Finally she looked at him, and fixed him with a stare so cold he could almost feel it. "And this applies how to killin' Bellara?"

She was the most exasperating person-short of Bob-that he had ever met. So why did it seem so attractive-yet frustrating-coming from her? He stared back, at a loss for words, although he finally managed to spit out, "It doesn't."

"That's what I thought," she sneered, turning back to the nearest screen.

Angel hadn't felt this hamstrung and stupid in front of a woman for a long time, and it was far from comforting. Earlier, he had tried to break the ice by asking if her name was actually Lucas, only to have her tell him it was none of his (expletive) business, unless he was a census taker. And even then, it was questionable.

"So, um, how do you know Bob?" He asked, once again trying to break the ice. A person with a private collection like this would be a valuable ally.

"None of your business," Luke answered flatly.

"Uh, okay...where in England are you from? I spent a long time there, and-"

"Just stop it," she snapped, giving him that death glare again. "Trying to flirt with me is not only embarrassing, but a waste of your time, dead boy."

Angel took a step back, stunned by her words. "I wasn't flirting-"

"My first rule of dating is they have to have a pulse. You don't qualify. So don't even try and chat me up, got it?"

"I was just making conversation-"

"Got it?" She repeated vehemently, leaning over the desk as if she might jump over it and throttle him.

"Got it," he finally replied, realizing that the anger he smelled from her wasn't just Belial in nature. "You're not completely Belial, are you?"

"And how is that any of your business?" She snapped, glancing back at the laptop screen.

Obviously she didn't want to talk about it or anything, but he guessed she was part Human if not at least half. Maybe that's why she was vampire phobic.

"I think I found it," Wesley said, coming around one of the oversized bookcases, the oversized second volume of Ahkmen held open in his hands.

"The blood ritual?" Angel asked. It seemed like a stupid question, but earlier he found one that sounded similar, only it turned out to be an old pre-Incan ritual that was supposed to guarantee all the firstborn children of the village would be male. Somehow that didn't sound like the type of thing Wolfram and Hart would care about.

"Yes-it requires the sacrifice of a Human-preferably young and virginal-and a Hellbeast or something born of hell," Wesley said, reading from the book. Gunn wandered over from another aisle, and a drowsy looking Cordelia, her hair mussed and pushed back behind her ears drifted over as well. Even Luke glanced over occasionally, curious. "It's just the beginning of a series of rituals, that will, if done correctly..."he paused, looking up at them all, his eyes wide and startled."...open a Hellmouth."

"What, don't they know there's one in Sunnydale?" Cordy asked, running a hand through her hair and messing it up even more.

"I thought Hellmouths just happened," Gunn interjected.

"They usually do, but like any portal to another dimension, they can be forced open," Angel told him, wondering what the connection between a warlock, a Sri-thal, and a Hellmouth could be.

"The final ritual..."Wes trailed off, staring down at the book, and he seemed to go deathly pale, all the blood draining from his face, making his eyes look darker."...the final ritual requires massive bloodletting on the spot where you want the portal to open."

"What's massive bloodletting specifically? In number." Gunn wondered.

Wesley swallowed hard, looking as if he might be ill. "Anywhere from one hundred to a thousand or more."

There was a thick pause as they mulled that over, and Angel wished he was shocked, but considering everything Wolfram and Hart had done in the past, he wasn't. "That's why they have Bellara in on this; she's entrancing people in advance of the final sacrifice."

"They'll be unable to resist," Wesley continued, wide eyed in horror. "They'll go to their deaths like lambs to the slaughter."

"But why open a Hellmouth?" Cordy asked, looking a bit shaken and pale as well. "Demons come here in droves; they don't need further cause."

That's when the first puzzle piece clicked into place, even though it opened up yet another frustrating question. "They're bringing something out," Angel told them. "That's why there's a Sri-thal demon; it's going to help summon something out from Hell."

"But what?" Cordy asked. She looked almost pained.

"If it's coming from Hell, does it matter?" Gunn replied, before he could. "It can't be good."

She nodded in agreement, and Angel wondered if Wolfram and Hart were bringing a 'Senior Partner' to Earth .But ultimately it didn't matter what they were bringing up: they had to keep them from opening a new Hellmouth, and committing mass murder. Which, if he was totally honest, they were already committing right now.

"Shite," Luke commented, looking at her pc screen.

Yes, that about summed it up.

17

Angel figured they had learned all they could from books (and Luke had, more or less, kicked them out),so, even though it was night, they took the sewer tunnels back to the Hyperion. When they were briefly outside, on the surface, they could hear the screams of both police sirens and people, glass breaking like rain and the crackling of fire sounding like the shifting of glaciers from polar ice floes, echoing off the steel canyons of the city like death knells. The thick gray smoke from burning cars, bonfires, and people blotted out the crescent moon, and filled their lungs with acrid air that left them choking worse than the rancid scents of the sewer.

You knew it was almost Armageddon when you ducked into the sewer for fresh air.

Actually, he left it to Wesley to get Cordy and Gunn home once they were halfway there, as Bob was not answering his cell phone, and the most logical first place to look for him was at his apartment.

Angel had a sneaking suspicion the address was a lie, as it was supposedly in a downtown area zoned industrial, with no apartments there at all, but in retrospect he realized he should have known better: Bob thrived on the unexpected, on outsmarting pursuers before they even knew they'd be chasing him. And everyone would expect a man as wealthy as Bob to be living in a mansion in Los Felis, Laurel Canyon, or Malibu, hell, even in the better part of Santa Monica; no one would ever suspect him of living in the business district.

The address turned out to be what looked like a very large industrial warehouse, sandwiched between two other similar warehouses, although they were longer and not as tall, nor as freshly painted.

Still, there was no hint of residency, except when you came around to the side door - it was not only eight inch thick bulletproof steel, but had a locking system so high tech Angel couldn't even begin to fathom it.

There was a small call box, though-the type you had to use in some apartments to get buzzed in-so Angel pressed the red button, hearing nothing, and waited.

After about thirty seconds, when he was reaching for it again ,he heard a static click of a line opening, and heard Bob's voice, slightly tinny, with a hiss in the background, say, "Yeah?"

"It's me, Angel. You need to come out here now, we-"

"Yeah, come on up. I'll just be a sec." He interrupted, the line closing with another click, and a deep buzz sounding as the door unlatched with a clank. He grabbed it, and went inside.

Bob had converted the first level into a self contained garage, which was virtually empty, containing only a minute condition, black '69 era GTO and a Harley Davidson motorcycle, year indeterminate from here. But Angel had to admit it looked really nice.

A winding wrought iron staircase led to the second level, which was designed more like a penthouse loft foyer, and lined with plush, royal blue carpeting, which was just minimal enough not to be tacky. The foyer was short, leading to a cream and tan painted door that Angel suspected had a steel core (Bob was nothing if not security conscious),and he knocked on it tentatively (yes-sounded like steel).

After a moment, the door opened, but it was not Bob that peeked out. It was a woman with shortish, shaggy jade green hair, and pale green skin, wrapped in an amethyst hued bed sheet. The Stansin demon from Caritas.

He didn't realize how lovely she was in person.

She smiled at him, lips a darker shade of green, and the sheet seemed to slip lower, revealing some impressive cleavage. "Oh, you're Shaft," she said, with a musical-if slightly mocking-giggle.

"Angel," he replied, frowning. At the first opportunity, he was going to get Bob back for that.

"Well, he's in the shower, he should be out in a minute," she said, opening the door wider before sauntering off, deeper into the loft apartment. The sheet managed to cover everything but her whip thin tail, and as it twitched, he caught a glimpse of a very nice leg and rear end before she disappeared into what he presumed was the bedroom.

He tried to contain his anger, but right now he felt like punching Bob's face in. The city was about to become the site of a bloodbath, and he was here screwing around with a 'groupie'. Why did he ever expect any more from him?

"So, have we figured out what the end of the world is? Bang or whimper?" Bob asked, appearing in the bedroom doorway. He was wearing nothing but a green towel wrapped around his waist, and was dripping on his own carpet; water from his sodden hair, plastered down to his skull, ran down his face, neck, and chest in rivulets, with tiny beads of water suspended in his eyelashes and chest hair. Either he really had been in the shower, or he had a swimming pool up here somewhere (or on the roof-really, when it came to Bob, you couldn't take anything for granted).

"You mean you care?" Angel said coldly, glaring at him.

Bob seemed unfazed. He simply raised an eyebrow ,a blink loosening a teardrop of water that fell from his lashes and slid down his cheek, just like the real thing. Suddenly he laughed, a short, sharp bark that instantly grated on Angel's nerves.

"What is so damn funny?"

"You," Bob replied, continuing to grin like an idiot, as the Stansin demon reappeared, slipping beside him in the doorway. She was dressed this time, in the same black leather tank top and low cut black leather pants (the better to leave the base of her tail, which started at the small of her back, free) he'd seen her wearing at Caritas, only this time Angel noticed she was wearing flat heeled biker boots not dissimilar from the ones Bob had been wearing earlier. Another 'associate' of his? Or just coincidence?

The demoness only looked at Bob, smiling, wrapping her tail around his waist and pulling him closer to her, apparently not concerned if the leather got wet. "Call me?" She asked, gently biting his lower lip.

"Try and stop me." He then kissed her, which made Angel sigh impatiently and clear his throat ,in case they forgot he was in the room. They hadn't apparently, because they seemed to be in no hurry to stop.

Finally they stopped Frenching each other, and Bob pulled back, pausing to give her a peck on the forehead. "Now go straight home and for Ganesha's sake, be careful. If it's too hairy out there, come back here and wait it out. You still have my spare key, right?" She nodded, and looked amused by his little warning. "And remember-no telly."

"You sound like my dad," she teased, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, her slinky tail nearly ripping his towel off.

Bob grabbed his chest dramatically, as if shot. "Oh no, the old man jokes," he gasped, making her laugh.

She walked away smiling, giving Angel a little wave as she passed him. "Bye Shaft."

He only scowled, arms crossed tightly across his chest. The urge to beat the crap out of Bob was almost irresistible.

She paused in the doorway to blow Bob a kiss. "Bye, Bob."

"Bye, Helga," he replied, with a casual wink.

Helga?

As soon as the door shut, Bob turned his neon gaze on Angel, and said, "Give me a moment to get dressed before you go postal on me, okay?" Bob didn't wait for an answer, he just disappeared inside of his bedroom.

Angel wasn't about to follow him, but he wasn't about to let this go either, so he started ranting at him while pacing through his tasteful but sparsely furnished loft. "You irresponsible bastard! We're working our asses off, and you're here getting-"

"Laid?"

"Yes!" He though briefly of knocking over a piece of furniture or punch a hole in the wall to vent some steam, but decided not to. It wouldn't be as satisfying as putting Bob in a body cast. "Do you even have any idea what's going to happen?! If we don't stop them, Wolfram and Hart-"

"Are going to open a Hellmouth," Bob interrupted, coming out into the living room. He'd put on a pair of worn blue jeans, but had yet to zip them up properly as he pulled a black t-shirt on over his head. The t-shirt had on it, in bright white letters, the phase, 'Let's just assume I know everything'.

The bastard had done that on purpose.

"And Bellara's thralling them for some mass slaughter that will cause the final opening," Bob continued, sitting down on his crimson sofa to put his socks on. "Hel thinks it'll be somewhere downtown, near Woolsham and Tarp, but not the building proper."

Angel glared at him, nearly frozen by indecision-what was the best way to kill him? "Hel?"

"Helga. She's got friends who work for Wolfram and Hart, and after enough beers, they talk." After he finished pulling on his socks, he looked up at him and gave him a sly smile. "Oh, what, you thought I was just getting my rocks off, huh?"

"If you knew this, why didn't you call?!" Angel exclaimed angrily, feeling the urge to morph into vampire face in his rage.

"Have you tried the phone, mate?"

"Yes, I have-you weren't picking up goddamn cell phone!"

"The phones have been out since eight thirty-most cell transmission towers have been destroyed or disrupted, possibly by spells. Ground lines went down around the same time. Coincidence, huh?" Bob stood up and retrieved his boots from where they had been kicked off beneath the coffee table ."I'm willing to bet only those snarky ass lawyers have working phones. What do you think?"

Angel's anger didn't dissipate more than it simply got lost in the confusion. "What would be the point of that?"

"Oh, I don't know-social chaos, confusion, disorder. Certainly nobody'd be callin' the cops."

Shit-he had a point. Angel hated it when Bob had a point. Hell, he just hated Bob. "But why not show up in person to tell us? Why stay here and..."

"Have fun?" Bob interrupted-again. He'd finished pulling on his boots, and was now retrieving his jacket from the floor near the window. "Oh no-the world's on the verge of ending; one wouldn't want a pleasant memory to take to the grave. Besides, I figured you discovered it too: Luke's as smart as a whip."

Angel wasn't about to let him off the hook that easily. He took his cell phone out of the inner pocket of his duster, and punched up the number of the Hyperion, figuring Wesley should have gotten the others back by now.

The phone rang...and rang...and by the sixth ring, Angel realized it didn't sound right at all: it was the type of telephone ring you sometimes got before that annoying recording came on, telling you you had dialed a number that was incorrect. But the recording never came on, and the hisses and distant clicks he heard over the line were almost painful. Bob was right-the phone lines were down. But in such a way you didn't think they actually were. Very clever, really.

Angel wondered how Wolfram and Hart had arranged that. But did it matter?

As he put his cell phone away, the now fully dressed Bob zipped up his jeans properly, and asked, "Believe me now?"

Angel utterly refused, on principal, to say that. "Does Lia know about Helga?" He wondered, trying to keep anything that might be construed as cattiness out of his voice.

"What? Oh yeah, she's met her," he began, then paused and cocked his head, giving him a curious look. "But that's not the way you meant it, was it?" He laughed again-Angel was getting sick of his laugh-and shook his head. "Oh, that's hilarious. You think Lia' my girlfriend? You oughta tell her that. She'll laugh her ass off before she shoots you with her water gun. You might want to stand far away."

"So she's just a business partner?" Angel asked dubiously.

"Too right, mate-she's my grand daughter."

Angel stared at him, waiting for that annoying laugh again, but he looked-for once-dead serious. "Your grand daughter? You have kids?" It never once occurred to him that Bob might be someone's father, much less someone's grandfather-or more.

"Well, I must, mustn't I?" He shot back, sounding more amused than angry. "And before you ask, Luke's my great granddaughter. But Lia and Luke are only related through me-they have different maternal lines. But both beauties, eh?"

"Luke's mother was Human," Angel guessed.

"No-her grandmother was Human. It's too bad you can't meet Tansy, she was a real kick in the pants."

"Tansy?"

"Her grandmother. Died in a car crash in '62.But Luke's mother was half-Human too, so, in a way, I suppose she's more Human than Belial. Some of my descendants have so few Belial genes in 'em you'd never know they were."

Angel remembered what Bob had said to Gunn about Belials being all over, in many family trees, and he suddenly wondered how many kids he had. "You have Humans in your family."

"Lots of Humans-my first wife was Human. There's some other demons sprinkled about: my entire family is like one big Rainbow Festival."

"Is that why you're doing this, Bob? Your family? Is that why you give a damn?"

All the levity seemed to disappear from his face as his expression became stony, his eyes glowing like embers. "No one fucks with me, Angel. But absolutely no one even thinks about fucking with my kids. I don't care if it's Wolfram and Hart, you, or The Powers That Be-it just doesn't happen. Not as long as I'm drawing breath. And you may want to keep that in mind for future reference. Assuming there is a future."

Angel stared back at him, not backing down one iota. "Why are you so convinced we'll lose?"

"I'm not. But hope for the best, prepare for the worst." He then shrugged, and all the evil in his expression disappeared, replaced by his normal, carefree one. But Angel knew damn well what he had seen, and knew if Bob turned on him now he'd be one hell of an enemy; maybe worse than anything Wolfram and Hart could conjure up. It didn't make him feel any better about working with him. "Why were you surprised I had kids? I'm over three hundred, mate, and I haven't lived as a eunuch."

Before Angel could stop himself ,it just came out by force of habit. "I am not a eunuch."

Bob glanced at him with a single eyebrow raised, an amused smile curving his lips. "Not technically ,no, but you live like one. You don't have to. I mean, an orgasm isn't 'perfect happiness'. Okay, it's pretty damn close, but it's not-"

"Does everyone know about my curse?" He interrupted, giving him a sour frown and a deadly glare. Usually that one-two punch shut people up. But oh no, not Bob.

"-and maybe it'd loosen you up a bit. You're kinda uptight, especially considering your age."

"I am not uptight!"

"I mean, what's wrong with a little full contact mattress wrestling if it's only lust? I know some girls who dig vampires-well, not literally. You know what I mean. And guys, if that's what you're into."

"I am not having this conversation," he growled, walking around him as he headed for the door. Full contact mattress wrestling? No, he didn't want to know how he'd come up with that.

Bob chuckled, following him. "You really do need to loosen the reins, Angel, live a little. Instead of brooding and self-flagellating, you could actually have a bit of fun."

"You wouldn't like me when I'm 'fun'." Angel realized he was still allowing Bob to control this conversation, so he tried to steer it in another direction. "Is that what Helga is? A bit of fun?"

"More than that-I think I'm in love. The things she can do with that tail..."Bob replied, trailing off wistfully.

There was another thing Angel didn't want to know.

18

Things had gotten so bad above ground that the sewers were as crowded as the streets usually were, but with demons, not people. Still ,no one wanted any trouble, and Angel and Bob made it back to the Hyperion in record time.

But as they were coming out of the basement, Angel heard a snippet of conversation that didn't sound good at all.

"-hospital," he heard Wesley say, as soon as he opened the basement door.

"Absolutely not," Cordy replied, her voice sounded weak and pained. "I'm fine. I've had worse."

"And we'll probably all need a hospital if we even try and go out there," Gunn commented, although he sounded strained and miserable about it.

"What's going on?" Angel asked, even before he came out of the hall and into the lobby. Once he did, he saw Cordelia supine on the couch, holding an ice pack to her forehead, as Gunn stood nearby, looking miserable ,and Wesley was with the phone by the front desk, trying in vain to contact anyone. They all looked at him, save for Cordy, who had her eyes closed.

"She collapsed," Wesley said, hanging up the receiver.

"I did not collapse, I got dizzy," Cordy replied, sounding annoyed, but never opened her eyes. "You Brits are such drama queens."

"I've been trying to call you," Wes continued, shooting her an evil look for the drama queen remark, but of course she didn't notice.

"Phones are down," Angel said, as Bob, who had been following him, suddenly walked around him, brushing his shoulder in haste as he headed for Cordelia.

"Oh gods, it's worse," Bob said, dropping to his knees beside the couch.

"What has gotten worse?" Gunn asked curiously, moving close to keep an eye on him.

Bob gently stroked her forehead, and she said weakly, "It's a migraine."

"Cordelia, open your eyes. Look at me." Bob said, gently but firmly, and Angel knew what he was going to do. But Cordelia was so ashen-her hair looked almost black against her chalk white skin-and so obviously in pain he was content to let him do it, if only just this once.

Cordy only opened a single eye, squinting from the light, but that was enough.

"Don't look in his eyes, Cordelia," Wesley exclaimed, startled, instantly coming around the desk.

"You're not in pain," Bob said quietly, continuing to stroke her forehead in a manner that seemed far more paternal than seductive.

Gunn seemed to realize she was being entranced, and grabbed Bob by the back of the shirt collar, attempting to yank him away. "Knock it the fuck off or you won't be able to open your eyes for a week," he snarled, free hand curling into a fist.

"No, let him go," Angel said, quickly walking over and pulling Gunn off of and away from Bob. "He's trying to help her."

Gunn gave him a dark and doubtful look as Bob went on as if he had never even been interrupted. "There is no pain, Cordelia."

After a moment she opened both eyes, blinking rapidly, and held her ice pack up. "Wow, that really helped," she admitted, sitting up, and putting the ice pack aside. It looked like she was getting a bit of color back in her face, although her lips remained deathly pale and colorless.

"Just like hypnotism," Wesley commented, but there was a great deal of wariness in his awe.

Bob suddenly fell back on his butt as if hit by an invisible force. "What the fuck was that?" He asked, surprised.

They all looked at him after exchanging curious glances between them. "What the fuck was what?" Angel replied. He didn't smell or otherwise sense anything abnormal. And Gunn's suggestion that they put wood over the doors before leaving for Caritas had worked; although there were little slivers of glass on the floor, and some of the wood looked like it had been cracked, no enthralled Human had bothered to break all the way through. Wood

just didn't have the same musical sound as glass breaking.

But Bob only stared at Cordy, bewildered and just maybe a little frightened. "Have you gotten any flowers recently?" He asked her, apropos of nothing.

Her look seemed to say Are you mental, which was what Angel was starting to wonder. "A couple of days ago, from an actor I met at an audition-why?"

Bob closed his eyes and sighed as if she had just told him she'd been playing in traffic while running with scissors. "Shit. Does someone have something iron?"

"What?" She asked first, looking to Angel for an answer. But he could only shrug helplessly and shake his head, as he had no idea what he was on about.

"Iron-something made of iron," Bob repeated, starting to sound angry as he got back up to his feet.

With reluctance, Wesley went back behind the front desk, and reached beneath it to pull out an artifact that some demon contact of his gave him as a gift (although the same demon said it was 'worthless'):a simple silver necklace, with an iron coin of unknown origin as a pendant. It was slowly corroding, the hole in the center of the coin getting slowly bigger with each passing month. He tossed it to Bob, who easily caught it with one hand.

"Thanks mate," he said to Wesley, although he didn't sound that grateful. He held the pendant out towards Cordelia, and asked, "Would you hold this for me?"

"Why?" She continued to look at Bob like he was a crazy person. For his part, he didn't seem to care.

"Please. Humor me."

With a martyr's sigh, Cordy snatched the necklace from his hand. "This is the stupidest-"she began, but suddenly her words became a hard, sharp scream of pain, and she dropped the necklace to the floor.

Angel hurried to her side, as Wesley asked, "What happened?"

"The damn thing burned me," she said, staring at her hand, and Angel could see the coin had indeed left a red imprint in the center of her palm.

Suddenly she seemed to stiffen, eyes widening before they rolled back in their sockets and she collapsed on the couch.

Gunn went up to Bob and shoved him back hard, nearly making him stumble. "What the fuck did you just do?"

"Prove she's been infected by a Cephalic demon," Bob said, glaring back at Gunn defiantly. "And if you assholes had let me help her sooner, it wouldn't have gotten this far."

"A Cephalic demon?" Angel repeated, picking up the necklace from the floor. Holding it did nothing to him; in fact, the pendant was cold.

Wesley looked thoughtful, dark brows knitting together over troubled eyes. "A Cephalic demon? They're virtually extinct."

"Virtually the key word here," Bob replied, giving Gunn a nasty glare as he walked around him, back to Cordelia. "Bastards. I hope I'm not too late."

"What's a Cephalic demon?" Gunn asked, and Angel was glad he did, because it spared him from asking the same thing.

"It's a semi-corporeal parasitic demon that feeds on psychic energy," Bob said, kneeling beside the couch once more. He looked down at Cordelia's strangely slack face with what looked like genuine concern. "You can find it-rarely-among wildflower fields in Tibet, but they're mostly all died off now."

"They're found in flowers?" Gunn looked at Angel quizzically as he asked the question, as if wondering if he was buying this. Angel honestly wasn't sure.

"The better to infect the host," Wesley continued, taking over Bob's explanation. "They...crawl up through the nose, and nest in the brain."

"I think Cordy would notice if something crawled up her nose," Gunn countered.

"It's only semi-corporeal at best in the larval stage," Bob replied for him. "She'd never have seen it or felt it."

"Until it feeds on enough psychic energy-then it begins to become corporeal." Wesley continued. Wesley seemed to believe Bob, at any rate.

"Which is why she's in pain," Bob went on. "Consider it the equivalent of a brain tumor .A living brain tumor, that will, when it becomes fully corporeal, crack her skull open and slither out."

"Like when the thing burst out of that guy's chest in 'Alien'?" Gunn asked, with a sort of sick fascination.

"No, she'll be long dead by the time it cracks open her skull," Bob replied grimly. He suddenly shrugged off his leather jacket and threw it aside. "I'm going to have to go into her mind. Maybe I can get this thing out."

"How?" Wesley asked.

"No way," Angel interrupted sternly. "Ever since you've met her you've been looking for an excuse to screw with her brain. Forget it."

Bob fixed him with a harsh glare, nearly as hot as the sun and almost as physically palpable. "In my entire three centuries of existence I have never hurt a woman, and I don't intend to start now. Can you say the same thing, Angel?"

Angel glowered at him even as he flinched, as that comment cut straight to the bone, just like Bob intended it to. "I never hurt anyone-Angelus did."

"Which isn't splitting hairs at all," Bob replied flatly.

They glared at each other, neither backing down or giving one iota, when Wesley broke the silence by saying, "Do it, Bob."

Angel snapped his head around violently to stare at Wes in disbelief. Had Bob entranced him? "What? Wesley-"

"If she is infected, Angel, there's nothing else we can do for her," he replied darkly, a sort of angry desperation naked on his face. "If Bob thinks he can help her, we should let him."

Angel knew it pained Wesley to even say it-he'd never go along with it if he could think of something else, anything. Obviously he could not.

Reluctantly, sure they'd all regret it, he looked back down at Bob, and said, "Do it. But I swear to god if you hurt her I'll kill you."

"Don't worry about it, Liam," Bob said, reaching for Cordy's limp hand. "Either I get that thing out of her, or I'll die trying." Bob sat with his back against the edge of the couch, and clasped Cordy's hand in his before taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. After a moment he seemed to go limp too, sagging against the sofa, head lolling on his chest.

Angel couldn't help but hope his statement to 'die trying' was a promise.

19

Cordelia came to with a jolt, wondering what the hell had happened.

She sat up on the couch and looked around the lobby, only to find it ice cold and completely empty. "Guys?" She asked, feeling inexplicably creeped out. "Angel? Wesley? Gunn?" She got up, no longer amused. "Bob? Hey guys, this is not funny."

The sound of shattering glass made her start, and she looked around the lobby frantically, panic crawling up her spine.

Dozens upon dozens of zombified Humans were breaking through all the doors and windows of the Hyperion, shattering the protective wooden panels nailed over the front doors like they were nothing more than balsa wood.

They reached through with bloody and gashed hands, and shoved open the broken doorframe as others started climbing through the gaping holes of former windows, and she realized it was like something out of 'Night Of The Living Dead': all these empty eyed, blank faced people, moving with the gait of poorly manipulated puppets, were flooding into the Hyperion. And she knew they meant to kill her.

"Guys?" She asked once more, but had given up on them. She had no idea what had happened to them, but she assumed it wasn't good.

She went for the basement, intending to leave via the sewer access, but zomboids started pouring through that door, so that plan was out. Upstairs looked to be out of the question too-but how the hell had they gotten up there? Did they climb the building?

So she ran for the weapons cabinet. They were Humans, yes- but they meant to kill her! It was slicing and dicing time...

Except when she threw open the doors of the cabinet, she found it was empty.

"No!" She shouted to no one in paticular, refusing to believe it. The guys had left her here, taking all the weapons? She stared into the empty cabinet, waiting for them to appear-maybe she had some sort of weird blind spot or something-as the zombies continued to pour in, a flood of pale, insane people, and she was surrounded.

"This isn't real, Cordelia," A familiar, Aussie accented voice said by her right ear, making her jump. She turned to see Bob, not looking at her but at the zombies slowly closing in on them. "Well, this is cute."