Title: Seeing and Believing
Author: LadyJubilee
Posted:
Rating: NC17 Sex and violence(not quite the point of the story, but are devices within the story.)
Email: virtualmistress@hotmail.com
Content: Definite C/A, and a threesome-sorta. Interest shown by other characters. Crossover, I guess.
Summary: There’s a birthday party, a villain and a mall.
Spoilers: After "Billy" before "Offspring". Early BtVS season 6 (very vaguely)
Disclaimer: The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.
Distribution: I submitted to Princess Twilight, but, hey, do whatever you want with it.
Notes:
Feedback: Praise accepted, criticism craved.
Part 1
Cordelia picked through the sale basket. A few minutes earlier a white bear shaped figure had caught her eye, and now she dug through the pile of greens, reds, purples and rainbows in search of that one special bear. Unfortunately, the bear in question managed to drop deeper into the pit each time her fingers grazed the white fabric. The display nearly tipped over when she crawled into its depth. “Gotcha.” She lofted her prize, a small white stuffed bear with “BooBear” emblazoned on its chest. The prefect present for her roommate, now she just needed to find his birth date.
Her dive into the barrel caused her skirt to roll up over her thighs. With a quick check to be sure the store was vacant, she tugged the material back into place. The skirt was a new purchase, especially for tonight—black leather. When she saw it hanging in the store she had to have it and the lilac tank top. Not her usual style, but she hoped it’d attract a certain co-worker’s attention. Or at least she had before Fred dropped the bombshell.
She looked around the shop again, waiting for the sales person to retrieve her special order. To her left, a wide selection of human heads, preserved organs and what appeared to be demon shaped masks lived in seeming comfort next to a display of Royal Dolton figurines. The shelves on the right were lined with books, weapons and work-boots. Cordelia shivered—the whole work-boot thing was creepy. Prize in hand she moved towards a cabinet marked “saintly pieces”. Fingers, teeth, bones and the odd toe were encased in small gift boxes, each proclaiming the name of a well known saint. Definitely not on Cordelia’s gift giving list. “Any day now,” she told the absent sales person. “Next time Wesley does his own shopping.” Then she spotted the Matchbox display. One of the older cars was a long black convertible. This time she obtained the treasure without having to risk her life.
The sales assistant came through the beaded doorway bearing an oblong box. “Here it is. Just like I promised,” she said.
“You promised it’d be ready an hour ago.” Cordy opened the case. As far as she was concerned it looked like yet another sharp pointy thing, like all the other sharp pointy things Angel, Gunn and Wesley left lying all over the hotel. Dust collectors, all of them—the pointy things, not the guys, except when Angel was in brood mode. She put the bear and the toy car on the counter for the woman to ring up. “Oh, I need my munchies, too.”
“Sure. Be glad to get them out of my refrigerator. They really stink.” The woman went back through the bead curtain, only to return with three white boxes. “Let me get you a bag for all this.”
The door of “Antiquities and Curiosities” closed behind Cordelia. Because of the delay, night had already fallen, and she found herself alone on the mean streets of LA after dark. She shifted her shopping bags and reached into her shoulder bag where her hand closed around a stake; she felt marginally better. The busy street had been transformed while she was in the shop, changing from a shopper’s paradise into an ominous shadow realm. Street walkers patrolled the street while yards away white packets and money traded hands. All around her, creatures emerged from their lairs to claim the streets.
Spike stopped the car at a red light. His errand finished, he could kick back with a cold one. He’d prefer a hot one, but with the chip in his head that just wasn’t going to happen. Still, bright lights, big city, and all that. He didn’t need to be invited to the party with the Slayer and her little friends—or the Poof, for that matter. He’d have his own party. LA had the best demon joints; business was always booming with the Slayer tied to Sunnydale. “When the Slayer’s away, the vamps do play,” he announced.
The light turned green even as a scream drew his attention to the sidewalk. A dark haired woman writhed on the ground in front of a grungy looking shop. As he watched the predators started to move in for the kill, drawn to sight, sound and smell of weakness. “Stupid git,” he snickered. Her cries only excited the hunters, wetting their appetites. He felt the pull, the call to feed on the helpless. That need resonated within him, enticing his demon, despite the chip in his head which prevented the kill. His car moved forward. He couldn’t join in the feast, and while smashing some fellow demons might be fun, he had some partying to start. Vampires fed on humans—that’s just how it had to be. It was the nature of things, just as lions fed on gazelle. Yeah, he thought, he was a lion, hunting the plains of LA. But something gnawed at the back of his mind. “Oh, conscience, don’t bug me now,” he ordered that nagging sensation. “Oh, wait, don’t have a conscience,” he snorted, even as that flicker burned into his conscious. Then he realized. “Well, hell,” he recognized that screech. Besides he was neutered lion, neutered by more than a chip…
***********
“Where is he?” Wesley asked, entering the lobby of the Hyperion.
“Nest. Should take him awhile,” answered Gunn from the office. “Get the candles?”
Wesley set his packages on the counter and took out several brightly colored boxes. “Every box they had…won’t be enough.”
Fred came out of Wesley’s office carrying a package wrapped in smiley faces. “Gunn thinks Angel’s going to start pouting. I told him Angel doesn’t pout, he broods.”
Gunn rolled his eyes. “Looks like pouting to me.”
“I think you have to do that lip thing to pout. Angel doesn’t” she jutted out her lower lip “does he?”
“I, ah, hadn’t noticed,” Gunn asked, though he noticed Fred had a pretty cool pout. And the “lip thing” gave him al kinds of ideas. He added his own Barney wrapped package to the growing stack on the table. Since the purple dino annoyed him, he just had to share it with Angel. “Where’s yours?” he asked Wesley.
“Cordy’s picking it up.” He rocked back onto his heels. “I’m sure he’ll love it. And, yes, I’d say we’re in for some pou—um, brooding. That is how these things go.”
“Sure, man,” Gunn answered. He was certain his voice revealed little doubt about the quality of Wesley’s present. English probably got him a crappy present like a book or a sweater.
Wesley sniffed. “So what’d you get?”
“Gameboy,” Gunn announced with pride.
“With a hockey game,” Fred added. “Angel gets a little sensitive when his men die, so we got a game where nobody dies. Gunn let me help pick it out. We went to a store that only sells games, I’ve never been to one before, I mean I’ve been to a store before but not one that only sales games, but then living in a cave all those years I really didn’t get out much. Do you really think he’s going to starting brooding again?”
The front doors opened.
“They’re here,” Gunn whispered.
Wesley waved as a group women and one man crowded into the lobby. “This is such a great idea,” he muttered to Fred.
Fred had the grace to look embarrassed. “You said they were his friends.”
“Yes,” Wesley agreed, “the leave you-lurking-in-the-shadows, loving-the-angst kind of friends. In the future try to remember our motto,” he suggested carefully, aware of Fred’s delicacy.
“We help the helpless?” As far as Fred was concerned, that didn’t apply here.
“Ah, no. ‘Never plan alone’…and ‘Secrets—bad’. Here they come.” Wesley smiled, he hoped it conveyed sincerity and welcoming, and not dread.
“Hi,” Gunn called, drawing the group’s attention before whispering to Wesley. “He’s not gonna’ do the brood thing, is he? Cause, man, I hate that.”
Wesley rolled his eyes. “As I said, this is such a good idea.”
“Think we’ll get to see a fight?” asked Gunn. A good fight might make up for the eminent brooding.
“I sincerely hope not, but probably. Hello, everyone,” Wesley greeted the group.
The Scooby Gang got their first glimpse of Angel Investigations. From the outside, the Hyperion had seemed run down and a bit shabby, but on the inside it seemed run down and a bit shabby, though clean. The décor looked like something from a 1950s movie, and the huge lobby seemed a bit much for the small staff of AI. But then, it was an entire hotel for a total of five employees. “Dead boy likes to go large for the living space,” Xander whispered to his friends. “This place is bigger than that old mansion.” He thought of his own apartment. “How does he manage it?” Not that he had housing envy. Size wasn’t important. Sure, Xan, he told himself.
Anya looked around before agreeing. “We should open a detective agency. Lots of profit potential. Xander could be head detective. We’ll charge case by case, say $500 for a vampire slaying and $250 per spell. Slaying’s more specialized,” she advised Tara and Willow, concerned they might feel slighted.
“So, should we go in or just stand here?” Willow asked. Xander and Anya had stopped at the head of the stairs, while Buffy seemed glued to the doorway.
She could do this, Buffy promised herself. She had a life; Angel had a life; and those two lives were separate lives, as in way separate. His life was separate from hers. She was not part of his life. This hotel was part of that separate, very separate life. The last time she’d been to LA they’d made certain of that separateness. Nothing could make their lives one. Taking a deep breath Buffy stepped through the threshold into Angel’s life.
***********
Fred showed the new arrivals where to put their presents. Presents, she noticed, that were all elegantly wrapped, and made the silly kid’s wrappings AI used looked, well, silly. “Hi, I’m Fred…and you’re Buffy—the last one, not the one that came back and killed the lawyers, right?” she leaned towards Wesley and whispered, “She’s not that one, right? She’s the ‘bite me’ one, right?”
“Ah, she’s not vampire,” answered Wesley. Some days he was stunned, just stunned by the way Fred’s mind worked. Why had she sent the invitation before clarifying that small detail?
Turning to the man she continued, “And you’re Xander. You don’t look to bad to me, but then I’ve never fixed an upper before so I could be wrong.”
“Ah, thanks. I think,” Xander replied, he thought there was a compliment buried the put down.
“Red hair, which makes you Willow. You don’t look like a nerd. I mean I’m one, a nerd not a willow, though I guess I’d want to be a willow if I were a tree, but I meant a nerd, I am one but then I don’t mind, I really like the book thing and, wow, the formulas and theorems….and you must be Tara,” Fred greeted.
Willow nodded, truly amazed by all the verbiage.
“That leaves Dawn, which must be you….and Anya.” Before anyone could interrupt, “Do you have any horns or a tail? Not that there’s anything wrong with horns or tails, I’ve always thought it’d be great to have a tail, a prehensile one, you know, so you could hang from trees—or from a balcony. I’m Fred, but then you probably already guessed that. I mean, if Angel talked about me, but I guess he wouldn’t, cause I mean, why would he. Did he?”
The visitors were stunned into silence. Having battled vampires, demons and the odd cheerleader, they were all cowed into submission at the very through of starting Fred on another confessional.
As leader, he knew his duty. “Ah, Fred, why don’t we let them settled in,” suggested Wesley when the new arrivals’ eyes began to glaze. “You arrived just in time to help us decorate. We prepared rooms upstairs when you’re ready.” It had taken forever to find enough rooms with floors for all the guests.
Dawn stood a little back from the group. She was amazed by the hotel, intrigued by Fred and blown over by the tall sexy guy in yellow sweatshirt. “You must be, Gunn,” she tried, and then wanted to kick herself. Of course he was Gunn, she already knew Wesley and he definitely wasn’t Fred. She blushed, but still stepped forward. Her tummy did a little gig, the guy was Hot. “This is so cool,” she enthused, waving towards the presents. Great, she thought, sound even more like a twelve year old. She pulled her shoulders back, and tried to look sexy. “I didn’t even know it was Angel’s birthday.”
“He doesn’t either,” Gunn answered with a nod of greeting in her direction. Cute girl, kind of reminded him of Fred. Only now when he thought of Fred he pictured pouting lips. Whoa, down boy, he warned himself.
Dawn grinned, pleased to be noticed for a change. Her special moment lived only briefly though. Gunn took a roll of yellow crepe paper from Wesley and started to circle the counter. Dawn worked closer to help with the decorating. Her eyes nearly bulged. Oh my gosh, she thought. What a great as—set of buns. She looked around; no one had noticed her drooling.
Oblivious to Dawn’s distraction, Fred explained, “He couldn’t remember the exact date, so Cordy just picked one,” as she started unraveling streamers. “She didn’t want one too close to her birthday, or a major holiday. She said it caused majored present reduction if people had to get too many presents at one time.”
Wesley nodded then added, “Yes, so she picked a date just before my birthday. How considerate.”
Xander nodded, “Sounds like Cordelia.” His Cordy made self serving a way of life. Somehow it was reassuring to find that some things in life never changed. Looking down, he found himself holding a large banner. “Ok, so I guess we’re in charge of the salutation displays.” He guided Anya towards the stairs where they dangled the sign over the balcony, tying each end to a rail.
Buffy looked around, too, trying to get a picture of Angel’s life here. The last time she’d been to LA, he’d lived in small apartment below his office. This was so different, a place Angel didn’t seem to belong. Instead of dark shadows, this place had color. Sure, it wasn’t exactly a rainbow hue, but the walls were a sort of greenish yellow cream. The room was open, exposed, not the enclosed safe place she envisioned for him. She wondered where his room was here. At least she would know what to expect there, Angel liked dark, tight spaces. He always crowded his rooms with antiques, reminders of his unnaturally long life. She stopped; thinking about his bedroom was bad, very bad. She clamped her thighs together to still the tingling at their junction. “So where is everyone?” her voice was only slightly husky.
“Angel’s clearing a nest downtown,” Gunn answered. He and Fred were moving some the couches around for the party. “Cordy went by her place to pick up vamp munchies then had to run an errand.”
Willow echoed, “Vamp munchies?”
Gunn laughed, “Don’t ask. Things she does to that man’s blood! Gross, really gross.” He tossed a pillow to Dawn. “You gonna’ help or just stand there looking all cute.”
“You didn’t go with you him?” demanded Buffy. Obviously Angel’s crew hadn’t improved since her last visit. A nest could be big trouble, Angel could be dust even as they spoke.
Making room at her end of the couch, Fred waved Dawn over to help push. The teenager glowed in the attention.
Passing the card around for signatures, Wesley joined Willow and Tara who were taping crepe tassels round the lobby. “You’ve been tasting her attempts? Well then I’ll have to warn Angel you’ve been raiding the refrigerator.”
“Sure, English, and I’ll tell him who got demon goo on his favorite broadsword.” He met the blonde woman’s glare. “Took us a week to set up something that would keep him long enough to decorate. Just five vamps, Angel can take them.”
“He should back any minute. Would you like to sign?” Wesley passed Buffy a giant card with the words “Live Long and Prosper” and a picture of a Vulcan from the original Star Trek. Buffy noticed someone had penciled in a set of fangs. Space inside the card was already taken up with wishes like, “Happy B”, “Fairytales really do come true. Sometimes a handsome man appears from no where to save the damsel”, “Life’s long—only you can decide how to live it”, “Hmmmmm, Angel”, “I’ll be here, even when I’m a star”, “Thanks for taking care our Baby, love Mom and Dad”, “Felicitations from the Big House” and “Sorry couldn’t make it. You guys are so cool. Happy Birthday.”
“Oh, yeah, sure,” she answered reaching for the card. She carried the card into the office, where she took a pen from Cordy’s desk. “I’ll sign then pass it on.”
Wesley moved away. The slayer obviously wanted a moment alone.
Ok, so what am I supposed to say, Buffy asked herself.
“Check the weapons,” Xander yelled from across the room. She looked up and saw him pulling out a sword and a mace from a large cabinet.
Cool, but first the card, she decided; no escaping it.
I will always love you? It was true, but…she didn’t know if she really love loved him that way anymore. Of course she did---but she didn’t, did she? Happy Birthday, your friend? Oh, yeah, that was…well, bloodless, definitely not right for a vampire. Kind of minimized the whole relationship thing. She looked around for inspiration.
The back doors of the hotel opened and a hideous green monster stormed into the room, arms raised growling, “Bono No…” Even as Buffy raced to intercept, Xander swung the ax he’d just pulled from the weapons case. The sharp edge sliced cleanly through the creature’s flesh, allowing Xander to decapitate the beast in one fluid motion. The creature’s head flew across the room, while its body toppled down the steps. Anya hugged her boyfriend, her face lit up in pride. “You are so hot. Would now be an opportune time for…?” She finished in a whisper.
“Smooth move,” Buffy praised approaching the severed head.
Xander swung the sword again, reliving the kill. ”I thought so.”
“Oh, no! Lorne,” Fred cried as she rushed toward the body.
Gunn was already running across the room, and Wesley rushed from his office; he tossed aside a load of balloons as he ran.
The Sunnydale contingent watched the LA branch converge on the corpse. “You know that thing?” Buffy asked. So, moving to LA caused insanity.
“Yes,” Wesley answered, as he started to shift the body.
Suddenly the eyes on the corpse opened and it spoke. “I know I should have knocked, but did you have to chop my head OFF?” it demanded.
Xander backed up, “Whoa.” He held the ax defensively and pushed Anya behind him.
“Yikes is a good word,” Willow added. Tara nodded, confident in Willow’s assessment.
Fred picked up the head. These things kept happening, and they still had all the brooding to go! Wesley was right; this was so not a good idea. “Lorne, I’m really sorry. Want me to stick your head back on?”
“Why no, pumpkin, I thought you could just put me in the cupboard. If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, you could even take me out once in a while for a good dusting.” The severed head glared at the assemblage. “PUT ME BACK!”
“I’m officially creeped,” added Buffy. “Would someone like to explain?”
“Yes, well, perhaps we could,” Wesley paused. “Um, give him a moment.”
“To pull myself together? What is it with you people. Everytime. Either you wreck my club or get my head cut off,” Lorne complained. “Fred, sweetie, it goes the other way.”
“Sorry,” Fred said again. She was flustered, what with the flying heads and the pressure. She turned his face away from her. “Is that better?”
“Yeah, sure, a lot better than having my head on the floor.” Lorne stood and he brushed at his suit. “Do you people ever mop around here? Look at this. I just had this suit dry cleaned. The gang from Sunnydale, I presume.”
Several heads nodded. “Remind me never to visit.”
Part 2
“Here, vampy vamps,” Angel cooed, walking through the darkened hallway. Behind him, three piles of dust littered the floor, but his informant said there would be at least five. “Three down, two to go.” A quite rustle hinted at the presence of another vampire. Flipping the stake end over end, he mimicked distraction and over confidence to lure his prey into a fatal mistake.
On queue a female vampire sprang towards him from an alcove. Bright red polish coated the fingernails seeking to claw Angel’s face. He ducked, avoiding their caress. Her hiss of anger and frustration echoed against the walls. “What do you want?” she demanded.
Angel held the stake at ready. “Not to be late for my birthday party.” He snapped his wrist forward, stabbing into her heart. “And a Gameboy,” he added as she turned to dust, “but I’m not greedy.” The birthday boy turned back down the hall in search of his final victim. Vampires preyed on humans, but he preyed on vampires—that’s just how it had to be.
***********
The vision was sudden and vicious, instantly propelling her to the ground and obliterating any awareness of her surroundings. Images of women, dozens of women, being tortured and murdered. Cordy felt their terror, felt the ropes that held them, felt their skin burn and tear, felt the knives slice, each and every torment rolled through her mind in stereo. Her stomach churned in disgust and fear. She even felt their deaths, the cold approach of nothingness which ended their torment. Any thing after that dark moment ended their lives was closed to her. The images flowed in rapid succession, each bringing a new horror. One woman, a prostitute, taken from the streets, another a housewife pulled from her own kitchen, images of children in an abandoned building, a woman fading from an office to re-emerge a lifeless corpse in a dump. Through it all pain seared through Cordy’s skull. Through it all she tried to filter any bit of information that might tell her how Angel was supposed to help. A man, dressed in black flickered through each event. He yielded the knives and lit the flames; he meticulously robbed each of the women of the gift of life. He craved patterns into their living bodies and burned emblems into their screaming flesh. Cordy watched in horror as he reveled in each cruel act and fed on each death growing stronger. And then she watched as he turned from his task, blades in hand, to look at her….
***********
Spike jumped from his car, relishing the advantage of surprise as he attacked the two nearest vampires. He tossed them away from their prey with ease, sending them through a shop window. The window exploded, spraying the sidewalk with shards of glass. Cordelia Chase continued to make that god-awful noise as he tackled another vamp. “Listen, fellas, the girl’s not worth it. Only give you indigestion.” She was certainly giving him indigestion with that racket. “Would you SHUT UP!” he demanded, ducking a punch from a rather large dark haired vampire. The vamps second punch caught Spike under the ribs. Spike grunted and returned with a jab of his own. A meaty crunch was his reward. Thankfully, the screaming faded to be replaced by sobbing, though Spike focused on the fist that kept trying to reach him. Tiring of the game, he abandoned fist-fighting and kicked the vampire’s legs out from under him. The vampire howled as his kneecap shattered. “Don’t you start,” Spike order with a swift kick to the vampire’s belly. A little screaming whetted the appetite; a lot of screaming beckoned a headache.
The vampire scuttled back, unable to support weight on his broken leg, but unwilling to stay. “Take her,” he whimpered.
“Think I will, mate,” Spike answered with a smirk. He leaned towards Cordelia, bending over to help her from the ground.
The vision ended with the man’s eyes burnings into hers, but was replaced by the image of Spike, the blonde vampire, moving towards her, coming in for the kill. Her hand was still in her shoulder bag.
“Cordeeeel…”
In a move Angel had forced her to practice over and over, she whipped the stake from her bag and had it at Spike’s heart in a blink of the eye. “Back off, blondie,” she ordered, her voice weaker than she intended. Freed from her grip, her bag emptied onto the sidewalk depositing lipstick, change, pens and her cell-phone.
“Whoa, princess, only trying to help. Hey, hey, watch it with that thing,” he added, dancing away when she poked his chest with the tip.
“Help yourself to a meal, you mean. Do I look like a Happy Meal.” Cordy tried to push herself up, but the movement sent waves of pain into her skull. The stake dropped to the ground, clattering as it struck cement then rolled away. “Noooo.” The street swayed, but she fought for some control.
“More of a Grumpy Meal, if you ask me.” Spike’s curiosity was peaked. “You don’t look so good.” He steadied her when she wove sideways then helped her gather her things from the ground and helped her get to her feet before guiding her towards the car. On the upside, it looked like he was going to the party after all. “You don’t like have cancer or anything?” he asked, thinking of Joyce.
“No…Wait, wait.” Cordy could only mumble as any sound generated more waves of pain. “My bags.”
Rolling his eyes Spike picked up the bags. He stopped. Spike, William the Bloody, the Big Bad, bad ass vampire reduced to a bag boy. He glanced around to be sure no other demons witnessed his humiliation. This just wasn’t natural.
“Drop them, and I will stake you,” warned Cordelia as she climbed into the car. She leaned back, trying to steady her pounding head, before fumbling with her purse.
Well, hell. He sniffed, something smelled. Unobtrusively he sniffed under his arms, not that he should smell the way humans did, but… Then he pinpointed the odor. “What the bloody hell is that stink?”
Cordy looked around, trying to focus beyond the pounding in her head. “Huh? Oh, vampire munchies.” She dug through her purse, trying to find a small brown bottle. It wasn’t in the bag. Great, it had fallen out of the bag with the rest of her stuff. She opened the car door again, only to be greeted by a loud crunch.
Spike froze. “That would be what you’re looking for.” He lifted his foot to reveal a crushed pill bottle.
Great, just great. “Ok, first we need to go by the pharmacy. We need to hurry--its almost time.” Cordy took a deep breath which helped her regain control, even though it didn’t ease the pain.
Stowing the packages in the backseat, Spike got behind the wheel. Cordelia leaned back in the seat and forced her body towards relaxation. He noticed lines of tension etched around her closed eyes. Why was he doing this, he asked himself. Pulling away from the curb, he looked at Cordelia again. Why had he stopped to help her? And why the bloody hell did he pick up those packages? He sniffed again, and what was that bloody awful smell? “Vampire munchies?”
“Blood pudding, and blood-etin,” came the answer, as if it was so obvious he shouldn’t have had to ask.
“Blood…pudding?” He swallowed as he envisioned what it would taste like.
Cordy’s eyes remained closed, but Spike could almost feel them rolling. “It’s not cooked. Angel doesn’t eat, so I had the butcher use a jello-mould; instant vampire birthday cake. Look, can we not talk now, at least until after the pharmacy.”
For a few minutes silence filled the car. Blood pudding, what kind of woman gave a vampire blood pudding? What kind of woman threw a birthday party for a vampire? And why did he even care enough to ask? Poof and his wimpy birthday cake. The great Angelus, Scourge of Europe, psycho vamp, terror of a thousand nights and a birthday cake, it was laughable. Spike made a face, mouthing “oohh, birthday cake.” He didn’t need a birthday cake, he didn’t need anyone. What he needed was a cigarette; he reached into his pocket. “Don’t even think about lighting that,” Cordelia ordered. He pulled out a cigarette, daring her to do anything.
Cordelia lifted an eye brow…
...and an unlit cigarette flew out the window.
The brunette relaxed into the seat. Spike sniffed again, this time he let himself smell beyond the stink in the bags. Something filled the air, a scent he recognized but couldn’t place. Something…..
He pulled into a drive through pharmacy as Cordy instructed. She passed a prescription through the drive through window to the pharmacist. Moments later she received a brown bottle filled with pills in return.
Relief flooded Cordy as the opened the bottle and swallowed two of the little pills. She was so desperate to reduce the pain, she took them without water. “Don’t tell Angel,” she warned Spike. “I mean it.” The pills lowered the pain threshold a bit, allowing her to think about the vision. She shuddered. “Oh, God, he saw me.”
“Angelus? Where?” Looking around, Spike tried to spot his Sire, but couldn’t see the Brooding One lurking in any shadows. “Thought he was having his birthday party,” he said, pleased he didn’t sound too jealous. No one had given him a birthday party, even though he’d spent months helping the Slayer and her Slayerettes.
“Angel’s here? What, no.” The bleach must have seeped into this head. “The man in my vision, he….he looked back at me…” she tried to find the words “…knew me…he’s…”
That was it, Spike realized. Drusilla, Cordelia smelled just like Dru.
“He’s coming…for me,” Cordy finished.
***********
The phone rang. Wesley pushed through the streamers and balloons to reach it, as soon as he picked up the second line rang. Gunn grabbed the phone on Cordy’s desk.
“That was Cordy, she’s on her way…”
“Heads up, Angel’s coming….” They announced in unison.
***********
In the back garden, Angel practiced. He opened his eyes wide, put his hand over his heart and mouthed, “Wow!” No, felt too practiced. He did a little jump step back, with a huge surprised expression. No, only if he was being threatened by a big scary. He had to get this right, Cordy had put too much into this for him to get it wrong—and she’d know if he wasn’t really surprised. If she discovered that he’d discovered the party plans in advance he’d be safer checking out the day-life in Sun City. He tried again, not too much, combination surprised, but not scared, and pleased, he had to look pleased and…what if he had blood breath? He made his vestidule lungs exhaled into his hand, just to check, humans really hated blood breath. He started again. Surprised, the good kind, not getting ready to have your heart ripped out kind; pleased, happy, but not TOO happy, the kind followed by mass murder and ritualistic torture; eager, but not so eager that if he didn’t get the Gameboy he’d cry like a baby-man. Once more, just to be sure. He opened his eyes wide, dropped his jaw and mimicked a happy, pleased, eager shocked look, followed by his “for Cordy” smile. The one she really liked. He was ready.
Long duster billowing behind him, he strolled through the back garden, and swung open the doors.
The lobby was decorated with streamers and tassels, and a huge banner that read, “Happy Birthday” hung from the balcony. His friends and acquaintances—including Buffy and her friends from Sunnydale--yelled, “SURPRISE!”
‘Wow, guys, you shouldn’t have,” he began before the other set of doors swung open to admit Cordelia. One look at her pinched expression, he knew she’d had a vision. Robbed of her natural grace, she stumbled on the stairs.
Since coming back from his dark period, he’d promised himself that he would never let her fall. Lately he’d had to admit to that he sucked at keeping that promise. Party forgotten he raced across the room.
Part 3 and 4
“I’ve never seen that before…” marveled Xander. One second Angel had been at the back door. They were yelling surprise. The next Angel was at the front door, standing with Cordelia on the stairs. “Someone tell me they’ve seen that before.”
“Pfft,” Gunn stamped down the steps, “Don’t know about you, ax man, but ‘round here we try not to let the ladies hit the floor.”
“How come we always have to pick her up off the floor, then?” Fred wanted to know.
The tall man started towards Angel and Cordelia, trailed by Wesley and Anya. “Well, yeah, but…Am I the only one that saw the ‘here’ and then the ‘there’?”
“No, I saw it too,” Willow added. “Definitely here then there. Buffy?”
Buffy didn’t know what to think. She’d never seen Angel do that, be so vampire in front of people. “Yeah, Will. Here, there. Saw it all. I wonder what’s up?” Angel hadn’t even acknowledged her; that hurt. He passed right by her to go to Cordelia.
She watched Cordelia lap up the attention. As always, the brunette virtually simpered as all four LA men—including the green guy--crowded around her in concern, even Fred seemed to think tripping on the stairs was a major crisis. Worst of all Angel fell for it. Two hundred plus years to learn every trick women like Cordelia could use on a man, and he still led the hovering charge. Queen C’s cortege ushered her towards the round settee in the middle of the room, completely ignoring Buffy, Xander, Anya and Willow. They accepted a cushion offered by Tara and made room for Dawn to squeeze in next to Fred. Things could not get any more bizarre.
Or so she thought until the front doors open again. “I got the bags. Now, can I go,” Spike demanded of Cordelia. He stared at the circle of bodies which enclosed the brunette. “Hello, not standing around forever. Got places to go, people to eat.”
“…fine, Angel.” Cordy pushed Angel and Wesley away. “Put them on the couch,” she instructed. Spike dropped the bags and started towards the door. “Then sit down, you’re staying too.”
“Anya, keep an eye on Xander,” Buffy warned when the blonde vampire obeyed the May Queen, “something is totally wrong with the men in this room.” Cautiously she led her friends towards the settee.
“There is,” agreed Xander. He blinked. He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them. He tried again. “I swear it looks like they’re wearing matching outfits.”
Angel wore black leather pants and a light purple shirt under his duster. Looking at Buffy, Willow kicked Xander’s shin. “No, ah, no matching. See, different, very different.”
Anya pinched Xander.
“Uh, right,” Xander corrected. “Must be my eyes, gotta’ have them checked.”
Unaware of Buffy’s concerns, Cordelia kept talking, “Gunn, Lorne, call Anne. I want you to go to an abandoned building…it’s behind…” she closed here eyes, replaying the image in the vision “a car parts, no it’s near a junkyard and a park, it looks like an abandoned lot. There’s a diner across the street…Mick’s.” She opened her eyes. “There are two children hiding in the building. They’re waiting for their mother to come back for them….”
She bowed her head, allowing her hair to cover her face. The image and feelings of a woman being burned alive crowded into her head, mixed with the growing anxiety of the children. Angel brushed her hair away from her face. “She isn’t coming back for them, is she?” he more stated than asked.
”No…no, she’s not.” Later, when she was alone she could grieve for that woman and all the others; now she concentrated on the living and sort of living. Angel deserved a night of fun, a night of being “human”, not the added guilt of her visions. “Lorne, would you go with them? I don’t think, I mean, I don’t think they were all human. Anne may need help.” She looked past her co-workers to the Sunnydale crew. “We’ll have the party after they get back; OK?”
That voice, Angel identified, the one she used when she wanted them to think everything was alright. The one she used when things were really all wrong. “Forget the party, tell us about the vision then you go home and get some rest. We’ll do this” he motioned at the banner and streamers “some other time. What did you see?”
Cordy shook her head, ignoring the renewed throb, and reached out to touch his hand. “Angel, the rest will wait. The children need us now, but the rest will wait, we have time. There won’t be anymore for the moment.” She glared at Spike who had opened his mouth. “Tonight, party. Tomorrow, bad guys--or girls,” she quipped.
“Or its,” added Fred.
“Or its.”
“So that was a vision,” Buffy realized. When Angel told her about Cordelia having visions he’d said the former cheerleader suffered mind splitting headaches; she’d envisioned screaming pain. She should have realized it was only typical Cordelia Chase playing to the audience. She and Willow exchanged a look. That little wobble on the stairs did not merit the attention being lavished on the woman. Poor Angel. Between the Watcher Wash-out, the Vision Victim and Freaky Fred, he had to be miserable. Even if they couldn’t be together-together, she had to make more time for him, to help him escape all this once in a while.
Angel was not convinced by Cordelia protestations. He was certain Cordelia was being judicious with the information. He wanted to hear the rest—now, not late, but experience had taught him that prodding and cajoling wouldn’t work. Cordy would tell them when she was ready and not before. But he wasn’t about to let her have her own way in everything. “Fine. You’ll rest while Gunn and Lorne find those kids. No, Cordelia. It’s either rest here or go home. When they get back we’ll do the party.” With only two options on offer, Cordy agreed.
“So, where do I put the vampire munchies?” Spike lofted the shopping bags. This was too good to miss.
Angel groaned, vampire munchies. He loved Cordy, he really did, but even for his best friend, he wasn’t sure he could take vampire munchies.
***********
“What isn’t she…what is that smell?” Angel demanded. After making sure Cordelia went to rest in his bedroom, Angel cornered Spike in the newly discovered kitchen.
Many a time Angel had royally pissed him off, now Spike intended to enjoy the pay back. He smirked at his Sire, savoring the moment. “Vampire munchies,” he cooed. The elder vampire almost seemed to pale. This was so great; better than staking the bad guys. “She can’t wait for you to try it. Said she made it herself,” she hadn’t, but hey, a why let a good lie go to waste, especially when it made the Poof go gray. “Oh, yes, kept saying show she slaved to get it just right. How much work getting the mould to work was.”
”Mold? She put…” Angel’s stomach flip-flopped. Mold, even worse than cinnamon. Lightning quick, he grabbed Spike’s neck, “I’m not doing this alone.”
“Are you nuts? Just tell her no, you’re supposed to be Angelus, bad ass vamp. ‘Sides it’s your ‘birthday’,” he sneered. He struggled against Angel’s grip then his disgust turned to panic. Angel could make him do it; Angelus could be a sadistic bastard. “I’m not doing it. Look at it,” he said in disgust.
Angel released him long enough to open one of the boxes. A wobbly red blob shaped like a clown’s head stared back at him. “Its got fangs,” he groaned with bemused horror.
Snorting at his Sire’s dismay, Spike opened a second box. “This is my favorite.”
Angel peeked then did a double take. “She didn’t;” she had. In this box a circle shaped mound of what smelled like pig’s blood and fat was decorated with the words, “Happy Birthday, ANGEL”. “Open that and I break your fingers, one by one,” he warned Spike as the blonde reached for the third box. “You’ll have plenty of time to look in the box while you enjoy the vampire munchies with me.”
“Not a chance,” denied Spike. “Poor Soul-boy maybe whipped, but I’m still a vampire, a free agent, my own man…”
“I’ll tell Cordelia.”
“I’m not afraid of her” came the boastful reply.
“Riiight. You’re just bag-boy vamp, on a mission to aid overburdened shoppers everywhere.” With a final sniff of the noxious packages, Angel pushed them into the refrigerator, closing the doors with more force than truly necessarily.
“Girl had a stake the size of my arm and this damn chip wouldn’t let me…” Spike tried to protest, but even to his ears it was weak. “So, she’s a seer.”
Angel leaned against the refrigerator. He didn’t like the word Spike used. Cordy was not a seer. She was vision girl. “No,” he clarified, “she just has visions.”
Unable to credit his ears, Spike stared at the older vampire, trying to read what lay behind the closed expression. Angelus had the gift of hiding his thoughts, it was a trait that had both entranced and annoyed Darla. “There’s no difference, mate. She’s a seer, like Dru. Even smells like her. Hell, girl even looks like her.”
The urge to deny was instantaneous and vehement. Angel made himself consider Spike’s words, made himself open the door to that possibility, a door he had purposefully locked long ago. When he thought about it, Cordelia did have that scent. He wanted to slam the door shut on those thoughts, he wanted slam the door shut on Spike’s revelations. “She’s not like Dru, Spike; Cordy’s not insane.”
“Neither was Dru before she met you.” With that he blonde stormed from the room, leaving Angel to face the damning truths.
***********
Cordelia felt Dawn watching her and knew that she had hurt the girl’s feelings. Even seeing that hurt, Cordy couldn’t feel comfortable with the girl. When Angel talked about Dawn after returning from Sunnydale, Cordy had assumed Dawn was a new friend of Buffy’s, someone who’d crossed that magical line which separated the Scoobies from all invaders—a line she’d never been able to cross, not that she wanted to, of course. Now she realized Dawn was Buffy’s sister. Everyone remembered Dawn, remembered her growing up, remembered her being part of their lives. Everyone, Cordy thought with a shiver, but her. Dawn’s presence reminded Cordy of clandestine doctor’s appointments, of cold hands during examinations, of machines that swallowed a person whole, and of calm voice delivering a grim prognosis. It also reminded her of her mother, of the battle for mental health fought with pills and hospitals. No matter how much she wanted to reach beyond those reminders, she was constrained by one truth. If she reached out she had to admit those nightmares were as real as vampire and the demons she fought on a daily basis. She had to break the AI cardinal rule. No one must discover the toll the visions exacted from her body and mind.
A few moments earlier the girl climbed on the Angel’s bed with Cordy and began talking about the fun times she had shared with Cordelia. Gradually, Fred, Tara and Willow made their way onto the bed, which was strange. Cordy had never been part of the “slumber party” crowd. Dawn, Tara and Willow were telling Fred all about Sunnydale and life on the Hellmouth. The realization that she should know Dawn had frightened Cordy. When the girl casually reached over to pat Cordy’s hand during a humorous memory, Cordy had flinched, unable to control the instinctive recoil. Now she felt terrible. Dawn had noticed her withdrawal.
Fred must have noticed the tension too, because she tried to change the subject. “We don’t have a Hellmouth. We do have portals. I hate portals. Slavery, torture, death—bad things, always bad things.” Fred felt the panic raising, felt it constricting her chest. “But, but Cordy got to be a princess.”
“Sure,” Cordy added sarcastically, “after the hot pokers. I miss Pylea”
“A princess?” Tara asked. Fred started to explain.
Instead of joining the other girls piled on the bed, Buffy prowled around the room. It was dark, but not really dark, more of a purple or pomegranate, and there was light. A few antiques lined the walls, but it certainly wasn’t over-flowing with stuff. The more she thought about it, the room lacked the museum feel Angel’s apartment under the first office had, or the feel of the apartment he had when she first met him. This room was more open. Not sparse, but not cluttered. It had a comfortable, lived in feel….It was all wrong. Her Angel couldn’t be comfortable in this room.
Her attention was drawn to the bed and the women lounging on its covers when Dawn seemed to pull back from Cordelia. Buffy felt her ire spring to life. Cordy must have said something to Dawn to make Dawn pull back that way. The first chance she got, she would talk to Cordelia. Dawn had been through too much this year for Cordy’s Cordy-isms.
In the meantime, she needed to talk to Angel without an audience. She needed his reassurance that he was still “her” Angel. Lately she’d felt awash, set adrift amid all her problems. But no matter how lost she felt, she knew Angel was her unchanging constant. Even if they couldn’t be together, he was hers forever.
***********
She tracked him down in the basement. “Nice set up,” she remarked. It has been fitted as a training room, complete with punching bag and mat. “You must spend a lot of time down here.” This was his kind of place. Dark, enclosed, cluttered; she felt a knot of tension ease.
He aimed a casual punch at the bag. “Yeah, I’ve been training Cordelia down here. It’s going better than I expected, but still takes time.” He turned to face Buffy. He hadn’t expected her to come tonight. Her presence, along with the entire Scooby Gang, had truly been a surprise. Just, he wasn’t certain if that was a good thing or not. “So, how are you doing?”
“I’m fine.” She approached him. Already she could feel the chords that bound them together drawing her closer. “I’m getting on with life.”
“Me, too.” Angel shifted. This was really uncomfortable. “Getting on with life,” he echoed.
Buffy stopped in front of him and rested her hand on his chest. “We can’t do this,” she whispered as she tipped up to brush her lips against his surrendering to need for a moment.
Angel froze. How did people handle this kind of situation? Ex-girlfriends were not part of the Vampire Handbook, or at least not beyond “How to Eat Lunch”. He looked around—no Cordy. Where was she when he needed her? He loved Buffy, he did. But there was a “but”. He thought love had to be about more, that it should be more. He wanted a love that made him a better..manpire, not that made him ashamed. Like with…he stopped that thought. Not that he loved her. No, of course, not. Uh-huh, just wouldn’t be right, no never, not in a million years, even if he lived forever. She’d kick his butt if he even thought it….Sigh, who was he kidding?
Buffy pulled back, resisting Angel. “Angel, really, we can’t do this.” She moved away. “I’ve moved on. I know you can’t, and I’m not trying to rub it in or anything. But we just can’t do this. My life is in Sunnydale, yours…isn’t.”
This conversation was going well, Angel decided. All he had to do was keep his mouth shut, and everything would work out.
Trying not to notice his misery and longing, Buffy picked through the room, looking anywhere but at Angel. “Things seem to be going well here.” Now there’s an exaggeration.
“Yeah. We get to help a lot of people,” he answered.
It was so sweet how he tried to make her feel better. No one else saw that underlying gentleness within him, yet she saw.
Nothing held her interest, so she moved to sit on the stairs. “Cordy gets the visions, Wesley reads the books; you and Gunn kick ass. What does Fred do, talk them in circles?”
Angel smiled; it was a pretty good description of his team. “Pretty much. Fred’s cool. She’s getting better, wouldn’t come out of her room for months.”
“Well oiled team, and a birthday party.” She couldn’t get over it. A birthday party, complete with presents balloons and party hats—for Angel.
“Yeah. Uh….how are things with you?”
A called from up stairs saved her from the question. The truth was, she wasn’t sure how things were. She felt…lost, as if she merely drifted from one day to the next without the world really touching her. Angel could touch her, he was her constant. He would always be the same, always there, even as she moved on. That was her lifeline.
***********
“We’re back,” Gunn called. The lobby was empty, and he really did not want to go room to room—not when there were at least 68 of them. Fortunately for him, his bellow worked. Xander, Spike and Wesley poured out of the office, the women came down the stairs and Buffy and Angel came in from the basement.
“Party time,” Lorne announced. Being a good natured kind of guy, he graced the company with his presence, despite their penchant for decapitation.
“Yeah, sooner we do the party, sooner we can work the case,” Gunn added. It’d be great to get a little kick ass in before bedtime.
Cordy came down with the other women; after another painkiller she was ready for the festivities. “Where are the kids?”
“Anne took them to someone she knows. Woman who helps place demon kids,” he motioned around the room. “Kids were a bit jumpy around humans, so with a full house…Anyway, Anne said sorry she’d miss the party, but sent a gift long.”
Cordy nodded. “Well, let’s get started, birthday boy.” She grinned at Angel.
Despite his concerns, Angel grinned back, determined to humor Cordy. “Alright,” he said rubbing his hands eagerly.
“Who’s coming with me for the cake?” Tara raised her, and followed Cordy towards the kitchen.
“She’ll tell us when she’s ready,” Wesley told Angel.
It was true, she would. The question was would she tell them all of it. Angel had his doubts. “Something was different this time.”
Wesley tilted his head. “How so?”
He checked to be sure Cordy had not come back yet. “She’s scared, really scared.”
“But…” the English man considered.
“I can smell it, Wes.”
“Oh.” This was new. This was disturbing.
“Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday to you….” Tara and Cordelia sang, carrying two cakes—one for the humans and one for the vampires. The others joined in. Cordy started coughing in the smoke and Lorne ended the song with a dramatic, “Happy birthday dear Mr. Leather Pants, happy birthday to you.”
“Quick, blow them out before we all die of smoke inhalation,” Cordy ordered. It took a lot of help, but eventually all 249 candles were extinguished. “Good thing the fire alarms don’t work.” She proudly displayed the cakes. No one mentioned it, but after seeing the vamp cake a few people wanted to opt out of munchies.
“Can we do the presents now?” Fred asked. She couldn’t wait. Her present was the best; he was just going to love it. Not that the other presents were bad.
Cordy grinned at Fred’s eagerness. She was being all smooth and mature in front of the Sunnydale group, otherwise she’d have been pushing for the prezzies too. “OK.”
“Yes.” Fred jumped toward the boxes as if they were for her. “Oh, sorry.”
“That’s ok, Fred. Why don’t you bring them over here, and we’ll unwrap while everyone eats cake.” Fred grinned at him as they walked over to the presents. Willow cut the cake while Tara dished ice cream. Cordy cut the vampire munchies, handing an unimpressed Spike a mound of blood pudding, blood-etin and blood soaked cake. She set Angel’s on the table. Gunn and Wesley served drinks and blood.
Angel and Fred piled the presents onto the coffee table in front of Angel’s seat, beside Buffy.
Wesley handed the vampire the large card. “From all of us.”
“Thanks guys.” He read the card. In answer to the “Live Long and Prosper” someone, Cordy, had written, “You’ve got the ‘Live Long’, start on the ‘Prosper’.” Just about all the important people—and not quite people--in his life had written something. He was touched by each message.
“Mine first,” Fred announced, handing him an envelope. “It’s not a card. I mean there’s a card in there but a present too. I always hate it when people do the ‘just card’ thing.”
He opened the flap, reading both the card and its contents. “Fred, thanks, this is great.”
Nearly bouncing with excitement Fred explained, “There are two tickets. That way I can go with you, that is, if you want me to, of course. He’s going to be there and everything.”
“OK, I’ll bite,” called Xander, “What is it?”
Cordy snorted, “I wouldn’t say that too loud around here. The stake-rs usually get the biters.”
“Tickets to the Charlton Heston film festival,” Angel explained, passing the tickets around for everyone to see. “Fred’s my film buddy.” Fred blushed and laughed. “That is so cool, Fred. I’ll get you a jumbo popcorn this time”
Willow passed over a box, “This is from Tara and me.” Angel tore through the paper revealing War and Peace. “You like to read and you said you’d been to Russia…”
“It’s great, Willow, thanks. Tara, thank you too.”
Anya passed him another box. When he pulled open the wrapper he found a small conjuring orb. “You can never have too many,” she assured him.
“True. These are hard to come by,” he added. Carefully he set the orb back in the box and settled it on the floor.
“This one’s from me,” Wesley said passing over the oblong box Cordelia had picked up earlier.
Angel untied the box and pulled out the short sword. “Wow, is this…?”
“Enchanted, yes. I thought of it after we faced that pack of J’soran beasts.” He tossed at look at Gunn. Top that, it said.
Gunn reached into the pile. “Here, man; Fred helped me pick it out.”
“Charles!”
“Don’t be shy, girl.”
“Thank you,” Angel repeated, ripping the paper. “Alright!” he cried, but not like a baby-man. He got a Gameboy and a hockey game. “Just what I wanted; thanks, Gunn.” Angel gave Fred a brief hug.
Xander, Willow and Buffy watched it all in amazement. A Gameboy for Angel? Angel laughing and hugging people? And the drinking blood in front of everyone was just gross. Xander put down his own cake.
“Mine next,” Dawn interjected. She passed over a rectangle box.
Angel opened it to find a black sweater. “Dawnie, this is great. Wow, look at this.” He took it out of the box and showed Cordelia.
“It’s beautiful,” Cordy agreed touching the soft material.
Dawn glowed.
“I guess it’s my turn now. Princess, you want to pass it over?” Cordy handed Angel Lorne’s gift. It was a CD player and the complete Barry Mannilow collection.
“Ah, thanks, Lorne,” Angel slipped the CD’s back into the wrapper. If Spike saw it, an immortal life wouldn’t be long enough to live it down.
“Hey, no problem, cupcake.”
Cordy waited to see if Buffy wanted to go next. When the blonde didn’t move, she passed over her presents. “Here ya’ go, birthday boy. This one is from Dennis,” she passed over a long box. “These are from me.”
He opened the box from Dennis—the game “LIFE”. He laughed. Dennis did have a sense of humor.
“Thanks, Cordy. This is so great. I’ve never…” he trailed off, opening the smallest of her gifts first. “A toy car.” He looked at it, completely confused. “That’s…nice. I, uh, really nice.”
Cordy waited expectantly, but saw no glimmer of recognition. “Well, yeah, just like yours.”
“Like..mine? Oh, oh yeah like mine.” Good cover, he thought.
Gunn and Wesley snickered. Cordy looked at them. “Not like his?” They laughed louder. “Well, it’s black and, see, it’s a convertible.”
“It’s a hearse,” explained Xander.
Cordy looked at the car again. “So the top doesn’t come down?”
“Damn appropriate if you ask me,” offered Spike around a mouthful of blood-etin.
“Didn’t ask,” Cordy countered. “It looked like your car. It’s black.” This was so embarrassing. But it was long and…black. Just like Angel’s car.
Angel gave her his “Cordy” smile. “You’re making fun of me,” she whined.
“No, never,” he promised. “Wouldn’t dare. I’ll put my…car…in a very special place.” He and the guys laughed.
“Why does Angel drive a hearse?” Anya asked. It seemed odd that even a vampire would drive a vehicle designed for transporting the dead.
“See if you get the rest of your presents,” Cordy threatened. At his puppy dog expression she relented. “Ok, but I’ll remember this.” She passed over a box and an envelope. “Open the envelope first.”
“Night classes,” he read.
“Art and ballroom dance. I know you like to draw and I thought maybe you’d like to try different stuff like painting, and I thought it’d help if I learned to draw. Then I remembered you don’t dance. See, I got two places in the classes,” she explained in a rush. She really hoped he liked the gifts. The rest of the boxes held paints and drawing tools, much like the things she’d bought before, but never got to give.
The thought of ballroom dancing gave him the heebie-jeebies, but he was truly touched by the thought. He went to open another small box.
“Wait, open that one later,” Cordy intercepted.
“Ooooooh, sex toys,” Spike declared, having moved on to the blood pudding. Nothing would make him admit to be being just a tad jealous. Not of the presents, exactly. What would a vampire do with a toy car or a video game--ok, he had to admit to a bit of Gameboy envy—or Charlton Heston tickets? But he missed being part of a family, like with Dru and the Darla bitch. Angelus, as always, had what he wanted. It was enough to piss a guy off.
A small ball of crumpled wrapping paper sailed though the air to bounce of the blonde’s head. “Shut up or I’ll put holy water in your breakfast.”
His curiosity peeked, Angel slipped the present into his box despite the urge to peek.
Though all the gifts were done, Buffy still held back. Her gift was private, not something she wanted everyone, especially Spike, to see.
Since that seemed to be all, Angel turned to more serious matters. He enjoyed the party, had really looked forward to it, but he couldn’t forget Cordy’s vision—or the lingering smell of fear. He caught Wesley’s eye, and hinted it was time.
“Well, happy birthday, Angel.” The others echoed the English man. “We’ll start cleaning up. Cordy, why don’t you tell us about the vision?” He made it a request and not a command; Cordelia could be a bit testy when she had vision hangover.
Cordy picked up plates, anything to put off telling them about the vision. “I’ll…” Gunn, Wesley and Angel crossed their arms. Arm crossing meant trouble. “Ok, ok.” She sat down; the time had come. “I saw women, lots of women. They were being tortured—burned and cut with knives. It was a man, he looked human but he would just appear then disappear. There were symbols; he marked symbols in his victims. I saw the children; their mother was a victim. I…” She took a breath and tried to still her racing heart beat, even now just remembering she could feel the events in the vision. “I saw a place; I don’t know where it is. It was dark, and there were more symbols on the wall—they were the same, I think, but bigger.”
“You saw all this that quick?” Xander wanted to know. The wobble on the steps had taken barely a moment. He doubted anyone else could tell just how upset Cordelia was, but he recognized the desperate perkiness she used as a defense. Experience had shown him that barrier to be nearly impossible to breach.
Wesley organized the information in his mind. To get a full understand of what the visions meant, he needed to see those symbols. “Can you draw them?” he asked in a measured voice.
Cordy nodded. Given her artistic skill, her efforts would not be exact, but they’d be a start. This was, in part, the reason for the shared art classes.
“What aren’t you telling us,” Angel asked. She was hiding something, he knew it.
He was going to freak, she knew it. But he had to know, she couldn’t let him work blind. She looked only at Angel. “He saw me. In the vision, he turned around and looked at me.” A loud cough echoed through the lobby. Cordy scowled at the blonde vampire. Creatures without breath did not need to cough.
He cleared his throat.
Angel left his seat to kneel in front her. His eyes insisted she tell him everything.
Cordy knew she had to under play this. Angel tended to over re-act. Having practiced during the whole Buffy romance thing, he had melodrama down pat. “He’s coming after me.” She shrugged to minimize the importance of that revelation….then watched Angel freak.
***********
“Feeling better?”
Angel pounded the punching bag, venting his frustration and anger. “You weren’t going to tell me.”
Cordy sighed. She sat down on the steps. “I just wanted…”
The support strut rattled from the force of Angel fist on the bag. “…normal. Everyone wants normal.” Which meant they didn’t want him. He could never be “normal”. He would never be “normal”. He would always be a blood-sucking demon, a murdering fiend. He rammed his fist into the material again.
“No. I just wanted you to have a happy day.”
He stopped and caught the bag, holding it in the crook of his arm. “Really?” She smiled back at him with a nod. “It was. I told everyone I was going to have a surprise party—even those vamps I dusted.”
Her smile morphed into a grin and she said, “Not a surprise, huh?”
He grinned back, “Vampire hearing.”
“We OK? Good, come on. I have another surprise for you.” She went to him, and took his hand. Without saying more and she led him up the stairs onto the third floor. “This goes with the little package.” She opened the door with flourish.
It was one of the good rooms, one that still had a floor, windows and walls. A bed, dressed in luxurious silks filled the center of the room. Un-lit candles stood ready in delicate arrangements. Beside the bed, a bottle of champagne cooled on ice, and the CD player from Lorne played soft music.
“What is this?” He couldn’t believe how special this was; Cordelia would so this for me.
Reaching around him, Cordy slid her hand into his pants pocket and retrieved the package. “Open it.”
Angel held back groan and only just controlled his body’s response.
She watched him unwrapped the package. He was so expressive; she loved that. Curiosity, confusion and anticipation each left their mark. Confusion produced the final expression.
“When I called David Nabbit to invite him to the party, I asked for the number to that demon brothel, Madam Dorian’s. I told her about your curse thingy, and asked if she knew away to get around it. At first she didn’t want to help, kept saying she didn’t do vampires.” She made quotation gestures in the air. “Then I reminded her that she owed you a favor, a big favor, and that David was a very rich and well connected man. Anyway, she suddenly remembered a friend who had a friend that might be able to help. I got a spell then Virginia had one of her magicians do it for me.” Cordy pointed to the potion then gave him hug. She had to look cool, she order herself. Perky, happy, share the moment, came her internal director’s voice. “Drink that and you and Buffy can com-shuck like bunnies, without the pesky curse!” Hah! And they say I can’t act. I earned an Oscar with that performance.
“Come on, let’s go find her.” She tugged him into motion. Must be so excited he can’t move. She peeked. All these years of being a eunuch had slowed his responses but one look at Buffy and he was sure to rise to the occasion—the jerk. In the lobby she called out to Buffy. “Angel has something to tell you,” she said, giving Angel a push towards the blonde. Then she retreated to the garden.
Working for a creature of the night, she spent more time in the dark than in the day. Rarely did she just stop to enjoy it. Above, stars twinkled through the haze and city lights. The garden walls held the traffic noise at bay, while the garden flowers released a light scent. “Urrrgh.” The whole garden appreciation thing just wasn’t for her. It was better than watching Angel and Buffy-kins go up to that room, and much better than going home. She wouldn’t be alone, but after that vision she wanted more company than Dennis. That left sitting in the garden alone.
Only she wasn’t alone, and Angel and Buffy-kins weren’t going upstairs. They were coming into the garden towards her. “What?”
Angel felt like he was being pulled in two. Buffy was angry, angry at Cordelia. She told him that Dawn was upstairs crying because Cordelia said something to hurt her feelings. Now Buffy expected him to fix it. He wasn’t sure how to fix it.
They were all acting weird. Wesley had gone quiet. Fred couldn’t be quiet. Cordelia had gone snippy. And Gunn kept asking him if there was going to be a fight. This birthday thing was rough.
Now he had to convince Cordelia to apologize to Dawn for whatever it was that she had done. Buffy had been a bit vague on that point.
“Is this about…” Why weren’t they on the way to the room? Cordy wondered.
“…the way you’ve been treating Dawn,” interjected Buffy. She was tired of the way Cordy was always stepping on everyone’s feelings. Ever since she’d met her, Cordelia had said whatever popped into her head, without concern for who was hurt by those thoughts. Vain, selfish and self centered, she never changed. Buffy overrode the voice inside that whisper of other reasons for her anger, such as jealousy.
“…the room?” Cordy finished.
The question stopped Buffy mid-argument. “What room?”
“Dawn?”
What was she doing, forget the room. “I don’t know what you said to Dawn, but you’re going to apologize. When are you going to grow up, Cordelia? When are you going to learn that other people have feelings, too?” Angel deserved better, she thought, than friends like Cordelia.
“Oh, Dawn.” Cordy dropped back onto the bench. Time to face her nightmares. “I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings, Buffy. I just…She talked about things we did together. Like she knows me. You all act like I should know Dawn.”
Angel waited for Cordy to continue. He didn’t know what she was talking about but he could see she was upset. Buffy waited less patiently, seeing only Queen C in action. While Cordy had never really been one of the Scoobies, she was on the periphery of Dawn’s life.
“But I don’t,” she finally admitted. “I don’t know her. I don’t remember her. Angel, when you got back and started talking about her, I thought she was one of Buffy’s new friends. I think it’s because of the visions.”
“Oh goody, the vision excuse again.” Buffy couldn’t believe Angel was falling for this—again. She couldn’t understand why Angel and the others encouraged Cordelia. The woman blamed everything on the visions and Angel and his friends let her use it as an excuse to be snippy.
“What are you saying, Cordy?” Angel prompted when Cordelia went quiet. Beside him, Buffy radiated frustration while in front of him Cordelia radiated dread. He stood in the middle.
“Angel, I’ve got something to tell you. I…can we go to my apartment? You might as well come too.” Secrets—bad. The time for secrets has past.
“Great apartment,” Buffy commented, dropping onto the couch. The place was fantastic but she wasn’t here for the décor. “So spill.”
“Give me a minute. Dennis, I’m home. Want anything to drink? Blood, Angel?”
Angel had the feeling he was going to need a drink; he nodded.
“Dennis,” ordered Cordy.
She went into her bedroom while Dennis opened the refrigerator and poured a soda for Buffy, blood for Angel and a mineral water for Cordy. He floated the drinks into to the coffee table.
Almost jumping back from the floating drink Buffy asked, “What the…”
“Thanks, Dennis, and thanks for the game.” Angel swallowed some blood. “I’ll come by one night and we can play. It’ll be two dead guys playing Life.”
Accepting her drink, Buffy clarified, “This would the phantom roommate.” She’d heard about the ghost, but hearing about it hadn’t prepared her for the experience.
“Yeah, this is Dennis. Thanks, Dennis.” Cordy dropped a white plastic box onto the floor in front of Angel and Buffy. “Angel, I’m sorry.” She was, worse she didn’t know how to say what she needed to. Instead she opened the box and handed him a handful of papers. Buffy read over his shoulders. His expression moved from worry to confusion.
Angel couldn’t believe what he was reading. Secrets were bad. They had promised not to keep secrets from each other. But Cordy had been keeping a secret, a very bad secret. “How long?”
“About a year. You’ve got so much to worry about already.” This wasn’t going as she expected. It was worse. Her heart dropped at the devastation written in the lines on his face, as if the news had aged the unaging. “Some much as been going on, and I didn’t want to worry you.”
He kept reading, turning through pages of doctors notes and test results. “And this means….”
“Yes, but, Angel, you can’t worry about these things.” Her world narrowed down to one person. She had to make him understand. “This isn’t your fault.”
Angel stood up and headed for the door. “We have to…the Powers, they can take the visions. We’ll fix this.” He had to believe this could be fixed. He needed her, he couldn’t lose her.
“No, Angel, I can’t give up the visions. We’ve gone over this,” she protested.
He gripped her shoulders as he realized. “You knew then….They’re killing you.” Panic flowed through his body followed by hurt that she’d kept this from him.
“Yes, they are. But I trust the Powers. They’ll do something to stop it. If not, well, each vision is another life you save.” Unlike the others, she got to know each of the people in her visions. She had the benefit of first hand experience with their darkest nightmares. No matter what, she couldn’t give up the visions; she had to convince him.
Buffy watched the argument progress. What a night for revelations. She could understand why Cordy wouldn’t want to give up the visions. Cordy needed attention and the visions gained her that attention. But Buffy knew Cordelia well enough to know the woman would never risk her life that way. It did explain her discomfort with Dawn, though.
An admittedly unreasonable part of Buffy felt angry. The Cordelia Chase, she knew, was nothing like Joyce Summers. She was vain, selfish and self centered. Nothing about her could be compared to Buffy’s mother. And yet another part of her tried to see Cordelia in a new light. Memories of their time in high school replayed, but from a different angle. Seen from that angle, Cordelia was less a bitch than Buffy thought, and Buffy more of a bitch. Buffy closed her eyes. She wasn’t ready to believe the “revelations” that tried to fill her mind. If she allowed sympathy to take root, she had to accept that people changed, that Angel could change.
“Buffy, take my car, and go back to the office.” Without taking his eyes from Cordelia Angel tossed Buffy the keys. “I need to talk to Cordy. Alone.” Neither he nor Cordy noticed Buffy leaving. “We are going to talk, Cordy.”
Part 5
He was on Cordy’s bed--with Cordy. Angel could not remember how talking came to the point he now had held a lush breast in one hand and a firm butt cheek in the other, yet here he was lying on top of his best friend. He flexed his hips experimentally. His deep moan was accompanied by a distinctly feminine one.
He slipped his tongue into her mouth, exploring its recesses, and was met with her own tongue. None of his numerous and graphic fantasies had prepared him for her taste. A shiver raced down his body to settle in his erection. He was definitely not a eunuch, as Cordy discovered when she explored his leather clad body.
Her breath caught. Wow! Pushing him away, she undid his pants, pushing them down over his hips and along his legs. Angel watched her then smiled, a little smugly. The smile faded and his head dropped back to the pillows when she tossed the pants and dipped forward and licked his length. She enclosed his tip, and sucked tentatively. The bed bucked with his response.
After dreaming about this for three years and even, if he were honest with himself, having the odd fantasy for a bit longer, Angel didn’t want to go off half cocked. He pushed Cordy away, ignoring her growl of protest. She could be more than a little cranky when she didn’t get her way. To compensate he pushed her onto her back and kissed her. He moved away from her lips as her back arched, displaying her breasts in the most instinctive way. The hollow of her neck beckoned. He could hear her heartbeat, and the pulse that pounded like rapid thunder. Nuzzling the staccato beat, he inhaled the coppery scent of her life-flow. Delicately, he traced his tongue long her artery, imaging the taste and warmth, the power in the liquid dancing beneath the skin. He tried to pull away, knowing his fascination with her neck would alarm Cordy. But she wouldn’t allow him to back away. “I trust you,” she panted. In any situation, she could always amaze him. He closed his mouth over her pulse, letting that warmth and rhythm fill him.
Then he continued past that temptation. She still wore her new blouse. When he over hear her talking to Fred about it, he’d gone out to buy a manly version for himself. Now, with the fabric of his shirt melding with hers it didn’t seem as dorky as it had earlier. He slid his hands under the silk fabric to touch the softer silk underneath. Her stomach jumped when she gasped, already caught in the panting of arousal. He edged the shirt upwards, exposing her naval, his lips brushed the little button. Further, and he unveiled her scar. His kiss there was meant to sooth the long remembered physical and emotional hurt. In that moment he could hate both Xander and Willow. Then he moved on. He took time to reach his destination, treating her to the pleasures of cold flesh on warm skin. Eventually, he pulled the top over her head, having exposed her bra. He tongued her nipple through the fabric, gently sucking on it, before slipping the material down. Once he gained access he set about tormenting the rosy pebble, while his other hand molded her other breast, lifting and shaping in time with his lips and tongue.
He loved the feel of leather. Her skirt absorbed her warmth, growing soft and subtle. He reached under her skirt to slide her panties over her hips and down her legs before retaking his place.
Cordy was ready to exploded. She felt the muscles inside her body clinched and release, in preparation for an orgasm. She shifted her legs, causing Angel to settle more deeply. Just having him there, having his body within her legs, not even penetrating her was enough. She screamed, with her back arched off the bed. Her nails dug into Angel’s shoulders, leaving red and white streaks. Her hips thrust, seeking resistance. Angel answered their call. His hand left her breast and fingers stabbed into her wet entrance.
Her body gripped his fingers, enclosing them chords of rhythmic contractions. It was an intoxicating foretaste of what she would do if he were buried inside her. As her climax faded, he changed the stabbing motion to a caress. His thumb started a circling brush over her clit, just enough pressure then disappear. Brush, away, brush, away. Not recovered from her climax, Cordy almost immediately began to beg. Her “Please, oh God, Angel, Angel” cries drove him to new heights. Keeping his thumb over her clit, he’s middle finger slid through her silky wetness. For a moment he merely cupped her, before continuing on to her other opening. Her initial protest died under an avalanche of sensation as he timed the brushing of her clit the suckling of her nipple topped by a flick of her clit and sharp nip at her breast. As her body clinched, her anal muscle relaxed admitting his probing finger tip. Angel used the skill gained through two hundred years, many of them spent with a professional, to pleasure her body. He focused completely on pleasuring her. His focus was so intense, he nearly jumped at a tap on his shoulder. Cordy’s hands where occupied tugging and stroking his hair. He looked over to see a tube and a small vibrator hovering over the bed.
Suddenly Angel’s own arousal jumped a notch. Angel might have been uncomfortable with a ghostly threesome, but Angelus had seen and done it all before. He nodded. Gel was squeezed on to the vibrator before the streamlined sex toy floated towards Cordy’s butt cheeks. Angel shifted Cordy so that they were both on their sides. He kissed her closed eye lids and withdrew his finger to allow the vibrator entrance. Cordy moaned again, flexing against the device. Angel continued to work his other fingers in her wetness, edging her towards climax.
His shoulder was tapped again. This time a stake and a foil wrapper hung in the air. He shook his head. Big happys were big no-nos. Dennis tapped his shoulder again, this time adding a striking motion of the stake. Angel accepted the wrapper. He kissed Cordy as he opened the package behind her back. The contents glowed in the dark.
He leaned back.
“Let me,” Cordy managed to say. Her body was almost throbbing with pleasure. She felt full in places she’d never even thought about while her nipples ached and her body felt ready to pop. She wanted Angel to share that feeling. Since Dennis had stake in hand, she was determined to give Angel that pleasure.
She took the condom, smiling at the glow. She doubted he could get anyone pregnant, being a vampire and all, but he had been with a lot of women over the years, including professionals. Having met Darla, and Buffy, she really didn’t want to be with everyone Angel had been with. She kissed Angel, tracing the shape of his lips before edging along his body and down the bed. Unlike Angel she didn’t have the patience for a languid trip for her body drove her to haste. Already the new tightness in her ass threatened to spill her into another climax. At her destination she paused. He was magnificent, taking her breath away. She stroked his length from tip to base, where she encircled her fingers. The pure power she held was awesome. The tight sacks beneath beckoned. At first hesitantly, but then with more confidence, she cupped and squeezed them. So different from anything she’d ever experienced before, he was cool to the touch, but so soft and yet hard at the same time. Again she gave into the urge to taste him and was rewarded by a drop that signaled he was near the edge. She placed the condom on at his tip and slowing began to unroll it. As it unfurled to encase his length, she held his eyes.
Angel couldn’t take anymore. He drew her up beside him, and buried himself within her. Even as she adjusted to his size, he pulled out only to thrust forward again. Her hands danced between gripping his hair and clawing up his back. It was unbelievable. Then Dennis did something. The vibrator came to life, sending ripples through her body that teased Angel’s cock. Between Angel’s thrusts, Cordy’s eager counter thrusts and the humming sensation, a climax roared into life sweeping up everything its path.
He’d been given the most precious gift a person could receive, and been told he’d lose it all in one night. With Cordelia panting breath warming his shoulder, he realized “perfect bliss” was a boy’s escape, and not a grown man’s reality. Love, he discovered, meant facing life, both its joys and sorrows.
***********
Buffy leaned against wall. Half way to the Hyperion she had decided to turn around. She needed to talk to Angel, to tell him how sorry she was. She knew what it felt like to face a serious illness. Despite her own suspicions about the seriousness of Cordelia’s problem, Buffy would be there for Angel.
Determined to declare her loyalty she came back to Cordelia’s apartment. The living room was empty, but a scream and moans of pain had drawn her to the bedroom. Only they hadn’t been moans of pain, but ecstasy.
It was disgusting. How could he, and with Cordelia? For the moment she forgot that she had moved on too. She forgot Riley, forgot Spike. The pain of betrayal burned away any of other considerations. No matter what happened, not matter what when wrong in her life, Angel was supposed to be hers. Three years slipped away, and she was a seventeen year old girl in the throes of her first love. She felt hurt, betrayed, used, and abandoned. Slowly, she identified another emotion. She was aroused. The sounds from the room fed that dark feeling. The moans reached a fevered pitch, provoking a rerun of the scene she witness to play before her eyes. Cordelia, in only a leather skirt and bra, greedily lapped Angel. The two moved as one. Buffy uncrossed her arms, touched her tingly anatomy. Abruptly she realized what she was doing; a wave of embarrassment and humiliation flowed over her. She fled the apartment, fled from its occupants, fled from the hurt and fled from the disturbing feelings which chased her.
The room was shrouded in shadows, shadows which almost obscured the chains and cages along the walls. Filth in the form of blood, entrails and excrement was smeared on almost every surface. In some places they formed patterns, a “t” framed by curved boxes, swirls intercepted by trident shapes. Garbage littered floor, while stacks of books occupied every nook and cranny. In the corner, a pile of straw held one occupant. He rocked back and forward over the opened book on his lap. One hand worked his erection in time with his rocking. His eyes stared into the pages, but showed no glimmer of recognition, only empty madness. His mouth moved in silent recitation. Back and forth, for hours he rocked his hand working. Suddenly he stilled. A spray erupted over the pages and his eyes held wild anticipation. He was ready; he could see.
Part 6
“Whoa, looks like someone couldn’t keep his pants on,” announced Lorne when Angel crossed from the basement to Wesley’s office, which was crowded with Xander, Spike, Wesley and Gunn.
“Stakes!” commanded Wesley. He pulled two out his drawer, tossing one to Xander and hefting the other. “No telling how many he’s already killed.” Gunn pulled one from under the counter on the fly. Within moments Angel enclosed in a circle of stakes.
“I thought he was watching Cordy,” Gunn complained.
“Whoa.” Angel held up his hands and dodged sharp points.
“Hold on there, happy stakers,” called Lorne. He pushed Wesley’s stake arm down. “Wicked singing voice, but not evil.”
“Oh,” Wesley shrugged and turned back to the office. “Back to work then.”
The guys trooped back the office and the books littering desk. Angel followed, ignoring the presence of Spike.
“So, let me recap,” Wesley said after Angel dragged another chain into the office. “While we were searching for clues to the murders Cordy saw in her vision, you and Buffy put all of our lives in jeopardy for a moment’s pleasure. Now that we’re all up to speed, I don’t suppose you’d be interested to learn what we’ve discovered so far?”
Angel shifted uncomfortably mumbling “Not Buffy” under his breath.
Gunn turned to look the vampire. “You just picked up some chick? Man, that’s cold.”
“Uh, ah, no.” Why was his sex life always the center of attention? So, ok, sometimes it meant unleashing a force of evil onto the unsuspecting world, but a guy should have some privacy.
Spike didn’t believe in privacy, at least not if it was someone else’s. He leaned over his Sire, sniffing loudly. “You always had a thing for seers and brunettes.”
It took Wesley and Gunn a second.
“Cordelia?”
“You boned Cordy?”
Gunn decided to let Wesley do the inquisition; he’d do the smack up.
“You’re saying you risked Angelus getting hold of Cordedlia?” Wesley demanded.
“No, no, of course not. Dennis had a stake. Any sign of Angelus and he’d have….” He made a staking motion, somehow the thought of a ghost doing the deed sounded flimsier than it had last night. He shifted uncomfortably. More embarrassing, just thinking about last night had his body stirring.
“So you risked your life to have sex with…” Wesley began, his face a mask of disbelief.
“Hi, guys,” Cordy called from the lobby. “I brought donuts.”
The men crowded into the doorway to watch her stride through the room; then looked at other.
“Worth it.”
“I’d risk it.”
“Did she wear the princess outfit?”
The AI guys paused then all started talking at once.
“…find anything…”
“…marks on the body…”
“I really got off on that princess get up.”
At the same time Spike demanded, “Who the hell is Dennis?” and Xander wanted to clarify, “You slept with Cordelia, as in Cordelia Chase, as in not Buffy as in slayer, love of your life, soul-mate?”
Spike leaned towards Gunn. “What’s the princess outfit?” Gunn made motions, pretending to outline a triangle below his waist and thin straps at the shoulder then cupped the air at his chest. Spike painted an image in his mind. “Oh.” Now there was fodder for midnight fantasies. “So, when I called her ‘princess’…” LA was a weird and wonderful place.
Slumping back into his seat Angel closed his eyes…this was going to be a long day.
***********
“Will, can we talk,” Buffy asked.
Willow looked to Tara to be sure it was ok then answered, “Sure.” She followed Buffy out of the room into the hall.
They’d reached the lobby before Willow confirmed, “You did mean now?”
Buffy nodded. She wanted to talk she just didn’t know where to start. Dropping onto a couch the started, then closed her mouth. This was all new, and all wrong.
She had to do it. “Yeah, now, as in really important.”
Willow waited. “OooooK. Matter of urgency, I understand.” She scrunched her face in confusion and waited.
“Will,” Buffy began.
Willow nodded encouragingly.
“Willow,” Buffy tried again.
“Buffy,” Willow replied. These heart-to-hearts were murder.
Just dive right in, Summers, Buffy commanded herself. “Willow, when you, you know,” she gestured with her head, “how did you know? Did you suddenly know, or did you always know, but did you, you know, other things too?”
Completely lost, Willow answered, “I don’t know; but I don’t know what you’re knowing.”
Buffy sighed, “I know.” She tried again. “I mean with the girls not the boys.”
“Ooooh. Buffy, why are you asking me this?” It was a little late in the day for this discussion.
Buffy looked away, unable to face her friend. “I, uh, saw something…and it just made me think. That’s all.”
“Oh.” It was going to be a long day.
***********
Rebecca Thomas peeked into the window. Sure enough, just like every morning since she started her morning walk past 212 Silverlake, she watched the sink fill itself and dirty dishes float into it, to be washed by a floating brush. Rebecca admitted, but only to herself, that she really didn’t go for a morning walk. Each morning she got up, dressed then crept downstairs to watch the strange happenings. In all her fifty plus years, Rebecca had not seen anything like it.
It all started a few years ago. When Rebecca first moved into her apartment she heard a rumor that 212 was haunted. People said no one stayed in the apartment more than a month and that those who did ended up committing suicide. Then the Chase woman moved in. They said she was a struggling actress, but Rebecca thought she was one of those call girls. Men came at all hours, especially nighttime. For a while, Rebecca thought one of them had moved in, but people said he was just her boss or something. Pale guy, Rebecca thought he needed feeding up. Of course, women these days hadn’t a clue how to take care of a man. The pale guy dropped a business card once. It had a picture of a lobster, the name “Angel Investigations” and a phone number. The address was a hotel. Rebecca sniffed, the woman worked in a hotel, what else could she be but a prostitute. She certainly wasn’t the chambermaid. There were always noises coming from the apartment, especially screams. Must be those “kinky” sex happenings they sometimes talked about on the TV, Rebecca figured. She’d definitely heard those sounds last night when the pale guy visited. Then this morning she’d run into the woman herself. Aurelia Chase, a stage name if Rebecca ever heard one, came out to get her newspaper just when Rebecca came out to water her potted plants—just a coincidence, mind. The girl waved then popped back into her apartment.
Emboldened by her peeking success, Rebecca snuck around the building to peer into the bedroom.
She didn’t see the figure in black. All she felt was the knife bury into her back and her knees crumble as darkness descended.
***********
It has been a long time since he had to rush a job, but he had to finish today. The woman whimper, repeating her cries for help and mercy. He didn’t mind, the sounds provided a beautiful accompaniment to the ritual. He chanted more loudly, “sat on a wall, all the kings horses, all the king’s men”. When he peeled the flesh of her stomach back, she gasped in horror. He was sorry he had to deny her the pain, but since he was in a hurry he’d had to make the first cut on her spinal chord, just high enough to disable her.
He hated to unwrap Cordelia’s present, but really wanted to impress her. But despite his skill the inconsiderate woman died. He stared at her disappointed before continuing his work. He drained the blood into a container, careful not to loose drop. The lovely fluid would decorate his walls and add recharge their power. He would do better next time and keep the next woman alive for the whole process. With a shrug, he abandoned his work. He was aroused but had to deny himself; he’d failed to emulate his master’s example. Instead he ran his bloody hand along the symbol on the wall. He would do better next time, he promised the master. Cordelia’s present had to be perfect. They were linked, he and Cordelia; and she was his link to the master. Through her, he saw his master.
***********
The entire hotel-hold gathered in the lobby, except Dawn who had been allowed, in the command sense of the word, to go to the mall with Spike. The Sunnydale group was determined to stay, to help solve the case. Anya saw this as a market analysis experience, but everyone else appeared to be eager to help out. Which was good, Wesley told himself as he stared out at the expectant faces. They would help, they had skills that could be….helpful. He bit back a sigh. He could see the old Wesley, the insecure, confidence lacking Wesley mirrored in their eyes.
“We have very little to go on here, so we’ll start with the symbols Cordelia saw in her vision. Fred,” he called to the girl snacking on breakfast burritos, “would you and Anya start with the books. I’ll help when I get back. See if you can find any record of these symbols. Cordy, you do the same on the internet.” He turned to Willow and Tara. The two women sat on a loveseat which had been moved into the middle of the lobby for the mass meeting. “There are several places in town frequented by magic users. I’d like you two to check them out. See if anyone knows anything.” They nodded back. “Angel, you and Buffy start with your demon sources. See if there’s a new player in town. Gunn, you and Xander take the streets. My morgue contact has arranged for me to see a body which I believe is the children’s mother. Everyone clear on their assignments?”
Buffy rolled her eyes. “Assignments?” she thought. Same old Wesley.
They dispersed, some going toward the offices, others out the front. She followed Angel to the basement.
Wesley watched Buffy and Angel leave. The symbols in Cordy’s drawing rekindled a memory from his Watcher days. He hoped he was wrong, but he was going to have to make a call after the morgue.
As he gathered equipment for his second stop, he wondered why Angel remained silent. The vampire’s secrets could destroy them all.
***********
It was getting late, but she had to pick up her laptop then get back to work. So far, neither she nor the book team turned up anything on symbols. But Willow would probably have more luck, since she could hack into sites inaccessible to Cordelia. To speed things up, Cordy was going to use the laptop while Willow used the desktop. All of which explained why Cordelia and Tara were making a run to her apartment to pick up the laptop, after having stopped for Fred’s tacos.
“This is it,” she told the witch. “Home sweet home. Totally better than my first apartment,” she stressed.
Tara looked at the building and was impressed. Wesley must offer a pretty good salary in order for Cordelia to afford this place. She climbed out of the car, which didn’t look anything like a hearse to follow the former May Queen. Cordelia dug through her purse for keys, which why Tara saw the body first. “Cordelia..”
Cordy looked up. “Oh, no.”
What had once been Rebecca Thomas was pinned against the wall, near the door to apartment 212. Her skin had been flayed, and symbols had been cut and burned into it. Smears of blood and other things painted the walls, while piles of what seemed to be parts lined the corridor.
Unseen, he watched, glad she enjoyed his present.
***********
1860
He waited in the shadows. The seer should discover her present in any moment. He watched her approach the townhouse with her mother and sisters. The other women talked and laughed as they walked, but her steps dragged. He watched fear enter her eyes. Carefully, he edged closer to the light, inhaling the delicious scent of her growing fear. She knew what was to come. Her eyes flickered, taking in the shadows.
Then she saw the body.
Her screams were joined by cries from her family. Angelus smiled. He loved it when women appreciated his gifts. He knew she loved his next gift even more.
Part 7
“Lilah Morgan, please,” a voice on the phone line requested.
Lilah hit save on her computer and turned her attention to the phone. “This is she.”
“Ms. Morgan this is Files and Records, a senior staff member believes we have something here which might interest you,” the officious voice explained.
“I’ll be right there.”
Amidst the file cabinets, a brown haired woman sat in front of a computer. After Lilah provide clearance codes, the woman pushed a book to the edge of the desk.
“What’s this?” Lilah wanted to know. The book was a copy of a collection of Watcher files, the ones on Angelus. The book was interesting, but standard issue for the new-hire class, not something which required a Vice-President’s attention.
“This, Ms. Morgan,” the woman began in her grating voice, “is a copy of the Watcher files on Angelus, also Angel, also Liam.” She pushed another book forward, “This is the index of our own files on said individual.” She reached into her desk and produced a thin file of paper. “This is the preliminary report filed by the on-the-scene officer investigating a murder at the Silverlake apartments, formerly known as the Pearson Arms, where one Cordelia…”
The location was familiar. “…Cordelia Chase lives. Yeah, I know. And the point to this little exercise is?”
The clerk merely looked at the lawyer. “The point, Ms. Morgan, is that a senior member of this law firm has requested your attention on this matter. Far be it for a junior member of staff, such as myself, to explain what that means to someone in your position.” She laid the police file on the desk.
After a moment in which she recalled several little incidents involving the senior members of staff Lilah decided, “I’ll just take these.”
“Ah, Ms. Morgan, that is just the index to the case files,” the woman advised.
File cabinets lined the walls of the room. “I’ll be here awhile.” Lilah nodded, accepting she would be stuck in this dingy room scouring the files for a pattern. “Does China Palace deliver down here?”
***********
The fragranced disinfected used in the morgue did little to mask the odor of death. As always when he visited this place, Wesley felt ill at ease. The site of bodies, though saddening, was only part of his unease. Here, amidst the dead and the tools used to crave meaning from death, the futility of his mission hung in the foul air and clung to his skin. For every life he and Angel saved from the big bads, hundreds more died of the small ones. Encased in plastic wrap, victims of very ordinary human violence and apathy awaited their moment beneath the tools of investigation. These bodies represented the battle he couldn’t fight, and certainly could never win.
He shook himself, and tried to brush away the air and dark mood.
“Same for everyone,” his contact said when he noticed Wesley’s unease. “After awhile you get used to it. These are people; you learn to respect that.” With a matter of fact flick of his wrist, he pulled the latch and opened a cabinet door, extending the sledge like platform. His movement was fluid from practice.
On the sledge, lay the remains of one “Jane Doe”. Wesley suspected two children waited in vain for this Jane to return. Someone had tried to piece her back together. Her skin, tattered with knife and burn marks, had been painstakingly re-attached to her “body”. While the effort was probably an improvement on how she’d been found, it would not be enough to spar any loved ones shock and horror.
“Can you tell…” Wesley paused. A tinge of conscience told him that speaking about her this way was yet one more violation. Yet the only comfort he could offer her would be to stop the one who did from hurting someone else. “Were you able to gain any information?”
His contact nodded. Without needing to look at his chart, he started a catalog. “Based on the injuries, she was alive while he did much of the mutilation. The burns came first then he started to cut. It would have been bad. All of the cuts were done before he removed her skin. She ultimately died of shock and blood loss. To have kept her alive while he worked, he had to have lots of skill and lots of practice. Based on some of the burns, we suspect he had her for at least a week, if not more before he finally allowed her to die. The organs were removed post mortem. All but the intestines were recovered at the scene. The organs that were recovered were damaged, again post mortem. We suspect the body was dumped at the location, and that he killed her elsewhere. Due to the condition of the body, we cannot rule out sexual assault, but have found no evidence. We have however, found semen. The semen was concentrated over the patterned markings.”
Looking far older and wearier than when Wesley arrived, the man added, “In short this is one sick puppy. The cops have nothing. I have nothing. Worse, when I file a report, I’ll get a memo from upstairs telling me to drop it. Wesley, I don’t want to look at another women butchered this way. You deal with some weird shit. Find this guy.”
In that cold room surrounded by death Wesley gave his promise. He would find the killer, even if the evidence led to his front door.
His cell phone rang several times during the drive to his next stop. He ignored it. He parked in front of a small run down office building. Unlike other offices, this one bore no signage; even the address was obscured. He entered.
“I called. I need to see the file.” He cut straight to his purpose. He wanted little to do with the men lounging behind desks. But they had the answers he needed to solve this case.
One of the men waved a cigar at Wesley. Leaning back in his chair, he kicked his feet onto the desk, saying with a smug expression, “Finally saw the light, huh, Wesley-boy. Working for the vampire hasn’t quite….worked out.” Laughter trailed around the room.
Wesley straightened. To show weakness here would be to surrender in defeat. “In point of fact, I am the boss. I employ Angel.”
A snicker rose from the side of the room. “So he lets you play leader? Always wanted to be leader, didn’t you, Wes? Wanted to make daddy proud. Does daddy know you’ve been working with a demon? Bet that makes him real proud.”
The words touched a chord within Wesley. He was proud of the work he did. Proud to work with Angel, but…..but he had never told his father what Angel was. His father had been proud Wesley was a Watcher. At least until Wesley was fired. Wesley doubted he would understand about Angel. “I need to see the books.” He would take their taunts. He would wait. He was going to see those files.
Within minutes he found the answer. He double and triple checked. He delved deeper in search of flaws. But the files proved Angel was lying to them all.
***********
Angel led Buffy through the sewers to reach a well known demon hang out. The last time he’d been there, Darla and Dru were recruiting an army. Considering he’d single handedly massacred that army, he thought he might be able to loosen a few tongues, or any other language producing organs. If not, well, he was always ready for a repeat performance.
He hefted his favorite battle ax, and did his best to look focused and determined. He needed to practice that look if he wanted to avoid conversations in the future.
“Angel,” the Slayer began.
Apparently he hadn’t mastered the look.
“I’m sorry about last night. I know you’re angry with me.” She stopped to lean against the sewer wall. “I know Cordelia is important to you.” You’re little sex kitten, a voice in head suggested. Notice you’ve still got a soul.
That isn’t me, Buffy told the voice. But neither were the thoughts that kept dancing though her head. From the moment she saw him with Cordelia her body has been alert, fluttering with a sexual energy. Her mind had been full of images that should have embarrassed her, but elicited an entirely different response. Those feelings added to the sense that Angel no longer hovered in the shadows, waiting to rescue her, left her unbalanced, uneasy…and bitchy. She didn’t like it, but her mouth just didn’t have a pause button.
“This is so difficult. I feel like…urgh, I don’t know. Cordelia is Cordelia, Queen Bitch, but I feel bad for her. And I guess I’m jealous at the same time. I know you don’t love her, but I can see that you’re close friends…and I, we can’t, be close.” She kicked off the walk, and lifted her hand to touch his cheek. “I got you something. I didn’t want to give it to you last night, in front of everyone and we haven’t really had a chance to be alone.” With that she moved her hand down to his chest. The chest she watched Cordelia lick last night. The atmosphere changed. The remember flame sparked as their shared longing transformed into anticipation. She rested her head against him, savoring his strength and the security he offered, and wrapped her arms around him. “I’ll always love you,” she promised.
“And you’ll always have a place in my heart,” Angel answered. In a sewer in the middle of a case was not the time to explain what moving on meant, what it meant to hold a place in someone’s heart but not their every living breath—or un-living breath, as the case may be. For just a moment, he held her, in memory of a seventeen year old girl who thought first love was eternal love.
He took the small box. He unwrapped it, thanked her then put it in his pocket. He started down the tunnel.
When flying body and a wooden table met, the table lost. Having progressed from discreet inquiry to public diplomacy stages, Angel reached the multi-lateral engagement stage of the plan. He reached down and helped the formerly flying body regain its tentacles before slamming his fist into its mottled face. “I’ll rephrase the question,” he offered.
Pivoting, Buffy forestalled a rear attack. The force of her kick sent the demon crashing into the wall. “Not co-operating, huh?”
“Not as you’d notice…But you will, won’t you?” He asked, withdrawing the mask that veiled his game face.
The demon began to shake in what Angel assumed was a nod. “Yes,” it hissed, “co-operate.”
“You really have a way with people,” Buffy commented from the side. Her eyes continued to scan the room, ready for any attack.
For extra measure, and for the inconvenience of having to beat the information out of it, Angel slammed the creature against the wall. Its tentacles dangled beyond reach of the floor. “The women, I want to know about women. You recognized the marks, Lenny. I saw your dorsal fin flash. What do you know?”
Struggling against Angel’s grip, Lenny tried. “Only what hear, only what hear. I speak true.”
“Then tell me what you’ve heard.” Angel leaned closer to where he suspect Lenny’s auditory system was located. “Better hurry, before I decide to let her” he flicked his head towards Buffy, who took that as her cue to make a mean face, “have you.” Someone really needed to practice “mean face”.
“Rumor say vampire hunt in the day. Symbols in books.” Lenny spread his tentacles. “Name, vampire have name.”
Angel pressed against its breathing tub. “What is the name?”
Laughter resonated from the shadows. Buffy and Angel turned to see a vampire walk towards them.
***********
1860
“Not to night, darling.”
“But, Angelus, we’ve been invited to dinner. They’ll be so many guests to choose from.” Darla climbed into his lap. “They do say the variety is the spice of life.”
“They all taste the same to me. It’s the preparation that makes the difference,” he countered. “Add a little torture they get that salty taste; a quick kill makes them sweet. The perfect combination.” He closed his mouth over hers, allowing his teeth to cut into her mouth. He ended the kiss, licking the dribble of blood from the corner of his mouth.
Darla pouted. Her bottom lip protruded and she rubbed her breasts against his chest. “You’re not having a feast without me, are you? Some special meal just for you? When I came home earlier, you were gone. Not keeping secrets, I hope?”
Angelus grinned; his face bearing the deceptive mask of innocence which earned his name. “I have a special treat planned. But this one takes care and planning.”
The pout merged into a knowing smile. “My surprise. You’re going after the seer I found for you.”
“Darling, you know me so well.” Before she could react, he shifted their positions, lowering her to the floor with him on top.
Later he watched from the shadows. It was time for the next move in the game. The seer’s sister slipped from the backdoor. She looked around furtively, before closing the door with care and creeping away from the house. “Girls nowadays,” Angelus lamented. “Play the innocent, but slip away at the first chance for a good fuck. Good thing I’m always willing to oblige a lady.”
Hours later a scream echoed in the night. The seer stood over the body of her sister.
***********
Finally he could follow in the steps of the master. Through Cordelia he watched them, learned about them. Now he waited, sheltered in the bushes of the Hyperion. The sunlight overhead denied him the ease of shadows, making his task more challenging. As he watched the sister slipped away to play whore to man. She abandoned her post as the dark haired man bumbled into the foyer, eager to lift her skirts for a cock. While the others had rushed to the seer’s aid, this one selfishly sought her own ends. He would teach her the error of her ways. His erection throbbed in anticipation.
She, unaware of that destiny had come, walked towards him.
***********
Anya skipped down the front steps of the Hyperion beside Xander. Willow and Fred were already at Cordelia’s but Anya had been left in charge of the phones, waiting for Angel or Wesley to call. So far the voice mails she left went unreturned. Fred said Angel couldn’t use voice mail, but no one knew why Wesley hadn’t called.
Xander answered her questions as fast as possible, yet could barely keep up with the barge. Cordelia and Tara were OK. The police were on the scene. The apartment block was cordoned off. He was going to drive Angel’s car back to the hotel. Yes, the Hellmouth was a much safer place to raise their offspri---children than LA.
Gunn waited in the truck. Once they dropped Anya at Cordy’s they would track down Angel and Wes. Gunn wanted to start now, but Xander refused to let Anya stay in the Hyperion alone this close to dark. LA had more than vampires so the day was just as dangerous as the night but Gunn understood Xander’s concern.
As they reached the sidewalk, a figure in black slashed at Anya, his knife drawing a line of crimson across the back of her white shirt. She stumbled and screamed, falling onto the sidewalk.
Throwing himself in front her, Xander pushed the attacker off balance. The man faltered but renewed his attack, slashing down at Anya’s shoulder. Xander caught his wrist and struggled to deflect it, even as Gunn, rushing from the truck, slammed full body into the black clad figure. For a single moment Xander locked eyes with the man and a chill cloaked the young man despite the brilliance of a Southern California day. The man did not even register Xander’s presence. His focus unchanged, he struck again stabbing towards the woman. When the men tried to interfere, he slashed at their wrist to keep them at bay.
Pushing to her knees, Anya turned in time to see the man stab at Xander. She called out, as the blade thrust into his flesh. A backhand strike cut across Gunn’s bicep. The figure raised his left to deliver a powerful kick into the tall man’s gut. Anya scrambled to her feet, standing in time to face the attacker. Defensively, she brought her hands up.
No, he thought with dawning horror. He could not have failed again. He saw her face. “Demon spawn,” he roared. “Unworthy.” He slammed his fist into her face, knocking her back to the ground. Her lovers were almost upon him when he stepped out of the world.
***********
Lilah Morgan sat on the floor of Files and Records surrounded by descriptions of rape, murder and bloodlust. She couldn’t believe how turned on she was. After hours of reading with the voice in side her head—whether her own or one of the Seniors, she didn’t know—saying she was missing the “big picture”, she decided to lay W&H’s accounts beside the Watcher’s files. She kept the police report ready for reference. Finally she saw.
The “good guys” are always such fools. She laughed. It was so easy, now she just needed to wait and watch as the cracks emerged and splintered Angel’s team. Chalk one up for the bad guys. She marked a one in the air and clutched the file to her chest.
If her day continued on this high note, she would squeeze in lunch and a manicure before her next meeting.
***********
Failure, he stood naked before his master and confessed. His offering had been a filthy demon. As soon as he saw, her face, he recognized her. Around the chamber books lay open; the image of the demon Anyanka laughed at him from their pages. As penance he denied himself clothing, denied himself sustenance and beat the flesh that carried the taint of failure and the corruption of a demon’s touch. Each strike of the whip grew harder then the last. He alternated between his back and the source of his failure. He brought himself closer to the wall, to the emblem of his master, even as he brought his body closer to his master’s desires. Pain and pleasure, intricately linked to feed passion, that was the great lesson of his master.
His body erupted, spending itself against the symbol of his master emblazoned on the wall. He offered pain, pleasure and the blood drawn by the whip as penance for his failure.
This time he had to succeed.
***********
“The great Angelus,” the vampire announced. He emerged from the shadows wearing jeans and a tie dyed t-shirt. He approached Angel with confidence, swaggering.
Angel figured he was a fool, for only fools were that confident when facing a potential foe; only fools wore neon pink trainers. “I take it you have something to say.” He released his grip on Lenny, allow it to slide to the flood. To prevent an ill-timed exited, Angel step on a tentacle.
“They said you’d changed. That you protected the humans.” He turned, played to his audience. “But we know different. You’ve got a great scam running, A.” With dramatic flair, he skipped up to Buffy, dancing around her. “All I’m saying is, we want in.” He leaned toward her, licking his lips. He flicked her blonde hair. “You can cut the act and we get a cut of the action.”
Buffy slipped her foot out, tripping the prancing prick. He scowled at her then remembered he was the vampire and she was his next meal. His chest puff out and he growled menacingly, or at least as menacingly as a guy in a tie dyed shirt and pink sneaker could.
Before the confrontation escalated Angel echoed, “Action?” drawing tacky vamp’s attention back to him. Several tentacles pushed at Angel’s ankle, trying to dislodge his foot. Without looking down, Angel tapped Lenny’s head and shook a finger.
The vampire preened with importance, his strut bold and flashy as he sought approval from the crowd. “You’ve been leaving calling cards all over the place. Dude, we’re here to answer that call.”
It was true. Angel did leave calling cards all over the place, though he doubted the idiot was talking about lobsters.
Again, the vampire circled in towards Buffy. She caught Angel’s eye. At last. She flicked up a stake, slammed it into the vampire’s shoulder. Following through with her momentum, she bent him backwards, forcing him to hobble backwards to a table. Angling the stake, she used it to pin him to the table. “What kind of calling card,” she asked over his howls
As she turned, she revealed her back to Angel. A dark greenish-gray film covered the back and shoulders of her pink sweater top. He considered, opened his mouth...Angel decided not to mention it.
A tentacle glided up Angel’s leg. He tried to shaking his leg, shooing it away. Another flicked up his thigh, approaching his zipper. “Stop that.” Angel smacked at the tentacle.
Lenny subsided for the moment, though the feel of the vampire on his tentacle drove him wild. Already fluid of pleasure percolated along his pedipal.
“We just want in, to know how he does it,” vampire whined under Buffy’s fist. “If we could hunt in the day, nothing would stop us. We’d rule the world.” He struggled against the stake and the feminine hand the held him in place. “You’ve had a hundred years, man, it’s time to share.”
Buffy pulled the stake from shoulder, before ramming into his heart. Demons withdrew back into the shadows. “Couldn’t you guys be a little selective? You’ll turn anything.”
Angel shrugged. “Some vampires have no taste.” After all, he thought, Dru turned Spike. Angel lifted Lenny from the floor, as his cell phone started to ring. “The name.”
“Angelus,” squeaked the quivering mass. “Leavings of Angelus, signs, the mark. Is in books. All know, legend,” the voice reached a crescendo as its body shuddered then spasmed. Released from Angel’s grip it fell, leaving a creamy smear on Angel’s hand.
Angel gave it one last kick. “And, no, I’m not interested. Let’s get out of here.”
The phone stopped ringing, diverting to voice mail; the voice mail he didn’t know how to use. Rubbing the demon goo onto his pants, Angel wonder if someone would show him how to retrieve his messages—if he promised to let them live in return.
Kicking at the odd rat, Buffy stormed through the sewers. The sewers she had to use for at least the next twenty minutes, because she was with a vampire. In twenty minutes the sun would set and she could go into the night, with a vampire. At the party she thought for one short minute that she could have “normal” or at least sort of normal with Angel. Then she’d thought...she wasn’t exactly sure what she’d thought but it had to do with Angel becoming more normal and maybe not being with her but at the same time being more normal which meant he could be with her and then feelings which plagued her through out the day faded in her disgust. Now this, her boyfriend was a serial killer—which she kind of already knew, but still.
“So, you know something about this?” She asked without turning to look at him. “I mean, its not you didn’t have plenty of opportunity to say, ‘Hey, guess what I did’, or where you just jonesing for another sewer talk?”
Angel wasn’t listening instead he battled his cell phone. The display said he had three messages, ok two messages. He probably shouldn’t have hit that last button. What did I do wrong? He silently demanded of the diabolic device. He tried again. Cordy said to push the hot key….but none of the keys were hot; they all felt the same to him. Desperate, he braved ex-girlfriend territory. “Do you know how to use this thing?” He held out the phone.
***********
Police surrounded her apartment building. Standing on the sidewalk, Cordy watched the men and women in blue scour the area in and around her apartment for any evidence the killer may have left. They would find nothing. This killer operated beyond the realm of the LAPD. A crowd of onlookers gathered just behind the police line. The more daring crowd members called questions to the police or tried to draw the attention of the four women huddled on the sidewalk. Neither the police nor the women acknowledge them.
A van marked coroner arrived. The coroner’s team disappeared into the sea of blue, only to re-emerge a bit later with a sealed black bag on the stretcher. The crowd hummed in excitement, tantalized by the sight of the body bag. Having collected Rebecca Thomas the van drove away.
Through it all Cordy stood in silence. At her side hovered Fred, alternating between wringing her hands and asking, “Can I get you anything?” Cordy hated that question. What did they think they could get her? What would make the visions stop hurting, make her apartment safe—make Rebecca Thomas able to water plants and peep in windows again? With envy, she glanced at Tara. The other woman took shelter in Willows arms, receiving reassurance and comfort. With the sun clinging to the sky, Cordelia had no one to shelter her.
Rebecca Thomas, Cordy repeated the name in her head again. Until tonight she hadn’t known the woman’s name. Three years of living in this apartment and she hadn’t bothered to learn her neighbor’s name. Same old Cordelia, a voice in her head flung, a self centered bitch.
A police detective in pain clothes approached. “Miss…Chase,” the middle aged man said, looking at his notebook to confirm the name. “We have a few questions to ask you.”
Fred stepped forward, frustrated with the delays and the man’s condescending tone. She wasn’t just frustrated she was hopping mad, as her mama would say. “She already answered your questions the first three times. We’ve been standing here for hours while ya’ll ask the same questions.”
A grim smile formed on Cordelia’s lips. Timid and shy, Fred might be; but when push came to shove, the girl had spine. “Whoa, Fred. He’s just doing his job. Just like the other three who asked me the same questions.” She stressed the last part for the officer’s benefit. She was tired, but she wanted to answer the questions now. Right now she could use Queen C as a cover. Later the ice that held her emotions would thaw. Once that happened, she would be vulnerable. She hated being vulnerable.
While she hadn’t watched much TV in the last five years, five years living where the constable delivered justice with a sword, Fred had seen enough to know how things worked. “You need a lawyer.”
Maybe, Cordy thought. The police were being a bit heavy handed, though who could blame them. They had a bizarre murder and a witness connected with one of Kate Lockley’s “supernatural” case contacts. The problem was the only lawyers Cordelia knew moonlighted as minions of hell.
Detective Miller leaned in, using his size to intimidate; only neither woman appeared to be particularly intimidated. The little one even puffed up like a bantam rooster. “Perhaps Miss Chase would prefer to answer my questions at the station,” he suggested with honeyed menace. The whole thing pissed him off. Arriving on the scene, he’d felt sorry for the two girls who found the body. That feeling faded when he learned one of them was one Cordelia Chase, employee of the infamous Angel Investigations. Every file related to that mysterious organization disappeared. Any cop that dug too deeply received a transfer or early retirement. He’d watched careers go down the tubes after run-ins with Angel Investigations. Good cops done bad. If he could nail just one of them, he could bring down the whole house of cards.
Cordy placed a restraining hand on Fred’s shoulder. “What do you want to know?” The sun was beginning to set. Soon she could find shelter.
Challenged by the same questions, her patience expired. This time she went through the events adding little comments, the type of comments that created an image. The more she talked the more Miller’s eyes glazed.
“Miss Chase, can you explain why you have blood in your refrigerator?” Miller asked, interrupting her mid sentence. He hoped he could rattle her. He hoped to shut off the inane chatter.
Without pause Cordy answered, “My friend, he’s English.” Her tone suggested this was common knowledge.
Miller waited. If he could get something, anything tangible, he could take Angel Investigations down.
Looking straight into his eyes Cordy explained. “Loves black pudding.” She shivered, “Totally gross, but he’s English, so we forbear.” She fluttered her lashes at him, offering her best wide eyed stare.
The brunette had a blonde brain. Miller’s hopes of retribution fluttered away on the breeze of inane chatter.
Carefully prepared, meticulously documented reports from the scene of the crime disappeared during the night. Miller and the other cops from the scene received their reassignments the next morning. The Senior Partners wanted their Special Project dark, not contemplating redemption while incarcerated. They’d already lost one Project to that loophole.
***********
“They’re on their way,” Angel announced. On arriving back to the Hyperion with Buffy, he’d found the hotel empty. A message from Fred on the dry erase board said to call her cell phone as soon as possible. While Buffy paced, Angel called on the office phone. His cell phone floated through the sewers, the victim of a head on collision with a wall. No one lamented its loss.
Gunn held the door for Xander and Anya a few moments later. The two wore bandages, evidence of a trip to the emergency room. Gunn’s wounds remained unattended. He didn’t trust doctors.
“Xander.” Buffy ran to help her friends down the steps. “What happened?”
Letting the door close, Gunn followed. “Some creepy demon guy, all in black—I’m guessing the one from Cordelia’s vision—tried to grab Anya. Had a big ass knife and knew how to use it. Kicked our butts then suddenly took off.”
Angel, having heard, came out of the office, and noticed the dried blood streaked across Gunn’s bicep. “You Ok?”
Nodding, Gunn flexed his arm. “Cordy can do her thing…might cheer her up. Took these two to the hospital, though. You heard from Cordy or Fred yet?”
Angel shook his head. “I…dropped my cell phone.” He looked up, feigning innocence. He dropped a lot of cell phones.
“Its bad, man,” Gunn dropped onto the circular settee beside Xander. “Someone left one of those bodies for Cordy, right outside her door. I’m guessing it was creepy demon guy.”
“We better….” Angel was ready to go, but the others had come home.
Tara and Willow, hand in hand, trailed Fred and Cordelia.
“Bad day?” Cordelia asked Xander, Anya and Gunn. When they nodded she added, “Us too.” All four squeezed onto the settee near their friends. “You guys?” She asked Angel and Buffy.
“Got to beat up some demons,” Angel supplied. “And, uh, I lost my phone.” He looked up at the ceiling in hope that Cordelia wouldn’t notice the last part, or at least that she wouldn’t notice the small fib,
Scowling, Gunn grumbled, “How come you got to kick demon ass, and I got stuck with him?” He jerked his head towards Xander.
“Hey,” protested Xander. “I was trying to blend, I didn’t mean to…” He trailed into silence. It had been embarrassing enough while it happened he certainly didn’t want to relive he experience. Gunn rolled his eyes.
“Couldn’t find the hot key, huh?” Cordelia dropped her bag onto the floor.
“So spill,” Buffy said. “Gunn said you saw a body?”
Closing her eyes with a shudder, Tara answered, “Pieces of a body…everywhere. There were symbols on the wall…it was,” she took a breath, “I’ve never seen anything so horrible.”
“I don’t understand why. I know he’s after me, so why did he kill that woman? What is he trying to accomplish.” Cordy drew her legs up onto the settee. “Why?”
Having retreated to lean against the counter Buffy answered, “To get to you.” She stared at Angel, her eyes filled with accusation and memory. “It’s a game; he hurts you by hurting those around you.”
“Oh,” Cordelia answered into the silence as Angel shifted uncomfortably. Put that way, it sounded a little too familiar.
To distract herself from the tension in the room, Fred did a head count. With a hotel full of guests keeping up with everyone was a challenge. “Where’s Wesley?” No one knew.
“He didn’t call,” Anya offered. He hadn’t called despite the fact she’d been left alone in the hotel, with a mad man on the loose to wait for the call. If anyone had asked, she’d have told them how rude he was.
“What about you?” Angel asked Gunn.
“It was broad day light, so I’m thinking he’s not a vamp,” Gunn explained. He replayed the attack in his head, retracing the demon’s actions to reveal strengths, and very few weaknesses. “But the guy was strong.”
“Word is there’s a vampire that works the day,” Angel provided.
Gunn raised an eyebrow, “You buying it?”
“That’s just what we need,” Buffy chimed in. “Evil creatures of the night looking for a day jobs.”
Shrugging Angel thought about Gunn’s question. Was it possible? Maybe, as possible as a vampire having a soul. But…it felt wrong. “Lenny says the vampire’s name is Angelus.”
“That’d be…” That sounded very bad. Gunn really had a problem with the 1% of the time Angel went evil. Working with a blood sucking vampire was one thing, working with an evil blood sucking vampire was another.
“…me. Yeah, news to me, too. Did you get anything?” He hoped Gunn had more information, because his day had hardly been productive. Though he had managed to drop the phone, which was always a high point in his day.
Gunn rolled his eyes toward Xander. “You know how much my crew likes you? They like him even more.”
“Hey,” came Xander’s squawk. “It was an accident, I told you.”
“Yeah, right. At this rate I’ll be banished from the neighborhood for good. So you thinking someone hijacked your rep?”
“Lenny said something about books.” He stepped out of the way allowing Cordy to past to get the first aid box. “Said it was all myths and legends.” He watched as Cordy opened the first aid kit. “Weird. I didn’t know that many books had been written about me.” Having his name in print was pretty cool, though having his name in print for hideous murder and torture was…not so cool.
Cordy set disinfectant and ointment to the side. “Creepy cop lady got her information somewhere.”
Xander and Buffy stared. “When did you go all Florence Nightingale?”
“And who is creepy copy lady?”
With a snort, Cordy slipped on a latex glove, finishing with a snap flourish. “The guys line up for my touch.” Gunn and Angel laughed. It was true. After a night of demon dusting they frequently required attention. Certain members of staff really enjoyed it, even if they didn’t require it.
Felling excluded from the camaraderie, Buffy fell prey to the obnoxious voice whispering in her head. “Haven’t they always. She touched half the school,” Buffy murmured to Angel. To her annoyance, the vampire acted as if he hadn’t heard.
Xander laughed. “Bravely go where many men have gone before,” he advised Gunn. Not that he’d going to go into that well charted territory, one of the regrets of his life.
Cordelia stuck her tongue out at Xander, saying “ha, ha”, while she cleaned Gunn’s wound. “Cop lady was one of Angel’s blonde chippies, just another blonde in a very long list. Owww.” Her shin ached.
Xander stopped laughing and swallowed. The way Cordy snapped those latex gloves gave him ideas.
“Xander likes me to wear gloves too,” Anya offered. Xander blushed; those were the ideas. “Are you going to undress now, so Cordy can touch you?” She innocently asked Gunn.
“I, uh.” Gunn scooted a little further away. “No.” Damn, but these Sunnydale folks are weird. After a whole day in the company of these two, he was just about ready to hop the next portal back to Pylea. He noticed Fred leaning back resting with her eyes closed and changed his mind. Fred had a thing about portals, and hated Pylea….maybe they could hit Vegas instead.
Anya sensed Gunn was uncomfortable and wanted to reassure him. She really liked him. At the hospital he had sat with her while Xander was taken to another room for treatment. The entire time, she talked and not once had Gunn said “not now”. “We can watch. Xander will tell you if you do something wrong. He’s very good.”
“That’s ok, really.”
“An, hon, not now,” a red faced Xander ordered.
“But…” Xander kept shaking his head at her. Then she understood. “Ohhhh..” Human males were so silly. Obviously Gunn was not as capable as her Xander, and Xander didn’t want to embarrass him. Xander is so sweet, she thought, leaning in for a hug.
Willow and Tara finally joined the group, having separated to talk alone in the office. “Cordy, you said he appeared and disappeared in your vision.”
Taking a moment to replay the vision Cordy nodded. “He almost faded in and out. So did some of the women. It’s hard to tell if its part of the vision, though. They can be kind of arty.”
“We think it could be magic. And if it is, we can try to find out what kind of magic. It could help us figure how who he is.”
Sounded good to Cordelia. She really didn’t want to find any more neighbors hanging from her walls.
Shortly after Dawn and Spike returned from the mall, Wesley arrived laden with papers. Once the accounts were re-aired, he asked to speak to Angel, alone. Unlike the others, he did not say where he had been.
***********
The atmosphere in the office resonated with unspoken accusations and reproach. Wesley allowed the air to thicken, encasing Angel in his own lies and denials. A woman died today as a result of Angel’s secrets, while Anya and Xander bore the reminders of his silence. Wesley took a deep breath and crossed his fingers on the desk. Photocopies taken during his trawl through the Watcher’s files lay scattered on the wooden top. Woodprints and lithographs illustrated the same symbols which disfigured the flesh of at least two women in the morgue. “Angel, you must understand your refusal to tell me the truth is responsible for the death of these women.”
In silence Angel picked through the photocopies. Each detailed events from the 1840’s to the 1860’s, detailed the horror that lived within him. Even without the narrative accounts, Angel remembered every act of cruelty he committed during those years. The voices of his victims repeated their cries for mercy in his dreams. Now those cries reached his soul, bringing forth compassion and remorse, then they merely feed his hunger and desire. Burdened with those memories, the souled vampire denied none of the actions of the soulless beast.
He tossed the handful of papers onto the desk. “I didn’t do this.”
Wesley sighed. This was difficult for both of them. “I know you didn’t kill that woman today, or the woman in Cordy’s vision. But if something Angelus did…”
Angel bent forward resting his elbows on his knees. “I did lot of things. I killed…I took pleasure in the killing. But I never did this. I didn’t see my victims as people, as worth anything more than what I could take. I tortured them for the fun of it. But I’ve never seen these marks before and certainly never made them.”
The evidence lay before them, all in black and white. Understanding that Angel needed to be alone, to take time to accept his responsibility, Wesley left the office.
Cordy waited until Wesley went out the back door, then she slide back the door and crept into the office.
“He thinks I did this,” Angel said without turn to her. His head hung low over his knees. “I’m never going to get away from it, am I?”
She wanted to say, “Sure you will, give it time.” Yet more than anything their friendship, their more-than-friendship, lived in trust. He trusted her to be honest, even brutally honest. She lowered herself into the closest chair. “No, it’s a part of you. You’re past will always be part of your life, just like everyone else’s. Angel, you’ve changed; you’re not that vampire….I mean, you are a vampire, you’re just not….you know what I mean. I’m not the rich bitch who ruled Sunnydale High anymore, and you’re not that soulless killer. You’re a good man with a good heart.”
He met her eyes. She amazed him. Every time he thought he understood her, she let him see another facet. “And now you’re the not so rich ruler of Pylea.” For a moment she smiled in response.
“You don’t get to leave it behind, all you can do, is decide what to do with it now. Do you spend the rest of your life brooding or…”
“Hey, what’s going on?” Buffy asked, sliding open the doors to the office. “Anya remembered something the demon guy said. Thinks it’s important. Said the guy called her a demon and unworthy. Beyond the insulting part, she thinks it might be a ‘clue’.” She stepped closer to Angel, patting him on the back. Her feelings may be a little haywire, but she had to stake her claim. Just because he fucked Cordelia didn’t mean she would yield her claim. Yet those uncomfortable feelings from the night before insisted on entering the swirl of her emotions. She almost wanted Cordelia’s attention as much as Angel’s. Forcing those thought aberrations back into the dark recesses of her mind, she returned to her purpose. “Come on, you, works waiting.” When Angel stood, she cast a glance at Cordelia which said, “Back off.”
Cordelia couldn’t resist. “Hey, Buffy, love the shirt. The slime look is so you.”
***********
A solitary ember floated in the air, drawing Wesley’s attention. Not in the mood for games, he almost ignored the blonde vampire lurking in the shadows of the back-garden. Without breath to create sound the only indication of his presence was the circuitous fire dance of his cigarette being raised and lowered. “What do you want?” This creature lacked a soul. This creature nurtured a foul demon within his breast with only a tiny piece of human technology to contain it. Given some of the results of man’s hubris, Wesley’s wasn’t too reassured by that bit of technology.
Spike flicked his cigarette and watched as it tumbled through the air to land amongst the flowers, amongst the Poof’s precious flowers. The growing mound of cigarette butts gave him a sense of satisfaction. “Me? Not a lot. This chip out my head, a beer, hot woman….” He kicked away from the wall, leaving the deep for the half shadows, “But then I’m a happy man. No perverted soul to make me long for things I can’t have, things like trust.”
“Been eavesdropping, I see.”
“Vampire,” he pointed towards himself, “good hearing, maybe your books mentioned it,” Spike snorted.
Wesley’s body tightened in annoyance. That this creature, this soulless killer could lecture him… “I checked every reference. That is the mark of Angelus.”
Condescending laughter burbled through the garden. “You’re bloody stupid, aren’t you? Must be all that Watcher training.” Moving quickly, he draped his arm over Wesley’s shoulders, holding the furious human in place. “Uncle Spikey has a story to tell. Angelus, he was a master, turned torture into an art form—not that I’d tell him that. Hell, even the Darla Bitch was impressed by the sadistic bastard. Spent most of my life trying to be like him, be better than him—succeeded too. The pain and the pleasure, he used to say, the pain and the pleasure, like it was some damn mantra.” Wesley struggled; Spike increased his grip. “He taught us to enjoy the kill. Guess you’d say play with the food.” He licked Wesley’s neck, snickering at the fear induced jump in the man’s pulse. Spike loved it when that happened. “Fear, now that makes you salty. If I killed you quick you’d be sweet as honey. Either way, you’re just food. That’s what humans were for. You don’t get angry with your food.” He released Wesley, and started up the steps. “He started off marking the food, letting the world know he’d been there, but that was part of the game. The killing in those files isn’t playing with the food, its hundred percent anger and hate, its one hundred percent human evil. I looked at them and saw insanity—lived with Dru; I know what it looks like. It took human soul drive Angelus insane, until then it was just the fun. Only someone who hates would take the time to play with dead meat. Once they’re dead, games over and the food’s rotten. Bet the bastard can’t even get it up and take from me, Angelus, the prick, can get it up.”
With everything in him he wished he allow himself that comfort. “The records say…”
Spike opened the door and allowing the light from the hotel to enshroud him. “Who wrote the records? The idiot Watchers and their slayers….ooooo, there’s a good source.”
***********
A knock sounded on his bedroom door. Angel inhaled, scenting the air. “Come in,” he called from the bed. It was Cordelia. He’d known she’d come. Anyone else and he would have pretended to be asleep or gone. Though where he’d go with only minutes to sunrise he couldn’t guess. With the meeting downstairs only just ended, they all needed rest. The last he’d heard Fred was making space for Cordy to do just that in her room.
She stood framed in the doorway, wearing a long t-shirt which declared, “I’m the Princess” in glittery gold lettering. Fuzzy bunnies protected her feet. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
After a moment of silence, Angel lifted the corner of his covers, revealing his naked body, to make room in the bed.
“No sex?”
“No sex.”
Without hesitating, Cordy climbed onto the edge of the bed and curled on her side, not even waiting to remove her bunnies. Angel lowered the blankets then wrapped his body around her. She gripped his arms tightly, one against her stomach and the others across her shoulders and neck. She settled into her shelter.
“Need to talk?” He felt her head nod. “You think this is your fault?” She was silent. He whispered, “This will be one of those conversations where I do the talking?” He received a response, another silent nod, and the feel of warm drops on his arm. “I’m better with the other ones.”
“You’re doing fine.”
He brushed his lips against her hair. “It’s not your fault.”
“I didn’t even know her name.”
***********
The floors creaked, the sound alerting Buffy to every movement in the hotel. Or perhaps it was because she waited for the sound, expected to hear it. Cordelia had gone from Fred’s room to Angel’s, just as Buffy anticipated. For a moment she considered rushing into the room and beating the ever living day light out of both of them. But at least one of them hadn’t had day light in several hundred years. She struggled against the overwhelming flash of anger and jealousy. To rush in now would make her look a fool.
Lying on the bed, she closed her eyes. She could almost hear them. Their moans of pleasure filled her room. Images of their bodies locked in the dance of passion flickered at the edge of her mind. There Angel wore a purple shirt and Cordy a leather skirt. Buffy’s body hummed in time with the roll of their bodies. The fluttering tingle with her flowered, enticing her fingers into her panties. Her thighs opened as she rolled onto her back. Her knees rose. Under her hand, her body released its soft liquid, smoothing the way for her fingers to delicately dance among its folds. A small, “ah” escaped her lips. Then as the voices panting around her grew more fervent, her fingers answered their call. She saw Angel bring Cordelia to her knees. He drew in behind, reaching around to touch her. Buffy felt it. Her fingers felt the dewy wetness, felt the warm. With Cordelia she felt she the glorious stabbing of his fingers and bucked in response. In the bed alone, Buffy’s hips left the bed as she stabbed herself on to his fingers. He worked her, calling her all the names Buffy used for Cordy. “Bitch,” he hissed in the brunette’s ear in a voice just like Buffy’s. “Slut,” the word came from feminine lips. Buffy felt Cordy’s body spasm; her own body shuddered in response. She came with the word, “Whore” on her lips.
Afterward, she licked her fingers, wondering. Then she asked herself what she really wanted.
***********
Spike listened as Buffy’s breathing turned to panting. The sounds of the bed rocking in the next room told him the story. She was alone which could only mean she was finger fucking herself. The vampire grinned. He never let opportunity pass him by. He leaned back in the bed, sleeping naked meant he had no encumbrances to shed. He started easy, just as the sounds of her breathing told him she had. He heard her “ah” and as he’s body answered with a quiver, encouraged her with an “oh yeah.” As her breath quickened he increased the speed of his hand. When he heard the word “bitch” he knew what sparked her lone escapade. The image of two women. One dark and one light filtered through his mind. The ultimate male fantasy. They kissed, touched each other, tasted…then were transformed. Darla and Dru writhed together. Dru whispered, “Slut” and Darla laughed plunging her tongue deeper. They changed again, this time Dru giggled “whore” as Angelus came into Buffy’s mouth. The images flickered, melding, merging, ever more quickly until he found release.
The sounds in the next room faded. Spike asked himself how long before she realized what she really wanted.
***********
Warm, he felt so warm. For so long he’d been cold, both inside and out, that he’d forgotten what it was like wake up to warmth. As he emerged from the dark haze of sleep he relearned the simple sensation of waking up in a woman’s arms. Cordelia slept on, her body half onto of his, one leg encircling his two, completely unaware of his wonder of discovery. In the silence of the bedroom lit with diffused late morning light, he could hear the gentle rhythm of her blood pulsating through her body. Her heart beat pulsed against his chest. Each beat carried warmth. The cozy tendrils slowly seeped in and through his cold body.
“Feels good,” slurred a sleepy voice.
It did, he thought. It felt really good, especially the way her hand moved over him beneath the covers.
“Somebody’s having a happy morning.’
“Couldn’t imagine who.” The scent of arousal tickled the air, joining with the feel of her hand to bring him to full hardness, while the sound of laughter mingled with the racing beat of her pulse.
Cordy sat up and over in one move, mounting him around the waist. As she rose, the covers slipped back then dropped to the floor under their own weight. She reached back, tracing up the seam of his length with a single finger, just enough pressure to entice but not reward. Feeling his attention she reached the edge of her t shirt, hands grasping opposite sides and slowing drew the material up and over her head. At the top her arms uncrossed, inverting the t shirt and displaying her breasts. Even before she finished Angel was touching her. He started at her hips, hands gliding up either side to cup her breasts. He kneaded them and he half sat upwards to take a pebbled nipple between his lips. His tongue darted, circling then he gave her the painful tingle of sucking in earnest. Cordy moaned, again reaching behind her to touch him. Her hand cupped his length, enclosing him. She rocked up and down in time to the suction of her breast, pulling her hand upwards in long strokes as she rose then spiraled downwards. He left her breast, guiding her to bring her lips towards his. Their kiss was long and deep. He lay back down. Cordy followed him, balancing with her palms over his shoulders. She lowered herself, brushing the tips of her nipples against his chest. Already some of the warmth had faded and he was again cool to the touch. That added to the physical pleasure, creating a sensual contrast between her skin and his. She shifted, brushing against him again without leaving his lips, as she did the damp material between her thighs brushed over the tip of his erection. Angel groaned.
“Take it off,” she whispered against his lips.
He started to slide them over her hips.
Cordy moaned with frustration. “Just go grrrrr.”
He ripped them, splitting the seams of the lacy fabric on both sides. The material dropped onto him, the wet sliding between his legs.
Scooting back, Cordelia hovered over him. Only the very tip of his length touched her wetness. Then balancing, she slowly descended.
Angel’s body burned. She was torturing him. Even the feel of the fuzzy bunny slippers she still wore added to the torment. They brushed against the outside of his thighs, teasing with their feather touches. At the same time Cordy teased his inner thighs. She had held motionless over him, not even the full head enclosed as she took one of the hands gripping her thigh, opened it, and brought it to her mouth. Easing down over his head she licked his finger, running her tongue along the junction at its base ever so slowly to its tip. He begged. She continued her slow descent. Her tongue continued swirling around his finger. Under her control, his finger glided into her mouth to be teased by her tongue and a gentle suction. In tandem, her body encased him, teasing him with rippling bands of muscle. Then she began to rise.
Ready to explode, Angel withstood further torture. She rose slowly, forcing her inner muscles to grip and release, alternating between resistance and motion. She withdrew the finger, and traced down over her chin, neck, chest and breast. She paused, holding his hand in both of hers, before lowering it. As their entwined fingers reached their destination, she was half way up his length. She directed his fingers to her body, while her own encircled him. She continued her slow torturous pace till she reached his tip.
She watched his body strain, watched chords of muscle tense and clench. Watched his eyes go opaque with lust and needed. Watched his expression alternate between sheer ecstasy and undeniable need. Just seeing him on the edge pushed her over it. Reveling in her own climax, she arched back, circling her hips to brush her opening over his tip and squeezed him with her hand in time with the spasms of her body. All the while his fingers worked her. Then as her own orgasm reached a plateau, she lowered herself again. This time she increased her pace to a bounce, flexing up and down in her kneeling position until the slaps of their bodies joining reverberated with the crash of the headboard against the wall. Angel bucked beneath her, his body exploding in a climax that swept her up in its wake. She collapsed over him, still holding him within her, trying to catch her breath.
He slipped his arm around her holding her.
“Oh no….”
Her body locked turning into a rigid board and their bodies separated. She gripped her head, screaming in pain. “…vision.”
Part 8
1860
“Well, now, lass,” Angelus told the seer, “since you like my presents so much I’ll have to give you real treat next time.”
The seer leaned over her sister’s body, without regard for the blood pooling around her and the ragged hole where her sister’s throat had been. Sprays of blood coated the walls surrounding them, decorating the entrance to the church. Watching her, Angelus licked his finger tasting the dried sweetness. Quite a night, he thought. First, he’d taken her home, now he’d taken the place she went to think, to relax. First a neighbor, then a sister. Maybe he’d take the little one next, no challenge but a nice bit of variety or maybe….Yes, he decided, that was it.
She clutched the dark blonde’s body to her own, mixing her dark with her sister’s lighter shade. Blood soaked into her dress. She drew back suddenly, her eyes widening in horror, starting at the blood coating her hands and arms. She turned looking into the shadows obfuscating the waiting vampire. “Nooo,” she half denied and half begged. “No,” she screamed again.
This was fun, Angelus thought. “Oh, yes, lass,” he said, though she was too far to hear. “But not yet, I’ve a few more treats for you, pet.”
***********
He’s penance was rewarded. His master showed him the woman as she ran along the sidewalk near the Hyperion. Her dark blonde hair dangled in a ponytail at the top of her head and bounced in rhythm to the music on her personal stereo. A poor substitute, but an acceptable one. She managed one scream when he sprang from the hedges, which faded as they faded from reality. He kept her alive as long as time allowed. She begged, pleaded and asked why. He told her it was for her sister. The entire time he worked he repeated the lines, “How does your garden grow? With silver bells and cockle shells and pretty maids all in a row?” He quivered each time he visualized the torture described in the lines. Caught in the mood of the chant he even used the thumbscrews mentioned in the verse. She screamed in accompaniment.
No one knew how a murder could dump a body at the entrance to Starbucks unnoticed. The killer has been so quick no one saw or heard anything. It was as if one moment there was nothing, and the next a woman’s body laid scattered before the coffee shop.
A buzz grew as polices officers noted the coffee shops proximity to the Hyperion Hotel, home of Angel Investigations. A few braved reassignment to ask shop employees about their near neighbors. Employees told the investigators about the people from the hotel, especially the hot brunette who stopped by almost daily. They pointed out the table where she often came to relax over a half caf non-dairy skinny latte. The crime scene resembled a scene at the brunette’s home, but the reassignment that very morning of their fellow cops, warned those present not to draw attention to the possible connection. The reports concluded this to be the scene of an isolated Jane Doe murder it even suggested the Doe might be little more than a street walking junkie. Case closed.
***********
Fred looked up from the key board as Buffy, Spike and Dawn descended on the lobby. After trying to sleep, she’d finally abandoned her bed to return to work. The gruesome images of murder victims on the computer screen were easier to take than the visions that invaded her dreams. She tried to lose herself in the process of her computer search, as if the logic required would create logic of a woman’s death. So far it hadn’t worked. So far all she felt was frustration and exhaustion.
She hunched lower behind the screen. An argument in the lobby made her uncomfortable. Conflict unnerved Fred. Conflict created disharmony which denied her the logic of order. Plus she was just plain embarrassed to be eavesdropping on a private conversation.
“…anything. You always ship me off to the mall or some place ‘safe’,” Dawn protested. Fred remembered that sound. It was like when she wanted to go to the library and her mama wanted her to stay home.
Buffy rounded on her sister, “I can’t stay with you and you’ll just be bored here. You said you liked hanging with Spike, so go hang. You can go to the mall or whatever.”
Dawn crossed her arms and fumed. “You never have time for me. You’re always fluffing me off somewhere, getting rid of me. You’re the slayer, big whoo. You’re not the slayer here. Angel doesn’t need you.” Anger made her go in for the kill. “He has Cordelia, he doesn’t need you.”
“Low blow, little bit,” Spike cautioned, though he moved out of the line of fire.
A flush covered Buffy’s face. “I’m not arguing, Dawn. It’s not safe here when I’m not around. Now you can either go with Spike to the mall…again…or I’ll find you someplace else to stay till we’re ready to go home. Either way, I don’t need this now.”
Stomping away from her sister, Dawn flung back, “I could help, but you won’t let me. Angel would let me help.” Dropping on one of the couches she started a pity-party.
Fred thought about it. She could use a break, and it might be nice to go the mall. Going with Cordelia to the mall was like invading a small country and going with Gunn was….like shopping with a guy. Neither was much fun. Maybe going with Dawn would be fun if not at least it didn’t involve mutilated bodies.
She waited for a chance to jump in, but the argument had escalated.
“Whoa, chick fight.” Gunn circled around the argument towards Fred, who watched from the safety of the counter. Beside her, Spike leaned backward, elbows supporting him. “What’s up?”
“Hormones,” Spike supplied.
“Ahhhh.” He didn’t like the vampire, or even the thought of a vampire just walking around. But he had to know. “So, what’s the story? Darla made Angel. Angel made the Dru chick. Drusilla made you…then made Darla. You made Harmony. That makes you…” he tried to work it out “Angel’s grandson, Harmony’s Dad and Darla’s brother?”
Spike just stared at him.
“I liked it better when we just killed ya’ll,” Gunn felt compelled to add. He shuddered, hoping Spike and Darla never did it, because, man, that was just gross. Then he thought about the stories he’d heard about Dru and Spike, mom and son. And thought that if Dru was Spike’s mother, that made Darla Angel’s mother. It was a good thing Angel hadn’t done it with Darla since getting his soul back, cause that was just gross. He turned back to the argument. “They gonna stop any time soon?”
“Yeah.” Spike left the counter an approached the women.
“Ok, so what is that about?” Gunn asked as Buffy punched Spike then tossed him into the elevator door. The door shuddered under the impact.
Fred shrugged. “Slayer mating ritual, I guess. Cordelia said it always happened before Buffy has sex. Said she used to beat up Angel all the time. I want to go to the mall.”
Gunn nodded. “Be good to have a break. Is it some kind of kinky thing?”
Sliding her glasses up with a finger, Fred scrunched her face in consideration. “I don’t know. I think it’s a Buffy thing.”
One of the red chairs cracked as Spike landed on it.
“Think Angel would let me drive his car?” Fred asked.
“Guy’s got a thing about his car.”
Fred nodded again, this time she leaned over the counter. The fight had moved towards the back corridor. “Could I drive your truck?”
Gunn shook his head. “Got a thing about my truck. Angel’s keys are on his pocket. There are a lot of cops out, so be careful.”
In the end instead of taking Angel’s car, she’d driven Spike’s, while the vampire sheltered under a blanket in the back. Fred Burkle set out on her adventure.
Disney had a store. It had toys and stuff animals and even dress up clothes. Fred studied a pink princess costume with matching tiara. Sure it was too small, being for a kid and all, but she could wear the tiara. She wanted to be the princess for a change, instead of the slave or the fugitive or just plain gooney bird Fred. She couldn’t decide, though, as there was just so much from which to choose. She’d been amazed when Dawn led her into the shop, with Spike dragging in the background. His muttering about being a “bad ass vamp” and being reduced to “bag boy vamp” drew a few stares, some pitying, others of shared suffering, but so far Fred thought this version of shopping was fantastic.
She moved on to a brightly colored display of novelties. A small change purse with a pretty little princess drew her attention, before a prismed glint caught her eye. She unhooked a keychain from the stand, tilting it forward and backward. The imaged overlaid Mickey Mouse’s face onto Donald Duck’s. Each time she tilted it, the picture transformed. Mickey then a combination of Mickey and Donald then Donald’s smiling beak.
She thought of the symbols craved into the victims and scrawled on the wall. “Just a second,” she told Dawn. Leaving the girl at a display of stuffed dragons and Spike slumped in the corner with a bunch of guys, all trying to pretend they were any place other than the Disney store, Fred went to the sales counter. Then ran back to pick up the tiara too. Everyone woman should get to be princess.
***********
Leaning over the counter, Gunn scanned the office and the balcony above. Good, he was alone. Ears pricked for the sound of someone coming he edged over to the computer. When she went out, Fred left her research piled on the desk and the computer turned on, just as he’d hoped. With another secretive scan of the lobby, Gunn clicked on the Opera icon. Someone had set the preferences to “Continue browsing where I was last time”, which caused the British Library newspaper archive page to load onto the browser. The page featured a murder victim from 1860. Gunn clicked on the new window button. If anyone found out he had “computer skills” he’d get stuck on desk duty just like Wes, Cordy and Fred. Being an action kind of guy that was the last thing he wanted. But he just had to know.
He opened the CNN sports page. USA beat Germany one nil in the World Cup. “Yes,” he shouted before quickly checking to be sure no one saw his loss of cool. A drawing on the desk caught his eye. It was a murder victim, one of Angelus’. The illustration showed symbols and marks carved and burned into the body. Gunn paused. He closed the CNN window, revealing the British Library window. Gunn compared the date given on the photocopy and the date of the paper. They, and the locations, matched. Yet the depiction of the body in the illustration varied dramatically from the body in the newspaper illustration. The woman in the paper bore the marks of torture and her throat had been ripped away. Yet the symbols of the photocopy were missing. The sensationally written newspaper article also lacked mentioned of the symbols.
Embarrassment vanished as he started searching dates listed in the photocopies. The more he compared the news articles to Wesley’s photocopies, the more discrepancies he discovered.
From above he heard Cordy scream, abandoning the computer he took off at run towards he stairs.
***********
The door to Angel’s room burst open, admitting Buffy, Willow, Tara and Xander. Inside Angel held Cordelia on the bed as she convulsed under the impact of the vision. Her cries of pain tore at his heart, not only hurting him but feeding his guilt. Only when Tara crossed the room and handed him a sheet did he realize the blankets had fallen to the floor, leaving both Cordelia and himself exposed to the view of their visitors. Using the cover, he tried to shield her from the stunned gaze of their visitors.
“That’s a vision?” Xander asked. He felt a wave of guilt. Since arriving he’d assumed everything was just the same. In his mind Cordelia had remain the same self centered beauty queen he dated in high school. Before his eyes that image changed. His Cordy could not have borne this kind of pain and certainly could not have made light of it the way this Cordelia had. This person accepted pain to help others, a complete turn around for the woman he remembered, unless he’d only seen what he wanted to in high school. “How long do they last?” he asked in a thick voice as the whimpers continued. He reached out to touch Anya’s back for comfort, wondering if he’d overlooked depths in anyone else. Even, shudder, Angel. Plus, he had to admit a bit of jealousy. Cordelia certainly had a better body than even his wildest dream suggested.
Cordy fought for control as the image onslaught pouring though her mind ended. “Fred, Dawn. We have to go.” She scrambled off the bed, batting Angel’s hands away, oblivious to her nudity. “Stop that….”
At sight of Cordy’s slippers, Anya released an automatic shriek and backed up a step. “Bunnies.” She blushed at the glares and rolled eyes she received. Someday they’d see, she told herself.
Cordy looked down to see her bunny slippers, the only item of clothing she wore. “Oh.” As long as all the looks she received were appreciative, that wasn’t too bad. She went back to more important matters. “He’s after them. I saw….” She reviewed the images, slowed them so she could understand them. She saw the man in black. Saw Angelus kill Drusilla’s sisters then leave their bodies for her to find. Saw him laughing at Drusilla’s descent into insanity. The man in black would do the same. In her vision she saw a body, mutilated and dismembered, abandoned at window front of Starbucks, just in front of her favorite table, and Spike battling in vain to protect Fred and Dawn, his face burned and blistered. He would take Fred and Dawn to torture and kill. He would leave their bodies for her to find, as he’d already left others. “He’s using me. He sees through me. We have to hurry.” They all hovered in her doorway, staring at her with varying degrees of shock.
Gunn barreled into the room, knocking aside Willow and Xander, his eye widened at the sight of naked Angel and Cordelia. Seeing Angel the buff was just not right….but Cordy, whoa, he thought as his eyes jaw dropped in appreciation, very right. A fleeting image of someone else in the same state of undress had him standing to attention.
Buffy spoke first, “What about Dawn, Cordelia.” Her stomach jittered at the thought of Dawn in danger, of Dawn in the hands of someone who torture her the way the women in those clippings had been tortured.
“What?...Thanks.” She said to Tara. “The vision guy is at the mall, he’s going to take Fred and Dawn.” She wrapped the sheet around her, tucking the top corner in just above her breast.
“Spike’s with them,” Willow explained. Though she wasn’t part of the Spike fan club, she believed he’d protect Dawn.
“He’ll get staked. Now, we have to go now before we’re too late.” She was rattled, but forced her mouth to close. If it opened the rest of the vision, the part that truly terrified her, might come babbling out. Despite her attempt to close her mind to the image, she saw herself strapped to an altar to be offered to Angelus. A tremor trailed through her flesh to become a full shudder. “He’s going to kill them to get to me”…and Angelus.
***********
Dawn walked beside Spike through the food court, sharing an order of French fries. Considering Spike usually took his food with a liberal coating of blood, she’d opened for a less red condiment. Mustard was so less creepy than blood when snacking with a vampire. Nearby Fred waited impatiently in a long line at the Tasty Taco behind a group of kids. With Fred occupied in taco pursuit she finally had an opportunity, gathering her nerve, she blurted, “How did you know Dru was the one?”
He nearly choked on a fry. “One what?” Women, he thought.
She sighed, “You know, you were together a long time…” She lifted her eyebrows.
He shrugged his leather clad shoulders, hunching inward. “Yeah, I know.” He bit into another fry, a mustard coated fry that should have been ketchup coated, if nothing else. The things he did for women. He should be sainted….but then Angelus had that thing for saints. He’d stick to being demonic. “She bit me. Kind of started it all.”
That didn’t really help, Dawn decided. Not being a vampire and all, she could hardly go up to Gunn and bite him. She wanted attention, but not the kind that came with a stake at the other end. Still she wanted a man’s point of view on what she could do to get Gunn’s attention. OK, she wanted any point of view, but Spike being the only one available, and a friend despite the blood thing, she had to ask. With that in mind, she tried a different tact. “What makes you like a girl? I mean from a guy point of view.”
Spike thought about it. He tried to review his choices in women. “I guess a good scream does it. A good full bodied scream just calls out ‘here I am’.” He thought about who he was talking to. “I, uh, it just calls ‘here I am, Spike, I want to be you’re friend.’ Oh, hell.” He hunched over. This was so humiliating. Going shopping and now giving dating advice to a teenage girl, and sounding all lame at the same time. Where was Angel when he was needed? This was the kind of torture soul boy actually sought in his poofly quest for redemption. As if things weren’t bad enough, the Donald Duck chick was through the line, and she was playing with that bloody keychain again. Why did he keep going shopping while the others got to kick demon butt?
A punch from the back sent him flying across the food court into a grouping of cheap tables. Diners scattered with protests at the interruption of their meals. Getting to his knees, he saw a gaunt figure in flowing black make a grab for Dawn. The girl screamed, “Spike!” and tugged at the arm the man held, trying to escape. For good measure she added a solid kick to the figure’s shin, earning a slap of reprisal. From the side he watched Fred drop her long sought food bag and start running towards them. He sprang forward, used his momentum to propel Dawn out of the man’s grip and tackled the guy to the floor.
With more than human strength the man pushed back, switching their positions. With a grip on bleached blonde hair, he pounded Spike’s head onto the concrete floor, with each thud the vampire saw flashes of white then black mingled with red pain. One hand reached into the bag held across the man’s shoulder and retrieved spray bottle. He’d known the vampire would be with them, known they’d shelter in the arms of a beast to feed their unnatural lusts. He’d watched them protect the demon in the car then parade arrogantly among unaware innocents with the foul creature, totally abandoned to shame. For that alone they deserved punishment, a punishment he planned to meet out with blades and fire. But first he would use the tools and skills studied over centuries to battle the vampire.
Spike gathered himself then forced his body and the man off the floor, adding a right cross. As his fist connected the man’s head snapped back, but the man took the punch, his glazed eyes barely registering pain. Spike scrambled to his feet and drew his fist back for another blow, as he moved within reach the man lifted the bottle and squeezed the spray trigger.
Spike stumbled back, a hoarse cry of agony escaping his lips, as his eyes and face burned. Ineffectively he batted at the acid mist which clung to skin, then coated his hands when he tried to wipe it away from his vampire visage. The pain stunned him, confusing him. He flailed about, trying to understand the source of the pain which blinded him. A sizzling sound filled the air as the holy water ate into this flesh, that sound explained the pain. He staggered at the man, despite his blurred vision. He could not even admit the possibility of the man, and he could smell that it was a man not a demon, getting past him to Dawn. Should the man get past him, Dawn would become another Jane Doe hanging from a wall. With renewed determination his fists swung but did not connect. He recoiled, falling backward when a cross was thrust into the already burned skin of his face. A howl of agony and frustration echoed through the mall.
Trying to plan on the move, Fred wove through the gathering crowd, picking up an abandoned mop bucket as she ran. It took both of her hands to lift the half full yellow container. The contents sloshed against the sides, some flying over the edge to puddle on the floor and rain on her shoes. She used her forward momentum to swing the bucket up in a circle over her head and a wide arch, extending her arms fully. At the zenith of the arch, container connected with the man’s skull knocking him away from the blonde vampire before it flew from her hands. A splash of water poured out over a table of mall rats before the bucket crashed into a pretzel stand. “Run,” she yelled to Dawn, tugging the gapping girl into motion. Dawn tried to break free of her grasp to aid Spike who now rolled on the floor clutch his burned face. She spotted Angel, Cordelia, Buffy and Gunn coming through the crowd. “Here,” she called to draw their attention while she dodged the attacker and drug Dawn in her wake.
Without command the team split up, flanking the man. Stake at ready Buffy moved in front of still prone Spike, while Gunn came in from the left tapping the handle of his custom made battle axe against his hand. Angel emerged from the crowd directly in from of the man, barehanded, but clad in his favorite black duster. Cordelia hung back and assumed one of the sword fighting positions Angel had taught her.
The man watched them come. He registered then dismissed the tall man, saw the two girls retreat behind the crowd and his Cordelia raise her sword. On the other side the Slayer protected a vampire. His face twisted into a snarl at the very thought of a Slayer betraying her sacred trust, using her gifts to protect the evil she was meant to destroy. Within his chest his heart raced with rage and disgust and he stepped towards her as one more figure emerged from the crowd. Angel. After all these long years, finally he was in the presence of the Beast, the Destroyer, his heart pounded, his pulse thundered drowning out the murmurs of the crowd. The master had truly blessed his plan to use the seer. He would come for the others later. The vampire and the tall man he would kill quickly, he would linger over Cordelia’s sisters and the Slayer he would punish, yet now he would take the ultimate prize. With the words “had a great fall” on his lips, he charged the Beast. The Beast leapt forward, a blur of black as it joined the battle, its face transformed to reveal its true persona. The others took the Beast’s movement as their cue and closed the circle, trying to entrap him. Yet his focus remained on the Beast. He held up his cross in one hand as his other hand controlled the magic. At mid point he and the Beast collided…and fell out of reality.
Posted by LadyJubilee on 07-25-2002 07:26 AM:
When Angel and the man in black disappeared the crowd burst into cheers and applause.
Cordelia tugged away from congratulations and requests for an encore, it seemed some people forgot to bring their camcorders, to reach the space where Angel disappeared. There was nothing. No swirly thing, no rushing wind, no hot spot, no cold spot, no mark on the floor…nothing, except a nasty piece of used bubblegum. Her chest heaved as her mind struggled to comprehend. Where were they? No one could just disappear without a trace, she told herself. Only she knew they could. People disappeared everyday, as the milk cartons proved. She searched the faces of those around her in the hope they knew what had happened to Angel, yet the faces she trusted stared back in bewilderment. Fred edged forward with Gunn at her side and a Disney bag swinging from her wrist. Even at a distance Cordelia could see the portal panic brighten her eyes. Gunn’s hand rested on Fred’s shoulder in reassurance. Neither offered an answered.
Frantically Buffy searched area while Spike struggled to his feet, rubbing at his burned eyes. She had to interrupt her search to hold Spike back when an onlooker asked about his makeup. Dawn had pushed through the crowd to his aid.
The odd comment floated back to her ears as around them the crowd began to disperse. “Fantastic show”, “I didn’t buy the makeup,” “How’d they do that? Guy just disappeared,” and “Can I have your autograph?” One man stopped Dawn to ask where and when the movie would be released, while a woman approached her to ask if they did parties. Despite everything they had seen no one was prepared to accept the witness of their own eyes. No one was prepared to see vampires or a man disappear into thin air.
“We have to find him,” Cordy told Gunn and Fred. Not for the first time she wished she couldn’t see either. But then there’d no Angel and she’d be alone. Buffy and the others were close, but Cordy needed her family, she needed Gunn, Fred and Wesley. “We have to find him.”
Gunn touched her shoulder, the reassurance he offered was calm and mater of fact. “We will.” Cordy nodded, she could depend on him.
“What happened?” Dawn asked. “How could he just disappear?” She shuddered with the realization that she was the target of the attack. If the demon had succeeded, she would have disappeared into nothingness just as Angel had.
“Portal, magic, demonic power,” Fred listed. Her insides quivered. She hated portals, hated the thought of Angel being alone as she had been in some hell dimension. Worse, there had been no books or words to tell them where Angel had been taken. How could they find him? How could the save him? The quivering expanded, shaking her entire body.
“Was it….?”
“Dawn, not now,” Buffy interrupted. She needed to take charge, she needed to do something. She felt out of control, she needed to be in control. “There’s nothing here. We need to regroup. Get a line on the disappearing thing…then get my boyfriend back.” For the moment all of her doubts and all of her confusion bled away in face of a crisis. With determination she started through the mall, followed by Dawn.
Fred and Gunn waited for Cordelia, while Spike lingered, not quite able to navigate the blurred obstacle course.
“Guess she’s right.” Cordy agreed. With a final, a futile look around Cordy followed in the blonde’s wake, though not happily. “I’d love to smack her for that boyfriend comment.” They needed to find Angel before the Buffy-sized headache she felt coming on reached full strength.
“She’d kick your ass,” Spike reminded her.
Cordy shrugged. It was true the whole slayer thing gave Buffy an edge when it came to hand to hand combat. That and the fact Cordy still stunk at it, but… “Maybe if I snuck up on her and…” she mimed a punch.
Spike grinned. He and the brunette shared at least one fantasy. “Want me to hold her down?”
“Pffft. If she can kick my ass, I know she can kick yours…We’ll find him, right?” No one voiced a response, but she could see the determination to match her own in the eyes of Fred and Gunn. She couldn’t tell what Spike was thinking through his squint. They would find him. They would. She wouldn’t allow herself to think anything else. The world needed its champion. And she needed her best friend.
Almost dragging their feet, they reached the underground parking lot where Angel’s car was parked beside Spike’s. Fred, Gunn and Cordelia got into the convertible and Buffy, Dawn and Spike piled into his car. Cordelia stared at the steering wheel. “So who’s got the keys?” Angel, of course.
***********
The world changed around Angel. One moment he was in a mall, the next he grappled with a mad man in a nightmare. The man managed to break free of Angel’s grip, which gave Angel a split second to take in his surroundings. Two hundred years as a murdering soulless beast had not prepared him for this. The chamber reeked of death; the stench alone caused his knees to buckle. Excrement, blood and flesh coated the walls and floor. The filth created patterns on the walls, patterns like those found on the women but there seemed to be more, much more. Pattern on pattern covered the entire wall. For a moment it overwhelmed his senses and he reeled. The man slipped away, dodging Angel’s attempt to grab his neck.
Decades of preparation for this day finally paid off, as the man pulled a level hidden amid the chains and cages that filled the room, releasing holy water. In the ceiling sprinklers spurted the blessed liquid down onto the unprepared vampire. Angel howled in pain, momentarily losing control and freeing his game face. He tried to shield his face and eyes but from their over head position the sprinklers covered the entire room with their stream. He twisted and turned to no available as the unrelenting water clawed at his unholy flesh. Angel gained control over himself pushing the pain into the recesses of his mind, even as his flesh blistered and dissolved. Again he leaped for the man, covering half the room in a single jump. The man dodged under him, swing a knife which clipped Angel’s thigh. Angel landed off balance onto a floor slicked with raining holy water, filth and straw, and tipped backward. As he fought to regain his balance his target crossed the room.
The man took full advantage of Angel’s momentary wobble to step back and release another level, this time sending one of the cages swinging into the vampire. Penned beneath the weight of the cage the vampire struggled for freedom and to escape the pooling holy water. The boiling of its flesh filled the chamber with sizzling and the smell of cooking meat. With meticulous care, the man turned off the rain of water before search out a particular book. He used the hem of his cloak to wipe water from the sodden tomb and turned through the dripping pages to find one particular chart before carelessly tossing the book onto the floor of the flooded chamber. The cage holding the Beast creaked and rattled as the demon tried to lift it from itself. Those sounds encouraged the man to quicken his pace. He left the chamber via a doorway to enter a corridor lined with barrels. He held his hand over one then another and another. With his hand over the eighth barrel he froze. His head tilted as he listened, every nerve straining for a sign. “Along came a spider,” he smiled over the barrel and twisted off the top. He dipped his hand into the blood, coating his fingers in the red paint before returning to the chamber where he wrote on the wall. A quick calculation and he was prepared. He wiped the rest of the blood onto the wall then turned to dig through the piles on the floor and retrieved a small medicine bottle. He filled a dart from the bottom.
The vampire’s struggles increased and its eyes widened in alarm when it saw the dart. Despite its efforts it was an easy target for the dart the man sent into its flesh.
***********
The AI team had a stop to make before they could go home and regroup. Driving through town with the top down during the day was a rare experience, and one they would gladly give up to have Angel huddled in the back under a blanket. Cordy swung the car around a corner, Gunn and Fred held onto anything they could grab. “I’m just saying, it’s a skill.”
Gunn lifted an eyebrow. “I ain’t a car thief.”
“Neither is Fred, but she knows how to hot wire a car,” Cordy challenged, slamming the brakes to avoid re-ending a police car.
Fred risked her life by leaning forward to be heard. “It’s easy actually,” she offered, to which Cordy added “See.”
“This from someone who couldn’t tell a Caddy from a hearse.”
Cordelia glared at him, taking her eyes from the road and causing Fred and Gunn to hold tighter. “It’s black. You could still learn.”
“Where we going anyway?” Gunn asked just to change the subject.
Bringing the car to a stop, Cordy pointed across the street where a few police officers lingered around Starbucks. Yellow plastic tape blocked the sidewalk and storefront, a flimsy barrier to the curious. Red smears obscured the green and white logo emblazoned on the front window.
“Another one,” stated Gunn with resignation. He got out the car to investigate, only to return with “Cops got nothing. Most of the symbols have been wiped away already. Body was found this morning.”
“I come here in the mornings,” Cordy explained. “But this morning….Let’s go back to the hotel and find Wesley.”
***********
Wesley left the Sunnydale group to research teleportation, dimensional magic, illusion, portals, anything and everything that might explain how and where Angel had been taken. He’d come to the hotel as Buffy, Spike and Dawn arrived, after a morning spent trying to reconcile Angel’s denial and the known facts…and trying to face his own weaknesses.
For three years he’d worked with Angel, trusted Angel and believed in Angel. Well, he admitted, except for the whole Darla-induced fiasco. Why had he been willing to surrender that trust when the others were so certain of Angel? Standing in front of an unmarked dingy office in a run down section of town Wesley could admit the truth. Books were his constant. When he studied as a Watcher they’d given him purpose and reason. He remembered with pride the first time he’d been granted access to Watcher records and the first time he’d been access to files on Angelus when he’d been assigned to Buffy and Faith. Then his world had collapsed. When that was taken away, when he’d been fired, he’d become the failure his father always expected. A rogue demon hunter, a joke. Then the books saved him. They gave him a place in Angel’s team. He was the brains, as Fred said. As long as he found the answers in his dusty tomes he had purpose on the team.
But if the books could be wrong, then he could be wrong. No matter how many times he’d discovered a flaw in his own translations, he had to believe the books were right. If the books couldn’t be trusted did he have a purpose, a reason?
That question lingered once he reached the empty Hyperion and found the notes piled beside the computer. In Gunn’s hand, the notes documented discrepancies between the books from the Watchers and newspaper accounts of the day—discrepancies that could not be explained as mere cover up of supernatural happenings. If the records on the internet held the truth, then he’d been given lies. The Council could not have made mistakes of that magnitude. He wanted answers.
“Hello, boys,” he offered, his voice low. He stood before the three Watchers, much as he had earlier, only this time he held crossbow aimed at the throat of the desk jockey. “I believe you’re expecting me.’
To his left, a man moved, diving for a weapon. In a fluid movement, Wesley aimed and fired another crossbow. The man screamed in pain, struggling against the arrow that now pinned him to the wall.
The third man reached under a desk and withdrew a gun. Before he could aim, Wesley released the second quarrel from the bow, sending an arrow into the man’s shoulder. The gun dropped to the floor as the Watcher’s fingers went numb.
“You’ll never get away with this, Pryce,” he first man warned producing his own crossbow from a desk drawer. “You’re nosing where you don’t belong, asking question that don’t need answers.” He flicked the bow at the door. “Leave it,” he ordered.
A sound from the right attracted Wesley’s attention. The third man had a dagger in hand and was slowly circling the desk. Wesley stepped over, grabbed the man’s wrist, twisting it and the arm back and up, to bring the knife to the man’s own throat. “I do need those answers,” Wesley demanded. He banged the man’s head down on the desk, knocking him out and sent the dagger sailing at the first man. The man dodged to avoid the blade. Wesley used his distraction to attack, picking up a chair on his way across the room and bringing it down on the man’s head. “Gentlemen, thank you for you co-operation.”
After using hand cuffs, hand cuffs he hadn’t used since Virginia, to bind the men to the office radiator, he followed the steps into the records area. Having just used the files, he knew exactly where to start. Again he read about Angelus, about the horrors a demon could inflict on the innocent. As much as he cared about Angel, he still felt disgust and anger for each of the victims, and a lingering pride that the Watchers had a part in the battle to stop such demons. In page after page he saw the same patterns.
He started again. Angel swore he had never used these symbols. Spike, who if nothing else knew Angelus, said he had never seen the symbols. Wesley might not believe Spike, but he did believe Angel—most of the time. The Watchers and their slayers, Spike had mocked. A vampire would mock. After all the Watchers had seen the evil of the vampires, they believed evil creatures haunted the night. Yet…when faced with the evidence of Angel’s soul they still believed he was evil. Seeing does not bring belief, Wesley wrote on his notes. His pen tapped as his mind raced along the paths of possibilities.
The Watchers wrote the records, the Watchers watched the demons…but who watched the Watchers? And what if believing was seeing? He returned to the stacks, this time in search of different prey.
***********
Angel returned to consciousness slowly to find himself encased in a vampire’s worst nightmare. He lay flat on his back, strapped down by manacles and bands around his torso and legs, inside a close fitting box. With dawning horror he realized it was a vampire proof version of the Iron Maiden, and far more effective than he would have imagined. The inside of the box was lined with crosses, each sending painful embers of purity onto his corrupt flesh. Their heat screamed long already burned nerve endings eliciting shivers of agony. He struggled against the bonds, moaning in pain as a small twinkling sound heralded even more pain. Tiny crosses danced to their own music along the edges of the restraints, jangling with his every movement. He tried to buck his body upwards to force open the sarcophagus, and felt a sharp point pierce the skin over his heart. Vampires relied on their victim’s ignorance, but the designer of this box had knowledge, knowledge of vampires and their weaknesses.
In that box, enclosed in a chamber of horrors, Angel felt fear. Barring sunlight, stakes and the odd decapitation, a vampire lived forever. He could spend the rest of his unnaturally long life alone in this box. After centuries he’d come to believe he understood eternity, facing eternity in this box proved him wrong. With blinding clarity he understood why his victims begged, why they begged for death as he played with their screaming bodies. It wasn’t just the pain and torment, but the possibility of forever being trapped in the horror. To be trapped forever alone and forgotten…
But they would find him. His tormentor misunderstood the prey, a fatal mistake. Angel had something no other vampire in the world could claim—friends. He closed his eyes, allowing a memory to fill him, to chase away the chill of terror. He had friends, and he had someone who was much more than a friend. His body relaxed and the warmth from his best friend’s body seeped into his cold body. Unlike any other vampire, Angel had hope.
***********
He had the beast, the beast that had destroyed the master. His body throbbed in excitement and anticipation. Soon his master would return; soon his faithfulness would be rewarded. He heard the foul demon struggle in the box, but knew it would not escape. He’d studied and trained to battle such beasts, learned every tactic and acquired every weapon to use against the demons. He combined the old ways with the new inventions of the modern age. His diligence would be rewarded. Soon his battle would be over; soon his master would deliver him.
He searched the chamber, rummaging through various piles to find a box. He smiled at its contents, tenderly caressing the fleshy blob. Because she was too busy fucking the Beast, Cordelia missed her presented, but since he was in benevolent mood he would give her a treat despite her whoring ways. He looked over at the larger box. Since Cordelia enjoyed its cock so much, perhaps he should give her a more fitting gift? He would wait, he decided. For the moment this would do, later he could give her something else. Pleased with his own generosity, he traced the symbols and disappeared.
Moments later he returned. He stripped then took his place on the straw, with hands trembling in excitement, he opened the book. The sounds of the beast in the box aroused him even as his hand began to dance. His eyes closed as his mouth formed the words, “But where she was going, no mortal could tell…,” it reciting ever more quickly. His connect with the seer engaged and the vision enfolded him, showing him his master’s will.
***********
Cordy felt the weight of a stranger’s death descend on her shoulders. She climbed the stairs of the lobby, her shoulders slumped in defeat, and retreated Angel’s suite and into the bathroom where she could lower her defenses. There she stared at the woman in the mirror. Dark circles ringed her eyes, signs of stress and guilt…and fear. She took one of her pills to stave off the worst effects of the oncoming head ache. Voices outside the door drew her attention. She could hear them all, gathering Willow and Tara to compare notes, gathering to find Angel. She wouldn’t tell them the rest of the vision, to do so would be to betray Angel. The image of Angelus leaning over her bloody body filled the mirror. She reached out and traced the face with trembling fingers. “Angel…I’m so pissed. What happened to caution? What happened to going in slowly? When you get back we are so going to talk about planning.”
She shuddered not only from the vision but from worry. She believed Angel could take care of himself in most situations, and being a vampire “most” covered a lot of situations, but having seen the damage this man could do, she was worried. After several hours and a bit of first aid, Spike’s burns had only just started to heal and his vision remained blurred. Who would treat Angel’s wounds? Plus how many excursions to a hell dimension could a guy take? There had to be a limit, and as the whole Darla-thing proved, he didn’t need a hell dimension to reach it.
Forcing those questions aside, she turned on the show and step beneath its spray. Absently she realized neither she nor Angel had had time for a show that morning. Disappearing into a hell dimension as bad enough, but disappearing into a hell dimension without feeling April fresh was worse, especially for a guy who really liked to shower.
She wrapped a towel around her and went into Angel’s bedroom to retrieve her clothes from the nightstand. On top of her favorite white outfit, chosen to help perk up her day, lay a bloody liver. Cordelia ran back to the bathroom to lose her McDonald’s drive through.
The porcelain felt cool against her face, welcoming. She rested against it before going to the sink and washing her face. For the second time images wavered into shape in the mirror.
The images were unlike those of her vision. Angelus laughed as he licked from her breast to her neck, slowly lapping along the trail of blood that flooded from a slight in her throat. A voice chanted, “There was a woman tossed up in a basket, seventeen times as high as the moon. But where she was going, no mortal could tell it…” The flesh on her forearms burned, and she looked down. The skin turned red, and blisters bubbled up. She jumped backwards, falling backwards when the bathroom run slipped out from under her. The red and blisters disappeared with the images in the window.
***********
Fred reached into her pocket for her the keychain. “See.” She showed the pictures to the assembly.
Buffy, Dawn and Xander rolled their eyes. Anya offered, “Excellent merchandise, low cost but high profit. I suggested a line of novelties for the Shop. The duck is rather creepy, though.”
“No,” Fred corrected. Why didn’t anyone see? It was so obvious. “Watch again. See?”
Gunn leaned over the desk, trying to see what Fred saw, but Mickey and Donald did nothing for him.
Fred tried again. “See, first you see Mickey Mouse, but then you see Donald Duck mixed with Mickey. Big ears and a beak. Now watch this.” She clicked on the mouse, and turned the computer screen to allow them all to see. One of the patterns appeared then she clicked the mouse and pulled part of the image away. “The symbol for infinity.” She clicked again and again, “this is Pi, and this is looks like a trident, like in the Little Mermaid.”
Xander leaned towards the computer screen. “I love that mov…ie. Hey, I’m confident in my manhood,” he finished at Gunn and Spike’s look.
“Sure you are, honey,” Anya consoled. “Everyone has nightmares about Ursula, they just won’t admit it. I know that one,” she pointed.
“It was only that one time,” Xander argued when Gunn sniggered and Spike’s smirk grew, not helped by Anya’s helpfulness. “All those tentacles, it’s creepy.”
“Of course, dear. It’s Horace’s I,” she explained tracing her finger over lines on the screen.”
Willow bent over the screen. “That’s not the eye of Horace, it doesn’t even look like an eye.”
Anya rolled her eyes, sometimes people were so dumb. “Yes, it does. See, an I, for Horace Inasnum. He added that little swirl at the end because it looks like his bracelet of power. I wouldn’t want to be called foolish, but that was Horace for you. Guy had the best sense of humor.”
“Oh.” Yes, now that Anya pointed it out, that did appear to be a oddly styled “I”. “Anyway, I don’t think this just one symbol but a bunch of them and that it might help us understand how it does it,” explained Fred.
“Well done, Fred,” Wesley called supportively from the counter, his arms laden with books.
Just barely, Fred managed to school her face. As much as she liked Wesley, she hated it when he talked to her that way. Just because she was crazy taco lady didn’t make her the village idiot. Instead of revealing her annoyance, she smiled vacantly.
Unaware of her feelings, Wesley approached. Dawn and Buffy made room for him to set two books on the desk. “I went back to my sources this morning and found something very interesting. This is the book I was given as a Watcher and that I used a few days ago. It contains a detailed account of everything the Watchers had on Angelus from the late 1840s to the 1860s. Gunn, I found your notes indicating the discrepancies between the account and newspaper articles. Some the accounts match newspaper description, or at least to a large extent. But about a third of the accounts mention mutilation of the body with these symbols.”
He opened one of the books to an illustration. He traced over a symbol drawn into a women’s body. Unlike the patterns in the morgue and at Cordelia’s flat, this image lacked complexity. “This is from 1848. The description matches the picture and describes how Angelus tortured the woman for several hours before ripping out her throat.” He opened another book, turning to a similar image. “Again, the symbol, and again note the simple design.”
“Angelus?” Buffy asked. She hated seeing horrible things Angel did to people. While she loved him, or a least sort of loved him, maybe, though maybe not….she preferred to forget the things he’d done. It was all so confusing.
“Kungai demon, Korea 1847, actually. Same method of killing and same mutilation of the body. This one,” he flipped to another page, “is a Haklaar demon, Uruguay 1850.”
Usually he tuned out Wesley’s explanations, as they usually didn’t explain a lot, but the mention of a Haklaar caught Gunn’s attention. “Haklaar—that the two a guy?”
Xander’s face twisted in confusion, “An auto club guy?”
“That’s triple A,” corrected Willow, to which Xander replied, “Oh.”
“Bloody idiot,” Spike snickered.
Gunn continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted, “I thought they were more of a chomping kind of demon.”
“Yes, they are. Demons of that size rarely bother with torturous death, preferring to devour their victims.” Wesley tapped the first book. “This account was written by three different Watchers. The original manuscripts are still in England, but I was able to distinguish the three different styles. These are by the same chronicler,” he tapped the other two illustrations. “The man’s name was Alexander Desmond, a Frenchman. He specialized in demonology, as I do, but he had a fascination with science as well. His accounts are littered with the new scientific studies of his day.”
“He was Watcher?” Buffy wanted to clarify.
“Exactly.” Wesley turned through the pages in one of the books. “It seems Desmond encountered your friend,” he nodded at Anya, “in the early 1840s.”
“Oh.” Anya shifted uncomfortably. Horace’s sense of humor was less funny from the human side of things. She explained, “Horace was a vengeance demon, liked to drive his targets insane…but he usually worked for men.”
“Yes. This is a lithograph of Lily Matthews, an Englishwoman. Mr. Matthews found Desmond and Mrs. Matthews in bed together. Horace answered Mr. Matthews’ call and four months later Lily committed suicide.”
“He killed Horace?” Demon or not, Anya liked Horace.
Wesley nodded and Buffy added, “Go, Al. So Horace put the whammy on Desmond?”
“No. At least not from what I’ve discovered.” He dropped into the chair Gunn brought from his office. “I believe the loss of Lily and the realities of life as a Watcher slowly drove Desmond insane.”
“Bloody Watchers, didn’t they notice their boy was nuts?” demanded Spike.
“Not for quite sometime, apparently. The accounts reveal a steady progression of his illness, but the descriptions are in keeping with demonic activities. No one reading the reports would see the misrepresentations unless they looked. ” He unfurled a hand written document. “In the late 1840’s he encountered Angelus for the first time. At first Angelus was just another demon. A demon I believe Desmond planned to kill as he killed the others. But in 1860 that changed. He became so obsessed with Angelus that the Council finally noticed his insanity. By the time they did realize, Desmond vanished. And for whatever reason, they chose to keep his faulty information.”
“After Dru?” Spike asked. Angelus’ treatment of Dru pissed him off, almost as much as Dru’s continued fascination with “Daddy”. Why were women so fascinated by the wimp? First Darla, then Dru, then Buffy. He looked at the blonde. Even now she had lip quiver and mournful expression mixed with her determined facade.
“Angel said he drove Druscilla mad,” Buffy spoke aloud as she linked the various threads of information, “just like Horace drove Lily mad.”
Spike leaned back against the count column. He might play dumb, but he saw the links too. He could remember the smell. “Druscilla and Cordelia are seers.”
Six people agreed, three stared at him as if he’d lost his mind, it was a look with which he was familiar.
“Cordy’s no seer, man,” Gunn explained.
“Don’t seers have to see…stuff?” asked Fred.
“She’s vision girl,” declared Wesley.
“Whoa, you guys like own a whole river in Egypt.” Xander voiced what the others were thinking.
Wesley paused in the middle of another denial. “But…yes, I see. Where is she, by the way?”
“Taking a shower in Angel’s room.” Fred removed her glasses and dropped them on the keyboard. The computer beeped in protest. “What are we going to do?” Not even nightfall brought answers.
***********
The books had the answer to at least part of the problem, Willow was certain. All they had to do was one little spell, but Tara baulked at the suggestion.
Over breakfast Willow presented her case—again. “But why wait?” They had been over this, and so far Tara’s answers just weren’t good enough. “By the time we explain to everyone, we could have already done the spell. The longer we wait, the closer he gets to Cordelia. The more people die”
“Magic isn’t always the answer.” Sometimes Tara worried Willow over used magic. This time she had other concerns too. Angel and his friends did things differently from Scoobies. Here the black and whites of Sunnydale were grey. Tara thought Willow, Buffy and Xander were blind to some of those differences. Willow needed to wait. Besides, Tara had a really bad feeling.
Always wait, Willow thought crunching her Cheerios. Oddly the Cheerios didn’t make her feel cheery. Caution was good, but sometimes you just had to act. The longer they waited, the longer the bad guy could “see” everything Cordelia saw and the longer their own safety was under threat. They could stop it, with one little spell. “Nothing can go wrong. It’s just a simple spell.”
She couldn’t win. Tara gave in, and hoped everything would be alright. Taking her toast and juice with her, she followed Willow up the stairs toward their room. Willow had the spell ready and the materials gathered. They only had to act. She and Willow drew the circle then took positions on opposite sides. Willow’s power reached out to her and she offered her lesser strength in response. In unison they formed the words of the spell. Power shimmered in the air within the circle then spiraled out to Alexander Desmond.
***********
In the small dark room, he howled in fury and rage dropping the ax he was cleaning. He sent his mind outward, but darkness clouded his link. His connection to his master and seer was severed. In agitation he paced the room, kicking at the weapons he’d gather in preparation for the fight. His hand strayed to his genitals. His erection shriveled, but the motion was comforting in itself. He needed release; he needed to went his fury before it consumed him. Before it made him fail his master yet again. He fought for calm. When he was calm, when he had control he would find the seer. Because she had betrayed them all, she would be his ultimate offering to the master. He slipped back into the world, in search of prey
The sound of the man’s howl echoed inside the box. Angel listened to the man, listened to the animal roar. His skin prickled at the sound and a wave of new worry swept through him. The man was insane and whatever had just happened had pushed him further over the edge. Since the man seemed to be obsessed with Cordelia, Angel worried being over the edge would be closer to Cordelia. Within moments there was silence and Angel realized he was alone.
***********
“How are you holding up?” Cordelia asked on her way to the basement, carrying a load of laundry. The white outfit had gone in the trash and the liver sent to Wesley’s morgue contact, but she wanted wash all the bed linen, pillows, curtains—anything their intruder might have touched.
Buffy shrugged, “Ok, I guess. I’m going to work out downstairs….If you don’t mind,” she added as an after thought.
Displaying her basket, Cordy lead the way. “I’m on my way there to do laundry.”
“Laundry?” Buffy couldn’t visualize Angel doing laundry. Laundry was a normal human activity, not a vampire one.
“Sure, Angel’s got an old washer and dryer down there.” She waited for Buffy to open the door then balanced the basket on her hip so she could watch where she placed her feet. “I hope he’s got detergent.” She let herself worry about miniscule details to help her stop worrying about the big things. “Has anyone come up with any ideas yet?”
Moving towards the punching back, Buffy answered over her shoulder, “Not yet, but we’re all working on it.” She punched the bag, making it swing.
“Yeah, we’ll find him,” Cordelia agreed uncomfortably. She dumped the sheets and curtains into the washer. Why did she have to run into Buffy, of all people, this morning, she wondered as she reached for the washing powder box. Mid motion, she stopped. “Did you turn off the lights?” Her question was met with silence, confirming her suspicion. “We have a problem.”
Part 9
Wesley glared across his desk at the two women. “Am I to understand you cast a spell, on Cordelia, without discussing it with her, with me or anyone else?”
Tara glanced over at Willow, who had the grace to lower her head. “We were trying to help,” Tara offered into the silence. “It was a simple spell, really.”
He accepted that explanation with a nod, interlocking his fingers. He tilted his chair back, his expression studied.
He was good, Willow thought, really good. She felt like a naughty schoolgirl under that grim glare, instead of an adult woman. “I just…”
“I assume you can reverse this spell,” Wesley interrupted, overriding her attempt at apology.
That was the sticker. When they came down and discovered the “side effect” of the spell, they had tried to reverse it. They tried several times and several variations with little result. “Not exactly.” Not only not exactly but not generally either, but she hoped she wouldn’t have to tell Wesley that, or Cordelia.
So far Cordelia seemed to be handling things really well. Willow hadn’t seen the brunette so animated for a long time. She almost bounced from topic to topic, quipping and smiling all the while. Tara thought Cordelia was overcompensating by projecting a bright image, though Willow wasn’t entirely convinced. Queen C had never taken life seriously, though there was a nervous edge to the bouncing. Unlike Wesley who sat still as a statue. He really was good at this.
“We tried…”
“We really did,” added Tara, squeezing Willow’s hand in support. That only managed to make Willow feel worse. Tara had warned her to wait, but she just had to act, one little spell. Now Cordy was blind and Wesley was acting like her father, or like her father would have acted if he’d been really good at the guilt thing. She slumped lower in the chair.
As dire as a hanging judge, Wesley glared at her, allowing her to see just how disappointed he was with her. “I see,” he repeated. Willow wished he would quit saying that because she got the feeling he did see, and if he did that meant he saw that dark little corner she didn’t like in herself. “If it wouldn’t be too inconvenient, I ask that you work with Fred and Anya to not only find a way to reverse this spell, but to find Angel as well. You are not, however, to perform any magic without discussing it with the team first. We have a motto here…”
Whew, this one she knew; Cordelia said it every time she answered the phone. “We help the helpless…”
“Ah, no, the other one. ‘Never plan alone’. We work as a team” or at least they always planned to when things went wrong. “We discuss how to proceed” rather they generally advised one another what they’d done after they’d done it. “Then I as leader take that into consideration and help the team reach a consensus” or he would if the team remembered he was leader during the action and not after. “That’s how a team works.”
Tara quietly nodded. “Ah, yeah, sure,” Willow commented. Angel’s friends were really strange.
***********
Cordy felt her way around the weapon cabinet and along the wall to reach the stairs.
“Going to the garden?” a voice asked, nearly frightening her to death. She really wished they’d make more noise when they snuck up on her. The whole thing was starting to take its toll, if she were going to be honest with herself, and for once she really did not want to be honest with herself.
“Just thought I’d set outside in the sun for a bit, get some air, that kind of thing,” she answered cheerfully. “Bring a little sunshine into my dark day,” she added for bright measure with a smile. On top of being blind, the dead bodies, missing Angel, and worrying about Angelus, talking to Dawn—who still gave her the heebie-jeebies—was just too much.
“Good, I’ll come with you,” the teenager offered, despite Cordy’s best hope. “They don’t need me hanging around either, so maybe I could spend some time with you.”
Great, Cordy thought, just what I need. She stumbled on the steps and had to admit she appreciated the hand that helped steady her. “That’d be great.” She traced along the door and along the outside of the wall. The wall helped steady her down the steps but Dawn had to lead her to the bench. The sunlight felt warm and reassuring on her face. After hours of listening to various theories, guesses and barbed witticisms she wanted a few moments of peace. The hair on the back of her neck warned her someone else followed in their wake. Since Angel wasn’t around to alert her vampisense, it could only be Spike. Oddly his presence reassured, though she preferred to have Angel. Angel made her feel safe and excited and sexy and….at the moment very worried. “So how’s life at Sunnydale High these days?”
Dawn shrugged before remembering Cordelia couldn’t see the action. She sat down on the corner of the bench. “Same old, same old, I guess. Cute boys, pop quizzes and vampires….just like when you were there.”
Dropping on to the bench beside Cordelia, Dawn continued, “I’m not exactly part of the ‘in crowd’.”
“I was. Queen C that was me. Or at least I was before I…” shudder “…dated Xander. Took a while to recover from that experience. But I wasn’t a very nice person. A real bitch.”
“I thought you were cool,” Dawn confided, unaware of the effect of her confidence. “I mean, you were always so pretty and popular. And you knew how to get at Buffy…from a little sister’s perspective that is like totally cool.”
“Buffy is so easy to get,” Cordy answered back, trying to force back her unease. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt Dawn’s feelings again.
“I’m not real,” Dawn stated baldly.
Whew, the whole teen thing was a lot more difficult than she remembered Cordelia thought. When she was fourteen she only had to worry about her mother and keeping family problems a secret. Sometimes she hadn’t felt real either, as if she were just an after thought in the family to be taken care of by money and presents. She had assumed she was the only one who felt “unreal”. “You are real. Everyone feels that way at some point, as if…”
“Uh, no, I mean, I’m really not real. I’m a key.”
Cordelia tried to process that information. “Of course you are. Wow, that’s just….great.” A key? Life could be very strange. “So what do you unlock, and does it make it easier to sneak out with the boys?”
“Reality, I guess. It’s not much help with the boys. Kind of creepy. Got any tips?” It never hurt to ask, and Cordelia had been one of the most popular girls at school….and easiest according to Xander, Willow and Buffy.
A cough sounded behind them.
“Sure,” Cordy answered then laughed. “Don’t go out after dark, too many guys like him around.”
“Hey…”
Dawn talked for a while longer then left Cordelia to sit in the garden.
“She still gives you the creeps?” Spike asked, leaning against the stair rail.
“Yeah, but I’ll get over it. Guess her name gives you the creeps….Dawn, a name to strike fear in the hearts of vampires everywhere.”
He thought about it, it was kind of ironic. “Better than ‘Buffy’.”
“We won’t go over the B-word. She still going all commando in there?” She’d come out to get away from the tension in the room radiating from Buffy. While she understood the blonde’s anxiety, she couldn’t take it. Any longer and she’d have resorted commenting, even more than she had, which might have taken her mind off her problems for a few minutes, while creating even more. She heard Spike grunt. “So what’s your story?”
“No story, just a sexy vampire making his way in the world.” Spike boasted with an unseen puffing of his chest.
Despite herself Cordelia grinned. “Sun must have bleached more than your hair. You’re delusional.”
***********
He waited beyond the garden wall, huddled against the rays of daylight. He preferred the warm embrace of night over the searing glare of the sun but again found himself under the harsh glow. What irony that a self made creature of the night should constantly be forced to hunt during the day. It was unnatural. From the wall he watched her talk to her sister, laughing about boys like any whore would. To see his precious link with the Master act the whore repulsed him, infuriated him. To relieve some of the tension which threatened to derail his plan, he reached beneath his clothes and squeezed, enjoying a mere shadow of the pain he would give his master’s Cordelia.
The girl left, but Cordelia lingered to talk with the disgusting demon. He shuddered with revulsion and anticipation, while savoring the sight of the cross shaped burn on the monster’s face. Beyond all he hated the vampire demons, with their cruelty and lust for blood. To them men were mere toys to be used for their pleasure. Now he would turn the tables, he would use them to please his master. He would laugh at the agony his master inflicted upon them. He thought of the beast trapped in his chamber. It too would serve his purpose, once he had the traitorous seer.
He edged forward, ready to attack. In his left hand he held a stake, ready should the vampire brave the sun’s flames. Distracted by the demon, the seer failed to notice the movement of the sun. Earlier a shadow covered the bench, allowing the demon to stand as her protector. Now the sun kissed her flesh without restraint and created a barrier of pure light between her and her would-be protector. He prepared, beginning to draw in the air even as he ran into the garden.
***********
“Shit!” Spike saw the man coming towards them, running at full tilt through the flowers and mound of cigarette butts on a direct path to Cordelia. Despite his instincts, he leaped forward, forgetting the day in his need to act. Within seconds the sun licked at his flesh, reminding him why a vampire shouldn’t be hero and driving him back into protection of the shadows.
In the spotlight of the sun, Cordelia stood unprotected, demanding, “What’s happening?”
He called out, yelling for the others to come, knowing they’d be too late.
Turning around in alarm Cordelia tried to separate the sounds from the wild beating of her heart, to figure out what has alarmed Spike. She heard movement, the snapping of twigs and the cracking of shrubs, all drawing closer to her. From behind she heard Spike howling in pain and Cockney curses, his voice laced with his demon’s growl. The backs of her knees struck concrete bench when she stepped back and tried to flee. She used the edge of the bench to guide herself around it. Any other time she could walk the garden with her eyes close, but now it was an unknown forest and she a tourist without a map. A heaving breath grew nearer. Then she screamed initially in surprise then pain and fear when she was tackled and gripped by a foul smelling body. Almost automatically her knee came up in an attempt to unman, but the creature deflected blow. A clatter preceded his retaliation. He locked his fingers around her throat, crushing her, choking her. She clawed at his fingers and stepped backward to escape, only to step onto something which rolled. In her captors embrace, she fell.
Gunn, Buffy and Wesley, armed with range of weapons, burst through the French doors, almost side by side by side. Buffy griped the banister with one hand and jumped over to the patio. Wesley circled down the steps at a sprint.
Gunn stayed in the doorway. He brought up the bow, and risking Cordelia, fired an arrow, which impaled the empty air where Cordelia and her attacker had been.
***********
For ages it seemed, Angel waited in the box, knowing he was alone and possibly forgotten. He almost wished the man would return for more torture, anything to not be alone. An insidious thought that if the man failed to return all evidence of where Angel was would be lost kept creeping from the shadows of his mind to the forefront.
The stink which saturated the man’s flesh returned, followed by a familiar scream and string of curses. As if in confirmation, the scent of Cordelia Chase floated amid the stench of the chamber. Futilely, he struggled in the box, forcing his body to endure the torture of the crosses. The pain of listening to Cordelia’s torment would be worse than any pain the crosses could extort. He rocked, shifted side to side, he tried to draw up his knees, and even risked the stake at his heart. The stench of the chamber faded as the sizzling smell of his burning flesh filled the box, but the restraints held. “Cordy,” he yelled.
“Angel,” Cordelia responded, only to cry out again when Desmond’s fist collided with her lips. She felt her lip slip under the impact and a warm trail of blood trickle along her chin. “Nooo,” she denied automatically as she was thrust into a wall. She couldn’t see the room, but smelled old blood and other things she did not want to identify, especially as they now caked the side of her face. She struggled backwards, bringing her elbow up with force, only to be slammed back into the wall. Dazed she called out, “Angel.”
“Hey, Mr. Stinky, watch the hair,” she grumbled when a hand gripped and twisted a hand full of her hair. With more bravado, she added, “Some of us believe in personal hygiene, you know.” She stained to hear Angel struggling, calling to her but could not discern his location. His voice sounded muffled, indistinct yet she felt less alone. Emboldened by his presence she launched a verbal attack.
***********
The woman struggled as he tightened the leather cuff. She yelled, hurling unwarranted abuse at him. He preferred screams and begging, not the uncivilized vulgarity she screeched. He griped her hair and snapped her into the wall to shut her up; she whimpered. He locked the second cuff before bending to secure her ankles. Already his body stirred in anticipation, his master would allow him to enjoy this one until the sacrifice.
Retreating to his corner he removed his clothing to stand naked under his master’s eye. He searched beneath the straw for his tools, retrieving a series of knives, a lighter and charcoal fuel. Fresh wood for the fire waited in the corner near the woman for the stream of fluid and the spark of flame. The flickering light drove away the shadows in his chamber and the delicate patterns on the wall came to life as they danced in its light. The roar of the beast distracted him and, he noticed, encouraged the woman. The tension in her body eased as the beast growled his presence. This annoyed him, it took away his focus.
He went to a stack of books, digging amid the pile until he found a small cross on a string. Then he picked up a twig from the floor. He approached the box containing the beast, and slide back a small panel that cover the area above the beast’s face. The beast called out to the woman when it saw the light and renewed its struggle. Before it could understand, before it could resist, he dropped the cross through the panel into the beast’s screaming mouth. After one yelp of pain the beast fell silent, mouth held open by the purity of the cross. Satisfied, he secured the string over the twig, and positioned it over the panel opening before closing the panel around the string.
Finally only the woman’s crying filled the room and he could enjoy without distraction. He lit he fire, placing several metal rods in its flames and lit several candles. Then he turned his attention to the woman. He selected a blade, short but sharp, to cut through the material of her clothes. He took his time, feeding his sense of anticipation and control. As an artist, he carefully split the seam of her shirt, allowing the blade to scratch along her skin, only enough to leave a slim white trace. Whimpers replaced the droning chattering as she tried to twist away from him. He loved it when they squirmed. He ran the blade long the other side seam before turning to the seam along her shoulder. Her collar bone beckoned his touched. When she protested he clipped her on the back of the head. Her top drifted to the floor to lay in pieces amid the filth. He cut through her bra, watching as it dropped onto the torn shirt as he began to cut through her skirt. Within moments she was as naked as he. He rubbed his body against hers, enjoying her protest and shudder.
Then he reached for the candle. Experience taught him how to create the patterns with flowing wax even when they moved to avoid it. She screamed and, as he hoped, begged. The box shook as its occupant struggled, even emitting howls of protest. He groaned in pleasure putting away the candle in favor of the knife. The sacrifice required most of her blood, so he would only be able to use shallow cuts. Yet with experience came the knowledge of how to make even the slightest cut pain. He pressed the blade down her back. Blood welled to the surface, spilling over to stain her skin. He added a horizontal stroke, curling delicately at the end. Her body twisted to escape but he added another line just above her buttocks. He pulled the metal rods from the fire, and rolled it down her thigh, creating a wave patterns. He was rewarded with a scream.
***********
At Wesley’s direction, everyone gathered in front of the dry erase board which had been erected in the lobby. Fred wrote as Wesley talked. “Let’s go over what we know so far,” Wesley suggested. “Alexander Desmond was part of the Watcher’s Council until the 1860s. He kept records of demon and vampire activity from around the 1840s. Comparing his accounts with other reliable accounts suggests a progressive fascination and delusion with certain demons, Angelus being the last.” Fred wrote Demond’s name on the board and the 1860s.
Spike spoke. “That’d be around the time Angelus made Dru. Drove her mad then made her. Sadistic bastard. He killed everyone she cared about, left the bodies for her to find, got off on a seer knowing what would happen.” He circled the settee. “Your girl is a seer too. Look at what this guy did, he’s repeating it.”
“How does that help us find them?” Willow asked. She watched Fred draw symbols on the dry erase. The symbols were pulled from the patterns left on the bodies, but Fred wrote them in an order.
“Motive,” Fred declared without turning from the board. She’d waited a long time to say that. Words like “motive” and “clue” made her feel like a real detective.
Gunn leaned to peer over Fred’s shoulder, following the movement of her pen without understanding. Xander joined him. “Is this a calc test? Cause I didn’t study.”
Glasses at the tip of her nose, Fred looked up then studied the board. “Some of the symbols are mathematical; the others are I don’t recognize. I think he uses math to create a separate reality but…” She shrugged, “I don’t understand how he goes from calculation to application.” She moved to the other side of the board and drew symbols from the photocopies. “These are the ones I’ve never seen.”
“Demon,” Anya said. She reclined on the sofa, her movements careful and measured. “But nothing special. That one is just an old kek symbol, and they’re extinct.”
Fred stepped back, considering. “Mixed with the equation he’s got lots of extra mathematical expressions, with no real meaning.”
Pacing near the group, Buffy sighed with impatience. She fell into the doer category of life, and she was worried about Angel. She was worried about Cordelia too, preferred to kept that on the QT. During the day, she’d thought about the feelings that haunted her since seeing Cordelia with Angel. As she confronted those feelings, she’d asked herself hard questions and found hard answers. Cordelia had always been at the edge of the Scoobies, even before she started to date Xander. She had to acknowledge that she, as much as Xander and Willow, created the magical line that kept Cordelia on that periphery. At the time Buffy had been able to admit jealousy of Cordelia, of wanting to be like Cordelia. The depressing reality was that she wanted to be like her now. Cordelia had friends, a job, a great apartment and Angel. Her mother was alive somewhere and she didn’t have the responsibility of a younger sister. The visions hadn’t seemed that bad, until this morning when she’d seen one first hand. But were they any worse than being the Slayer? And Cordelia had Angel. Cordelia had an Angel who went out to dinner, played video games and laughed. Part of her had to ask if Angel had parties, hugged people and enjoyed life because of Cordelia. After all these years she was still jealous of Cordelia.
She stopped pacing to look at the wall. “This isn’t getting us anywhere. Will, can’t you do a spell or something?”
Caught between Buffy’s expectation and Wesley’s warning glare Willow fidgeted in her seat. She understood Buffy’s desire to act and Wesley’s desire for caution, given the results of her last spell. Even if she leaned toward Buffy’s act now stance, without the location no spell would work. “I don’t know how he did it, or where he took them.”
“So we wait. Great.”
“No, we keep looking,” corrected Wesley.
***********
Cordelia felt herself withdraw from her body. She watched it tremble and shake, watched the weight of her body stretch already overwhelmed wrists. Images of other women filled her mind. She relived their terror, pain and confusion. They all died in this dark chamber with its bloody symbols and stench, some even begging to die. He’d cut deeper into most of them, but Cordelia expected a horror as monstrous awaited her. The woman on the wall whimpered at the approach of the man, of Alexander Desmond. At first knowing his name, understanding even a little of what drove him helped her maintain control. She tried to commiserate about Lily. Angel’s presence helped….after Desmond started nothing helped. She cursed, begged, threatened then simply left when nothing else worked. She bore each caress and each cut of the knife with equal disgust, her mind floating away from the horror even while Desmond stood behind her body and offered the final humiliation of his spending his body over her back. What little resistance she nurtured withered and she allowed the darkness to overwhelm her.
***********
Each whimper and moan tore at Angel. He could hear the fight leave his best friend and defeat color her voice. Worse, mixed with her cries he heard the cries of his own victims. He had done as much and worse to others in his day. The image of his victims, only a small number of them, replayed through his mind, their screams echoing Cordelia’s…though few have his victims had been as creative with the curses. He wanted to retreat, to wallow in guilt and defeat, to hide in comfort of brooding. But he remembered. He had to make the choice and his choice was to focus on the here and now, to be prepared.
Another sound caught his attention and he heard the man Cordelia called Desmond approach the box. The lid and sides of the box rose and Angel found his eyes locked with Desmond’s, staring into insanity. The man muttered, chanting a nursery rhyme, as he pushed and pulled on the box, moving it and its occupant into the center of the chamber. With renewed hope Angel struggled and with the removal of the cross from his mouth threatened and growled. For added strength he released his game face but the restraints held. Desmond ignored his struggles, continuing to chant even as he moved away. Moments later he returned with Cordelia. Her hands were bound and her face and body were covered with burn marks and shallow cuts. Desmond laid her over Angel, fastening her wrists over Angel’s head and her ankles on the sides of his legs. Her neck settled near Angel’s lips.
Desmond placed a knife at Angel’s shoulder then with one hand gripped the vampire’s hair. He picked up the knife and with a quick stroke slit Cordelia’s neck to release the arterial flow over the vampire.
Angel fought against Desmond’s grip, fought against the restraints and fought against his own nature and desire. His lips clamped together, denying him the taste of the salty ambrosia. With pain and fear the blood acquire an exquisite flavor of which its coppery scent merely hinted. Even after a hundred years with a soul he remembered that flavor, craved it. That the flow also smelled of Cordelia only added to the desire to taste.
A trail seeped through his lips, attracting his tongue despite his determination not to succumb. He licked at his lips, feeling the demon’s glee and anticipation. Cordelia’s body slackened over him, he looked into her eyes and found only resignation and acceptance in their unfocused gaze.
“Angelus…” she whispered. This was her vision, this was her nightmare. Even without sight she could see the awakened evil.
“Master...” echoed Desmond.
Posted by LadyJubilee on 07-25-2002 04:23 PM:
“I think I know…” Dawn offered into the escalating argument, not that she expected anyone to listen. Already she’d tried three times to tell them what she’d seen, but so far no one was listening. They never listened…except for Gunn. Every time she said something he stopped talking, but then someone else started.
He came to her aid again, giving her a warm smile. “Jump in with it, when Wes and Fred get going you just have to dive in.”
“Why thanks, Gunn,” Wesley grumbled good-naturedly.
Not needing a second invitation, or wanting to lose her chance, Dawn dove in. “When he took Angel creepy-guy was making signs in the air…and Fred said that the math stuff made those bubble universes, so maybe if we did the signs we…” Buffy gave her a look, big sisters were such a pain “…you could do the same thing.”
To her surprise Fred nodded as if she were really thinking about it. “Yes, makes sense, instead of constant representations visual representations. But there’s no hotspot.”
“You wouldn’t need one if you used demon magic,” Anya explained. “Hotspots are inconvenient, never around when you need one….and they run out of batteries.”
Anya and Wesley cataloged the patterns Fred had classified as “unknown” to find a magic source of Desmond, while Tara and Willow, under instructions from Wesley, worked to reverse their spell. Gunn dialed the number to Caritas.
“If we break the link, we should be able to reverse the effects. Well, in theory anyway,” Willow offered as the group reunited.
“Good,” Wesley commented absently, his mind already working towards a plan. “Fred, can you replicate the patterns?” She nodded. “Good, once Lorne arrives we should be able to duplicate the process.”
Behind him, working at the computer, Fred muttered, “We hope.”
“Hello, good people and evil fiends,” Lorne announced as he strolled in the back door followed by a loudly dressed teenage boy. “This is George.”
George ambled down the steps, trailing a tail. “Demon George,” the boy corrected with a grin.
“Ah, yeah,” Lorne rolled his eyes, “they’re shaking in their shoes. George here has the magic you’re looking for….either that or his parents just wanted to get rid of him for a few hours, can’t be sure. I, for one, am hoping this is one of your rush jobs, because I’d like to give him back as soon as demonly possible.”
Dropping onto a couch, George propped his feet on another chair and draped his tail over the back of the sofa, to rest on Dawn’s shoulders. “Don’t forget the pizza. I ain’t doing this for free, no matter what mom says.” Spike leaned over to knock his tail off, repaying the teenager’s yelp with a snarl.
“Of course not. Look, can we get the show on the proverbial road, before he spawns or something? You wouldn’t believe the racket that boy calls music. I think I’ve been traumatized for life,” he tapped his left ear experimentally.
He didn’t have to ask twice. “Sooo,” Gunn interrupted, “we loading up?” At Wesley’s nod he sprang towards the weapons cabinet. “Finally.” He tossed Xander and Buffy weapons then, grudgingly, offered Spike a sword.
“Better with these,” Spike denied brandishing his fists.
“Yeah, whatever.” Gunn ambled away muttering about “blood sucking fiends” and the good old days when they actually killed vampires. Giving weapons to a vampire just did not feel right. “You coming?” He asked Dawn offering a sword. The teenager reached for it, but her older sister intercepted. “Guess not.”
“If we’re ready, let’s go,” announced Wesley.
***********
Cordelia felt the cold seep into her body as her blood drained out. Odd, she thought, all those years she seemed almost charmed against vampire bites, and now she was going to die from a slit throat. To add insult to injury, she’d die without keeping her promise to Angel.
The vampire beneath her moved, shifting to lick at the wound on her throat. The ridges of his game face brushed against her. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. After a year of doctor visits, death had lost its sting, but failing Angel really hurt.
Snapping sounds preceded Angelus’ grip on her shoulders, and feral growl echoed as the muscles in the legs beneath her bunched then ripped through their bonds. High on her blood Angelus grew stronger than abstaining Angel could possibly be. He tore the restraints at her wrists. “Sorry, you’ll be dying,” he mocked, using his legs to snap her ankle bonds.
She used a free hand to caress his ridges even as he flipped her and buried his face in the hollow of her neck. “I’m sorry, Angel, you trusted me to stake you and I can’t.”
He pulled away for moment. In the next he gripped the area over the knife wound, holding tight. “Oh, poor Angel,” he mimicked.
“Master,” Desmond said. He lowered the stake in his hand, but held onto the chain which controlled a swinging beam fitted with a row of stakes. His body quivered in excitement. After all these decades, his master was free. His master would rid the world of all the demons.
“Oooh, I like the sound of that,” Angelus laughed. He lifted Cordelia, sitting her upright without removing his hand. She trembled in the unyielding grip. He looked at the woman. “About time you humans caught on….Master…yes, I like it.” He leaned close, “Maybe I should spare you, make you my personal sex slave.” She felt his tongue run from her breast up to his fingers on her neck.
Cordy smacked a ridge. “You know, it’s bad enough that you’re evil and all, but do you have to be such a putz too?”
“Putz? I could rip your throat out.” Angelus snarled back. Victims were supposed to scream and beg, didn’t she know anything?
“Take her master. She’s a seer, like the other one. Take her,” his voice quivered with excitement. “I left her the presents, just the way you showed me. I knew she would come to you if I left them. I…”
The air in the chamber shimmered drawing Desmond’s attention. His chamber was being invaded. He went into action, releasing the chain.
The vampire used that moment of distraction to act. He dropped under the swinging plank, ducking the imbedded stakes. At the same time he settled Cordelia on the floor. He released Cordelia’s neck and placed her hand where his hand been. “Apply pressure,” he warned before he leapt at the man. In a single motion he gripped Desmond under the neck and pinned him against the wall. Deliberately, he crushed one hand and then another, all the while watching the pain in the man’s eyes. Desmond wouldn’t be drawing in hell.
“Get Cordy,” he ordered the new arrivals. Fred, Anya and Tara went to Cordelia. Fred removed her jacket to staunch the blood flow while Tara took Gunn’s offered jacket, not only to conceal but warm the shivering woman.
“Great body,” she whispered, leaning close not only to be heard but to examine the cuts and burns on Cordelia’s skin.
“I know,” Cordelia answered her voice a little hoarse. “Just remember I like the boys.” She leaned on the witch as the world tilted.
Tara smiled. “Just looking. Though with a body like that” she gestured at Angel “I see why you like the boys.”
“Angel, no!” Buffy yelled, throwing herself across the room when Angel switched to a killing handhold. “He’s human.” She slammed into Angel, pushing him away from Desmond. “You can’t just kill him.”
“I vote kill him,” offered Gunn when Desmond used that moment to pull a level with a broken wrist, releasing holy water. The air sizzled as Angel’s and Spike skin started to burn, though Cordelia appreciated the feel of the soothing water on her burned flesh.
Wesley tried to circle around Desmond, crossbow drawn. “I must concur.” He was too late to prevent the release of several quarrels from the walls. “Down.”
Buffy stared at all of them. Didn’t they understand? “He’s human.”
“He’s a monster,” Gunn responded dodging Spike, who hopped around to avoid the holy water.
George watched it all in awe. “Cool.”
Angel tried to regain control. At the moment his own thoughts were a jumble of concern for Cordelia, blinding hate for Desmond, pain from the holy water and the near overwhelming desire to eat every last human in the room all mingled in the animal growl which filled his head. Fortunately, his soul kept reminding him that the last option was not a good idea. He leapt to avoid a projectile stake.
Gunn looked at the vampire, noticing the wild look which clouded his eyes, and the game face which remained visible. “You ok?” He noted the blood coating the vampire’s lips and chin. He also noticed something else. “And could you put on some clothes, you’re scaring me.” He shuddered dramatically.
With caution Spike approached Angel. The urge to needle just barely overrode the urge for self preservation. “Well, well, someone’s been tasting the nibbles. Tasty little treat, I bet.”
“Shut up, Spike.” Angel fought for control and stepped toward Desmond. Buffy blocked his path, her face set in determination. He was equally determined to finish what he started.
Unnoticed Xander crept along the wall, for once leaving the quips to someone other than himself. This time, he wanted to do the kick ass.
Desmond howled in frustration, releasing more of his arsenal. Fred and Tara propelled Cordelia out of the way of a falling cage, while Willow used magic to direct a load of dripping books in Desmond’s direction.
After a quick check to be sure the table-like alter was between him and his Sire, Spike leaned toward Cordelia. “Ummm, fairly bursting with flavor, I’d say.” He licked his lips and let his game face come out. The chip prevented him carrying through, but it didn’t stop him from tweaking Angelus….Only he miscalculated.
He found himself pinned against a cross by a very pissed and very naked vampire, a vampire who seemed to have forgotten not only his naked state but the holy water and crosses and stakes flying in through the air. With little result he struggled to free himself from the hand that held him off the ground and against the burning holy item.
“Let him go,” Buffy ordered. She tried to hit Angel, to make him release the younger vampire. Only Angel stopped her. Without releasing Spike, he kicked back, not only blocking her punch but propelling her back.
Wesley retrained the crossbow, leaving Gunn to watch Desmond. “Angel, enough.” The vampire ignored him.
Having reached his destination via a circuitous route through piles of boxes and straw, Xander emerged from a corner near Desmond. He retreated briefly as Desmond back toward him to avoid Gunn’s ax, then step forward in his wake. He waited until Desmond lunged at Gunn then tackled the naked man, something he never thought he’d do, knocking him against an open cage. The man squealed in pain, automatically cradling his broken hands against his chest. Xander used his distraction to push the man into the cage. Gunn dropped the lock into place.
“Angel,” Cordelia said.
Spike dropped to his feet, and edged away from Angel. He realized his own mistake. Spending so much time with humans had clouded his judgment. He’d judged a vampire’s action by human standards. He would not make the same mistake again.
Angel went to Cordelia, nearly groaning at the cuts and burns covering her body. The sounds of her torture had been bad, but the visual evidence was worse.
“Now that that excitement is over, what are going to do with him if we aren’t going to kill him?” Gunn wanted to know. “I still vote we kill him.”
“He’s human,” Willow reinterated.
“Huh. Barely.”
Buffy approached Gunn, Wesley and Desmond who was whimpering through a nursery rhyme. “We don’t kill humans, if you people don’t know that, don’t understand….if we kill humans we become monsters.” They continued to look at her.
“Ah, excuse me, bleeding to death here,” Cordy slurred. “Think we could speed things up?”
As far as Wesley was concerned, one monster was the same as any other, but it seemed obvious the Sunnydale group were not ready for that option. “We might…”
“She’s right,” Angel interrupted. “We aren’t judge and jury. Whatever it is, just do it. She needs a hospital.” He lifted Cordelia from the floor then noticed a teenage boy. “Who are you?”
“Demon George,” the boy answered, offering his hand for a shake.
‘Riiiight. Wes,” he called the English man over. “Who’s this?”
“This is George,” Wesley explained, notably unimpressed. “We needed demon magic.”
“So you brought a teenager?”
“Ah, at least I didn’t date one. George?” Wesley invited, drawing Fred over to make the symbols.
With teenage flourish, George waved his arms, unleashing the magic within his nature. Angel stepped through, followed by Willow, Tara and Gunn.
Wesley took manacles from a cage and locked them around Desmond’s broken wrists. “The Council created this problem we’ll let them deal with it.” That seemed to appease Buffy.
George decided he wanted to work for Angel Investigations when he grew up.
***********
“You want me to….with Buffy,” Cordy questioned. After a quick trip to the er, a long discussion with the police, who had concluded she was just another willing victim of kinky sex, she was glad to be home for TLC a la Dennis. Dead guys really knew how to treat a girl, but now she had a request from a different dead guy. This was too weird, she thought, absently touching the bandage at her neck. The blood thing was ok. Demons and monsters, hey, just normal every day. Evil lawyers in expensive suits, everyone faced those. But this…
Angel hunched over and gave his best puppy face. “We need to say good-bye. She hasn’t moved on, I have. I want, I want to let her down gently.”
Cordy sat down on the couch beside him. “I get that. And to do that, you need me too…and you’ll never ask me to do it with Darla.” She nodded, more to herself then popped her lips. “OK, I guess; I mean, what are friends for?”
Relieved she had agreed, Angel smiled. “I thought they were for staking you when you go evil.” He rocked sideways when she punched his shoulder. “That and putting vampire clown faces on your birthday cake.’
“Pretty cool party, huh?” She grinned at him. Angel, she thought, needed those normal, human things in his life. She needed unusual vampire things, or at least one vampire thing, in hers.
“I’m only 248,” Angel felt he needed to reveal.
Cordy’s grinned blossomed in a mega-watt smile. “I wondered if you would notice.”
***********
A hesitant tap sounded on the door. Cordelia took a deep breath and double checked. Angel’s birthday present was ready. He offered a puppy grin which made her roll her eyes. The things she did. The candles were lit, the music played softly in the background and several bottles of wine—and blood--waited around the room. With Angel she went to open the door.
Buffy stood in the threshold, obviously as nervous as Cordy felt. Only Angel seemed at ease. “Come on in,” Cordy said, standing aside to make room. She leaned back into Angel’s body and he rested his hands on her shoulder.
Hesitantly, Buffy came in, taking in the candles and music. “This is where?” Cordy nodded. “We’ve never really…”
“But we can,” Cordy offered with a shy smile when Angel nudged her.
Angel guided them both to the bed, lying down across its expanse. He settled Cordy against his chest, careful of her wounds, while Buffy sat awkwardly at the foot of the bed. She drew her legs on the bed, sitting back straight, legs crossed.
After a moment, she had to ask. “So what do you do exactly?”
Angel smiled. “We talk.”
It seemed a little, well, odd and a bit disappointing. “About what?” What on earth could they find to talk about all the time? It wasn’t right, it wasn’t normal—people didn’t just “talk” to each other, especially not lovers.
“Everything,” Angel answered. He tried to be reassuring, tried to let Buffy know it was ok to talk Life could be more than angst and drama. “Like whether we should ever call Angelus a putz to his face.” He shifted to avoid Cordelia’s elbow.
Hours later, Buffy Summers left the room. Sometime between a lecture on dust collecting weapons and the finer points of ice hockey she saw an Angel she didn’t know. She said good-bye to her Angel and promised friendship to the new one.
***********
A small private jet landed at LAX less than an hour after taking off from the same runway. A black limo rolled onto the runway. Lilah Morgan stepped from the limo to wait on the tarmac while three men, three men who worked in a drab unmarked office building, exited the plane and walked toward her. A fourth man was lead from the plane into a waiting van.
“Gentlemen, Wolfram and Hart appreciates your assistance in this matter,” she said as she handed the first man a contract. “As agreed, Desmond will be removed to Australia. His memory of LA will be wiped by our staff of mind readers.” All but the memories of Cordelia Chase, she though, but did not say aloud. W&H had plans for Desmond that need not concern the Council.
One of the men snorted, “Mind readers.”
“Proven professionals,” Lilah assured them as she extended her business card. “If the Council should require our services again, please contact me at this number. We would be happy to offer a corporate discount.”
***********
Alone in the office, Angel picked up the phone. “What have you got?” he demanded.
“Angel-cakes, sometimes you just have to accept…”
“Accept that the visions are killing her? No, Lorne,” he growled into the mouthpiece. “Find a way.” He hung up then retraced his path to the bedroom where his best friend waited.
End.