"Do you ever get that all-dressed-up-no particular-place-to-go feeling, cats and kittens? I know I used to, but that's why I opened Caritas. Now I can just roll out of bed, don my finest duds, et voilà, someplace to be, to see and be seen, a sanctuary for the spirit, a haven for the hideous. Outside it's a dark world and getting darker, but in here it's all bright lights and big dreams. And speaking of big, our first performer tonight is Mif'tal, a Nemchuk, as big as Moby Dick but with a heart to match. Mif'tal's a pussycat, people, and he's here to thrill with his rendition of Like a Virgin."

Lorne paused for a moment, ticking his red eyes to the right to watch the behemoth shamble onto the elevated stage, and then leaned into the microphone, speaking sotto voce. "But don't get the wrong idea, folks. Mif'tal's married, and it's just a song."

He surrendered the stage, and the Nemchuk took the mike in one enormous, clawed hand, beginning to sway as the music swelled from the speakers. Mif'tal wasn't quite as big as the Host had implied, but he was massive and muscular, with sharp-edged fins protruding above each eye like a fifties-era Buick, and a mouth that seemed overstuffed with multiple rows of tiny, daggerlike teeth. His skin was green, but lighter than Lorne's, almost the colour of mint ice cream. When he sang, his voice was raspy, but he carried a tune well. Angel watched Lorne flash a smile at Mif'tal's mate, sitting stage side at one of the small tables, and then work his way through the room to the table where the Angel Investigations gang waited.

"I'm so glad you folks could make it tonight," Lorne said when he reached them, his smile wide and welcoming. Lorne - more formally, Angel knew, Krevlornswath of the Deathwok Clan, late of a dimension called Pylea - was decked out in a typically colourful ensemble. An open-necked yellow shirt set off his dark green skin and red lips, eyes, and horns well, accentuating the blond highlights in his hair. His Italian silk suit was royal blue and just shiny enough to fairly glow when the spotlight was on him - which was often; Lorne seemed to have been born to the spotlight. "We wouldn't have missed it for the world," Cordelia Chase said brightly. She rose to give Lorne a hug, which he accepted with open arms. "After all, it's your party, right?"

"Absolument," Lorne replied. He released Cordy and spread his arms wide again. "Whatever you darlings want tonight is on the house. After all, what's a little profit margin between friends? It's the least I can do to repay you all for what you did in Pylea."

Angel nodded. He, Lorne, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, and Charles Gunn had followed Cordelia to the Host's home dimension when she had accidentally passed through a portal between their worlds. By the time they'd arrived, Cordy had been made a princess, but one who was subject to the whims of the priests who really controlled the dimension. Working with local rebels, though, they managed to overthrow the priests, destroy the Slave-killer console with which the priests ruled, and install a mighty warrior called the Groosalugg on the throne. Returning to their own dimension, they had brought with them a young human named Winifred Burkle, who had been sucked through a portal years before and had spent much of her five years there in a cave, hiding from the Pylean rulers.

Lorne had promised them a party at Caritas, his karaoke bar-slash-demon sanctuary, as a small token of his appreciation for having freed his world from the scourge of slavery. He preferred Los Angeles to Pylea - there was no music in Pylea, for one thing, and he was looked on as a bit of a social pariah there - but he was never-theless grateful for what they'd done.

Now, moving around the table, he extended his arms to Fred. She looked away, still shy about contact with others after her years alone in the cave, but she wrapped her thin arms around him and squeezed the demon tightly. When she sat down again, Angel noticed that her cheeks were crimsoning but her beaming smile was genuine.

He watched Lorne work the table, clasping hands with Gunn, shaking Wesley's in a more traditional fashion, as befitted the occasionally stuffy British ex-Watcher, and felt enveloped in a rare cloud of peace and comfort. As a unique individual, a vampire with a soul, Angel was never fully at home in the world of light or darkness. He couldn't walk in the sun with humans, but it had become his calling to do battle against others of his kind: vampires, demons, and night creatures who preyed upon humans. Most of the people whose lives he saved remained ignorant of the threat that waited for them in the dark hours. So Angel was a stranger to both, caught between two worlds with a foot in each, and only really at rest with the people seated around this table, his surrogate family. And, of course, here at Caritas, where all demons were accepted and the rules, strictly observed, prohibited any kind of combat between them.

Caritas had been trashed by their reentry from Pylea in Angel's GTX - the portal had deposited the car right in the middle of the club - but Lorne had rebuilt it, better and brighter than before. Arches behind the bar held glass shelves containing fluids of every description, including many that humans never sampled. Carefully placed spotlights reflected off the tabletops so rainbow-hued beverages seemed to glow from within. The Host was justifiably proud of his renovation, and the party tonight had been intended to show it off, Angel suspected, as much as to express his appreciation for the group's efforts.

Finally Lorne stopped in front of Angel, who rose from his seat to embrace the green-skinned Pylean. "The place looks great," Angel said sincerely. "Really."

"Thanks, sugar buns," Lorne replied. Angel had learned long ago not to make anything of the Host's somewhat over-the-top endearments. "I couldn't have done it without-well, you know, without your driving your car through and wrecking it in the first place," Lorne continued. "But the end result is definitely worth it, I think."

"Yeah," Angel agreed. The club really did look spectacular. He glanced toward the stage, where Mif'tal was wrapping up his Madonna song. "You going to read him?"

Lorne was an anagogic demon - he could read the auras of anyone who sang in his presence. But he shook his head. "Mif'tal knows his path. He just comes to sing."

The crowd broke into applause as the Nemchuk ended the song and took a deep bow.

"You're on again."

"I'm always on, Angel," Lorne said. His usual smile vanished, and he was serious for a moment, staring into Angel's eyes. "You did me a solid, Jackson. Anything I can do for you, anytime, you know all you have to do is say the word, right?"

"I know," Angel said, certain the demon would live up to that promise. "I appreciate it."

Lorne turned on the smile again, neon-brilliant. "Duty calls." He started back toward the stage. "But you're off-duty tonight," he tossed back over his shoulder. "Relax, drink up, enjoy the show."

The room burst into honest applause when the Nemchuk finished his number, and as Lorne took the microphone from the demon's sharp-clawed hand the spotlight settled on him. He opened his mouth to speak, but in the hushed moment before he could get a word out, a muffled boom sounded from outside the club. Lorne's smile vanished.

Bedlam reigned.

"What's that?" someone shouted. Other voices joined in, creating a chaotic chorus. Demons leaped to their feet, rushing toward the exit.

"We're under attack!"

"An explosion!"

"A bomb!"

Angel didn't think it was an attack-the doors to Caritas weren't kept locked during business hours, so if anyone did have it in mind to attack the place, they wouldn't tip their hand by exploding a bomb outside. But it did sound like an explosion of some kind. Angel had had enough experience with thos - one had very nearly taken Wesley's life, and another ally, Doyle, had been lost to a bomb's blast - to be nervous about the demons dashing outside without knowing what might await them. He tried to shout over the din, but his warnings went unheard.

Unable to prevent the club-goers from running outside, Angel decided the next best thing was to join them. He shoved his way through the throng - demons of every shape, size, and description, in varying stages of panic or curiosity, all pushing toward the single exit. But even among these creatures, Angel's reputation was well known, and they let the vampire pass.

Outside, the world was fiery pandemonium.