just fic


Title: Shadow Of The Beast
Author: Chelle
Posted: 01-23-2004
Email:
Rating: NC17
Category: Angst
Content: C/A
Summary: This is Beauty and the Beast C/A style
Spoilers: None. This fic is almost AU
Disclaimer: The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.
Distribution: Just Fic
Notes: Angel left Sunnydale in Season One (Buffy was unable to see past the vampire, think the way she saw Spike) Cordelia knows the Scoobies and a little of who and what they are (just as other students in their town do), but she was never a part of them. Wesley did come to Sunnydale for a while as a replacement for Giles when he was fired, but left soon after. And in this story, there was never a gypsy curse.
Feedback: Sure
Thanks/Dedication:


Part 1

Cordelia Chase stared out of the rain splattered cab window into the dark night, her stomach twisted into knots. This was her last chance, her last hope to save her dad from the mess he had created for himself, as well as his family. If only there were another way, another option. But she knew there wasn’t. She had exhausted all of her father’s resources, practically begged any and all of his former business contacts for their help. It was no surprise really that she had found no support, no one willing to risk themselves for a man who had fallen prey to the most deplorable state amongst his set. Poverty.

Her eyes focused themselves on the large drops of rain that had settled onto the glass beside her, watching as each one weaved a crooked path across the smooth surface before sinking down and disappearing into the dirty, black void. No matter where they landed, or what path they took, each one was doomed to slide down , pulled from below by a force of nature beyond their control. She felt like that. As if no matter what path she took or how hard she fought to pull things back up again, laying in wait just below her was some omnipotent force of nature, tugging her heart and soul toward some black void, whispering for her to give up, surrender her mission to try and save her father, and herself.

She closed her eyes as she thought about the way she had acted just months earlier when he first broke the news of their ‘situation’. They were in debt, had been for the better part of a year. So, he had explained, for almost her entire Senior year, he had been gradually borrowing money in order to keep them all in the ‘state of which they had become accustomed’. It had started out simple enough, a small amount here for a car payment, a minute amount there for the lodge dues and her mother‘s weekly spa visit. But over the course of almost a year the small amounts had turned into one whale of a sum. Three-hundred fifty-two thousand one-hundred and eighty-four dollars to be exact.

Cordelia had just stood quietly at first, college forms in hand, as he explained to her why she would be unable to go to any school, much less the very expensive, private, far away from Sunnyhell one that had accepted her. But as soon as his confession ended , her anger flared and she tossed the useless papers in his face, ranting and raving about how he had ruined her life, destroyed any chance she’d ever have at a normal, safe existence. Little did she know at that moment just how right she had been.

In the few weeks that followed, she and her father had slipped into a tense silence, while her mother slowly distanced herself from them both, eventually packing her bags and leaving for New York, her childhood home. Cordelia really wasn’t surprised. Her mother had always made it quite clear that she had married her father for money. She had never really wanted the ‘family life’ or at least not one that included children. She had let that fact slip out in one of she and Cordelia’s many disagreements. It had hurt when her mother voiced it, even though Cordelia had been intuitive enough to guess it early on. Even when Cordelia was just a small child, her mother had exuded a coldness, a detachment from her husband and child.

Her dad had tried to make up for her emotionally absent mother by spoiling Cordelia rotten, thinking that the things that made her mother squeal and brag and pledge her undying affection to him, would in some way have the same affect on his daughter. But, although Cordy had an appreciation for nice clothes and good taste, the tangible gifts of love had had the opposite affect on her, making her feel disconnected from her father by proving the fact that he didn’t know her at all. She wasn’t like her mother, she was like him. The way he used to be. A man who loved horses and art. Who hid his great intelligence behind an even greater sense of charm and charisma. Or at least that is who she had always wanted to be, had tried to be in her youth.

But soon she grew to know another side of her father, one that pushed and climbed to the top of his company, using any means possible to reach his goals of power and wealth. That was a side she didn’t want to know, didn’t want to be.

She loved her father. She even loved her mother in the only way she had been allowed - from a distance. And as the days past and their tense silence eased, she had learned to forgive her father for what he had done, feeling great pity for him as he apologized daily for the direction in which he had turned their lives.

Finally, Cordelia forced herself to grow up a little, accept her fate and move on. She vowed that she would make something of her life. Not going to school and being broke wasn’t a death sentence, just a delay. She would make her own way in the world. But not before she helped her father. So, one night after he had fallen asleep, or passed out from the increasing and ritual amounts of alcohol he seemed to be consuming, she snuck into his office, knowing that he kept meticulous records on everything. After a few hours of rummaging through the boxes of files that were packed and ready to move, she found what she was looking for. Folding the piece of paper, she stuck it into the pocket of her silky robe and quietly shut the door, taking her time as she made her way slowly back to the room she could call hers for three more days, every step worrying over just what she would say to the man who had loaned her father so much money.

Cordelia shivered at the memory of what had happened the next day, the meeting with the ‘thing’ her father had borrowed from.

“Almost there, Miss,” the cab driver offered over his shoulder as he waited on the light in front of him to change. “Just a couple blocks now.”

Cordelia reached down and opened her purse, counting the small amount of money she had left. It had been a fairly long ride from the bus depot. At least longer than she had expected and she was beginning to wonder if she would have enough to pay the fare as she glanced up to the front seat, watching the meter tick away. Closing the purse, she held it in her lap, clutching the only thing, besides the clothes on her back, that she owned.

Looking out of the window again, she said a silent thank you for the rain. Surely Wesley would not turn her away in this. Not if he knew she had no where else to go. True he had warned her away, told her that the things she had heard about the vampire were untrue, that if she came she would be in danger. But she was already in danger and her father was in the claws of the monster she had so shamelessly begged for lenience, asking him, or it, to extend the length of the loan and allow her father more time to repay his debt.

She had meant to help, had pledged to him that she herself would take over the debt, pay it in full in the years to come. He simply answered her pleas with a sinister smile and in that moment Cordelia knew she had made a mistake. Little had she suspected that this demon would fixate on her, capture her father and torture him, vowing that he would do so for the rest of the man’s mortal days or until the debt was paid in full. Unless, of course, she wanted to take his place. The choice was hers, and just to show her that he wasn’t a complete monster, he would give her a week to decide her fate. The money or her life, for her father’s freedom.

She had four days left, the other three wasted on business contacts, so called friends and even Mr. Giles. None of which could or would help her. She couldn’t blame any of them really, especially not Giles. After all, he had been the one to tell her about Angel, the supposed vampire with a soul. Of course he had warned her just as Wesley had, telling her that his state of soul did not ensure that he was good. In fact, Giles had explained to her that since Angel had fled Sunnydale almost three years ago, the accounts of him were more dark than not. That he had been known to help a few humans, but that at best he was indifferent, uncaring about the human race, and at worst, a demon, in every sense of the word. Especially since Sunnydale, his first contact with humans in almost a hundred years, leaving him with a curse inadvertently placed on him by Willow.

With sympathy in his eyes, Giles had suggested then that it might be a better idea if she sought help from the Watcher’s Council, that he would have Buffy help her if she was not dealing with an apocalypse, that if successful, would render Cordelia’s attempt at saving her father irrelevant.

She hadn’t gotten to the part of the deal that included the trade, and when he mentioned an apocalypse she decided that it was best not to tell him. He would help her then and she didn’t want the burden of the world added to her shoulders. Nor did she want to pile onto the Slayer her family problems, as desperate as they were.

The cab stopped short at the corner of a dark and deserted road, causing Cordelia’s body to jerk slightly backward.

“It’s just there,” the cab driver pointed to a dark, massive building at the end of the street. It looked like some old hotel that in its prime might have been quite grand.

“Well?” Cordelia raised a brow impatiently. “Are we going or not?”

“I’m really sorry, Miss. This is as far as I go. This is as far as any cabbie or sensible person in L.A. will go. In case you haven’t noticed, that street’s like a ghost town, literally. I’ve only heard of a couple of people who have actually claimed to have gone down there at night. Junkies. Even so, the stories they tell…..are you sure this is where you want to go? There’s a real nice Econo on fifty-second. Take ya at no extra charge.”

Cordelia stared out of the window and down the dark empty street, feeling that sense of doom pulling at her again.

“Miss?”

“Huh?” she focused back on the driver.

“Are you sure this is the place?”

“I sure hope it is,” she answered and pulled what money she had left out of her purse.

Getting out of the car, she squared her shoulders and began the long walk down the street, her shoes splashing in the occasional puddle. The rain had stopped, allowing her to lift her head and study the other buildings as she passed by them. Each one was obviously empty and in disrepair, making the definition of ‘ghost town’ that the cab driver had given the street seem a perfect fit.

She wondered what had made Wesley come here. No one knew much about his life in L.A.. Just that he had left the Watcher’s Council for some unknown reason and now he resided in the towering building where, according to Giles, so did the vampire Angel. That bit of news had shocked her at first, having known Wesley, if only briefly, it just didn’t seem to fit. But, people change, as she was perfect proof. Maybe it was some kind of study, like a Watcher for vampires. Who knew? She was still getting used to all of this occult and supernatural stuff. It had been a real shocker last year to find out that all of the weird things she used to scream or laugh at in horror movies actually existed. And even more shocking to find out that the girl she had been so snarky to over the past three years was actually a superhero of sorts.

She wondered if the story Xander Harris had told her was true or if he was just trying to impress her as usual with his vicarious tells of his adventures as the Slayer‘s sidekick. It was obvious that Xander held no affection for Angel and openly admitted that he was glad that the ’curse’ had chased him away. He told her that Angel had come to Sunnydale with the pretense of helping the Slayer, never telling her what he really was. Xander supposed that it was a skillful but faulty plan to trick her into trusting one of them in order for them to learn the secrets of a Slayer. When Buffy found out, she was so upset, so disgusted with herself for being attracted to something that she was sworn to kill, that she asked Willow for help. Knowing that Buffy’s attraction to Angel was mostly physical, Willow, the fledgling Wicca, tried a spell that should have made it impossible for Buffy to see anything but Angel’s demonic face. The spell worked, all too well, and Angel was cursed to wear his vampiric face permanently, for not only Buffy, but all to see. Never again being able to appear as a human.

Eww. Vampires. She had seen a couple before. Living in Sunnydale and all. They weren’t a pretty sight. All bumps and fangs, with yellow eyes that glowed like a crazed animal. Well, it didn’t matter. It couldn’t. Angel was her last hope. No matter how difficult, she would be as civil as possible. And just maybe he would help her.

She was in front of the hotel before she realized it and raised her eyes to take in its full height, her heart skipping wildly in a moment of foreboding. It looked like something fit for monsters to live in. Perfect, she guessed, since that was just what she was looking for. Only a monster could defeat a monster.

She squinted and tried to focus on one of the dark balconies, swearing that for a moment she had seen, something, a shadow maybe, gone before she could decide if it was real or just her fear playing tricks on her. Walking up the steps, she noticed that the double glass doors that must have once served as a very attractive entrance, had been painted a deep black on the inside, blocking out prying eyes and, she suspected, the sun as well. She swallowed hard, banishing thoughts of what vampires looked like and what they ate for dinner, hoping that Wesley would be her ally in this quest, and, if need be, her protector.


Part 2

Wesley slowly walked to the blackened double doors as the persistent knock continued. It had taken him a moment to even register exactly what the sound was. It had been a long time since anyone had carelessly and unknowingly wandered down the lonely, abandoned street after dark. And usually those few that did never made it as far as the hotel before turning back, or running back that is. He remembered the night he had been one of those few, proclaiming himself a rogue demon hunter, daring to hunt down the mysterious creature that lived in the towering hotel.

Having read Mr. Giles’ accounts back in Sunnydale of the souled vampire and after adding his expertise and thoughts of probability to the debate of whether or not the vampire had been legitimately trying to help. His official opinion had been that the attempt had more likely been a trick, conjured up by the vampire who’s true name Wesley knew of, through the Watchers’ Archives, as Angelus.

After being placed on an indefinite leave without pay, or what most liked to call fired, from the Watchers Council for his inability to control his first Slayer, Buffy Summers, and the influence of her previous Watcher Rupert Giles, Wesley had vowed he would prove himself and his worth. Thus, taking on the burden of a lone demon hunter. His plan had been to travel the world, seeking out the demons he had only read about at the prestigious, yet secretive, school for Watchers in England. His first stop, Los Angeles, hub of some of the most evil in the United States.

He had some success at first, killing two vampires, a Krylock demon, and almost catching a Primethis Slug - very fast creatures despite their name. Then he found the dark and lonely street he soon would call home. He had heard of the area, of the whispered rumors of a creature that kept all living things away. Intending on a show of great heroism that was sure to win back the approval of the Council, Wesley armed himself, ready to capture or kill the being that seemed to terrify most in the city, or die trying.

He paused a moment before reaching the doors, thinking of how differently things could have turned out that night. He had intended on killing Angel, especially when he recognized the vampire from the drawings of Angelus he had studied in his days of training.

Slowly the ex-Watcher had crept inside of the ghostly domain, searching every room until the first rays of dawn were only minutes away, finally spotting his target. Feeling a sense of joy at finding one of the most legendary and feared vampires in history, Wesley had raised his crossbow as he entered the empty room on the top floor of the hotel, adrenaline pumping fast and hard through his veins.

But he never fired the bow that night. How could he? The beast he had sought out, the Scourge of Europe, the feared vampire Angelus, was not the being he saw perched on the highest balcony, eyes closed, face turned up to the eastern sky, waiting.

The image had thrown him so much, made him question his previous assessment of the situation in Sunnydale, that Wesley lowered his weapon.

“What are you waiting for?” Angel had asked, his voice filled with ache and sorrow, his eyes still closed as he remained as still as stone.

The insistent knocking roused Wesley from memories of the night that had changed his life and his beliefs of good and evil forever. Rubbing his tired eyes he reached out and unbolted the door, opening it just enough to see the unfortunate human, or enemy who stood beyond the painted glass.

“Cordelia?” Wesley peered out at his one time secret crush from Sunnydale.

Cordelia tried a bright smile as she stared through the small crack in the doorway at a man that barely resembled the handsome Englishman she had flirted with in passing at school. Gone were the glasses and stuffy suits, replaced by a face full of scruffy stubble and casual, wrinkled clothing. His once sharp, clear eyes now bloodshot and drooping with exhaustion.

He guessed that he should not have been surprised. He had not known the teenager very well, but he did remember her persistence when it came to getting what she wanted. “Did you understand anything I told you when you phoned last?”

“Hi, Wesley. It’s good to see you too,” she said it honestly.

“He won’t see you,” Wesley kept his stance stubbornly, the door remaining firmly more closed than open. “He doesn’t see anyone… on purpose,” the last two words trailed almost silently after the others.

“If he doesn’t help me, my dad will die, Wesley.”

Wesley’s gaze turned down, unable to look at the pleading desperation in her beautiful hazel eyes.

“Did you hear me, Wesley? Die.” She hoped that would be enough for him to let her in. Hoped that her entire story would never have to be revealed. Ashamed that she was too weak to immediately give up her own life to save that of someone she loved.

“I’m sorry, Cordelia,” he confessed, still unable to look at her. “Your father’s debts are owed to a very powerful being. I wish…..” he took a deep breath. He did wish that he could help, would if it were HER life on the line and not her father’s. But he wasn’t strong enough to face something that great alone and Angel had already given his answer. The vampire would never go back to Sunnydale, for anyone or anything, and in fairness to Angel, Wesley couldn’t fault him for that.

Wesley finally looked up at her, “I’m sorry,” he started to shut the door but before it could close, Cordelia shoved a stylishly heeled boot in the opening. “Wesley, I don’t have anywhere to go,” she tried again. “I’ve asked for help from everyone, anyone. You think I would come here first? This is my last choice, my last hope.”

Wesley just stared at her, unsure of what to do. Angel had already given his answer, but maybe if Wesley talked to him again, explained things a little better. And even if Angel was still unwilling to help her, maybe a phone call to Mr. Giles would help. The Slayer was strong and surely able to help her father out of his dilemma.

“I took a bus, a cab, have sold or lost everything I own, and now I’m ruining the best and only pair of boots I have,” she tried for snark since begging seemed to be lost on him. “Are you going to let me in or not?”

“Oh, sorry,” he looked down at the booted foot still holding open the door and stepped back, allowing her to slip inside.

Cordelia’s breath caught in her throat as she entered the lobby, a look of surprise on her face. It wasn’t grand, at least not compared to some of the hotels she had occupied in her young pampered life. And, although it had obviously been refurbished to a certain extent, it still had a long way to go. Even so, it was a contradiction to the face it wore on the outside. It was clean, well lit, warm and for some strange reason gave her a sense of security. As if as long as she were surrounded by it’s walls, no harm could come to her. She looked back at Wesley, who turned to her after bolting the door.

“I’m surprised,” she said.

“Surprised?” he asked as he passed her and walked toward a room off the lobby that looked like an office, Cordelia not far behind.

“I just didn’t expect it to look like this.”

“And how did you expect it to look?” he asked absently as he reached down to the lamp on his desk, turning off the light and gathering a few scattered and opened books.

Cordelia caught a falling book from his arms as they both exited the office. “Ya know. Cobwebs, candelabras, big pipe organ. It looked so dark and scary from the outside.”

“Yes, well. That was Gunn’s idea. No matter how much work we do on the inside, he insists that we do only the minimal repairs needed on the exterior, just enough to keep us from demolition or city inspectors, but not enough to attract unwelcome guests,” he cut his eyes to her at the words ‘unwelcome guests’ before continuing, “And of course all of the windows have been painted black, therefore, it isn’t surprising that you saw no light.”

Cordelia shivered at that explanation, the idea of just why the windows were blackened reminding her what else, besides the companion beside her, resided in the old building. “Who’s Gunn?” she asked more to give her mind another train of thought than out of real genuine interest.

“A friend,” was his simple, unelaborated answer.

“Does he live here too?”

“Yes.”

“So, there are two of you here then? With the vampire.”

“Actually, there are four of us, including Angel,” he answered again without elaboration, giving Cordelia the feeling that Wesley had no intentions of sharing any more information than what was absolutely necessary.

Noticing that they were heading in the direction of the massive staircase, Cordelia’s steps slowed, the courage that had been revved-up by the speech she had repeated to herself over and over during the bus ride to L.A., quickly fading from her memory. “Where are we going?” she could hear her heart thumping in her ears and willed herself to take a deep, calming breath.

Wesley turned and walked the few steps back that she had lagged. He looked at her wearily, “Cordelia, I will speak to Angel for you just before sunrise, I‘ll even call Mr. Giles tomorrow if the answer from Angel is still no. But it is late and I am very tired.”

“But I could just speak to him. Explain to him how important…..”

“He knows, Cordelia,” Wesley interrupted. “I relayed the entire situation to him and his answer was no. He won’t see you. He won’t see anyone apart from the people who reside in this hotel. And then it is only limited to a few brief moments, just before sunrise. It is the only time that any of us are allowed onto the top floor, the only time that any of us will go,” he stood and watched her face sink in defeat. “I’ll try,” his tone softened into an attempt at reassurance. He wanted to reach out and lay a comforting hand on her young shoulders that bore too large a burden on behalf of another. “Believe me, I will try. But if I am to be persuasive, I need rest. As I am sure you do as well,” he said sympathetically, his heart going out to her at the clear evidence in her eyes of the worry and fatigue her father had caused.

“I’ll put you close to Fred,” he said as he headed back for the stairs, expecting her to follow. When she did, he continued. “Don’t be alarmed. Angel never descends to the lower floors. One would never know that he was here if they weren’t initially informed of his presence,” he passed on the information as they reached the first landing and headed down the hall.

Stopping in front of one of the many doors, Wesley pulled out a key and turned the lock. The room was the size of a large bedroom, furnished only by a double bed and old chest.

“I’ll get Fred to bring you down some of her extra linens,” he stood in the doorway and watched as she entered the room cautiously, fingering the bare mattress and wondering how in the world she was supposed to be able to sleep with the knowledge that a vampire was loose in the building.

An awkward silence stretched on for a moment.

Feeling as if he should say more but unable to think of a word, Wesley stood just inside the room for another minute, “Try to get some rest,“ he said before reaching over and grasping the handle, closing the door softly. He hoped that Angel would help her, believing that the act might just be the thing to bring him closer to his cure.

***

He sat in the comfort of darkness, slouched in a corner of the barren room. Every sense, every cell, focusing on the foreign presence in the hotel. She had just entered the building, yet she was everywhere. He closed his amber eyes and lifted his head, breathing in the air, taking in the scent of the woman he had ordered not to come.

She was much more beautiful than Wesley had described. He had noticed that immediately as he leapt as quiet as death from rooftop to rooftop, following her as she bravely walked down the street. Watching her as the cab driver sped away before she had passed the first building. Coward.

When Wesley had first spoken to him of her problem, he had dismissed it as soon as it was revealed that her father was being held in Sunnydale. The beautiful façade of a town, hiding the gates of hell.

He gritted his jagged teeth as pain washed through him, memories of his first attempt at doing real good in the world filling his mind. He would never forget the young Slayer’s scream when his face briefly slipped into the image of the permanent monster he now was. He had stared in confusion at her for only a moment, surprised by the kiss she had given him, before realizing what had happened. Standing paralyzed he had watched as her face changed quickly from terror to disgust.

And why shouldn’t she have been disgusted?

He stood and began pacing the floor restlessly. He had tried once to help a beautiful young girl from Sunnydale, laid himself open to danger and destruction in order to keep her safe. And what did he get in return? A ‘no thanks’ in the form of a spell that kept him permanently in the shadows. That made sure he’d never approach a human again without the brand of what he was solidly in place.

He had thought to scare the beautiful brunette as she walked so purposefully down the dark street all alone. Terrify her into running back to Sunnydale, his mind already branding her a foolish kid for attempting personal contact with him. However, with each step she took down the deserted road, he realized that, although young, she was no kid. And certainly no fool.

She knew exactly what she was doing, what she was risking. Or at least she thought she did. He discerned that by the fear that radiated from her, the way her heart raced faster and faster the closer she came to the hotel. Yet she held herself regally, never giving a clue to the outside world of the fear that was eating her alive. That was not a definition for foolishness, but bravery.

He also knew a piece of information that she had not given to Wesley. A term, or alternative, that her father’s captor had given to her.

He paced faster, a low growl emanating from his chest as he imagined her taking the deal, offering herself up as some sacrificial lamb in order to save a brainless father. He pushed down another feral growl. Why should he care? No one in Sunnydale had cared about his ability to help before. Besides, she might brave an attempt to speak with him, knowing that Wesley would be close by, but she would never be brave enough to go back to Sunnydale and give herself freely to any monster. Never.

He would not help her.

So her father would die. He was a simple minded human to borrow money from a being that would take his flesh over cash anyway. Leave him to the fate he created for himself.

But what of the fate he had created for his daughter? She was all alone and the object of some monster’s obsession, whether she turned herself over to him or not. Angel knew the Memlock demon, along with his perversions. Knew that the huge, snake-skinned creature wanted Cordelia and that he would make her pay on her father’s debt, one way or another. The money was really inconsequential when it came to his fetishes. And one of those fetishes just so happened to be collecting young, attractive, human girls by the dozen. He probably wet himself when he saw Cordelia Chase.

Angel’s fists clenched at the picture his mind conjured of her in her father‘s place.

“I don’t care,” he growl at himself.

She would send Wesley to him again, but his answer would still be no. It didn‘t matter that she had shocked him with her bravery or how difficult it must have been for her to come to something like him for help, knowing what he was. None of that was his fault. He would not feel guilty for it. She had been told not to come.

Then why did she? And why did her very presence seem to torture him? He tried to focus on something else, anything besides the smell of her, the image of her, the sound of her heartbeat as it joined with the others in the hotel. He would not let those things effect him. Would not waver. He had given her his answer. Twice.

Angel’s pacing turned into more of an angry gate as he crossed the room and turned back again, telling himself that his answer to Wesley would still be no. It didn’t matter that he would have to watch as she left the hotel to face her fate. He wouldn’t help her, he couldn’t.

He had to ready himself for Wesley’s plea. He knew the former Watcher would do his best to convince him, still holding on to the hope that Angel was the one spoken about in the obscure little prophecy he had found. The disillusioned humans who had taken up residence in his building might think he was some tortured potential do-gooder, but in truth, the few acts they had witnessed had been no more than whims, accidents even. He was no more a hero than any other demon that walked the streets at night. No matter what their hopes.

He was furious at her for coming, for putting him in this position. “I don’t care,” he repeated again, his voice dripping with hatred, welcoming in the anger to crush the guilt. Knowing that deep inside, where the now dead flame of hope had been lit three years ago by Whistler, he really did care.

***

Cordelia jumped slightly at the rap on the door before quickly composing herself. “Come in,” she called from her seat on the bed.

A timid thin woman with large glasses entered the room, her arms full of linens, sheets, a blanket, pillow and what looked like a piece of clothing folded neatly on top.

“Hi,” the woman smiled after laying the items on the mattress and waved a little too enthusiastically for someone living with a vampire. “I’m Fred,” she leaned in as she spoke, a nervous laugh escaping her lips as she pushed up her glasses that slid slightly down her nose.

“Cordelia,” she responded and gave a small smile back. Standing up, she reached out for the pile of linens.

“Oh, here,” Fred seemed giddy as she reached out and grabbed the item on top. “It’s a night gown. Wesley said he didn’t think you brought anything with you. I’ve only worn it a couple of times, since I bought it, not since it’s been washed because it’s not dirty or anything, it’s clean and its pretty comfortable for a long one although I usually prefer the shorter ones, they don’t get all twisted up when you toss too much or have those really bad dreams about cows and caves,” she finished breathless as she handed the long white night gown to Cordelia.

Ooookay. “Thanks,” Cordelia reached out and took the pretty but plain garment from the obviously disturbed young woman. ‘Well, what do expect, Cordy?’ she thought to herself. ‘She lives with a vampire. That alone defines crazy.’

Thirty minutes later, after insisting on helping Cordelia make-up the bed, hosting a long winded tour of the small bathroom, and offering several times to share some of the tacos stashed in her room, Fred allowed Cordelia to usher her politely to the door. But just before leaving, she turned around, her face sincere. “Are you afraid?” Fred asked her in a quiet almost childlike voice, the crazed look and rambling sentences suddenly gone.

“Yes,” Cordelia answered, longing to talk to someone about it, welcoming that intimate moment of kindred spirit that all women seem to share.

Fred didn’t respond to her answer as they both stood silently at the door. After a few heartbeats, Cordelia asked, “Fred? Why are you here? What made you want to live in the house of a vampire?”

“I was in a really bad place for a long time. But I finally found a way out. It was simple really, it shouldn’t have takin me as long as it did. I just followed the numbers and then I was home. But I think my brain took a little longer gettin back,” she smiled shyly, able to acknowledge her obvious mental state. “I think it just forgot how to not be there. I wandered around for a couple of nights before it happened,” she seemed to stop and think a moment.

“What happened, Fred?” Cordelia asked softly, urging the young woman to continue.

“I was in an alley I’d been sleepin’ in. There were a couple of men…….they tried to….,” Fred seemed uncomfortable and Cordelia felt regret for pushing for the story. “I’m usually pretty good at hiding, or defending myself. But there were two of’em,“ she said almost apologetically as she looked down at the floor. “I just remember them laughin about what they said they were going to do before one of them punched me so hard I fell. I was a little dizzy and it took a few minutes for me to remember where I was, that I hadn‘t got lost again. When I finally looked up, I saw Charles Gunn standin there with a bat in his hand and both men slumped over on the ground,” she smiled and looked up again. “He brought me back here and I’ve been living with him and Wesley ever since.”

“And Angel,” Cordelia reminded her.

“I don’t think I’d call what Angel’s doin here livin,” she whispered.

Cordelia leaned against the wall near the door and let out a big breath, she thought about Fred’s choice of the phrase ‘not living’ when describing a vampire and shook off a shudder. Turning her head she looked at the other woman who still stood in the doorway. “What’s he like?” she kept her voice soft, as if someone other than Fred might hear her question.

“I don’t know, really. He doesn‘t let any of us get too close. Good and bad. Nice and not so nice. It’s not his fault really, I guess. He’s just kinda stuck ya know, between our world and his, and he’s hurting. Sorta like a wounded animal that growls anytime someone gets near, even if they‘re tryin to help. At least that’s what I think he must be like.”

Cordelia didn’t like the illustration Fred had given of the mysterious vampire. Wounded animals might elicit sympathy, but they were still animals, unpredictable and violent.

“Wesley thinks Angel’s a tortured soul, that he was meant to do good but was kinda pushed off his path by what happened with the Slayer. He’s always in his office studyin prophecies and tryin to find a cure for Angel’s curse. He goes and talks with him sometimes but never for very long.”

“What about Gunn? What brought him here?”

“Angel saved his life. I don’t really know what happened. Charles doesn’t like to talk about it, but I know it was right after he lost his sister. He goes out with Angel at night sometimes, to hunt, but I don’t think it’s because he likes him or trusts him. I think he’s just waitin to pay back the favor, or for Angel to mess up. Maybe a little of both. He grew up on the streets fightin vampires, hatin‘em for the things he witnessed. I think it confuses him that one would do something good.”

Cordelia could understand that. “So you’ve never seen him? Angel?“

“No,” she said softly and Cordelia couldn’t tell if Fred’s answer held a meaning of regret or relief. “But I just know that he can’t be completely bad.”

“Oh, why not?” after all of the stories, Cordelia still couldn’t seem to believe in the idea of a good demon, or at least one that was not completely evil.

Fred shrugged her shoulders before answering, “He gave me a home, a place to feel safe again, whether he meant to or not. I’d like to tell him thanks for that. I’d like to think he was glad that Charles brought me here, saved me from being just another crazy homeless person.”

Cordelia’s heart went out to Fred. When they had chatted, or rather when Fred had rambled as they made the bed, Cordelia had found out that Angel had paid cash for the hotel. That Wesley had told her once that Angel had a small fortune stashed away, left over from his days as a true vampire, one without a soul. He didn’t lavish any of his tenants with gifts or anything, but none of them were required to contribute financially to the old building. And Fred was supplied with a moderate and steady allowance. Cordelia had no way of knowing if this was Angel’s decision or the influence of the two men who obviously watched over Fred, but she could understand why she might feel a since of loyalty or gratitude to someone who she viewed as a benefactor of sorts.

“Guess I better go and let you get some sleep,” Fred moved then, just out of the room and into the hall. “Don’t worry. Wesley will help you, even if Angel can’t,” she said with great conviction.

“Goodnight,” Cordelia watched from her doorway while Fred walked to her room a few doors down.

Shutting the door, Cordelia buried her face in her hands and blew out a large breath of frustration. Angel wasn’t going to help her. Even Fred seemed to sense that. And Wesley had already pleaded her case twice to him and the answer had been no.

Cordelia walked to the bed and sat down, her shoulders slumped in depression and defeat. Angel wouldn’t help her, and poor Wesley couldn’t. She had already spoken to Giles, knew to what extend he was willing to go.

Picking up the gown, Cordelia grabbed her large purse full of what little personal items she had brought, wondering if a warm bath would help the cold numbness that was filling her up inside as the growing realization that she was the only one who could save her father became all too clear.

Continue on...