Fifteen? Twenty? There always seemed to be at least a dozen of them in training from infancy to thirteen years.

Would they be targeted as well?

He needed more information.

Shutting off his computer, he rose and slipped on his suit coat before gathering up the report and shoving it in his briefcase. He took a deep breath and unlocked the door, pasting on a smile as his secretary looked his way.

"Think you can hold down the fort for the last forty-five minutes, Martha? I'm not making any progress with this report. Thought I might try reading it at home."

"Sure thing, Mr. Wood. I'll call you if anything dire happens." With a reassuring smile, she turned back to her correspondence, and Principal Robin Wood slipped past her and out the office door.

Watcher Robin Wood glanced at his watch and calculated the time in London.

*Chapter 1*

The girl was pale with blonde hair and bright blue eyes. She ran through a snowy wilderness, plunging into drifts nearly waist deep and struggling through them.

Her panic was palpable, and it was obvious she was tiring.

A glance over her shoulder showed that her pursuers were gaining on her.

They had skis. All she had was her natural strength and endurance.

Gasping in the cold air, she turned for the thick forest, praying she could make it to the trees before they caught her. Surely there their skis would hinder their pursuit.

The tree line grew closer. Behind her she could hear the sound of waxed wood on snow, but the robed men were still several dozen yards behind her.

She was going to make it.

As she reached the first cluster of trees, a cry of joy escaped her.

It was abruptly cut off as a figure dropped from one of the trees and plunged a curved blade into her chest.

Blood splattered across the snow, and her eyes filled with pain and sorrow as she fell slowly to her knees.

"Nej...."

As her vision went dark, she saw the knife rise again, and heard the sound of chanting.

No....

~~~~~

Heart pounding, Buffy woke with a start and nearly fell out of her bed.

"Shit."

Another girl was dead. She knew it in her heart. Four dreams now in the space of ten days. She could no longer pretend they weren't prophetic.

And she didn't know what to do. Always before there had been Giles to help her decipher her dreams. For the hundredth time, Buffy wished he was there.

As she tugged the blanket up around herself, hugging her knees to her chest, a slight scuffling sound from outside her open window startled her, and she peered in that direction.

Going from sleep-muddled girl to predator in the blink of an eye, she sighed.

"What do you want Spike?" Her question wasn't harsh, just tired.

Slowly his face appeared at her window, but he didn't try to come inside. Buffy flipped on her bedside lamp and he blinked at the sudden light.

"Bad dreams."

It wasn't a question.

"How do you know?" she asked him.

He looked around skittishly. "Just know. Bad things a'coming. Through your dreams they are known. Pretty girls falling." His fists went to his eyes and he rubbed them, muttering, "I keep seeing them, red and bloody and dead. All my dead. So many. Thousands. Dead. Killed. Murdered. Me."

Shoving the blankets aside as guilt filled her, Buffy rose and walked to the window. She reached through and grabbed his fists just as he began to pound at his eyes. With a hard tug he was through the window.

Startled, Spike looked around himself then whimpered and collapsed to the floor, curling into a ball and beginning to rock.

Buffy's heart pounded harshly in her ears as emotions flooded her. She didn't want to feel this...sympathy towards him.

But, she couldn't help herself. No matter how hard she had pushed him away, how badly she had beaten him, he'd always been there for her. No matter what had happened at the climax of their odd relationship, she knew he loved her. Over the long summer without him, she'd had lots of time to think about it.

He truly loved her.

And he'd gone and gotten a soul for her.

How could she not be touched by that?

Dropping to her knees, Buffy hesitanly stroked his trembling shoulder. "Spike? You need help."

"Don't deserve it," his voice came muffled, his head twisted away from her in shame.

"That doesn't matter. You still need it. And...you're right. Something bad is coming and I need *you* to help me."

"Protect the girls?" Spike lifted his head and Buffy nearly cried at the pain and hope mingling in his expressive eyes. "I want to help. I want to make amends. I...I just don't know how."

Buffy smiled gently at him and lightly brushed his curls from his forehead. "First, we get you out of the school basement. The Hellmouth is a really bad place."

Spike's lips twitched, then a strained chuckle broke from him. "Rather an understatement, luv."

Smile widening, Buffy helped him to his feet. "Do you want to stay here tonight? On the couch?" she hurriedly added.

"Wouldn't be proper. I'll be fine. One more night...won't hurt." He frowned and shifted awkwardly on his feet as nervousness filled him. "Girls are dying, aren't they? For real? Not just dreams?"

"I...think so."

"Not good."

"No...not good."

*****

Taking a sip of her coffee, Willow frowned thoughtfully as Buffy finsihed her recitation of the latest dream.

"This was the fourth one?" Buffy nodded as the redhead continued. "And all in different places?"

"Looked like it. This one looked like some place pretty barren and cold. The snow was really deep. I mean, it's only early October. Where is it that it's snowy?"

"Lots of places. Scandinavia, parts of Canada."

"She wasn't speaking English. Well, the one word she said wasn't in English. The men...well...I'm guessing they were men. They wore hooded robes and boots and I couldn't see any faces. Anyway, they never say anything. The second girl, the one with the punk hair, she spoke in English, but that was after she was dead."

"So, some group of people are going around killing young women."

"There's chanting and the same knife. It has to be a ritualistic killing. And the second girl...she said..."

Buffy broke off and Willow continued, "From beneath you, it devours."

"Yeah. Xander's right, not a very cheery catch phrase." Sighing, Buffy added more sugar to her coffee. "Do you think I should call Giles? I mean, he's got his own life now and everything, but..."

"I never told him this," Willow admitted slowly, "But I don't think he was right to leave you. I mean, I needed him and I needed to be away from here, but he is your Watcher. Slayers have Watchers, that's how it is. He's immersed himself into the council, still working for the good and all, but he's needed here now."

"I don't know." Buffy shrugged helplessly. "I told him I understood why he left and that I needed to stand on my own two feet."

"In your personal life, yes, but there's a reason every Slayer has a Watcher, Buffy. You're a team. He's the brains and you're the brawn." Willow smiled at the look Buffy gave her. "You know what I mean. You're two parts of a whole. You can't be expected to figure out all about the baddie and then go kill it. You don't have the time or energy, and we, your friends, can only help so much. Of all of us, I have the most skill at research and yet...being totally selfish here, but I need to get my life back togeher, too. Xander has never been research guy, Anya...pretty much out of the picture, and Dawn? Over eager. She's got the basics down, and she wants to help..."

"But, she's still a kid. You had Giles there guiding you. She only has us, and we need guidance, too." Buffy sighed again and thumped her head on the table. "So, how do I ask him?"

"This new threat isn't just to Sunnydale, Buffy, and Giles already knows something is coming. As you so eloquently put it a couple of years ago, the Council works for you. So, put them to work and bring Giles home to help us."

"Because I really don't want to see the Hellmouth open for real again," Willow concluded grimmly.

*****

"Am I boring you?"

Blinking rapidly, Lilah focused on the man hovering above her. "What?"

Wesley narrowed his eyes and frowned, then pulled out of her and swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Well, that was fun."

Lilah felt the sudden urge to beg for forgiveness, but clamped her lips together until the urge passed. Sitting up, she reached for her full slip and pulled it over her head. "Things have been...happening at work. I was distracted." That was as close to an apology he was going to get.

"Oh? Interesting things?" Wesley didn't look at her, only rose to pour himself a drink.

"Things I can't talk about with you." Slipping from the bed, she padded over to stand behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist, rubbing her nose against his taut shoulder blade. "I promise I'll make it up to you as soon as I've dealt with a few things." One hand slid down his flat stomach to his groin to fondle his half-hard cock.

Setting the glass down untouched, Wesley grabbed her wrist and squeezed until she moaned in pain and released him. In a quick movement he spun around and forced her to her knees.

"I think you should make it up to me now," he said in a soft, silky and totally deadly voice.

A shiver of fear and lust went through Lilah and she placed her free hand on his hip as she leaned forward to run her tongue around the bulbous head of his cock.

Placing one hand behind himself on the table, Wesley braced himself and closed his eyes as she began the familiar rhythm of sucking and licking that she did so well. Still holding her hand, he guided it between his legs to caress his heavy sac. Once she was doing as he wanted, he released her and wrapped his fingers in her hair, guiding her mouth on him.

That she let him control her like this was still a wonder to him, but he wasn't about to question it.

Power was a heady thing.

*****

Standing in the middle of the boarded up store, Anya began to calculate the costs of repair, comparing those to the amount she'd received from the insurance company.

"I'm...I'm surprised you asked me to help."

She looked over her shoulder at Xander who was testing the soundness of the supports for the loft. "I figure you'll give me a discount. Former fianc‚ reduction or something."

He gave her a sheepish look and nodded. "Sure. I can get the framers in here this weekend probably. They don't have anything to do until the next big job comes along. And the electricians should be done with the science building some time next week so they'll be free to rewire the damaged parts. It'll probably take a couple of weeks tops."

Anya nodded distractedly. "Good. I need something to do now."

Now that she'd given up vengeance again. The cost had been too high, but she'd deal with it. Work would help.

The bell over the door clanked forlornly and she turned to tell whomever had entered that the big 'closed' sign on the windows really meant closed, then stopped at the sight of Buffy.

"I'm glad you're going to fix the place up and open again."

"Thanks to me we had an excellent insurance policy that covered even acts of insane people trying to end the world."

Buffy tried not to smile, glad to see that Anya was getting back to her old self. "Do you need any help?"

Cocking an eyebrow at her, Xander grinned. "Remember the last time you tried to work construction?"

"Not me," Buffy laughed. "But, I know someone who needs to keep busy."

"You're indenturing Dawn to me? Oh joy!"

"You really don't want to see Dawn wield a hammer. It's very scary. No, I meant Spike."

Xander stared at her.

The laughter faded, but Buffy continued to smile in an encouraging way. "I know he's not your favorite person. Okay, probably he's your least favorite person, but he needs help, Xander."

"He needs a stake in the heart."

Buffy sighed and Anya snorted.

"Your jealousy is very unpleasant, Xander."

"It's not jealousy. It's the fact that he's an evil soulless demon..."

"He's not soulless."

Xander swung around to face Buffy, his jaw dropping open in surprise. "What?"

"Oh, that, yeah I sensed that in him before he went all postal on me in the Bronze. Silly boy went and got himself a soul." Anya picked up the remnants of a once nearly priceless statue and sighed heavily. "Some of these things are irreplaceable." Turning it over, she frowned at the tag stuck to the bottom. "Ebay auction number 87562321? Oh, right...not so irreplaceable." Chucking it over her shoulder she looked up to see the other two staring at her. "What? It's very easy to get the Sumerian original confused with the cheap knock off. The only way to tell is in the striations in the clay."

"Yeah, can we get back to Spike having a soul?" Xander asked, his mind and eyes boggling.

"He has a soul. His soul, in fact," Buffy said gently. "He hasn't really told me much of how, but...you can see it, Xander. In his eyes, past the madness. And it's what's causing the madness. He went and got his soul back for me and it's destroying him."

"Maybe he should pay for all he's done."

"Can you get past your blind spot?" she snapped. "Yes, he's done horrible things, but he's also saved all our lives. He protected Dawn. He was there for me when I needed something to hold on to. I know you don't like it, but I did need him."

"And he turned on you."

Making a frustrated sound, Buffy yelled, "That's my business. I can deal with that, and, god Xander, just listen to him. He's being tormented by all the evil he did. No one deserves that. It's so obvious he's sorry, that he wants to atone. We have to let him and we have to help him, because something horrible and huge is coming to Sunnydale, and we need his help."

The stubborn look on Xander's face began to fade and he grumbled, "So, you think hammering some nails will help him?"

Buffy tried not to smile at her friend's small acquiescence. "I don't know. I'm hoping that getting him out of the high school basement and away from the Hellmouth, keeping him busy and productive, will be a good start."

"You know who he should talk to," Anya piped up from behind the half destroyed counter where she was rooting through a pile of books. "Angel."

Sighing, Buffy nodded. "I know. I've just been...Well, he doesn't know much of anything that's happened since I saw him last Fall. We don't really keep in touch. Willow and Cordy emailed occasionaly but I don't know if that continued while Willow was in England. I don't know if Angel knows about me and Spike...and I'm not sure I'm ready to tell him."

"Can I be there when you do?" Xander teased lightly.

Buffy mock scowled, then brightened. "How'd you like a roommate?"

*****

"Sounds like you had an eventful summer."

"Actually, it was incredibly dull except for the occasional horrible hallucination of snapping my son's neck." He shot her a guilty look and saw her grinning back at him.

"That might be a tad extreme, Angel, but you could whup his ass. Sounds like he needs that."

"Believe me, I thought about that, too, Faith."

Faith gave him a suggestive look and drawled, "With those big hands of yours, I bet you're a natural spanker."

Flushing, Angel dropped his hands beneath the table, grateful that they no longer had to use a phone to converse. Faith chuckled.

"Just teasing you, big guy. I missed you."

"I'm sorry no one came to tell you..."

Shrugging, Faith interupted, "No big. I knew you were allive. I mean...I just knew. And I knew you'd be back. Can't believe all that's gone down, though. You locked in a box under the sea all summer. Cordy a higher being. Gonna take a while to get used to that one! And Wes is really banging the lawyer?"

"Um, yeah. He's..."

"Never thought he'd have the balls for that!" She grinned even wider as Angel squirmed, then sobered slightly. "So...what about you and Cordy? When you visited last Spring you told me you were ready to take the next step."

Angel sighed softly and leaned back in his chair. "I don't know. I want her to come home, but I know the work she's doing is vital. I can't be selfish."

"Why not? Surely you've earned it."

"Have I?"

Faith rolled her eyes.

"And there's still the happiness clause. I don't know. I had a lot of time to think over the summer, and now I'm not sure that the love I feel for her isn't just the love of close friends. I never...I never felt incredibly passionate towards her. I was jealous of her relationship with Groo and I loved holding her and talking with her, but...There was never that urgent need..."

"Like there was with B?" Faith concluded softly.

Angel nodded slowly. "It's faded with Buffy. I will always love her, but our lives have taken separate paths. For a long time I thought that maybe in the future...But now I'm not so sure of that, and that's...well, it's not a bad thing. You know, it was so much easier when I was a soulless creature just fucking everything that moved."

Faith burst out laughing and Angel slowly joined her.

*****

Sitting on an incredibly uncomfortable yet elegant Adam chair, Giles frowned at the closed door across from him for what had to be the dozenth time in the past half hour. He'd requested an appointment with the inner circle, they'd granted his request and chosen the time, and now they were keeping him waiting.

Typical.

World about to end and the Watcher's Council was playing games.

Bloody typical.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Giles tried to make himself more comfortable as his arse slowly went to sleep.

*Chapter 2*

"A month of Sundays no."

"Come on, Xan," Buffy wheedled while Anya muttered to herself about just what a month of Sundays might entail.

"Evil dead, remember?"

"He has a soul, Xander. He's truly remorseful."

"Having a soul doesn't make you good."

"You should know," Anya piped in from behind the remains of the counter. "Didn't stop you from leaving me at the altar."

As Xander looked guilty, Buffy dove in for the kill. "You don't want him staying with me, do you?" At her friend's horrified look, she continued, "And it's not like he hasn't lived with you before. It'll just be until he gets back on his feet. I need him whole and sane."

"You don't need him, Buffy. We do fine without him."

"Sure, for slaying minion vamps, but what's coming is so much worse."

"And bigger, don't forget bigger."

Buffy shot Anya a look. "We're going to need all the help we can get."

"Spike is a brutal killer."

"And that's probably what we're going to need," she countered his final, weak attack.

Xander sighed heavily and surrendered. "I'm not paying for his blood, though, and he sleeps in the closet."

Smiling, Buffy hugged him.

*****

Trying not to rub his numb posterior, Giles made his way into the inner sanctum. He toted a heavy, bulging briefcase, and two ancient books held together with string.

The inner circle of the Watcher's Council consisted of five men and one women, all over the age of sixty, four of them by a long distance. Quentin Travers was the youngest and newest member.

Silently Giles wondered what that weasel had done to earn his way into this august circle.

"Mr. Giles, do come in," Percival Cummings-Graves, the head of the circle, and a Watcher for nearly seventy years, beckoned.

Giles took a place on the empty side of the long rectangular table and set the books on the polished cherry surface. At their looks of expectation, he began. "Something big is coming. I have reason to believe that the Hellmouth will open in the near future and..."

Mr. Cummings-Graves waved his hand, stopping Giles. "Yes, yes, we have read your reports. We are confident the Slayer can take care of the problem. We have a much more important issue to discuss."

"But..."

"In the last fortnight we have lost six potentials."

"...Lost?" Giles swallowed heavily, fear slowly filling him.

"Murdered. Stabbed through the heart. At first we thought they were simply random killings. It is not unknown for the potentials to get--what's the term?--antsy, and take it upon themselves to go out and seek trouble. Over the centuries we have lost several in this manner. They have added strength, speed and agility inborn, but that special spark that makes them Chosen is not present until their calling."

Mrs. Beaumont picked up the narrative. "Six girls between the ages of sixteen and twenty have been murdered, and with the last two we have come to the conclusion that they are ritual murders. The shape of the short blade is curved, and the way the girls' bodies have been presented..."

"How many does that leave?" Giles managed, his voice hoarse with emotion.

"In that age group? Three."

For the first time Giles saw concern on the faces of his elders.

And fear.

"Someone is trying to wipe out the future Slayers. What is being done..."

Again Giles was interrupted, this time by Travers. "Everything possible is being done, Rupert, and the facts are to be shared with no one outside this room. The last thing we want is a panic on our hands. We are giving you this information only so that you can properly shepherd Miss Summers. But, she does not need to know of any of this." Giles gave him a hard look, but he didn't waver. "There's nothing she can do but her duty."

"What about Faith?"

"We've put our own people into the prison as guards. She'll be safe."

Giles frowned at that statement. He was under no illusion that the Council would be sorry if Faith was killed and another Slayer chosen.

"We will take care of everything, Rupert," Travers continued. "We want you to return to Sunnydale to aid Miss Summers with the research you have done in the last month." He nodded to the books and briefcase. "Your work has been invaluable and your reports comprehensive."

The oldest member of the inner circle added in a quavery voice, "We have full confidence in you and your Slayer, Rupert Giles."

He nodded thoughtfully and respectfully at John Eubanks, then turned back to Travers. "And what if there's a connection between these deaths and whatever is coming?"

The members of the inner circle gave each other uneasy looks before Mr. Cummings-Graves staunchly replied, "Highly unlikely."

*****

During her free period, Dawn cautiously picked her way through the debris in the basement--and how could a new school accumulate so much crap already?--eyes and ears open for any ghosts or boogie-men. Remembering Xander's comment about things moving around down there, she really hoped she didn't get lost.

Oh well, in total violation of school rules she had her cellphone and could always call Buffy for help or directions.

Dawn peered carefully around a corner, saw that the corridor was empty of all but boxes, broken chairs, and what looked like an elephant's tusk, and continued her search. Slowly she began to pick out sound, a low muttering.

Her heart thudded in her chest, but she continued forward. She had to know why her friend, once the only person she could turn to, had attacked her sister.

The voice became more distinct as she grew closer, low, melodic, almost sing-song, and definitely British male.

"I can see the stars when I'm inside now, luv, just like you, and they twinkle so brightly like the lights in their eyes until they go out one by one and all is darkness. Pretty girls falling, tumbling, blood on the snow and the sand, life draining away, devoured from below. It grows stronger, luv, and it taunts me. Can you feel its power beneath us? Beneath me? Beneath her? Beneath her..." The voice choked off in a sob.

Dawn stepped around the last crate and found Spike crouched in a corner, his arms around his head, rocking slowly.

The anger inside her, anger she'd let stew since the previous Spring, suddenly fled, and she dropped to her knees in front of him. She understood now why Buffy needed to help him.

And she remembered all he'd ever done for her, all he'd ever been for her.

One act of violence couldn't destroy all that, could it? For months, she'd nearly let it, but now, facing him so broken...He was paying for it, right? He was suffering for his sins.

Buffy had said Spike knew he was wrong to try to force her and he'd gone off and gotten a soul to make amends. Dawn wasn't really sure having a soul meant all that much, but she did know that he was truly sorry.

Gently she brushed her fingers over his shoulder and his head popped up, eyes wide and full of pain.

"...Niblet?"

"Hey."

He shook his head distractedly. "Shouldn't be here. This is a bad place for bad little boys. Mistress comes with her switch to punish. No witnesses allowed."

"Spike, you've been punished enough."

"Never, no such thing. Hurt the girl. Hurt...my love. Need to be punished and punished until there's nothing left."

"Don't say that!" She pulled his hands down from around his head and he fell forward onto his knees. "Buffy knows you're sorry, Spike. She believes you want to earn forgiveness."

"Impossible," he whispered forlornly.

"Nothing's impossible."

Slowly he smiled and the wild look faded from his eyes. "My sweet Dawn, always my defender, even now?" One shaking hand rose to cup her chin.

Dawn was flooded with memories of him comforting her, his touch which should have disgusted her instead soothing her, wiping away tears, easing pain. For the four months Buffy'd been dead, he'd been there for her always. He'd been her everything. On Buffy's return, she hadn't understood why he'd pulled away from her, but things were clearer now.

Dawn had never wanted the details of her sister's relationship with Spike, and Buffy had never provided them, but the younger girl knew Spike loved her sister.

And she knew Buffy didn't return the feeling.

Dawn wasn't innocent enough to believe that love and sex had to go hand in hand, but she did understand unrequited love and some of the depths to which a person could sink in dealing with that.

But to have the love remain unrequited and yet be able to touch and hold the person....How painful must that be?

Dawn could never condone Spike's attack on Buffy, attempting to force her through sex to love him, but perhaps she could understand it a bit, and see the events that had driven him to such desperation.

Because it had to be desperation. Spike was evil, but his love was true.

Dawn believed that, and she thought that Buffy finally did, too.

"Come on, time to leave the basement."

"Have no where to go," he mumbled.

"Buffy's working on it. Meanwhile, let's go get some mochas and something incredibly fattening to eat."

Spike frowned at her. "Aren't you supposed to be in class."

"Skipping class once won't kill me." She tugged him to his feet.

"Never know what might do that, 'Bit," he mumbled as he let her lead him down the corridor to an entrance to the electrical tunnels which ran beneath the entire town.

*****

Robin Wood stood just inside the door of his office watching his newest counselor doodling at her desk. For a few moments she'd be deep in concentration, her pencil skimming across the paper, and the next she'd be twirling the thin piece of wood expertly between her fingers.

Then she'd drop it. Once she even hit her head on the desk after retrieving the pencil.

How could a Slayer be so clumsy?

He still couldn't believe that she'd agreed to work at the school where he could keep an eye on her. With her official Watcher on leave of absence--and that still baffled him, as a Slayer was always guided by an active Watcher--it was a good idea to have someone there if something really went wrong.

He'd wanted to tell her the truth, but bowed to the Council's wishes to keep his true vocation a secret even from the Slayer.

And now, with the potentials being killed, it was even more important that someone be there for her.

Even if she never knew about it.

*****

The dream awakened him for the fourth night in a row. Growling and grumbling, Lindsey rolled over onto his stomach and dragged a pillow over his head. Maybe he could smother out the images of Cordelia Chase telling him to go back to L.A.

Yeah, that was so going to happen.

God, she was pretty, though. Full of light and fire and kind of glowing.

He remembered her only as a snippy thorn in his side. She'd never glowed before.

Finally admitting that getting any more sleep was impossible, Lindsey rose from the bed and strolled to the window. Looking out over the quiet street in a lower to middle class neighborhood of Norman, Oklahoma, he sighed softly. It was peaceful here, close to home, but not too close. He had a comfortable apartment, a job as a paralegal in a medium sized law firm while he studied to pass the Oklahoma Bar, a few friends.

And, until four days ago, nothing but his own memories and guilt intruding from his past.

Something big was coming. Cordelia kept harping on that and...

"From beneath you, it devours," he murmured, rubbing his hand over his face. "That sounds delightfully pleasant."

Flipping on the light switch, he went back to the bed and sat down, opening the drawer of his night stand. He took out a small address book and flipped through the pages.

There were still a few people in Los Angeles who might talk to him, give him the scoop on what was happening with all the players.

He wasn't about to go back there without being fully prepared to face Angel and avoid Wolfram & Hart.