I shuffled along, meandering without direction for several blocks. There
   was too much going on in my head to watch where I was going. Weird thoughts
   and visions occupied my mind. The strangest was the image of Spike and
   Angel-in-my-body shagging like wild weasels.

   Even more disturbing was the memory of Spike's tight little ass pressed up
   against my crotch AND ME LIKING IT. It seems wrong but it was so right.
   I...Spike has a great butt. Sure, I have looked. I mean, what woman
   hasn't? I suspect that even Buffy has checked him out at least once, even
   though she would rather suck face with leeches than admit to it.

   I...I...I am a SHE. A SHE in a HE body, but still a SHE.

   And Angel? Angel & Spike? Spike & Angel? (A before S flows better.) OK
   then, Angel & Spike. Spike seemed ready to carve a heart proclaiming that
   "Spike loves--lusts--Angel" in the nearest tree truck. Of course, Spike
   thinks that Angel is me, Willow, but...the sentiment was there.

   What am I to make of THAT?!

   Neither Spike nor Angel SEEM gay. Well, maybe in a burlesque, macho way
   that involves violence and tons of testosterone. And Angel had Buffy, Spike
   Drusilla. Of course, there is the "If it moves, vampires will shag it
   factor". But I always thought that was more of a myth than anything else.
   Kind of like Scottish men and what they wear--or not--under their kilts.

   Angel is Irish; Spike is English. Angel is even from the time period that
   matters most. Not to sound like I am carrying around nationalistic
   stereotypes in my head, but I am to an extent. Did you know that a third of
   America's revolutionary army was reputedly made up of Irish emigrants? That
   fact alone is reason enough to think that they would rather fight than shag.

   Excuse me, err, um, have sex. Spike has corrupted my English and Angelus
   my way of thinking. All I need to do is start watching football and leaving
   the toilet seat up and my transformation to male is complete.

   Because, it would seem, that upon returning to Sunnydale in *my* body,
   Angel turned into a nouveau sex fiend and took up "shagging" with SPIKE!!
   Of all the people (AND demons!) in the entire population he might have
   chosen from, Angel just HAD to choose the most sarcastic smart-mouth in
   Sunnydale!

   GRR... Let me inject a note of hysteria here when I say that I AM NOT
   HAPPY WITH ANGEL RIGHT NOW!!!!!!!

   Weirdly, this is making sense to me. I may be shocked BUT I am not
   surprised! I mean, what exactly do I REALLY know about Angel?! Aside from
   the whole "Tall, dark, and brooding" aspect that is? Very little and most
   of it is leading!

   Known Angel Facts:

   A) He was a vampire bad ass for about a hundred and forty years. I
   *imagine* that liking sex must have played some role in that. My vampire
   self certainly seemed sexual enough. AND shagging is half of all Spike ever
   talks about. (Blood, violence, and Drusilla being the other half.)

   B) About a hundred years ago, the Kalderash cursed him with a soul for
   killing their gypsy princess chick. The time following the curse is a big
   blank but I am picking up fragmented memories of starvation and suffering
   from good ol' Angelus.

   C) Just over a year and a half ago, Angel lost said soul because of the
   "Happiness Clause" of his curse. I re-cursed him but not before his demon
   managed to wreak havoc and destruction. (And murder a whole bunch of
   innocent people, including at least one who was very close to me.)

   And that is about it, all that I really know. Angel and sex--his practices
   and preferences--are really a great big gray area. Well, other than for the
   fact that sex would have made his soul go bye-bye before I monkeyed with his
   curse.

   If I make a few bold assumptions, I can extrapolate that: SEX + ANGEL ==
   THAT SPECIAL MOMENT OF TRUE HAPPINESS

   TRUE HAPPINESS is not that easy to come by. Or so one would think. Back
   in my days of rosy romanticism--before my newfound cynicism--I used to
   believe that it was SEX WITH BUFFY that made him so happy. I thought that
   the total trust and acceptance of being with the one person--the Slayer no
   less!--who truly *loved* him had made him truly happy.

   Heh.

   It was a beautiful fantasy.

   Silly me. I really had no understanding of MEN. Being one has been such
   an enlightening experience! Being a demon has been even more illuminating.
   Angelus is more than just a bad ass; he is also a first class MAN.

   *You could use the attentions of a real one, Sweet Cheeks. Spike was right
   about one thing. Dogboy didn't have knackers to keep your minge stuffed.
   At least Spike is hung li--*

   "You shut up!" I interrupted.

   *You're the one who brought up my pair.*

   "One more word and I'll get your pair snipped! Gelding you would be a
   pleasure!" I growled, really meaning the threat. Right that moment, I was
   feeling majorly PMS bitchy. Suffice it to say, I not nearly as fond of IT
   as Angelus. IT gets hard in the morning, is easily excited, and an erect IT
   makes moving awkward and embarrassing. IT is a pain in the arse.

   Angelus shut up. Humph. Note to self: threatening to trim my demon's
   equipment is an effective silencing measure. End note.

   Goddess! Listen to me! Talking to my inner Angelus! And bad mouthing an
   entire gender! I never had thoughts like this before Oz left. Is some part
   of me nursing a grudge, blaming the entire male gender for his
   transgressions?

   Hell yeah!

   Okay, breathe and refocus. Being a Wiccan is about balance and harmony.
   If I cannot master my emotions (and demons) then I cannot... Err, cannot
   what? What the hell am I doing in this body? What am I going to do if this
   is permanent?

   I think that I am beginning to understand why Angel tried to kill himself
   last Christmas. The prospect of escape--any release--from this wretched
   existence is welcome. I HATE BEING A VAMPIRE.

   This is ridiculous. Not only am I being unfair to Angel but also my
   reasoning is biased and unfair. Angel did not lose control because of sex
   or he would have drained Buffy while they were making love, JUST LIKE MY
   NIGHTMARE.

   No, Buffy herself told me that he was fine right after the first time they
   made love. She fell asleep in his arms, and he lost his soul in the
   afterglow. He felt content, happy, and then the curse kicked in. Angel
   felt what was happening and instinct drove him as far from Buffy as he could
   get, or again, Buffy would have been drained in her sleep.

   I am beginning to realize just how fragile control over the demon really
   is. My slipup is a glaring example. Control is ephemeral, insubstantial,
   and almost an illusion. I have to be vigilant, always alert, and on-guard
   or Angelus will slip through again. Next time I might not be able to stop
   him before he kills.

   It is amazing that Angel has been so successful. Not one kill in over a
   hundred years. My respect, and admiration for Angel's courage and strength
   are profound. I *must* resolve to be as brave and self-disciplined or
   someone innocent will die. Then, *I* will be the one in need of staking...

   Talk about walking a mile in another person's shoes! The footsteps behind
   me and ahead of me are definitely not mine! This has been an eye-opening
   look into Angel's life. I have developed a lot of empathy for the daily
   struggle that is his. (If only this could have happened to Xander...)

   Would Xander hate me now because I am a vampire? Me, Willow, his best
   buddy and childhood friend? The thought is terrifying and depressing
   because I am very much afraid that he would. Xander is not terribly
   flexible on the Vampires == Evil thing.

   Considering what a trial this is, Angel is a virtual paragon, a model to
   emulate and my inspiration in times of darkness and trail. With his
   guidance and the resolution of my own free will, I will triumph in the face
   of adversity. Angelus be gone <whip crack>, Willow is on the job!

   I think highly of Angel...

   BUT!!!

   I am still going to wring his treacherous, lying little neck when I get
   hold of him. GRRR...

   How DARE he tell Spike such ridiculous lies?! IMAGINE, he and I carrying
   on a secret spanking affair! HA! I suppose that he told poor Spike some
   story about leather, paddles, and fun bondage stuff. HA again! I *never*!!
   (Well, except for that once, but that was only to catch a killer.)

   And poor Spike thinks he is fooling around with Willow! Shy, quiet,
   introverted Willow Rosenberg and William the Bloody, bof'ing like wild
   beasts. Quite the image, ain't it?

   I would blush but why bother? In the last two days, I have dreamt about
   sleeping with and murdering my best friend. I have come out of the closet
   to a cop, had my ass paddled by a professional prostitute, and had an
   intimate encounter with Spike's behind in an alleyway. *Nothing* can shock
   me anymore!

   Gee, I wonder if Spike liked me in a romantic sense. Me, Willow, not
   Angel. Was there some sort of attraction there that Spike felt for me
   before Angel-the-sex-vixen came along and started playing? I cannot help
   thinking that there must have been...

   Wah! Angel stole Spike! I never even had a chance. Not that I wanted him
   or anything, because peroxide and dead really isn't my type. But still...
   It would have been nice to have been given the option. The validation of my
   feminine worth would have been pleasant, considering how walked on it has
   been lately.

   I was so busy moping that a cop car almost ran me down. It was going fast
   and the lights were flashing but not the siren. Luckily, my vampire
   reflexes are sharp and I leapt out of the way.

   Curious, I turned into the parking lot and walked closer, observing the
   swarm of police cars and personnel present in the lot. One of the rooms was
   obviously the center of activity.

   Angel's lurk rating must be at least partially transferable because I
   managed to walk past the perimeter guard without being noticed. I almost
   made it into the room when a short, fat man stepped in front of me. He
   blocked my path with his bulk.

   He was Caucasian, rather squat, round in the middle like a donut, and
   rumpled from head to toe like an accordion. His hairline had receded to a
   point so far back on his head that he might as well have been bald. A badge
   proclaiming him to be "LA PD Detective" was attached to the pocket of his
   cheap, ill-fitting suit.

   "This area is restricted," he informed me belligerently. From his
   expression, he was hoping I would argue. It must have been the male
   testosterone factor. Angel is tall, handsome, and buff. This poor little
   man probably felt he had to prove that his "pair" were as big as mine.

   Men. <Insert confusion and feminine distaste here.>

   "You don't belong here so you're gonna have to leave," he informed me.

   "Oh," I said, indecisively glancing about. The cop stepped closer and I
   retreated, only because I did not want a physical confrontation. Besides,
   he stank of sweat, bad breath, and stale cigarettes, and his aroma assaulted
   my nose like a team of Initiative commandos.

   "Leave," the rumpled little man ordered.

   "But," I protested weakly. I wanted to but I had a bad feeling that
   another murder had occurred. This motel was only a block from one of the
   other murders. How could I explain to him? If only I could see an actual
   crime scene, I might be able to learn something new about the killer.

   "Not buts!" He postured and advanced again, brandishing his fists at his
   sides in a subtle but clearly threatening maneuver. I retreated again. Not
   that Shorty intimidated me, but I did NOT want to get into a confrontation
   with a cop!

   "Detective Davis!" A woman's voice cracked like a whip. We both spun and
   I smiled with relief upon spying Kate. She approached us with a determined
   stride and stared down the other officer until he looked away.

   "This man is with me," she said, reaching into her pocket to obtain a
   special pass, which she handed to me. I accepted it gratefully and pinned
   it to my jacket.

   "Thanks," I said as the cop grumbled and left.

   "Don't mention it." She smiled slightly. "There's been another murder."
   She nodded toward the room.

   "I thought so... I was in the area and I saw the cop cars..." I trailed
   off. This strong, self-contained woman made me feel meek in a way that even
   Buffy cannot manage. Her formidable confidence was intimidating. In a way
   I was glad that she thought I was gay. It offered me the protection of a
   platonic shield.
 

   "That's good." Another nod. "Would you like to go in?" She indicated the
   room. I gulped. Going in meant blood and guts...and a dead body.

   "Err, sure," I agreed and she ushered me in.

   "What's the victim's name?" I asked as we stepped through the doorway and
   the smell of fresh blood socked me in the nose.

   "Hugh G. Rection," she answered. And then I saw the body and my stomach
   tried to exit my body though my throat. It was a massacre.

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