Chapter One
Angel wrenched the slathering canine's head violently to one side, the junkyard dog's neck breaking with a wet snap. He tossed the still twitching body into the path of the slowly advancing pack of dogs in hopes of deterring the animals from attacking further.
"See what happens to bad dogs?" Angel said, as he eyed the savage pack before him.
His investigation into a recent rash of child abductions from some of the poor neighborhoods surrounding the junkyard had brought him to Dead End Salvage. The dogs were supposed to watch over the place, but the average watchdog would never have been this savage.
The pack leader, a mangy, gray-furred beast that looked to be a cross between a German shepherd and a Saint Bernard, bent down to sniff the corpse of its dead pack mate. The dog's wild, glassy eyes never left Angel as it took a single lap at the blood that trailed from the dead animal's nose. The four other dogs watched their leader, sniffing and mewling at the scent of death that now hung in the junkyard air.
The animals' movements were stiff and jerky; a strange, milky film covered their eyes. Angel felt a small pang of compassion for the beasts. It was obvious their actions were not their own.
Of course, compassion could be costly. Angel glanced briefly at his ravaged forearm and the torn material of his black coat. He felt the throb of the bite wounds that bled freely beneath the cloth. He flexed his hand and wiggled his fingers to make sure they were still in working order. There was pain, but not enough to concern him.
He really had no idea what he was up against. Not this time. All he knew was that children were missing, and he might be able to help.
Angel had been reading newspaper articles about the missing children. Nosing around, he learned that a viscous, foul-smelling fluid had been found at more than one of the crime scenes. The police pathologists were perplexed by their discovery that the fluid had come from some kind of animal, but one unknown in the annals of science. Angel could read between the lines. Demon, werewolf, whatever it was, the thing wasn't likely to be something the LAPD could handle. It was up to him. He had started working the case in his spare time. What little of it there was.
Now he was here, bleeding and without backup.
A sixth child was missing and the police seemed no closer to a solution. There was no obvious sign of the supernatural, but with each abduction, the possibility loomed larger that the perpetrator was not human.
Angel had studied maps of the area and decided to begin his investigation in a junkyard that bordered the neighborhoods from where the children were stolen. Amidst the stacks of twisted metal and the refuse of society, creatures that hunted in shadow could easily create a lair hidden from the curious eyes of humanity. Angel and Doyle had agreed to meet at the junkyard at sundown, but the demon halfling never showed. Impatient, and with the possibility that the children still lived, Angel had gone in alone.
He had scaled the razor wire-topped fence with ease, jumping down into the yard. Walking among the stacks of flattened automobiles and piles of discarded appliances, he had begun the search. Angel looked for a sign, something that would tell him if he indeed faced a supernatural threat, and if so, what sort. Only children had been taken and a foul-smelling fluid had been found at each crime scene, which made him suspect that some kind of earth dweller might be responsible. A troll, perhaps.
Angel had little fondness for any of the supernatural creatures that stalked the world in secret, but he had even less for trolls. Maybe because they preyed primarily on children. Whatever the case, Angel hated trolls.
At the moment, however, he was none too fond of dogs, either.
The pack of junkyard mutts snarled and circled him, trying to trap him between them. The pack leader leaped over the corpse of its fallen comrade with a guttural snarl. Angel caught the beast's muscular bulk in mid jump and stumbled backward into a stack of flattened automobiles. He gripped the matted fur of its neck, feeling the powerful muscles coil beneath.
"And me without a newspaper," he grunted, trying to keep the beast's snapping jaws from closing on his face.
The animal's breath was rank with the odor of death and decay, a smell the vampire was all too familiar with. The dog's paws raked at Angel's body, trying to rip through his clothes and the flesh beneath. Angel brought a knee violently up between the animal's legs. The leader howled in pain and rage as Angel threw its thrashing body away from him.
The dog skidded across the ground with a yelp, scattering the others in its wake. Quickly it regained its footing, shook the dirt from its fur and glared at Angel with hate-filled eyes.
The other dogs padded closer under the watchful eyes of their leader. They spread out, licking their chops, nervously sniffing at the air. Angel glanced down. A small puddle of blood from his bite wound was forming in the dirt near his feet.
The four dogs crouched, hackles raised around their necks, the dark flesh of their jowls peeled back to reveal nasty yellow teeth. Angel felt his own transformation begin. The flesh of his brow grew thicker, more pronounced, his incisors elongated to vicious points. In this form he was more in tune with the dogs' savagery, their madness. It wasn't natural.
"Last chance to be my best friend," he growled.
The dogs attacked. Angel lunged to the right, grabbing hold of a rusted metal bumper from a classic fifties car. He wrenched it away from the body of the flattened vehicle and swung.
The bumper connected with the first of the leaping beasts, its jaw practically torn from its face with the force of Angel's blow. It fell to the ground in a heap. The dog tried to stand, but slumped back to the ground and then grew very still. Another of the pack lunged. It ducked beneath the next swing and dove for Angel's side. The snarling vampire thrust the heavy bumper into the dog's mouth, preventing it from burying its teeth in his flesh. Then he brought the bumper down onto the dog's skull with a sickening crunch. The dog didn't make a sound as it flopped on its side, dead. Angel kicked the corpse away. He bared his fangs to the remaining beasts and advanced, holding the blood-flecked bumper.
"Now who's top dog?"
The dogs backed away to join the pack leader; the beast had taken up a defensive stance in front of the rusted-out remains of a black minivan. The three dogs came toward him, barking and snapping their jaws, and then returned to guard the van. Angel realized there was a reason they didn't want him near that particular hunk of junk.
That answered his question. These weren't just watchdogs. Something held an unnatural influence over them. Another of the dogs leaped at him and he swung the twisted bumper. Its spine shattered in mid leap as metal brutally connected with flesh and bone. Angel moved toward the van, holding the bumper menacingly. The wary dogs backed away.
"Do I have to kill you too?" he asked the two survivors.
The pack leader cocked its head quizzically and stared deep into Angel's yellow demonic gaze. The other dog continued to bark frantically.
"I'm the boss now. The pack is mine," Angel said forcefully. "Go." He could see their survival instinct was still strong despite the supernatural influence. He made a sudden move toward them. "Go on, get out of here."
The dogs hesitated, then began to whine, apparently struggling with the power commanding them and their own instincts.
Instinct won. Tails bent between their legs, the two slunk away from the minivan. When they had trotted off a ways, the German shepherd-Saint Bernard mix turned and let loose with a series of ferocious barks as if to warn him not to assume that because they were retreating, it meant he had beaten them. The pack leader padded confidently off into the shadows of the salvage yard, its surviving brother tagging close behind.
Angel studied the wreck of the van. The windows were covered in thick mud and dust that prevented him from seeing inside. The wheels had been removed, making it sit flush with the ground. A powerful stench wafted out of the van. If the dogs' behavior hadn't tipped him off, the smell would have clinched it: Angel knew he was in the right place. He discarded the bumper with a clatter of metal, then reached out and gripped both rear door handles. With a surge of vampiric strength he ripped the doors off their hinges and tossed them to either side.
"Knock, knock," he called out. He might be the scourge of the forces of darkness, but he wouldn't want them to think he was rude.
The inside of the van was stripped down to the bare metal. The stench was nearly palpable. Though he did not have to breathe, he put his coat sleeve to his mouth and nose to lessen the effects of the offensive odor, just in case he was tempted to inhale.
Where is that smell coming from? Angel wondered as he ducked his head and crawled inside.
The stench grew steadily stronger. He felt the movement of air on his face before he found the hole. The metal floor of the van was missing and a large hole had been dug into the ground. With deep regret, he inhaled. The horrible odor wafted up from the tunnel, carried on the slightest current of air, and now that he had gotten a better whiff, it confirmed his suspicions.
Troll. Angel snarled in disgust.
He glanced around the dirt floor and found further evidence he was in the right place: a pink barrette, a tiny sneaker, a broken action figure. The vampire crouched over the gaping hole and felt his rage growing. He reached down and let his hand run over the smooth earthen interior. His fingers came away covered with a thick, awful-smelling substance.
Probably a Duergar, he thought. Duergar trolls were an extremely rare and ferocious breed of earth dweller. They excreted a viscous, malodorous perspiration that acted as a kind of lubricant as they burrowed tunnels beneath the earth. Angel recalled that the Duergar also had the ability to control some of the lesser animals like rats, carrion birds and dogs. Trolls were always bad news, but the Duergar were the worst of the bunch.
Angel wiped his hand on his pants and stared into the tunnel. If those kids were down there, he shouldn't hesitate. But he also knew the last thing he should do was to go in without backup. None of which would have been a problem if Doyle had bothered to show.
Where are you when I need you, Doyle? he thought. It suddenly occurred to him that Cordelia might know where to find him. She was probably still at the office. Angel reached into his coat pocket for his cell phone, then let out an exasperated sigh. He'd left it on the seat of his car, which was parked on the street a couple of blocks from the salvage yard.
It wasn't the first time Doyle had forgotten an appointment, but they had specifically discussed the importance of this job that morning. The smell of troll drifted up from the hole to remind him that he had a decision to make. He made it. Again, he had no choice but to do this alone. Angel dropped into the wretched tunnel. His final thought before being enveloped in a cocoon of stench and darkness: Doyle better have a damn good excuse.
Doyle drifted in a mental fog. He didn't really know where he was. It felt as though he were floating in space...then suddenly he was in his apartment. Confused, he looked around. His place was much neater than he ever remembered seeing it. I must have cleaned it and forgot, he thought, as he took a deep breath of the room's uncommonly clean smell.
The room stank of garbage.
"Doyle?" a voice asked from somewhere in the room.
He turned and looked into the eyes of beauty.
Cordelia Chase was in his apartment. Odd, he didn't recall her coming in. Maybe that's why he had straightened up. It made sense.
Cordelia smiled at him and his heart began to beat faster.
His neck throbbed; a twinge of pain shot up from his throat to the side of his face.
Doyle walked toward her, returning her smile with one of his own. "Cordelia," he said, looking sheepishly from her face to the floor and then back to her. "Nice of you to drop by."
She was still smiling at him. He could feel the warmth of it. It's like the sun, he thought, as he looked deeply into her eyes.
His hands began to tremble. Here was the opportunity he'd been waiting for. Cordelia Chase, the woman of his dreams, in his apartment. His immaculate apartment that he didn't remember cleaning. He'd had a thing for the raven-haired beauty since the first time he saw her. When she started to work with Angel, and Doyle got to see her every day...well, to say his attraction to her grew was an understatement.
"Francis..."
Doyle was startled. She'd never called him by his first name before.
"Francis, there's something I've been wanting to tell you for a very long time."
Doyle was stunned as she took his hands in hers.
Her thumb rubbed across his knuckles and Doyle noticed they were no longer in his apartment but at the office, downstairs in Angel's living quarters.
"Weird," he muttered. But he dismissed the bizarre transition to listen to what Cordelia had to share with him.
She held his gaze with dark, moist eyes and squeezed his hands in hers. "I've had to build up an awful lot of courage to say this and I hope I don't scare you away."
Wet, he thought. Something's soaking through the back of my pants.
Doyle pushed the inane thought from his mind and returned his full attention to Cordelia. "You won't scare me, darlin', what is it?"
"I love you, Doyle. I've loved you from the first time I saw you."
For the briefest of moments he heard the melodious music of a harp, but that sound morphed into a cacophony of car horns.
This was more than he ever hoped for -- a fantasy come true.
"I've grown more than a bit fond of you as well," Doyle said, as he brought Cordelia's hands up to his mouth to kiss them.
His lips fell upon nothing. He kissed only air. Cordelia now stood on the other side of a pub he often frequented by the name of Taggert's. She held a hand full of darts. It looked like she was getting ready to start a game.
"Are you ready?" she asked.
Was he ready? Doyle knew that in order for the two of them to be happy he had to share with her his darkest secret. But should he risk it? He had waited so long to tell her how he really felt. Now that he knew she felt the same, did he want to chance driving her away?
Taggert's smelled of garbage, rotting vegetables, like his apartment, and he looked about for the source of the offensive aroma. His gaze was drawn back to Cordelia, who watched him expectantly.
Now or never, he decided. If she can't take the fact that I'm half Brachen demon, well then, it just wasn't meant to be.
The pain in his neck grew sharper.
Doyle walked across the pub's wooden floor, his feet sinking into it as though it were made of foam rubber. He thought that was a tad unusual.
"Cordelia," he stammered, "I've got somethin' I guess I ought to be sharin' with ye as well."
The darts were now sticking out from various parts of Cordelia's bare arms and throat. Others jutted from her face and scalp.
"Yes, Francis?"
That's a bit queer, isn't it? Doyle thought briefly. "I also have a little secret I think ye should know."
"Go on." Cordelia's entire body now resembled a strange kind of pincushion. She was covered with protruding darts.
Doyle closed his eyes and said his piece. "Cordelia, I'm half demon. My mother was human and me da -- well, Da wasn't. I know how you feel about demons and such, and I can understand if ye are a bit frightened, but let me assure ye that -- "
"That's great, Francis," Cordelia said, as she typed away at the computer on her desk.
Doyle looked around the office of Angel Investigations and then at the woman with whom he had just shared his darkest secret. The darts were gone from her beautiful body and he was relieved.
"Do ye understand, Cordy? I just told ye I'm part monster."
Cordelia continued to tap busily away at the keyboard. "Ah-ha, that's great, isn't it?" she said, staring into the computer screen.
This isn't right at all, he thought. As he approached her desk he began to let his demonic features show. He leaned forward, making sure she could see that his skin was blue and covered with rows of sharp quills.
"I'm half Brachen demon," he said to her.
Cordelia looked up and smiled broadly. "That's great."
Doyle's nostrils filled with the stench of garbage, his ears heard the phantom blare of city traffic. This isn't right. Not right at all.
"I've got no money and I want to marry you," he said.
Cordelia continued to grin at him, not bothered in the least by his demonic countenance or his proclamation of poverty.
"Awesome," she beamed.
" 'N Sync is the grandest band ever...even better'n U2, I think."
"Oh, I totally agree," Cordelia responded, never missing a beat. She returned to her typing.
"All right, that's it!" Doyle snapped. He lunged forward, grabbed the doppelgänger by the shoulders and shook her furiously.
"What've you done with the real Cordelia Chase...tell me!"
The floor beneath him disappeared and he began to fall into an inky void. He heard her voice all around him. But the voice began to change.
"And you wonder why I'm so upset."
Doyle awoke with a violent cough, trying to hack up the thick, foul film that coated the inside of his throat. The broken pavement of the alley was wet beneath him and had soaked through the bottom of his jeans. His head pounded and he could hear the sound of traffic off in the distance.
"Oh, aye, this is paradise," he muttered.
And what the hell am I doing here? he thought. His memories, except for the bizarre hallucination, were fuzzy.
"Who's Cordelia Chase?" a female voice demanded from nearby.
He stared blearily ahead, blinked his eyes into focus, and saw a large, green Dumpster. Someone -- or something -- was perched on the cover of the trash receptacle in a predatory crouch, watching him.
"What'd ye do to me?" Doyle rasped as he tried to stand.
"Did I hurt you, hon? Poor baby."
A sharp, red-hot pain shot through his neck. Doyle's hand went to his throat. Something was sticking from his flesh. With careful fingers he touched the protruding, needle-like object and plucked it from his neck.
A quill. It was all coming back to him.
He attempted to stand again but his hands slipped in the bits of rotting vegetables that had not made it into the Dumpster.
"Verna. Why'd ye stick me with one of yer quills, darlin'? Did I do somethin' wrong?"
The female demon, her body covered in a fine sheen of long, quivering protrusions, leaped from the lid of the trash container to land catlike in front of Doyle.
"Don't give me that sweet talking 'Danny Boy' crap," she snarled. "You know exactly what you did."
His vision was clearing and Doyle looked into the demon woman's dark, feral eyes. What he saw there was not a monster wanting to murder and maim for the fun of it, but a woman whose feelings he'd hurt.
Doyle had met Verna a week ago at a tavern where he was still allowed to keep a tab. The place was frequented by some of the more unusual denizens of the city. It wasn't the type of place he normally would have chosen to linger, but he was low on cash that particular evening and a mean thirst had been crying to be quenched.
He'd noticed the red-haired beauty halfway through his fourth beer; by the fifth she had taken note of him. Around the eighth, Doyle had learned everything he cared to know about the woman: her turn-offs and turn-ons, where she worked, everything except the all-important fact that she wasn't human. He didn't get that bit of info until sometime around last call when she asked if he would be interested in escorting her home.
He hadn't seen her since. Until now.
With a snarl, Verna brought a quilled forearm up under Doyle's chin. The lethal needles lengthened to press against the soft skin at his throat.
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you, you heartless creep!"
Doyle touched her arm, careful to avoid being punctured. "Could ye give me a bit of a clue as to what I've done to offend ye?"
The demon woman began to cry. "I thought we hit it off that night -- that we had a real special chemistry. And you let me believe it."
Doyle tried desperately to remember what had happened after last call. Verna had snuggled up to him seductively and now he recalled his shock as he watched the quill-like protrusions extend slowly from her flesh. She was a Kashshaptu demon; the toxin that covered her quills was a hallucinogen in small doses and lethal in larger ones.
"You said you'd call," Verna cried sadly. "Why didn't you?"
Doyle thought fast. "I was gonna call...but...but I lost yer number. I had it in me shirt pocket and it went in the wash. It happens. I'm sorry, really I am."
Doyle had very little to do with the demonic side of his heritage. Ever since the day he had discovered the truth about himself, he had been deeply ashamed and acknowledged it as little as possible.
The phone-number-in-the-wash excuse seemed to dispel some of Verna's anger. She smiled, and Doyle was surprised at how alluring he found her.
A real shame she's a demon, he thought.
"It's just that we had such a nice time that night and you did say you wanted to get to know me better. I thought I would have heard from you sooner and..."
Doyle watched as Verna grew calmer and the quills receded beneath her flesh.
"When you didn't call I got so mad. And when I saw you walking into that pub I got furious. Now I'm feeling like a total jerk." She moved closer and looked him in the eyes. "Can you forgive me?"
Doyle put on his most charming smile. " 'Course I can."
She smiled at him warmly, seductively. "So, are you interested in doing something tonight, angel?" she asked, biting sexily at her lower lip.
Doyle violently slapped his forehead in frustration. "For the love a God! Angel!"
"Who?" Verna demanded, a hurt expression already starting to spread across her face. "Who's Angel? Another one of your bar conquests?"
The quills were beginning to show again, their tips glistening with toxin.
"He's a guy, Angel is a guy -- my boss, really," he told her. Doyle carefully grabbed her shoulders. "Look, I can't go out with ye tonight. I've just remembered a very important business meeting I'm late for. I'll give you a call this weekend if that's okay with ye. I swear."
Verna began to question him, but Doyle leaned forward and gave her a quick peck on the cheek, careful not to stick himself.
"Talk to ya soon," he said, as he turned and ran up the alley. "I'm really sorry. Thanks for being so understandin' and all."
He quickened his pace as he headed toward the street, muttering about Angel wanting to kill him and the likelihood he would be giving up talking to strange women in pubs in the foreseeable future.
The stinking tunnel under the junkyard opened into what appeared to be some kind of Parks Department storage garage.
Angel peered into the darkness. He could make out the shapes of lawn mowers, wheelbarrows and sacks of old grass seed. Rakes, shovels and hedge clippers hung from large hooks in the wall. The filthy aroma of a supernatural beast hung thick and pungent in the air. Angel crawled up from the hole in the center of the garage floor and began his search.
The room was covered in thick layers of dust and dirt; cobwebs hung from the ceiling. It was obvious the garage had not been used in quite some time -- at least not by anything remotely human. There were tracks in the dust-covered floor and Angel followed them to the back of the storehouse.
Far off in a corner he saw a flicker of light. He moved carefully toward it and saw that a crude, makeshift curtain separated a small area from the rest of the room. A flame burned on the other side. With great caution, Angel parted the curtain and peered within.
He had found the monster's lair.
A fire burned beneath a large black kettle filled with thick, simmering liquid. To the right of the cooking pot, Angel spotted a heap of discarded clothing and rags. A pathetic whimper drew his attention to the other side of the room.
Six children had been reported missing. Angel had found four of them. They were bound and gagged but appeared healthy enough, their faces and clothes stained with dirt.
They had seen him as well. Their small forms went rigid with a mixture of fear and the anticipation of freedom. He motioned with a finger to his lips for them to be quiet.
Angel parted the curtain further and checked every shadow of the room for potential danger before he moved toward the children.
His foot caught on something, a string or wire strung across the entryway, and he stumbled. A kind of primitive alarm system. The sounds of rattling bones and clanking cans filled the space as the vampire regained his footing. He squatted before the kids.
"Don't worry, I'm usually not this clumsy during a rescue," Angel whispered to the oldest child, as he tugged the gag away from boy's mouth.
"Look out!" the boy screamed.
Angel dove to the right as a blood-encrusted ax blade made its descent, nearly cleaving the vampire's skull in two.
Sparks flew from the blade's edge as it cut into the concrete floor.
Angel was angry, but also embarrassed. What he had believed to be a pile of rags had been in fact the sleeping monster, and he had awakened it with his clumsiness.
"Made it past my puppies, I see," the troll rumbled, pulling the ax out of the concrete with a gurgling laugh. It prepared to strike again. "Bad puppies, didn't do their job. But I shouldn't complain. I like it when fresh meat comes to me."
The troll brought the ax up over its shaggy head and lunged. The creature was about Angel's height, but outweighed him by at least a hundred pounds. It was clothed in tattered, bloodstained rags, and had two, yellowed, tusklike teeth protruding from its mouth.
Angel lashed out with a snap kick, hit the troll in its bulging gut, and sent it sprawling backward into the bubbling cauldron. He quickly turned his attention back to the children and untied the ropes of the oldest child.
"Get the others out of here. Do it."
The child nodded and began to furiously work at the bindings of the girl next to him.
Angel had made a conscious effort to keep his vampiric countenance from surfacing in front of the children. But now, as he turned back toward the troll, he felt his face change for the second time that night. His tongue flicked over the tips of the razor-sharp fangs that now filled his mouth.
The troll had crashed into the pot, knocked it away, and landed on the fire burning beneath it. Now it slapped at the burning hair on its back as it struggled to pick itself off the ground and move toward the ax lying nearby.
Angel could see the contents of the spilled cauldron scattered about the troll's feet and knew the fate of the other two missing children. That and the stench of smoldering troll hair turned his stomach with revulsion.
The troll grinned and shifted the ax from its left hand to its right. "You set my livestock free, vampire, and then you spill my soup? Not a nice thing...not a nice thing at all."
It was larger than any troll Angel had previously encountered, definitely a Duergar. Though he knew he shouldn't turn his back on it, he glanced quickly over to see how the kids were faring. The eldest and two others were untying the last and youngest of the captives.
The troll attacked again, swinging the blade with both hands, apparently intent upon cutting the vampire in two. Angel moved out of the way of the swing and felt the displacement of stagnant air as the blade passed by much too close.
"Never had vampire meat, heard it's tough and stringy, but I'm willing to keep an open mind. 'Course, you'll be alive to watch. Otherwise all I'll have is powder."
The kids screamed and ran toward the curtain and freedom beyond. Distracted by their shouts, the troll glanced over at them.
"Come back here, my tasty treats, the only freedom you will have from me is when you pass through my bowels."
Angel took advantage of the distraction and ducked inside the troll's defenses, then slammed a fist into the beast's bulbous midsection. The troll staggered backward and swung out awkwardly with its ax.
"Y'know, I would've figured you for a vegetarian," Angel said as he hit the troll again, a solid blow to the side of its head. The troll pitched forward and dropped its weapon.
"Beans, sprouts..." Angel launched a side kick at the creature's dark, boarlike face. "Legumes, tofu. Tofu'd be good for you."
He lashed out again, but the troll grabbed his ankle and twisted, sending him to the floor. The creature loomed over the stunned vampire. It bent down and slashed long, clawed fingers, meant for digging through hard-packed dirt and rock, across Angel's chest.
The pain was excruciating. Angel rolled away before the beast could slash him again. He brought a hand to his chest. His fingers came away a deep red.
Blood dripped from the injured troll's mouth. He spat a large gob of bloody saliva to the floor. "If you live -- though I doubt you will -- I'd wash them cuts good. Wouldn't want them getting infected." The creature laughed. It was a horribly unpleasant sound, harsh and gurgling.
Then the troll cocked its shaggy head quizzically and pointed a long, black-nailed finger. "I know who you are now -- the fearsome Angelus -- well, not so fearsome since you got your pretty soul back."
The beast knew his history. Not that it was uncommon for the creatures of darkness to have heard of him.
"You'd be surprised," Angel said as he sprang at the foul beast.
He hit the troll with a vicious punch across the face and felt one of its tusks break away. The creature stumbled back through the curtain and into the main area of the maintenance garage. Angel followed, shaking off the pain in his bleeding knuckles.
"Sorry about the tooth. I'll do the other one if you'd like. Wouldn't want to throw that handsome face off-balance."
Now that they were out in the main area of the garage, Angel spotted the kids. They were struggling with a series of sliding bolts on the door, locks the troll probably installed himself to keep unwelcome visitors away from his den.
"A vampire with a soul," the troll sneered. "Tainted by human weakness -- what a freak. It must kill you to remember all you've done. How do you live with yourself?"
The creature laughed again and began to back up toward its tunnel, apparently preparing to flee. "I know how," it went on. "You destroy what reminds you of what you once were." The troll spit blood again. He was almost to the hole.
Angel was annoyed. The creature was actually beginning to get under his skin.
"Troll psychology? Spare me," Angel growled. "You think I'm that easily distracted? You think I'm going to let you just walk out of here?"
"No," the troll replied in a reasonable voice. "Not at all."
Then the creature made its move, but it wasn't what Angel expected.
The children had just gotten the door open, letting in the cool air of the night, when the troll bypassed his hole and went for them. Angel watched in horror as the beast snatched up the youngest child. She was no more than four and began to kick and scream in the hideous monster's clutches.
"You ruined a nice, home-cooked meal," the troll snarled. "So I guess I'll have to have takeout."
The troll put a jagged claw to the soft throat of the little girl as he again moved toward his tunnel, and Angel. He sniffed at the child's hair. A trail of thick bloody saliva dribbled from his mouth onto the girl's head.
"I go into that hole and I'm sure you're going to follow." He inched closer to the opening. "I can't allow that to happen."
Angel snarled and took a step toward the troll.
The little girl let out a high-pitched yelp as the troll scraped a sharp black nail across her throat and drew a thin line of crimson.
"Come no closer, vampire. I'd have no problem at all opening her up before you killed me. Could your precious soul stand the guilt of knowing you were responsible for her death?"
Angel balled his fists in suppressed anger.
The troll moved closer to his escape route. The little girl whimpered, feet dangling in the creature's grasp.
"What happened, Angel? Why bother with me at all? Way I heard it you used to work with the Slayer to fight the forces of darkness on a much more...apocalyptic level. Did you get demoted? Couldn't cut it in the big time, so they sent you off to interrupt a hungry troll's dinner? You've come down in the world, Angel. Far down. Very sad when you think about it."
The troll moved closer to the hole and Angel seethed. The foul creature's words reverberated through his mind. Though he told himself it was just talk meant to unsettle him, he couldn't help wondering if the beast was right. Did the Powers That Be purposely pit him against less universal evils? Worse yet, did he himself somehow choose the more mundane threats? Certainly, he had helped individuals, done a lot of good. But how effective was he really in the larger battle against the forces of darkness?
His thoughts raced.
The troll's clawed toes hung over the lip of the tunnel. The child dangled over the yawning shaft, held in the monster's arms.
"I wonder if they'll demote you even further when word of your failure to stop me gets out? Maybe they'll put you in charge of looking for the smaller evils, the kind that hide beneath rocks or inside old tree stumps."
It tossed its shaggy head back as it laughed, and Angel made up his mind. He knew the child's safety was at risk but he could not allow her to be taken. If she went into that hole, she would not live to see the sun again. For her sake, he had to take the chance.
The creature's skin suddenly turned wet and shiny as lubricating sweat exuded from its pores. The troll was about to go into the tunnel.
"And to think we were afraid of you," it snarled as it bent its legs, preparing to jump.
A hand shot up from the dark tunnel, grabbed the troll's riglly in the larger battle against the forces of darkness?
His thoughts raced.
The troll's clawed toes hung over the lip of the tunnel. The child dangled over the yawning shaft, held in the monster's arms.
"I wonder if they'll demote you even further when word of your failure to stop me gets out? Maybe they'll put you in charge of looking for the smaller evils, the kind that hide beneath rocks or inside old tree stumps."
It tossed its shaggy head back as it laughed, and Angel made up his mind. He knew the child's safety was at risk but he could not allow her to be taken. If she went into that hole, she would not live to see the sun again. For her sake, he had to take the chance.
The creature's skin suddenly turned wet and shiny as lubricating sweat exuded from its pores. The troll was about to go into the tunnel.
"And to think we were afraid of you," it snarled as it bent its legs, preparing to jump.
A hand shot up from the dark tunnel, grabbed the troll's right leg and yanked hard enough to topple the creature. It slammed down onto the concrete on its back and lost its grip on the little girl, who screamed and rolled away.
Doyle popped his head out of the tunnel. "I'm afraid of him, for pete's sake, and I work for the guy." A look of revulsion was etched on Doyle's features as he scrambled from the tunnel, wiped something sticky from his sleeves, and picked the weeping child up in his arms.
"That's okay, darlin', I've got ye."
The troll let out an enraged roar and lunged for Doyle. Angel got there first. He kicked the creature in the face, sending its loathsome body back to the concrete floor.
Angel stood over the troll, yellow eyes glaring at the earth dweller with a look beneath contempt. He held something in his hands.
"Take the girl out of here," he told Doyle, his gaze never leaving the troll. "There should be other kids outside."
"Sorry I'm late. I followed yer trail of dead dogs and twisted wreckage from the junkyard. Ye'll never believe why -- "
"It's all right," Angel interrupted, "we'll talk later. Go. I've got to finish up here."
Without another word, Doyle turned and took the child out.
The troll tried to rise but Angel's foot kept him pinned against the stone floor of the storage garage. Where were the taunts? Where was the bravado now that an innocent child's life no longer protected it? All gone. There was fear in the Duergar troll's eyes now.
Angel was expressionless as he stared down at the troll, holding a pair of dust-covered hedge clippers out in front of him. He opened the blades with a rusty squeal.
"What do you say," Angel growled, a grim, determined smile snaking across his feral features, "little off the top?"
The blades descended.
Copyright © 2001 by Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation
