by Cynamin

Part One

Los Angeles, California, Present Day... Resurrection

He was very good at smelling blood. One might say he excelled at it. New blood, old blood, demon, human, small injury or fatal wound...he could tell a lot from the smell of blood. Once, he had rejoiced in that smell, in learning all the little variations. The demon that possessed his flesh craved it, starved for it, and so he was never without that awareness.

It was different now, though. No longer did he glory in blood. Now, that over-developed sense was good for only two things: keeping his flesh strong, and keeping others alive. Others that, a hundred years past, he would have killed for that very same blood.

Angel walked the streets of the city alone when the night was darkest. Sensible people were already asleep, but there were always plenty of people in need of protecting at all hours. And the demons, those that preyed on the humans, always liked the nighttime best.

The blood smell had come suddenly about a minute ago. It assaulted his senses so instantly that he wondered why he had not smelled it earlier. It was human, fresh, in dangerously high volume, and terrified. And something else...slightly familiar. He followed it, steps quickening, unable to shake that sense that he should have been able to know something else from this blood. Like he’d smelled it before....

There were small drops of blood on the pavement, too faint for most to notice. Angel followed them like a trail. Concern for the bleeding person’s safety was first in his mind as he quickened to a run. But also...curiosity.

He was close. Harsh breathing echoed along the street now. Labored breathing. Two more long strides to round the corner....

His sister, slumped against the wall of his human home, dead... The bite wound on her neck testifying to why she did not bleed...

She was slumped against the building like an echo of the past. Her dress was centuries out of date. Blood from a bite wound ran down her neck to stain her collar a deep crimson. She stared at him with wide, terrified eyes.

“Liam...?”

The fear and the blood loss got the better of her then, and consciousness fled. She started to fall sideways. Angel darted forward to catch the girl. She was still alive, for now.

Kathy?

He had no time for shock and guilt to overwhelm him. He tore a length from the hem of her skirt, turning it into a makeshift bandage. He smoothed her long, dark brown hair – so close to his in color – away from the wound as he secured the cloth. He cradled her against his chest as he lifted her from the pavement. Then he took off running at speeds only another vampire could match.

He had to get her to a hospital. Now. Before it was too late.

...It’s already 250 years too late...

But he would do anything to save one of his own victims...his own sister.

“Where is he?!”

Wesley rubbed his eyes in fatigue. “I don’t know,” he said for the third time.

The young woman paced the hotel lobby in agitation. “He’s supposed to be here!” she snapped.

“And he’ll be here, Cordelia,” Wesley said patiently. “If nothing else, he’ll be back before sunrise. He does live here, after all.”

Cordelia glared at him. “I am not waiting until sunrise for Angel to show up.”

“And I wouldn’t have suggested such a thing,” Wesley said smoothly. “We don’t really need him here right now...”

“That’s not the point,” she said. “You’re the boss now. And that means Angel is supposed to be here when you say he’s supposed to be here, and he’s not here!”

“Cordelia!” Wesley interrupted in exasperation.

“What? Aren’t I right?”

Wesley did not reply to that. “He’ll be here, okay? It’s been very quiet lately. You have not had a vision in weeks. Angel...probably just needed something to do.”

“You mean he’s out looking for trouble,” the third member of the small group said. The young black man was leaning against the hotel counter.

“Well...yes, quite possibly.”

“And this doesn’t bother you?” Cordelia asked.

“He can take care of himself,” Gunn said easily.

Wesley looked at Cordelia for a moment. “Are you worried about him?”

“No,” Cordelia said quickly. Then she frowned. “Okay, maybe a little. I mean, we’re just starting to get back on the right track...and he seems to attract trouble.”

“That he does,” Gunn agreed.

“Yes, well...” Wesley frowned. “Perhaps for now we should put our full attention on this case, yes?”

Cordelia sighed. “You’re right,” she said reluctantly.

“Okay, then. What do we know?”

Gunn spoke up. “Another body turned up today. Same district.”

“Cause of death?”

“Unknown,” Cordelia read from the paper in front of her. “Martina Roberts had recently been diagnosed with untreatable cancer. That didn’t kill her, though.”

“Isn’t this more of a case for the police?” Gunn asked.

“Hey, we’re being paid,” Cordelia pointed out. “By the surviving family of victim number...” she looked at the papers in front of her again, “two. Jero Alizar.”

“Still...this seems rather...normal.”

“Do we have anything tying the victims together?” Wesley interrupted.

“Well...” Cordelia began, only to be interrupted by the telephone. She smiled as she picked it up, preparing her best receptionist voice. “Angel Investigations, we...” She frowned abruptly. “Where the hell are you?!”

Wesley and Gunn’s heads snapped to attention.

“You’re supposed to be...” Cordelia began. She stopped speaking with a frown. “You’re where? Why...?” Cordelia’s anger disappeared, then she went noticeably pale. “You’re kidding, right?” Another pause. “Alright, I get it. We’ll be right there.”

She hung up the phone and frowned at it intently.

“Well?” Gunn prompted.

“That was Angel.”

“Yes, we got that...” Wesley said.

“He’s...at the hospital. He wants us to meet him there.”

“And why is Angel at the hospital?”

Cordelia had a very odd look on her face. “I’ll tell you on the way,” she said, grabbing her purse. “This is one I have to see to believe.”