By Harmonyfb

******************************************************************************************

It was a risk. A definite risk. Probably equal odds of taking care of business versus ugly death. Lindsay absently tapped his good hand on the desk. He hadn't come this far without taking risks, of course, and the payoff could be big. Better than big. Satisfying. Door was locked, staff was long gone. He stood and reached to light the candles. Oh, the hell with it. In for a penny, as his grandmother used to say. Clearing his throat, he began the invocation.

***

The house was dark, and smoky. Reminded her a lot of the homes she used to see in the Baltic region. That was a while back, of course. Nowadays, living rooms tended towards beige carpet and white walls; sometimes the smoky places made her a bit nostalgic.

"Welcome to Phoenix. Have a nice trip?"

The voice came floating out of the cloud of incense and herbs that marked the summoning ritual. A masculine voice. Oh, hell. "Do you even know who I am?" she asked, exasperated.

"I'd appreciate it if you'd hold any threats of potential evisceration till I've completed my presentation." A boyish, tanned face emerged from behind the altar. "Please, have a seat. We've got quite a lot to discuss."

"No thanks – I'll only be here long enough string your entrails like streamers along the ceiling. I'm Anyanka. You know, bringer of vengeance, distributor of justice, yadda, yadda, for wronged women. Of which you are not. Well at the moment, anyway."

He smiled in a manner that was intended to be charming. "Yes, I'm well aware of your resume. Very impressive – amazing what you can do in a thousand years with a healthy disrespect for...well, pretty much the whole of the male species." He dropped a file folder to the coffee table in front of her, with a crisp, white business card on top.

"Name's McDonald. I'm an attorney – actually, I used to be the co-vice-president for Special Projects for Wolfram and Hart. Please, feel free to look over the file."

"You say that like I should know who you are – or care." Anya made no move to touch the folder or the card; merely stared down at the table with boredom and a hint of distaste.

"I thought everyone in the trade knew who we were." He leaned back, giving the appearance of being perfectly at ease – only the sheen of sweat on his brow spoke otherwise. "It's a very old firm, with very old, very well known partners. If you think hard, I'm sure you'll recall. That's not terribly important, though, because I didn't call you here on business. This is more a personal matter. I'm sure you understand."

"I understand that I'm allowed to tear you limb from limb, to emasculate you while you scream for mercy because you used that particular spell when you had a penis." She began to move with great deliberation around the table. "I'm a little rusty at emasculation, but I suppose it's not something you just forget how to do."

His nerve broke, just a bit, the words tumbling in a rush out of him. "It's about a woman – well, about more than one, really – that were wronged. The vengeance – it's not for me, it's for them."

Her eyes flared briefly, and she snorted, her demon face submerging beneath that of a young woman. "You're lying. I could hear your thirst for vengeance two continents away. You don't want it for someone else, you want it for yourself. Lover jilt you? Not my department." She shrugged. "I could give you the name of the vengeance demon in charge of that area, but there'd be paperwork, and honestly, I'd just as soon kill you. You know how it is."

"I'm not lying – well, all right, I am. Of course I want vengeance – he harassed me, he took everything I had – he cut off my fucking hand!" He took a deep, ragged breath as his control slipped just a little more. "So yeah, I lied. But not really. He's wronged hundreds of thousands of women. Raped, murdered, lied, cheated." He bent forward to flip open the file, pushed it toward her. "Take a look." He smiled tightly as her fingers hovered over the open page, filled with pictures of dead girls, anguish written on their faces. "His name's Angel; he used to be called Angelus. You might have heard of him."

She still stared at the images, mesmerized by the suffering in them. But her voice was calm. "Of course I've heard of him. He's a vampire. You want to take vengeance on him for eating? That's what vampires do. How stupid are you?"

"He's not just any vampire. He's special. Got himself a soul. Makes him...different. Vulnerable. Don't you think?"

Anyanka flipped the cover on the file closed, silencing the girls within. "Yes, it does make him different."

"That's where you come in." His words were urgent, low. "I want Angel to suffer like he's made me suffer – like he made Darla suffer. I want him to lose everything he loves, everything he is – like I did. I wish - I wish he'd never be able to have what he wants. Ever."

He was so focused in his rage, he never saw the smile that crossed Anyanka's face as a memory suddenly clicked into place. She recalled an evening spent in a gypsy camp, so many years before. Remembered it well – the wailing of the women, the stench of death, the cold rage of the old woman that had called to her, half-way around the world.

"I want him to suffer," the old woman had said. "I want everything he loves to be taken from him, as he took her from me. I wish you could show me how to take such revenge."

Her response to Lindsay was the same, even as she slid her hands into his guts. "Wish granted," she whispered.