The Nyazian Prophecies

The lights in the bar were sparse. A single candle sat in the centre of each of the tiny, round tables, barely casting a glow onto the patrons. The only other illumination was the spotlight on the stage, bathing the piano player in light. He was a handsome man, with dark brown hair and a friendly smile. The song he played was haunting, matching the ambiance.

"This place is a pit," grumbled a gruff man from the corner booth to his companion. He kept his back to the wall and his eyes on the door.

"I dunno..." Pulling his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, the pale, thin companion surveyed the club. "It has a certain ambiance if you ask me."

The comment earned him a withering glare. "You lived in Oregon. I'm not going to take your opinion on ambiance." There was a twang in his voice, putting a harsh note on the last syllable.

"I didn't choose the place, Joey." Spindly fingers gripped a glass of whiskey. "He did. He's not exactly known for keeping the best company." He pushed his sunglasses back up, masking his hazel gaze. "And he doesn't take too kindly to people insulting his tastes." He gulped down his drink.

"So where is he, man?" Joey demanded, smashing his meaty fist on the table, rattling the candle and snuffing out the flame. "He was supposed to be here twenty goddamn minutes ago, Jerry!"

Jerry raked a hand through his slicked back hair. "Do you mind telling me what important things you have to do tonight?"

Joey got to his feet. "Something more interesting than sitting around here waiting for some little bastard in a dive."

Jerry grabbed Joey by the collar. His face morphed into a demonic visage, developing ridges on the forehead and long fangs. "Sit your ass back down. He'll be here."

The piano player had stopped playing, hitting a sour note. He stared at Jerry and Joey in shocked horror.

Jerry's face returned to his human form as he slid back into his seat. "I like my clandestine dealings to remain clandestine. Sit back down or I'm going to find myself getting a little peckish."

Jerry and Joey turned to the owner of the voice. He wasn't a terribly imposing figure physically, but he projected an aura of power. His slender frame was clothed in a black trenchcoat, which was about two sizes too big for him. A cigarette dangled from his full lips, a haze of smoke blurring his features. Piercing blue eyes were just barely visible through the smoke. A fedora tilted low on long brown hair, shadowing his features further.

A delicate hand reached up, flicking the brim of his hat out of his eyes. Slender fingers curled around the filter of the cigarette, pulling it from his mouth. "It's not terribly bright to flash fangs at the first sign of trouble."

"So sayeth the bastion of restraint," Jerry said sarcastically, leaning back, giving the new arrival an appraising look. "'Bout time you got here, kid."

"Got held up." He slid into the booth, sitting beside Jerry. "I'm sure you can understand."

Joey shook his head. "No way..." He struggled to get up. "No way I'm going in for this. I'll deal with bloodsuckers, but I'm not taking no orders from little speck of shi--"

"I may not look like much," The slender young man said darkly. "But I bet my reputation has preceeded me." There was a sinister smile on his face and a glint in his eyes as he leaned in. "Connor Angel."

Connor chuckled darkly. "So you have heard of me." He smirked. "Well... Let's make a deal."


Vincent Kartheiser	Anna Paquin	Bret Harrison	Kou Shibasaki	Allison Mack	and Tom Lenk

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Based on the Characters by Joss Whedon	Created by Emcee

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Special Guest Stars

Andy Hallett

James Marsters
as Spike

David Boreanaz
as Angel

and
Patrick Stewart

Written by

Emcee

Leaning heavily against his hand, Spike stared at the phone. He narrowed his piercing gaze, muttering. "Ring, dammit.... Ring."

The office was cluttered and cloistered. Files were piled high on top of the cabinets. The drawers were open, showing clearly there was space for the files to be placed away but were being ignored. The frosted glass window in the door bore the legend ANGEL INVESTIGATIONS.

The door swung open and Connor entered. He slammed the door behind himself while he slid off his coat. "What the hell are you doing, Spike?" He took off his fedora and tossed it onto the coat rack with practiced ease.

Spike looked up for only a moment before turning his attention back to the phone. "The phone hasn't rung for a sodding week. Rate we're going, we're going to starve."

"Plasma doesn't grow on trees, mate," Spike pointed out as he leaned back in his chair, putting his feet up on the desk and putting his hands behind head. "Unless you want me to start chowing down on the townies again, we need cash for the butcher. Not to mention you need food."

Spike shrugged. "Well, if I get desperate, you are still on the menu, and you're stringy enough as it is."

"What do you want me to do, Spike?" Connor leaned over the desk, staring down his partner. "I can't make people need a paranormal detective." He pushed Spike's feet off the desk. "Do you want me to raise up a demon just so I can go out and kill it and charge people money?"

Spike jerked as his feet hit the ground. "Well, at least you're thinking outside the box now, slim." He got to his feet. "But you know it's not the need that's gone." He leaned in, almost nose-to-nose with Connor. "It's your old man who's gone."

Connor pulled back, his expression darkening. "What do you expect me to do, Spike? I'm doing everything I can!"

"Do you even want to get him back?" Spike asked. He went to the mini-fridge, kicking it open and grabbing out a pack of blood and tearing into it roughly.

"Of course I want to get him back!" Connor yelled back. "Do you really think I want to be doing this?" He shrugged. "He's the detective. Not me. I don't want to have to deal with this crap."

"Did you really expect him to show?" Spike asked, giving Connor a disbelieving look. "He's the baddest of the bad-ass mob bosses. And you thought he'd actually go into that craphole of a bar you like to hang out in just to meet some punk kid?"

Connor shrugged, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He tapped the bottom, knocking out one of the white cynlinders. "I... I dunno. I just know if I'm going to find dad, I'm going to need to talk to him."

"Well, you're going to have to get a little deeper, aren't you?" Spike arched a brow. "Please tell me you didn't dust Jerry. He's our only lead."

"He unlives to tell the tale," Connor muttered. He cast a disparaging look to the files strewn around the room. "When Oni gets in tomorrow, tell her to clean up this place. No wonder no one wants to hire us." He shook his head. "I'm going to bed."

"Before you do," Spike went back to his chair and began to stare at the phone once again. "There's someone in your office."

Connor furrowed his brow in confusion. "I thought you said we didn't have any clients."

Connor made his way to his office door. The embossed ANGEL nameplate had been covered with a piece of masking tape reading CONNOR ANGEL. He opened the door, his expression immediately brightening as he set eyes on the woman in the office.

Her long, purple hair was swept over one shoulder. She leaned casually against the desk. Her legs were crossed, one smooth thigh visible through the slit in her white satin gown.

"I thought I was meeting you at the club," Conor's voice was much lighter now, lacking the burden of his conversation with Spike. "I made my meeting there, but you were strangely absent."

"Bones had a private engagement," Salome replied. She tossed her hair over her shoulder. "He thought my talents were of better use away from the club tonight."

"Private engagement?" Connor echoed. He bridged the gap between them, wrapping his arms around Salome's slender waist. "What kind of engagement and what kind of talents did he need? I really hope it was the kind of engagement with more than just you and him."

Salome arched a brow. "Is that jealousy I hear, Mr Angel?" She gave him a smack on the shoulder. "How little you think of me, Ace. He wanted me to sing while he entertained a business associate." She narrowed her gaze. "Just what were you implying?"

"Man acts like he owns you," Connor muttered. He caressed Salome's cheek gently. "Shouldn't blame me for thinking he might try to make you do something other than sing."

Salome wrapped her arms around Connor's neck. "I'm yours, Ace. He might act like he owns me, but he doesn't. Not by a longshot." She pulled Connor close to her, her lips brushing against his.

Connor slipped a hand up Salome's bare back, gripping the nape of her neck, crushing her mouth to his. His tongue parted her lips, delving deep, possessively. He pushed her back on the desk.

Salome fell back willing, allowing Connor to climb on top of her. She slid her hands over his shoulder. "Connor..."

"You drive me crazy," Connor murmured against her mouth. He pulled back, looking her over. "This is ridiculous. We should run off together."

Salome let out a laugh, sitting up. "You're kidding, right? And have your father track us down and kill me?"

"That's not what I meant," Connor murmured softly. He stroked Salome's cheek. "I mean I want to be with you, for real. No Angel or Bones getting in our way... I just want it to be you and me."

"Well, we could always run off while your dad is still missing," Salome joked weakly.

"That was a joke," Salome insisted. "Hey..." She brushed a lock of his hair out of his face. "You're going to find him."

"Come on, Salome." Connor climbed off her and began to pace the office. "Making two bad jokes in a row?" He raked his hands through his hair. "You think I can actually track down my dad? He's the one who knows how to do this. He's the private investigator. I'm just..." He shook his head. "Some dumb kid who likes to punch things."

Salome frowned. "Why do you always do that to yourself, Ace?" She got up, walking to him. She cradled his face. "It wasn't Angel who track down my ex-husband, now was it? It was you." She leaned closer. "Why do you think I screwed you instead of him?"

Salome nodded slowly. "True enough. But I believe in you, Connor. You just got to want it."

Connor slipped an arm around her waist. "I know what I want." He nuzzled her tenderly. "I want to just find my dad and leave all of this to him. So you and I can stop worrying and just... Be together."

"I don't think..." Connor thought about it for a moment. He then smiled as he looked over Salome. "Maybe you can help."

Connor smiled broadly. "I like the sound of that." He tugged Salome closer. "Come on. I'll tell you. In bed."

James Black the Third strode into his office, adjusting his tie as he went. He set his briefcase down on his desk, opening it up. He began to shuffle through the pages, reading.

Connor was sitting in his chair, his feet up on the edge of his desk. He was flipping through a file. Jamie blinked before putting his papers away and shutting his briefcase. "You're not Magdalen."

"Sorry to disappoint," Connor drawled, flipping through the file. He tossed it aside dismissively. "Why do all of your cases suck? Jaywalking, petty theft.... This town in rife with corruption and all you seem to get is the little fish."

Jamie pushed Connor's feet off his desk. "You seem to forget the first A in ADA. I get the little fish because I am a little fish." He leaned against the edge of his desk. "So what you doing here, Connor?"

Connor shrugged. "What? A guy can't stop by to visit his best friend in the world? His brother, the one person he can always count on."

Jamie kept a neutral expression on his face. "So what are you doing here, Connor?"

Connor furrowed his brow, looking down at the proffered hand. He cocked his head. "What's that about?"

"Pay up," Jamie deadpanned, wiggling his fingers to silently urge Connor to place cash in his hand. "We had a bet that you couldn't go a week without asking me another favour. It's been five days. So pay up."

Connor scowled and reached into his jacket. He drew out a wadded up bill and slammed it into Jamie's hand. "You're a real jerk, you know that?"

Jamie flattered out the bill and examined it closely. "Thank you kindly." He slipped the bill into his pocket. He pushed past Connor and threw himself down into his chair. "So what can I do for you, buddy?"

Jamie raked his fingers through his hair. "Connor, are you seriously asking about Bones Malloy?"

"I'm doing more than asking about him," Connor snapped waspishly. "I know you've got dirt on him. If it's not illegal, he's not interested in it. And you know about it. I want to know what you can bring him in on."

Elbows on his desk, Jamie leaned against his hand, scrubbing his face. "Connor... Dude... Seriously, you're my best friend and I love you..." He looked up. "But have you lost your mind ?"

Jamie pulled himself to his feet. "We just finished talking about how I'm the guppie lawyer. And now you're asking me about the biggest freakin' Great White Shark in Los Angeles."

"Come on, Jamie!" Connor prodded him. "You know Bones Malloy is ten shades of guilty. But you won't do anything about it."

Connor turned away from Jamie, his eyes becoming dark. "I dunno what that has to do with anything."

"He might be dead," Jamie looked down. "You know what Bones does to people. Your dad has been missing for weeks."

"And if he is, that's supposed to make me stop going after Bones?" Connor's voice was rough. "He's my father. If he's dead, then I've got to make sure the man who killed him pays for it."

Jamie shook his head, still looking very uncertain. "Bones Malloy owns half the city, Connor."

"And which half are you in, Jamie?" Connor demanded, his expression one of pure malice.

"I said..." Connor leaned over Jamie's desk. "Which half are you in?" He shook his head savagely. "Half the criminals that get arrested in this town get off... And there's more than enough evidence to put them away for life. But they get out on technicalities, or witnesses disappear... Things that the DA should be looking out for."

Jamie's expression was cold. "I'll help you find your father," there was a bitter tone in his voice. "So don't go around badmouthing mine."

He got to his feet. "I have to go meet with the defence." He strode to the door. "You can let yourself out."

Salome crept slowly into the lavish foyer. She pulled her coat tighter around herself, covering up her dress. As she entered, she bumped into a table. She winced as the sculpture balanced on the small table wobbled, before it hit the ground and shattered.

Salome froze, a deer-in-highlights look in her black eyes. She bit her lower lip. "Uhhh..."

Bones Malloy stepped out into the foyer. He was handsome and distinguished, in his sixties. He was mostly blad with a hint of white hair around his temples. He was dressed in a well-tailored suit. He looked down at Salome. "Salome? What are you doing?"

Salome swallowed hard, trying to find her voice again. "I knocked over this little dealie. Sorry, Bones."

"No need to apologize," Bones narrowed his gaze, looking over her. "So where did you go last night?"

Salome went still. Her tongue darted out, wetting her lips. "I- I went home. I was tired."

Bones knelt down beside Salome. "If you went home, Salome... Why are you wearing the dress you had on last night?"

Salome looked down at herself. She pulled her jacket tighter around herself. "That... Is a very good question."

"What?" Salome shook her head. "I don't know what you're talking about." She let out a nervous laugh.

"I'm hardly stupid, Salome," Bones replied. He reached to Salome, stroking her cheek gently. "Do you think you are my first mistress to find company elsewhere?"

"I fell asleep in my dress," Salome muttered. "But the clothes I wanted to wear are here, so I came home."

"Yes, you always do come home, don't you?" Bones' voice was low, threatening. "Like I said, you're not my first mistress to find company elsewhere. And they always come home. So... Who is it? I just want to know."

"Why should I do that?" Bones asked. "I only want you to be happy, Salome. That's all I've ever wanted. And as long as you always come home, I don't care what you do when I... Have business."

Salome studied Bones' cold blue eyes for a long moment. She bit her lip again. "It's... It's Lorne."

"The piano player from the club." Salome explained. "Hasn't been going on long. About a month."

Bones gave Salome a gentle smile. "All right. Go get changed. Now, I have some associates here, so if you wouldn't mind remaining upstairs..."

Salome picked up the final pieces of the broken sculpture and set them back on the table. She hurried towards the stairs.

There was a sinister look in his eyes. "It would be in your best interest to tell me who you are really tramping around with."

Mandy Boyd groaned, rolling over in bed. The insistent pounding on her door grew louder with each moment. She threw the covers up over her head to hide herself.

Mandy pulled the covers off her head for a moment, the look on her face one of pure annoyance. "Well, I was up all night fighting the big bads, wasn't I?"

"What are you talking about?" Andrew called back. The doorknob twisted. "Come on, Mandy! Big news!"

Mandy groaned and finally opened her eyes. "Argh! You are such a pain in the ass! Can't you go bug Connor or something?"

"Well, I can't do that without my star reporter," Andrew said as he opened the door. He tossed the key to Mandy. "You shouldn't hide your key under the mat. Way too easy to find."

Mandy caught the key deftly. "Star what?" She shook her head. "What are you talking about?"

"You," Andrew pointed at Mandy. "Mandy Boyd, star investigative journalist for the Times." He furrowed his brow. "Ring a bell?"

"Okay...." Mandy blinked. "I think you shouldn't watch Superman late at night. You're starting to project your Lois Lane fantasies onto me." She looked around the small loft. "Wait a second... Where the hell am I?"

Andrew looked at Mandy as if she had gone completely mad. "Are you... Feeling all right?"

"I'm feeling fine!" Mandy snapped angrily. "I just want to know where the hell I am!" She noticed the camera hanging around Andrew's neck. "Oh crap. You're not doing one of your Slayer reports, are you?"

Andrew pointed to the camera. "Okay... This is what I use in my job. As your photographer. And what the hell is a Slayer?"

Mandy paused for a long moment. She then nodded slowly. "Yeah... I think there's something really weird going on. Oh, this is going to be fun."