5

Angel sniffed the air, but it didn’t help. They were in a sewer and it smelled like it, all the foreign scents blending together into one rather large mélange of stink. He could just follow that sense of evil - it tugged at him like an invisible rope - but he was hoping to get some idea of what he was facing before simply just jumping in.

Oh, to hell with it - you couldn’t always get what you wanted. “Wait here,” he said, heading out into the noisome dark. Even though it wasn’t that dark to him, he still couldn’t see as far as he would have liked; cement tunnels curved and bent into dead ends, or simply disappeared into other curves.

He started down the tunnels when he realized he was being followed. A glance back showed that everyone was following him. Bren, who was closest, stared back at him, and finally said, “Wait here? Screw you, boss.”

So much for him actually being the boss. He scowled at them all, but no one showed any sign of actually being intimidated. There were precious few times when he missed being evil - this was the only one. “At least stay back,” he grumbled, and went on down the tunnel.

They’d moved on about a hundred feet when there was a low rumble that they could actually feel through the walls before they heard it in any way, and when it came through the noise was so low it was almost nothing but a thrum. “What the hell is that?” Naomi wondered.

“Is that the Metro?” Bren asked, referring to the subway.

But they weren’t so close that they should have been able to feel it, and it was almost like a purr, too smooth to be mechanical, and it sent a shiver down his spine. “I doubt it,” he replied, following the noise until it seemed to rattle his teeth.

He turned into a tunnel where grey water flowed in a channel like a sluggish river. A narrow concrete walkway on either side was the only place to walk, although there were openings that led to other parts of the sewers, sluices and deeper tunnels, paths leading directly to the outside. It actually seemed a bit chilly in here, the concrete more cold than slimy to the touch.

It took him a second to understand what had changed: it was the noise/feeling. It had stopped. “Is that a good sign?” Kier asked.

“As a general rule? No,” Giles admitted, shining his flashlight across the water to the far side openings.

But they were looking in the wrong place.

Angel saw it perhaps a second before it happened. The center of the water started to roil, as if a pan of water set on gentle boil, and just as he realized how long the pattern of the disturbance was, maybe stretching nine feet along the center of the water, something burst out of it.

It didn’t look like anything so much as a sea serpent, with a long, snake like body and a bullet shaped head that opened into a large, tooth filled maw, a forked black tongue stabbing out and tasting the air. It had three green eyes, each one the size of his fist, pupil less and glowing like they were radioactive. But the most curious thing was its skin: it seemed opalescent, almost white but not quite, the color shifting like the water streaming down its long body. Its head reached up until it was brushing the ceiling, but Angel had no idea where its body actually ended; under the water, it could have stretched on for as much as a mile. The skin of the thing seemed to be constructed of tiny, fish like scales, overlapping and delicate, glinting in the uncertain light, and it was so beautiful he could have almost overlooked the fact that it gave off such an aura of pure evil his vampire side had come out.

“Fucking hell!” Kier shouted in alarm, his vampire side out as well. “It’s the Loch Ness Monster!”

It snorted misty water out of its nostril slits as its head darted down, as fast and fluid as a cobra, and Angel realized it was aiming for Giles. He lunged at it, slamming a punch into the side of its head, cutting his fist on one of its incisors. But it worked, because it reared up, and made a noise like that thrum, only so loud now it felt like his eardrums were under assault by a million fluttering wings.

He didn’t see what hit him, but he assumed it was its tail. He just felt the warm wetness as it hit him, with the force of it slamming into him like a rocket square in the chest. He went flying back and hit the wall so hard he heard the cement give way beneath him, felt it crumble as the shock of impact rang through his bones and made dark spots pop to life in front of his eyes as he slumped down to the walkway. By that time, Giles had pulled out his sword (of course he brought one), and Bren had his crossbow out. Naomi hit it with a blast of electricity that should have turned it extra crispy, but the electricity seemed to roll off its hide like water, and its tail lashed out so fast it was a blur. It hit Naomi before she could react, and she went flying into the wall with bone crunching force.

Giles and Bren attacked the thing as one, with Giles hacking at it while Bren put an arrow in its eye, but things went wrong immediately. Namely the arrow bounced off its eye, and Giles’s sword shattered on contact with its shimmering skin. That lethal tail smashed them both aside before they could grasp how spectacularly useless their weapons were.

Angel was just starting to get feeling beyond a strange, pain induced numbness back to his legs when Kier decided to just skip the foreplay and jumped on the thing, grabbing its head and pounding on its skull. “This isn’t Scotland, motherfucker!” he snarled, pounding his fist repeatedly into its face. Surprisingly that low tech approach seemed effective, as it reared back and tried to shake him off, but unable to do so, it dived back down into the water, taking Kier with it, its tail slapping the surface so hard water sloshed up on both sides and drenched them all. The water seemed to roil violently for a moment, then fell eerily calm.

It seemed like he had enough feeling back to lever himself up and off the wall, but he felt like he was full of broken glass. He had broken bones in his chest, he could feel them grinding together, but being a vampire it didn’t mean a goddamn thing to him, just pain. He’d heal soon enough. “Anyone still conscious?” he asked, trying to shrug away a sharp pain between his shoulder blades.

“Believe it or not, yes,” Giles replied somewhat breathlessly. He was partially propped up against the wall, looking slightly dazed, the broken haft of the sword still in his hand. “Brendan took most of the hit.”

“Yay team,” Bren said weakly, briefly holding up his fist in a power salute. Although that was clearly sarcasm, it actually was a good thing; Brachens were physically very hardy demons, certainly more so than your average Human. A direct hit probably would have killed Giles; all it would leave Bren in his Brachen form was bruised and laid up for a while.

He saw Kier floating face down in the water, so he reached out and grabbed his arm, pulling him out. He was in no danger of drowning, of course, but Angel still had no idea what that demon was capable of doing; it could just eat Kier whole if it had a mind to do it. (But would that be a bad thing? Hmm…) The pretty boy vamp had a nasty gash on the side of his head, but he’d probably recover in no time.

But as soon as he yanked Kier back up on the walkway, he realized Naomi had taken a full hit - and hadn't answered. "Naomi?" he blurted, panic making him feel a whole lot better - or at least he didn't notice the pain so much anymore.

She was laying splayed out on the cement, partially on her side, blood trickling from her nose and the corner of her mouth. She was very unconscious, and undoubtedly hurt. He could hear her pulse, what Dru would call the "song" of blood, but it was more erratic than usual.

"Is she all right?" Giles wondered, struggling to get to his feet.

"No, she's hurt. I think we need to get her to a hospital." He touched her to pick her up, and got a painful electric shock. Damn it, that stung - and a charge a ten thousand times stronger didn't even faze that beast? What the hell was it?

"What was that thing?" Bren asked, propping himself up, still looking dazed. "Why couldn't we hurt it?"

Good questions all. He just wished he had some answers.

****

Logan had a feeling he was going to be single again before too long, but he supposed that was the best thing for everyone involved.

He didn't mean to keep freaking Faith out, but he did; he kept inadvertently reminding her of how many goddamn issues he had. For instance, when they were leaving the hospital, she touched him to try and be comforting, but he reflexively jerked away, fast enough and violent enough that she had to swallow a gasp. It wasn't her fault; he knew she meant well, and he could have kicked himself after it happened, but when he was really charged - when adrenaline was just roaring in his ears - he didn't like to be touched by anyone. Something in him was on high alert, and it told him there was danger, so any touch was considered confining or hostile. And even though he knew better, the urge was difficult - no, impossible - to corral. He didn't like it, he felt it was one of the more fucked up things about him, but what could he do? He could almost hear Jean in his head telling him it was okay, abuse victims sometimes reacted like that and there was no shame in it ... but he didn'! t like to think of himself as a victim in any context, whether he was or wasn't. It just made him angrier, feeding the cycle.

They went to Faith's new place, as Ehud felt the way was clear now. Tony had secured her a beautiful, spacious apartment that pretty much took up the majority of a floor in a high rise he owned, and it had a panoramic view of downtown Vancouver that was even more spectacular at night, according to Tony. Since it was pretty spectacular now, reaching from the heart of the city to the distant wash of the harbor, Logan easily believed it. And from the way Faith gasped when she saw it, she had no problem with it either.

Logan broke in her shower, which was done in cool sienna and blue tiles, to wash the blood off. He thought it might relax him - and hey, fancy massaging shower head; maybe - but he was too keyed up. It wasn't just the adrenaline, though, and he knew it; that was just a convenient excuse.

He'd been attacked. But worst of all, those fucks had threatened the people around him. Were they so stupid that they thought that would actually scare him rather than infuriate him? Maybe they were hoping to trick him into doing something stupid.

They'd learn better soon enough.

Faith came in while he was still in the shower, and he was afraid she might try and join him (and wasn’t it bizarre to be afraid of that?) but she didn’t, perhaps because Tony and Ehud were still here, but also because he freaked her out earlier; there was just no getting around that. She was trying to be respectful of his space, and he appreciated that, but there was an aura of weirdness between them, at least for the moment. He wished he could apologize, but he knew if he did, she’d give him that look - the sympathetic, pitying “poor baby” look - and he just couldn’t bear to see it. He knew it probably meant he was fucked up since he preferred hatred over pity, but he didn’t care. What was a little more fucked up on top of the huge load he already had?

“So this is how powerful and scary Tony is,” she said, not actually approaching the glass door shower/tub enclosure. “He had a personal shopper bring clothes here for you.” He heard her set down a bag on the toilet lid. “Who the fuck has a personal shopper?”

“Rich people who hate to shop?” he guessed, rinsing the soap out of his hair.

“Yeah, that’s what I figured. Still really weird. Do I wanna know how he knows your sizes? I mean, if he’s an ex …”

That made him snort in amusement. “Oh yeah, I dig the old guys; the more like beef jerky, the better.” That made Faith laugh at least. “I warn ya, darlin’, Tony always knows more than you think he should. Keep that in mind.”

“So a surprise party is a wasted effort?”

“More than you know.”

“There’s beer and pizza out here too, whenever you’re done,” she said, right before leaving and closing the door. She never even came close to the shower; he could hear the wariness in her voice. She was probably wondering how much space he needed. He wished he had an answer for her.

The clothes that Tony had brought for him were simple, and strangely perfect: A sleeveless black t-shirt and jeans, nothing designer, just plain clothes that guaranteed no one would notice him in a crowd. And yeah, they did fit, although the shirt was a little tight across the chest, but no big deal since he could still move in it without ripping it.

The apartment was furnished - of course - with leather furniture and lots of glass, cold chrome accents offset with warmer earth tone shades on the wall and the carpet, the latter of which was impressively plush and a honeyed reddish-brown tone, like stained cherry wood. He had a feeling everything was set up according to feng shui, but since he had no idea how that went, he couldn’t say for sure.

There was a sleek piece of rectangular black glass that functioned as a dining room table, and Faith and Tony were sitting there with plates of pizza, although Tony’s looked hardly touched. They were both drinking sodas, and Ehud, with a bottle of water, was standing near the locked front door, as if expecting trouble to burst through any second. There was a third plate at the table, but he didn’t know if it was for Ehud or him; since he sat down, he got it by default.

The beer was cold, Canadian, and expensive, but even if it had been the cheapest, warmest, flattest Molson, it would have tasted like ambrosia. He was so thirsty he’d gulped down two beers by the time Tony had deftly passed him a folded sheet of yellow legal paper. He glanced at it as he tore into a slice of pizza, and realized he had the name and home address of the head of the Vancouver Yakuza: Richard “Richie” Manniwa, a born Canadian with roots to an established Japanese crime family. There was also the address of a business he owned, a place called the Jade Swan. Could have been a bar, a nightclub, a massage parlor, a gaming club, or any combination thereof. He supposed he’d find out.

All this time, Tony was assuring Faith that attacks by the Yakuza were uncommon, but he also admitted he’d heard he’d been put back on the hit list. Also, possibly on the hit list of the Triad. It seemed nobody liked him.

Faith never really noticed the paper Tony slipped him. He tucked it in the pocket of his jeans as she said, “So this could get ugly?”

Tony shook his head. “They’re rarely as bold in Canada as they have been overseas. In Hong Kong, certain parts of the Triad have “understandings” with parts of the police force, and the same is true of the Yakuza in Tokyo. Neither gang has gotten quite so well infiltrated in the Vancouver police force in general, or the Canadian one in total.”

Faith scoffed. “They were pretty fucking bold today.”

“They wanted to send a message,” Ehud interjected, not moving from his place near the door. He still had his sunglasses on. Did he even take them off in the hospital when he was getting his forehead cut taken care of? “And since it was to Logan, they made sure it was big.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m pretty dense,” Logan drawled sarcastically. “Anything short of an explosion, I might miss it.”

Faith kicked him gently under the table, but just hard enough that he’d get her point. He did.

It occurred to him that Tony must have known Faith was a Slayer; he must have known what was a Slayer was. He wanted to be surprised, but he just couldn’t muster it right now.

Appetite relatively sated, he killed another beer before heading out. Faith gave him a funny look, asking how the hell he knew where to go, and Logan told her he had a few friends around these parts that could help him. That wasn’t a lie at least. Well, perhaps the “friends” part.

She stood up as he left, saying, “You shouldn’t take them on alone.” Her posture was tense, hands clenched into fists. He wasn’t sure if she wanted to sock him, or was eager to go with him and kick some ass. Knowing her, probably both.

All he could do was shrug and tell her, “I have before.”

“You don’t have to now.”

“I’ll call if I need help,” he told her, mostly sincere, but her hazel eyes briefly burned - she knew he wasn’t going to call for help, ever.

But he might. Stranger things had happened.

****

The Jade Swan was just at the edge of Chinatown, and apparently it was a rather high class “bath house” (brothel, of course), although just by taking in the streets on both sides, he easily identified a lot of muscle, even though some were clearly trying to play it casual. But no matter your khaki pants and t-shirt advertising trendy sneakers, there was no perfectly disguising the familiar bulge of a gun.

Were they expecting him? Was the word out already? Or did they expect him to survive? Maybe this was all an elaborate trap. Well, there was one way to find out.

The good news was this part of Chinatown was close to one of the more Caucasian neighborhoods, so he wasn’t too out of place or obvious in the crowd. And some of this muscle, trying very hard to seem inconspicuous, made themselves very easy targets.

There was a narrow alley between a homely noodle place and a much trendier sushi bar, and he decided to get there the long way around, namely by crossing over to that side of the street at the end of the block, and then taking the back way to it. This required both sneaking and climbing over some stuff he would rather not have smelled, but it was a small price to pay.

Once he reached the alley, it was just a question of waiting. It wasn’t sunset yet, but the sun was in its slow decline somewhere beyond the thin grey scrim of clouds, and the shadows ere starting to thicken, giving him a good place to hide while he watched the street, and watched every passer by. He felt like a mugger, but he knew he was much worse than that.

Finally one of Manniwa’s men walked past, a thick armed gym rat wearing a t-shirt with Japanese writing on it (the writing read simply “The tree that does not break”, making Logan figure that some shop was selling Japanese shirts with nonsense phrases on them to English speaking tourists, in a total role reversal of the mangled “Engrish” shirts you saw in Tokyo), and Logan moved quietly and quickly, so as not to alert his friends.

He simply reached out and grabbed him, clapping a hand around his mouth and pressing his other fist against the back of his neck, letting the tip of a single claw barely touch the man’s skin - just enough to let him know he had a knife on him. “Do anything and I make you a quadriplegic,” he snarled into his ear as he dragged him back into the denser shadows. Death would mean little to a dedicated Yakuza, but sheer living helplessness would scare the shit out of him.

And he did smell a spike of fear, but it didn’t triumph over his aftershave; he wasn’t scared enough. So he quickly reached down, abandoning the claw at the neck, and pulled the man’s gun out of the back holster he’d hidden it in. It was just your standard Glock, nothing special, but when Logan jammed the barrel into the side of his neck, there was a new burst of fear. He’d tensed like he was planning to fight, but with his weapon now pressing into his throat, he must have decided to take a “wait and see” attitude. “Are you fucks waiting for me? Are you?”

He took his hand off the man’s mouth, but kept an iron grip on his shoulder, holding him steady so if he fired the gun, the bullet would follow an easily determined path. He didn’t think the man would shout to his buddies, and he didn’t; it just wasn’t dignified, especially now that he had his gun taken away. “Who the fuck are you?” he spat, keeping his voice low. “You the beast that works for the Triad?”

Logan grabbed a handful of his gel slicked hair, just so he could jam the gun in at a more painful angle as he dragged him farther back into the shadows. A gunshot would be heard, but there were all sorts of other things he could do to him that wouldn’t get any notice, as long as he kept the guy from screaming. “I’m not a beast and I don’t work for the fucking Triad,” he growled.

“So why are you choppin’ people up if you aren’t an animal?”

On the street, a Lexus drove past slowly, clearly coming to a stop outside the Jade Swan, although he couldn’t see the place from this angle. “Who was that?” he demanded. “Was that Manniwa?”

“How the fuck should I know? I haven’t memorized his cars!”

It looked like the thugs were slowly starting to converge, so if it wasn’t Manniwa, it was someone almost as important.

He was done here. This guy was one of the lowest of the foot soldiers, and wouldn’t be worth much in any case. Logan smashed his forehead against the back of the guy’s skull, making him shudder spasmodically before going limp. He tossed him aside like a bag of garbage, tucked his gun in the back of his pants, and went to pay a special, personal visit to that VIP, no matter who the fuck he was.

The Jade Swan had to have a back entrance. He knew he was close when he saw two big thugs having a smoke downwind from the back. He kicked one in the stomach, taking the wind out of him temporarily, and as his friend scrambled for his gun, Logan slammed a flattened palm into his face, breaking his nose and sending his eyes rolling to the back of his head. He grabbed his friend before he straightened, and rammed his knee into his forehead, sending him falling to the pavement. He took their weapons, unloading them and scattering the ammunition before tossing the guns into a nearby dumpster. Everybody was getting humiliated tonight.

At the back of the Jade Swan proper were three thugs, all standing around shooting the shit, apparently not as devoted to their jobs as they should be. He decided not to finesse it, just attacked, coming in behind them so fast they didn’t notice him until almost the last second (most people didn’t physically attack; they shot). One pulled out his gun, but he popped his claws and slashed it to pieces, taking a couple fingers with it, as he backhanded the fatter guard across the face, hard enough to break something. As the guy with the missing fingers reeled back with a scream, the third guy lunged at him with a K-Bar, sinking the blade between his ribs

Logan felt the pain, but he just smiled at the guy as he plunged a claw into his gut. It wasn’t an instantly fatal wound - he deliberately missed all the major organs - but it would bleed a lot, and better yet, fucking hurt, especially since he ripped the claw clean out the side. “Now these are knives, asshole.”

He made a sick noise, his face turning whey colored, as he stumbled back, arms folding protectively over his gut. Logan yanked the K-Bar out of his ribs, and as he turned, he saw the guy with the missing fingers and kicked him in the face, putting him down. He got to the fat guard just as he pulled his gun, too late to do any good; Logan spun him around and put the bloody K-Bar to his throat. “You wanna live, you’ll drop that,” he snarled.

He did; he wasn’t a fool. “What the hell are you?” he gasped. His fear smelled like piss.

“A guy you never should’ve fucked with. Now give me the code, or I’m gonna start lopping off body parts.”

The Yakuza was using technology now, and it was about time. He could see that the back door of the Jade Swan was locked with a keypad, so not just anybody could go in through it. He imagined that, on the inside, you didn’t need a code to leave; as always, leaving was easy. Getting in was the hard part.

The guy coughed up the code with little more prompting. He had the guy enter it, and as soon as the keypad light glowed green and the door unsealed with a metallic click, Logan rammed his head into the steel door, and then shoved him away. No more small fry - he only wanted the big fish.

He came into what must have functioned as the kitchen unit, but it was little used, and no one was here at the moment. He was nearly overwhelmed by the scent of incense and sex, tea and sweaty lechery. He wanted to destroy this place, bring it down, if only so Manniwa would suffer before he came for him.

It suddenly occurred to him, with that crystal clarity of hindsight, that the guy in the tree shirt had said “Why are you choppin’ up people” in the present tense, not the past tense. He didn’t know who he was; therefore, he was referring to something - and someone - else. Was there something else going on here?

He didn’t have a lot of time to ponder it, as he heard approaching footsteps, but soft, gentle ones - a woman. He stood beside the kitchen door as she swung it open, and as she turned on the light and stepped inside, he grabbed her, putting a hand over her mouth as he pulled her aside. She swallowed a scream and tensed, but otherwise made no attempt to fight.

“Don’t scream, I’m not gonna hurt you,” he told her. She looked young, too young for this place. Maybe she was legal, but she looked about fifteen; Japanese, petite, probably seventy pounds soaking wet, wearing nothing but a pink silk kimono loosely sashed at her waist. “You need to leave, now. Get out of here and don’t look back.”

He didn’t want to hurt any of the women, namely because most were probably not here willingly. If you owed a debt to the Yakuza, it wasn’t uncommon for them to “take” your daughter - or your wife - as partial “payment” for the debt. They’d put the women to work in brothels or on the street to pay off the rest of the man’s or the family’s debts to them, but with the interest the Yakuza generally charged, there was never any way to pay them off completely. It was just another reason to despise them.

The girl continued to stare at him wide eyed, her fear a sour mix with her floral perfume, and he could feel her trembling. She was too submissive; he was afraid if he let her go right now, she’d either be totally paralyzed or start screaming like an air raid siren. So while he still had a hand over her mouth, he held up his fist, and popped his claws. She briefly shrieked behind his hand, the sound too muffled to carry, and he reiterated, “Go. Now.”

He let her go, shoving he towards the door, and this time she took the hint. Never taking her eyes off of him, she groped for the door knob and just about flung herself out the back door. She probably wouldn’t stop running until she reached the border.

He hated terrorizing women, but at least he had someone to take his rage out on. Either Manniwa was here, or one of his lieutenants were. Either way, they’d be leaving feet first.