I knew that he was gone. I have always been able to feel his presence whenever we are apart, as he has felt mine. My soul is marked as his, and is drawn towards him in every lifetime. In this lifetime, as soon as I was old enough to leave my birth home, I set off to find him. I never remember a great deal about what has happened before, but I always remember him.

On the journey, I met someone else who remembered. Someone who had actually met him. Elias. We knew each other as soon as we found ourselves in the same dining room in the inn. We travelled on together after that. We both felt the loss at the same time. We had come far and were almost there - 50 miles at most - when the lodestar that had drawn us on was simply gone. It left a gaping emptiness as if we had lost our heart and soul. I knew what it meant, and I remember screaming out that one word of denial.

"No!"

I remember nothing else until I awoke on a soft bed of bracken, under the shade of an oak tree, Elias holding my hand. I saw that tears were running down his face. We held each other then, for a long time.

At last Elias asked, "Should we continue, and try to find him?"

My first thought was that this would be impossible, and I said so. Angel was a vampire. That much I knew. Death would bring him immediately to dust. There could be no body to find. But something nagged at my mind. Difficult as it was, I looked back on that moment when he had left me. There had been sorrow and pain, I was sure. But there had been something else. Not joy. Peace. At least, that is how it seemed to me. Yet he had been reaching for me, urging me on. Waiting for me. Why would he then find peace in death? What could it possibly mean?

We decided to travel on. We were both fit, healthy warriors, and we made good speed. We covered the 50 miles in a single day. I could not be sure exactly where Angel had died, but I saw a small clan of primitives by the side of a river, in front of a large cave entrance in the cliff wall behind them. This looked like their permanent camp. We decided to ask whether they had seen him.

They were smoking meat in the sun. We went towards the leaders, and Elias made an appropriate greeting. He introduced both of us, and as the opening pleasantries continued, my attention wandered to the women and children as they loaded more meat onto the smoking racks.

It was then that I saw it. I have heard the saying, how horror can make one's blood freeze in one's veins. I had never really understood it until now. No matter how many lifetimes I may live after this, I do not think I shall ever forget that feeling, when the blood froze in my veins as I saw it.

His tattoo.

I remember everything after that, but it is frozen and I cannot reach it. I can see it, like a fly in amber; I can feel it, like a fist around my heart. But I cannot touch it.

I wore a large and heavy sword on my back. I must have walked towards the wooden rack carrying that piece of my love, because I was suddenly there, touching it, tracing the lines of the tattoo. I turned around, and the sword, somehow, was in my hand. Now Elias had seen it too. His mouth was a perfect O of horror.

There were about a dozen of them. I slew them all. Every man, woman and child on that riverbank. I never before really understood it when Angel said that everyone has a demon inside them. Oh, I understood it intellectually. But not viscerally. I had never felt the truth of it in my gut.

I feel it now. I slew them without pity or mercy. Part of me screamed in horror at what I was doing, beating on my chest, crying out for mercy. But the demon gibbered and raged and slew. Were it all to happen again, I cannot say that the demon would do differently. That I would do differently.

And I never truly understood Angel's guilt. You would think in all these ages that we would have learned every shade and nuance of how the other felt. And that is true. We have. But I never *understood* this before, because I had never experienced it before. I have experienced it every moment since. The blood of those people is on my soul. I have a karmic debt to them that may never be repaid. Now I understand. I do not know how Angel bore it. These were but a dozen, and they had killed my love for meat. He had slaughtered thousands, for pleasure as well as for food. I do not know how he did not go mad.

I now understand the strength of the man I love. He must be so disappointed in me.

We waited for the others to come. I could still feel them, call to them, hear their call to me, but with Angel gone, the heart and the power had gone from that call. It was a shadow of what it had been. Yet they came.

We could not understand how there could be any remains of a vampire, but these were human remains, and they were his. We had no doubt of that. My soul knew every line and curve, even butchered like this. None of us knew about shanshu at the time. Not until much later. We simply accepted that a miracle had happened, and Angel had been granted humanity at his death.

Whilst we waited, we gathered up what remains we could find. They were few and incomplete. We couldn't even find his head. Oh, we searched. We searched everywhere for the missing pieces. At night, as I lay and mourned him, Elias would hold me, soothe me as best he could. I felt like Isis, searching for the pieces of Osiris. She never found them all, either.

What we did find, we wrapped in a lion pelt from the cave. It had clearly been a prized possession, and it seemed fitting. The people of this tribe had hunted many creatures that autumn, and hanging in the cave were two white swans. When we buried him, next to the burial pit of those I had slaughtered, we laid him, in his pelt-wrapped bundle, between the swans' wings. That seemed fitting, too.

I kept one thing. A small thing. I cut it away, salted it and dried it in the sun, and I kept it carefully wrapped in my scrip. His tattoo. Macabre to you perhaps, but it gave me comfort.

There were less than forty of us there in the end. Although there are several hundred souls now who have dared to follow us, to guard and guide the souls in our care, and although we all live a long time compared to humans - two or three hundred years, thanks to Angel's blood and my slayer gift - we do not bear many children and there are never many of us at any one time. And the duty is hard. The soul needs to rest in the aether before returning for another lifetime.

Of course, I knew almost nothing of the duty then. I had come here simply because I had to follow Angel's call and find him. I remembered - something - but I couldn't really grasp what it was I must remember. Elias and the others explained it to me over the funeral feast. Who I was. How we must guide mankind and demon kind through to a common destiny. How we must guard them on their journey. Help them reach nirvana. But no one there knew everything of our purpose or history. Only Angel. Had we met with him, as we should have done, then he would have explained everything to all those currently on the earth. That is part of the ritual of each life cycle. Our human life cycle, that is - Angel, of course, is eternal. Was.

As it was, none of our own children from my last lifetime still walked the earth - our life style is far from risk-free. Elias, at almost 100 years old, was the eldest of us, and he had not seen Angel since he was a child. At our gathering, Angel would have told us all the story of our existence and how to best fulfil our purpose. We would have spent time getting to know each other, and renewing our bonds. But he was dead, and we were like a ship adrift in a storm, rudderless and helpless. My very raison d'etre had been taken from me. Adam ripped from Eve, when Eve had barely been created.

Words from the blessing given over his flesh and bones, spoken even after all these years in Latin, kept circling in my mind. Quid nunc? What now?

What else could we do? Continue in our duty as best we could, so as not to disappoint him further. And find him, whenever and however he was returned to us.

When we all parted, Elias travelled with me for a while. I was a sixteen-year-old girl, and, as the oldest of us, he taught me much.

Ten years later I was a battle-hardened warrior. For the last five years I had travelled alone. I knew hardship, pain, satisfaction and the small pleasures of life. But all that was left of my love lay wrapped in my scrip, the lover who has walked with me down the ages, but whom I had never met in this lifetime. I had not yet known true love or true happiness. I worried that I would not find Angel. If he were no longer a vampire, what would I look for? Would his demon and his soul still be together? The earth is a large place. Would he be able to call to me? Or I to him? I had tried - every day I tried. There had been no response so far, but I never stopped. Every day, when I awoke and every evening when I settled to sleep, no matter where I was. I think I dreamed of him most nights, too.

Then, I heard a call from Elias. A call that was urgent and strange. It took several weeks to track him down, and when I did, he was in the back of beyond, at a small fishing village, isolated in thick jungle, on the shores of a shallow sea. It looked as if it had remained unchanged for aeons.

When I arrived, a little after noon, the people were friendly and hospitable, and far along the road from humanity to their destiny, although they were modest enough not to know it. They offered me shelter and food and a place to rest, as they had offered those things to Elias when he first arrived. These are things that a traveller values above all. They had something else to offer, though, something that was far beyond the worth of even those kindnesses.

When I had rested and eaten - a wonderful fish stew, with hot crusty bread, and sweet fresh fruit; I had tasted nothing so good for weeks - Elias took me to see the village elders, nine of them, in the council hall. The remainder of the people seated themselves around the edges of the floor, waiting to see what had brought strangers to their village. Once the proprieties had been observed, and we were seated on comfortable cushions, Elias told them that I had made the journey to their land because of the beliefs of their ancestors, and because I wished to know more. I had no idea what he was talking about, not then, but I knew Elias and I trusted him. So, I simply smiled and nodded.

Elias then turned to me, a strange look on his face.

"May I get something that you carry in your scrip?"

I couldn't think what he wanted, but I handed him the little satchel in silence. Not only do I trust Elias, I trust him with my life. He has saved it many times. He searched for a moment or two, and when I saw what he took from the scrip, I held my breath in dismay - surely he wouldn't deprive me of that? He said nothing. He simply unwrapped the sad little relic and smoothed it out for the council to see. Angel's skin. Angel's tattoo. Then he waited.

For a brief moment there was complete silence, then everyone started to talk at once, in their own language. It was incomprehensible to me. Eventually, a very old woman held up her hand - the village wise woman, I later learned - and silence fell again.

"Where did you get this?"

What to tell her?

"It is a relic of the man I love. My mate. He is dead now." That, at least, was true.

There was a great deal of excited whispering.

"This is a mark of his clan, then?"

"No, I have seen no one else wear this. Only he. He had it for a very long time." That also was true. Longer than any in this room knew or could imagine.

There was more excited whispering.

She picked up the relic. I could tell that she knew it was human skin when she looked up at me. She was old, very old, and her wrinkled skin was the colour of hazelnuts. Her eyes were black like obsidian and just as sharp. It seemed to me that she read everything there was to read in me before she looked again at the tattoo. Then she handed it back to me and said a few words to the rest of the council. They all nodded in agreement, and she summoned a young man from the back of the hall.

"Artes will show you what you have come to see, what your companion found before he found us. We will speak again tomorrow." With that, the council rose and left the hall.

Artes stood back politely and gestured to the door. We followed him out. I wanted to ask Elias what we were here for, but held my peace. We walked, single file, into the jungle, following a well-worn but narrow path. This was clearly used regularly. Not far from the village, we came to a clearing, small but very well maintained. They must clear it almost every week, or the jungle would rapidly encroach. At the centre of the clearing was a large standing stone of pale limestone. Offerings had been placed at its foot that morning; fruit, flowers and a tiny bowl of fresh blood.

I looked up at the stone, and my heart leapt into my mouth. It was beautifully carved, although the carving was worn with age. I recognised it instantly. It was his tattoo.

The next day, after breakfast, the council gathered again. They all wore strings of white flowers - vanilla orchids, I was told later - as garlands around their necks and chaplets on their heads. The villagers each had white orchids in their hair. They must have searched the jungle for miles around during the night. They said that the orchids represented deepest mourning. They offered garlands and chaplets to us, and although it had been ten years, the signs of mourning still felt right, so we took them, and put them on each other.

They asked if I were truly the mate of the man whose skin I carried in my scrip. I said yes, through lifetime after lifetime, although I had only found him in this one after his death. They seemed to understand and to believe. One by one, members of the council stood before me and offered their shared sorrow. By the time they were done, I could barely hold back the tears. Strange, that we should mourn so for someone none of us, except Elias, had met. Then they told us the story. It was one of their ancestral myths, of a figure they held in awe and reverence.

They told of a guardian avatar, the physical manifestation of a demi-god, an ancestral spirit descended to earth, a being of more than simple flesh and blood, who appeared in the village at long intervals, always bringing good luck with him. And he had delivered the village from more than one danger. He might only appear once in many generations, but he would sometimes accept the hospitality of the villagers. Occasionally he had been wounded in their defence. Those who tended his wounds learned of his mark. The tattoo. The stories had been passed down, they said, from the earliest times. I imagined they had. Earlier, even, than they knew, I thought. He would stay for a brief while, and then go. But all the stories told by their ancestors said the same thing. He came here for renewal. And some brave souls, unbeknownst to him (or, knowing my love as I do now, perhaps he was not so unaware) had watched his back in the jungle, followed him to his place of renewal. Again the stories said the same thing. He disappeared into a portal in the earth and would remain there for weeks, re-emerging naked and radiant.

Long ago, they had marked the entrance with their sacred symbol, and he had not been displeased with them. Yes. The tattoo. They would show us. We asked to go that very day. It was Artes who took us. Some other young men from the village accompanied us, keeping a respectful distance behind us.

The portal was about a half hour's walk from the village, but still in a patch of the densest jungle. We saw two standing stones, leaning against each other. When we drew near, we could see that each was carved, like the stone near the village - the winged lion, grasping his initial in its paws. There was no room to pass between the stones. How had he done it, I wondered? Or had the stones shifted since his last visit? The villagers didn't know - he hadn't been seen in living memory.

I knelt in the mud and prayed to whichever deity might be listening that I would be allowed to go where he had gone. If he had come here for renewal, I wanted to be there, too - perhaps it would help me find my soul mate. Without him, my own soul was living in a desert, dying of thirst. I prayed as hard as I could. As I finished, I heard a gasp from someone behind me, and when I stood up, there was a small gap between the stones, just large enough to squeeze through.

I entered, of course. Elias, brave as ever, came with me. The villagers, fearful but loyal, said they would mount a watch outside for us.

The way was cramped and muddy. We soon saw why he would have re-emerged naked. Most of the journey was accomplished by slithering in the mud on our bellies. Clothes were rapidly left behind. We kept the orchids, though.

It is impossible to keep track of time when slithering on your belly down into the earth, but I'm as sure as I can be that it took more than a day. Perhaps a lot more. When we reached the bottom, we were filthy, exhausted, hungry and thirsty.

We knew that we must be nearing our destination because of the light that reached up into that muddy crack in the earth. We came to a rocky antechamber that was filled with light. In it was a sandy-bottomed pool, lying in the entranceway to another light-filled chamber. Before we went further, we needed to drink and to cleanse ourselves. So, we drank our fill and as we did so, we saw that objects were scattered across the white sand at the bottom of the pool. Jewellery. Long golden chains, each threaded with many rings that looked like wedding bands; bracelets; hair ornaments; torques and necklaces; all in silver and gold and semi-precious stones. Elias pointed to one heavy silver bracelet set with turquoise.

"I was a child when you died last, and I only met you the once." Have you any idea how weird that sounds? "You were wearing that bracelet. He gave it to you as a wedding gift."

Were these items all left here by Angel? As offerings to the god of this place? And on that thought, I heard a voice in my head. I should have believed myself a little maddened by the descent into this underworld, but it was clear that Elias had heard something, too.

"Not offerings, my child. Thanksgiving and remembrance. They were all yours, and the pool preserves them here. There is no god in this place. Just me. Bathe, then join me."

So we did.

I remember almost nothing of my time there, wherever there was, except that I was restless in my slumber. I could feel companions all around me, stirring in their sleep, their wings rustling as they did so. I was disturbing them, half-rousing them, as I tossed and thrashed. I had the feeling of an important task left unfinished, of something calling to me. And I could not rest. In my dreams I saw faces, always the same ones, both of them beautiful. An elfin blonde woman, and a creature that was both man and dragon. Then came the final dream, when both of them called out to me together, and I yearned for them with all my heart. The next thing I knew, I was awake and alone. I remembered who I was. I was Angel and Angelus, soul and demon, my father's son, and mate to Buffy. I had been a vampire and I had died. I hadn't yet finished saving the world.

When I looked around, I knew I had a problem. I remembered as if it were yesterday the things that my father had shown me of the war in heaven, of the Host flying free in the cosmos. That's where I was. At least, I think so. In the furthest distance were galaxies and nebulae; around me were stellar systems, suns and their planets. I could *feel* the power of the universe. When I looked, I saw that I had the sort of wings that my father had. Wings of power and light, the colours of oil on water in the sunlight. They trailed for miles around me, channelling unbelievable amounts of power. I could do anything I wanted. So, what did I want to do? I think you know the answer. Go back, free my father, be with Buffy. The thing was, where was back?

How to start? As I mulled over that, I allowed my body of light to dissolve into a comet-like form, my wings trailing behind me, and I circled the neighbouring solar systems, allowing myself to *feel*. I was going on instinct here, you understand. Some had life, some did not. Some were happy places, some were not. Many needed help if they were not to fall to despair and destruction. That felt familiar. I tore myself away from them and resumed my own shape. I could not take on the ills of the universe. I had not even succeeded in my own world. I had learned something, though. Throughout the ages, humans have wondered whether they are special. They are. The peoples of these solar systems are children of their planets, their spirits tied irrevocably to their home. Humanity, souls and demons both, fallen though we are, are children of the cosmos. Star stuff.

I knew what I had to do, now. I must find Heaven and ask the Authority to forgive Lucifer. If we could heal the rift between Heaven and Hell, then perhaps, between us, we could bring Lucifer's people back out of the aether and out of the Hell they suffered on Earth. Then, together with the Host of The Authority, we could aid these other suffering spirits. We have that power. We should use it. And I wanted freedom for my father, simply because he is my father.

When we left the lavender and vanilla scented waters of the pool, we were cleansed and refreshed. I had looked at the jewellery. It was all beautiful. There were hundreds of wedding bands, but all of them were Celtic in style. Some things had clearly remained constant between us. So many lifetimes. Did Angel remember them all, I wondered?

Holding hands for courage, we stepped into the blinding light of the inner chamber.

Angel has told you elsewhere of the being that we found there, the chained archangel. I will not repeat it. We fell to our knees in awe, the sharp facets of the glassy floor cutting into our flesh.

"Who are you? What are you?" I managed to gasp out.

He told us.

Lucifer. Angel's father. My father-in-law, I suppose. Elias's many-greats-grandfather. Oh, Lord!

He told us of his surprise that we had found him. He told us how proud he was of us. How much he loved us. And he told us of Angel's shanshu. At least we knew now why we had found him at all, and why we had not found all of him. And we knew why he had felt such peace, a balm granted by the archangel's body of light. That was good to know.

But there was more that he was not telling us. It was difficult to make out his features, blinded by the light as we were, confused by the shifting of his face from human to dragon and back again, but I knew there was more.

"Tell me the rest. How can I find Angel again?"

The fiery chains drew tight and burned more brightly. He screamed in silent pain. It was a long time before he could answer.

"You cannot. He is...gone."

I thought that my heart would burst through my ribcage, it was pounding so hard with fear.

"Gone? Do you mean...? Has his spirit been destroyed?" Unbearable.

"No," he whispered. "He is gone from the aether. The Authority has him at his mercy, and is not in a good mood."

Ten years. Had I wasted all that time whilst my love had suffered for ten long years? I must have voiced the question, or else the archangel simply read my heart. The chains tightened again. I knew there was even worse to come. He did not wish to tell me, but I was stubborn. I am told that I have always been stubborn - it's one of my defining traits. Good.

At last, the truth came out. "Time runs differently in different dimensions. It has not been ten years. It has been hundreds. Or thousands. I cannot tell exactly from here."

I saw then the tears that ran down his face, man and dragon both. They fell as freely as my own. I clung to Elias, who was also weeping and the three of us gave way to grief.

Eventually, I recovered some of my composure. I could be of no help to my love if I could not control myself. The three of us must find a way to help him.

"Tell me what I must do to free him."

I searched for The Authority for a long time. I saw the shocking beauty that we are heir to, the power of the cosmos. It is completely impossible to find human words to describe it. If you are patient, you will one day find out for yourself, of that I am sure. But not from me, today. I was humbled, exhilarated and terrified, all at once. I searched the length and breadth of the universe, but I couldn't find Heaven. Not until I searched for it in thought. Not until I used the power available to me to *think* myself there. And then I was.

It was a corner of the cosmos that was cut off from all the rest. It was beautiful, and awe-inspiring, and static, and unchanging. Somehow, I knew that it had been like this for aeons. It had not grown; it had simply been frozen in time, recycled and stale. It was hung with nebulas of light and populated by angels, all bowing and singing anthems of praise. I thought I might recognise some of those who had travelled the road through humanity, but there were none that I could see. These were all the host of The Authority. The victors in the war.

A group of them came towards me, and I waited. I was here to plead, not to fight. I said that I had come to see The Authority and they took me to him. He was seated on a throne of light, supported by clouds of stellar nurseries. He was surrounded by his most powerful acolytes. He waited for me to bow down before him. Now was not the time to be stiff-necked, so I did. Briefly, any way.

When he spoke, I had heard his voice before. It was the one with the clangour of iron that had condemned my father's defeated and tormented companions to Hell on Earth. He knew who I was without introduction. Memory like a demon's, then...

"Have you come to throw yourself on my mercy?"

"Yes."

"Do you repent of your part in the rebellion? Do you come to prostrate yourself before me and swear yourself to my service?"

"I come to seek forgiveness for my father."

Like me, these creatures did not need to breathe. If they had, there would have been a sharp intake of breath. They all seemed to shrink backwards a little.

I could sense the anger roiling within The Authority but he spoke softly.

"And what will you offer, in exchange?"

What? Are we trading here? What of the concepts of goodness and mercy? What of the notion that no one is beyond forgiveness, that even the vilest sinner can hope for that? Even I. Even my father. I said so. It was not, perhaps, the wisest thing I have ever done. Nothing new there, then.

The anger within the figure in front of me increased a hundred-fold. I tried to appease it.

"What do you want from me?"

"Will you swear to do anything I ask?"

"Tell me what you want."

"NO! First you must swear to do anything I ask. You must show faith. Then we will talk about forgiving - and releasing - your father."

There was no one to turn to for help in this. It had to be done.

"I swear."

"Anything? You will do anything I ask?"

This was going to be bad. But could it be worse than what had happened before? I doubted it. I was, of course, wrong.

"I swear."

I am certain The Authority smiled. A knowing, feline smile.

"He will be released and forgiven. You will take your father's place. For eternity."

Shit.

I would have. My courage quailed, but I knew my father had borne it for all these millions of years. I could, too. And our people needed him. But think about it. Do you suppose, for one moment, that my father would have tolerated the exchange? Do you suppose that he would have left me there? No. He would have awoken his Host, raised his armies, and gone down to defeat again. And surely the aftermath of the next defeat would be so much worse than the last one. I did not doubt that The Authority had the ability to come up with an even more terrible punishment, one that perhaps we could never recover from. Perhaps he had the power to annihilate our souls altogether. I couldn't allow things to go from bad to worse. And I suspected that The Authority knew that. The offer had been made because it was one I must refuse. Like a cat, he had been toying with his prey. Playing with his food.

"You know that I cannot do that. Ask something else."

I thought his roar of anger would split the heavens. The nebulae quivered, as if an enormous wind had rushed through them. Four of his most senior archangels surrounded me, carrying flaming swords. Michael. Raphael. Gabriel. Uriel. Their wings of power burned as brightly as their swords. So did mine, and with the speed of thought, I also had a sword in my hand.

The iron voice roared, "He is forsworn. Take the betrayer down!" The sound fell around me like the thud of tombstones.

The outcome of the battle was predictable - I was alone and in The Authority's dominion; there was no hope of help. Nevertheless, I had to try. And I did manage to acquit myself well enough. At the end, three of them held me from behind. Gabriel and Raphael held my arms. Michael had his arm tight around my throat. All three of them drank of my life force, to weaken me. As above, so below. I should have known.

Uriel, the Fire of God, approached me. Michael shifted his arm slightly to make space, and Uriel bent to drink from me, sinking fangs into my throat. As he did so, he thrust his sword through my belly. I screamed. Under cover of that scream, Uriel released my throat and whispered in my ear, "This has to be, for now. When you find your way back to freedom, when you find the forgiveness that will release your father, know that some of us are with you. Your father was right. We will fight with you."

The other three whispered, "Yes!".

He pulled the sword out, and they all stood back as I fell to my knees. I remember the whistle of it as he swung the bloody sword - strange, because there was no air to cause the whistle, nor should there have been blood on the blade. Then I remember the agony as the sword divided me in two, the look of regret and sorrow on his face, the look of contentment on the face of the Authority, and we were falling, falling... As we fell, I thought I heard The Authority say, "There can never be forgiveness from me for my brother..."

Lucifer was unwilling to discuss with two humans how to free Angel. Have I mentioned how stubborn I can be? Eventually even he gave in. I think he really wanted to - no father could willingly leave his son in the plight that Angel must be in, if there is the least hope of rescue.

"The Authority has created a Hell, just as he has created a Heaven. There are many Hell dimensions, and that one is separate from the Hell that we are in here, on Earth. It is for those human souls and demon spirits that you have not yet reached, that you have so far been unable to help along the road to nirvana, or to guide into the haven of the aether. Angel is there. At least, his soul is. His demon is somewhere on Earth. Angelus is not yet embodied and is hard to follow. He is mad with grief. It gave The Authority great satisfaction to divide Angel's self once more, and to send each part to the place they could least well survive.

"Angel's soul can free itself, but he does not realise this. He must learn that we make our own Heaven and Hell. If they only knew it, if they only believed it with every fibre of their being, every soul in there could leave any time they wished. But they either don't know it or don't believe it. So they allow themselves to be enslaved and tormented. That is what makes Hell dimensions so very effective. Not many guards are needed, because the occupants generally lock themselves in. Angel has."

I knew what I had to do, but I didn't know how.

"You must tell me how to reach this Hell."

Elias spoke then. "NO! You must not. I will go."

I cupped his cheek with my hand.

"I must. He is my mate. I am the one that must find him."

We argued, but I was stubborn. I am really good at stubborn. The archangel, though, brought us back to reality.

"Neither of you can go. Your human flesh would not be able to stand it. You would die."

I saw the inevitability of it, then. Over the last ten years, I had remembered some bits and pieces of our lives together. I remembered the very first time that we had found each other on this planet. I had been forced to send him, an ensouled vampire, to Hell. I had condemned him to hundreds of years of torment. From what Lucifer had just said, the demon in Angel had been responsible for getting him out, had known that the prison was one of the soul's own making. That might be useful knowledge. Well, the vampire body had survived. So could I.

"I can if you make me a vampire."

Elias started to protest, but I cut him short.

"That's how it can be done, isn't it? Is there another way? Other than to die?"

Slowly, Lucifer shook his head. I didn't think so.

"Will it...change...me? Will it turn me into what Angelus was?"

"No. The souls of Slayers are already reunited with their demon. And even if they weren't, you have lived hundreds of life times here. You could have accepted nirvana many times over. Your soul and your demon are fully at peace and already one. You will not change. You will be as Angel was when he died."

He seemed to shudder a little. "Are you quite sure? It will be very dangerous in Hell, and there are things to do first. It will be very hard."

Harder than it is, now, for Angel? I don't think so. And I'm the Slayer, dammit. It's my job.

"Let's get started. What do we need to do first?"

"Give me Angel's skin."

I swallowed past the lump in my throat, and drew out the relic. How had he known about that? I'm going to have to ask about this eavesdropping on my mind some day. He asked me to place the tattoo in front of him. Then he asked me to smear a drop or two of my blood onto it. I did so - my feet were bleeding freely from the razor-sharp floor.

He bowed his head. The cruelly confined wings seemed to brighten with power. He grimaced in pain, but the miracle was done. My heart almost stopped. The body of my beloved lay in front of me, still and silent. I had not seen him before, other than as pitiful bits and pieces, but my soul remembered every line and curve, every plane of his entire body. The swell of skin over muscle. The silky hair. The comforting touch of his flesh. But it was an empty husk, a vessel, waiting to be filled.

I was truly shaken. "Are you the Creator?" I whispered.

His smile was rueful and sad. "No. Everyone among us had this power, and will do so again, once they have won through to their nirvana and reunited the severed parts of themselves. There is no single Creator. You were all creators, all those ages ago. The Authority would like you not to know this, not to remember what you were." I bet.

He bowed his head again, and remained like that for a very long time. Then his wings quivered. The vessel remained still, and serene, but somehow I knew it was no longer empty.

"I have found Angelus. He is safe now. I will keep him here until they can be reunited."

I walked over to Angelus and ran my fingertips over his brow, down his cheek and down his throat to his chest. He was cool, like marble that the sun has newly touched, not warm, living flesh. As I caressed him, he trembled a little and made a tiny noise. So beautiful.

I looked at Lucifer. If an archangel can look embarrassed, he did.

"He's not alive this time, is he?"

"No, not until his soul is returned. Then he can drink from me again, and be restored, as he was before." Was he, indeed? I hadn't remembered that.

Lucifer continued, with only a slight hesitation. "Before I turn you, you must fill yourself with his seed and drink his blood."

I must what? Oh.

"You mean..."

"Yes."

No wonder he had looked embarrassed. I suddenly felt the need to tweak that embarrassment a little - I can be bitchy, as well as stubborn.

"Why?"

He sighed. Perhaps even archangels have a problem handling women. "You must drink his blood so that you will become a vampire, and a vampire of his own line. My life force will activate that change as well as giving you the same semblance of life that Angel had."

"And?"

He sighed again, and hesitated. "You must fill yourself with his seed so that my life force will revivify it. You must be with child when you go to Hell.

"What?"

I have passed through each and every circle of Hell. No. Not passed through. Sojourned. Been entertained in. Been the entertainment. I had read Dante's work, and never realised how true his vision must be. The Hell I had visited before, Acathla's Hell, was different. Not better or worse. Just different. Now I am in this one. Or perhaps this one has been made by my mind *because* I have read The Divine Comedy? How can I know? I am simply here, and I cannot get out. How and where is therefore not important. I am now in the 9th, the lowest, circle. The one reserved for the betrayers. The forsworn. Despite Uriel's words, that I would win free, I know that I will remain here forever. The Authority will never let me go. And I cannot bear it.

He explained to me, and it was all I could do to take it in. One of the souls in the aether was ready to be reborn. To join with us and help us. Azrael.

You might have heard of him. He's the Angel of Death. Well, one of them. Long after the war in heaven, The Authority killed him for failing to obey a command, and cast his spirit out to join the rest of the rebels. He has walked the road of humanity, and will not return to servitude with The Authority. I shall be the mother of the Angel of Death. Angelus will be the father. That's a new sort of Adam and Eve, don't you think?

And the child who will carry his spirit will be the bargaining counter to get Angel out. If I am lucky.

Uriel is the senior archangel, and lord of the Underworld. He is also absolutely loyal to The Authority, Lucifer says. If he finds me in Hell, we are screwed. I must not let him see me. But if there are only underlings there, I can leave the child in exchange for Angel, and they will not notice. They will smell too much alike. Lucifer believes that Angel will not believe that he can make his own redemption, and simply walk out of there by believing. I think he is right. Angel's soul will believe that he deserves every second of torment. Now, if it were Angelus, or if Angelus and the soul were united, things would be different. More balanced. The soul alone will be weighed down by guilt.

I could take Angelus with me. In the state that he is in, the demon would follow me anywhere, even through the gates of Hell. But he is unbalanced and unreliable. Lucifer says he is mad with grief. He could bring everything down around our ears, so I will leave him here. I know that Lucifer will help him.

After I have conceived a child, there is one other thing I must do. I must find Uriel's sword. My sins at the cliffside camp will take me in to Hell - my guilt ticket, so to speak; the child will buy Angel freedom from whatever torment he is in. The sword will get us out. Lucifer has told me where it is - it is the sword that guards the entrance to Eden. Wonderful. I've to go to a mythical garden to find a spiritual sword and take it someplace most people don't believe in until it's too late. Should be a snip.

But the child? How can I leave a child there? Lucifer tells me that Azrael belongs there. He will help all those other captive souls to win free. That is his destiny - to make sure they have death, lifetime after lifetime, so that they may live again; he will not leave them in eternal torment. We have only to leave Uriel's sword once we reach the gates of Hell, and Azrael will find it when he is ready. I must believe Lucifer, but already I mourn my child. First things first, though. Elias has retired to the antechamber, in deference to my sensitivities. He needn't have bothered, really - I don't seem to have any, down here.

Now, I am kneeling by the body of my beloved. He is still sleeping, but he responds to me. I run my hands over his skin, over his chest, his belly, his thighs. That is all the preparation he needs. He is hard and ready for me. And I am a 26-year-old virgin. I expect there will be pain, and I do not have the skill to make sure that my pleasure overcomes the pain. It doesn't matter. I am a warrior. I am used to pain. There will be plenty of pleasure in this life if all goes well.

I straddle him, wondering how this should be done. I have no previous experience. And yet I have. My body knows this stranger well. I find that I am wet and ready for him. I position myself, and with one savage thrust I force him through my maidenhead. If it must be done, do it quickly. There is pain. Yet, there is now pleasure, too. I had not expected that. I feel his coolness in my heat, soothing me, stretching me, teaching me, reminding me. I rest my hands flat on the broad expanse of his chest, and start to ride him. His body is still, but he responds in sighs and moans of pleasure. Good. He deserves it.

And then it is done, for him and for me. He cries out wordlessly in fulfilment, and I scream his name as I reach my own rapture, in a place where galaxies die and are reborn. I slash his wrist against one of the sharp glassy edges, and gulp down his blood. It should be disgusting, but it is sweet and rich and powerful. Orgasm sweeps through me again. Galaxies fall and rise. I stop only as the wound starts to heal, and I can get no more blood. When I rise from his body, I move towards Lucifer, who lifts his head and bares his throat.

"One mouthful only. Drink."

And I do.

That was how I came to be a vampire. A warm-blooded, heart-beating, sun-tolerant vampire. Best of both worlds, would you say? Well, it was too late for regrets now.

But there was more. I could tell you of the pain of transformation, my screams echoing around the cavern, multiplied and amplified by all those glittering, glassy facets. Or I could tell you of the indescribable pleasure that followed. But that's the point. Both pain and pleasure were indescribable. I do not believe that words exist in any language that would make you understand. What I can tell you is what happened during that eternity of pain and pleasure.

My body transformed. Yes, you say. We know that. You became a vampire. Well, it was much more than that. You will remember Angel telling you that his guardianship of humanity had lasted so long that mankind had changed since the days you knew. Changed so much that he no longer looked human. And he told you that the physical forms of the children and I changed with the rest of mankind. That is true. But Lucifer's form, the man-like one, not the dragon, was much more like that of Angel than that of modern man. Whether it was Lucifer's life force, whether it was Angel's blood, whether it was my own love and desire using those magical elements, I do not know. Lucifer either does not know or will not say, for all my efforts. My body changed. I now looked as I had all those ages ago, when I first met Angel. At least, that is what Angel tells me. The memory of a demon is an eternal steel trap. He remembers; he should know. So now we both resemble the angels more than we do mankind. I'm not sure what is to become of us.

Still, I interrupt my story, and that is what you wish to hear.

Before we left the cavern, I could feel the baby inside me. A strong new life, a brave soul and a stalwart demon. Our child. Another vampire. The Angel of Death.

When Elias and I emerged, we discovered that we had been underground for almost three weeks. I'm sure time runs differently there. The villagers welcomed us. They saw that I was different, yet they still offered us their hospitality and their friendship. I liked them before. I love them now, as the dearest friends. We rested for a day then set off to find the sword.

Elias came all the way with me - he would not allow me to travel alone. I could have travelled more swiftly without him, now, but his company was welcome. I was determined, but my fear ate at me like acid. Elias, strong and steady, helped to bolster my courage. It was a matter of weeks before we found the valley that we searched for, to the east of what you know as Lake Van. Eden. It used to be part of the Persian Empire. It is an area where fruit trees, including many sorts of apple, still grow wild. Legend drawing from life. At its eastern end is a very old volcano, tame now but not quite dead. Bitter springs still flow from its flanks. High up, near the old crater, we found an entrance, and inside there we found the sword. It looked ordinary. Untarnished, beautifully wrought, but essentially a sword.

Elias held me, as I prepared myself for what I had to do next. My fear was a living thing, coiling through my gut. Have I mentioned that I'm stubborn? I told him to return to Lucifer, and to wait for me. I felt certain that if there were...difficulties...Lucifer would know about them, and would know what to do. If anything *could* be done. Elias is stubborn too, so he insisted that he wait until I was finished.

I held the sword. I thought about my sins at the cliff face, the ones that would weigh me down to Hell; I pictured my own sword slicing through the flesh of the women and the children, the spurting of their blood, the shocking wounds, the screams of terror and pain; then, with those scenes imprinted on my mind, I fell on Uriel's sword. The pain was like nothing I had ever experienced before, until I felt myself sliding away from the world.

When I regained my wits I awoke to a land of mists, and grey, weeping trees. There were no flowers, no fruits, nothing with colour or real life. It was peopled with the shades of the dead, all in funereal, mourning grey. It was a peaceful land - at least, there were no screams of pain and terror, but nor were there any shouts of laughter or joy.

They knew that I was different, more solid, and they crowded round me, touching me, tasting my scent in the air. One, a little brighter than the others - or perhaps he had not been here so long - pulled the sword from my body and bandaged my wounds. Then he told me that this was the land where all the virtuous dead reside. Christian and pagan, child or adult, it made no difference. This was Limbo, the first level of Hell, and it is the best that the human dead can hope for if they choose not to follow the path to nirvana. I was deeply shocked. Somehow, despite all the evidence of my previous lifetimes, I seemed to have retained my childhood beliefs that the virtuous would go to Heaven, to an eternity of love and rapture. Not so. If this grey, tenebrous land were the best to be hoped for, what would the rest be like?

I asked whether I would be likely to see Uriel here. He was my greatest fear. They told me that he visited all the levels of Hell frequently. Great.

Those who had been here longer than my helper, who knew their way around, showed me the path downwards. By the time they had taken me to it, however, my belly was swollen with our child, and I had started into labour. I cannot tell you how it happened so quickly. I can only tell you that it did. And so our child, Azrael, the Angel of Death, was delivered by the shades of the dead in the land of Limbo. Just how mythic would you like things to be? From somewhere, they found a length of grey linen to wrap him in, and I carried him the rest of the way in my arms. The sword I strapped to my back, alongside my own. The only food I had for him was my own blood, empowered by his father and fortified by the life force of the chained archangel, his grandfather, and so I fed him with that. He seemed happy enough with it.

The path led downwards to the second level of Hell. I am going to tell you about the journey I made - it is right and proper that you should know - but do not expect me to dwell on any part of it. It was the most dreadful experience, and I do not wish to recall it more than absolutely necessary. Nor do I wish to remind Angel of it. He had spent hundreds, if not thousands, of years there, subjected to the torments of each and every level, the plaything of a vengeful Authority.

When I reached the second level, there was almost no light. The wind moaned and soughed and caught at my clothes and the baby's wrappings like questing fingers. And then as my demonic eyes adjusted, I saw what was happening. The people here were naked, men and women both. The wind was, indeed, like fingers, and it sought out all their secret flesh, their most intimate places, teasing and stroking, arousing but never giving release. Tormenting. Forever. They sobbed and wailed and prayed for an end that never came. It seems that in their lifetimes, they had been lechers, and were now to be eternally punished through their own appetites. That is what Hell is about, you know. Using you against yourself. That's the whole secret of the place, because you can never escape you.

"What are you doing here amongst the lechers? You do not belong among the dead."

The voice surprised me. When I turned around, I saw that it was a tall, beautiful figure, with a stern face. He might have been an angel, or might have been a demon. Or might have been both.

"I come seeking my mate." Somehow, I knew that only the truth would do, here. That lies would be seen for what they were, and would endanger myself and my baby.

The being sniffed, tasting my scent as those in Limbo had done.

"He has been here. He is gone now."

He pointed to a dark and forbidding path that led yet further down. He locked gazes with me for a moment and there was a flicker of recognition, I thought.

"You must take care, for the way is very dangerous." He smiled slightly at Azrael, then he turned and was gone without another word.

I followed the path. I worried about Azrael, but he seemed to understand just what we were about, and made no murmur. He even smiled a little. So we arrived at the third level of Hell.

In the third circle, I began to understand the meaning of the word 'cursed'. It is dark and it is cold. It rains without cessation. The rain is not sweet water, but filthy and polluted, and the souls there spend their time wading in a morass of foul, stinking water and even fouler mud. Mud that is in some places hip deep, and in some places comes up to and over their mouths, so that they must swallow it. From time to time, and as a bit of variety, I suppose, the Hound of Hell, Cerberus, comes through and tears into the people he encounters. When I was there, the screams of agony could be heard all the way back along the path he had travelled.

I tried to stay hidden, to walk the very edges of the circle, hunting for the path, ready to draw my sword if the Hell Hound came too close. The gatekeeper found me anyway. He told me that this was where the gluttons spend eternity. He also told me that my mate had been here, but had gone further down. How much worse can it get, you ask? Wait, and you will see.

The path to the fourth level was deep and well worn, but at least there was some light here. It wasn't such a good thing, though, because it showed the torments more clearly. And it was harder for me to hide. Here were the greedy and the prodigal. They were chained, nailed and harnessed to a weight of possessions that threatened to crush them, that broke both their shades' bodies and their spirits.

The gatekeeper told me that again, my mate had been here, but had gone further down. I held my child for comfort in this god-forsaken land, and followed Angel further down.

At the fifth level, I came to a river, inky black and threatening. The gatekeeper found me standing on the bank, unsure of where to go - I could see no other path - and he told me it was the River Styx. This was the place of punishment for the wrathful, the spiteful, those who hated and envied others. The people here were like wild beasts, their hair long and unkempt, their finger- and toenails long, thick and curved, like talons. Their teeth were like those of a big cat or a dog, longer, if not sharper, than those of a vampire, even. I was reminded of the story of Nebuchadnezzar, during his period of madness as a beast of the field. But these were not peaceful beasts. They attacked each other alone, in pairs or in packs. Not one was free of the most dreadful injuries - flesh hanging from bones, huge festering sores. The smell of rancid blood was unbearable to me, and even made Azrael fretful.

My mate had been here, and yes, he had gone further down. There's always more down, isn't there? The gatekeeper showed me where to go. I wondered why the gatekeepers were not trying to stop me. Perhaps getting in was never going to be the hard part. I suppose Hell welcomes all comers.

I could smell the sixth circle of Hell before I saw it. It was the stench of burning hecatombs. The burnt offerings were people. They were burnt at stakes, burnt on alters, locked in burning sepulchres; anyway a body could be burnt, it was. I hurried through here as quickly as I could. The thought of my mate here made me retch. And the fires made me nervous for my child and myself. We are vampires, remember? We have even more of a problem with flames than humans do.

The gatekeeper told me that these were the heretics, those who denied The Authority. Now you know. So much for free will and freedom of choice. Make an unpopular choice and you are screwed. For eternity. Yes, my mate had been here, and was gone. As I hurried down the path, I whispered to Azrael, "Help us make them pay for all this." He gazed solemnly back at me, and I know he understood. OK, so I was feeling vengeful. Sue me.

I also smelled the reek of the seventh level before ever I reached it. The people here are trapped within the circle of the River Phlegethon, a river of boiling blood. Here they suffered in its scalding depths, and if they tried to escape the river, they were picked off by Harpies who dropped them onto the red-hot sands in the centre of the circle, into a hail of burning rain, until they scrambled back to the river for a different agony.

The gatekeeper told me that these were the assassins and murderers, the warmongers and oh, yes the blasphemers. Do not take the name of your god in vain or the bogeyman will get you. My mate had gone from here, too.

The eighth circle was truly Hell. Guards with bullwhips, lashing off every inch of skin, cloaks of lead, heated to red heat, bodies immobilised under heaps of rocks whilst their feet were burned off, pools of boiling pitch, pools of human excrement, serpents tearing bodies apart. And everywhere, the screams of agony and despair.

Azrael cried a little here. I wept all the way through. Here, the gatekeeper said, were the malicious, the frauds, the seducers, the pimps, and the hypocrites. My mate was gone from here, too.

I wanted to pray that this would end, that the next level would be the last. But to whom could I pray?

The next level was, indeed, the last and deepest, reserved for traitors to the Authority, to their country, their family or their friends. The forsworn...I should have known that The Authority would want him to end up here. If things went badly, so would I.

It is a place of utter silence, absolute cold and almost complete darkness. The people here are frozen into the ice that permeates everywhere. They are frozen in attitudes of agony that they can never relieve, their limbs and spines twisted and bent, their mouths frozen shut, so they can never scream, their eyes frozen open, so that they can never escape knowing where they are.

The gatekeeper took me to where Angel lay, tormented in this icy waste. When I saw him, I sank to the ground and wept, my tears freezing on my cheeks. I could never leave my child here.

But Azrael took the decision into his own small hands. He held out his chubby little arms to the gatekeeper, a stern but beautiful being, as all the gatekeepers had been. This one was enchanted by him, and lifted Azrael from my arms, holding him close. As he accepted the baby, the ice cracked wide, and my love lay mindless and trembling at my feet.

I knelt on the frozen surface and cradled his head in my lap. As I did so, I noticed that the gatekeeper had turned from me, and was bowing to another, a being of such majesty and splendour that my heart ached. This one had wings like Lucifer's, power made visible, and they seemed to fill the entire circle. He was bathed in light.

"My Lord Uriel, greetings."

Uriel. Angels and ministers of grace defend us.

Uriel said nothing. He simply turned his gaze onto Angel and me. Long moments passed in silence, as he seemed to read both our souls. He must have found fear, dread and supplication in mine - I know I did. He walked over to us, unfastening his belt as he did so. He removed the long length of white woollen cloth in which he had been swathed and dropped it over Angel's naked form. He stood still again, gazing down at both of us, before looking at Azrael. Then, without a word, he turned and left.

I didn't stop to question or marvel. My one thought was to get Angel out of there NOW, and to worry about the unfathomable later. Angel has always been a big man, and even Slayer-strong as I am, he has never been easy for me to lift. I had forgotten that here he was not a man; he was a shade. Not corporeal, but insubstantial. It was like lifting a swan's feather. Small in stature as I am, I carried him in my arms towards the upward path, where there was more light, and no ice. The gatekeeper, carrying Azrael, moved back with me and stood between the path and me. There was to be no escape, yet, then. I lay down and held Angel close, covering both of us with the cloth that Uriel had left. It was warming, healing, and full of power. A shade Angel might be, but he felt solid enough in my arms, his naked body pressed against me. Strange as it may seem, we both fell asleep there.

I think it was a long time before we awoke. Lucifer had said that time ran differently, and I had already learned that for myself. I rose first, leaving behind me dreams of peace and contentment. Don't ask me to explain that. I can only imagine that it had to do with Uriel's gift. As I awoke to the never before experienced, yet long missed, feeling of being with my mate, I realised that I now rested in his arms. His trembling had ceased, and his face was...peaceful. Relaxed. Uriel had healed him, I was sure. When I moved, he awoke.

He looked into my eyes, searching me out.

"I've missed you. I love you."

I cried, there in his arms, from relief and from joy. And I saw the gatekeeper standing next to us, as if guarding our sleep, a boy of about fourteen beside him, holding his hand. Azrael.

It took Angel a little while to realise where he was. Where we were. What I was. How I was changed. When he did, he grasped my face in his hands.

"What have you done?" he whispered.

"Only what I had to do. Now come on. We've got to leave. We can talk later." I wrapped the length of cloth around him as I spoke, covering that beloved flesh. I felt sure that its virtue would continue to strengthen him. The gatekeeper and Azrael, still hand in hand, moved back to the mouth of the path, blocking the way.

"You must use the sword." That was the gatekeeper to Angel. Angel looked confused.

I drew the sword from where it was strapped on my back and handed it to him. The moment he took it, it burst into life, glowing with the same power that I had seen in Uriel's wings. In Lucifer's wings. For a moment, I thought I saw an echo of them reach out from Angel's back. The blade flickered and shone, the colours those of oil on water in the sunlight. Beautiful death.

The gatekeeper knelt, and Azrael embraced him then moved towards us, away from his mentor. Angel looked a question at me.

"This is Azrael. Our son. He will remain here. Explanations must wait."

He understood what I was saying. No need to speak of things that might attract attention here, of all places. And no need to tell him that his freedom came at a price. He closed the remaining distance to Azrael and ran his fingers over the boy's cheek. They had a great look of each other, but Azrael has my eyes. Then they hugged.

"Go, father. I shall see you again soon enough."

The boy must have seen the fear etched on my face, and he chuckled. It was a strange sound, down there in the lowest level of Hell.

"Not like that, mother. Never fear."

We all embraced, then, saying our farewells to ones that we loved dearly and didn't know at all. Yet knew completely. Have I explained to you how weird my life has become since I met Angel?

The gatekeeper had not moved, was still on his knees. Angel looked at Azrael, and our son nodded.

"It is what he wishes, as well as what is necessary."

Angel put a hand on the gatekeeper's shoulder.

"I thank you. We shall meet again, yes?"

The gatekeeper nodded.

"And I thank you."

Then the sword whistled down, flaring to even more brilliant life, and the gatekeeper was gone.

We set off up the path, looking back every few steps at Azrael's gentle face, until it was lost from sight in the darkness. And so we left the lowest level and travelled upwards, towards the light.

It was the same at each level. The gatekeeper would block the next path, kneeling before the shade of my mate. A few words would be exchanged, the sword would whistle down, and the gatekeeper would be gone.

At last, we arrived back in Limbo. The shades gathered around us, anxious to touch and smell this shade that had rejoined them from the lower levels, something they had never known before, marvelling at the flaming sword, pressing close to my solidity. On a thought, I said to them,

"Do you wish to be released from this place, to come back to the cycle of life and death?" They cried out to us then, falling to their knees in supplication and prayer. I thought we could take that as a Yes. I turned to Angel.

"Can you do it?"

He shrugged. "I can try."

I looked for a familiar shade, and found him. The one who had tugged the sword from my body. He looked dimmer than he had before.

"Can you take us all to the place where you first found me?"

He could, and did.

I recognised the place, and it was the work of moments to find a small, dark portal close by. I must have entered through here, although I didn't remember it. It was locked. Angel moved me to one side, and then took a mighty swing at it with the sword. If The Authority wasn't watching before, I guessed he might well be now. The sword carved through the portal in a single sweep and golden light poured into Limbo.

When we looked, the light formed a long, curving pathway leading into the distance.

"Azrael will need the sword later," I said. Angel nodded and frowned, considering how best to leave it. Then he stood in the centre of the open portal, legs braced apart, and slammed the sword down into the rock. It sank to the hilt. I knew what he had done. He had anchored the path. So long as the sword remained, so would the path. He took my hand and we led the lost souls of Limbo back toward humanity.

As we trod that golden road to deliverance, Buffy explained to me what she had done to secure my release. I was lost in wonder at the courage of her, my brave little spitfire. And at the son I had just discovered. I was also angry with her for risking herself, but through all our lifetimes together, that has never done me much good. I didn't know how she had secured my release, or why she was now a vampire, although I would make sure she told me. I did know that if it weren't for her, I should never have been freed. Perhaps she was what Uriel had foreseen when he spoke of me winning my freedom. I thought that I would be returned to the aether, to await rebirth, leaving her alone for a while. No, she said, your father has your body, and awaits us.

Wonders will never cease.

We came to a place that my shade's senses told me was a parting of the ways between us and the other souls, on their way back to Eden, to rebirth. We stood to one side and watched the endless passage of them, a grey tide of sorrow travelling towards hope. I had a feeling that I knew what Azrael would do with the sword that I had left for him. Uriel's sword. I didn't think that the walls of Hell would be able to contain him. And I'm sure that Buffy and I will be there to help him.

And so we returned to my father's prison. Elias was already there. Buffy had been gone for nine months. I lost more and more substance during that journey, arriving as a wraith, a haunt, almost no more than a memory. Just a ball of light, really. Never mind. My father restored me to the flesh that he had recreated for me and Angelus wept with joy at our reunion, as did I. We became one being again. Then my father restored that flesh to a semblance of life as he had done once before.

And in that place of love and pain, in the sight of my father and Elias, whose soul is that of our very first-born son from all those lifetimes ago, we made another child. Vampires aren't shy, you know, and we decided that, knowing what was to happen, everyone should share. The soul of our new child was that of the gatekeeper from the 9th circle of Hell. Azazel. Although I think we may choose a different name when he is born, and allow him to grow up simply as a human child. Well, as a vampire child, then, if you wish to be pedantic. For that is what Buffy carries now - living ensouled vampires. We seem to have entered a new phase of redemption, and my father is pleased. The Authority's angels are joining us one by one. There are seven more gatekeepers waiting to be included in our family. Never will we have had so many sons and daughters in one lifetime. Although I had almost forgotten. Now that Buffy is eternal, like me, lifetimes will be different. I can't wait to find out how different.

My father extracted from me the story of my visit to Heaven. I think he was as cross with me as I was with Buffy for going to Hell. It did him no good, either.

When I told him of my battle with the four archangels, and their whispered words of rebellion, his eyes glimmered with unshed tears; in the days before the war, those four had been his closest companions. Now, there was some hope that they might be reunited.

And he acknowledged that I had heard The Authority correctly. They are brothers. Well, well. I should not have been surprised. There's nothing so vicious, or with such longevity, as a family feud, after all.

The greatest miracle, though, the thing that gave us all more hope than we had ever dared to dream about since this all began, came just as we were about to leave.

Lucifer looked at us all with such love and pride, and sorrow that I was moved to do something I had never done before. I went to him and held him. No matter that agony tore through me from the fiery chains. I simply held him closer and tighter. It was only pain, and it would pass. A sob rose in his throat, and a plea.

"Forgive me. Forgive me for everything that I have brought to you all; the punishments you have had to endure because of who you are. They are all the fault of my pride and folly. Please. Forgive me if you can." His eyes sparkled with unshed tears.

I cupped his cheek with my hand and looked at him. My love for him was absolute, as clear and as unstinting as my love for Buffy.

"There is nothing to forgive. There never was. But if you need it, I forgive you with all my heart." I held him tight again. When we parted, we both saw that Elias, shocked and pale, was pointing towards the floor. There, a single link of those weighty chains that held him had changed. No longer fiery, it was plain black iron.

And so the truth will out. Forgiveness was never The Authority's to give. We should have known. Here's the thing. When you use power against a soul, the magic requires that there must *always* be a way to end the curse. That was why the gypsies had to put the happiness clause into my own curse. They had to give me a way to end it, no matter how unlikely, because they had cursed my soul as well as my demon. My innocent soul. That is why there was never a cure for the happiness clause. Why it could only be removed by my soul and demon together, forgiving each other for their misery and comforting each other in their loss. Wanting to stay together. A time when their union was no longer a curse to either.

In my father's case, The Authority had made the get-out clause as unlikely as he could imagine. The forgiveness must come from Lucifer's own. The Authority could not conceive that such forgiveness would ever happen. He has never understood the power of love, then. Buffy and Elias did their part, offering their own forgiveness freely and without reservation, and one by one, as Lucifer's Host come to their nirvana, we shall bring them down here. One by one, we shall unchain my father.

THE END

Author's notes:

1. This fic explores some tricky theological areas. If 'Bringer of Light' offended you, you'll be really ticked off by this.

2. I suggest you read 'Bringer of Light' first.

3. Quid nunc? Latin, for what now?

4. Isis and Osiris. In Egyptian myth, Osiris was murdered and cut into 14 pieces by his wicked brother Set. Isis hunted for the pieces of her husband, which she joined back together by magic. But she was unable to find the fourteenth, that part which most men are accused of thinking with, because a fish had eaten it. She had to make a new one in order to get pregnant with their son Horus. Sounds like a modern tale, doesn't it?

5. Thanks to Dante. I've borrowed my description of Hell pretty much intact from him.

6. Congratulations and a mention in despatches to anyone who finds the 'Hamlet' quotation. That's about fathers and sons, too. But different.

7. About 6,000 years ago, in Europe, a child was buried lying on a swan's wing. That really is true, and I've borrowed that archaeological find.

Feedback: Pretty please. Send it to Jo
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