3

Logan hated knowing what a big sham life was.

It was funny how much he didn't know and didn't remember, when the amount of what he did know that was dispiriting seemed voluminous. Case in point: supposedly, the good guys always won. Oh yeah, they might lose some battles, but they'd always eventually win the war. It was just a matter of tenacity and having the certainty of correctness on your side. Which was all, of course, total bullshit.

He could hardly tell the kids at the school this, but the bad guys won as much as the good guys, or in fact a bit more. Bad things often did happen to bad people, but not always, not as karma and moral rectitude would have you believe. Shit just happened, and sometimes the bad guys prospered beyond your wildest imaginings, while your good guys died horribly, face down in a gutter somewhere. There was no balance, no true equity, and nothing was a symbol of that better than the assholes who worked for Wolfram and Hart.

Now most of these sad sacks of shit were strivers who dreamed of the big payoff but ended up nothing but cannon fodder; just blood and bodies and souls for their evil overlords. But there was a chosen few, a higher echelon, who prospered in a way that only ruthless Hollywood agents and overly pampered actors usually could. Kaya Sagawa was one of them.

It was easy to see from her house, which, while not the most expensive or even fancy by Laurel Canyon standards, was a sprawling monument of wall sized windows and blond wood often left naked, to give the whole thing an elegant but simple look. She had a huge yard protected with a high electrified fence (took him thirty seconds to beat), and a large pool in her backyard that wasn't kidney shaped more than it was liver shaped. She had an alarm system that certainly wasn't standard - there were mystical wards on it too, ones Bob's energy picked up almost right away (and dismissed, as none applied to him, or were too weak to do any good) - but Logan easily beat it and walked inside. She wasn't home, but he hoped she would be soon, as it was only a couple hours until dawn, and he needed to get Angel back inside by then.

As it was, he didn't have long to wait. He wandered through her lushly appointed but strangely sterile living room (she had soft leather furniture that must have cost thousands of dollars per piece, but barely looked used; she had what looked like a real Jackson Pollock hanging framed over an ornamental fireplace, but it was such a minor work it could have easily been a copy by a semi-talented amateur), and into the kitchen which was full of stainless steel and slate countertops and tiling. It looked clean enough to eat off every surface, as it was certainly uncontaminated by food - no one had ever cooked here in their life. He opened the big steel refrigerator for a look see, and found bottled water, a thousand dollar bottle of champagne, a two hundred dollar bottle of wine, and a take out carton from a sushi place. Nothing else. The freezer had nothing but ice and a bottle of Belvedere vodka in it. Maybe she didn't need to eat; maybe she took nourishment solely from bad! intentions and the souls of mailroom boys.

Logan sat at the slate counter with the take out sushi and the bottle of wine. The sushi wasn't too bad, but it was on the verge of turning; he drank the wine straight from the bottle, and while it wasn't bad for red wine, he had no idea why it was so fucking expensive. He'd had cheaper wine which was just as good.

He had just finished the sashimi and had drank half the bottle down when he heard her enter the house, keys jingling. "In here," he said, picking at some nori with some chopsticks he found in an otherwise empty drawer.

There was a long pause of silence, one in which he knew she was considering leaving the house or maybe getting a weapon, but in the end her own arrogance prevailed, like he knew it would. She was convinced she could talk him out of whatever or sway him in some fashion. He knew Wolfram and Hart didn't think highly of his intelligence, and she thought even less of it.

She appeared in the kitchen archway, wearing a form fitting little black dress and a necklace dripping with diamonds - presumably she was at a party or some function or another that was dressier than most. She eyed him with a kind of amused disdain, which showed in her voice. "I could call the police, you know. Have you arrested."

He turned to face her, meeting her eyes coolly. "Be my guest."

This was a bluff and they both knew it. She wouldn't want to explain to police some of the things in her house, while there was no way he'd be arrested if he didn't allow himself to be arrested - cops weren't enough to stop him, even when he didn't have Bob energy in him. So this was simply an opening verbal volley - she was trying to feel him out, see what he wanted, and he wasn't going to give that easily. Time for round two.

Her almond eyes flickered to the bottle on the counter, and widen in the slightest amount of horror. "You're drinking my Merlot? That was a gift!"

He shrugged. "There's still half a bottle. And as gifts go, it was kinda crappy. There's some boxed wines that taste just like this."

"I didn't peg you as a connoisseur, Logan." Her lipstick was blood red, so red her mouth looked like a vivid wound. If she had added white pancake makeup, he’d have thought she was becoming a kabuki actress in her spare time.

"I ain't, but I have more taste buds than a normal Human, or some shit like that."

"So why do you drink so much cheap beer?"

"'Cause it numbs them. Do you know what it's like to taste someone else's body odor in the air? It's like licking the underside of a rock in a landfill."

That had the desired effect of making her scowl in distaste, and mock shudder ever so slightly. "That was an image I didn't need. What are you doing here? You have one minute to tell me."

"Or what?" he wondered. He just wanted to hear her pointless threat.

She gave him a tight, sharp smile that was as cutting as any razor. “Do you really think we can’t handle you by now, Logan? Now, did you just break in to drink my wine, or was there more to your full scale war of annoyance? Did you leave the seat up, perhaps?”

There was a tap on the kitchen door that made her jump slightly, betraying her not so well buried fear. “You invited company over? That is quite annoying.”

“It’s Angel. Invite him in.”

Sagawa scoffed, turning it into a patronizing little laugh. “Hardly.”

He gazed at her levelly, letting his coldness carry the weight of his message. “Why not? Wolfram and Hart lackey or not, you’re Human, so he won’t kill you. Me, on the other hand, I have no problem with it.”

She shook her head and leaned against her metal refrigerator, as if sizing him up for a seduction. “No, Logan, that’s not going to work with me. I know your weakness is women. It’s always the way they manipulated you - the Organization knew it was always women who would push your buttons, make you hesitate and stumble. Especially delicate little Asian flowers like me. We’re the chink in your armor. No pun intended.”

He let his eyes frost over, turn hard, even though he knew he shouldn’t let her get to him like that. “I don’t like to hurt women. But I have hurt women; I’ve killed them. Didn’t you read the Organization’s psychological profile on me? At the end of the day, I’m just a killer. Women haunt me, but they can’t stop me.”

She pretended to think it over, smiling faintly, trailing her hand along her collarbone like she was stroking it. “I guess Jean found that out the hard way, didn’t she?”

He should have seen that coming. It stung, made his stomach clench, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to throw up or throw her through a wall. Instead, he closed his eyes, fighting his own anger, and growled, “Let him in.”

“Or what, you’ll skewer me?” she mocked, a trilling laugh in her voice. “Sorry, Wolverine, but I know you’re actually one of the good guys, no matter your body count. You’re not going to kill me.”

He found that strain of Bob energy inside of him and concentrated on it, bringing it out. As he opened his eyes, he saw everything in a sharp shade of blue. “I said, go to the door and invite him in.”

The smug look on her face became a strangely blank one, and she walked across the spotless kitchen to open the back door and say, “Come in.”

She stepped back as Angel came in, and shut the door after him. She then seemed to snap out of her fugue state and stare at Angel incredulously. “How did you get in here?”

Angel tossed him a mildly sardonic look, and said, “She doesn’t know.”

He nodded a confirmation.

Sagawa looked between them in growing frustration. “Know what?”

That Bob had left him a good amount of his power while he was gone, so he could fill in for him. Apparently there were some knowledge gaps in Wolfram and Hart’s homework. “Tell us what you know about the Kalivrana after Angel. Why did you bring one in?”

She looked at him, blinking in astonishment. “There’s a Kalivrana in town?”

Logan snorted in disbelief. “Darlin’, you smell of lies. And you gotta have a lotta balls to lie to us knowing we can tell, so you wanna start again?”

She took on a look of offense, but it wasn’t very convincing. “Please. You broke into my house to make these accusations that are totally baseless -”

“Logan?” Angel asked him pointedly.

He sighed, aware of what he wanted. He supposed it was the easiest way to go about it anyways. He looked at Sagawa and called up the Bob energy once more. “Tell us the truth for once in your life, Kaya.”

How had he lived without Bob’s ability to push? Sagawa went loose limbed, her face lost some of its cunning, and she said, in a softer, more average voice, “We were informed of the arrival of the Kalivrana earlier this evening, but we did not bring it here. In fact, considering how many vampires we have doing grunt work for us, we don’t appreciate having a vamp killer around that isn’t controlled by us.”

“So who sent it?” Logan asked, taking another swig of the wine.

“We don’t know, but there seem to be indications that this Kalivrana is some kind of hired gun for Ombre Noire. There have been some attempts to open up a dialogue with Reignet, but there’s been no response. We’re considering sending the Red Wolves after him.”

“Reignet is still alive?” Angel exclaimed, obviously in shock.

Logan knew then that Angel knew what she was talking about far better than he did. “Who’s Reignet? The leader of this Black Shadow group?”

Angel looked at him with a pained, guilty grimace. “Yes. I know why he wants to kill me too.”

“Why?”

He avoided his gaze, and he knew it was something horrible before he even said it. “I killed his family.”

Okay, yeah, that would explain a lot.

****

Mont-Saint-Aignan, France - 120 Years Ago

Angelus stared out the window as he shrugged his shirt back on. The moon was new, and with clouds hiding the stars the blackness was permanent out there, as if the Earth itself was entirely swathed in shadows. It would have been nice, but he knew he hadn’t gotten that lucky yet.

“You can’t be leaving already,” Therese said in a lightly pleading, lightly teasing voice that she probably thought was sexy. He was glad he didn’t have a reflection, so she couldn’t see his deep scowl of hate. “The night’s young.”

“And so is everyone out in it,” he reminded her, buttoning his shirt, wondering if he was right about what time it was. He had to time this just right, or it would all go to hell. “Young blood is just that much more … tasty.”

“The Watcher in the village wasn’t enough for you?”

He shrugged expansively, made his voice casual. “What can I say? Watchers are dried up things. It’s like trying to suck juice out a prune.”

This made her titter, but the truth was, he wanted to kill them all. The Watchers, Ombre Noire, every single fucking one of her miserable family - and tonight was his shot.

He wanted nothing to do with the Ombre Noire, a coven of witches practicing some form of black magic that made them feared and hated across the entire continent. Now in general theory he admired them - you had to admire the truly evil bastards - but he never expected to be working for them as some kind of dog. When he spotted Therese in the crowd of the marketplace, he had no idea she was the daughter of Jean-Claude Reignet, the head warlock of the coven. He was looking for a quick bite, not some kind of weird prelude to a supernatural arranged marriage. But Therese thought he was attractive, which he hoped would spare him the wrath of her father … and it did. The only problem was, he wanted to please his daughter, and Angelus, sadly, pleased her a lot. So suddenly he was Therese’s “beau” and working for the coven, even though all he had wanted was some fresh blood (okay, a fuck wouldn’t have been out of the question either). But if he tried to fuck over Jean-Claude, he k! new he’d turn him into a frog or something, and that crazy old bastard could do it too.

As luck would have it, the Watchers were even more eager to put an end to the Ombre Noire than he was. Jean-Claude had sent him into town to kill a woman they knew was an undercover Watcher, which Angelus was more than happy to do. Who didn’t want to kill a Watcher?

But he wasn’t a dummy. This woman, a bird thin biddy named Nora with a rather raw boned Slavic face, didn’t recognize him on sight, which was another case of luck breaking in his favor. He claimed to be named Stefan, and an unhappy lackey of Ombre Noire. The Watchers were itching to destroy this coven, and he knew all they needed was a way in, a way to make an initial hit.

He gave it to them.

No, he had no love for the Watchers; in fact, he rather hoped both groups killed themselves. He broke the protective wards around the village on the south side before returning, but he “forgot” to draw the pentagram on Jean-Claude’s house. Fuck that - he hoped the old bastard killed a few Watchers before they killed him. But when the Watchers hit this place, he had no intention of being here, of being caught in the bloody melee. It was going to be mostly a magical battle anyways, and he just didn’t trust magic; magic was the cause of too many damn wrong things, and how could you trust what you couldn’t see?

Therese got out of bed, and he heard the rustle of fabric as she slipped on a dressing gown. She crept up on him, probably thinking she was being stealthy, but he felt her approach all the way. He gritted his teeth against the impulse to backhand her across the room. She wasn’t just Jean-Claude’s daughter, she was a member of the coven as well, and as far as he could tell pretty powerful. He slipped his hand in his pants pocket, and felt the cool metal of the amulet the Watcher had slipped him. It wouldn’t neutralize her for long, but he didn’t need long - he just needed a second to strike, and then it would be all over. Poor stupid - sexy, but stupid - Therese.

She put her arms around him and squeezed up against his back with a languorous sigh. It took everything in him not to shrug her off and snap her neck like a chicken bone. “What is it with you lately, Angelus? You’ve been so restless. Are you unhappy here?”

He wanted to laugh, but managed to keep it down to a sneer. “Why would I be unhappy here?”

“Well, yes … but you don’t seem pleased. Are we not giving you enough people to kill, is that it?”

A path had been cleared through the thin scrim of clouds in the sky, and through it he saw the faint twinkling of the morning star. Only it wasn’t actually the morning star; it was the sign. Here they came.

“People to kill,” he snickered. “Like I’m an attack dog. Throw me a few scraps and I’ll be sated.” He didn’t bother to conceal the contempt in his voice.

He felt her stiffen behind him. “What are you saying?”

His hand closed around the amulet in his pocket. Even though it was worn smooth and cold, it felt sharp and hot somehow. “I’m saying we’re done here, bitch,” he snarled, breaking her grasp and spinning around in one fluid, fast movement. Before she even realized he’d turned, he shoved the amulet against her chest, his other arm wrapped firmly around her waist, and let his vampire face emerge. “I’m no one’s pet. I’m Angelus.” He then sunk his fangs into her neck and began gulping down her magically tinged blood in mouthfuls. She didn’t even have time to scream or conjure up a spell before he drained her past consciousness, and while she went limp, he didn’t stop until she was completely drained of blood. He dropped her, keeping hold of the amulet in case he needed it in his escape, and looked down at her pale, wilted body as he heard the screams outside, the shouts of spell arcane and familiar.

“Damn witch,” he cursed, wiping her blood off the corner of his mouth. They always thought they could control everything, that nothing could beat them, especially when they were as powerful a coven as Ombre Noire.

But he was Angelus. Nothing beat him.