UNSEEN: THE BURNING

  “It’s a possibility,” Kate agreed. “There’s been some major turf battles lately over the drug business, between the Russian gangs and some of the Mexican and Colombian ones. Maybe they figured by fingering a Hispanic, a Mexican gang would end up taking the rap.”

  “L.A. You gotta love it.”

  Her mind was working, going through all the events and examining them from various angles. “Too bad Peterson’s confession to you wouldn’t stand in court. I’ll make sure we stick to all four of these guys like glue. One bad move and we’ll take them down.”

  “Good.”

  She took a deep breath. “And we’ll find out who in this division is with them. In the meantime, watch your step, Angel. You’ve got some very bad men mad at you.”

  “It’s happened before,” Angel said with a wry smile. “But thanks for the concern.”

  “What concern?” Kate asked. Her face was expressionless. “I just don’t want to have to explain you if you end up dead.”

  “If I end up dead, I’ll vanish in a cloud of dust, Kate,” Angel reminded her. “No muss, no fuss.”

  Kate smiled. “That’s right. I feel much better now.”

  “Thought you would.”

  “You make sure the Flores family is okay,” she suggested, pushing back her chair.

  “I tucked them away someplace where anonymity is the main drawing card,” Angel said. “No one knows where they are. But we need to get Rojelio out of jail. That’s probably the worst place for him to be if organized crime is after him—if they think he’s got someone believing his story, he’ll be a target twenty-four hours a day.”

  “I’ll try to get his charges dropped as soon as possible, and spring him so he can go home. In the meantime, I’ll be trying to tie those four losers to their Mafiya friends. The last thing this department needs is another scandal.”

  She rose.

  Meeting adjourned.

  Without another word, Angel left her office.

  Chapter 18

  TWICE DURING THE NIGHT, SOME OF THE GIRLS HAD passed by their hiding places. Cordelia and Wesley had pushed themselves back, deeper into the shadows, and held still until the girls were out of sight again, slipping outside to scrounge food maybe, or just to see the stars, and then coming back in again. They couldn’t chance being spotted or the whole plan would be blown. She’d have felt a lot better if Angel weren’t cell phone-deficient.

  Cordelia’s legs were cramping now from staying too still. The corridor was quiet so she allowed herself to step from her hiding place, walked a few paces in one direction and then the other, shook her legs out. She set her stakes on the ground and massaged her thighs and calves with both hands. Sitting still, she thought, takes much more effort than one would think.

  Then there was a sound, from the direction of the empty storefront that served as an entrance to the street. Footsteps, coming down the old wooden stairs inside the old store. Cordelia snatched up her stakes and shot back into the shadows.

  “Let me take the first shot with my crossbow,” Wesley suggested in a tense whisper. “Perhaps we won’t even need to get close to him.”

  Cordelia nodded, even though she knew he couldn’t see her. The footfalls came closer, and she was afraid to speak. The pounding of her own heart sounded deafeningly loud in her ears, and she feared Kostov would hear that, or smell the blood that it pumped through her body.

  She tightened her grip on the wooden stakes and made sure the large cross was plainly visible on her chest.

  At the end of the hall, the heavy door scraped open.

  Cordelia had been in the darkness of the hallway long enough for her eyes to adjust to the faintest illumination inside. She could barely see, filling the doorway, the large form of a man. Or what had once been a man. This had to be Kostov, coming to take what had been offered to him.

  But as he came into the hallway, the door stayed open. More came in. Kostov hadn’t come alone. There must have been seven or eight of them—in the darkness, Cordelia couldn’t distinguish how many, but the footfalls, she realized, were multiple, and the men spoke in soft voices, laughing quietly among themselves.

  This, she and Wesley had not counted on.

  They had anticipated taking out one vampire, who was expecting only to be welcomed with open arms. Dusting a whole troop of them was something else entirely. Her confidence, which had been mostly foolish bravado in the first place, plunged.

  But Wesley was across the hall from her. They couldn’t talk about a change in strategy without being heard.

  Anyway, it was a little late for that.

  The vampires came closer.

  Across the hall, Cordelia heard, rather than saw, Wesley take in a sharp breath and then step out from his hiding place. The vampires stopped suddenly, and one started to speak. But Wesley’s voice hushed them.

  “Kostov,” Wesley said bravely. “Stop where you are.”

  “Somebody kill this fool,” a vampire snarled. This was presumably Kostov. Addressing him by name had probably been a good idea on Wesley’s part—if these guys had been termite inspectors or something, then driving wooden stakes into their hearts would have been a truly horrible idea.

  But the counter suggestion, of killing Wesley, made it more or less clear that whoever these shadowy figures were, they weren’t the good guys.

  Cordelia heard the thwip of Wesley’s crossbow and the whistle of its bolt as it darted through the air. A vampire screamed, and even in the near dark Cordelia could see and hear the cloud of exploding dust. Direct hit.

  “You go, Wesley,” she said.

  Then she remembered that they had been unaware of her presence, until then.

  Oops.

  She came out of hiding, stakes in both fists. Ready to face whatever was ahead of her.

  And behind her, a female voice called out.

  “What’s going on?” someone shouted. “Kostov? Who’s that?”

  It was Pat, coming up the hallway from the other direction. There were more voices from behind her, the other girls, suddenly all talking and yelling.

  Crossfire.

  Cordelia and Wesley caught in the middle.

  This is so unfair, Cordelia thought, as the vampires moved down the corridor toward them. She glanced back. The girls were coming, too. A couple carried flashlights or lanterns, and in the flickering light Cordelia could see faces set in angry scowls. She thought of one of those mobs of villagers, from the monster movies, storming the castle with flaming torches.

  Except in this case, the mob was on the monster’s side.

  “We only wanted to help,” Cordelia said quickly.

  Wesley’s head swiveled like a spectator at a tennis match. The vamps, the girls, the vamps.

  Both closed in. But the vamps were scarier. In the shifting light from the flashlights, Cordelia could see their demonic aspects, long fangs and furled brows and eyes that glinted with malice. No matter how long she knew Angel, she was convinced that she would never get over her innate horror of vampires.

  And in front of the pack, one who could only be Kostov. He was taller than the rest, with broad shoulders and a rich mane of silver hair. He seemed nearly to fill the wide hallway with his presence. His jaw was set, mouth a thin line in a handsome face.

  Cordelia could see how Pat might have been taken in by him—he looked like the kind of man who, if he smiled, might be taken for a worldly professor, maybe. The type undergraduate coeds get crushes on.

  But now, he was all malevolent evil and spookiness, and he strode toward Cordelia, his dark clothes rustling in the shadow. She raised a stake before her in one trembling hand.

  He smiled, but there was nothing friendly in that smile. It was all long teeth and hunger.

  He stopped, inches from the stake’s point.

  “Take your shot,” he said. His voice still carried the accent of the Eastern European forests of his birth.

  Cordelia drove the stake forward with all her might. But Kostov turned at the las
t moment. Instead of penetrating his heart, the stake rammed into his arm. He grunted with pain, then drew his arm back, raising it high and yanking the stake out with his other hand. He hurled it down the hallway.

  “Not good enough,” he said. “I take it you’re an amateur at this business.”

  “I’m not a Slayer, if that’s what you mean,” Cordelia said.

  “But I am a Watcher,” Wesley added. He fired another bolt from his crossbow. The wooden shaft thudded into Kostov’s chest, but too high to penetrate his heart. Again, he tugged it from his flesh and tossed it aside.

  One of Kostov’s comrades caught Wesley by the throat and slammed him into the far wall. Wesley’s feet dangled off the floor. The vampire holding him opened his mouth, baring fangs, and leaned in toward Wesley’s exposed throat.

  “Never had me a Watcher,” the vampire snarled. “Always wondered if they tasted any different than regular folks.”

  This one’s accent sounds Southern, Cordelia thought. So these weren’t Kostov’s old soldiers, but another assortment he’d put together here in the States. She found it interesting in a kind of abstract sense, but there was nothing there that would help defuse the immediate situation—which was, she realized, pretty much all bad.

  Kostov turned back toward her, the distraction of Wesley seemingly forgotten already. “As I said, amateurs,” Kostov hissed. “Still, you’ll do for a quick snack.”

  Cordelia waved her second stake. With her other hand, she held up the cross that hung around her neck. “Hey, I’m nobody’s Happy Meal,” she warned.

  Kostov raised a silvery eyebrow at the stake. “But you come with a toy,” he replied. “Which you’ve already shown an inability to use.”

  “Just give me one more chance,” Cordelia said defiantly, “and I’ll show you what I can do with it.”

  Kostov shook his leonine head. “You’ve had as many chances as you’re going to get, young lady.”

  He lunged at her. She thrust out the stake but he swatted it away like it was nothing, and one of his hands clamped down on her forearm. His grip was steel. He pulled her toward him, his mouth opening, fangs glistening in the faint illumination, breath hot and rancid. She struggled against him, fear silencing her voice. She could see Wesley, over Kostov’s shoulder, trying to fight the one who had him pinned against a wall.

  “Take her!” someone called from behind Cordelia. She thought it sounded like Jean, or maybe Holly. One of the girls she had come here to help, at any rate.

  So much for the Good Samaritan bit. A different Bible story came to mind, involving Judas.

  And then, from the far end of the corridor—the direction from which Kostov and company had arrived—there came the clatter of many feet on the steps. The door flew open and voices sounded. Cordelia tried to see past Kostov, to make out who was coming in now, but the vampire was too wide.

  She couldn’t see, but she heard the thunder of weapons. Behind Kostov, two vamps burst into clouds of dust.

  “Who . . .?” Kostov demanded. He whirled, releasing Cordelia. She looked over his shoulder. Coming toward them, bearing a gun that fired wooden stakes fed into it on a jerry-rigged ammo belt, was a young black man who wore a dark rag on his head, a plaid shirt, and jeans. He walked with a swagger, and a smile split his handsome face.

  “’Sup, vamp?” he asked casually.

  Behind him there were several others. They looked like street people, runaways, gangsters. One carried a crossbow, one a long pike, another a length of chain with a spiked ball dangling menacingly from one end.

  Wesley shook his head, blinked his eyes. One of the vampires who had been dusted was the one who had been holding Wesley up and preparing to chomp on his skinny Watcher’s neck, Cordelia realized.

  A low growl built in Kostov’s throat. He advanced on the young crew. But the teens stood their ground, even when Kostov’s comrades turned on them as well.

  “Kostov!” Pat called. “We invited you here. These other people are all intruders. Don’t forget, we asked you to come here. The rest of you, just get gone!”

  Fury rising in her, Cordelia turned to Pat, whisking another stake from her bag. “Listen, girlie,” she said, holding the stake at Pat’s throat. A drop of blood appeared where the sharpened point dug into Pat’s skin. “You’re not a vampire but that doesn’t mean this won’t hurt! You and your pals stay back and let the professionals handle this.”

  Pat’s eyes began to glitter with tears. “But we wanted him to come here. We invited him.”

  “You keep saying that like it means something to anyone but you,” Cordelia responded. Behind Pat, the other girls stood watching the scene, fear etched on their young faces. Amanda, Jean, Holly, Nicole, and Kayley were breathing fast, openmouthed, eyes wide.

  Only Keri and Erin watched calmly, as if this was just one more event in their lives, no more noteworthy than anything else they’d ever seen.

  “News flash,” Cordelia continued. “It doesn’t mean anything. I’m pretty sure I know who those people are down there, and your vampire friends don’t stand a chance against them. Now I want you to make sure that your wannabes keep out of the way.”

  “I don’t care what you say,” Pat said. “Kostov can take them.”

  “Kostov doesn’t have a prayer,” Cordelia countered.

  “Got that right,” the black man said. “Be vamp dust every which way in a minute.” Cordelia glanced his way. He was raising his stake gun again. Arrayed around him, his crew was braced for assault.

  Kostov’s guttural growl transformed into words, spoken from a throat that barely seemed human. “Tonight we feast, brothers,” he announced. He threw himself toward the youths. His fellows came right behind. Stakes and crossbow bolts flew. Two more vampires went up in clouds.

  One of the vampires caught a pike that was thrust toward him and yanked its wielder off his feet. The vamp grabbed the kid’s head between his hands and began to twist, as if unscrewing the lid from a jar.

  The one with the chain swung it, its spiked ball slamming into the head of the vamp. The head disintegrated in a spray of blood and brain and the vamp followed suit, decapitation dusting a vampire as efficiently as staking.

  “Yo, thanks,” the pike wielder tossed off.

  “No prob, dog,” chain guy replied.

  After another moment, only Kostov remained. He faced the armed youths, defiant to the end. “Out of my way, striplings,” he demanded.

  “This where I tell you to make me?” the one who was obviously their leader said. “Sounds a little third grade, but hey, I ain’t proud.”

  “Say whatever you like,” Kostov replied. “But stand aside or prepare to die.”

  “Been preparin’ for that my whole life. Ain’t happened yet. Don’t seem likely to happen this time either. Or ain’t you noticed you got enough wood aimed at your heart to reforest Africa?”

  “If I go,” Kostov threatened, “you go with me.”

  “Uh-uh,” the black man said. “You go alone. I got work to do here.” He nodded his head toward Kostov. “Dust him.”

  They all fired at once. Crossbows, the stake gun, single stakes hurled like throwing knives. Cordelia heard the thunk! thunk! as the stakes impaled Kostov, but then the sounds were obscured by his wail of pain. A moment later, he was gone.

  Pat was sobbing. Cordelia released her. “I know you don’t think I’m right,” she said gently. “But someday, you’ll be glad.”

  Pat glared at her through tears and didn’t reply. Cordelia turned away from her toward the newcomers who had saved them.

  “How did you—?” she began.

  “Chain there been noticing some suspicious late-night comings and goings around here,” the group’s obvious leader replied. He pointed toward the man who carried the heavy chain. “Figured maybe it was a nest, so we been keeping an eye on it. Lo and behold, you dogs show up with stakes and weapons, we figure something’s about to go down.”

  “Very perceptive,” Wesley said. “Of cou
rse, you might have joined us then, and saved us some worry.”

  “Didn’t want to blow our cover,” the man said. “Or the vamps might not have shown up at all.”

  “So, keeping us safe wasn’t your main priority?” Cordelia asked.

  “Killin’ bloodsuckers is our only priority. Keepin’ you safe just a fringe benefit.”

  “And one that we can certainly agree is worthwhile,” Wesley said. He was about to say more when he was interrupted by a piercing scream from the girls, still behind them in the corridor.

  “Did we miss one?” Cordelia asked. She spun around.

  Amanda was crying and sweeping her flashlight about the hallway. “Kayley,” she said between sobs. “She was . . . right here, right in front of me. I had my hand on her shoulder. And then she was . . . gone!”

  “What do you mean, gone?” Wesley asked. “She ran away?”

  “No, she didn’t go anywhere.” Amanda sniffled. “She was there, and then . . . and then she wasn’t. My hand just fell. Like she had never been there.”

  The other girls began to search the hallway with their own lights, calling Kayley’s name. But after a few minutes, it became obvious that the search was pointless.

  Kayley Moser had vanished.

  Chapter 19

  ON THE WAY BACK INTO THE LIVING ROOM, ELFREDO clapped her on the back and gave her a high five. He was still grinning broadly.

  “You kicked its butt!” he chortled. “Oye, mama, eres fuerte!”

  Buffy laughed, flushed with victory. “I’m not sure it was its butt I kicked, and there was more than one, but the good news is that we can kick them. They are kickworthy.”

  “Yes.” Elfredo was obviously very pleased.

  With the cessation of hostilities, the rest of the household began assembling. Salma’s parents appeared, along with some servants. After a time, Doña Pilar and Willow emerged from the kitchen, beaming smiles.

  “Will!” Buffy said, hugging her best friend. “Did you two create that fireball thingie?”