Title: Auspices
Author: Helen
Posted: 9-07-2005
Email: helen_taft@msn.com
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: C/A
Summary & notes: AU S4 from scratch. Cordelia didn’t ascend and the FG search for Angel. The problem is they find him.
Feedback: Yup, feeding is good, or my muse will sulk. Also, feel free to include criticism if you feel the urge, so long as it’s constructive.
Posted: AO & ST
Distribution: Go team, Angel’s Archive, Just fic
Notes: Huge smoochey thanks to Susi (SpikesSire) for the fabulous fic-pic.
PART SIX
Watching, tucked behind a corner as one of the casino staff used the mounted keypad to gain access to a stairwell, Angel waited long enough for them to have gone before following. It was only two flights of stairs and luckily he didn’t meet anybody coming up the other way. It was a good thing, too, since he was running out of both excuses and patience.
Finding himself back on the ground floor in an area they hadn’t seen before, he stuck with what he knew best and skulked in the shadows to watch. Not that he had much of a clue about what he was watching for. His mood, already exacerbated by what had just happened with Cordelia, worsened thinking that some idea of what the hell he was looking out for would have been a big help.
Alone with his thoughts, Angel felt like an idiot for getting involved in something that wasn’t his business. The Thesulak's goads kept circling in his head, “See what happens when you try and help’ em- stick your neck out for them- they throw a rope around it!”
Since he’d just been lynched at the time that point was pretty much undisputable. Still, Angel stayed and waited. And cursed himself.
He'd known he was making a mistake before he succumbed and kissed her. Cordelia had a foothold in his mind that nothing was shaking loose. When she’d trembled under him; making aroused little sounds at the back of her throat and tasting like heaven, he’d stopped measuring just how huge a mistake it was.
Until now.
You just couldn’t keep your hands off her for another minute could you? So, much for keeping a cool head and waiting for someone to trip up, asshole. Humiliation over Cordelia’s icy reaction afterwards still strung. He just wished it was cold enough to quench the lingering heated ache in his gut. Before his own scheming had bitten him on the ass, Angel had been certain he knew the limits of starvation. Boy, had he been wrong.
The sudden appearance of a parade of guards with Lorne in their midst; a colourful peacock to contrast with their dourness, coming through the swing doors at the bottom was a welcome distraction. Angel slipped inside a utility cupboard and left the door open a crack so he could see what was going-on. Beneath the cheery façade, the demon looked harassed and drained. Both emotions the vampire sympathised with when it came to dealing with humans.
Just like that he was led back to his own human problems. Oh yeah, you didn’t feel harassed when you had Cordelia’s breast in your hand and your tongue down her throat. As for drained, I’d say the opposite's true.
He couldn't deny it. Hiding behind the flimsy door, Angel was still uncomfortably full enough to need to adjust his pants. That fact worried him more than little, too. The only other times he’d had such a stubborn and persistent boner was as Angelus when he’d found a new obsession to stalk.
Not a good sign.
Slamming the lid on that line of thought, Angel ignored his discomfort and concentrated on Fred and Gunn now trying desperately to catch Lorne’s attention. Being further down the hallway, he had an excellent view of the demon’s green face as he was escorted down it with the guards setting the pace to keep ahead of over-excited fans.
By the looks of them they weren’t a friendly bunch. This could definitely get nasty. The promise of some exercise, particularly violent, was strangely appealing.
When Fred resorted to hollering loudly enough to rise over the rest, Lorne’s expression blanked completely before wreathing back into a final indulgent smile and negligent wave. Then picking up the pace, Lorne was soon out of sight; leaving his friends to get hassled by a bodyguard the size of a pick-up truck.
~
Her knees were still shaking as Cordelia made her way back through the alleys of slot machines. Knowing she still had a job to do went a long way towards helping to block what had happened from her mind, gradually banishing the sting of humiliation and stubborn, left-over desire.
She’d think about what she’d let happen in that office, and the risks she’d run, later- much later.
Angel was continuing his reconnaissance of the upper level, leaving her with the casino itself. Splitting up had been her idea and she didn’t regret it. Working her way around and threading through mahogany games tables surrounded by greedily avid human beings, Cordelia relaxed in increments. She might not gamble herself, but she understood the greed to acquire money that hadn’t been earned. She’d lived the first seventeen years of her life steeped in that attitude, so it held no secrets for her.
Then there was the lure of dressing up and pretending to be something you weren’t- affluent, careless and free from the everyday cares of yesterday. Designer dresses, fake mink coats, strappy shoes that glittered enough to blind the unwary. Men in tuxes, thinking they were James Bond and smoking cigars that mixed sickly with malt whiskey, bourbon and champagne.
As she made her way around the casino, the difference between the slots and the table areas became as clear as day, or as bright as the whirling, winking lights that flashed when some lucky punter beat the machine. When that happened the bells and whistles went into an excited frenzy of noise. But, no matter how loud it was it didn’t change the fact that according to the head honchos here, the slot machines were for losers who couldn’t afford to play the ‘real’ games of chance.
At the end of the day it was all about money. If you spent, or lost a lot of it, you got treated better. Maybe that was why the slot drones didn’t bother to dress up past jeans, worn white at the stress points and over-sized shirts, she mused.
Mingling without getting sucked in, Cordelia became so absorbed in watching for trouble it took a while to realise why it was getting busier. The rings of people around the tables were getting deeper; elbows jostling for room where before there was space to move. Lorne’s show must have finished, she realised. It wasn’t just the gaggles of excited people that clued her in. She recognised the pretty oriental girl Lorne had gotten to sing along with him and mentally snapped her fingers when the name came back to her, Vivian.
As Cordelia stood and waited for a gap to dart through and return to meet the others, she overheard a conversation between Vivian and one of the Lornette’s.
“Congratulations.”
Glancing down at something that had been placed in her palm, Vivian gave a bemused smile, “I don’t understand. Did I win something?”
The Lornette smiled back and leaned in to whisper hush-hush, “Just the chance to win a million dollars. That chip is your entry into an exclusive promotion called, ‘Spin-to-win’. It could change your life.”
Excitement lit Vivian’s face. “Oh wow, thank you. That is so cool.” A glimmer of reflected light sped over her face before she closed her fingers over the disc.
“All you need to do is show it to that guard over there and he’ll let you in. Have fun!”
Uneasily following everything and trying to be inconspicuous as she did so, Cordelia like Vivian, followed where the girl pointed towards a door. It was heavily guarded and bore a life sized cardboard cut-out of Lorne. In it he was holding a martini with a text bubble saying, “have a play to win, pussycats”.
Bingo! Cordelia was certain that whatever was going on in that room had a lot to do with what was wrong in the casino. Unfortunately, she only got as far as a few feet from the door before Vivian was swallowed up and the door shut firmly behind her.
Faking an interest in the casino map hung nearby to avoid arousing suspicion, Cordy muttered, “Crap! Now what do I do?”
~
“What I want to know is how I got this part of the gig,” hissed Fred, tugging at the costumes corset in a futile effort to hide her lack of cleavage, “Cordy could pull this off- she’s the actress. Not to mention the costume,” she tugged harder and her voice edged into a whine. “Look at me I have to suck in a breath to even half fill it.”
Actress? Filing away that interesting snippet for future digesting, Angel’s gaze dipped into the relevant part of Fred’s anatomy and had to agree.
“Cordy wants to find out why folks are coming out zombified from that spin the wheel game, besides, you look gorgeous in green,” Gunn cajoled, “and when they get a load of those legs of yours, they won’t even notice the costume.”
Fred blinked, “Gee, thanks, Charles, nice to know about the ogling in advance.”
“Um…” Helpless, Gunn looked to Angel as a fellow male for help.
Catching the mute plea, she shook her head, “Forget it. There isn’t a pep talk in existence that could make me feel better about this.”
Hidden around a corner the three of them were waiting for an opportunity to send Fred on a reconnaissance mission. Dressed as a Lornette, make-up horns and wig in place, she was supposed to be taking Lorne a martini as an excuse to get in and see him. That was the plan anyway. A plan she was having serious doubts about.
At the end of the corridor was the door to Lorne’s dressing room, guarded by two heavyset men in black suits. Unhappy about splitting up and with the knowledge that Cordy had insisted on working her angle alone to avoid him, Angel wanted to get the deed done.
“The coast is clear and except for the guards they’re no heartbeats to indicate anyone approaching,” he said low, “It’s now or never.”
“You mean never’s an option?” glibbed Fred.
Her nerves had Gunn backtracking, “Look, baby, if you really don’t want to do this we can find another way-“
“Never mind, just give me the tray and push me in the right direction,” Fred sighed, “I’ll be lucky to be able to walk in these shoes, so forget any fancy sashay.”
Angel’s glance was full of barely hidden impatience. “Just tell the guards the drink is for the demon. They’ll let you in. Talk to Lorne and get out. It’s simple.”
“We’ll be right here. Ready to slam dunk at the first sign of trouble,” assured Gunn. “I wouldn’t let you do this if I thought there was any risk."
Quaking in the killer heels, Fred walked up to the guards at Lorne's door. Eyes downcast, she saw a large shadow block her path. Tense enough to snap already, she jumped when a deeply grating voice demanded, "What's this? He already got his drink."
Swallowing hard and trying not to get hypnotised by dead fish eyes in a pudgy face, Fred stammered, "Ah. Yeah. He-he did. Right. I know. They-they told me... - I mean, they sent me to..."
The agreed ruse for her being there was not supposed to have been questioned. Flustered, Fred could only gape when the other one came up with an explanation that had nothing to do with reality as she knew it.
The second guard, smaller but no less ugly nudged his arm and made some pretty graphic finger gestures. Laughing crudely, Pudgy-face’s expression cleared and some emotion entered ice clue yes. Skimming Fred’s skimpy costume, he joked: "Oh, I get it. It's a little pre-show diddle for the green guy, huh?"
"What? Genuinely confused, Fred gave a short nervous laugh, “Diddle? I'm what?"
Still smirking the one who’d stopped her, said, "Oh, don't be nervous. The demon, he doesn't bite - not with his mouth anyway." The two guards shared a look and laughed.
Figuring she was surplus to requirements for this conversation, Fred went to slide between them. The bigger guard stopped her. "Wait a minute."
Freezing with her heart hammering, Fred made a gargantuan effort to not race back towards the corner Gunn and Angel were lurking behind.
Used to instilling fear, the guard didn’t blink at her high-strung agitation, "You missed a couple of spots on your neck and behind your ear. You might want to fix that before you go out on stage."
Fred felt dizzy and clutched the tray tighter so as not to tip it, "Oh, right. 'cause that would have been really embarrassing."
Bars slid back at a touch of a button and Fred was finally able to breathe as she entered. Only to gasp and drop the tray when out of the corner of her eye, she saw something swinging towards her head the moment the door closed behind her.
Under the crash and from behind, Lorne’s voice exclaimed, "Oh! I'm sorry peach pie. I thought that you just might have been..."
Irritated, Fred swung around and glared, "Your diddle buddy?"
"My whatle what?” Flummoxed, Lorne got a good look at her and his whole demeanour changed to something akin to euphoric, “Oh, F-Fred? Winifred?” Laughing, he hugged her hard. “Oh, hey, hallelujah! Oh, sweet cheeks! You don't know the hell I've been through!"
A quick glance at the sumptuous dressing room had Fred intoning, "Uh-huh. It looks like real torture."
Lorne dismissed the glamour with a wave of a green hand, "Yeah, well, it took you heroes long enough to rescue me!"
"Frankly, Lorne, we weren't aware you needed rescuing."
"Weren't aware? I told you!"
Fred stared, "When?"
"When you called, or Cordelia called. I asked about Fluffy!"
"Oh. I just thought you were using some show business catch phrase I wasn't hip enough to get. Angel was the one who-“ she shook her head realising she was rambling, still she had to ask, “Who *is* Fluffy?"
“Fluffy! Fluffy, the dog? The dog you don't have? The universally recognized code for 'I'm being held prisoner. Send help.'"
"Oh. Okay. I'm hip now. Who's holding you prisoner?"
Lorne perched a hip against his vanity table, "Oh, the creep who owns this place, Lee DeMarco. He used to be some second rate lounge magician until he got his hands on something legitimately mystical. Now he's a first rate psychopath and he's using me to destroy people's lives."
Fred didn’t like the sound of that at all, "Using you how?"
Lorne’s usually sanguine expression showed disgust and shame, "There’s this game. It’s called ‘Spin to Win’."
~
“Mr DeMarco, I’m afraid we have a problem.”
“What kind of problem?” Lee hated problems. “As head of security, I pay you a lot of money to stop problems before they form, Marty.”
Bald, sweating enough to give his whole head a light sheen, Martin Duvane straightened his spine in an effort to appear in control. “I know, sir, forgive me, sir, but this one is unexpected. Someone has broken the demon out of his dressing room.”
The flickering images of the screens in the control room reflected in eyes like stone as they locked on their uncomfortable target. “That’s not a problem, Marty, that’s a catastrophe. See that Lorne and his abductee’s are found and detained.”
“Of course, Mr DeMarco we are already searching the whole Casino and all exits are being monitored-“
“Do we have any CCTV of the perpetrators?”
“Yes we do-“ relieved on that score at least, Marty swallowed and rushed on, “We also have a woman who has been showing undue interest in the ‘Spin to Win’ room.”
She had been pointed out to him earlier as being in places she shouldn’t with another. She was alone now and prudently, Marty had kept her in sight ever since and had seen through her attempts to hide where her interests lay.
“And this is important now- why?” demanded Lee.
“I have reason to believe she is working with the other three. I just checked and earlier footage of the show has them sitting together on the same table.”
Abruptly, Lee’s priorities changed. “Show me.”
~
Cordelia nursed her drink, a mixture of Southern Comfort, lime and lemonade and tried to be inconspicuous while keeping a close watch on the guarded door of the invite-only games room. When both guards perked up from their slouch and abandoned their post, she assumed the alarm had been raised about Lorne.
Crossing her fingers that the guys were doing okay, Cordelia approached the door and finding it unlocked, slipped inside. In the semi-dimness, she found four people are sitting around a table with a spinning roulette wheel. At her entrance the croupier looked up and frowned in consternation, “Miss, you can’t come in here. This is a private game. By invitation only."
“Really? Sorry, I must have missed the sign,” Cordelia breezed with her starriest smile, “It sure looks like fun. How about you consider me invited and clue me in on the rules?”
So, it was a bit blatant and pushy. Cordelia figured she didn’t have time for the subtle approach.
Unfortunately the croupier seemed immune to Cordelia’s brand of offhand charm, "Miss, there is already a game in progress. You will have to leave."
Just as Cordelia opened her mouth to try and worm her way around the stubborn asshole a new voice broken in. "No. It's alright."
The croupier was as surprised as Cordelia who spun to spot a well-dressed man flanked by a security guard and another bald man who she recalled seeing from time to time.
"But Mr. DeMarco, the wheel is already spinning."
A small smile played around thin lips. "I know. Its okay, Bill. Let the lady play."
Spine crawling with revulsion Cordelia caught the chip tossed her way by DeMarco. Thanks to their brief visit to his office, she knew who he was.
Cordelia forced a wide smile, "Thanks,” she said sweetly, “Just a suggestion, but I think chinless wonder over there needs some customer service training. Yeesh, anal much?”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” DeMarco inclined his head, “Feedback from customers is a cornerstone of The Tropicana’s success.”
“Yeah, but I bet it’s not the only one.” Diamond hard hazel eyes gave away nothing.
“You only have a few seconds before the wheel stops,” advised DeMarco super-smooth, “toss the chip and let’s see if Lady Luck is on your side.”
Having spent enough time outside to see people enter, laughing and excited, and leave soon after looking like zombies, Cordelia guessed gambling in this room meant more than loosing some moolah.
“Sure,” turning away, Cordelia tossed the chip and deliberately missed the game slots completely. “Oops,” she grinned and shrugged sheepishly, “I was always a bad shot. Maybe next time.”
DeMarco grinned menacingly, “Oh, you didn’t do so bad.”
The satisfied gleam in his eyes had Cordelia’s gaze jerking back to the table. After a seconds stunned disbelief her eyes widened with horror. The chip now rested squarely in one of the slots. Her belly did a nosedive into black ice.
“What!” she exclaimed, “Hey, that wasn’t there a second ago.”
Then the wheel stopped. Cordelia had lost. Just as that thought coalesced a wave of ice rose up from her toes to her scalp, raising ever fine hair on her body. The lights in her eyes dimmed to barely there. Trance-like, she followed where she was tugged by the hand wrapped around her elbow.
~
Bursting out of a fire exit, Fred was followed by Lorne, Gunn and then finally Angel bringing up the rear. Behind them their pursuers picked up the pace. The fire exit led into a mall. Fred, still wearing the Lornette costume, caught a few stares from male passers-by as they ploughed into mass of shoppers.
They didn’t slow but carried on into the crowds. “Which way to the car?” hollered Gunn to Angel.
“How the hell do I know?” the vampire shouted back, “The last time I was here this part of town was nothing more than sand dunes.”
Lorne was helping Fred keep upright and moving in the unaccustomed high-heels and between them they managed to keep up. Colourful in his sequinned blazer and with that familiar green face, Lorne was not exactly blending in. Fred came a distant second for colourfulness.
“Car-parking’s on the other side of the casino, sweet peas,” huffed Lorne, out of breath from fleeing to save his green hide. “How about the fleet of foot race ahead and save the less nimble some blisters? We could meet up outside the mall entrance.”
Being the hunted rather than the hunter didn’t change how sensitive his instincts were. Angel could feel the pursuit close in. He shook his head and swiped away some blood that dripped down from a deep cut on his brow, “Splitting up is a bad idea.”
Cordelia was supposed to meet them at the car after scouting out the gaming room that had wigged her out. Nobody other than him had voiced an objection to that plan and he’d been ignored. Why was he the only one who didn’t have endless faith in her ability to wrangle and then extract herself in and out of anywhere, Angel wondered irritably.
Why do you even care? The memories may never come back. So, not your problem, remember?
Heading deeper into the mall a voice on the loud speaker brought them to a stumbling stand-still. There they stood listening; bizarre statues all battle torn, glittery and grim in a sea of bodies and bludgeoning shopping bags.
“This is a message for Lorne from the manager of the Tropicana. Please advise your friends that they left something behind? If they want to reclaim it then they should *all* return to the club and meet me in the main control room. Five minutes, folks, or I’ll think you aren’t coming and act accordingly.”
Filled with trepidation as they all were, Gunn hated to even suggest it, “Oh shit! You don’t think-“
A grim-faced Angel obliged by finished off for him, “Cordelia!”
~
With hatchet-faced guards taking up the rear they made their way back through the Tropicana. Whenever necessary, doors were pulled open for them in a way that was anything but polite. Eventually they filed through the last barrier into a large room lined with computers and flickering TV screens.
In the middle of it all stood Cordelia. It took only the briefest glance to tell there was something very wrong with their friend. Happy, sad, pissed or even tired, Cordelia always gave off an emotional energy that left no-one in any doubt of her mood. Until now.
Undeniably beautiful still, Cordelia was merely a shell; docile, passionless and empty. It was an unbelievable and strangely awful sight.
“There should be five of them,” said a voice harshly, “Where’s the one in the leather coat?”
“We got separated,” said Gunn shortly, eyeing the slimeball insolently, “I guess he never heard your gracious invitation.”
Lee DeMarco had very quickly gotten accustomed to being undisputed King in his little fiefdom. The tall black’s barely checked sneer was an unacceptable insult to newly acquired pride. “That’s a pity,” he said very quietly, and pulled out a gun, “because that means this sexy piece is forfeit. I did specify all of you after all.”
All of them surged forward in horror when the barrel was pressed to Cordelia’s temple. “Lee!” Lorne shouted over the other’s stunned protests, “if you pull that trigger you can say bur-bye to your little enterprise here.”
DeMarco’s gaze swung to Lorne. “What makes you think you have any say in this, Lorne? I have all the leverage I need over you already, remember.”
“That’s what you think,” Lorne swallowed hard but held firm, “The girls are strangers, cute and innocent but still strangers. These people are my friends. If you hurt them- you have no leverage.”
Without the wisecracks and careless endearments; standing tall and staring the human down, the pylean demon was a compelling sight. Red eyes in a chiselled green face were filled with resolve. “I mean it, Lee,” he said, “We both know you like a bit of slice’n’dice, but without the greenbacks to back you up, you’re just another has-been psycho-“
The finger tightened and then relaxed over the trigger, “Shut-up, Lorne- dumb fucking demon-“
Cordelia’s expression didn’t so much as flicker.
Agitated, Fred piped up, “What’s the matter? Don’t want to see you future trading scam disappear? Too bad, you…you sleazebag. Lorne told us everything. I don’t know what you deserve for stealing peoples destiny’s like this, but I sure hope it’s bloody and painful.”
“Fred! hissed Lorne, wishing he could gag her. “Work with me, not against me, sweetcheeks.”
Gunn was preoccupied keeping an eye on the guards fanning out behind them. It would just take one word from DeMarco for the whole room to explode into violence. “Look, we just want Cordelia back and Lorne free to go,” he said, “Then we leave and you never see us again.”
Demarco didn’t even blink, “Lorne is mine. As for the rest of you- you should have kept your noses out of my business. I’ve taken a leaf out of my predecessors book, “ he waved a hand to indicate he meant the club’s violent past, “meaning I don’t leave witness’s to my crimes. None of you will be going anywhere.”
The rapping on the door was almost anti-climatic after that statement. DeMarco rolled his eyes and raised his voice, “Come back later, we’re tied up here,” he finished with a smirk.
“Sir, you said to tell you if we have any duds. Well, we got one here.”
“What?” DeMarco jerked his chin at one of his minions, “Marty, go check it out.”
In the pause everybody seemed to breathe as quietly as possible. When Marty returned less than a half minute later, he looked confused and his gaze lit on Cordelia first.
“Mr DeMarco, Sir, we have a problem,” he began tensely, “the vessel holding that woman’s destiny-“
A sharp splintering crack coming directly overhead drew instant attention. Everybody looked up and then jerked up their arms to protect their faces as the ceiling exploded in a shower of plaster. Squinting eyes caught the dark blur plummeting to the floor in between DeMarco and the hostages.
“What the fuck-?!“
Caught of guard, DeMarco hesitated before aiming the pistol at the man now rising from a crouch to face him. Tall, powerfully built, wearing a black leather coat and dark, spiked hair identified him as the missing fifth person from the CCTV footage.
Before DeMarco could finish his desperate swing something hard slammed into his back, low and to the side. Cordelia’s punch had connected directly with his kidneys. Crippling pain sent him to his knees. Then something exploded against his cheekbone, crunching teeth and sending him in a sideways sprawl and gagging on a mouthful of blood.
After finishing off DeMarco, Angel completed his whirl in a crouch that swept the feet from under one of the guards wrestling with the demon, Lorne. That done, he looked back to see Cordelia swiping the gun from DeMarco’s nerveless fingers. Rising and spinning gracefully, she pistol whip the bald Marty across the face. The man went down like a stone.
Youch! So much for being a zombie. Cordelia caught his questioning gaze and grinning widely gestured to the fight still to be won. “C’mon, hero, no time-outs until we get back to the car safe and sound.”
Wading fully into the fray seemed like a much better idea to the vampire than examining the strong surge of emotion currently swamping his body. It felt suspiciously like relief and that was contrary to everything he’d been trying to convince himself of.
The fight was swift, brutal and ended with five victors left standing. Ready to go, DeMarco’s voice halted them. “What the hell are you?” he asked Cordelia. A broken man on the floor or not, he was genuinely perplexed, “nobody can defeat the Orb.”
~
PART SEVEN
“Lee had a point y’know, Princess,” Lorne said as he ambled down the stairs of the Hyperion. “Demon or human, it doesn’t usually matter to that thing.”
“You mean the Orb we destroyed?” asked Fred, a frown settling between delicate brows, “We *did* destroy it, right? It’s not piece togetherable with superglue or anything?”
“Nah, that thing shattered into a million pieces. Job done.” That said, Gunn tipped back the beer and felt the ice cool liquid slide down his throat. Spotting Fred’s glare at his booted feet propped up on the coffee table, he promptly set them back on the floor with a sheepish grimace.
Chin balanced her palm and content to just watch from behind the counter, Cordelia slid Lorne a wry glance. “Yeah well, I make a point not to listen to clichéd wannabe evil masterminds with godawful taste in art.”
“He had atrocious taste in everything except music, Sugarplum,” argued Lorne as he headed for the kitchen, hoping to find something a little classier than beer, “but that doesn’t change the mystical facts about that Orb.”
“What’s *your* point?” asked a deep voice dead-ahead.
Only just avoiding barrelling into the vampire who’d materialised, arms-crossed, in front of the kitchen entrance, Lorne missed Cordelia’s alarmed expression as she straightened.
Angel didn’t and it was Cordelia’s face he watched as the demon replied matter-of-factly, “Oh, only that whatever demon it was she got saddled with by the Power’s. They sure gave her a grade-A doozy with all the mod cons.” He laughed, “I don’t mind admitting I’m jealous. I kind of liked my special status with you guys. After all we can’t all be tall, dark and fangsome like you, y’know.”
Dark eyes bored into hazel, “Demon?”
Lorne finally caught onto the atmosphere charging up by the second. Grimacing, he looked back at Cordelia. “Uh, did I miss the memo about what *not* to say to, Mr Amnesia?”
~
After changing out of the dress and back into normal clothes; soft jeans and a thin cream sweater that was warm and snug enough for LA’s chilly nights; Cordelia headed for the hotels rear entrance and the gardens out back.
With a snaking shiver of awareness down her spine Cordelia sensed the moment Angel followed her. Sighing, she sank on a stone bench to wait for him. If she was honest she didn’t want to have this conversation at all. But guessing she had no choice thanks to Lorne’s big mouth, she preferred it was done without an audience in case it got loud, or embarrassing, or both.
Dark, low and angry, his voice reached her before he did. “That’s a big sigh, Cordelia. Let me guess, I wasn’t supposed to find out about your ‘specialness’, right?”
She counted to three before answering. “I wasn’t hiding it from you-“
“Could’ve fooled me.”
Angel’s tone rankled and her lips curled into a sneer, “Oh purlease…criticism from the demon ‘passing’ as a human.”
In the dark and given he kept his distance, she could only make out his tall outline and the pale skin of his face. Coming to a standstill with several feet still between them his expression turned to stone and she regretted her words instantly.
Sighing deeply again and briefly closing her eyes, Cordelia backtracked, “You didn’t let me finish.”
Elbows on her knees, she met his gaze squarely. “Things were weird, and you were freaked enough already. So, I decided my being part demon wasn’t something you needed to know.” Frustration tinged her voice as she added, “Not to mention, I don’t know much more than you now do anyway.”
“BUT, since the cat is now out of the bag,” she carried on, “thanks to Lorne shooting his mouth off and all, I’ll tell you the rest.”
Cordelia gestured to the bench next to her and was relieved when he accepted the olive branch and moved closer. He didn’t sit. She would have surprised if he had though since this Angel was more like the Sunnydale version that the one who’d taught her how to fight at his side.
It still hurt. Gagging stray emotions, Cordelia focussed on her explanation, glossing over a lot of detail to keep it simple.
“I was dying from the visions,” she admitted, “One day I had one too many and went into a coma.” She didn’t look at him- didn’t want to risk seeing the lack of emotion in familiar midnight eyes. “While you were watching over my death bed, I met up with my movie buff, guide to the PTB’s who offered me a deal where I could live and keep the visions.”
Shoulders tense, Angel shoved his hands in his pockets and said, “By becoming part demon?”
“Exactly, and that’s all I know. Pathetic isn’t it. Oh, and before you ask, no I don’t have a tail tucked away anywhere, or anything demony for that matter. Hell, we don’t even know what kind of demon I’m rooming with.”
Eyes dropping to her butt on the seat as if searching for a scaled tail, Angel’s lips quirked a tiny amount. “The visions?” he asked as a prompt, curious.
“Don’t hurt anymore,” or at least they hadn’t when she’d still been getting them.
In the middle of lowering himself to sit on the low wall of a raised flowerbed opposite, Angel must have read her mind. “When was the last time you had one?”
Facing her as he was evading the question wasn’t an option and her belly clenched with anxiety at having to admit it out-loud. “The night you disappeared.”
“Over three months!” An eyebrow rose sharply, “That’s quite a while. Is that normal?”
“No, it isn’t normal,” Cordy grimaced, “Don’t get me wrong they were never exactly predictable, but…” She trailed off and there was a long silence.
Angel’s next question threw her completely. “What were we meeting at the bluffs for, Cordelia? You never said.”
Whoa! What??
The conversation had gone from bad to worse in a heartbeat. Chin dropped open, Cordelia flailed, “You never asked,” she finally forced out; getting to her feet as if she had a sudden and urgent reason to be elsewhere. Yeesh, anywhere.
Angel stood too and somehow ended up an obstacle she’d have to skirt around to escape. Cordelia was abruptly reminded how easily he could crowd someone when he wanted to.
“I’m asking now,” he pointed out flatly; not letting her avoid the topic.
She hadn’t seen it coming or nothing would have stopped her from hightailing it away from the hotel until morning. Oh God, I can’t believe he’s asking me about that.
Crap! Her reaction had been a dead give-away. She should have lied and pretended it was nothing more than a casual meeting over work. Too late now.
Dark eyes were mesmerising in their intensity. Cordelia couldn’t look away. As quickly as that he had the bit between his teeth and nothing was shaking him loose. Unwilling and resigned at the same time, she tried anyway, “I don’t suppose me asking could we delay this conversation until you get your memory back is going to work?”
Without them noticing it had begun to rain; thin and light it drifted rather than fell from the sky. Droplets of water added a sheen to dark, short spiked hair. More spread over the broad expanse of dark wool covering his shoulders.
Ignoring the moisture, Angel crossed his arms, “Not really, no.”
Cordelia didn’t care how transparent and desperate she looked to drop the topic. If pleading would work, she’d grovel to make doubly sure. “Look, Lorne’s ready to read you at any time. We may have a better idea what to do after. Can’t we-“
A single, imperiously raised hand destroyed the slim hope.
“You’re asking me to trust you, when you won’t answer a simple question. I don’t think so.” Aware how much the others were banking on the green demons abilities, Angel played his trump card. “Maybe, thinking about it, I don’t want to be read.”
Strolling casually back to the hotel, he turned back when she growled something unintelligible.
Catching her furious gaze, he hid a grin. Across the distance narrowed hazel eyes flashed fire; promising revenge and unknowingly fuelling a fantasy or two. “Fine! Just blackmail me why don’t you.”
He didn’t answer. Tossing her hair and planting one hand on a cocked hip, Cordelia strived for snide and dismissive.
“For some reason which totally escapes me now, I asked you to meet me because I’d just had a brain seizure and thought I was in love with you. I picked the most romantic spot I could think of and asked you to meet me. You agreed.”
Humiliated colour spread over both cheeks. She was simmering at being compelled to rake up and admit to things she hadn’t wanted to and Cordelia’s posture, expression- everything, screamed sincerity.
Despite the acid tone everything inside Angel relaxed. It was as if without knowing it he’d been braced to find out he was wrong about her feelings for that other him; the one with the memories. It didn’t change anything, but he’d needed to be right.
Having it confirmed raised another question. “Why bother if we couldn’t do anything about it because of the curse?”
She’d been quick enough to toss that in his face in DeMarco’s office before they split up and went their separate ways. She’d made it sound like he’d been planning on losing the soul so he could set off on a murdering spree.
“I wasn’t planning on jumping you, dumbass, just talking. I may be an excellent conversationalist, but I don’t think orgasmic bliss figures in there somehow.”
That single dark brow climbed again, “Talking, huh?”
“Yes!,” she glared, daring him to push it, “So, the curse wouldn’t have mattered.”
Bringing up the fact that he’d been talking long-term rather than that single meeting seemed a waste of time. Angel struggled to imagine any kind of relationship with this woman that was platonic and amicable.
In the pause it was Cordelia’s turn to try a little mind-reading. It didn’t take a genius to guess he was still smarting over her accusations in Las Vegas. Hot, aroused and freaked, she’d gone postal when reality hit with the slam of a door. Bucking wildly until he got off her, she’d scrambled shakily off the damned couch and then lit into him about the curse- among a few other things she couldn’t remember now. Doh!
“Angel,” she sighed, “I’m worry about yelling at you before. I was wrong to make it all out to be your fault. I was shaken, okay? I still think it was a dumb idea, but…I guess we’ll never know now.”
“I guess not,” Angel agreed quietly.
I was shaken, okay? He felt a visceral quiver that was scarily pleasant, echoed in her by the quickening of her breath. The moment stretched, keeping them locked.
“Hey, guys,” called Fred, backlit by the lights from the foyer, “Lorne says he’s ready to read Angel now.”
Happy to be interrupted, Cordy cocked her head and met his dark gaze as he swung back from frowning at Fred, “So, satisfied enough to give this a whirl?”
~
While they’d been outside, Wesley had made one of his rare appearances and as usual nobody made anything of it. When they all sat down in a loose semi-circle around Angel and Lorne, Wesley was there, too, as interested as the rest of the gang in what would be revealed.
Asked to sing, Angel shifted on the red cushioned couch and scrubbed a hand over his face. Expectant faces peered at him and his upper body hunched defensively.
Seeing his mouth open, Gunn held up a hand, “Before you say it. We already know you don’t sing- or actually can’t sing worth a damn, so don’t bother with any excuses and just get this over with. For all our sakes, okay?”
“Gunn!!—Charles!!” chorused Fred and Lorne; flicking the vampire sympathetic glances.
“What,” he protested, “I’m just saying what were all thinking and saving some time.”
Jaw closing with a snap, Angel’s frown dug deep grooves between dark brows. “I was about to sing,” he growled, affronted.
“Oh,” face falling, he turned a sheepish look on an arch Cordy, “Sorry, ‘bout that, I guess I thought-“ Cordelia’s glare sharpened and he blanched, “Man, just ignore me. Too much coffee.”
“Let’s get back to the nights programme shall we,” suggested Lorne pointedly, “No more heckling from the audience or I’ll empty the room. I’m on pins already and if this drags out, I may pass out.” Settling back with a disgruntled flip of a leg over a knee, he faked an encouraging smile at a sullen Angel, “C’mon, handsome, hit me with it- and try and make it short, okay?”
Where destiny leads me, with no start to guide me, and no-one beside me, I’ll go on my way, and after the day, that darkness will hide me-
Trailing off, Angel eyed the demon hopefully and saw him blink twice. So did everyone else.
“What?” asked four voices.
“Well dayum,” Lorne shook his head twice and tapped a few knuckles against one temple, “that can’t be good.”
“WHAT?”
Sighing, Lorne held up his hands, “Don’t kill me all at once, but I’m going to have to ask for a repeat-“
Cody jack-knifed up in her seat, “What?”
“You got to be shi-“
“Charles, shush….and it’s not *that* bad.” Fred hurriedly cut in, “I like Tony Bennett.”
“So do I snuckums,” interrupted Lorne, “but I think I’ll stick with the original.”
“Why don’t you explain the problem first?” suggested Wesley dryly, “preferably before the mass protest costs us our star performer.”
“Ha ha.” Angel’s glower started at Wesley and swept over the group before finishing with Lorne, “All of you shut-up or I’m out of here.” In the silence, he continued, “I’ll sing, but this is the last time; if it doesn’t work- too bad.”
Daring anyone to say another word, Angel took a deep, “Little Miss Muffet, sat on a tuffet, eating her curds and whey, along came a spider who sat down beside her-“
Intently focussed, Lorne watched Angel while everyone else watched him. When the colourfully dressed demon gestured for Angel to stop the room itself held its breath- waiting for the outcome.
Lorne puffed out a breath and looked as embarrassed as his green-hued skin would allow, “Ah, I hate to disappoint, but I got nothing.”
“Nothing,” repeated Cordelia disbelievingly, “What do you mean nothing. You must have got something. I thought that was your deal.” She waved a hand, “Sing and see- end of story.”
“I wish it was that simple, princess,” Lorne defended himself, “And I didn’t get nothing, so much as nothing useful. All I could see where some snippets from his past- nada on his future.”
“Is that normal?” Wesley chipped in, “Or happened before, perhaps?”
“No to both. Which is why this isn’t good news.” A natural storyteller as well as entertainer, Lorne let the tension rise a few notches before finishing, “The way I see it is that the champ here’s amnesia isn’t natural.”
“What do you mean Angel’s amnesia isn’t natural?” Cordelia struggled to grasp what she saw in Lorne’s sombre face.
“Dog, nothin’ about Angel is natural- so this is normal?”
“Hey!” Angel’s affronted cut-in was ignored by all.
“No, slick, I mean this is supernatural and not some by-product of being tossed into the ocean by loving progeny.” Pausing, Lorne put it bluntly. “What I’m trying to say and you kids are refusing to hear, is that this was *done* to Angelcakes deliberately.”
PART EIGHT
“Man, I hate doing research.”
Disgruntled, Gun stretched, raising his hands high and clasping them over his head to work the kinks out of the small of his back and between his shoulders. “By the time I’ve figured out that a whole page of teeny tiny writing is actually saying a single sentence in real-talk, my brain is already fried.”
A dark head rose nearby, nose unburying from a huge tome half her size. Turning to him brown eyes blinked to focus. “I love it,” Fred smiled, “I love deciphering ancient texts, some not even human. Then there’s the added bonus of it being to help a friend.” The smile was dreamy and satisfied at being given a challenge that involved using her significant brain-power.
“Harrumph,” Gunn snapped back the chair legs to hit the floor again. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I just wish I wasn’t smart enough to realise how dumb I am about this stuff.”
“You’re not dumb,” protested his loving girlfriend instantly. Every protective instinct in her delicate frame went on alert. “I’m just such a nerd-“
“Brainy.” Gunn corrected softening. His spirits rose now he had her attention off the damned books. Sat on the floor close by his chair, she only had to turn her head to be within possible kissing distance.
“It’s the icky bits that get me,” sighed Cordy, flipping a page with a full face grimace; unwittingly breaking into the incipient cooing. “I mean, why can’t these Mage’s, or scholar guys get things done without flaying skin, or boiling the marrow out of virgin’s bones- ewww?!”
“The cover of that book your holding is purported to be the dried-out skin of virgin sacrifices to the Mayan deity Chatahula,” Wesley chipped in, glancing up from the length of scroll he was translating.
Missing the inflection of humour in his precise speech, Cordelia instantly shoved the offending material away from her and jumped up for good measure, squawking, “What?! And you *let* me touch it?”
It was Gunn’s congratulatory smirk at Wesley that clued her in. Slicing her ex-friend, ex-watcher with a glare that could have slain a demon all by itself, she saw the amused glint behind his glasses and failed to stop a spurt of reluctant nostalgia. She was fooling herself over the ex-friend, but sometimes finding your way back to a good place seemed impossible. Today it inched its way closer.
Lips pursing, Cordelia crossed her arms. Still…
“Wesley,” she warned sweetly, “If you *ever* do that to me again. Kiss your English butt goodbye cos I’ll kick it so hard you won’t-“
“What am I missing?” asked Lorne chirpily from the front entrance as the glazed door slammed shut behind him.
“Oh, the usual,” replied Gunn. “Cordy’s threatening physical harm on Wesley; Angel is off brooding, and me an’ my girl slaving away to save our tiny corner of the universe.”
“Ha!” Protest simply uttered in response to that nonsense, Cordy sat back down and gingerly reached for her book again.
Dress shoes clattered down the stairs to the foyer. “Angel’s brooding?” asked Lorne. “I thought he was going to work on the Latin parts of the Hellish denizen’s whatchamadoozit.”
“Hell Dimension’s Magical Lore,” corrected Wesley.
The demon waved a negligent hand, “Close enough.”
“He was- is, upstairs,” said Cordy and deciding to use his arrival as an excuse to keep away from the strewn coffee table; stood and nodded at the brown paper package cradled in the crook of his canary yellow suited arm, “Did you find something a little more memory spell specific?”
Beaming, Lorne strode over to the counter to deposit the package. “Better than that,” he crowed. Brown paper ripped and parted as the team gathered around. “I managed to get my hands on an original copy of The Almanac of Mystical Forces. This baby is circa 1752 and best of all…it’s illustrated.”
You’d think he’d found a pamphlet with ‘Undo Amnesia Spells’ blazoned across the front. Trying to look enthused Gunn leaned on the counter, while Fred squeezed between him and Wesley for a good look at the find.
“So, we get not-so-pretty pictures to break the boredom,” unimpressed, Cordy shrugged, “How does that help us find out how to reverse the voodoo on Angel?” She felt Wesley shift nearer for a closer inspection and past the query to him, “I thought Almanac’s were long on topic and short on detail?”
“Usually they are,” he agreed, gently dragging the opened book towards him. “But they can be extremely useful in narrowing our search without having to waste time teasing nuggets out of huge volumes.”
Gunn was all for that, “Cool.”
~
Strolling down the stairs, Angel felt a frisson of something suspiciously like contentment at finding the lobby of the hotel filled with people he not only knew, but who were working in harmony to help him. The sensation was so unusual, he instantly tried to reject it; only to find it refused to be shoved aside. So, hiding the strange weakness behind an even blanker than usual expression, he waited for them to notice him.
Fred was working close enough to Gunn to breathe the same air; the watcher was poring over something that by his posture you’d think was the answer to the meaning of life and Cordelia. His gaze settled on her and refused to move on. She was behind the counter, grinning up at Lorne while chinking his colourful glass with her mug of coffee. Vanilla, chicory and vodka teased his preternatural senses.
As he watched she seemed to become aware of his presence without him making a sound. Her gaze slid over to where he stood and the happy grin faltered, sputtering out in a way that caused his chest to go tight; then it came back to shy life and the hurt turned into a terrible, desperate relief.
“Angel, hi,” she said and lifted the mug in his direction. “Want some coffee, it’s sorta fresh?”
Everyone else either turned towards, or lifted their heads to similarly acknowledge him with a chorus of “Hey, Angel.”
There was that damned feeling of being a part of something again. He swallowed, took a breath and concentrated on Cordelia. “Sure, coffee sounds good.”
“I’ll get it,” announced Fred, clambering up from her knees to snag the mugs already cluttering the small table. “Anyone else want a refill while I’m at it?”
With stimulant he didn’t really want and probably didn’t need on its way, he risked getting closer and found a pair of warm, approving red eyes twinkling at him. “So, handsome, how’s storming along the righteous path instead of slinking along alone in the gutter working out for you? I only ask ‘cause by the time we met before you were already in full hero mode.”
Since it was too topical to be coincidence, Angel gave the demon a glare for his unwelcome perception and forced his legs to detour from Cordelia and towards Wesley. The one time watcher spared him a brief neutral glance and then flicked a page.
Cordelia’s stern, “Lorne!” was followed by his response to a sharp dig in the arm
“Ow! Hey, I was just asking.”
With his gaze dragged back by to the by-play, Angel was distracted when the man he’d last spoke to when being abandoned and threatened by him, spoke up. “I’m assuming that since you haven’t thrown me out yet that you’re willing for me to help out?”
Turning away from Cordelia with wrench, Angel met cool composed blue eyes. With a flash of insight, the vampire in him recognised the ashes of what was once a man of formidable integrity. Clueless on where it came from, Angel found himself softening towards him whether he wanted to or not.
He phrased his response carefully. “No matter how it was before, right now this is Cordelia’s operation. You being here is up to her; not me. I was out of line the other night.”
With his expression registering surprise and reserve, Wesley inclined his head in acknowledgement of the implied apology and ducking his head got back to the tome open on the table.
Angel blew out a breath thinking that hadn’t gone so bad. Then stiffened when Cordelia came around the counter to help Fred by taking two of the mugs she was precariously carrying off her and then headed his way.
When she closed in and placed the two mugs on the table before him and Wesley, his nostrils flaring to drink her scent was purely instinctive. Then a pair of stunning honey eyes locked on his as she hunkered down in front of him. “Hey,” she said softly and for him alone. “So, how did the research upstairs go, find anything useful?”
Angel’s head shook from side-to-side before he could unlock his tongue enough to clarify, “None of it applies to me that I can see.” Then feeling an idiot, he frowned and said with a shrug, “Not that I’m an expert on the occult. I tended to make up my own rules back in the day.”
“Having met your evil version a couple of times already, I can easily believe that.” In the middle of saying that, she rose and sat next to him with shooing fingers that demanded he shuffle over. There, chin in hand, she levelled a stare at Wesley, saying, “Wes, you’ve been poring over that thing for hours - give?”
Sitting up straight to answer, Wesley afforded Angel a view of the page he was reading. As he did an image caught his eye and he froze as some latent memory flushed to the surface. Unlocked, the memory grabbed him so hard that when he spoke he sounded distant even to himself. “I recognise that.”
Both of them swung his way. Wesley’s attention jerked back to the book, searching for whatever image might have caught the visibly stunned vampire’s attention. “What this?” His finger pointed at the etching of a metal orb.
Numbly, Angel nodded. “Yeah, I’ve seen it before and it wasn’t a drawing.”
Laser-like, Wesley focused on extracting more details. Brusquely, he asked, “When exactly?”
Gaze turning inwards, Angel licked dry lips and forced his mind to recall some of the past he strove so hard to bury. “I’ve come across it twice,” he said. “Once in Cairo during the latter part of the eighteenth century; then again in LA in 1952.”
Fred was fairly jumping in excitement behind him. “The timing fits doesn’t it?” she said. “This is it. I can feel it.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” warned Wesley, but he was wearing an expression they all recognised. He was a man with an objective. “But given this artefact is called the ‘Memory Orb’ it is suggestive and bears a thorough investigation.”
“Suggestive my ass,” protested Gunn, coming over to join them. “I’m with Fred. This is the way to go, dawg.” Hugged his grinning girlfriend, he planted a kiss on her forehead and assured her, “I can feel it, too.”
~
Cairo – 1779
“I cannot believe we let Holtz drag us down to this level, Angelus. I tell you we should have killed him when we had the chance.” Blonde, petulant and stunningly beautiful, Darla threw out a disgusted hand at the tightly interwoven streets of the ancient and somewhat decayed cityscape.
“Ah, no, Darla,” argued Angelus, feet up on the ottoman and sipping from a goblet. He was audibly holding onto his patience by a thread. “I believe it was I said we should have killed the bastard…in Rome, remember?”
She whirled away from the window with a swish of her skirts. Blue eyes flashed with ire, “I can recall eight years ago, Angelus, and don’t take that tone with me.”
Dark brown hair was tied back at the nape by a strip of leather. Some strands had broken loose from confinement and hung over a cruelly handsome face. “What tone? I don’t have a tone. I was just stating a fact.” Bounding up, Angelus wiped ineffectually at the spots of blood decorating the frills of his shirt. He scowled ferociously, “Damn, this shirt is new.” Illogically, he blamed the donor and threw a disgusted glance at the crumpled body sprawled by the foot of the bed. “If I’d known she was a spurter, I’d have taken it off.”
“Oh, stop worrying over some stupid piece of linen we can replace the next time we kill a shopkeeper. I’m talking about our lives—”
“I hate to break it to ya, but we’re not alive, darlin’” The Irish brogue was deep, smooth and ironic.
Oh, if she’d have had a knife just then…Darla clenched her fists. “Unlives then. The point is I don’t like Cairo, Egypt or any part of this godforsaken continent. I want to go home to Europe.” She actually stamped her foot.
“Holtz will be waiting,” he said sing-song. One shoulder was propped up against the apartment’s mantle while dark eyes dropped to her daintily slippered feet; full of male amusement.
“So, this time we do kill him. And forget any nonsense about torture first. We just get it done and get back to the life- unlife- we had before.”
A knock at the door interrupted the gory planning before Darla could get totally into her stride. Going pale, she backed away from the door rather than towards it. “Do you think it’s him?”
A short bark of laughter followed her retreating steps. “So much for bravely murdering the vampire hunter, Darla,” snorted Angelus, before tossing back the dregs of blood from the pewter goblet and heading over to answer it himself.
“Oh, and you’re not afraid of him I suppose?” she sneered with a toss of golden ringlets. “Just who saved who in Rome?”
Hand on the handle to turn it, Angelus’ merely winked a response and then flung it open with a flourish. On the other side was a man wearing the traditional loose sleeved robe and overwhelming turban, only this one was wrapped over once again to act as a headscarf of sorts.
“And who might you be?” asked Angelus, head cocked, and luckily for the visitor, intrigued rather than irritated at the interruption.
Damning brown eyes simmered under thickly haired brows; added to the weathered bronze skin, pure white beard and headgear, he made a striking figure. Hands clasped in front of him, the stranger asked, “Would you be the creature known as Angelus?”
Truly staggered, Angelus had to blink at the audacity. Calling him a creature and using his given name in the same damned sentence. Then his notorious temper whooshed to fiery life and he straightened to warn, “Oh, you are definitely going to regret that, my friend.”
“I am no friend to vampires,” the man answered and before Angelus could grasp a hold to yank him inside, the stranger whipped up a hand and let loose with a dart.
Staring dumbly down at the feather sticking out of his chest, Angelus heard Darla’s enraged screech cut off when a second dart was sent into her. He fell heavily to his knees and clumsy as well as uncoordinated, he failed to swipe the offending thing away from him. The next instant found him meeting the dusty floor faster than he would have normally cared to.
Jesus! They’d been ambushed, he realised, and half expected to hear the heavy doom-laden footfalls of a certain vengeful Englishman come down the hallway.
Instead he was rolled over and something cold and metallic was placed into his palm. Stained, callused fingers worked his own useless ones so he held the thing securely. Paralysed for the most part, Angelus could only see the orb out of the corner of his vision, but it was enough. Then a lightening flash of pain seized him and spasming, he let out a hoarse, rebellious yell.
~
Los Angeles – 1952
It was raining and the slick sidewalks glistened with light from streetlights and the occasional passing car. Hunching his shoulders against the persistent moisture, Angel lengthened his stride as the cheap motel came into view. The brown bag in his hand was getting damp. He tightened his hold on the bottle’s neck inside it, so it wouldn’t accidentally fall through and smash; washing the concrete with blood.
The motel was an uneasy sanctuary, but it was all he had until he moved on out of LA. Chilled inside and out, he refused to think about his last temporary abode, or the humans he’d left to die. After all, he was a monster and monsters don’t have a conscience.
Climbing the single flight of stairs to his room, Angel fitted his key in the lock, entered and kicked the flimsy door shut. He didn’t need it, but he flipped on the lights anyway, and then turned to coldly eye the man sat in the only armchair.
“Who the hell are you?” he snarled, low and dangerous. He was human that much Angel could tell straight off.
“Please, do not be alarmed,” said the man in a quavering voice, “or hurt me,” he added. “I mean you no harm, Angelus.”
“Oh good,” Angel replied sarcastically. “That makes me feel a lot better about walking in to find an intruder in my room.”
The man was Arabic judging by his bone structure and thick black hair. Khaki pants, white tee-shirt under a blue shirt and tweed jacket gave him a European air. The stranger licked his lips and rose very slowly to his feet. “I have come to fix a misunderstanding.”
“By breaking into my room,” retorted Angel, walking over to the table to place the bag wrapped bottle safely on it. “Seems like an excellent way of creating new misunderstandings to me.”
“I saw no other way of approaching you,” said the stranger. “I would introduce myself, but I am forbidden to do so by the instructions left to me. I must remain incognito.”
Unimpressed, Angel stared. “Now see, how is that supposed to help build trust? You know my name.”
The man seemed to fold in on himself, appearing crestfallen. “I am explaining this poorly and that is a pity. I was afraid of this.”
That didn’t sound good. Angel went stiff and prepared to launch a pre-emptive attack, but he was a second too late. The dart hit him in the neck and his lunge ended with him flat on his face. Suffused with a feeling of déjà vu, Angel felt himself being turned over and something cold and metallic placed squarely on his palm.
What the hell?
TBC
