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Three Nights In The Big Easy – An Angel Story [[re-written]]
00:15 Feb 03 2011
Times Read: 958




Introduction:







Most of the people out promenading the sidewalk would not meet his gaze, when he did lift his eye's from the toes of his black lace-up boots.

There was something deep, intangible and dark to him, which unnerved passers-by.



He did not mind, it meant that 'they' left him alone.



He'd become uncomfortable with his self-imposed solitude and was often viewed as aloof. He was not.



He walked with shoulders hunched, as if against the weight of the world, clenched hands shoved deep into the side pockets of his knee-length black coat worn unbuttoned, to expose the maroon vee-neck sweater, made of the softest wool, tight against his muscular chest; worn with dark trousers - he liked to look good, which included his short dark hair, gelled and styled, although there had been a time when he'd stopped caring, about his appearance; although that was not now.



But Angel disliked the criticism of his favoured choice of colour, 'as it didn't have meaning,' he kept insisting.



Yet Whistler had persisted, which made him feel uncomfortable - as it hit far to close to home.



Black suited him, matching what he was - someone who spent his time in the shadows, preferring the dark, where he was safe; where he could hide from those who wished him harm; and where he felt at ease.



Yet as an emissary of The Powers That Be, Whistler realized that he needed Angel's cooperation, not his belligerence, so hadn't pursued the matter any further.



"Be yourself," Whistler had declared, as they'd sat atop the cornice stone surrounding the skyscraper, that dark starless evening, weeks earlier.



"After all, how can you help others, if you can't feel good about yourself?'



Angel hadn't an answer for that.



He had spent years seeking redemption for the actions of his former self, Angelus; and in that time he had tried many ways of doing so.



Now, to atone for the past, Angel wanted to help others; and to do that successfully, he'd been told that he would have to 'feel good' about himself.



'Time out, relax.' Even the very idea seemed strange and alien to him.

Yet, that is what had been suggested, 'Take time out, relax. Find yourself.'

So, Angel travelled, to where he'd sought understanding.

Now he was here, in New Orleans once again - and twenty years had passed.





Chapter One





Night had fallen and little light permeated the route he followed.



His sense of direction was unerring - he liked the bar.

And, he turned off Bourbon Street and it's milling crowds - into the small alley's that he recalled walking.



For a moment he thought of the young woman, Jane Bresnen, who had sent him to a literary agent with his memoirs, and he sighed - she had meant well.



Angel paused at the bars entrance and wondered briefly, what changes twenty years, or so, had wrought.



He walked down the steps, from street level, remembering way back then, and the Media Arts Course, one of the first of it's kind, that Jane had talked of, with so much enthusiasm.



He recalled well, the agent he'd spoken to, as his right foot had found the last step.

Angel had found the man's lack of encouragement disappointing; in his opinion the story was just that, a novel, about a myth, that no-one would find at all interesting in the nineteen seventies



He had lost his temper and the little man, behind the desk, had nearly lost his life. Yet, Angel would not kill.



Instead, he'd chosen to leave the man's office and the city, to try once again, to find a life for himself amongst the anonymous crowds of a big city; this time New York, which is where Whistler had found him.



He had left his memoirs with Jane though, as a souvenir of his explanation of 'life' as one of the undead.



Angel smelled the air, catching the aroma of sweaty bodies, stale perfume, cigarettes and beer; while masking much of the worst were scented candles, that were located in old wine bottles, dotted here and there around the room.



The smell of the candles - it triggered a memory, from years ago, when he'd been known as Angelus; and many nuns in a convent lay dying, or dead, whilst he had enjoyed his fill, watched by Druscilla, who had grown quite mad watching him; and her prescient knowledge of his intentions toward her.



She had cowered from him, as he drank. Then he'd turned, to see the fear on her face - fear which he remembered, to this day.

His eye's raked the bar and, he wondered briefly about what might have happened to his young protégée, who'd been so afraid of being what he was, until after the change.



To his immediate right was the long bar, it's surface awash with the overspill left from a busy afternoon; and to his left were five booths, each partitioned with a glass panel that was etched an art-deco design.



Each booth had bench seating around a small round table; and at the centre of each table was an old wine bottle with a lit candle in it.



Scattered about the bar were several small tables, with four chairs around each; and again there was a lit red candle in a wine bottle, at the centre of each.



He sat where he had, all those years ago, sitting on a stool and facing the steps from street-level.



The bar wasn't full, nor was it empty. It was busy though and as Angel watched the young woman behind the bar, he considered how little she had changed.



Her hair was still blonde, quite straight, with a light wave to it, but cut so it flicked over her ears, down to her alabaster shoulders. She also had a long fringe, which parted from left to right and hung in her eyes.



Her dress sense was as had been in the seventies, tight and revealing - the tee shirt dark blue, almost black with a rounded neck and no sleeves. It was a front and a back, laced at the side, halfway. On the front was a silver and red silhouette, of a naked woman with long hair, her legs drawn beneath her, hands above the head, the palms together; and beneath the figure, in silver and red script was the legend, 'Playboy Bunny.'



Her back was as long as he recalled, the waist as slim as he remembered.



Her jeans were blue and tight and hung from bird bone hips.



She walked the length of the bar, a smile on her face, sweeping hair away from her eyes,



"Long time, no see..." Jane said to Angel, a light smile on her face.



"Yes," he agreed quietly.



"Still as talkative as ever?" She asked, smile widening, dimples in her cheeks - and teeth more pronounced than he recalled: "Whiskey?"



"Yes, thank you, Jane."



"Hmmm," she snorted, "so you do remember my name? I thought you'd forgot all about me the way you left like you had, then not contacted me, at all."



"Oh, sorry," Angel was surprised Jane had wanted to remember him, because she obviously had - hence her tone of voice, filled with her ire.



"So, how are you?" He asked, as she poured his drink.

He didn't need to drink, or ea; but if you wanted company, you went where it was. After all, that's why he'd come here originally.



"I'm fine," she replied, turning to serve a customer to his right.



‘The mirror was gone,’ he noticed.



Angel remembered a mirror, that he'd had to be wary of, located just over the bar. It wasn't there.



"Time has treated you well Angel. You look the same, just the same," she said to him, a light smile on her face.



"Are you surprised?" He responded in earnest tones, "After all, you read my story and you know what I am."



Hands on the bar, Jane stared into his eyes, "Yes Angel, you're right. So am I!"



He stared into her eyes, as so few men would have the nerve to do.



Finally, with his left eyebrow raised in surprise, he said, "You are?"



Angel realised that he should of known. He should have known.



She was changed and that should not have been a surprise to him, yet he had found it so, which Angel also found a source of annoyance.



He should have felt her aspect, as he'd entered the room. Yet Angel hadn't and found it disconcerting, as that sort of lack of awareness could get him killed.



There were the sounds of several footsteps and five men and two women, all in various modes of dress enter the bar.



As each person passed where Jane stood, they looked at her, one after the other, before walking towards the end of the room and a door, painted black, inset a wall the same colour, all deep in shadow.



"So, tell me, what happened then Jane?"



"More customers coming in." Angel observed.



"And going out?"



There was the sound of more footsteps.



"Someone else...shush," she told him, urgency in her voice.

For a moment they allowed themselves to at one with the life of the bar - the music; the trite conversations; the sexual banter; all acting as a catalyst, for much more liquor.



"You know, I hadn't expected you to be here," he says to her, ending the silence.



"Why not?" She asked him, responding quickly to his statement, thankful for this opportunity to change their current topic of conversation: "I finished the Media

Course, got my certificate. But, getting work wasn't easy. The industry wasn't ready for women, not then. So I came here full-time... then..."



A big man, dressed in a well-fitting grey suit walks down the steps and looks at his wristwatch. He looks up and down the long room and steps up to the bar.



As if to an unspoken question, Jane looked at the tall, muscular suit; then turned her head to direct her eyes toward the back of the room.



The man tapped the glass of his watch, shook his head and turned away.



"And?" Angel prompted once again.



She looks over his shoulder at the bar's newcomer, as he follows the path taken by the small group earlier.



"Not here, not now. Wait awhile, okay?"



Jane doesn't wait for a reply instead she turns from him, picks up a rag and begins to clean the bar-counter, occasionally looking toward Angel, eyes darting back and forth.



His friend was nervous, that was obvious.



Now he felt the hairs at the back of his rise - Whistler had told him to get involved.



'Is this what is felt like to feel, concern for another, like this?' Angel wondered, as he sipped at his drink, slowly, not willing to drink faster - he knew he needed to keep his wits about him.



Finally Jane returned to stand in front of him, rag still in hand.

"It's quiet, then it's all rush, what can I say?"



"It's alright, I understand." Angel responded, adding, "So, you were going to tell me about working here, afterward."



"Well, let's say, 'after' there weren't that many job options, for someone who can only work nights, so I stayed here. When the Manager died, I took it over."



"And you're still here." He added.



"Yes, as you can see..." she spread her arms wide, "still here and just as lovely!"



"True pretty lady, true..."



There was a long, uncomfortable pause, broken by a customer saying, "I don't want to disturb you two, but I would like a drink tonight and not tomorrow."

She had smiled as she had made the comment and was served; then Jane returned to stand on the opposite side of the counter from Angel, she wanted to talk.



Much as he had expressed himself through his writing, which she'd read, Jane wanted him, particularly him, to understand.



Angel placed his right hand on her left gently, staring for a moment, deep into her hazel and blue eyes, that showed flecks of green that weren't always there.



"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked her softly.



"Yes," she declared, "but not now. When we're closed, okay?"



"Sure," Angel responded.



So, time passed slowly, until at ten past two, the door at the back of the room opened again and the group of people left one by one, again looking toward Jane individually, as they did so.



She looked at her watch, smiled and called out, "Time folks. Time for you all to go bed - and time for me to eat."



Angel smiled, as the last of the patrons left the bar.



Jane walked from behind the bar, the damp cloth once more in hand.



She extinguished candles, wiped down tables - and noticing that Angel, who had waited so patiently, was about to speak - she put the tip of her right forefinger to her lips, mouthing, “the toilet.”



Angel stepped down from the stool where he'd sat since arriving and walked in the direction she pointed, toward a door, with a stick-man black symbol of a male on it.



He opened the door quickly and went in, trusting her, as he would so few others.



There was a light, which he didn't use, with his senses it was hardly needed.



Entering the small half-tiled room - large enough for a cubicle, urinal, wash-basin and mirror, no more - he entered the cubicle, stood on the top of the toilets white enamel pedestal, being careful not to put a foot inside - and the very murky water.



Angel closed the toilet door ... and waited patiently, alert for anything that might happen - such had been one of his life lessons: 'always be prepared,' Darla, had taught him that.

Suddenly Angel heard voices outside the door.



Then abruptly it was silent, until he heard the toilet door creak.



He saw the cubicle door in front of him inch open, slowly.



Angel tenses, readying himself for combat.

The door opened fully - and there she stood, Jane the young woman that he'd been waiting for. She looked at Angel, poised for a possible fight - standing on a toilet ... and grinned.



"You can come out now," Jane informed him, "they're gone."



"So, are they?" Angel asked, stepping down from the toilet pedestal.



"Friends of a friend..." she responded defensively, briefly looking at a slim watch on her left wrist, mumbling: "a very good friend."



He had heard Jane, yet didn't acknowledge it - instead he chose to file the somewhat cryptic comment away, in his back-brain, 'for future reference.'



He knew that it meant something of special interest - 'but after all,' he reasoned, 'the last time I saw her was twenty years ago and a lot has changed, for us both.’



She beckoned him with a crooked finger and he followed her, back into the bar, now devoid of any human presence.



Angel followed Jane silently; as she led him out of the toilet and toward the first booth they came to.



"Sit down," she said, gesturing a wooden straight back chair, "and we'll talk, okay?"



They sat either side of the small table, the solitary lit candle in a bottle between them.



There was a very uneasy silence, which Angel broke by asking, "So, what happened then?"



She spoke calmly in answer, yet he perceived the disquiet hiding behind her words, "I learnt of what you wrote about..."



"Go on please, tell me more?" He encouraged in a soft voice, almost soothing.



"I remember dying. I remember drinking from her... and I remember the taste, that first time. Oh, how I remember that... " Jane sighed as she finished speaking.



"When was this then?" He queried.



Smiling, Jane looked at her slender wristwatch, with a small face, replying to him: "About ten years, I think."



"Ten years?" He queried.



"Yes," She replied, "ten years. And nothing you wrote of could have prepared me for what I learnt myself." She paused a moment, drawing her breath.



Placing his right hand over Jane's left, he asked, "What do you mean?"



"The thirst... that all-consuming thirst..." She sounded almost wistful, in her regret.



"And?" Angel prompted.



"Never seeing daylight again."



Hearing her speak, he heard the sadness in her voice - for more than just the loss of being able to watch the sun go down.



"So, who was she?" He asked.



"How did you know it was a woman who made me?" She responded, her curiosity piqued.



“You said you remembered the taste of her, don't you recall?"



"Ha!" Jane laughed, "I guess you could say the seventies caught up with me?"



"So?" He prompted again.



"Her name was... is... Su... maybe older than you. I think," Jane told him, quietly.



"Tell me about her" Angel asked, sitting back a little, to appear relaxed.



She looked at her watch again; and Angel noticed, but did not say anything.



"It was through her I learnt of the things you wrote..."



"Tell me more, please?" Angel pressed, in a gentle voice.



"She walked in with friends one night. Just sort of swept in. And for a moment I felt as if I'd been caught in the eddies surrounding her..."



As she spoke, with passion, her eyes turned from blue to almost green, the pupils wide and pronounced.



One hand over the other, Angel leant forward, obviously listening, as she stared into his brown eyes.



"I'd read your story..."



"Yes?"



"Well, after you left, without a word, I'd read your story - your memoirs again and again."

She told him all at once, her words running one into the other.



"I wanted to know more... I wanted to understand..." She tells him flatly, in a quiet voice.



He touched her face with gentle fingers, "Talk to me."



Smiling suddenly, she answered, "A woman, a customer. Very special. I'd recognized something about her... and..."



"Go on?" He persisted.



"I read it time, time and again. I'd wanted to understand you see…” She explained.



"What?"



"A cursed vampire, with a soul, that's what..."



"And?" Angel felt frustrated; he hated these meandering conversations, which went nowhere.



"Well, it was in '82, or '83, I'm not sure really."



"Go on?"



"Well that's when I met her..." She was deep in reverie and appeared lost to him for a moment, lost in her memories.



"She was so commanding... so, compelling."



Angel smiled: "There are those of us, with that power."



She lowered her head a moment.



"She spoke of things she would show me..." Jane told him, quietly.



'Darla?' Angel mused. 'Could it be her?'



He recalled her using a phrase much the same very similar, when he too had been spellbound, captivated by she who had made him.



"Having read what I had, I'd had to do something when she walked in."



"So, what did you do?" Angel asked slowly, aware he mightn't like the answer; but curious as to the re-birth of another, someone he had grown to like.



Looking down a little shame-faced, Jane informs him, "I showed her the manuscript."



"You what?!" He exclaimed in surprise.



Jane reached for his hands with hers, saying to him: " I needed that connection."



"I understand." He told her, very quietly.



Slowly Angel stood and walked toward the stairs, where he stopped a moment to look back. Jane still sat at the table, once again looking at her watch.



"Will I see you again?" She called to him.



"Tomorrow, perhaps," Angel told her. Then he was gone.



Jane stood and turned off the bars lights, muttering to herself in the empty bar, "Come back tomorrow night, then maybe I'll tell you the rest."



She walked up the steps and entered the night, sighing.





Chapter Two





The next night he ventured out from his low-rent hotel to visit he bar again.



Angel descended the stairs wary of attack, unaware of why he anticipated trouble.



He just did. That had become his way.



Jane smiled at his entrance.



"You scared off the customers!" She scolded him, looking around herself, to illustrate to him just how empty it was.



Other than himself there was only Jane, behind the bar and one other customer, a man in a light grey suit, with straight blonde hair and a distinctly slurred voice: "Hey Jane," he called out, "wanna brew."



He'd found a place at the bar and been there since work had ended, hours before.



Angel sat where he liked to sit and was been presented with a drink.



"Sorry Kev," She said, turning toward the heavy-lidded customer, his cheeks suffused with blood, his forehead dripping with sweat.



"What do you want, before home and bed?"



He hiccupped, and then ran the back of his right hand across his mouth.

"No-one at home. So, was that an offer?" He slurred.





"Goodnight Kev, no more for you."



The man stood away from the bar, still leaning on it, wobbling a little.



"Hmmm... yeah, mebbee your right..." 'Kev' looked to Angel and then to Jane, smiling as he walked to the stairs - and out of the bar.





At the head of the stairs, leaning against the doorframe, he called down, "Have fun!"

Angel looked to Jane and asked, "Are you having fun?"



She grinned and looked at her watch before relying: "He's alright - harmless really."

Then, she added, "Anyway, it'll start getting full... soon."



An eyebrow raised in surprise, Angel responded, "Really?"



As his question ended a young man came down the steps, an amp in his arms and walked to the back of the room. He was joined by a second and, a third young man, each of them carrying either electrical equipment, or a guitar, or bits of the drum kit, which slowly grew into a full-kit.



As the band began to set-up Angel watched, over his shoulder.



"There's a band on tonight Angel..." Jane told him, cleaning a glass.



"Really, no kidding?" He responded with uncharacteristic sarcasm.



For a moment they looked at one another across the bar counter, their faces earnest.



Suddenly they were both laughing.



"Well I guess it won't be as quiet as a grave any longer!" He said.



"Hey, less of the deadpan humour!" She responded, throwing a cloth at him, which she'd been using to clean glasses.



He caught the cloth and was about to return it, when the sounds of many feet coming down the stairs caught his attention.



The bar was crowded within minutes and soon Jane was busy, very busy.



Angel picked up his glass, raised it as if to make a toast to his friend, then brought the glass to his lips, sipping at the amber liquid.



"We'll talk later," he said quietly. With her aural enhancement, Jane heard him easily above the noise in the bar.



Across the heads of the couple she was serving, Jane looked to him and smiled.



'Well,' he mused, ‘let's see what they're like?’



He turned on his stool, to watch the band play, ignoring the rest of the room.



The music he heard reminded him of the past, as so many things did.



But, this evoked the time he'd met Jane, over twenty years ago; when hair was worn longer and fashion was louder.



At nearly ten-thirty the band, known as Tendon, took a beer-break.

Angel turned on his stool again, to order another drink, to find it already waiting for him and another woman working behind the counter with Jane.



Like the music played, the young woman working the heaving bar with his friend was a reminder of the past, dressed in blue-jeans and waist-coast of the same material.



On her feet were a light brown open toed sandals, he noticed, as she moved rapidly from one person to another, filling their orders.



Jane walked over toward him and stood facing him, her hands on the counter-top.



"She new. She's good... I think. But, she's a few hours to go. Let's see how she's doing by the time we close-up."



"What's her name?" He asked.



"You interested?" Jane enquired, a light smile on her lips.



"Interested... I'd say interested, that's all."



"Okay... if you say," Jane responded quickly trying to suppress her building laughter: She knew he rarely did more than look.



After a moment, Jane added with a smile, "Her names Elizabeth. She tells me that’s what she likes to be called. Anyway I needed someone to work a few shifts. Remember, I don't work days? And like I did, she's seeing herself through college. That's how she got the job. Besides, I'm told she cooks a mean Court Boillion: and I'm sure it'll go down will on the lunch-time menu. That, and say, some Grillades..."



Angel knew of the spicy fish soup, but 'Grillades?'



"What are they?" He mused aloud.



"Thin slices of beef, served with a tomato roux." Jane informed him.



"Ah-hah," he quipped, "Now, that sounds good. So, she makes a good bite, to eat."



They both grinned at one another - and shared humour. "



Behind him, a guitar sounded, then the drums kicked in and the bands singer began to give voice to lyrics they remembered.



It was obvious that Jane too, remembered the song, as she stared into his eyes and they both mouthed the words together:



As they accompanied the singer, Angel recalled the words to follow.



He reached out to Jane, and across the bar he held her hands, her right in his left, her left hand in his right.



Looking directly at her, he sang the words, softly, for Jane- and her pupils opened wide, the iris turning green, as she heard the meaning in the words sung:



“You have always got something to hide

something you just can't tell

and the only time that you are satisfied

is with your feet in the wishing well."



More people slowly filled the bar, intent on alcohol fuelled enjoyment with seventies rock music, played loud and live.



Tendon played on, music from the past, whilst people drank and laughed; and a few women, more flesh on display than they're clothing covered, danced frenetically, just in front of the band.



Elizabeth busied herself, serving customers and Jane cleaned glasses, as she and

Angel continued to talk softly, their words unheard over the music, too quiet for mere mortal hearing.



They chatted, rather than talk at depth, neither wanted to talk too openly in a crowded bar and yet, both wanted the companionship of someone who would understand, them and their lives.



Elizabeth interrupted them, "Jane, I need assistance."



Behind her, several frustrated customers stood at the bar, empty glasses before them.



"Now you can see why I need help Angel," Jane said, turning quickly to Elizabeth and saying to her, "I'll be with you in two minutes, okay?"



Quickly, she returned her gaze to him, adding, "Gotta go - talk later. Okay?"



Angel returned to his drink, as she returned to her work.



It was obvious she wasn't going to say anymore, just yet.



At the end of the bands set, Tendon was encouraged to play two encores, before they finished, to exuberant applause.



"Okay folks," Jane boomed out, "drink up. I'm closing up."



The drums were dismantled, amp: and speakers disconnected and taken out to

Tendons black van, parked nearby.



One by one the bars patrons left, some staggered, most laughing.



Elizabeth collected and cleaned glasses, as Jane wiped down tables and emptied ashtrays. All the while, Angel sat on his stool, content with the area of free personal space that had been provided for him by the bars clientele all evening - imposed in part by his sheer dark brooding presence; and the familiarity of his face.

His right hand was clasped loosely around a shot glass, containing his second drink of the night. He didn't need it - and hadn't needed the first.

But, he knew it looked strange: sitting in a bar, without a drink before him.



So, he sat, sipping at a drink, to enjoy the company of others, not of his kind.



He was a night-walker, cursed with the gift of humanity: they were not.



Angel had been told, along time ago, that his kind was the top of the food-chain: that mankind was theirs, to provide for their sustenance.



He recalled how the same blonde had added how she had taught him to kill; yet, moreover, to enjoy the hunt.



"Hey, Mr Faraway?" He heard Jane's voice, as if from a distance.



As it was, she stood just behind him.



Angel turned toward the sound of Jane's voice, annoyed for his lapse of awareness. He drew himself together and said, "Hello pretty lady."



Then he added, "Are we alone?"



Smiling, she responded, "Why sir, is that a leading question?"



"I just wanted to know..." he spluttered, a little embarrassed - which he found surprising.



Grinning, Jane put her hands up, the palms facing him.



"Yes Angel, we're alone."



"No-one in the back room?"



The look of humour dissipated from her face for a moment, then she said:

"We're alone. Well... except for... my cat... and one or two rats!"



He smiled back and once again she was smiling.



Then Jane sat on the stool next to his - and crossed her legs.



"Elizabeth left almost an hour ago Angel, I've cashed up - just where have you been?"



He picked up his glass, slowly brought it to his lips and sipped at its contents.



Thoughtfully he asked, "You're pleased to be what you are?"



"I am what I am..."



"Yes, but are you pleased to be... a vampire?" He persisted.



Standing and walking behind the bar, Jane reminded him, "So are you?"



Her back was to him as she spoke.



"Yes Jane, I am..." he finished his drink, "but, I'd change that if I could. Would you?" There was silence.



He wanted her to say 'yes:' he wanted there to be another of his kind who understood.



Instead, he heard her repeat in a hollow voice, "I am what I am."



"And what's that?" Angel asked unaware of the tears rolling down her cheeks - tears that were tinged with blood.



He saw her left arm rise - and he surmised, correctly, that she was looking at him.



"I'll sound like a broken record if I answer. And…" Jane turned toward him, so he saw the twin lines of red that ran from the corner of each eye and down her cheeks. He saw her sadness: he felt it.



"Angel, I think it's time you went. I've talked enough. And I'm tired. Goodnight."



Her eyes were narrowed, the colour now a dark green, almost black.



Jane's voice was firm, resolute and he didn't know what to say - so he stood brushing at imaginary dirt on his coat.



She'd dismissed him - 'So, what else was there to say?' He mused.



"Goodnight Jane." He said simply, left the bar, hands sunk deep in his coat pockets.





Chapter Three





Jane left the bar, moving fast, lithe as any cat.



Angel watched at a distance, as he followed quietly, staying in the shadows as much as possible, intent on keeping up with her, unseen.



It was obvious to him that she had a destination - he considered, as he watched her, being careful to avoid any passers-by.



Finally she stopped, looked both ways and entered a door, in darkness, recessed from the main street. Angel followed. He pushed at the door - it didn't creak.

It looked old, he thought it would and he had expected it.



He pushed at the door slowly, till it opened enough for him. Then Angel entered, into darkness that mattered not to him, due to his preternatural senses; he did so sideways on, to present a small target, if he were to be a target - that was.



He entered a small dark corridor and followed the sound of her footfall, on wooden flooring and Angel came to a door, light shining beneath.



He pushed open the door, newer than the first - and found himself in a large room, its ceiling supported by several pillars; a long bar to the right and tables and chairs to the left.



Stepping further into the room Angel followed the bar round, and then turned right - where he found Jane.



Ahead was a mixer-unit and twin turntables, enclosed on three sides by wood-panelling, painted black.



To his right was a black and white chequer board dance-floor, slightly raised- above which hung a large mirror ball.



A man, dressed in black, with his shoulder-length slick back, his eyes fixed on her, played vacuous loud dance music on the decks; as a projector inset a wall danced multi-coloured light around the dance-area, some of which bounced off the mirror ball.



Angel stepped back from the edge of the wall, until his back rested against the edge of the bar, as bright coloured light shimmered round the room.



Jane stood in the middle of the dance-floor, in the midst of the dance-floor; while before her a figure hung upside down from the ceiling, a thick chain wrapped round his ankles.



One hand on his shoulder, to prevent the body swinging too much, she pushed his head to one side, opening further the congealing open wound in his neck.



He watched another feed, as he had fed himself, in times past.



He watched, as she had fixed her mouth to either side of the wound, sinking teeth into flesh, to keep a good hold on him.



He watched as Jane drank from him, her eyes' closed in ecstatic pleasure.



The man in black, with slick-back shoulder-length thick white hair, watched her feed with an intense gaze and, Angel noticed the look of almost benevolent satisfaction as he stared.



Momentarily Angel thought of Darla; how she had taught him to feed; and enjoy his everlasting life. He knew that in her own way she had meant well - which was why he had continued feeding, after he'd been cursed with humanity, on those he considered somehow, less than human and unworthy of the gift of life.



Angelus of old was no more though and Angel would not kill, to live.



For a vampire, that was his curse - he would not feed from the living, not even for himself as his conscience would not allow it.



For a vampire such as he, that was not eternal life - it was an eternal torture.



Everyday of his life was about this dichotomy, which resolved around his own need for survival he finally considered, as she finally finished feeding and stood away from the body, now a corpse, emptied of blood; swinging on its chain.



Angel stood back, as the man who at the music decks stood himself.



Behind the decks, deep in shadow, was a doorway; and from there he felt a presence, that also wasn't human.



From behind where he'd sat, a tall woman stepped forward.



'She's impressive,' Angel thought.



Black leather coat billowing, she walked with slow grace, toward the dance area and Jane.

She was tall, yet her thigh-high P.V.C. boots, with pencil-thin heels made her taller and, she possessed a generous figure.



She wore a green and black tartan skirt, split to show an expanse of thigh, and the top of black, fine nylon hold-up stockings.



Her belly was flat, the naval pierced, with a red jewel on the ring going through it; above which, she wore a boob-tube of denim blue, that covered her ample bust; and the long dark hair that was tied back, with a clasp over her ears, through which it flowed down the mid-point of her back.



She reminded Angel of a Navaho Indian, with a dark complexion and sharp features; with thin lips, set in a determined line, as she stared straight ahead, at Jane, who turned from the body, blood dripping down either side of her mouth - stared at the woman and smiled.

"Was I better Su?" She asked in an eager voice.



In the voice of a schoolteacher with a slow learner, Su told her, "You drank well and now you are sated. That is good..."



There was a frisson between the two women he recognized - it reminded him, of all he'd shared with Darla, when he'd been her student.



Gently she stroked the side of Jane's face, caressing her cheek.



"But," she began saying, as the hand continued its light touch.



To Angel's surprise the woman abruptly struck Jane face, hard, exclaiming, "I still bring you food..." She held Jane by her left shoulder, tight.

A second open-handed slap brought tears to Jane's eyes.



"I want to..." she spluttered.

Falling to her knees, hands clasping her Mistress, Su's nylon-clad thighs.

"Please," she entreated, "understand, I know what you've done for me..."



The grip on her hair was tight and she gasped, wincing in pain; "I know... I know that I need to feed... It's just that..." Tears, of blood, welled in her eyes.



Jane had disappointed her maker, her Mistress, Su - and it hurt, as much to her, as the pain being inflicted upon her.



Leaning down, her face inches from Jane, Su grasped her jaw with her free hand.

"And to feed... you need to... kill, don't you?"



At each third word, Su nodded Jane's head up and down.



"Oh, you're useless!" She exclaimed angrily, standing erect, relinquishing her hold grip on her student; and then pushing her down with a hard open-palm blow.



She turned quickly, as Jane beseeched in supplication, "Please...?"



Without looking back, Su walked away from her, toward the shadows from which she'd emerged.



Angel thought he knew how Jane felt: Belittled, for not being what you were supposed to be. He recalled China - and a child he would not kill and the look on his makers' face, when he'd refused.



She had wanted him to prove himself to her – but he could not. He'd been cursed with humanity and could not, would not, take the life of an innocent.



Angel watched the man behind the decks leave the console, to walk toward Jane, who supported her upper body with her left arm, head hanging low, breathing heavily.



He knelt slowly by her side, reaching out a gentle hand.



Moving to caress her face, the man asked, "Are you alright?"



Jane wouldn't allow him to touch her.

Instead, she lifted her gaze to meet his, eye's blazing with fury.

"Leave me," she hissed raising her right hand, as if to push him away.



The man recoiled a little in surprise, stumbling backwards.



Then, regaining his composure, he stood erect, turned and followed the path taken earlier by Su. As he left Jane began to gently sob.



Angel wanted to say something - do something.



But, what was there to say - what was there to do?

He didn't know enough, for any intervention to be successful - this he realized.

Yet, it was so frustrating - and Angel disliked restraint, he always' had.

Yet he knew that is what Whistler would preach to him, at that very moment, "...show restraint." He heard the words and saw the smile, for a moment, in his minds eye.

Whistler, he gave sage advice- but, he was so irritating... so, persuasive.



Angel turned away from the scene before him and walked quietly into the night, muttering to himself, "I must do something... but what?"





Chapter Four





Angel left his hotel with a degree of trepidation.

It was his third night in New Orleans and he'd already learnt many things, the sum of which left him feeling perturbed.



He could not understand why she was as he: a vampire without the desire to kill, to eat, and to live. It did not make sense. She too seemed to feel as he - and that had to be investigated.



With this in mind, Angel walked fast, towards Jane's bar, as he'd come to think of the place.



It had been raining, hard - and there weren't as people out as the previous nights, which suited him as it made his passage toward the bar easier without crowds to manoeuvre.



As Angel mused on the myriad possibilities that might follow from his actions, he found that he had to side-step a young couple, so in love their path took them directly toward him.



‘So, it's true,’ he thought, smiling lightly, ‘love really is blind.’



And, as the couple passed by, he continued walking, finally arriving at his destination.



A note pinned to the half-open door proclaimed, 'No passing trade.'

"Well I'm not passing," Angel told himself, pushing the door open and walking down the stairs.



'Get involved,' he heard Whistlers words again. He was.



Yet, as a poet needs pain, as a catalyst toward the act of creation - he sought answers, before seeking action.



He left the street and it's few revellers, this dank night.



Walking down the stairs Angel saw Jane, leant forward at the far end of the bar.

She wore a black calf-length, figure-hugging woollen skirt, that hung from bird-bone hips; and, a small black cashmere cardigan, with arms, that left her lower back and midriff exposed. On her legs were black woollen black tights; on her feet, black ankle boots.

Gone were the blue jeans and the coloured tops.

Around the room there were few patrons in the bar; and whether they sat or stood, those there were chatted amiably - oblivious of Jane's doleful expression.



Angel was aware though: even though he couldn't feel as she. He could read her body language. Angel thought, 'She looks sorrowful.'



He saw a man he'd learnt was a regular walk over, asking, "Are you okay?"



She replied, "Yeah fine."



The man loosely shrugged his shoulders, turned and walked away - so, Angel felt it was safe to approach, to ask a question that'd occurred to him as he'd entered the bar.



Her back was to him as she spoke: "Hello Angel."



Jane had recognized his footfall on the steps. She had expected him.



The room was darker than previously, with none of the main lights being used; with only the candles set in a bottle, placed on the small tables, providing illumination.



She leant over the bar opposite from where he liked to sit.

Her elbows were on the bar-top, chin in her hands.

"I'd wondered if you'd be in tonight."



His voice sounded hollow, as he asked his question: "So where's the help? Elizabeth is it?" Angel knew the name - obviously he did, he forgot little: which sometimes became problematic.



"That's a good question!" She replied sadly, turning to look at Angel.



"Place doesn't look too busy," he said, looking around.



"I suppose you're right" she responded.



"So, you're free to talk now, aren't you?"



"I guess... I only really opened up for the band. They're in the back practising."



"So..." he drawled looking around the room, at the few people sat at the tables or, stood at the bar amiably chatting, drinking slowly, the sound of Tendon practising swamping much of the general hubbub of conversation: "Where is she?"



Again she didn't answer his question, instead she said, "Angel can you help me?"



'There,' he thought, 'she said it.' He'd wanted to be asked to interfere.

"What can I do?" He asked, softly as he sat on the stool.



Jane lifted her head from her hands, turned and walked toward the optic stand, pouring him a drink, a whiskey, as if on a reflex action.

She said very softly, "I don't know, really..."



As she brought it to him, he said: "Talk to me. I'll listen."



Disappointment evident in her voice, she told him: "I've never made a kill."



As dramatic as it was, Jane had expressed what she had as a statement: it didn't brook a question, so instead Angel asked, "So what's that to do with you losing your smile?"



She tried to smile - he saw it, although the attempt wasn't successful.



"Jane, a brewski eh? With a bourbon chaser!" The order came from a large fellow at the far end of the bar - another regular, he recognized.



As Jane went to serve the customer, Angel considered her answers: all they provided were more questions?



Having served the man Jane returned to face him.



"I told you about Su?" She asked in a sibilant whisper, knowing she had. Jane needed his response - needing his encouragement to prompt her, to say more.



She didn't find it easy - asking for help, even though she realized it was needed.



"Well... She knows someone who calls himself Deckmaster..."



"White hair?" Angel queried.



"Yes?" Jane replied, puzzled by what she'd heard, "Do you know him?"



"I know of him," Angel told him, sipping at his drink.



"How?"



Angel thought carefully before answering. Finally he answered.



"I was at the club, where you fed last night Jane..."



She gasped at this information, hand to her mouth, "You weren't supposed to…"



He assured her, "I'd wanted to help - I just didn't know how."



Both hands at the bar top, Jane leant forward and said with a ferocity that surprised him: "If you want to help me, then help Elizabeth. I don't want to feel like this..."



Angel heard real pain in her voice, as she tried to express how she felt.



"Tell me," he queried, "what do you mean?"



"I've a conscience - I don't want her to die!"



She did feel as he, Angel realized - he had to help.

"So, what can I do?" He asked, reaching out to touch her hand.

Quietly, she told him - "Deckmaster's a hougan, so Su says. She's told me he'll slay the white goat, tonight... and..."



"Slay the goat, what does that mean?" Angel queried.



"It means to make sacrifice. He's going to summon the Loa, the gods of vaudaun!"



"Vaudum?"



"Don't you know anything Angel?" She pronounced disdainfully.



To which he responded defensively, "Sorry..."



"It's alright, I'm just hyper. Y'know?"



"It's okay," he assured her, adding, "Carry on, please?"



"She told me he'd make me complete. That went wrong when she made me would be put right..."



"How?" He asked, suddenly realising what all this meant.



"I told you. He's going to make sacrifice and it's..."



"Elizabeth?" he asked.



"Yes?" She replied breathlessly.



"Whoa, slow down. It's going to be alright. I promise!"



Jane looked into his eyes - and saw that as far as he was concerned, he'd spoken the truth, 'it would be alright!' She'd been right he did mean what he'd said.

He felt his decision to help was a good one. It made him feel complete.



'Maybe Whistler was right about helping others?' He'd often told him, “You have a destiny to fulfil,” so many times; and “'The Powers That Be' have something in mind for you..."



He knew Whistler would be pleased.



"So, tell me," he began, "where is this going to happen?"



In a hushed tone Jane answered, "St. Louis No.1, the cemetery. The tomb of Madame Laveneau, Do you know it?"



He knew it.



Angel rose, repeating his earlier promise, "It'll be alright. I promise!"





Chapter Five





Angel left Jane, to find that it had been raining: there where puddles on the ground and the clouds had parted, to reveal a full moon, shining amidst a starlit sky.



Beneath the streetlamps, on the rain-slick streets Angel walked, tentatively at first.

Although he realized that it were doubtful, he'd felt as though he were being followed several times.



On Numerous occasions he would stop, to 'look in a shop window' and it's reflected view of the world; or detoured completely, 'just to be sure.'



Angel was tense. He was in a situation that he didn't wholly understand.



He had tried to follow a pattern, toward a solution; and found himself immersed in something else instead: ‘is this what happens when you get involved?' he mused.



But he knew where Madame Laveneau was buried and, he began to walk, at speed to the cemetery; and though New Orleans had changed much over the years, Angel still knew the area well and was aware of where he was going, of that he was sure.



He made his way to Bourbon Street, where he passed through crowds of people out enjoying the many pleasures of the cities busy nightlife; he ignored the aroma of café au-lait and beignets from the Café du Monde; and the fortune-tellers and street performers of Jackson Square, as he headed toward the waterfront.



Thoughtfully, Angel paused for a moment, to stare at a distorted image of the moon in the shimmering waters surface.



Darla's teaching had been one thing: It'd been a way to follow - for him to be.



Yet, if he were to exist with this curse of his, then he had to find another way to be himself, whatever that was. 'Perhaps Whistler was right, in saying "Find yourself" he considered.



He had been in The Big Easy for a short while and through his construed involvement had found a purpose: Angel had discovered that he found purpose in helping protect, rather than kill, the weak and defenceless.



'Perhaps that is what The Powers That Be want from me, to atone for being Angelus?'



Yet, that was a thought for another night: and focussed once more, he turned back to this nights' task, at cemetery No.1



And, having pushed open the cemetery gates, Angel paused momentarily.



He was greeted by decorative rusty ironwork and sun bleached tombs, vaults and

mausoleum, constructed on a series of interconnecting pathways: which, viewed from ground level gave the appearance of a city: a city of the dead.



‘Undead, walking amongst the dead?’ Angel grinned at the irony and closed his eyes, clenched his fists, allowing his vampire aspect to rise to the surface as he flexed, then inflexed his fingers - as the transformation took place and felt power coursing through him.



Finally the metamorphosis was complete and he opened his eyes again.



His entire visage was darker, his pupils wider, the iris dark red, almost black: and, having released his inner demon, to save the life of an innocent, Angel was ready, to enter this city of the dead.



But the graveyard was immense and Angel toured the avenues between the tombs and mausoleum with growing frustration, scanning the area with heightened senses.



He found that although there were several human hearts beating within the range his senses could function, Angel surmised only one of them would be Elizabeth's.



As far as he knew, the others could be muggers, ready to accost an unwary tourist.



'They'd be surprised if they met me' he mused, beneath the moon full, mist thickening around his feet as he walked. Yet, he had to hurry, time would be running out for Elizabeth, he was aware of that.



As he deliberated, a shrill sound suddenly broke the quiet of the night, only to be silenced abruptly. It was a woman's scream, nearby.



'Elizabeth?' he wondered.



Angel stepped off the pathway, leapt over a wrought iron railing, and then powered himself upward, toward the top of a large mausoleum.



Crouching on the other side of the roof he looked down and saw Deckmaster lay Elizabeth down on the graffiti covered tomb of Madame Laveneau. And, Angel noticed briefly, a series of symbols, in red and black, leading from the pathway, up toward Elizabeth's prone body; he also saw the large knife tucked into Deck-master's coat-belt.



The girl was unconscious - her limbs limp as he undressed her.



Angel leapt down from his vantage point and crossed the path toward the Deckmaster and his victim. He moved fast toward his prey, grasping him by the shoulders and pulled him away from Elizabeth.



Angel spoke quietly, his every word edged with menace.

"Where is she?"



"Who?" The man asked, his voice quavering with fright.



Angel shook the man, hard.



"Your mistress, where is she?" He snapped.

"I'm here... vampire!" Angel heard from behind him.



Relief showed on the Deckmaster's face at her appearance. Only to be replaced by wide-eyed fear, as Angel opened his mouth, to display his pronounced canine teeth.



In a fluid motion, Angel lowered his mouth to the man's neck and sank his teeth into

his flesh, ripping at the jugular, tearing it open.



As his lifeblood spurted in a fountain, the Deckmaster tried to scream, but his throat had filled with a thick froth of his own blood and he gurgled, his limbs flailing wildly, as Angel cast him aside, then turned toward Su.



Spitting out a chunk of bloody flesh, Angel stared at her.



"So you're Su?" I've heard of you..." He said, looking his adversary up and down.



Blood dripped down the corners of his mouth as he spoke: "You look... good."

He admired style.



Beneath her long coat, she wore a black corset, cinched tight, to emphasise her waist and bust. Over her sex she wore a simple, black leather thong.

She stood smiling, tall in her boots; her hands on her hips, legs apart.

"And... you're Angel? Well, I can return the compliment... so do you!"



He'd dressed, as he liked to dress, in good, expensive clothes - all in black.



"I've heard of you, the cursed vampire with a soul!"



Angel stood erect, then bowed, with a grand theatrical sweep of hand.



"Thank you, it's so nice to be appreciated."



He stared at Su, smiled, then said, "But, as to the soul, what's the difference between your child and I? Explain that to me, if you can?"



"I can't," she told him, sighing.



"How about... There is no curse." he began, moving to her left: "it's a virus, that some are immune to? Had you thought of that?"



Turning her head to face him, Su told Angel, "It would've been cured..."



"A supernatural cure... as an antidote for what? Contagion?" He smiled.



Suddenly Angel was not where he had been, again.



"Confused?" He asked, sharply, his hands on the lapel of her coat, his face inches from hers, as he snapped, "You'd have killed an innocent. You have no conscience."



Briefly Su looked across his shoulder, to the Deckmaster's corpse and she said to him, "You seem to enjoy the hunt?"



"Sometimes..." he hissed close to her face, "the victim is worth killing!"



"They all are, that's why we're here," she retorted with a snarl, her teeth bared, as she pushed him away, tearing her coat on a nearby stone cross.



"No," Angel told, as she divested herself of the remains of her coat, "they are human, as you were, as I was - human. Until..."



Again he moved fast, light on his feet, circling where she stood.



"A bite, an exchange of fluid. And..."



She turned to face him, power surging throughout her body, "I don't need a biology lesson Angel. Not from the likes of you! You're not one of us."



"And there's times when I think that not too bad."



"You killed him..." she snarled, as they neared one another.

"Why did you kill him?"



Angel recognized that she was perplexed.



"I didn't want him to hurt an innocent, that's all..." He told Su, staring into her eyes.



"They're food," she told him, moving sideways, as he had.



"No," he reiterated, "they're not! I've tried your way - it's not mine..."



There was little space between the two vampires, as Su held his gaze.

Then, his hands were at her throat and hers were at his.

They circled slowly, teeth bared as they played out their dance of death, beneath the bright full moon, mist at their feet.



Angel could feel that she was strong; as muscles tensed, while they turned - each waiting and watching for the other to weaken, just a little.



"You will die Angel," she hissed, her teeth nearer to his neck than he'd have liked.



"No, he won't!" A woman shouted to his side, as Su began to bite.

It was Jane.



Jane gripped Su by the hair and pulled her from Angel; Jane who growled, "If anyone is to die here tonight, it'll be you."



Su turned toward her attacker, smiling, "You? Don't make laugh, you kill me!"

She laughed maniacally, which ended as Angel grasped her wrists in a vice-like hold.



Pushing back against him, Su kicked outward - and Jane flew backward; and again they turned in a slow circle, as he held her and she attempted to pull away.



Suddenly, Jane leapt, cat-like, hands formed into claws.



She clutched at Su's throat, drew back her right hand - and then, brought it back down in a wide arc.



Jane swiped at Su's flawless skin, her long nails acting as talons; and blood welled up immediately, from four wide rents in her flesh.



"You can't do this..." she screamed.



"Do what?" Jane questioned, a holding Su's hair once more, the other gripping her right shoulder tightly.

"This, you mean?" She asked, smiling. And, as one, Angel and Jane leant forward; toward their prey's long neck.



Struggling she screamed, in fear, "No, you can't do this... not to me..." as the two began to rip at her flesh with their teeth, curtailing any further sound.





Chapter Six





Covering Elizabeth with his coat, Angel effortlessly picked her up.

She seemed so light in his arms, he'd considered, 'so very small.'



"Did you mean all you said to her back there?" Jane queried, as he made it look as though his burden weighed nothing at all.



"Did I what?" He answered, knowing full well what she'd meant.



"That bit about vampirism being a virus, a contagion, nothing more than that?"



Angel smiled at the question, as they began to walk away from the tomb of Madame

Laveneau and onto the path, which would lead toward the exit.



"It's a theory I've heard my friend. And surely any theory is as good as another, until its been disproved that is," he told her, delighting in how obscure he sounded. At least he'd retained some mystery - and that pleased his sense of the dramatic.

"Now, let's get back," he said, "I could do with a drink."

He could see that his friend was shaken.



"I had to help," Jane pronounced, in a small voice.



"I know," he responded dryly, walking ahead toward the gates.



"I had to do something, I couldn't leave you to fight alone..." she told him, softly, guiltily.



"I know," he told her, "and I'm glad you did."



"Will she be alright?" Jane questioned, now walking at his side, stroking hair away from Elizabeth's face.



"She's breathing... As for whether she'll be alright, who knows!"



He'd made an effort. Angel had wanted to help and had. He felt... good.



Tendon was practising in the backroom, loudly, when they returned to the bar.

Jane closed the doors on them as she entered, to allow Angel and her some quiet, so they could unwind a little.



Elizabeth had stirred several times during their journey, but still not woken. He placed her on the bench seat in the first alcove, laying her down very gently.



"Maybe drugged?" Angel mused; listening carefully, to ensure her breathing was normal. It was a little rapid, he noticed. But, she was safe - and could sleep it off. He felt pleased.



"I've got a question to ask Angel." Jane said, as he straightened and turned.

She stood at the bar, pouring them both a drink.



"Go on?" He prompted.



"Back there you killed a human. I'd thought you wouldn't..."



"Moi, I don't know what you mean!" It was obvious that he was being sarcastic:

"Like I told Su, sometimes the victim is worth killing..."

He paused, thinking on the answer he'd just given.

"Anyway," he continued, "I thought you wouldn't kill..."



"It's true Angel," she told him, handing him the drink she'd poured; "But it's like you said, sometimes the victim is worth killing!"



Angel smiled at her response and then drank.



Placing his glass down, he told her, "It's what I've learnt - yet, there's so much, to learn..."



Jane began to speak, slowly, distantly: "I couldn't kill... not for myself. And I wouldn't kill, just to please her..."



She looked down at her own drink a moment, then back at Angel: "But, I would... for you and for... Elizabeth."



Suddenly the door at the end of the room, deep in shadow, opened.



The room was silent, except for the chatter of the band members as they discussed the merits of their sound.



Light spilled out, as a young woman, with short-cropped hair - in black leather and blue jeans, walked toward the bar.



"Need beer for the band Jane," the girl pronounced.



"Yeah alright Lee," Jane told her, sounding very tired.



"Angel, this is Lee, she roadies for Tendon," she explained.



"You okay?" Lee questioned her.



"Yeah," Jane grinned, as the band found voice, "I'm just feeling...dead, tired."



Angel could hear that Elizabeth was breathing normally; and his friend Jane was telling bad jokes and, he recognized the track Tendon were playing and remembered the song well.



“All right now, baby

it’s all right now.

All right now, baby

it’s all right now.”



They shared a bond that only themselves - and, perhaps Whistler - could understand.

It was enough, for now.



"Jane, have you change for the phone?" he asked, an idea slowly taking shape.



Contacting Whistler, Angel asked his favour; dubious at first as to whether it was possible. The fellow had been sent as his link with The Powers That Be, not hers.

Now here was his charge asking him to be her mentor.

"They'll never go for it!" he'd told Angel. But, to his surprise, they had.





*



Epilogue:





When he'd arrived in The Big Easy, Whistler had been apprehensive, as to how a homey from his patch in Manhattan would fit in. Yet, after a short while he no longer yearned for the ugly beauty of New York. Although the buildings were amazing, they were so grey and everywhere stank of exhaust fumes.



There was more of everything he liked in New Orleans - and it was all much brighter, including the nightlife. Moreover, the favour that Angel had asked of him wasn't an onerous one: to look after someone much as he, although feminine and much younger.



"This could be why you came here," he'd told Angel as he opened the door to his red and white rental Mustang, "to find your own path to follow and a guide for this one."



He had left behind the City Of The Dead - and now the car was pointing toward L.A., 'The City Of Angel's' where he'd start his 'life' afresh.



"It could be," Angel answered simply, as he gunned the engine.





* * *