**********

At first Doyle didn't pay much attention to the phone ringing in his mother's bedroom, but when she made no move to go pick it up he rose from his seat, and she gave him a grateful glance. Her feet were propped up on the sofa, swollen after the day's work.

"Doyle."

"Is that you?"

The sound of Wesley's voice immediately made Doyle pay more attention. "Speaking. What's going on?"

"I need you to come over here."

Doyle leaned back, relaxing. "I'm thinking what with your family and this big closet of yours, that's not such a good idea."

"I don't think any of that matters right now." Wesley took a deep breath. "My sister is pregnant with a demon."

No longer relaxed, Doyle asked, "Come again?"

"She's pregnant with a demon."

"What kind of demon?" The most important question to be asked, after all.

"I don't know. *She* doesn't know. That's what I'm trying to find out, but it's really chaotic around here. I need you."

"You're better with that sort of thing than I am, but if you need a hand to hold..."

"Yes, please."

In spite of it all, Doyle grinned. He knew Wesley could handle a dozen demon pregnancies if need be, but family was never that simple. He noted down he hotel address Wesley gave him and promised, "I'll be coming as soon as possible."

After hanging up, he went back into the living room, where Maureen was still resting her feet. She watched him enter, and it was clear she had heard his part of the conversation.

"I hate abandoning you, mum," he said, giving her a quick peck, "but I'm needed in England, now."

"Demon problems?"

He grimaced. "Demon pregnancy."

Her eyes widened, and she took her feet off the sofa and stood up. "I'm coming with you."

"I'm not so sure..."

"You'll be needing someone who knows about these things. I'm sure Wesley knows his job, but I doubt he's been pregnant."

"Well..." Doyle tried to come with more arguments, but the thought of a pregnant Wesley was just too much for him. His lips began to curl. Besides, she was right. Having given birth to a part-demon child doubtlessly was a great merit in this case. "Fine, then."

She nodded and went to the stairs, hauling out her suitcase from the space below. It pleased Doyle that she was so casual about it. He didn't know Wesley's sister or if it was likely that she had gotten herself in serious trouble, but it was good to know that even if she had, things could work out okay.

**********

The hotel was top brass, and Doyle felt uneasy going inside. He was used to Wesley picking places that fitted his wallet rather than his class, and for once the jokes about their different backgrounds became more than that. Fortunately Maureen was a lot less sensitive to those sorts of things.

"Can I help you?" the receptionist asked, looking as if she'd like to add a "find the door" to that sentence. Maureen straightened up to her full height, and even let her heels lift a little from the floor.

"We're here to see Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, please."

Her accent caused the receptionist's frown to deepen, and by the look she gave Doyle he could have sworn she was expecting bombs. With a surly twist of her mouth, she turned to check the room number, and then picked up the phone.

"He isn't in," she said after a minute or two, hanging up.

"Well, can you try Elizabeth Wyndham-Pryce?"

The receptionist picked up the phone again. "I meant to ask you if I should."

That was an obvious lie, but Doyle didn't care. This time she apparently got an answer.

"Miss Wyndham-Pryce, this is the reception desk, there are some... people... here to see you. Should I send them up?"

She turned back to the two of them and asked, "Names?"

"Doyle. Maureen and Francis Doyle."

"Maureen and Francis Doyle," she repeated into the phone, not too thrilled at the sound of their names. "Are you sure? Well, thank you then, miss." She hung up. "You can go up. It's 527."

"Thank you," Doyle said, and only to tick her off he gave her a radiant smile before heading for the lifts. Once there, he leaned against the wall and shook his head. "What a hag!"

"Mind your language."

"It's this whole place, really. I never thought about Wes as being..."

"Frankie." She gave him a very stern look. "This isn't about you."

That was true of course, but he still wished he could have had a drink before heading there. Jesus, it had been months since he so much as poured himself a scotch, and yet he kept longing for one, knowing exactly what it would taste like. If he'd had a chance to go to a bar before coming here... He shook those thoughts away. It was too late now, anyway.

His mum knocked on the door, and he wondered while he waited what this Bess would be like. Like the receptionist downstairs? But Wes had claimed to love her, so she was probably sweet and awkward like him. Probably devastated now, the poor girl. Then Wesley opened the door, stared at Maureen for a second and then let them both in. His hair was messy and his glasses had slid down, but he seemed more frustrated than worried.

A young girl rose from an armchair behind him, and Doyle gave her a quick assessment. Tall, dark-haired girl with Frida Kahlo eyebrows. Her body was better looking than her face - a bit plump perhaps, but with curves to make up for it. There was nothing about her that screamed "Wesley's sister"; only the expression on her face matched his.

"Hello," she said, giving a smile that tried to be friendly. "I'm Bess. I take it you're Wesley's friends?"

"That's right. I'm Doyle, and this is Maureen, my mum."

She shook their hands and then turned back to her brother, asking with an exasperated sigh, "Well, now they're here. Can we talk about this like adults now?"

Wes sat down on the bed, gesturing for the others to do the same. "I thought we were talking like adults."

She rolled her eyes. "Not arguing isn't the same as talking like adults. That would have to include you actually admitting the fact that I *am* an adult and capable of making my own decisions without your books and calculations. I don't need them to know I want to stay with Raja. But if you're actually willing to listen to me, then sure, I'm willing to talk."

Doyle's eyebrows flew up, and he gave Wesley a startled glance that passed unnoticed.

"Bess, all I'm saying is that if we knew his species, we would be more likely to..."

"Time out!" Maureen had suddenly raised her voice, held a hand up against Wesley and turned to Bess. "Is this a wanted pregnancy?"

The question apparently took Bess by surprise, and it took a moment before her mouth curved into a smile that made her features more like Wesley's. "Well, I didn't exactly plan it this way, but yes. It most certainly is."

"You didn't say anything about that," Maureen told Doyle.

"*He* didn't say anything about that!"

Wesley frowned. "I didn't?"

"No, you didn't. So all this is about your sister having a demon boyfriend? Not that I don't understand your concern, but did that whole proverb about the pot and the kettle never strike you?"

"What?" Bess said, puzzled, but she had no chance to enter the conversation.

"It's not that I don't trust her judgment," Wesley explained in a patient tone that suggested he had said the same thing to Bess before, "but I'd feel a lot better knowing whether or not this was a benign species."

"I'm thinking the main question is if the bloke himself is benign," Doyle said. A demon of a benign species had once threatened to eat his brain after all, and on the other end of the scale there was Angel, a vampire but himself annoying at worst. "Have you met him?"

"Well, he hasn't showed up for a family dinner quite yet, but I'm sure it'll be a thrill when that happens."

Bess actually started to snicker at this, although Doyle wasn't sure why. He was grateful when his mother interrupted the potential chaos by turning to Bess and asking, "Does he have any body parts other than the usual?"

This sobered up Bess, who looked very surprised but answered right away, "Wings. He has big black wings."

This caught Doyle's attention, and he could see Wesley reacted the same way. Wings were unusual in demons and indicated great power - but whether it was power for good or for evil was impossible to tell. Maureen, however, had no experience in demonology and chose the practical aspect.

"That could cause some trouble if the baby gets them too. You might need a Caesarean, although I don't know who I'd trust to perform it."

There was a short moment of shock, as everyone contemplated this rather unpleasant thought. After a while a grin spread over Bess's face, and Doyle wholeheartedly agreed with her. Who would have thought his mum would be so perceptive? Then he realised why she knew so much about demon labour and grimaced. Good thing those spikes had shown up so late.

"He has promised to sing the baby into existence," said Bess with a surprisingly sweet smile. Maureen's comment seemed to have broken the ice. "That's the way it's done among his kind. He's been married five times, and he says it works like a charm." She knitted those thick eyebrows together. "Actually, I suppose it is a charm."

"He's been married five times and that doesn't tell you something?" Wesley said.

"It tells me he's an incredibly faithful creature," she said, "considering that he's eight hundred years old. I'd be more worried if he had never been married."

Talk about older men, Doyle thought, but another concern was more pressing, "He hasn't asked you to eat their brains, has he?" At everyone's peculiar glances he added, "See, my ex-wife was going to marry this demon, and part of the ritual was that he should eat my brains, so..."

Bess started laughing hysterically. She sank down into the chair with her hand in front of her mouth and shook her head. "I'm sorry. It's just...." New spasms of laughter shook her body. "And you obviously survived it."

"Actually, he did eat them," Doyle deadpanned. "I'm going on autopilot these days."

Bess laughed even harder, and Wesley stared incredulously at his lover.

"And I thought I knew everything about you."

"Oh, I keep my secrets. Are you okay over there?"

Tears were now coming from Bess's eyes. She wiped them away and nodded, still laughing. "Yes. And nobody will be eating anybody's brains. Raja is a vegetarian and a firm believer in ahimsa."

That slowed Wesley down for the first time, and even though Doyle couldn't remember whether ahimsa was rebirth or non-violence, he was comforted by the "vegetarian" part.

"Are you sure?" Wesley asked in a low voice. Apparently he had heard none of this before.

"Quite sure. And since you're finally showing some interest for my version of all this, I can inform you that he's basically just a strange-looking guy with a saxophone and a love for popcorn. And I'm not the only one saying that. So did the bartender at The Blood Red Note, and my friend Sheila, and practically everyone who was there that first night I heard him playing 'Do Right Woman, Do Right Man'. Sheila even called him soft. Granted, that's coming from a Freyan Cat, but still."

"Freyan Cat?" Doyle asked, recalling an occurrence during his wilder years. "Not one of those golden feline-looking demons who make Michelle Pfeiffer look like a hag?"

"The same," Bess said, but she was looking at Wesley, who was looking back with quite a calmer expression than before.

"You checked him up."

"Of course I did." She sounded vaguely amused, but her eyes were serious. "I may not be a Watcher, but I'm not an idiot. Do you really think I'd run headfirst into something like this? Not to mention now?" Her hand moved automatically to her belly. "Do you think I'd take that sort of risk with a child? Find out too late that 'golly, your father is a royal bastard, let's live with him anyway'? I'd rather have Raja sacrificing me to Kali."

"Oh, Bess." Wesley rose from the bed and took the few steps to her chair, uncertainly taking her in his arms. "I'm sorry. I was trying to... I don't know what I was trying to do."

"You were trying to control this," she said into his shoulder. "You bastard." But it was said as a term of endearment.

By now, Doyle and Maureen were both quietly listening to the exchange, and Doyle smiled a little at the last comment. He'd never had to experience Wesley in Watcher mood, since he'd made it clear from the start that he could run his own life, but it wasn't as if he hadn't witnessed that obsessive need to be in charge of the situation. He wondered if Wesley recalled that they had stood on the other side of this kind of discussion - and still could, as far as Wesley's family was concerned.

"All right," Wesley said, letting go of his sister. "I trust you. But just out of curiosity, what species is he?"

"I told you I don't know." At his disbelieving look she added, smiling, "Indian demons don't organise in species, just in..."

"...Castes," he filled in with her. "Of course. So, what caste is he?"

"Gandharva."

This didn't tell Doyle anything, but Wesley looked stunned. "But they're some sort of minor deities, aren't they?"

"Celestial musicians," she corrected. "In other words, he's a saxophone player."

Wesley sat down, shaking his head with an amused look on his face. Doyle nudged him in the side and grimaced for him to explain the situation.

"Think of it this way: her boyfriend is from a caste full of people like Lorne."

Doyle narrowed his eyes and pondered that. "Somehow I fail to find this scary."

**********

It took a while before Bess had told enough facts to temporarily satisfy her brother, and when that was done, no one seemed to know what to do. Everything had happened so suddenly the night before, and they hadn't even been able to get a change of clothes. Wesley was used to being too caught up in work to have time to change, but Bess hated it, and walked around the room whining about it until Wesley could stand it no longer.

"Can't you think of something more constructive than complaining to do?"

She stopped in her tracks, looking very thoughtful. "Do you think there's any chance we could sneak into the house and collect a few things?"

"Depends. Would father have gotten rid of the spells by now?"

They shared knowing looks, and Bess shrugged. "I really need some decent clothes, Wes, I'm not joking."

"What you're wearing isn't decent?"

"All right, then I need some indecent clothes. Don't you?"

Wesley grimaced, thinking of the suitcase he had left in his parents' home. And just as things had begun to go back to normal somewhat. It seemed that instead of solving this marital mess, finding clothes for the next day had suddenly moved up to priority number one. "I suppose."

"How about you and I go shopping?" Maureen asked Bess. "The boys can... have a chat while we're out. Save the world and all that."

"Shouldn't I go with you, since I need clothes too?" Wesley asked.

Doyle kicked him hard in the shin. "I'm sure Bess can pick out just as awful clothes as you can."

"Coming from you, that's truly rich."

Doyle only smirked at this insult, and Wesley lost himself in those sparkling eyes, barely even noticing the women leave. When the door slammed, he looked up, confused.

Doyle was still smirking, and went up to the door, opening it again to put the "Do not disturb" sign on the handle.

"What..."

Wesley found himself being shoved down on the bed.

"Slow reactions," Doyle chided, unbuttoning Wesley's shirt.

"Doyle!" Wesley protested. "Your mother left just a minute ago!"

"And why do you think she did that?"

His eyes widened. "She didn't. She wouldn't."

Teeth brushed his skin. Doyle mumbled something that sounded like, "Even good Catholic women have a naughty streak."

Wesley had a very hard time imagining that. "What about Bess?" Not that Bess didn't have a naughty streak. It just didn't involve even considering the thought of two men in bed. Then again, she had changed a lot since she was little. She could look him in the eye, for one thing.

"I'm sure mum will fill her in on the situation."

Wesley groaned, but it was too late to do anything about that now, and he really wanted this as much as Doyle did. He gave up and made to help with the mutual undressing.

"I do believe I have hand lotion in the pocket of my jacket," he said.

"What a total ponce you are," Doyle said, and somehow it was all right when he was the one saying it. "Hand it over."

"Oh no, I'm not giving it to *you*."

Doyle rolled his eyes and threw himself down on the narrow bed so violently it almost made Wesley fall off. "Take me now," he pleaded melodramatically.

"Try to be serious for one minute."

"How about being not-serious for a minute? How much chance for that are we gonna get in the middle of this mess?"

And of course he had a point. Wesley bent down, letting his mouth run over Doyle's stomach while he took off his trousers. The stomach jumped under his touch.

"Stop laughing."

"Can't."

Wesley shook his head. He continued with the trousers and then moved down to the shoes. Meanwhile, Doyle waited, running his hands over Wesley's body until he could bring them back to the clothes. The undressing was slow, yet the playful mood remained.

Wesley didn't want to leave, even for a second, but his jacket hung on a hook by the door, and so he slowly untangled himself from Doyle to get the lotion. When he returned, he was met by a wide grin, and he punched Doyle lightly in the stomach.

"Shut up."

"I didn't say anything."

"No, but you were thinking."

"You want me to shut up my thinking?"

Wesley laughed, kissing those pale shoulders. "Yes. I want you to shut up your thinking."

Doyle accepted this with a light shrug, and then relaxed completely as Wesley turned him on his stomach. It made him awfully heavy for someone so slender. Wesley accepted it as a sign of trust, running his hands over the resting body. He still caressed Doyle's back by the time he started pushing in, and he kept his hands there slightly longer than was really safe.

"Wesley..." Doyle was breathing harder now, but the warning in his voice was unmistakable, and Wesley obediently moved his hands to the mattress.

The next moment spines broke through the green skin of Doyle's shoulder blades. The thrill of this as always increased Wesley's own pleasure, and his climax followed shortly after.

As soon as it was safe again, he lay down, covering Doyle's body with his own. He sighed deeply. "I'm glad we did this."

**********

They were discussing ways to get Bess out of the country when someone knocked on the door. Doyle went to open it and Wesley's frown made him hesitate a moment too late. Whoever was on the other side was forcing the door open the instant it was unlocked. He realised then that Bess had a key, and the maid would keep out as long as the sign stayed on the door. He found himself looking into the face of a very angry man.

"Who the hell are you?"

Something in the rude arrogance of that voice rang a bell, and Doyle glanced quickly back at Wesley. Judging from his frozen expression, this man was exactly who Doyle thought it was.

"My name's Doyle." He tried to sound casual. "I believe we've spoken on the phone."

Edward stared at him in contempt, but only for a split second before brushing him aside and entering the room.

"Where is she?"

"She's not here." Wesley's voice was low but steady. For a moment Doyle noticed that his hands were shaking, but then he crossed his arms over his chest and you couldn't see it anymore.

"This is her room isn't it?"

"It is. But she's currently out."

Edward huffed at him and opened the door to the bathroom, pushing the shower curtain aside. Even though he knew no one was in there, Doyle gave Wesley a startled look. He half expected Edward to start chanting "Fee fi fo fum". Across the hallway he could see some other people lifting off the door that led to Wesley's room. He decided not to alert Wesley to their presence. Things were strange enough as it was.

"She's not here," Edward accused Wesley once he had checked the wardrobe as well. No girl of Bess's size could hide in there with any success, but apparently logic wasn't his best friend.

"That's what I said." By now, even the crossed arms didn't stop Wesley from shaking, and Doyle wondered if he was quite aware that Edward wasn't actually a giant.

"Where is she, then? Out with that demon while you bring some Irish tramp to... *what*!?"

The last was directed at the people currently entering from the corridor. There were three of them, all looking like they came straight out of an Oxford library, and the last was a woman carrying Wesley's suitcase. Or at least it looked like Wesley's suitcase. Doyle frowned.

"She's not in the other room," one of the men said. "We set up the spell in case she brings him here."

Edward sighed. "Set it up here too."

"Hang on!" Wesley protested, but the woman had already taken a small bag from her pocket and started shaking out something on the floor.

Doyle got a smell of sulphur, but then it faded out along with everything else as a shock sent him flying backwards. He hit his head on something - the coat hooks? - and fought the urge to throw up. Colours swirled around his eyes. Through them he saw Edward punch Wesley, and tried to stand up to do something about it. His ears hummed, and he could hear very little of the yelling going on, but the repetitive "demon" was clear enough. Again, Edward raised his hand, but this time Wesley caught his father's arm and twisted, locking it behind his back. He pushed his father to the door and the other men in front of him, and on the way said something to the woman. Doyle tried to listen past the humming and nausea. "...friend... reverse..." She bent down, hurriedly collecting the smelly dust. The electricity went away so quickly Doyle's headache increased with double force and made him throw up, right as Wesley returned inside.

"Feeling better?" Wesley asked, resting his hand on the back of Doyle's head. A minute ago he had kicked three men out of the room, but now he sounded sweeter than a summer day. His cheek was already changing colour, and by tomorrow he'd have quite a shiner.

"Yeah," Doyle replied, not daring to nod. He blinked. "What the hell happened?"

"It was an anti-demonic spell, but we reversed it."

"I'm so sorry," the young woman said. "It wasn't directed at you. Wesley explained how you're an old friend and not involved in any of this."

He smiled at her, although the vomit stains took away some of the charm. "It's okay. That part I had figured out." He turned back to Wesley. "Your da. Is he always that intense?"

The pain in Wesley's eyes spoke plenty, but he only said, "Yes."

Doyle wanted to hold him tight and safe from harm, but cleaning up first might be a good idea. The woman probably sensed that she was superfluous, because she stood up and moved for the door. "My car keys?"

Wesley dug in his pocket and handed them to her. "Thanks for bringing me my things."

"No problem."

Then she was gone, and Doyle managed to stand up straight.

"I'm sorry I messed up your trousers." He didn't say *and that your father is such an arse*, but that was what he meant, and why his fingers moved to Wesley's cheekbone right away.

"Worse things happen."

"Is he coming back?"

Wesley suddenly became very interested in the ceiling. "Do you remember when you first moved in with me?"

"No, actually, that slipped my mind," Doyle replied sarcastically, but the next moment he realised what Wesley was trying to say and all attempts at humour disappeared. Wesley had warned him very clearly back then. "Tell me he didn't."

"He won't be back. Not for me anyway. And I do suspect Bess can find herself crossed off the family tree as well."

"But he can't prove we're sleeping together!"

The low laughter was almost unbearable. "I'm consorting with demons, whether you take it in the literal or social sense, and members of the council saw it. What he can prove or not is irrelevant."

"But that's not fair."

"Life's not fair. Anyone who says differently..." Wesley silenced and finally took his eyes off the ceiling. They were surprisingly dry. He sighed and pressed his fingertips together. "You have to know that by now."

Doyle stared at him helplessly, unable to even argue. Obviously, this was true, but it was a bit easier to take when it came from greedy strangers and anonymous higher powers. It shouldn't come from your family. The worst part was that Wesley couldn't even get angry about it. He didn't know what to do about it, and Doyle could hardly tell Wesley to be angry with his father, even if it would do any good.

"We should get out of these clothes," he said, focusing on a problem he could do something about. He didn't actually mean it as a sexual suggestion.

"May I remind you that this is my sister's room and that she might return at any time?"

"He did an anti-demon spell on her, right? So she'll understand."

"Oh, she'll understand all right," Wesley muttered.

**********

Doyle managed to insult every piece of Wesley's clothing before he finally agreed to wear a sweatshirt and a pair of black jeans while his own clothes were soaked in the bathtub.

"This looks ridiculous," he said, indicating the somewhat too long pants.

"At least I don't buy clothes with moth holes," Wesley pointed out.

"No moth with any self respect would touch your clothes with a twenty foot pole."

Wesley was about to answer when someone knocked lightly on the door, so he settled for gesturing to Doyle whathe thought of his comment. Before either of them had time to go to the door, Bess opened it from outside and came in. Instead of her cotton dress she now wore jeans and a tight V-neck top under the classy coat. She also carried two plastic bags, and Maureen, following her, had one.

"Here we are!" Bess said, looking a lot happier in this outfit. "We've bought plenty of clothes..." She stopped when she got a good look at them. "Although it seems we didn't have to." She frowned at Doyle. "Why on earth are you wearing *that*?"

"I puked on my own clothes."

"Father was here," Wesley explained. "Along with some watchers. They set up a... spell."

"Anti-demonic?" Bess said with a sympathetic grimace, and Maureen cried out in surprise.

"Frankie! Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, mum. She reversed it."

"She who?"

"Lydia," Wesley filled in. "She was the one who brought the clothes as well."

"Well, good for her," Bess said. "Oh, and by the way, I am going to *kill* you for chiding me like that when you're seeing a demon same as I am."

Wesley stared at her. Whatever reaction he had expected, this wasn't it.

"You're okay with it?" he asked cautiously.

"Does 'I am going to kill you' strike you as synonymous to 'I am okay with it'?"

"Yes, actually."

She grinned at him. "Well, you're the linguistic expert. Oh, for goodness sake, close your mouth. I'm not a little girl anymore. There are some *really* freaked out pervs in the clubs I go to, so a little gay demon-loving isn't going to get my prude side up."

"What are you doing at clubs like that?"

She crossed her arms and scowled at him. He scowled back.

"Is that where you met Raja? I might have to reevaluate my opinion on him."

"You don't *have* an opinion on him. You haven't even met him. All you have is prejudice. It just happens to be positive prejudice. And as for the club, it's not like demons have church socials."

"No, but humans do, and quite frankly, human girls attending demon clubs are usually groupies who... oh my goodness." That was one mental image he could definitely do without.

She seemed very amused at his grimace.

"I didn't go to pick up demons. It was interesting... exciting. Usually I'd leave with whatever human girl in high heels I could find. The clubs are violence free - well, unless you like violence - but outside isn't. I always wore trainers, so I'd be the one running faster."

Wesley groaned and covered his eyes. "I'm not sure I want to hear this." Looking up again, he added. "But you obviously survived."

This took the smile off her face. "I was in serious trouble once, but Sheila broke his neck. After she had sex with him."

"Do they all do that?" Doyle muttered.

Wesley happened to know that they did. Freyan Cats were dangerous creatures, but he couldn't deny that a woman would be quite safe in their company.

"And these days I'm protected." Bess held up her hand. There was a dull metal bracelet around her waist. "Property of a demon. And these spells don't lie. So I'm not worried anymore."

"I am," Wesley said frankly. The more he heard about all this, the less he wanted to. Bess certainly wasn't some silly wannabe who attended demon clubs to get in touch with some ridiculously romanticised dark powers. She was too well-educated in demonology not to know that her pastimes were insanely dangerous, and so she was quite like a person putting her head in a crocodile's mouth just because someone had told her not to.

"I have a thought," Doyle said. "Why don't we go to the place, check out your boyfriend, and make sure everything is all right?"

"You can't do that. Make someone mad in there and once you get out they'll kill you." It was Wesley she was looking at when she said this, not Doyle. "You may not be their primary target, but it's still not safe without demon protection."

"Well, I happen to be one - half one, anyway." Doyle blinked towards Wesley. "Maybe we could get you one of those bracelets."

"We'll need two," Maureen pointed out.

Wesley stared at her, having half forgotten that she was in the room. Judging by the others' expressions, he wasn't the only one. Bess's eyebrows flew up, and Doyle looked absolutely horrified.

"Mum, that's such a bad idea I can't even tell you how bad it is."

"I don't see why. You could use someone there with a bit of judgment. And I could be protected by those bracelets as well as Wesley."

"That was a joke. Nobody's scared of a half-breed. Wesley can hold his own, but you've never fought a demon in your life." He suddenly paled considerably. "I mean, except..."

"That hardly qualifies as fighting." Maureen sighed. "I suppose you're right. I would have preferred going with you."

"You couldn't have gone with them, because they're not going!" Bess protested. "This is ridiculous. Raja isn't even playing tonight."

"So, when is he playing?" Wesley asked, knowing that she was ready to fold. If the demon club was safe enough for her, it was certainly safe enough for an ex-Watcher and a demon halfbreed. She was simply stalling, and now she gave up even that.

"Tomorrow night."

"Excellent. That should give us some time for preparations."

"Don't worry," Doyle added. "We'll be wearing trainers."

*********<*BR>

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