Captive Of The Soul by Yahtzee
Summary: Angel's attempt to keep his friends safe from harm might lead them into the greatest danger of all.
Spoilers: To Shanshu In LA, Season One.
Chapter
1
"Anything left of
the files?"
"Sure, if you
count ashes. The filing cabinet might be okay, though, with new paint -- and a couple of new drawers
--"
"There, you see?
I told you some things would be salvageable, didn't I? Why, we might have plenty of things for our
new office, wherever that might be --"
"First things
first," Angel said. Like Cordelia and Wesley, he was standing in the burnt-out remains of what had
been Angel Investigations. Also like them, he was covered in black
dust, going through the debris surrounding them to see what, if
anything, might be saved. They were all in ragged, disposable clothes
-- Cordelia had bought Angel some things at the Salvation Army, as well
as Wesley's first pair of blue jeans. The room smelled acrid,
almost bitter, and thick, oily soot coated every possible surface. With
every step, the charred floorboards creaked uncomfortably. In the
center of the room was their only illumination, the emergency flashlight
from Cordelia's car. Taken all in all, it was depressing as hell --
though Angel found the gloom easier to bear than Wesley and
Cordelia's pretense that nothing was wrong.
"This looks all
right, don't you think?" Wesley said, pulling a still- intact chair up from the floor. He stopped
abruptly, and though he made no sound, Angel saw him bite his lip.
"Don't try to
lift anything," Angel said. "You're not strong enough yet."
"Nonsense,"
Wesley said, a bit too stoutly. "I feel right as rain."
"What is that
expression supposed to mean, anyway?" Cordelia said. "I mean, think about it. Makes no sense whatsoever.
Know what else makes no sense? You toting around heavy furniture when you've
only been out the hospital a few days."
"You were
discharged on the same day," Wesley pointed out.
"Yeah, but I
didn't have sprained ribs or a concussion or any of that stuff. I just had visions. Doesn't mess you up
the same way." She made a move to pick up the chair herself.
"Neither of you
is going to do any lifting," Angel said. "Not that there's going to be that much to lift. As far as
I can see, we've got a few weapons, a few books, a blackened copy of Word-Puzz,
one chair and no place to put it. And that's about all."
"That's not all
we have," Cordelia said, folding her arms in front of her. Her hands, in yellow- rubber dishwashing
gloves, made a bright X in the darkness. "We have each other, and that's
all we really need. Right?"
Angel sighed and
managed a small smile for her. "You're right," he said, squeezing her arm quickly.
"Jeez, but you're
grumpy for a guy who just found out his undead-ness has an expiration date," Cordelia said, her
cheer a little less forced.
"It's just --
difficult," Angel said. "I wandered around for 250 years. Even in Sunnydale -- I always knew it
couldn't be forever. But I thought I could stay here. So much for that
plan."
Wesley and Cordelia
both looked at him sympathetically. Good, Angel thought. They bought it.
In reality, as fond as
he had grown of their offices and his apartment, he had long ago learned the
foolishness of believing that anything was permanent. What weighed on him now
cut too close. All Angel could think was: Wesley was in this building.
They meant for him to be as burned and broken and lost as everything
lying around me right now. Cordelia was screaming for mercy in a
hospital bed. They meant for her to sink into madness and anguish until
her mind snapped and her body stopped.
She thinks it's such a
gift, that we have each other, he thought. But that's the reason they both almost ended up dead.
"Good God,"
Wesley said, breaking Angel out of his reverie. "Look at the computer." The plastic casing had
melted; bits of chips and wire stuck out of the charred mess that had once been
the desk.
"The phone didn't
do too well either," Cordelia said, lifting up the receiver, from which more wires dangled.
"And the answering machine -- "
"Who's in
there?"
The words came from
the hallway, surprising them all; Wesley jumped, dropping the sooty encyclopedia of demonology
he'd just retrieved. Angel recognized the voice first. He didn't relax.
"Kate," he
called. "It's just us."
"Just you,"
she said, coming around the corner. The beam from her flashlight cut through the room. Her lips were
set in a thin line. "Nothing to worry about. Just a vampire once
known as the Scourge of Europe."
"Nicknames,"
Angel said flatly. "So hard to live them down. What do you want, Kate?"
"What do I want?
I want to investigate a major crime scene. Remember, I tried to the other night, before you fled the
area."
"Before I went to
the hospital to check on Wesley," Angel said. "After you attacked me again. Is that
what you're here for?"
She didn't answer; she
was looking, instead, at Wesley, who still had a bandage across his forehead. He'd lost a few
pounds, especially noticeable on his spare frame. Her voice was somewhat
less brittle when she spoke again. "I'm just after the
truth."
"I know
that," Angel said, trying to match her newfound civility. Cordelia, he could see, was still trying to think
of an appropriate retort to the "Scourge of Europe" comment; he
shook his head quickly at her. "I doubt the truth is going to help you
out much, though."
"Why? What
happened here?" Kate's eyes narrowed again. "I know you claim to be on some kind of crusade, but if I
find out you've been keeping explosives in here --"
"Excuse me,"
Cordelia snapped, ignoring Angel and ripping at the broken mess of the answering machine as if it
were a certain police detective. "He is a vampire, not a Branch Davidian.
Why would Angel blow up his own building?"
"Cordy,"
Angel said, "calm down. Kate's just doing her job."
"Don't defend
me," Kate said. "Answer me."
"The building was
blown up by Vocah, a powerful supernatural assassin sent to destroy me and my friends." Angel
didn't mention the scroll or the raising; this alone would probably be too much
for Kate to absorb. "As you can see, he very nearly
succeeded."
"A supernatural
assassin," Kate said, rolling her eyes. "That's gonna look great in my report. You really know how to
win friends and influence people, don't you?"
"Angel's got
friends," Cordelia said, her voice now chillier than Kate's.
"He also has
enemies," Kate said.
Wesley cleared his
throat. "Ah, Detective Lockley? Perhaps your supervisors would be interested in hearing the
account of a witness. I should be happy to tell you what I saw --"
Kate took a deep
breath, then nodded. "Constructive suggestion. Okay, good idea." She glanced around. "Is
there anyplace we could sit down?"
Angel realized she was
thinking of Wesley's relative weakness and, despite his anger, felt a flash of gratitude to
her. "Not much left in the way of furniture, but the stairs are still
there."
As Kate and Wesley
turned to go into the hallway, Cordelia said, "Oh, wait a sec. You're carrying one of those little
tape recorders, aren't you?"
Kate looked at her
strangely. "Yes; why?"
Cordy held up the
message tape for the answering machine. "This made it through okay. And I was expecting a
callback."
Rolling her eyes, Kate
handed over the recorder. "I guess I'll take your statement the old- fashioned way," she
said as she pulled out a pen. "Any clipboards make it through?"
"We can use
what's left of the bookshelf," Wesley said helpfully as they walked out.
Angel smiled slightly
as Cordelia fiddled with the recorder. "Always the optimist," he said.
"I just look that
way compared to you, Gloom-n-Doom," she said, then frowned. "That's the old me again, isn't
it?"
The tape recorder
started playing. A shrill-voiced woman, who apparently had not realized from the phone
message that she hadn't reached Ruby Chinese Restaurant, put in an order for
vegetable dumplings.
"Don't worry
about it," Angel said. "If the old you went away completely, I'd miss her."
"Bitchiness and
bad-hair angst and everything?" Cordelia said. She looked up at him, her lips quirked in that funny,
vulnerable smile of hers, the one that meant she wasn't really joking.
"And
everything," Angel insisted.
The tape recorder
switched messages; when the new speaker began, Angel froze. He had only met her once but
remembered her vividly.
"I hope I've
called the correct number. Regarding the problem you came to me with a few months ago? I realize that
situation has now resolved itself, for better or worse. But I've found
someone who could help you in future, should you ever again need
such help. Come by the church if you wish to be introduced." A
click announced the end of the message, and, apparently, the end of those
who had wished to contact Angel Investigations.
"Who was
that?" Cordelia said.
"I don't know her
name," Angel said. "She's a nun Wesley and I met when we were trying to exorcise the Ethros demon.
She seemed to have a lot of information; probably be a good idea to get to
know her."
"Then, get on
with your dead self," Cordelia said. When he raised an eyebrow, she waved him toward the door.
"It's not that late. What else are we gonna do here? And what if we have to
deal with possessed kids again? Could happen any day. Best to be
prepared."
"You want me out
of here before Kate and I can start fighting again."
"Yeah, that
too," Cordelia said.
Angel smiled and went
to the door. "If Kate wants to know where I've gone -- tell her I'm at church. That ought to
throw her for a loop."
Thirty minutes later
Angel was shivering in a pew. Not from cold -- though he did feel a bit chilled after the quick
washing-up he'd done in the restroom of a local service station. Was it
sickness? Fear? What was it that snaked through him like ice every time
he looked at a cross?
"It still affects
you." Angel looked over to see the nun sitting at the end of the same pew. He hadn't even heard her
approach, a testament either to her stealth or his distraction. She
motioned toward the cross. "Why is that?"
"It affects us
all," Angel said. "I've never known why."
"I wasn't
referring to vampires in general," she said, looking at him wish the same unruffled calm, the same
penetrating gaze, he remembered from before. "I meant you. You're
unlike the others in so many ways. But the symbol of Christ's love still causes
you pain."
"How do you know
I'm not like the others?" Angel said.
"You put yourself
in danger to help a child. You seek the people of the church whom you should logically shun. You
have a human friend. Evidence enough, don't you think?"
"I try to believe
that," Angel said. "That I'm different. But moments like this -- I wonder if the difference is
enough." He forced himself to look at the cross again. He could do it -- he
no longer cringed from the sight of it, like young ones and cowards did.
But he couldn't make the pain
go away. "The symbol of Christ's love. That's what you call it. But that's not what I see, not
what I feel."
"God's love is
far from you," she said. "Yes, that must be hard to bear."
Angel shook his head.
"It's not a new burden. And I doubt you brought me here to discuss the condition of my
soul."
"So, you do have
your soul," the nun said. "I thought so. No, I should be interested in discussing that with you
someday, but that is not why I called."
"How did you even
know my number? Are you psychic?" he said, only half-joking.
"That is not
among my gifts. Even if it were, it would be unnecessary. Your friend left this at the church
before," she said, holding up a white card. "A business card. Tell
me, why is there a picture of a moth on it?"
He sighed. "It's
supposed to be an angel. And that's my name. Angel."
The nun raised one
eyebrow, but said only, "Come. You should meet Father Augustine."
Father Augustine, as
it turned out, was a priest in his late forties, broad and bearded, with skin as dark as night. He
had been born and raised in Ghana, only converting to Christianity as an
adult. But throughout his conversion, and his subsequent entry
into the clergy, Augustine had remembered the older religion of his
youth.
"Christianity is
the true light of God," Augustine said, pouring tea for Angel as though he were any other houseguest.
"But every light casts shadows, does it not? To explore those shadows,
we need to remember the old beliefs. The old magic. There are many
who do not understand that. But those of us who do, well, we find
one another," he said, smiling briefly at the nun, who was serenely
sipping her tea.
"How long have
you fought against demons?" Angel said.
"All my
life," Augustine said, sitting down to his own drink. "But only these last two decades have I also had the
resources of the Church at my disposal."
"You perform
exorcisms?"
"Where possible.
The battle is often difficult, as you must know. The good sister tells me you were attempting to cast
out an Ethros demon. Were you successful?"
"Yes. The boy
lived; the demon's dead." Angel did not tell them that the boy had been the greater evil; he didn't feel
like discussing it. Another idea, something he had never before considered,
was crowding into his mind, pushing aside all other thought.
His earlier words to
the nun echoed within his mind. What if he were wrong? What if there were a difference after all?
"Well done. I
should not have thought that one with his own demon would be able to cast out another. There is so
much to learn," Augustine said. "I hope we shall learn from one
another."
"There's
something I need you to do," Angel said abruptly. "An exorcism I need you to perform."
Father Augustine
nodded. "Of course. Why did you not say so before? Who needs this exorcism?"
"I do,"
Angel said.
***
Chapter
2
"You're going to
exorcise yourself?" Cordelia said. "What about this am I not getting?"
She was sitting on the
sofa in leggings and a tank top, her hair yanked up into a slightly off-center ponytail,
blue facial mask making her look like a psychedelic kabuki
performer. Wesley, who had just stepped out of the bathroom in his
blue-striped pajamas and robe, was staring at Angel with the same
shocked expression she wore. "Angel -- your demon -- it's a
part of you."
"I don't need
reminding," Angel said, pulling off his shoes as he sat down on his sleeping bag. In the explosion, his
apartment had been destroyed, along with all their means of
support. Angel had a little money in the bank -- enough to keep them
all eating, at least for a while -- but he and Wesley were camping
out at Cordelia's for the time being. To Angel's
surprise, the arrangement was working fairly smoothly. So far.
"Don't you?"
Wesley said. He sat down beside Cordelia, who was still shaking her head in confusion. "Angel, you
are a vampire. A dead body animated by the demon that dwells
within."
"Take that out,
and what have you got?" Cordelia asked. "A dead body. Not good."
"I've seen, in
the past, that a vampire's body can keep living without the demon," Angel said. "If a
vampire can't feed for long enough, the demon is cast out, but the body goes
on, without capacity for thought. Eventually becomes a living
skeleton. Not pretty."
"And this is what
you're shooting for?" Cordelia said.
"I'm guessing
that the soul is going to survive just fine without the demon. Maybe -- maybe the two aren't tied
together. If so, that should keep me from anything so
drastic." Angel smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. It didn't
work.
"Guessing? That's
supposed to be good enough?" Cordelia shook her head. "You're not going to risk yourself
over something like this. And I will prove it to you, as soon as I
wash this stuff off my face."
"How can you
think of your facial at a time like this?" Wesley said.
"Uh, excuse me.
My Old Navy commercial audition is coming up in two days, and as I am temporarily the breadwinner of
this family, I think we all have an interest in my complexion
being at its best. Besides, this mask is flaking like dried plaster.
How can Angel concentrate on anything important with my face crumbling
in front of him?" She went off to wash, leaving Wesley to continue
the argument.
"Cordelia has a
very valid point, for once," Wes said.
"I heard
that!" Cordelia called from the bathroom, over the sound of splashing water.
Wesley ignored her and
continued, "Your theory may well be correct, Angel. But is it worth risking your existence to
find out? I can tell you that it's not worth it to me."
"Or me,"
Cordy said, patting her face dry with a washcloth as she returned to the couch. "We need you,
Angel."
"Not like
this," Angel said. "I'm enough of a risk to you as it is."
"Are we about to
get some heroic speech, about how you won't let us endanger ourselves by staying at your side?"
Wesley said. "I've been waiting for this --"
"Sorry to
disappoint you," Angel said. "No, no speeches. You're both adults. You make your own choices."
"Oh," Wesley
said, looking rather crestfallen. "Then what are you driving at?"
"I mean that I'm
not going to endanger you any more than I have to," Angel said. "And as long as I can still
become what I was before, I'm a danger to you both."
"Not to mention
everybody else this side of the Rockies," Cordelia said. "And don't look at me like that,
Wesley. We both know it's true."
"So, you're
behind me?" Angel said.
"If 'behind you'
means thinking you're doing something totally boneheaded but not mentioning more than thirty
times a day, yeah." Cordelia said with a sigh.
"Wes?"
Wesley nodded.
"If you're allowing us to take our risks, then we have to allow you to take yours. But I won't pretend
to like it."
"Didn't ask you
to," Angel said. He pulled off his shoes and got down on the floor to arrange the sleeping bag; he
doubted he could sleep this early in the evening, but he had
tried, during these past two weeks, to match the humans' circadian
rhythms as closely as possible. "We've had a long
day," he said, hoping to forestall any more conversation.
Neither of them were
taking the hint, though. Cordelia set about applying some strange unguent to her hair without
removing her attention from him for a moment. "So
how are we going to do this? I mean, is the priest just going to drop
by, cast out Angelus, have some tea?"
"Probably not a
great idea to do it here," Angel said. "The ceremony might end up casting out Dennis instead."
The wall thumped once.
Cordelia shook her head vehemently. "No way. So, where then? The church?"
"Difficult to
draw the demon out there. Gunn's group -- the homeless kids I told you about -- just moved out of a
basement place about 20 minutes away; I think that'll do
nicely," Angel said from his place on the floor.
"Drawing out the
demon -- yes, you'd have to, wouldn't you?" Wesley said, wrinkling his brow as he frowned. "For
an exorcism, you must directly confront the demon. That means -- you'll
have to let Angelus out."
"What?"
Cordelia said, her face going a little pale. "Wait a minute. To get rid of him, you have to let him out?"
"I don't like
that part of it either," Angel admitted. "But you guys can chain me up --"
"Oh, no, not
again," Cordelia sighed.
Angel ignored her.
"I'll have to take the drug that Rebecca dosed me with and hope it works the same way. We'll see, I
guess."
"There might be
another way," Wesley said slowly. "Have you considered hypnosis?"
"Hypnosis?"
Cordelia said, wrinkling her nose. "I thought that was fake. Just stuff for Vegas lounge acts and
weight-loss ripoffs."
"Nobody
understands precisely why hypnotism works," Wesley said. "But it does. It's capable of unlocking an entirely
different level of the conscious mind."
"In Angel's case,
an entirely demonic level."
"That's the
idea," Wesley said.
Angel was quiet for a
moment, considering. "Do you think it would work?"
"Worth a
try," Wesley said. "I can conduct a test."
"You?" Cordy
said.
"Why, yes,"
Wesley said. "All Watchers are trained in the art of hypnotism. I was rather good at it,
actually."
"It would be
better than the drug," Angel said. "If something happened -- if things got out of control -- you
could end the hypnotic trance right away."
"Exactly,"
Wesley said, noticeably happy to be of assistance. "There's also the chance -- a
slight one, mind you, but a chance -- that if matters were to, well, not
proceed as planned, that you might be able to throw off the
hypnotic trance."
"You mean, if
Angelus got a hand free and started choking one of us -- just one of the unpleasant scenarios that springs
to mind -- Angel might be able to, like, break through and
be himself again," Cordelia said.
"It's a distant
possibility, but a possibility nonetheless," Wesley said.
"Then that's our
plan," Angel said. "Get whatever you need tomorrow. Father Augustine will meet us tomorrow
night."
"That fast,"
Cordelia said. The seriousness of it seemed to have hit her all at once. "Angel, that's going to
change everything."
"It's meant to
keep things from changing."
"For me and
Wesley, maybe," Cordelia said. "But it changes a lot of things for you. Like, that whole subcurse-to-the-curse
thing. You have perfect happiness now, and nothing happens,
right?"
"I'd still lose
my soul," Angel pointed out.
"So, if you had
sex with Buffy again, you'd just go to mindless- zombie territory," Cordelia said. "And
you're not going there. Right?"
"Right,"
Angel said.
He said it casually
enough, but something of his mood must have come through to Cordelia. She slipped off the sofa and
knelt beside him. "Hey," she whispered,
gently touching his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't throw Buffy's name around without
thinking first."
"I shouldn't let
it affect me," Angel said.
"Like that's ever
gonna happen," Cordelia said. After a moment's pause, she dropped her hand from his shoulder and
her eyes from his own. "I hope this works for you,
Angel. It doesn't make any difference to me, but if it's going to
make you feel safer, then that's a good thing."
"I'm still
worried about all this," Wesley said. "I mean, your demon is under control. And perhaps he is a larger part
of your psyche than we realize. Do you need that darkness? To
remind you of what you could be? To give you the edge it takes
to do the things you must do - -"
"Star Trek,"
Cordelia said. Off Wesley's startled look, she said, "This is totally out of that Star Trek
episode. The one where Captain Kirk splits into good and evil
twins?"
"You never struck
me as a science-fiction fan," Wesley said, slightly abashed.
"I'm not, but
please. I dated Xander Harris for almost a year. That gives me honorary membership in the geek hall of
fame."
"I'll always have
two centuries' worth of memories to remind me," Angel said. "Maybe that's enough."
They finished
preparing for bed in silence; it was Wesley's turn to take the couch, so he set about making his bed
there, tucking a sheet around the cushions with an almost
military neatness. Angel tucked his pillow up beneath him as he slipped
into the sleeping bag. He and Wesley were both ready for bed, but
Cordelia went through yet more steps of her elaborate bedtime ritual,
utterly unworried by their presence. It was all so casual, so
intimate, that Angel found himself strangely moved.
How long had it been
since he had been a part of anyone's life like this? Just another person in their lives,
accepted as easily and totally as any human being could hope to
be. For all the depth of his love for Buffy, Angel knew that the two
of them had never reached that level -- never could have, given her
age and the greater demands of their relationship.
And, in its own way,
this was as healing, as comforting, as Buffy's love had ever been --
"This is going to
be hard," Angel said suddenly. Wesley, who had just draped his robe across a chair, turned to face
him; Cordelia stuck her head out of the bathroom door,
toothbrush still in her foamy- lipped mouth. "When Angelus is free,
the things I'll say to you -- it'll be hard to hear."
"We can take
it," Wesley said. "You don't have to be afraid for us."
Cordelia nodded..
But I am, Angel
thought.
***
Chapter
3
"You know, I'd have
gotten into exorcisms sooner, if I realized they involved this much shopping,"
Cordelia said. "Then again, I would've looked around for a catalog or something, if I
knew we were going to have to shop here."
"Here" was a store called "Rapt in Chains." Cordelia
and Wesley were standing between the leather-corsetry section and
the display of specialty whips. Wesley was trying very
hard to remember if he had ever been this embarrassed in his life
and deciding, probably not.
But if you needed to keep someone chained up, this was the place to be --
"I mean, people have the right to get their freak on," Cordelia muttered. "But you know, I just have to
wonder. If you don't enjoy sex unless you're in a vinyl body bag,
maybe you just really don't enjoy sex."
"This seems like a lot of equipment for people to get in order to do something they don't enjoy," Wesley said,
casting a worried glance at what resembled, but probably was not, a
hangliding harness on the wall.
"Well, you'd know, right?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Come on, Wesley," Cordelia said. "You knew just where
this place was --"
"I used to live down the street," Wesley hissed. "Back
when we could all afford separate accommodations, I took a
hotel room two blocks away."
"Really?" Cordelia's eyebrow was raised, but when Wesley
nodded, she put her hand to her mouth. "Really?"
she repeated, more softly. "Wesley, this is a bad
neighborhood. Way bad. I used to live in the barrio, so I know whereof I
speak."
"Well, we could afford separate accommodations," Wesley said.
"Not necessarily good ones. Anyway, this was usually
the only place open when I got home; they keep very strange
hours. Apparently much of the merchandise falls into the realm of the
impulse buy."
"Long time no see." At the sound of the voice, both Cordelia
and Wesley jumped; the clerk, a man far too
interested in piercing, was smiling at Wesley. "I knew all that talk
about change for the vending machine was just cover. So, which of you needs a
fitting?" The man looked Cordelia up and down with a
proprietory gaze Wesley found discomfiting and infuriating all at once.
"Or is it matching outfits for you two?"
"No, no, no," Cordelia said. "It's not for us. It's for
our boss."
"Kinky," the man said. "Sounds like you guys got one hell
of a benefits package."
"It's not what it sounds like," Wesley said, then realized that
the real situation would probably sound a whole lot
worse. "I mean -- well, we must be discreet." He
ignored Cordelia's outraged glare.
"Don't worry," the man said. "Your secret's safe with us.
So, what size is this boss of yours?"
"He's a big guy," Cordelia said with a sigh. "Not quite as
tall as Wesley here, but way more built."
"Yummy. And what are you looking for? Sub or dom?"
"Huh?" Cordelia didn't get it. Wesley thought he did, but he
really didn't want to.
He could feel his cheeks burning as he answered, "He's the one getting tied up. Does that answer your
question?"
"Gotcha. Hang on a sec," the man said, before vanishing into
the back.
"I swear to God, Wesley, this is the most humiliating thing
ever," Cordelia said. "Well, no, the gyno exam with
the demon babies is the all-time winner. But should that event ever be
unable to fulfill its duties as Most Humiliating, this one will
step in."
"It's not that bad," Wesley insisted. "We'll just keep our
heads down, and -- oh, my Lord."
"What?"
Wesley motioned at the display case. Cordelia looked down, and her eyes widened. "Okay, those were not modeled
from life. I mean, sure, big is beautiful, but this is
overkill."
"How does this look?" Wesley turned to see their helpful clerk
again; he was holding up a leather vest with straps that
were clearly used to bind the wearer's arms behind his
back. "Adjustable fit, but should be ideal for the size you
described."
"Looks great," Cordelia said. "Wrap it up."
"Wait a moment," Wesley said. "Now, this is entirely
secure, correct?"
"Sure. Holds the wearer in good and tight, but there's this release latch right here --"
"Release latch?" Cordelia interrupted. "What's with the
release latch? Isn't bondage all about being bound?"
"Well, yes." The clerk was looking at Cordelia strangely.
"But there's always a release. I mean, we don't want
this stuff being misused."
"Wesley, this is no good," she complained. "If he can get
out, it's not gonna work."
"We'll just take some handcuffs," Wesley said. "Several
pairs. Those don't have releases, do they?"
"No, no. Just gonna wrap those up for you." The clerk inched
away.
"Great," Cordelia said. "We have now been written off as
perverts by a guy who sells nipple clamps."
"Cordelia!"
"Sorry. This place is making me vulgar. Can't we just get out of here? What's next on the shopping list?"
Wesley tugged out the paper, glad to have something else to think about besides their surroundings. "Well,
Angel was hoping we could get a tranquilizer gun, though I'm not at
all sure where to buy one."
"Veterinary-supply store," Cordelia said. "Any vet who
works with big animals, like horses or cows, is going to need
one." Off Wesley's startled look, she shrugged. "What
can I say? You help take care of a werewolf, you learn lessons you use
throughout life. But wait a second -- why are we buying tranquilizers
anyway?"
"To drug our murderous, demonic employer should he break free of our restraints," Wesley said. "I should
think that would be rather obvious."
"Well, tranquilizers and Angel -- not the best combo."
"The demon will already be released," Wesley pointed out.
"A tranquilizer can't really make it any
worse."
"True," Cordelia said. "Where are those handcuffs? C'mon,
already."
"Cordelia, do calm down. I'm as dismayed to be in here as you are, but there's really no rush. It's not as if we
need to hurry off to buy you new shoes for the occasion."
"Speak for yourself," Cordy replied. "I'm thinking some
cool little thong sandals. Wait, no. Hard to run in those.
Scratch that." When Wesley didn't respond to what he hoped
was a joke, Cordelia sighed. "Okay. I'm just kinda ready to get this over with.
Aren't you?"
"Agreed," Wesley said. It was as close as they had come to
discussing the subject of Angel's exorcism with any
seriousness.
When Wesley had arrived in L.A., he had felt reasonably close to Cordelia -- the awkwardness of their previous
attraction aside, they had shared experiences, shared memories.
Angel was a mysterious figure, more to be feared than trusted.
He had expected to work with Angel only as a colleague, and perhaps to
discover some sort of friendship with Cordelia.
Instead, Angel had become a friend; some secrets and emotions Wesley had long tried to suppress had spilled out these
past months, and Angel, instead of turning away, had
accepted him as few others ever had. Wesley had found it easy to respond
in turn. Cordelia, meanwhile, remained at a distance. They
could laugh and joke together, or, more often, nag each other for hours on end. At
times, their conversations went beyond the trivial --
but only for a few minutes, and usually only when they
discussed Angel.
After the cloudy glow of infatuation had worn off, Wesley might have written Cordelia off as silly or shallow, were it
not for her devotion to Angel. More than once, Wesley
had wondered whether their relationship were not moving beyond the
purely platonic -- Cordelia and Angel were so openly protective of
one another that it was hard to believe they shared no romantic
feeling. But so far, anyway, it seemed that they were no more than
friends.
Meanwhile, she and Wesley remained friends mostly because they both cared about Angel. Basis enough, he supposed.
"You should have told us you had to live in this neighborhood," Cordelia said. Wesley glanced at her, surprised
by the shift in topic. "We could've worked something
else out. You could have stayed with Angel, or with me. We wouldn't have
left you here, if we'd known." She grimaced as she looked
away from him. "And we would have known if we'd asked."
Angel had asked and had offered help before, which Wesley had turned down in a moment of much-repented pride. After a
few moments' consideration, Wesley decided not to
mention that point. "I appreciate the thought, Cordelia."
"Okay. Six pairs of handcuffs. That going to do it for you?"
The clerk had a very fixed smile on his face as he
held out a paper bag.
Cordelia pulled out her Visa with a melodramatic flourish. "I think this is going to max out my last available credit
on my last credit card," she sighed. "Angel
without a demon, me without the ability to charge -- we have reached the end of an
era."
***
"We are isolated here," Father Augustine said. "This is
good."
The priest's voice echoed in the emptiness of the abandoned warehouse; his cultured accent reverberated from
exposed metal and the concrete floor. A few left-behind
things cluttered the corners -- a red bandanna, some cans of Dinty Moore
beef stew, one brown boot.
One boot, Cordelia thought. Who leaves one boot? I mean, if you need one of them, you're gonna need the other. Right?
When Angel had explained all this last night, she'd convinced herself it was for the best. And when she could think on
the end result -- happy, secure, new-and-improved Angel,
now with fewer demons -- it still seemed like a good idea.
But the end result was harder to picture right now, with the reality of what they were about to do there in front of
her. The priest was an imposing man, foreign and strange.
Wesley had gone unusually grave; he'd set up all his paraphernalia
on a battered old table. Instead of snickering at his collection
of potions and crystals and what-not, Cordelia found herself somewhat
intimidated by it all. Intimidation was a fairly new emotion for
her. So far, she decided, it pretty much sucked.
Angel was walking around the perimeter of the room, just a little too slowly for it to be called "pacing."
She tried to give him a reassuring smile and did so poorly that
he immediately came over to her. "Cordy -- are you all
right?"
"Yeah, I am. Or I will be," she said, hugging herself against
an imagined chill. "It's just a little like
attending Charles Manson's parole hearing, you know?"
"I know," Angel said quietly.
"God, there I go again," Cordelia said. "I'm sitting here
all obsessed about how I feel. But you're the one
really going through it. I mean, you've got to be tripping,
right?"
"Right," Angel said, then frowned. "If I understand what
that word means."
"It means, you know -- nyaaagh," Cordelia said, making a face
that seemed appropriate.
Angel almost smiled. "Yes. I'm tripping. Just keeping it on the inside."
"When the demon's out -- Angel, where are you? Where does your soul go?" Cordelia said.
"I wish I knew."
"I guess it doesn't matter, as long as you come back," Cordelia
said.
"I'm not going away. I'm just --" Angel paused. Cordelia,
realizing he did not mean to continue, took one of his
hands in her own and squeezed it gently. Though he did not
seem to acknowledge her gesture, after a moment he spoke again.
"I worry about what's going to happen while my soul is gone. What
I'll do. What I'll say."
"If it scares you, Angel -- we don't have to do this," Cordelia whispered, gesturing slightly at Wesley and
Father Augustine, who were still bustling about with some magic
powder in one corner. "It's not too late."
Angel shook his head. "I have to do it. As long as that demon is a part of me -- Cordelia, I'm its captive. I can't
get through a single day without wondering what I would do if
I were weak enough. About what I might do to you -- "
"Listen to me," she said, stepping a little closer to him and
folding his hand in both of her own. "That demon's
not going to do anything to me, or Wesley, or anybody else. We
won't let it. You're going to be all wrapped up, safe -- safe like a
baby in a blanket. You're not going to do anything you have to feel
sorry for. You're not going to say anything we can't handle. When that
demon's gone and your soul comes home, we're still going to be here.
And we're still going to be your friends. Okay?"
Angel didn't answer, but smiled at her gently. She managed to smile back.
"Very well," Wes said, a little loudly, calling them without
calling them. Angel hesitated for a moment, then let go
of Cordelia's hands and walked toward Wesley. Cordelia
followed, to see what the others had put together. "We have
constructed a protective circle," Father Augustine said. "No vampire should be able
to step within its boundaries, save on St. Vigius' Day,
which is still months away."
"So this is like our shark cage," Cordelia said.
"Very apropos," Wesley said. Cordelia wasn't quite sure what
that meant, but his tone was approving and so she felt
mollified. He continued: "The tranquilizer gun
will be kept in here. So, should something untoward occur -- though of
course it will not -- we are all to run into the circle. The first one
here takes up the gun. Understood?"
Angel shrugged off his jacket and tossed it on the ground, then walked over to the chair. Wesley had spent the
better part of the afternoon welding it to one of the
building's metal beams; after giving it an experimental tug and finding
it secure, Angel sat down. He sighed deeply as he put his hands
behind his back. "Let's do it."
Wesley picked up the chains they'd brought and began securing Angel's feet to the chair. Cordelia took the handcuffs
out of her bag and walked behind Angel, then shackled his
hands around the metal beam. The tension in the room was thickening,
as was her own dread; she wanted to say something to break it,
something funny. But she knew it would sound wrong, more wrong even than
this terrible stillness broken only by the clanking of metal.
When they were done, she and Wesley stepped away. Angel looked -- smaller, somehow. Vulnerable. Strange, to think
of Angel that way --.
Angel nodded. "Let's go."
Wesley rubbed his hands together quickly. "Right." He nodded at Father Augustine, then walked behind the small
table they'd set up and re-angled Cordelia's emergency
flashlight so that its beam shone through a purple crystal. "Angel, I
need you to look within this crystal. There is a flaw inside it --
deep, at the center." His voice took on a tenor Cordelia had never heard
from him before, something lower, more soothing. "Find that
flaw. Concentrate on it. Let the light there flow back into you."
Angel's face was so strange, Cordelia thought, so different. Normally, even in his happiest moments, there was
something -- tense - - about him. She always had the sense he
was holding something back, holding something in, and she'd always
been very glad of the fact. But now he was completely relaxed and
blank.
"Angel?" Wesley said, in normal Wesley-voice. Angel did not
respond. In the lower tone, Wesley continued: "The
soul within your body must rest, for a time. The soul will not leave
the body, nor be extinguished, yet only remain quiet until such time as I summon
it forth once more. When you hear this sound chime
once --" Wesley struck a metal rod against the crystal,
and it hummed on a high, silvery pitch, "-- your soul will go
silent and control you no more. When you hear it twice together, the soul
will return to its full strength. Do you understand me?"
Angel nodded slowly. Wesley took a deep breath. "Very well."
And with that he struck the rod against the crystal once more. For one second, there was only silence.
Angel's face had changed again. Not relaxed, not blank, but not holding anything back --
"I do NOT believe this," Angelus growled, lunging forward in a
futile attempt to break his bonds.
"He's out," Wesley said.
"Thanks for the news flash," Cordelia said, mostly to herself.
Father Augustine said nothing, but straightened up and
squared his shoulders, as though preparing for a
blow.
"Is this a game?" Angelus shouted, continuing his struggle with
the chains. "Are you people actually that
stupid? You're calling me up for an evening's entertainment?"
"That is not our purpose here," Father Augustine said. "As
well you know."
"You think you can get rid of me. Well, Padre, you are sadly mistaken. That puts you above these two, who are
just sad -- but not as sad as they're gonna be." Angelus
fixed his icy stare on Wesley. "Nice little toys you've got
here, Watcher Boy. Magic wands and crystals. Sticks and stones, they'll
break your bones --"
"They'll do more than that to you," Wesley said with an almost- convincing bravado.
"This is your big night, isn't it? Your night to prove you can actually do something," Angelus sneered.
"But the only thing you're gonna do is get yourself killed. Don't worry,
Wesley. I'll make sure you get to see Cordelia die first."
Angelus then looked over at Cordelia, something beyond hate in his eyes. "Don't forget. We have a date
later."
Cordelia turned on her heel and walked as far away from Angelus as she could get. She heard Wesley jog after her.
"Cordelia --"
"I'm fine," she said abruptly. The temporary shock of seeing
Angelus again had shaken her; no matter how many times
she thought about it, how many nightmares she had on the
subject, she never really remembered the malevolence behind those cold eyes. But Cordelia screwed up her courage. Angel's counting on us,
she reminded herself. He's counting on me. "If that's the
worst he's got, then we're gonna be fine. Right, Wes?"
"Right," Wesley said, and he was so steady, so sure, that
Cordelia could have hugged him. "I think the part of
the rhyme Angelus failed to mention says, 'words will never hurt
me.' We can handle this."
Cordelia wished he sounded more convincing.
***
Chapter
4
Angel generally did not
speak of Angelus in the third person.
It was a small point, one that might go unnoticed by some, but Wesley prided himself on attention to detail. No matter
how horrific, how demonic, how -- different -- Angelus
seemed, Angel almost never referred to the demon as a separate
entity. Angel said, I did this. Or, when I was there. Or, I enjoyed it.
Wesley had always found that strange, never more so than now.
"This is rich," Angelus snarled, pulling at the chains that
bound him. Wesley could see blood dripping behind the
chair, no doubt trickling from the newly lacerated skin
at Angel's wrists. (Or were they Angelus' wrists now? Who owned this
body? No way ever to know.) "You people think you're gonna get rid of me as easy
as this? You think you can have the soul without the
demon? What fools."
Trying to pretend that Angelus' words didn't mirror his own fears, Wesley turned back to Father Augustine, who was
studying the vampire calmly, and Cordelia, who looked anything
but calm. "We ought to hurry," Wesley said in a low voice.
"He's tearing himself up in those chains --"
"He can't get out," Cordelia said, her voice slightly shaky.
"No, but he's causing damage Angel will have to suffer for
later."
"We should hurry in any case," Father Augustine said. "The
demon grows stronger with every moment of
dominance."
"Fine. Great. Get all chanty and incensy and whatever. Just get Angelus out of there," Cordelia said.
"It is not so simple," Father Augustine replied. "We are
using the oldest and most powerful form of the ritual. His
counterattacks will no doubt be vicious. For this reason,
each of us will take one section of the ritual."
"You mean, Wesley and I have to do this too?" Cordelia said.
"Boy, you know when a great time to mention this
would've been? Anytime before NOW."
"To speak of it earlier would have been to warn the demon,"
Father Augustine said.
"And this isn't warning him?" Cordelia snapped.
"He will not have sufficient time to prepare if we act
quickly," Father Augustine said sharply. "Which of you
has known Angel longer?"
Cordelia half-raised her hand. Father Augustine pulled out a battered old book and handed it to her. "At the top
of the page. Begin."
"Cordelia -- are you sure you can --"
"Wesley, it's okay," she said. "Better get it over
with."
She turned to face Angelus, who was smirking at her -- nothing new there, but nothing good there either. She started
to read. "I confront you, demon, in the name of God
the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Spirit --"
"Listen to all of you. Over there whispering like I couldn't hear you. You keep trying to show off how smart you
are, Cordelia -- keep trying to show us all that there's a
brain beneath all that hairspray. Or a heart under that push-up bra. But then you go and
do something stupid like letting me hear you, and
the truth will out."
Keep reading, she told herself. You've heard worse than that. "The body is the temple of Christ. God shall not
suffer a profaner within the temple, and ye -- ye? -- shall be
cast out of the temple --"
"This body hasn't been God's temple in a real long time, Cordy," Angelus. "For a couple hundred years now,
it's been nothing but a corpse. I just drag it around with me.
You like to forget that, don't you?"
Then, right then -- she knew it, even as it was happening, but couldn't stop it all the same -- he punctured her
defenses. She'd prepared herself for the insults, at
least she thought so. But this -- oh, dammit, he had a point.
"The demon isn't the intruder here," he continued, in his slow,
silky voice. "The demon's right at home. The soul
-- that's another story."
The exorcism was all about casting out something that didn't belong. Did the demon belong -- more than the soul? Was
that possible?
And in her moment of doubt and confusion, he turned his blade sideways and slipped its narrow edge in.
"You've been wondering if I'd ever fall in love with you."
Cordelia's voice choked in her throat. The holy book almost slipped from her hand. She was suddenly terribly aware of
Wesley's presence. "I -- no. No. Your place
is, is, is in hell, I mean, in pernicious hell, and there you will be,
uh --"
"I do look at you, you know. I mean, I'm dead, not made of stone. You've got a body that just doesn't quit,
baby," Angelus had narrowed his eyes, pursed his lips, dropped his gaze lower
than her face. "And you know what? I'd love to just shoot you down,
tell you I never thought about it, but I gotta tell the
truth. The idea has definitely crossed my mind."
"There you will be cast among the demons and the dark ones and the night," Cordelia blurted out, hating herself
for her hesitation, hating herself for wanting to hear what Angelus
would say next. "You will return to your rightful place, your
history, your past --"
"Do you know why, Cordelia?" Angelus said softly, shifting in
his seat so that he almost looked relaxed. "Do
you know why I think about fucking you?"
"Your past -- your past shall be as your future --"
"Because I know it's safe, honey. No curse to worry about with you. No perfect happiness on the horizon. I don't love
you. So that means I could throw you down and bang you
senseless, and I'd be able to just get up, walk away, and leave all the
evilness before you locked in the closet like a bad little boy.
You'd be -- convenient, Cordelia. Isn't it nice to know you could
finally be of use?"
"Cordelia --" Wesley said, and she didn't immediately register
the pain in his voice. All she could perceive was the
crushing weight in her chest, the heat of the blood that had
flushed in her cheeks.
"Your past shall be as your future," she said, her voice thick
and painful to utter. "Hell is your rightful
home, and you shall return there and be as you once were. In the
name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, amen." And with
that, she turned on her heel, thrust the book at Father Augustine and ran out
of the room.
Cordelia pushed the heavy metal door open and blindly stumbled into the alleyway; she groaned as she realized it was
raining, a faint, cool mist that turned the world gray. She
backed up to the brick wall of the building, allowing herself the
scanty shelter of the rusty old fire escape. As she covered her face with
her hands, she took in a shaky breath.
He knew, she thought. He knew, and all that meant to him was --
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Father Augustine felt pity for the girl's humiliation, but remained focused on his task. "Your turn is
next," he said, turning to Wesley. To his surprise, Wesley no longer stood by his
side, but was hurrying to the door. "Sir! You are
forgetting yourself."
"I'm not, actually," Wesley said, almost apologetically.
"It's just that we -- I mean, I should --"
"She shouldn't be alone," Angelus said. "She's just so
vulnerable right now."
"Silence, demon," Father Augustine said.
"Bite me," Angelus said. "Wait, no, it goes the other way
around."
Father Augustine ignored the demon's rantings. "We must hurry."
"I know," Wesley said. "But we need her here."
He was out the door before Father Augustine could ask precisely why they needed her there, now that her work was
done. Little matter, he told himself. They could spare a few
minutes for the young man to comfort Cordelia. And he had heard a
hundred demons in a dozen countries curse his name; he knew how to endure.
Angelus was staring at him, his eyes small and dark. "That vow of celibacy's a bitch, isn't it? Believe me, I know
way the hell too much about it. About the way you get
hungrier and hungrier for one good --"
Father Augustine looked back at the door and began wishing for Wesley to walk back through it.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
"Cordelia?" The door squeaked open once more, but Cordelia
didn't turn to Wesley. Instead she looked away, toward
the far end of the alley, where rain-dark cars swished
through the mist.
"I'm fine," she said quietly. "I got through my part,
didn't I?'
"You did."
"So, end of story. Don't you need to go do your thing now?"
"We have a few moments. I wanted -- I wanted to make certain you
were all right."
"He's still chained up in his chair, right? No broken bones
here."
"That's not the damage I was most worried about." Cordelia
looked over at Wesley then, and instead of the judgment
or shock she'd expected, she saw only genuine concern.
"There's no use in pretending that I didn't hear, Cordelia. I realize
that we don't really talk all that much, but, I thought -- maybe -- you
would want to talk about this."
Think again, she wanted to say. But instead, the words she heard coming out of her mouth were, "It's not like
I was in love with him or anything."
They were both quiet for a moment, until Wesley gently said, "I know that. But I had thought, perhaps, that -- you
cared."
"Not that way. I mean, not really that way, not most of the time. I mean -- oh, I don't know what I mean."
Cordelia hugged herself and glanced back at Wesley. "It's just that
Angel came along when I was so down-and-out. I ran into him at a party -- did
you know that's how we met up again? But I acted all haughty
and rude to him. Like I was still some big deal. But I didn't have
anything. I hadn't eaten in two days. I was -- this rich guy said he
was interested in me, and I went to his house to -- I thought, it's
just my body, it doesn't matter, that's not what matters about me
-- but I knew what I was going to be. And then it turned out he
was a vampire, and I was just a meal for him, but then Angel came in
--"
"He saved your life," Wesley said.
After a moment, Cordelia shook her head. "Yeah, but that's not the important part. He saved -- something else,
something I was getting ready to give away. You'd probably use
some old-timey word like 'virtue' or 'honor' or something, but that's not exactly
what I mean -- all I know is, Angel saved me from losing
that. He gave me a job, and he listened to me, and when
Doyle died he was there for me -- " She lifted a hand to her face, as
if she could somehow hold back the words, hold back the feelings they
represented. "We got close. And when you get close to somebody, I
mean, you can't help but wonder. Wonder if you might get -- even closer. Especially if
he's totally hot."
"Only natural," Wesley said gently.
"I tried to hide it, but he saw, and all he thought --"
"Stop," Wesley interrupted, as he put his hand on her shoulder.
"You don't know what Angel thinks of all this. Only
what Angelus told you. Angelus wants only to hurt you; he can't
be trusted, Cordelia. You mustn't take what he says as the
truth."
"I know that," she said, then straightened up. "I do know
that. I just kinda forgot there, for a second."
"Angelus is persuasive. It's one of his weapons." Wesley looked
as though he wanted to say more, but he didn't --
just kept leaning against the wall with Cordelia, getting
damp in the mist.
"Your turn's coming up," Cordelia said. "And you're
freaked."
"Yes."
"Don't blame ya."
"Cordelia, I -- I know it's asking a lot, but -- would you come back in with me?" Cordelia stared at him, and he
shook his head. "I tell myself that I'm ready to hear what he has to say,
but I wonder."
"And -- you want me there?"
"Yes," he said, his voice carrying the same note of surprise as
her own. "I do. If you can take it."
She squared her shoulders. "Bring it on."
Wesley did not look at Angelus as he and Cordelia walked back in. He thought it would be easier to focus his attention
on Father Augustine, at least until he saw that
Father Augustine was scowling a bit. Wesley never dealt well with
rejection from authority figures, and from a priest, no less, the scowl was
rather disquieting. He would have liked to say something like,
the last thing I need is a lecture. Or, Cordelia needed help, and
that's important whether you understand it or not -- whether I
understand it or not.
Instead, he said, "Where does my part begin?"
"At the top of this page," Father Augustine said as he held the
book out to Wesley. "Hurry. The sections of the
rite must be completed in sequence, quickly, or we lose our binding
power --"
"Give it up already," Angelus said from his chair, his voice
sending shivers of dread up Wesley's back. "Cordelia
might lack in the brain department, but she's got a little backbone, I'll
give her that -- or keep it for myself. But Wesley? Spineless
as a jellyfish."
Wesley snatched the book away from Father Augustine and turned to face Angelus. He'd faced him down once, after all
-- and sent him sprawling into an elevator shaft. Now,
with the demon tied helpless in a chair, he had nothing to fear but a
few snide words --
"In the name of God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost, I cast thee out --"
"You cast me out of my own home? Don't think so, Wes. I bet you
can't even step on a spider. You scoop it up on a bit
of newspaper, let it wander out on the windowsill, don't
you?"
"How did you -- oh. Oh. I cast thee out, that the spirit within thee may be free again to walk in the light of
God."
"You couldn't even raise a hand to Faith, could you?"
Faith. The name cut through him like ice, like metal, like shards of broken glass. That nerve in his arm, the one that
still felt numb in the mornings, seemeed to vibrate within
him, one long note of pain.
"The spirit will know the truth of God, and the spirit will know the word of God." Wesley knew his voice was not
so loud as it had been a few moments before, hated himself for it,
tried to stand up a little straighter. "The demon is the
scourge of God, and we shall not suffer it to remain --"
"You came down there to kill her. Was it revenge, or were you doing it for me? I wasn't ever sure about that. But I
heard you, heard that knife you dropped as it hit the concrete.
If you were just bounding to the rescue -- because, you know, you
could really help a whole lot against Faith -- then I can see it. But
it wasn't, was it?"
He knew I was there. I had to go back inside, catch my breath, try to believe what I'd seen. He came for me so much
later -- so much later, and he knew I was standing there, all the
while, knew what I had seen -- "And we shall not suffer it
to remain. Let free the soul held captive within the body, let free the
body held captive by the demon."
"You know why I picked Faith, don't you? Why I helped her instead of you? Come to think of it, you probably haven't
been able to figure that one out. But I bet you're just a
little bit curious, aren't ya, Wes?"
Wesley's fingers couldn't seem to catch the thin edges of paper to turn the page -- God, how embarrassing, to be
sweating and trembling because of nothing more than words. How
humiliating, to be made to remember all this, and to want to
remember. To want to know.
"Faith had her knocks, you know? The bad home life, the drunk mom, the guys who used her -- just thinking about it
chokes me right up. But you gotta give her credit; no matter
how hard you hit her, she just bounces back again. Can't tear that
one down. And you, Wes, you're a house of cards. Just a matter of
time before you crumble under for good. So which horse was I
gonna bet on, Wesley? Which one of you was I gonna play? Who was worth
getting on the leash? You tell me."
Wesley could hear Cordelia shifting on her feet behind him, no doubt in embarrassment or impatience or some mixture
thereof. He didn't want to think about the expression of
contempt that was no doubt on the priest's face. And he hated the
triumphant glare with which Angelus was studying his face.
No way out but through, he told himself, and mustered up the will to continue. "The future of the spirit and the
future of the demon shall be separate. We divide thee from the
body, oh demon --"
'You want to know the saddest thing of all, Wes, my boy? I cut you loose, but I got you anyway. I rubbed your face
in it but good, and what did you do? You just came back
crawling and wagging your tail like a bad dog. I rewarded Faith for
torturing you, and you took it."
"We divide thee from the body, oh demon," Wesley repeated, his
voice by now a hoarse whisper. "Forever more shall
the spirit and demon be twain."
And with that he turned away from Angelus, shoulder slumped as though he had been defeated. For one moment he dared to
lift his eyes to Cordelia's; she was looking at him with a
gentleness that almost leavened his humiliation. Wesley
surrendered the book to Father Augustine.
"Now, demon," Father Augustine said, his rich voice echoing
from the concrete walls, "your time is short."
"Bragging," Angelus said. "Such a turnoff." But he
seemed far less interested in Father Augustine than he was in
Wesley and Cordelia.
"Seems like I remember Buffy talking about you two having the hots for each other, once upon a time," Angelus
said. "Seems like I remember some slow-dancing going on at
the glamorous Sunnydale High prom, for which I cannot BELIEVE I rented
a tux. The thought of you two having sex -- that puts me right off
my lunch. But I gotta ask: Did that happen? Did Wesley have the
balls to ball you, Cordy?"
Father Augustine showed no sign of surprise or hesitation, but plowed on with damnable, enviable calm. "Here and
now, demon, you shall be cast from the body. We begin the warding
chant, which will repel thee from the body and cast thee into thy
proper hell --"
The priest began a chant in a language so arcane even Wesley did not know it; Angelus showed no sign of even being
troubled. He kept glaring at Wesley and Cordelia as his
visage slowly vamped.
"I've thought of all the ways I'd like to kill you two, you
know," Angelus said. "Want a preview of coming
attractions? Because it's almost as much fun to tell as to execute.
Almost. See, first there's this thing with a meathook -- you spear
somebody just right, and they can hang there for days before they die.
Sounds about right for you, Cordy --"
And his face shifted again. The vampire fangs retracted, the forehead smoothed, and the eyes went from yellow to brown.
Angelus trembled in his chair -- no, Wesley thought, shook,
as though he were having a seizure, or as if he alone could feel the
tremors of some powerful earthquake.
"It's happening!" Cordelia whispered, clutching at Wesley's
arm. "The exorcism's working!"
But Father Augustine shook his head.
"What the --" Wesley breathed.
"No," Angelus snarled through clenched teach, then shouted,
"NO!"
He threw his head back, hard, against the back of the chair, again, three times, then fell limp. Wesley involuntarily
took a step forward.
Angel looked up, his eyes wet, his expression once again his own -- full of doubt, remorse, shame. "Angel?"
Cordelia said.
"I -- I couldn't take it --" Angel said. "I couldn't hear
those words coming out of my mouth --"
"It's all right," Wesley said. "We know it wasn't
you."
"But it was me," Angel said, shaking his head, dropping his
face so he couldn't meet their eyes. "It was. That's
what you don't understand."
"I don't get this," Cordelia said. "You didn't do that
chimey thing on the crystal."
"We knew there was a chance that Angel would be able to break the hypnotic trance at will," Wesley said.
"One of the reasons we tried this instead of drugs."
Father Augustine took Angel's shoulder in his hand. "I realize that it is difficult for you to endure the demon's
dominance," he said. "But if we are to continue, we
must act quickly. Every moment we interrupt the ritual, we lose the hold
we have gained over the demon."
"Just give me a moment," Angel said dully. "It's hard. It
-- it hurts."
Wesley hesitated, remembering times in his life when he had spoken those words and no one had listened. He said,
"Angel -- are you certain you want to go through with
this?"
"What?" Cordelia said. "Wesley, that's nuts! We're, like,
this close. Come on, Angel!"
"We're essentially torturing Angel, and for a rather uncertain result," Wesley said roughly.
After a pause, Angel said. "I've already hurt you both so much.
Don't pretend it's not true."
Cordelia hung her head for a moment before saying in a low voice. "It's worth it if we finish
this."
Angel considered that for a moment, then said, "Cordy, you told me before that you thought this was a bad
idea," Angel said. "Well, you were right and I was wrong."
"Although I would normally want to get those words engraved on something shiny, this is so not breakthrough
time," Cordelia said. "If I can deal, so can
you."
"This is not an argument we're going to have," Wesley said,
with something that sounded surprisingly like
authority. "Before, we talked about how this was something Angel had the
right to choose. He has the right not to choose it, too. This
is over. Please, let's end this."
They were all silent for a moment longer until Father Augustine said, "You have controlled this demon for
many years. I pray that you will be able to retain that control." And
with that, he closed the little prayer book.
"I don't believe it," Cordelia said, her voice harsh in the
echoing room. "I can't believe I went through -- all
that stuff, and for nothing."
"Cordelia, there's no point in arguing any longer," Wesley said tiredly.
"I'm not arguing. I'm just telling it like I see it. Angel doesn't want his demon gone? Fine. Honestly, sometimes I
think you like having that demon inside you," she
said, staring at Angel. "It gives you someone to blame."
Wesley grabbed her arm sharply. "Cordelia, this is not the time to say something you'll --"
"Something I'll regret? Seems like the theme of the evening to
me," Cordelia said. But she stepped forward with him
to unshackle Angel, who still would not meet their eyes. Even
as he stood up, rubbing his cut and roughened wrists, he held himself
a little apart them from, as though unable to bear their gaze or
touch.
A few moments of leaden silence passed before anyone spoke. "You are well?" Father Augustine finally said.
"As I'll ever be," Angel said.
"We should go home now," Wesley said gently, hoping to soothe
both Cordelia's wrath and Angel's apparent misery.
"You probably need some rest, Angel. And -- didn't you have a big day
tomorrow, Cordelia?"
"I feel all right," Angel said, flexing his hands slightly as
if testing his own words.
"Well, then, you go on out and paint the town red," Cordelia
huffed. She grabbed up the duffle bag she'd brought along
and began piling their various equipment inside. "I
still have an audition to prepare for."
"Perhaps it would do us all good to take a bit of a break,"
Wesley ventured. "Get some space. We can talk about
all this after we'd had a bit of a rest."
"No space for you," Cordelia said. "I need you to help run
lines."
"Now, why do you want Wesley to help you with that?" Wesley and Cordelia both stared over at Angel as he spoke.
Saw the smile that began spreading across his face.
Transforming it.
"After all, if you want to learn about acting -- learn from a
pro," Angelus said.
***
Chapter
5
Angelus took one step toward
Cordelia. "Come to think of it, didn't we have a date for later on?"
Cordelia screamed. Wesley gasped. Father Augustine, a man who had learned to trust his instincts, leapt quickly
into the protective circle.
Wesley grabbed Cordelia's right arm -- at the exact same moment Angelus grabbed her left. The duffle bag she'd
been holding fell to the floor at Angelus' feet, and Father
Augustine felt his spirits collapse with it.
"Cordelia, come on!" Wesley cried, attempting to pull her
toward the protective circle.
"Ooooh, tug of war. Fun," Angelus said, increasing his grip on
the young woman's wrist until Father Augustine feared
her bones would crack. "Is this gonna be like a
wishbone thing? See who gets the bigger half?"
Cordelia lurched back hard; at that moment, Angelus let go entirely. The sudden lack of resistance sent her sprawling
backwards into Wesley, and they both fell to the floor.
Angelus delivered a savage kick to Wesley's gut and laughed when he
cried out -- but he made no move to stop either of them as they
scuttled into the circle. Father Augustine tugged them deeper within the
slender boundary between their salvation and their doom. Once all
three of them lay there, panting and weak, Angelus stepped right
up to the edge and folded his arms across his chest.
"Turn back, demon," Father Augustine said. "This place is
holy and will not admit you."
"Yeah, yeah, I know the drill," Angelus said lazily. "No
big deal. If I were in a big hurry to kill these two, I
would've done it a minute ago."
"Angel?" Wesley said hoarsely; the breath had apparently been
knocked out of him. "Angel, are you in there? Can
you stop this?"
"If he could, don't you think he would?" Angelus said.
"Hypnosis is a tricky thing, Wesley my boy. Can't predict
what'll happen. Oh, that reminds me." Angelus stepped over to
the duffle bag with their equipment, lying abandoned on the floor.
They all watched helplessly as Angelus lifted out the hypnotic
crystal. "Seeing as how this thing set me free, I ought to consider it a keepsake.
But I don't think so."
And with that, he threw the crystal as hard as he could against the wall. Cordelia jumped as it smashed against the
concrete and exploded into a thousand glittering pieces.
"Oh, no," she breathed.
"Oh, yes," Angelus said. "I'm back in business, and the
world has you three to thank. Believe me, I am grateful down to
the bottom of my heart. For instance, if I ever do decide
to kill you, I promise, it'll be quick. No more than an hour or
two, tops."
"We're gonna be waiting for you," Cordelia said desperately.
"You know what I told Angel. I said I'd stake him if
he turned evil, and -- and I will. I mean it."
"Like you could," Angelus said, sauntering up to the edge of
the circle again and leering at Cordelia in a way
that made the priest feel slightly sick. "More to the
point, you're not gonna get much chance. I choose my victims carefully. I
put a lot of time and thought into just the best way to make their lives a hell, until
I end them. Frankly, you people are going to take
some serious planning. I could think of a good way to
spend the next few days with you, Cordy; that's for damn sure. But
there's girls twice as sexy out there who don't own any crossbows at all.
"Someday, sure, I'll look you up," he continued as he turned to
walk away. "It might be two days. It might be
twenty years. Telling you when -- well, that would remove all the
suspense, wouldn't it? And I want you to surprised."
Angelus looked back over his shoulder as he paused at the door. "Here's one hint, though: It won't be
tonight. Right now I have more important things to do. I'm a young
man, just starting out; I need to -- win friends. Influence people.
Make my way in the world."
And with that he was gone, instantly vanishing into the night.
They were all quiet for a moment after he'd left. Then Cordelia breathed, "Oh, FUCK."
Father Augustine hesitated before he spoke; he was in danger of agreeing with her. "This was --
unexpected."
"Thanks for that profound insight," Cordelia snapped. "Now
what? Are we gonna live in this circle forever?"
"Just until we can get to that bag," Wesley said, in a calm,
measured voice. Now that Father Augustine looked at him,
he could see how intent the young man was, how steady, how
carefully he was still listening for any sign of Angelus.
"We have stakes in there, some holy water. The tranquilizer gun.
Protection."
"Protection for how long? We basically tied up our best friend and dropped him in the trunk of a mad killer. Said
mad killer is going to hunt us down sooner or later, and later's
not that much better than sooner," Cordelia said.
"Protection for long enough to get us to a phone," Wesley said.
"So we can call Buffy," Cordelia said. "Oh, God, is she
gonna be pissed."
"True," Wesley said. "But she is not only our best hope of
stopping Angelus, but she is also probably his first
target. We must warn her. If Angelus simply shows up in Sunnydale
--"
"She'll think it's Angel," Cordelia finished. "And won't
even know to fight him until it's too late. Oh, no."
Father Augustine frowned. He'd thought he'd met all the people involved in the ritual -- and, he'd assumed,
Angel's circle of acquaintance. "Who is this Buffy?"
"Angel's ex-girlfriend. Also the Slayer. You know what the Slayer is?" Cordelia asked.
"The protector of humanity," Father Augustine replied. Certain
vague things Angel had told him about his curse, words
about perfect happiness, about release, began to take
on shape and meaning. "She was -- they were --"
"All snuggly, not so long ago," Cordelia said. "Which was
actually how Angelus got out the last time. So I don't
guess Miss True Love gets to bitch at us that much, now that I
think about it."
Wesley was on his feet now, tensed and ready. "All right then. On
the count of three."
Cordelia started, "One -- two --"
Wesley bolted, grabbed the bag and jumped back into the circle with an astonishing speed and agility. Cordelia
blurted out, "That wasn't three."
"Well, if he had been listening -- as well he was off his
guard," Wesley explained, handing stakes to Cordelia and
Father Augustine. "Father, you'd be as well off going back to the
parish. If you have any friends in the community you can
contact, people who could help --"
"I will summon what assistance I can," Father Augustine said.
"And we'll break it to Buffy," Cordelia muttered.
He watched the two young people -- wretched in their misery, beautiful in their courage -- scramble out into
the night. Their friend had come to him for help; they had
trusted his judgment, believed that he would use the discretion
of his mind, instead of following the tenderness of his heart.
Father Augustine closed his eyes for one moment.
Later. There would be time for the guilt and the grief later. Now he had to prepare for the return of the demon.
***
From his perch on a rooftop, Angelus looked out over the city. He had liked to do this before, though his thoughts then
were so predictable, so maudlin. Whenever he had
looked at the lights, he imagined the lives they represented,
imagined himself protecting those lives. Envied the happiness he
believed they felt.
But now, Angelus saw the lights as an expanse of opportunity such as he'd never known. His soul had overtaken him just
before the advent of electrical lighting; Angelus had been
forced to do most of his hunting in an era in which the majority
of people were at home before dark. Practicing his trade in those days
took skill. Patience. Craft. If you aimed higher than an endless diet
of prostitutes and dockyard thugs -- and Angelus always had -- you
could spend weeks or months plotting out the means for a truly fine
kill, and still be frustrated. But electric lighting meant that people stayed up
later. Stayed out later. Stayed vulnerable. Humanity was
there for the taking, and the challenge now would
wholly be a matter of artistry. He felt a bit like a painter who had made
do with a few tubes of color, only to be gifted with a rich and
varied pallette.
Sunnydale had given him an all-too-brief taste of the luxuries an electric world had to offer the vampire, but the
town was too small, too quiet, to really provide the best
hunting grounds. But Los Angeles -- oh, he could spend a dozen lifetimes here and never
even come close to drinking his fill.
He inahled deeply -- not for breath, but for scent. The rain had just stopped falling, so the air was disappointingly
clear, but he could still tell so much. Two women nearby: one
with a fresh manicure, both with far too much hairspray, a little
drunk --
No, not yet. He wasn't really hungry, and they would be so easy, so cheap.
Besides, there were more important things to take care of first.
Like beheading a certain blonde.
***
Cordelia had her knees hugged to her chest as she huddled against the passenger door of her own car. She'd begged off
driving, claiming that she was too upset for it. Wesley was
shaking a little, taking deep breaths as he went, but so far, he
seemed to be holding together a whole lot better than she was.
But that had to be -- that could only be -- because Wesley wasn't thinking what she was thinking. About the way
this might have to end.
Finally she said, in a tiny voice, "We don't have to kill him, do we?"
"I hope not," Wesley said. "We should be able to end the
trance, as soon as we find a replacement for the crystal
--"
"And how are we gonna do that?" Cordelia said. "Just drop
on by Ancient Meditation Crystals Warehouse?"
"They're actually a rather popular item at Rick's," Wesley replied. "Our greater problem will be
finding Angelus before he does any harm. At least there's no way he can reach
Sunnydale before sunrise. We'll have time to warn Buffy."
"Because, as always, Buffy's the first and only thing on his
mind," Cordelia muttered, and Wesley grimaced a little
at the bitterness in her voice. But after a moment, Cordelia
straightened up and looked over at him. "Wait a sec. What if
she's not?"
"Beg pardon?"
"What if he's not going after Buffy first?"
"Possible," Wesley said. "But certainly he'll return to
Sunnydale very soon. That still represents our best chance
of finding him."
"I'm not so sure," Cordelia said. "Remember what he said
when we were in the circle? He said he was gonna win friends
and influence people. What does that remind you of?"
"I believe it was a self-help book of some sort. Dale Carnegie, was it?"
Cordelia shook her head impatiently. "No, no. Yesterday, when we
were at the old office and Kate showed up with her
Fraulein Fuhrer act?"
"That's a bit harsh."
"Says you. But that's what she said to Angel. That he really knew
how to win friends and influence people."
They rode in silence for a moment as Wesley considered. Slowly, he said, "He could simply have been reminded of
the phrase."
"Or it could just be coincidence," Cordelia admitted.
For a few more moments, they were quiet, and then Wesley looked over at Cordelia again. She glanced back at him.
"We've got to find Kate," he said.
***
"You're not on the domestic-terrorism task force, are you, Lockley? No? Then why the hell won't you let this
go?"
Her supervisor's words were still ringing in her ears hours later. He'd been angry at her, and with good reason;
Kate was neglecting other work to do this. Spending her free
time snooping around a crime scene that was probably none of her
business. She had admitted it, apologized, promised to direct her
efforts elsewhere.
And yet, here it was, the small hours of the morning, and she was looking at the burned-out hulk of a building that
had housed Angel Investigations, not so long ago.
"I have got to be crazy," Kate said. Nobody heard, except
possibly the homeless woman crouched on a nearby corner,
but even she gave no sign, just kept muttering to herself and
rocking back and forth.
Kate sighed and took another deep swallow of coffee straight from the thermos. She didn't really need the caffeine;
these days, she seemed to run on some strange, ever-ready source
of energy, something that burned inside her day and night.
Something that sometimes seemed to be burning her up.
Just nine months ago, everything in her life made sense. She was a cop. She had duties and responsibilities, most of
them laid out nice and neat, in writing, for handy
reference. She did her job, did it well, won the approval of coworkers and
superiors. She had a couple of guy friends at the station who were
good for a beer or a game of poker sometimes. She didn't have any girl
friends, but she didn't much feel the lack. She had a dad. Maybe
he wasn't the greatest dad in the world, but he was there -- and she
maybe, just maybe, had a chance of finally winning some respect
from the man. And when Angel walked into her life, she had thought,
for the first time in way the hell too long, that she might have found
a man who wasn't intimidated by her job or her strength. Who had his
own sense of self, his own intelligence, his own drive. Who just
happened to be damn good- looking on top of all that.
Now she had a reputation as the station psycho, an obsession with things she used to laugh off in horror movies,
the fact that her last date had both witnessed her public
humiliation and turned out to be undead, and a small plot in a cemetery
where she could kneel in the dirt and finally pour out all the words
she'd wanted to say to her father, now that he could never hear.
And the only thing all those changes had in common? Angel.
Fallacy of causation, she reminded herself. Angel's connected to all of this, yeah. But did he make any of it happen?
Or do I just need somebody to blame for the total
destruction of my life?
Intellectually, she knew that Angel had not killed her father. But that was the beginning and the end of what she
knew about him; everything else was jumbled up, confused,
dark and terrifying and mesmerizing all at once.
She looked again at the blackened rubble of the building. Kate leaned back against her car, trying to remind herself
how soft and warm her bed would be, how much better she'd feel
in the morning if she'd spent more time sleeping, less time
knocking around this place.
Besides, when she'd been here the day before, Angel honestly looked pretty depressed, pretty shaken up. Like most of
the fire and accident victims she'd seen, he'd been
half-angry, half-zoned. His friend -- yeah, call him that -- really
had been hurt in the blast. Surely Angel wouldn't have endangered
him. Or destroyed his own home.
So why can't I believe it? she thought.
After a moment, Kate screwed the lid on the thermos and tossed it back into the car, then doublechecked her weapon
before reholstering it and heading into the building. If this
checks out, she told herself, then that's an end to it. If Angel didn't have anything
to do with this, then I'm just gonna let him be. Let
the whole thing be. He can go after the creepy-crawlies from
another dimension, and I'll stick to the human criminal element.
If this checks out.
As she carefully stepped underneath the yellow CRIME SCENE tape, she felt a tiny shiver in her back, as though she
were being watched. Kate whirled around, took a look at the
area -- and saw nothing besides the old homeless woman, now
staring at her with frank interest.
Kate shook her head as she turned back toward the door. "Lockley, you're losing it."
***
"What are we going to do if he kills her?" Cordelia said as
Wesley struggled to keep the car steady through a sharp
turn at high speed. "I mean, it's not like he can
help it or anything, but you know Angel. King of Guilt. He'd never get
over it."
"Although I realize the situation would be problematic for Angel, I think it would be rather worse for Officer
Lockley," Wesley pointed out.
"Like I care," Cordelia muttered.
"Cordelia, you don't mean that," Wesley chided -- gently, he
thought. So he was surprised when she dropped her face
into her hands. "Cordelia?" he said again.
"I don't know if I mean it or not," Cordelia said. "I keep
telling myself this is the new-and-improved Cordelia
Chase. But I feel just like the old Cordelia. Right now I ought
to be worrying about Kate and Buffy and the rest of humanity. But
all I want is my friend back, so we can all go home and get some
sleep."
"That's not wrong," Wesley said. "I'd rather like that
myself. But we do have to stay focused on, ah, the big
picture."
"I don't do big-picture," Cordelia said miserably. "I seem
to be a small-picture person."
"Nonsense," Wesley said. "Why, ever since we first met,
I've seen you plunging into the most frightening battles the
Hellmouth had to offer. You've never shied from the
hardest work."
To his surprise, this speech only seemed to dampen her spirits further. She shook her head. "You never saw
the real me. You just saw what I wanted you to see."
"That's ridiculous. You were always in the library, always volunteering to help out --"
Cordelia muttered something he couldn't quite catch. "What was
that?"
"I said, that was -- that was only because I was trying to impress you. Because I had a crush on you," she
said, then added in a rush, "Way back then a whole long
time ago."
"Right," he said, a bit embarrassed by their first
acknowledgment of that long-ago infatuation. Then he thought --
good Lord, after what we've each heard tonight, what is there
to be embarrassed about?
"Cordelia, I don't know about your motives, but I know that you understood the work we were doing. How dangerous
it was, how much depended on our success. You knew that
facing the Mayor could very well have lead to your death. And you
never once flinched from the prospect. I may not have seen the real
you, but I saw -- the best you. As far as I'm concerned, that is the
real you, more and more every day."
She looked over at him for the first time in a while, a soft light in her face he hadn't seen in a while. "You
really think that?"
"I really do."
"That's the nicest thing anybody's said to me in a long time," Cordelia said. "Maybe ever."
"You deserve it," Wesley said. "Besides, I spent a fair
amount of time pretending to be brave for your benefit.
Though I don't see how you or anyone could have been
fooled." When she grinned, he could feel himself smiling back despite
everything else that was happening - -
Good Lord, man, he thought. Concentrate. "We're almost at the
office. If she's not there, we'll head straight to police
headquarters, try to get in touch with her there."
"Right," Cordelia said, squaring her shoulders as if for
action. But she was still looking over at him.
"Wesley?"
"Yes?"
"If it weren't for all her superpowers and stuff, you would totally kick Faith's ass."
Wesley stared at her, and she shrugged, a little sheepishly. "I know it's not some big poetic speech or something
--"
"No, no," Wesley said, smiling again. "That was marvelous.
Wildly untrue, but marvelous."
***
Angelus looked down through the web of exposed, dead wires and bare metal beams that had once comprised the roof of
his building. He could see the layers of his old
existence, strewn in ruins, rendered black by fire.
And he could hear her footsteps as she gingerly made her way up the rickety stairs, her cough as she inhaled stray
cinders.
Oh, Kate, he thought. You're so damn sure of yourself, so sure of everything. Sure that I'm some madman out to get
the law-abiding, god- fearing citizens of Los Angeles, assuming
there are any. Sure that it's safe to stop wanting me, okay to
start hating me. And I do so love proving someone right.
***
Chapter
6
"What's the plan?" Cordelia whispered as she grabbed the duffle
bag of supplies from the back seat.
"I wish we had anything so elaborate as a plan," Wesley
answered, glancing over at Kate's police car in front of
their battered former building, as though his repeated looks
would be enough to summon her back to it, safe and sound. "I
suppose we're just going to find Officer Lockley and tell her --"
"Tell her what?" Cordelia said. "The truth? She'll kill
Angel in ten seconds flat, assuming she doesn't get herself
killed trying."
"And the latter's far more likely," Wesley sighed. He took the tranquilizer gun from the duffle bag, felt the
reassuring weight of it, the trigger against his finger.
"Point taken. We'll tell her that a demon's loose nearby and we think it
might enter the building. That's true, so far as it goes."
"And when Angelus jumps out all evil, then what?"
"Then I hit him with this," Wesley said, lifting the gun
slightly for emphasis, "and Officer Lockley can ask all
the questions she likes. I doubt even she would stake him when he
was unconscious and obviously harmless."
"I'm not so sure," Cordelia said. She lifted up a pair of
handcuffs from the bag. "Then again, if she won't
listen to reason, I am bondage girl."
***
Kate sat on her heels and traced a line through the soot with her finger. Oily, acrid, strangely smooth -- in other
words, plain old ordinary soot.
She'd been wondering if this were some kind of supernatural fire, something born of spells or shamans. Instead, she
didn't see much of anything that couldn't have been caused
by a faulty popcorn popper.
Well, okay. A faulty popcorn popper that had been strapped to some TNT. But the explosive traces the lab team had
picked up were all easily categorized. The fire had burned
wood and been doused by water. Everything had been normal, as
explosions go.
"A supernatural assassin," she muttered, and frowned. Leave it
to Angel to have Satan put a hit on him. Then again,
if Angel were telling the truth about this evil thing
from beyond, then why wasn't this place -- oh, glowing green or sucked
into another dimension or something? What does a supernatural
creature need with TNT?
Then again, what did a supernatural creature need with an office? With business cards? With human friends?
With her?
Her ears pricked as she heard a door close by swing open. Kate sprang to her feet, put one hand on her weapon.
"Angel?"
***
Angelus smiled. He was ready now, his body tense, his face relaxed into his hunter's visage. He imagined he could
feel his prey's proximity on his skin, a borrowed heat
second only to the stolen fire that would sink into his body with the
blood he drank.
And now he could hear three heartbeats, each one hammering with terror he could smell even amid the smoke,
sweeter all the time.
***
Cordelia inched her way up the stairs. She and Wesley had split up, which was not necessarily the safest way to go,
but would probably let them find Kate quicker. Their old
office building wasn't huge, but it covered more ground than Cordelia
had ever realized before.
Wesley, who had better aim than she ever would, had taken the gun. This left Cordelia with a big duffle bag of
stakes and handcuffs, which seemed to be clacking and clanking
against each other louder every second. She peered inside for a
moment to see what was rolling around -- then took up a tranquilizer gun
cartridge, complete with pointed dart.
Oh, shit, she thought. Is Wesley's gun even loaded? Even as she thought this, she realized that it was; she'd
watched him load it herself. But in her present panic, she
couldn't remember if he'd carried extra ammunition with him.
Not like it matters, she consoled herself as she hugged the bag tightly against her body. He's only gonna get one
shot as it is.
She had only the stakes to protect herself. She knew she might fail to stake him in the one try she'd get, a prospect
that terrified her only slightly more than the thought of
succeeding. Because however much she didn't want to die, she knew she wasn't
ready to see Angel turning to dust at her hands. But she'd
do it if she had to; she owed it to herself, and to Angel.
Cordelia thought, I don't know what else I'm feeling, Angel, but at least, as your friend, I love you. Enough to keep
my promise. Enough to kill you.
***
Wesley kept moving through the first floor, crouching low, going stealthily, he hoped. His world seemed to have
narrowed to the sights of the tranquilizer gun and the feel of
his finger on the trigger.
He knew he was a failure at a lot of things, but dammit, he could shoot. And maybe, this once, that's all that was
needed. That one good thing was going to outweigh all the
rest, save Cordelia, save Kate, maybe even save Angel himself.
The floorboards creaked, and Wesley tensed. A slight shifting, clothes against clothes, confirmed his suspicion.
Yes, that was close. The next room. He pushed the door
open with his shoulder, ignoring the sound -- as best to bring
his target closer now, and oh, yes, closer, footsteps approaching --
Wesley spun around the corner and brought his gun even with -- Kate's.
She was standing in a mirror of his own position, but with both her hands wrapped around a handgun. "What the
hell are you doing here?" she said, her voice almost a growl.
"I -- I --" Good God, what was he going to tell her again? He straightened up, tried to look relaxed. "I
might ask you the same question. Don't you need a warrant or
something?"
"Take this as your first lesson in American criminal justice,"
Kate said dryly. "Major explosions usually
constitute probable cause. Can't help but notice you've got a gun.
That thing licensed?"
"It's a tranquilizer gun," Wesley hastily explained, his voice sounding unnaturally loud. If Angelus were in the
building, he had to have heard them by now.
"So why are you trying to knock me out?"
"Oh, no, no. You're not -- I mean, I was looking for someone else. Something else."
Kate frowned and tightened her grip on her gun. "That would be
what?"
Wesley looked at her for a long moment. "Officer Lockley, do you trust me?"
"I don't have a real good track record with that question,"
Kate said. "But I'll hear you out."
Above them, Wesley heard another set of footsteps -- too heavy to be Cordelia's. He saw Kate's eyes flicker upwards,
following the sound. "I need you to search this
building. If you see anyone or anything that isn't me or Cordelia, and I
mean anyone, I want you to fire until you've immobilized -- what you
saw. And then stop. Just stop. Don't do anything else. Will you
promise to do that, and only that?"
"Where's Angel?" Kate said slowly.
Wesley found he couldn't answer. He turned on his heel and headed toward the stairs.
She'd cooperate or she wouldn't. Either way, he'd done his duty; Kate had been warned.
***
"Son of a bitch," Kate muttered, getting her back against the
most- intact wall she could find. Something was going
on here, something that had that meek little Englishman
ready to fight, something that involved Angel in a very real, very bad
way.
From now on, she thought, I am trusting my instincts.
She heard something fall -- jump? -- in the next hallway, and whirled toward the noise.
***
Cordelia could hear voices, just voices, not words. And that shivery little sound -- almost out of earshot -- made her
shake all the way through. Who the hell was talking? Had
Wesley found Kate? Had Angelus found her? What was going on? She wanted
to call out, knew it was the worst thing she could possibly do.
When she hadn't been as deep within the building, the city lights had provided some illumination; enough spaces had
been taken out of the walls to let in enough of the
streetlamps' glow to see by. But now it was almost pitch dark, and this idea was
seeming dumber by the second.
She slid halfway behind a support beam and tried to catch her breath. She was freaking out now, pure and simple, and
she wasn't any good to anyone freaking out. So she would just go
back and find Wesley, and they'd stick together from now on.
She'd go as soon as she could be sure she wouldn't start screaming.
***
Angelus grinned. How often did you get an opportunity like this? The opportunity to feast on this much terror, this
much disappointed hope, all in the same moment?
Not often enough.
He dropped lightly from the rafters, only a few feet in front of his victim.
"Miss me?" Angelus said, smiling at the startled figure of
Wesley Wyndham-Pryce.
Wesley fired -- at the same instant that one of the charred floorboards beneath his feet gave way. He
stumbled, and Angelus didn't even have to duck. His one shot
had been wasted.
"You did miss me," Angelus said. He stepped closer even as
Wesley struggled to pry himself loose from the broken
boards. "Why am I not surprised?"
Wesley got himself free one instant too late; Angelus' hands twisted around his coat lapels and pulled him close,
bringing them face to face. "This was your big night, Wes.
Your night to prove you could actually do something. And see how much
you've accomplished. I'm proud of you, son."
On the word "son," Angelus flung Wesley across the room,
delighting in the stifled cry of pain he heard as Wesley's
body hit the floor. "You could't just let it go,
could you? Couldn't just let me have my fun. I think by now it's obvious
that you don't know who you're dealing with. Maybe it's time I
taught you."
"We know exactly who we're dealing with."
Angelus turned around to see Cordelia in the corner, shaking violently but standing her ground. "If you
knew who you were dealing with, Cordy, you wouldn't have come out
of your little hidey-hole. I was kind of looking forward to prying you
out myself."
"Cordelia!" Wesley gasped, obviously breathless from his tumble
to the ground. "For God's sake, run --"
"Could be fun," Angelus said with a shrug, wondering idly if
her human eyes could see his smile in the darkness.
"Haven't you wanted me to chase you, Cordy? Get my hands on
you, pull you close?"
"We know exactly who we're dealing with," Cordelia repeated,
her voice a little stronger. "The only one who
doesn't know is Angel."
"What are you on about?" Angelus said.
"You've got him fooled," Cordelia said. "The only reason
we went through all this is because he's so scared of
you. Of how strong you are, of how weak he thinks he is. He said
-- he said he was your captive."
Angelus watched as she actually stepped forward, staring him down; however dark it was to her, he knew now that she
could see his eyes. "But the thing is, anytime
both of you are in that body -- you're never the one in control. The only
way you can take over is when he gets thrown out by that curse or
this stupid hypnotism thing. He's the strong one. And you? You're the
captive."
"You'll lose your throat for that," Angelus snarled, leaping
forward to grab Cordelia in his arms. She cried out as
his hands closed over her shoulders and he pulled her roughly
against him. "But not until I've made you scream --"
And that was when he felt it -- a tiny little jab in his side. He glanced down, saw Cordelia's fist jammed against
his ribs -- and saw her pull it away, open up her fingers to
reveal a tranquilizer dart.
"Bitch," he growled, shoving her down to the ground so hard her
body went limp. Damn her to hell; yeah, he could do
it, he could still take her. Angelus lowered himself over
her, brought his fangs to her throat -- as the butt of the tranquilizer
gun slammed into the side of his face.
"Get away from her," Wesley said, holding the gun in one hand
and his side in the other. And Angelus could think of a
million things to say that would make that guy crumple right
over -- both of him -- all three --
And unconsciousness swam up to swallow him.
***
Kate took the stairs three at a time and sprang into the room to see - - Wesley, Cordelia and Angel, the latter two
lying on the floor, the former looking as though he might topple
over to join them any second. "What the hell is going on?" she said.
"Officer Lockley," Wesley said, with a sense of wonder as
though he'd never really seen her before. Then he shook his
head and repeated, "Officer Lockley. You're -- you're just in
time."
"In time for what?"
"Owwww," Cordelia groaned from her place on the floor. "My
head hurts. Oh, wait, that means I'm alive. Yay for
pain."
"Cordelia, I was just about to tell Officer Lockely about the -- Wulxey demon -- that attacked all three of
us."
"Whatsy demon?"
"Exactly," Wesley said.
Kate glared at him, then at the prone figure of Angel on the floor. "You were chasing a demon?"
"Yes. Precisely. We had reason to believe it would, ah, seek out our former headquarters. Revenge. We'd foiled its
plans before, you see."
"Revenge," Kate repeated.
"Yeah," Cordelia said, sounding much more confident than she
had a moment ago, although she made no effort to sit
up. "Yeah. He was -- real bitter."
"It just jumped all three of us. Afraid I missed my shot,"
Wesley said. "Knocked Cordelia out for a moment
and, ah, appears to have knocked Angel out rather soundly."
"So where is it?" Kate said, glancing around the room.
After a moment, Wesley said, "Went out the window, I think. I
confess I was so worried about Cordelia and Angel that I
-- lost sight of it for a moment."
"What does it look like?" Kate said, heading for the window,
gun still at the ready.
"It, ah -- it takes on the appearance of someone you trust,"
Wesley said in a rush, as if pleased to be telling her
this. "It can look like anyone. Anything. Very tricky, the
Wuxley."
"Whatsy," Cordelia said.
"Exactly," Wesley replied.
Kate looked at the street below. In the predawn hush, all she could see was the homeless woman from earlier, tiredly
trudging toward another corner, another street. "I
think it got away."
"Well, darn," Cordelia said.
"Don't fret, Cordelia!" Wesley said brightly. "We'll get
that demon another day. Officer, would you mind doing us a
favor?"
"Probably." When Wesley looked back at her, she sighed.
"What?"
"Take Cordelia to the hospital, make certain she's all right."
"I'm fine," Cordelia protested, propping up on one elbow for a moment, then sinking back to the floor. "On
the other hand, why turn down a chance for prescription
painkillers?"
"That's as close to the line of duty as I've gotten in a while, so, okay. What about your boss?" Kate gestured
toward Angel, still motionless on the floor.
Wesley quietly said, "Leave him to me."
Kate holstered her weapon and moved to Cordelia's side. As she helped the younger woman to her feet, she kept her eyes
on Wesley. "I'm not stupid. I know you're not telling me
everything."
"Forgive me, Officer, but I very much had the impression there were things you didn't want to know."
Kate raised an eyebrow at that. "Fair enough."
But, even as she guided Cordelia to the stairs, her eyes were hard.
***
Chapter
7
"He's coming around."
"If he isn't fully conscious --"
"Hearing's the first sense to return." A chime sounded twice.
Angel opened his eyes, and wakefulness and light and
something far deeper flooded into him all at once. Blinking,
he looked up into the two faces above him -- Wesley's pale one and
Father Augustine's dark one - - and felt an all-too-familiar moment of
confusion. Where was he? Cordelia's living room -- strange, he
wasn't supposed to be there. Oh, the exorcism; were they done?
And memory came rushing in. And then shame. Angel shut his eyes again. "Oh, God."
"Angel?" Wesley asked. "How do you feel?"
For a long moment, Angel could not reply, could not even open his eyes to look at his friend. "How's Cordelia?"
he finally managed.
"She's all right," Wesley said gently. "Concussion, muscle
strain in her back and, she says, one particularly nasty
bruise. It's in an area she won't show me."
"And you?"
"I'm fine. Bruised my ribs again. That's all," Wesley said.
"Please don't worry."
"Worry," Angel said, his voice cracking on the word. "That
doesn't begin to describe it."
"Angel," Father Augustine said, "I realize that this is a
difficult moment for you, but I must ask: do you wish to
attempt the exorcism again? Because if you do, the sooner we
try it --"
"No," Angel said. "It's not worth the risk."
After a pause, Father Augustine quietly said, "I agree. The demon within you spoke truth, Angel. It is in its
rightful place. To attempt to remove it was --"
"Insane?" Angel asked, opening his eyes to accept the priest's condemnation.
Instead he saw Father Augustine shake his head slowly. "Courageous,
I would say. But perhaps futile. And not worth
risking innocent lives."
"Thank you for trying, Father," Wesley said.
Father Augustine shook his head slightly. "No need. I do my duty. If you need me again, do not hesitate to call."
As the priest bustled out, Angel slowly turned his head to look at Wesley, who was standing next to the couch,
looking down at him with an unreadable expression. Finally, Angel
said, "I don't know what to do besides ask you to forgive me."
"That's all you need to do," Wesley said. "Angel, listen
to me: it's all right. Really. We knew what we were getting
into."
Angel shook his head. "You told me I shouldn't do this. I did it anyway. And whatever you signed up for didn't
include almost getting killed."
"After seeing Angelus again, I can tell you that I can't blame you for wanting to be rid of him once and for
all."
"Him," Angel repeated quietly. "Where's Cordelia?"
"Asleep in her room," Wesley said, gesturing toward her closed door. "The doctor wanted her in bed. Of
course, we've got to wake her every four hours to make certain her head is all
right." He knelt beside the sofa and held out a small key.
"Here. Let me get those cuffs off."
Angel allowed himself to be unshackled, looked at the cracked skin on his wrists as they were freed from their steel.
"Is Kate --"
"Unharmed and unknowing," Wesley said. "Though I believe
her suspicions have been heightened, if such a thing
were possible."
"Great," Angel sighed. He sat up slowly and looked over at
Wesley again. This time he was able to take in Wesley's
pallor, the shaded expression in his eyes. "You need
some rest," Angel said.
"Wouldn't mind that at all," Wesley said. "The sleeping
bag is already out, actually. So if you wouldn't mind
waking Cordelia in two hours -- she said she wanted to speak to
you as soon as possible --"
"Wes, take the couch," Angel said quickly.
"No, no," Wesley said. "Not my turn." He paused
before adding, "You don't have anything to make up to me."
Angel sighed and put his forehead in his hand. "Wes --"
"If you did have anything to make up to me," Wesley said, in a
odd, rushed voice, "it would be because those
things he said were real. And we both know that they weren't. And
besides, it wasn't even you. And so there's no need to discuss any of
it any further, is there?"
When Angel looked up again, Wesley was trying to smile. The attempt wasn't working that well, but in that moment it
struck Angel as exceptionally brave. He could only reply,
"No, I guess not."
"All right, then," Wesley said, his relief evident. As he
stretched out on the sleeping bag, he genuinely seemed to
relax; Angel watched him quickly drift into an exhausted, and
hopefully dreamless, sleep.
Two hours of fitful napping and sinking dread later, Angel stood beside Cordelia's bed. She was splayed out on her
back, long hair across the pillow, looking not unlike the
figure he had so roughly shoved to the ground only hours ago. He
reached out to touch her shoulder and gently shake her awake, but
stopped when he saw the bruises on her arms -- the shadow images
of his hands.
Angel took his hand away and whispered, "Cordelia?"
She stirred immediately, opening her eyes wide. "Angel. You're
back."
"If that's what you'd call it," Angel said. "How do you
feel?"
"Good," Cordelia said, slowly propping herself up on one elbow.
"The vision does not blur; the head does not hurt
more. So I'm good. In a couple minutes, I have to walk around
some. Gonna help with that?"
Angel looked down for a moment, then knelt by the side of the bed. "Cordelia, I'm so sorry."
"It's okay," she said, reassuring him as quickly as Wesley had.
"I meant what I said to that -- that -- bully. He
can say what he wants, do what he wants, but he's the weak one,
Angel. Don't forget that."
There isn't any he, Cordelia. There's only me. That's what you don't want to understand.
That was what Angel wanted to say. But the need in her eyes kept him silent. She needed to believe that Angelus was
some prisoner in a cage, who came out to rattle the bars now
and again. He knew, by now, that she could never accept that the
demon was much or more a part of him than his soul. Wesley, who had every
reason to know better, persisted in the belief too -- despite
all his education, all his evidence. And Angel needed to let them
believe what they wanted to believe, because that was the price of
his acceptance here -- his home, his friends, everything that made
his existence worthwhile. No matter how many times he undermined their
friendship, it could always be rebuilt on the foundation of this one,
simple pretense.
Angel would have thought that you could not build happiness upon a lie. But, as he nodded at her and saw her
trusting face spread into a genuine smile, he decided he had been wrong about
that.
"You were terrific," Angel said. "That took guts, luring
me close like that."
"Many unkind and true things have been said about me over the
years," Cordelia sighed, "but never that I lacked
nerve."
"True and true," Angel said. "Can I do something for you?
Do you need -- breakfast? Juice? The July Vogue?"
"Nah," she said. "I still have some serious catching up to
do with the sleep. We'll take our stroll, and then it's
back to REMsville for me."
Angel returned her smile as he reached up to brush a bit of hair from her face. And that moment -- the intimacy of it,
the nearness of their bodies, their faces, here in her
bedroom -- reminded him that not everything could be put away so
easily. "We ought to talk about what I said -- what he said about the two
of us."
Cordelia visibly flinched, but she did not hesitate before she answered, "I know nothing's ever gonna
happen with you and me. I always knew that. So it's not like I had
my hopes up or something."
"No, it can't ever happen," Angel said. "That's my
misfortune. It shouldn't be yours."
Cordelia sighed heavily and said, "I HATE Gypsies." Her voice
was so sincere that Angel had to laugh for a moment. She
brightened at the sound and smiled at him with a touch of
her old playfulness. "I mean, think about it. I'd make you so happy so
fast we wouldn't even have time to blink before your soul was outta
there."
Before he could talk himself out of it, Angel leaned forward and quickly kissed her forehead. "I don't doubt
it."
***
"Are you any closer to your answers?"
Angel gratefully looked away from the cross at the front of the church to see the nun sitting placidly beside
him. "How do you know I'm looking for answers?"
"Everyone is," she said. "And I would imagine that you
have more questions than most."
They sat side by side for a while longer as Angel stared the cross down once more. How long had it taken him to
acquire the maturity, the courage to do this? A century? More
like two --
He'd left Cordelia and Wesley at the apartment. Cordelia was staying put in bed, although she had recovered
sufficiently to flip through her Vogue and gripe about missing her commercial
audition that afternoon. Wesley had roused enough to
cook dinner for her; in the process, he had been inspired to
rearrange a few things in the kitchen and had awakened Dennis' ire.
After some pots had been thrown around, they had all three agreed that
the time to divert their money toward separate apartments had come.
"Dennis really needs his space," Cordelia had said from behind her bed tray, so
easily that Angel knew, if it were up to her, the two of
them might have camped on her floor forever.
But those days were ending. Angel told himself to think little of it. He had long ago given up believing that anything
was permanent. Besides, he needed a little space of his
own.
Maybe that explained why he'd ducked out of the house tonight. But he was not sure why he had come here, unless it was
to challenge himself this one last way. To prove he had at
least this much control, and that he could keep staring up at that
cross.
"No matter what I've done, what I try to do, it still turns me
away," Angel said. "What answer should I take from
that?"
"Does the cross turn you away?" the nun said. "Or is it
something within you that turns away?"
"It doesn't seem to make much difference," Angel said.
"And I know that you spoke the truth before. This is the
symbol of God's love. And this love that's supposed to claim
the whole world -- there's no place in it for me."
"God's love comes to us in many forms," the nun said. "And
it comes to everyone. The challenge is to recognize
it."
"I don't know about that," Angel said, turning away from the
cross at last. He pulled his coat around him as he rose to
go. "God understands what I am."
End.
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