Three
16 May, 1995, Manhattan
Angelus turned as the scent entered his nostrils. A human. And not a particularly clean one, either.
“Angelus, is it?” Logan asked, staring absently at his nails. He rubbed them on his dirty blazer then looked up to the dark figure in the warehouse shadows. “Before you try to eat me, in the spirit of fair play, I must tell you that I’ve killed more vampires on my way here tonight than I have pounds of meat on my body.” He blew across his nails. “Just something to chew on,” he muttered.
“Before you die, then,” Angelus sneered, “in the spirit of fair play-” and he launched himself silently into the air, his face acquiring the vampiric qualities, only to land upon the untouched floor, no sight or sign of the petulant human. He snarled turning around quickly, scanning the darkness.
Logan made a loud cough to bring the vampire’s attention to the spot from which he had launched himself. Angelus seethed.
“If you’re through embarrassing yourself...” Logan sighed distractedly. He turned back, raising a small vial of water. “I’m guessing that some part of you, corporeal or not, wants to get your soul back, otherwise this will just kill you.”
The vampire hissed, crouching, ready to leap again. “What do you want?”
Logan sighed again. “I want someone to do to me what I’m about to do to you.” He uncorked the vial and waved it tauntingly before the vampire. “In the spirit of fair play,” he said again. “I’m going to give you three seconds to run-”
Angelus launched himself into the air again, this time, guaranteed not to miss. No holy water would stop him.
With a flick of his wrist, Logan sent a curtain of droplets into the descending vampire’s path, then side stepped as the continuum resumed its normal speed. Just a little trick from one particularly insane sorcerer.
Angelus screamed, landing hard on the floor, rolling quickly and crashing into a stack of skids. He writhed and moaned on the floor for several moments as the ether was combed for his missing piece. Then with a pulse of white light, it was rejoined with the twisting vampire.
With a groan and the crashing of an unbalanced wooden skid, Angel rose from the debris. Logan sighed, wiping his face out of boredom. After a moment of examining the exhausted, confused vampire staring blankly around himself, Logan turned to go.
“Wait- what happened?” Angel croaked, his fingers scrunching the material of his shirt over his heart, which still did not beat.
“You ate a bad rat,” Logan answered dryly, then walked out.
“It’s done,” Logan began, throwing the empty vile to the table of the restaurant. It clinked as it rolled in an arc and connected with Whistler’s glass. “Now where is he?”
The demon sighed, tipping up the brim of his fedora. “The answer you’re looking for is here,” came the cryptic response.
“Here....” Logan prompted, offering a hand, “in this restaurant? Here in this city? Here at this table? What?”
“You’re very angry,” Whistler observed with a raised eyebrow. “Didn’t it go as you thought?”
Logan sighed and sat. “Well,” he began, “he tried to eat me-” Whistler laughed at this, “-despite my warning.”
“Did you give him the ‘more vamps than pounds o’ flesh’ speech?” Whistler grinned, taking a sip of his ale. Logan frowned.
“What’s wrong with- It’s not a speech. It’s true. Every time it’s true.” He dropped his gaze to the table then back up again. “It’s mostly true.” Whistler laughed out loud. Logan’s frown grew. “So tell. Where’s my city?”
Whistler sighed and grew sober again. “Over there,” he nodded his head towards a man sitting at the bar. “He knows your city.”
Kilpatrick rose, bowing his head slightly to the demon in cautious thanks. “He won’t escape again.” He moved to the bar and took a stool beside the fellow who was obviously a demon.
Whistler sighed and brought the ale to his lips. “That’s what you say every time.”
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