The Demon Detective

The Debt Collector**

A week later, the bill came due.

Not a bill for money. A bill for a life. It arrived in the form of a well-dressed man sitting calmly in the office when they opened the door in the morning. He had a briefcase on his knees. He wasn’t a lawyer. He looked like a banker.

“Angel,” the man said. “My name is Linwood. I’m from Wolfram & Hart’s Special Collections department.”

“Get out,” Angel said.

“I will,” Linwood said politely. “After we settle your account. You see, you’ve accrued quite a debt. The destruction of the Ascension Mark project. The loss of the demon heart. The contamination of the Silver Lake nexus. The liberation of several psychic assets. The list is long.” He opened his briefcase. It was empty except for one piece of paper. “The Senior Partners are calling it in.”

“Calling what in?” Cordelia asked, suspicious.

“A life,” Linwood said. “One pure life, willingly given, to balance the scales. A soul for all the chaos you’ve caused.”

“We’re not giving you anyone,” Gunn snapped.

“You don’t have to *give*,” Linwood smiled. “The life just has to be lost because of you. As a direct result of your actions.” He looked at his watch. “It should be happening right about… now.”

Angel’s phone buzzed. A text from a number he didn’t know. It was a photo. It showed a familiar green-skinned demon, surrounded by nasty-looking dog-like demons with spiked collars. The demon was Lorne. He was backed against the wall of his own club, Caritas. The text read: *Your fault. You made him help you.*

“Lorne,” Angel breathed.

“Ah, the Host,” Linwood said, standing up. “Yes. His neutrality was his protection. By helping you, he broke his own rules. He became a target. Those are Haxil beasts. Very good at tracking. They work for a client who had a grudge against you. We simply… gave them the right address.”

Angel was already moving. “If he dies…”

“Then the debt is paid,” Linwood said, walking to the door. “And we’ll consider the slate clean. For a little while.” He left.

The team raced to Caritas. The front door was broken. Inside, it was a wreck. Tables smashed, the stage broken. The happy demon paintings were torn.

And in the back, by the bar, they found him.

Lorne was on the ground. He was hurt. His green skin was cut in several places. One of his horns was chipped. But he was alive. He was holding off the last Haxil beast with a broken bottle.

Gunn made quick work of the beast, stabbing it in the heart. It yelped and disappeared in a puff of sulfur-smelling smoke.

“Lorne!” Cordelia knelt beside him.

“Kiddos,” Lorne coughed, trying to smile. “Nice of you to drop by. Sorry about the mess. The clientele has really gone downhill.”

“We need to get you to a doctor,” Wesley said, checking his wounds.

“No human doctor for this, Wes,” Lorne winced. “I’ll be okay. Just need some rest and a really strong drink.” He looked at Angel, his red eyes serious. “They told me, before they attacked. They said this was because I helped you. They said it was a message.”

“It is,” Angel said, his voice dark. “And I’m going to send one back.”

“Don’t,” Lorne said, grabbing his arm. His grip was weak. “That’s what they want. They want you angry. They want you to make a big, stupid move. This… this was just them showing you they can touch anyone. Anytime. The debt isn’t about my life, Angel. It’s about your guilt. They’re making you pay by watching.”

Angel understood. They wanted him to feel responsible for every hurt. To break under the weight. They couldn’t beat him in a fight, so they were trying to make him quit.

They took Lorne back to the office. They patched him up as best they could. He would heal.

But the lesson was learned. No one was safe.

***

That night, Angel went for a walk. He ended up at a playground. It was empty. He sat on a swing, not swinging. Just sitting.

He thought about the debt. A life for all the trouble he caused. He thought about giving his own. But that would just make him a martyr. It wouldn’t stop Wolfram & Hart. And it would leave his friends alone.

He thought about Buffy. He thought about Darla. He thought about Penn. All the lives tied to his.

A voice spoke from the slide. “Big thoughts for a big guy.”

Angel looked over. It was a young woman. She had dark hair and wore jeans and a leather jacket. She looked tough. She was also a vampire. He could sense it.

“Who are you?” he asked, not moving.

“Name’s Faith,” she said, sliding down. She walked over and sat on the swing next to him. “I’m a Vampire Slayer.”

Angel stared at her. “Buffy…”

“Is my sis. In the slaying sense. She told me about you. The vampire with a soul. She said you were in LA fighting the good fight. I was in the neighborhood. Thought I’d check in.” Faith kicked at the dirt. “Heard you’re making waves. Pissing off the big, bad law firm.”

“You could say that.”

“Good.” Faith grinned. It was a wild, dangerous grin. “They sound like a bunch of suits who need a good stabbing.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It never is.” Faith got up. “Look, I’m not here to join your team. I got my own… issues. But a little birdie told me Wolfram & Hart is importing something nasty tomorrow night. At the docks. Something in a crate that’s screaming in a language only demons understand. Thought you might want to know.” She started to walk away.

“Why tell me?” Angel asked.

Faith looked back. “Because Buffy thinks you’re worth a damn. And the enemy of my enemy is my friend for the night.” She vanished into the darkness.

A Slayer. In his city. It was a complication. But also, maybe, an opportunity.

He went back and told the team.

“A Slayer?” Wesley said, worried. “They’re unpredictable. Powerful. And they have a history of… conflicts with vampires. Even ones with souls.”

“She gave us a tip,” Gunn said. “That’s something. The docks again?”

“They like the docks,” Cordelia said. “It’s cliché.”

Angel made a plan. They would check it out. Faith’s tip was too specific to ignore. It felt like the next move in Wolfram & Hart’s game.

But as they got ready, Angel felt a new kind of dread. Not of monsters. Of choices. Wolfram & Hart was tightening the net. A Slayer was in town. His friends were targets.

The debt was growing. And he didn’t know how much longer he could keep paying it.