CHAPTER TWO.

"Buriedalive," Darla said. "My, my. How perfectly awful."

"Oh, I don't know," Angelus said. "You know what they say: first you die, then you're buried, then the worms come and eat your flesh. Be grateful for the order in which it occurs."

They had returned from their foray through the remains of Lisbon, after dining on a gang of looters that had the bad judgment to try and rob them. Darla had enjoyed the meal, but Angelus had found them a little greasy for his taste.

And now . . . now they were in the mood for some entertainment.

Angelus picked up a length of wood and strode over to the spot he'd cleared of rubble. He rapped sharply on the floor with it.

"h.e.l.lo, down there! Still among the living?"

". . . yes! Yes, please, get us out . . ."

"Patience, my friends, patience. It's hard work, slaving under this broiling sun." Angelus smiled broadly at his own joke. "We'll have that trapdoor cleared any minute now. In the meantime, why don't you tell us a bit about yourselves?"

". . . II don't know what you mean, sir . . ."

"Well, are we rescuing wh.o.r.es or nuns? The right answer will have my men digging faster, I can tell you that."

Darla had to cover her mouth to suppress her laughter.

". . . neither, sir. We're parishioners, who were in the church when the earth began to shake. The priest thought we would be safe here . . ."

"And where is the good Father?"

". . . he . . . he wasn't quick enough, when the roof began to fall . . ."

"Butyouwere, weren't you? Bolted like a rabbit for a hole, I'd imagine; didn't put an elbow in the dear Father's chest in your hurry, did you?"

"No! No, I swear . . ."

"What's your name, my dear?"

"Maria . . ."

"And your two friends? Why haven't I heard from them?"

"Francesco is hurt, he does not move or speak.Estrellita is trapped in the far corner under a fallen timber . . .".

"And you? Are you injured?"

". . . I think my arm is broken . . ."

"Well, look on the bright side-you've still got the other one, haven't you?" Angelus toyed idly with the piece of wood he held. "Do you think you can do me a favor?"

". . . I'll do whatever I can . . ."

"Sing."

". . . what?"

"Sing us a song, to help the lads work. To get them movin', like."

". . . my throat is so dry . . ."

"The louder you sing, the quicker you'll get some water. That's fair now, isn't it?"

". . . what . . . what should I . . ."

"D'ye have any favorites, my sweet?" Angelus asked Darla with a grin.

" 'Ave Maria,' perhaps?" Darla suggested.

"That's no song to work by!" Angelus declared. "Say, d'ye know any good Irish drinking songs?"

". . . please, I'm so thirsty . . ."

"Perhaps a hymn is appropriate, after all. What about 'The Old Hundredth'? Always a favorite in our church-though I have to admit, my attendance was hardly perfect.For why? The Lord our G.o.d is good, His mercy is forever sure,"Angelus sang."Histruth at all times firmly stood, and shall from age to age endure!Come on, now, raise your voice in praise!"

". . . Praise, praise G.o.d, from whom all blessings flow . . ."

"Louder!"

"Praise him all creatures here below . . ."

Angelus extended an arm toward Darla. "Would you care to dance, m'lady?"

She came to him. They laughed together as the faint, quavering voice drifted up from the ground beneath their feet.

"Praise him above, ye heavenly host . . ."

The memory of that voice echoed through Angel's skull as his consciousness slowly returned. He could almost smell Lisbon, burning still. . . .

Except his nose was full of dirt.

Since breathing was more or less optional for vampires, that wasn't a problem. However, the fact that he was now buried alive-well, buried undead, actually-was. At least he was alone; the Quake demon was gone, or at least no longer had Angel in a vibrating death-grip. The dirt around him wasn't that tightly packed, either; he must be close to the surface.

As Angel started to claw his way upward, he couldn't help thinking about Darla. The first timehe'd done this was after she'd bitten him-but then it was his own grave he was digging his way out of.

He remembered the panic of waking in his own coffin, of thinking there'd been some terrible mistake, of pushing up on the lid and feeling the heavy weight of wet earth holding it down. He'd pounded on the lid until it smashed under his new strength, and then he'd frantically, blindly clawed his way upward. Even though his body no longer needed air, his brain hadn't figured that out yet; his lungs burned with a desire they no longer had, a need they merely imagined.

Angel had never known the difference between want and need back then. If he wanted something, he took it; if he needed to brawl or drink or womanize, he did it. It was all the same, and when he'd become a vampire, he'd continued in much the same way. His needs changed, but his att.i.tude toward them did not.

And then he'd regained his soul, and everything was different.

Suddenly, all he wanted was relief from the immense burden of guilt that descended upon him, and when he realized no relief was possible, he had wanted to suffer. No-he'dneededto. He'd needed to atone for all the mayhem, all the corpses strewn in his wake, and for a hundred years he'd done exactly that.

He'd lived as little more than an animal,drinking the blood of vermin and sleeping in sewers. It had taken him a century to find the desire to do anything other than exist.

There was a very clear line between what Angel wanted and what he needed, now. What he wanted, deep down, was what everyone wanted: to be happy. But if Angel were ever to experience even a single moment of true happiness, the Gypsy curse placed on him would rip the soul out of his body, transforming him once more into the monster known as Angelus. Angel could never have what he wanted.

But he could have what he needed-because all he needed was to fight back the darkness that he used to live in. To make the shadows of the world a little safer.

Twenty minutes later, Angel's head popped out of the middle of a baseball field. The sky was the rosy color of predawn, droplets of dew glinting on the green crewcut of the gra.s.s. Angel pulled himself out of the earth just behind first base, then took out his cell phone-luckily it hadn't been crushed. He made a quick call as he headed for the nearest manhole.

All the way back to the office, he couldn't get that hymn out of his head.

"Demon Urban Professionals? We're working forDuppies?"Cordelia said, putting her issue ofVogue down on her desk. "Great. How do you kill one- drive an Ikea catalog through its heart?"

"Expose its stock portfolio t'direct sunlight," Doyle offered from where he sprawled on the office couch.

"Might even have to carry a hood ornament from a Mercedes, instead of a cross."

"Very funny," Angel said. "But-demons or not- they have a real problem."

"Big deal," Cordelia snorted. "They'redemons,right? Just because they can afford pedicures for their little hooved feet doesn't mean we're suddenly best buds. I say, let them eat dirt."

"A major earthquake could have all of California eating dirt," Angel pointed out. "Including you."

"Oh," Cordelia said. "Good point. Plus, having Hollywood destroyed wouldnotbe good for my career."

"And it doesn't sound like they've got hooved feet, either," Doyle said. "Actually, they sound pretty normal. For demons, I mean." He glanced over at Cordelia.

"Normal?What about that tongue-flicky-thingy? Please."

. . . please . . .

"-isn't that right, Angel?" Doyle asked.

"What? I, uh, wasn't paying attention."

"I said, y'can't judge a book by its cover. Or a demon by its tongue, for that matter. And speakin'of tongues, Angel, what were you planning t'say if you got caught wanderin' around down there without a hall pa.s.s?"

"Actually," Angel said, "I came up with this really clever cover story. I was going to tell them-"

"That's ridiculous," Cordelia said. "I mean, if the cover of a book doesn't matter, then why are there so many different kinds? What do they pay cover artists and graphic designers and photographers for? If coversreallyweren't important, books would all look the same and people would think Fabio was a brand of stain remover."

"Uh, right," Angel said. "The thing is, I'd like to know a little more about both races. If we're going to jump into the middle of a war, I want to make sure we're on the right side."

"I vote for the sidewithoutdemons on it," Cordelia said.

"Does that include vampires?" a rich tenor asked from the doorway. "Or just vampires with souls?"

Galvin strolled through the door. He wore a dark blue silk suit and a wide smile.

"And you are?" Cordelia asked.

"This is our client," Angel said. "Galvin, these are my a.s.sociates, Cordelia and Doyle."

"Doyle! A fine Irish name," Galvin said, shaking Doyle's hand. "Meaning the dark stranger, or the new arrival. Perhaps that's more appropriate for me, eh?"

He turned to Cordelia. "And Cordelia, another Celt if I'm not mistaken. 'The sea's jewel.' "

Cordelia frowned. "Seize my what?"

"Well, with a fine group of fellow countrymen like this working for you, you have my full confidence, Angel. Allow me to express myself in monetary terms." Galvin pulled out a checkbook.

"That's all right-" Angel started.

"-perfectly all right, we accept checks no problem," Cordelia finished. "And being paid at the beginning instead of the end is actually our policy, because we can do amuchbetter job if we can just pay for things instead of worrying about receipts and stuff."

"Of course," Galvin said. He filled in the check, ripped it out of the book and handed it to Cordelia. "I hope this is sufficient for a retainer."

Cordelia glanced at it. "That'll be fine," she said. She opened the top drawer of her desk and put the check inside, closed the drawer, clasped her hands together in front of her and smiled up at Galvin.

"Now-what can we do for you?"

"Angel already told me what happened when he called," Galvin said. "I just wanted to come down and have a look around myself. And offer an invitation, in person."

"That's not neccesary," Angel said. "I only need to be invited to a place once to be able to enter-"

"No, no, no," Galvin said with a chuckle. "I meant a proper invitation-to a party. Appletree Estates is having a little get-together tonight, and we'd like you to come. If you're going to be looking out for our welfare, we'd like to get to know you a bit."

"That's very kind, Galvin, but-"

"-we couldn't go unless you let us bring something," Doyle interrupted.

"Well, we always appreciate a good bottle of wine," Galvin said. "And we never turn away a body with whiskey, either."

"We'll see you tonight, then," Doyle said.

"Excellent." Galvin stifled a yawn. "Excuse me. I really must be getting home; I can barely keep my eyes open during the day. Fortunately, my limo has a human driver-I'm sure I'd doze off at the wheel. I'll see you all tonight." He nodded good-bye and left.

"Well, that was-" Angel started, then stopped.

"What?" Doyle asked.

"I was just waiting for one of you to finish my sentence," Angel said. "Since you both seem to be so good at it."

"EEEEEEE!"Cordelia shrieked.