By Fire Reborn
The moment the smell hit her, she thought, I want to go home.
It was morning. Dull sunlight leeched through ashen clouds, turning the humid dawn into a crucible of rank and
putrid death. The hillside, abutted by gray walls of automobile factories and derelict warehouses, gave way to dusty
fields completely hidden from the Shin-Oume Expressway. This was handy, considering the few hundred corpses that
lay bleeding on the ground between her and the parking lot. The mingled blood – red and grey – soaked the soil. By
noon, this place would smell like rotten Hell.
She propped herself against the prone body of a no-longer-twitching Kitsune demon. With a needle she’d sterilized
with her Zippo, she made decent work of stitching up the deep tear that nearly took off the top of her left arm. She
had made perhaps 40 stitches, all of them neat and straight, and was nearly done when he strode up.
She continued to stitch, drawing the thread tight, wincing as the meat of her arm tugged closed. She listened to
him, ready should he decide to attack. Instinct told her his fight was done. If he was itching to settle a score, he
would have already made his move.
Instead, he took a seat beside her. With a cut of her eyes, she sized him up. Boots – filthy. Respectable gash on his
cheek. Blood splattered on his pants – not his blood. He’d done well, considering the odds.
After a moment of watching her work, Connor said, “You’re lucky you didn’t lose that arm.”
“Please. I’ve had so much worse than this,” Faith said. She grimaced as she pulled another stitch taut and stabbed
the needle back through.
“You’re lucky, is all,” he said. He looked over the battlefield with appreciation for his work.
Faith glanced at him. “I suppose I owe you a thanks for that? That what you want?”
“It’s not what I’m after, no,” he replied.
Faith pulled the thread. Tightened it. Looped the needle into her flesh. “What are you after?”
Connor returned his gaze to the battlefield. After all the bloodshed, watching her stitch up her wound was what
made him queasy. He thought about the last few fevered days: outrunning her, chasing the Kitsune, and then the
endless fighting when the demons made their final stand. The Kitsune were small but fierce, with claws like blades
and a mouthful of thorn-like teeth. The real danger was their keen, almost magical agility and multiple lacerating
tails. But he’d fought them, as he promised he would. He fought and realized he hadn’t felt so alive since he left
Quor-Toth, and then, just when he thought the Kitsune would have him for breakfast, Faith found him.
It was, at first, a Kitsune free-for-all: he fought them, he fought her, they fought them. But somewhere in the
middle, she turned. And then it was over. Only they remained.
Connor nodded once. “I’m just glad you came around to my side of things.”
Faith dropped her needle and kissed him, hard and without quarter. He felt it all the way to the pit of his stomach
(and slightly lower). Like a shot of 90 proof whiskey, it spread through him.
Faith abruptly broke off the kiss, leaving him dazed. She returned to her stitching, pulling the thread high, looping
back over, pushing needle through the skin with a pop.
“Who says that I have?” she asked, her voice smoky and dark.
Connor found his sense, dusted it off, put it back in. “I’d say about 700 Kitsune demons would,” he answered. “If
they could talk.”
Faith finished off her stitching with a practiced double knot. He could tell she had a lot of experience with this kind
of work. She yanked the thread tight, and bringing her upper arm to her mouth, bit off the excess.
Connor started to speak, hesitated as if he thought better of it, then began again.
“I’m almost done with this,” he said quietly. “Soon I’ll be ready to go home.”
Faith sprung to her feet. She wrenched an iron knife from the Kitsune’s thigh and stuck it into the waistband of her
black pants.
“You really think it ends here?” she asked, looking down at him.
“Are we gonna fight?”
Faith stared down at the boy. He was exhausted. She was wounded. Besides, she had other things in mind.
“Not today,” she said, and extended her hand to help him up.
Once he was on his feet, Connor turned to survey their work one last time. When he looked back at Faith, she
slammed her head squarely against his.
It was a trademark Faith move, one she perfected over the years and was rather proud of. Normally, it took a body
down, no question. Connor merely looked stunned, and a little hurt.
“Damn it,” Faith swore. Moving swiftly, she took a small glass vial from her pocket. Connor recovered, and lunged.
This time, she smashed the vial into his skull. It disintegrated with a puff of lavender smoke. Connor went down,
catching her knees as he fell, toppling them both into the deadfall of demon bodies.
Faith shimmied backward, kicking Connor’s unconscious body off of hers.
Reaching out with her mind, Faith called to Willow. It was not her fave form of communication, but Faith knew she
wouldn’t have much time.
I have him, she said in her mind. Better come quick. Little bastard’s tough as his old man.
Willow nodded. “Faith has Connor,” she said. She touched the silver pentacle that rested in the hollow of her throat
and smiled. “It worked.”
Thellian slipped from his gilded velvet chair, carefully placing the black kitten that slept in his lap back onto the
cushion. He dipped a curt bow to Chiyoko, the cleric woman he’d hired to assist Willow in adapting her spells to
Japanese components. He crossed the small room to join Willow at the window. Outside the dawn was just breaking
over Tokyo. Soon he would rest, and Willow’s work would begin.
He placed a cool hand on her arm and said in a demulcent tone, “I never doubted thus.”
Willow spread Connor out, then bound him. She tended his wounds with the help of Chiyoko, who knew, it seemed,
every medicinal herb and root in this world and possibly others. They worked in relative quiet; the only sound came
from the traffic at street level, thirty-three stories down.
Thellian’s suite of apartments was not elegant. Crowded, Willow would describe it, but not cramped. It smelled of
amber resin, incense, books, and sacred treasured items he had collected over his many years and stored here.
Shelves lined every bamboo wall, save one, and on those shelves, in every available space, there were trinkets and
treasures, books, scrolls, idols of gold, busts of scholars, weapons, chests, copper flasks and cobalt bottles of many
shapes and sizes that shone like jewels in the sumptuous lamplight. An enormous picture window dominated the
fourth wall, but it was partially obscured by a pair of Japanese armoires carved from teakwood and bedizened in
gold leaf.
Faith perched on the arm of a leather chaise in front of the picture window, her bare feet drawn up beneath her,
the cigarette between her fingers sending listless curls of smoke into the air.
Willow and Chiyoko worked with calm deftness. The kitten, Scout, washed himself while keeping a dutiful eye on
their prisoner.
Faith took a drag from her cigarette, blew it out with a sigh. “He’ll be all right, won’t he?” she asked. “When he
wakes up, he’ll be all right?”
Chiyoko passed the mortar to Willow. She ground dried honey into a mixture of Frankincense and bitterroot.
“Free from pain,” Willow answered. “Free from the glowy green Loc-Nar? We’ll have to see. That Magic’s pretty
strong.”
Faith leapt from the chaise, stretched, winced at the annoying pain in her arm and came to join them. Connor was
bound with silk cord to a rough-hewn wooden table. Chiyoko set out four black candles: two at his hands, two at his
feet. At his head, she placed a white candle, a yellow one between his ankles.
“You’re pretty strong, too. Right?” Faith asked.
Chiyoko pointed at Faith and began a shrill and animated tirade, which neither Faith nor Willow could understand.
Chiyoko made universal shooing motions, and then pantomimed putting a cigarette to her lips.
Willow chuckled lightly. “I think she’s saying smoking’s bad for the altar,” she told Faith.
Faith rolled her eyes. “All right, yo. All you had to do was ask.” She stubbed it out in an antique gold dish squeezed
between a book about wizardry and an ivory rhinoceros.
“In answer to your question,” Willow said. She poured the ground mixture into a wooden cask. “I am powerful. But
he’s pretty far gone. It may take a lot to get him back. But we will get him back. I have zero doubt.”
Faith studied the boy’s face, so serene and angelic in his slumber.
“He seemed fine,” Faith said. “You shoulda seen him. Never seen a guy fight like that. All teeth and hands and a
lifetime supply of rage, you know? But when he talked to me, he seemed… I dunno, sane?”
Willow glanced from her work, but said nothing. Chiyoko brought over a steaming copper kettle. Gripping its handle
with a pot holder, she poured fragrant liquid into the cask and capped it with a cork. She nodded to Willow. It was
time to begin.
Willow swirled the cask three times clockwise. She lighted the white candle with a match and began to speak the
Spell of Release:
“Guardian, angel of the stars,
I call upon you, Diana,
To help and to defend this Childe
For he is a servant of Light
And without defense
From this attack.”
Opposite Willow, Chiyoko lighted the yellow candle. She bent her head as if in prayer as Willow spoke the next rite:
“Guardian, I implore you,
Use your force to cut down this evil
Purge it with your crowned fire
Cleanse this iniquity and release him
For he is without defense
From this wicked malice.”
Willow opened the cask. She anointed Connor’s forehead, the tip of his nose, his lips. He stirred, as if sweetly
dreaming. A smile traced the edges of his mouth. Willow continued to speak:
“Guardian, angel of the stars,
Release him,
In this, the name of One Who is All.
Thus it is
And ever will be.”
Faith expected a change. She expected fire or shrieking demons or something tentacle-y to jump out at them. The
kitten stretched languidly and hopped into the chair. Chiyoko kept her head bent, while Willow ventured a glance
first at Connor, then at Faith.
“Did it work?” Faith whispered.
“I’m not sure,” Willow said.
Chiyoko shushed them.
Willow, believing the spell had failed, waited a moment longer before backing away from the altar. Connor’s eyelids
fluttered open. He looked around, obviously confused, until his eyes settled on Faith.
He whispered her name. Suddenly, gouts of flame leapt like torchfire from the black candles, accompanied by a low,
guttural moan. They jumped clear of the table as the fire climbed high as the ceiling. The flames spread and grew,
forming a cage around Connor. It burned away his bonds, and he sat up, panic-stricken as the walls closed over him.
“What are you doing to me?” Connor yelled. “What have you done?”
Faith, not really thinking, moved toward him. Willow caught her.
“Don’t” she said. “This is part of it.”
“He’ll burn up,” Faith shouted, recalling Wayara with a pang of aching regret.
Willow shook her head. “No he won’t.”
The fire closed on Connor. He shrank away from it, his imploring cries lost in the primal gale of flame. The cask
ignited, spraying a geyser of sparks into the room. Faith ducked, but the embers that fell on them morphed into
fireflies before winking out in the dark.
The fire consumed him, licking over his limbs, crawling into his sinuses and his mouth, boiling his eyes. Faith couldn’t
watch, had to turn away. She did not see how, when the flames reached his chest, they glowed with a scorching
green pall. She didn’t see the fiery center redouble its claim on Connor, twisting around him like twin snakes
wrought of coals. They crushed Connor’s body under their molten heat, turning his bones to ash. He screamed.
“Willow!” Faith cried.
Willow returned to the altar. “Release him,” she commanded.
A voice, base and indifferent, rose up. “Never,” it answered.
“I’d like to test that theory,” Willow said. She closed her eyes. Her fingers tightened on the table’s edge. She felt
her own energy coursing through her, powerful as a river, pure as light.
“Liberilo!” Willow spoke, steady and strong. “Lascilo intero di ritorno. Non avete alimentazione qui.”
The power flowed from her, a torrent so bright none could bear to look at it. The room filled with a resonant hum,
like ten thousand bees, and the crisp, clean scent of ozone. Outside the window, the lights of Tokyo blinked out in
random increments across the city grid.
The final two candles guttered. Willow opened her eyes.
Connor crouched on the altar, his hair and clothes plastered with sweat to his body, his eyes wild with confusion.
Faith and Chiyoko, who had both been knocked down by the blast of Willow’s energy, got cautiously to their feet.
Scout arched his back, kneaded his cushion, and then leapt to the altar to have a closer look.
Connor reached out a trembling hand to touch the kitten. Scout sniffed him, then rubbed his head against the boy’s
palm. Connor laughed, but it was weak, uncertain sound.
“Connor?” Faith asked, moving to stand before him.
He looked at her with genuine curiosity, but without any sign of mistrust in his eyes.
“I’ve been away a while,” he said, petting Scout with two fingers. “Haven’t I?”
Willow heaved an inward sigh of relief. She stepped around the altar to stand beside Faith.
“How much do you remember?” Willow asked.
Connor’s gaze dropped. He seemed to study the kitten a long while before he spoke again. “Everything,” he
whispered. “I remember everything.”
Willow pressed her lips together. “I’m sorry, Connor,” she said, and he shrugged.
Faith tousled his damp hair. He looked up at her with only his eyes and she saw now that they were different. He’d
seemed sane before, and he had been, but now he was Connor. He was back.
“Hey,” she said. “I’m glad you came around to my side of things.”
Connor smiled. He stroked the kitten’s chin. “So am I,” he sighed. “So am I.”
The moment the smell hit her, she thought, I want to go home.
It was morning. Dull sunlight leeched through ashen clouds, turning the humid dawn into a crucible of rank and
putrid death. The hillside, abutted by gray walls of automobile factories and derelict warehouses, gave way to dusty
fields completely hidden from the Shin-Oume Expressway. This was handy, considering the few hundred corpses that
lay bleeding on the ground between her and the parking lot. The mingled blood – red and grey – soaked the soil. By
noon, this place would smell like rotten Hell.
She propped herself against the prone body of a no-longer-twitching Kitsune demon. With a needle she’d sterilized
with her Zippo, she made decent work of stitching up the deep tear that nearly took off the top of her left arm. She
had made perhaps 40 stitches, all of them neat and straight, and was nearly done when he strode up.
She continued to stitch, drawing the thread tight, wincing as the meat of her arm tugged closed. She listened to
him, ready should he decide to attack. Instinct told her his fight was done. If he was itching to settle a score, he
would have already made his move.
Instead, he took a seat beside her. With a cut of her eyes, she sized him up. Boots – filthy. Respectable gash on his
cheek. Blood splattered on his pants – not his blood. He’d done well, considering the odds.
After a moment of watching her work, Connor said, “You’re lucky you didn’t lose that arm.”
“Please. I’ve had so much worse than this,” Faith said. She grimaced as she pulled another stitch taut and stabbed
the needle back through.
“You’re lucky, is all,” he said. He looked over the battlefield with appreciation for his work.
Faith glanced at him. “I suppose I owe you a thanks for that? That what you want?”
“It’s not what I’m after, no,” he replied.
Faith pulled the thread. Tightened it. Looped the needle into her flesh. “What are you after?”
Connor returned his gaze to the battlefield. After all the bloodshed, watching her stitch up her wound was what
made him queasy. He thought about the last few fevered days: outrunning her, chasing the Kitsune, and then the
endless fighting when the demons made their final stand. The Kitsune were small but fierce, with claws like blades
and a mouthful of thorn-like teeth. The real danger was their keen, almost magical agility and multiple lacerating
tails. But he’d fought them, as he promised he would. He fought and realized he hadn’t felt so alive since he left
Quor-Toth, and then, just when he thought the Kitsune would have him for breakfast, Faith found him.
It was, at first, a Kitsune free-for-all: he fought them, he fought her, they fought them. But somewhere in the
middle, she turned. And then it was over. Only they remained.
Connor nodded once. “I’m just glad you came around to my side of things.”
Faith dropped her needle and kissed him, hard and without quarter. He felt it all the way to the pit of his stomach
(and slightly lower). Like a shot of 90 proof whiskey, it spread through him.
Faith abruptly broke off the kiss, leaving him dazed. She returned to her stitching, pulling the thread high, looping
back over, pushing needle through the skin with a pop.
“Who says that I have?” she asked, her voice smoky and dark.
Connor found his sense, dusted it off, put it back in. “I’d say about 700 Kitsune demons would,” he answered. “If
they could talk.”
Faith finished off her stitching with a practiced double knot. He could tell she had a lot of experience with this kind
of work. She yanked the thread tight, and bringing her upper arm to her mouth, bit off the excess.
Connor started to speak, hesitated as if he thought better of it, then began again.
“I’m almost done with this,” he said quietly. “Soon I’ll be ready to go home.”
Faith sprung to her feet. She wrenched an iron knife from the Kitsune’s thigh and stuck it into the waistband of her
black pants.
“You really think it ends here?” she asked, looking down at him.
“Are we gonna fight?”
Faith stared down at the boy. He was exhausted. She was wounded. Besides, she had other things in mind.
“Not today,” she said, and extended her hand to help him up.
Once he was on his feet, Connor turned to survey their work one last time. When he looked back at Faith, she
slammed her head squarely against his.
It was a trademark Faith move, one she perfected over the years and was rather proud of. Normally, it took a body
down, no question. Connor merely looked stunned, and a little hurt.
“Damn it,” Faith swore. Moving swiftly, she took a small glass vial from her pocket. Connor recovered, and lunged.
This time, she smashed the vial into his skull. It disintegrated with a puff of lavender smoke. Connor went down,
catching her knees as he fell, toppling them both into the deadfall of demon bodies.
Faith shimmied backward, kicking Connor’s unconscious body off of hers.
Reaching out with her mind, Faith called to Willow. It was not her fave form of communication, but Faith knew she
wouldn’t have much time.
I have him, she said in her mind. Better come quick. Little bastard’s tough as his old man.
Willow nodded. “Faith has Connor,” she said. She touched the silver pentacle that rested in the hollow of her throat
and smiled. “It worked.”
Thellian slipped from his gilded velvet chair, carefully placing the black kitten that slept in his lap back onto the
cushion. He dipped a curt bow to Chiyoko, the cleric woman he’d hired to assist Willow in adapting her spells to
Japanese components. He crossed the small room to join Willow at the window. Outside the dawn was just breaking
over Tokyo. Soon he would rest, and Willow’s work would begin.
He placed a cool hand on her arm and said in a demulcent tone, “I never doubted thus.”
Willow spread Connor out, then bound him. She tended his wounds with the help of Chiyoko, who knew, it seemed,
every medicinal herb and root in this world and possibly others. They worked in relative quiet; the only sound came
from the traffic at street level, thirty-three stories down.
Thellian’s suite of apartments was not elegant. Crowded, Willow would describe it, but not cramped. It smelled of
amber resin, incense, books, and sacred treasured items he had collected over his many years and stored here.
Shelves lined every bamboo wall, save one, and on those shelves, in every available space, there were trinkets and
treasures, books, scrolls, idols of gold, busts of scholars, weapons, chests, copper flasks and cobalt bottles of many
shapes and sizes that shone like jewels in the sumptuous lamplight. An enormous picture window dominated the
fourth wall, but it was partially obscured by a pair of Japanese armoires carved from teakwood and bedizened in
gold leaf.
Faith perched on the arm of a leather chaise in front of the picture window, her bare feet drawn up beneath her,
the cigarette between her fingers sending listless curls of smoke into the air.
Willow and Chiyoko worked with calm deftness. The kitten, Scout, washed himself while keeping a dutiful eye on
their prisoner.
Faith took a drag from her cigarette, blew it out with a sigh. “He’ll be all right, won’t he?” she asked. “When he
wakes up, he’ll be all right?”
Chiyoko passed the mortar to Willow. She ground dried honey into a mixture of Frankincense and bitterroot.
“Free from pain,” Willow answered. “Free from the glowy green Loc-Nar? We’ll have to see. That Magic’s pretty
strong.”
Faith leapt from the chaise, stretched, winced at the annoying pain in her arm and came to join them. Connor was
bound with silk cord to a rough-hewn wooden table. Chiyoko set out four black candles: two at his hands, two at his
feet. At his head, she placed a white candle, a yellow one between his ankles.
“You’re pretty strong, too. Right?” Faith asked.
Chiyoko pointed at Faith and began a shrill and animated tirade, which neither Faith nor Willow could understand.
Chiyoko made universal shooing motions, and then pantomimed putting a cigarette to her lips.
Willow chuckled lightly. “I think she’s saying smoking’s bad for the altar,” she told Faith.
Faith rolled her eyes. “All right, yo. All you had to do was ask.” She stubbed it out in an antique gold dish squeezed
between a book about wizardry and an ivory rhinoceros.
“In answer to your question,” Willow said. She poured the ground mixture into a wooden cask. “I am powerful. But
he’s pretty far gone. It may take a lot to get him back. But we will get him back. I have zero doubt.”
Faith studied the boy’s face, so serene and angelic in his slumber.
“He seemed fine,” Faith said. “You shoulda seen him. Never seen a guy fight like that. All teeth and hands and a
lifetime supply of rage, you know? But when he talked to me, he seemed… I dunno, sane?”
Willow glanced from her work, but said nothing. Chiyoko brought over a steaming copper kettle. Gripping its handle
with a pot holder, she poured fragrant liquid into the cask and capped it with a cork. She nodded to Willow. It was
time to begin.
Willow swirled the cask three times clockwise. She lighted the white candle with a match and began to speak the
Spell of Release:
“Guardian, angel of the stars,
I call upon you, Diana,
To help and to defend this Childe
For he is a servant of Light
And without defense
From this attack.”
Opposite Willow, Chiyoko lighted the yellow candle. She bent her head as if in prayer as Willow spoke the next rite:
“Guardian, I implore you,
Use your force to cut down this evil
Purge it with your crowned fire
Cleanse this iniquity and release him
For he is without defense
From this wicked malice.”
Willow opened the cask. She anointed Connor’s forehead, the tip of his nose, his lips. He stirred, as if sweetly
dreaming. A smile traced the edges of his mouth. Willow continued to speak:
“Guardian, angel of the stars,
Release him,
In this, the name of One Who is All.
Thus it is
And ever will be.”
Faith expected a change. She expected fire or shrieking demons or something tentacle-y to jump out at them. The
kitten stretched languidly and hopped into the chair. Chiyoko kept her head bent, while Willow ventured a glance
first at Connor, then at Faith.
“Did it work?” Faith whispered.
“I’m not sure,” Willow said.
Chiyoko shushed them.
Willow, believing the spell had failed, waited a moment longer before backing away from the altar. Connor’s eyelids
fluttered open. He looked around, obviously confused, until his eyes settled on Faith.
He whispered her name. Suddenly, gouts of flame leapt like torchfire from the black candles, accompanied by a low,
guttural moan. They jumped clear of the table as the fire climbed high as the ceiling. The flames spread and grew,
forming a cage around Connor. It burned away his bonds, and he sat up, panic-stricken as the walls closed over him.
“What are you doing to me?” Connor yelled. “What have you done?”
Faith, not really thinking, moved toward him. Willow caught her.
“Don’t” she said. “This is part of it.”
“He’ll burn up,” Faith shouted, recalling Wayara with a pang of aching regret.
Willow shook her head. “No he won’t.”
The fire closed on Connor. He shrank away from it, his imploring cries lost in the primal gale of flame. The cask
ignited, spraying a geyser of sparks into the room. Faith ducked, but the embers that fell on them morphed into
fireflies before winking out in the dark.
The fire consumed him, licking over his limbs, crawling into his sinuses and his mouth, boiling his eyes. Faith couldn’t
watch, had to turn away. She did not see how, when the flames reached his chest, they glowed with a scorching
green pall. She didn’t see the fiery center redouble its claim on Connor, twisting around him like twin snakes
wrought of coals. They crushed Connor’s body under their molten heat, turning his bones to ash. He screamed.
“Willow!” Faith cried.
Willow returned to the altar. “Release him,” she commanded.
A voice, base and indifferent, rose up. “Never,” it answered.
“I’d like to test that theory,” Willow said. She closed her eyes. Her fingers tightened on the table’s edge. She felt
her own energy coursing through her, powerful as a river, pure as light.
“Liberilo!” Willow spoke, steady and strong. “Lascilo intero di ritorno. Non avete alimentazione qui.”
The power flowed from her, a torrent so bright none could bear to look at it. The room filled with a resonant hum,
like ten thousand bees, and the crisp, clean scent of ozone. Outside the window, the lights of Tokyo blinked out in
random increments across the city grid.
The final two candles guttered. Willow opened her eyes.
Connor crouched on the altar, his hair and clothes plastered with sweat to his body, his eyes wild with confusion.
Faith and Chiyoko, who had both been knocked down by the blast of Willow’s energy, got cautiously to their feet.
Scout arched his back, kneaded his cushion, and then leapt to the altar to have a closer look.
Connor reached out a trembling hand to touch the kitten. Scout sniffed him, then rubbed his head against the boy’s
palm. Connor laughed, but it was weak, uncertain sound.
“Connor?” Faith asked, moving to stand before him.
He looked at her with genuine curiosity, but without any sign of mistrust in his eyes.
“I’ve been away a while,” he said, petting Scout with two fingers. “Haven’t I?”
Willow heaved an inward sigh of relief. She stepped around the altar to stand beside Faith.
“How much do you remember?” Willow asked.
Connor’s gaze dropped. He seemed to study the kitten a long while before he spoke again. “Everything,” he
whispered. “I remember everything.”
Willow pressed her lips together. “I’m sorry, Connor,” she said, and he shrugged.
Faith tousled his damp hair. He looked up at her with only his eyes and she saw now that they were different. He’d
seemed sane before, and he had been, but now he was Connor. He was back.
“Hey,” she said. “I’m glad you came around to my side of things.”
Connor smiled. He stroked the kitten’s chin. “So am I,” he sighed. “So am I.”
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.Chapter Index.
Anywhere Out
of This World
Blood, Pressure
The Drawing Board
All's Well
Anywhere Out of
This World
Mourning Sickness
Welcome to Hell
Relative
Matters of Time
& Fishes
International Calls
Empty as Houses
Lusty Wrong Feelings
Enthralled
Thanksgiving
Seduced
Innocents Lost
Burn
Flashback
Not A Chance In Hell
Empty Rooms
Two Roads Diverged
Starfall
Blindsided
Not Her Own
Outta Here
The Valley of the
Shadow of Death
Comes the Rain
Smoke and Mirrors
Drawn to You
Team Angel
By Fire Reborn
Salvage
Ashes to Ashes
Life Is...
With A Little Help
Appearances Deceiving
Familiarity
Sweetness
Not All Who Wander
That Old Black Magic
For Lorne
Drawn Together
Lost to Sand
Fall of Triumvirate
Parallel Lives
The Lovers
Avenger
Double Cross
Pursuit
Ripper's Girl
Pandemonium
Negative Space
Raveled Threads
Asunder
Human Hands
Singular
Fragmented
Symmetry
Plans
Rogue Squadron
Legends
Mea Culpa
Things Unsaid
Home Sweet Gone
Eleventh Hour
Last Call
Time Is Running Out
Primal
Anywhere Out
of This World
Blood, Pressure
The Drawing Board
All's Well
Anywhere Out of
This World
Mourning Sickness
Welcome to Hell
Relative
Matters of Time
& Fishes
International Calls
Empty as Houses
Lusty Wrong Feelings
Enthralled
Thanksgiving
Seduced
Innocents Lost
Burn
Flashback
Not A Chance In Hell
Empty Rooms
Two Roads Diverged
Starfall
Blindsided
Not Her Own
Outta Here
The Valley of the
Shadow of Death
Comes the Rain
Smoke and Mirrors
Drawn to You
Team Angel
By Fire Reborn
Salvage
Ashes to Ashes
Life Is...
With A Little Help
Appearances Deceiving
Familiarity
Sweetness
Not All Who Wander
That Old Black Magic
For Lorne
Drawn Together
Lost to Sand
Fall of Triumvirate
Parallel Lives
The Lovers
Avenger
Double Cross
Pursuit
Ripper's Girl
Pandemonium
Negative Space
Raveled Threads
Asunder
Human Hands
Singular
Fragmented
Symmetry
Plans
Rogue Squadron
Legends
Mea Culpa
Things Unsaid
Home Sweet Gone
Eleventh Hour
Last Call
Time Is Running Out
Primal