This is the second in our mother/daughter collaboration.





An Angel in New York



by Pat and Michelle Weakley





I

Christmas vacation





Every city has its own energy, Angel reflected as the hotel shuttle crept its way through the New York traffic. Just like people. In front, just behind the driver sat Gunn. Gunn would've preferred to have sat in front, shot gun, he called it, but the driver had quickly nixed that. "Nobody in the front seat," he had growled when Gunn had pulled the passenger door open. Gunn had never been in New York and his uneasiness at being in a strange city radiated from him in nearly palpable waves.

Behind Gunn were Cordy and Fred, chattering away excitedly as they passed by brightly lit stores filled with glamorously dressed manikins and expensive gifts. Remembering the days when she used to regularly visit New York with her once-wealthy family, Cordy's happy voice filled the air with the glories of shopping, shopping and more shopping.

Lastly was Connor, sitting beside him. Connor was quiet. In his teenage manner, he hadn't said a word. He was hunter alert, but it was obvious that the young man was awestruck by the tall buildings that hemmed them in from all sides.

While LA had more than its share of tall buildings it was very different from New York. Even at night, the only time Angel really ever saw LA, the city seemed to be dominated by the sun. There were the nearby beaches, the palm trees and the mild weather, even in the middle of winter. People might be busy, rushing and there was always the traffic, but there was a different tenor. In sprawling LA, like most of sunny Southern California, there was a certain live and let live attitude, occasionally defiant, but accepting of differences; a kind of let it all hang out attitude where anger quickly dissipates like a rainstorm that blows in from the sea, dumps its load and then is quickly gone.

New York, with its sky crowding buildings, is a canyon of humanity. Angry voices, brash and grating, noisy honking horns, impatience and an in your face attitude dominates. On the sidewalks people walk nearly shoulder to shoulder, yet are fiercely protective of their private space. Crowding the street from sidewalk to sidewalk, breathing great plumes of grey clouds into the cold air, cars, taxis and buses slowly creep impatiently along past cars and trucks that are double and triple parked. Even at night everyone has somewhere to go and is in a hurry to get there.



Angel was starting to have second thoughts about going to New York, but Cordelia had insisted. An old friend of her family's had invited them to stay in her New York apartment while she was away in Spain. Angel had been reluctant, so had Gunn, but Cordy and a thrilled Fred had overruled every one of their objections. Besides after everything that had happened they all needed a break, especially Cordelia. Also it wouldn't hurt to show Connor a bit more of the world, although Fred's suggestion about having a white Christmas didn't really apply to New York. Better to have gone off to Vermont or somewhere else in New England for the joys of a winter wonderland.

However the reservations had been made and the bags had been packed with the girls bubbling over with excitement and the men groaning under the weight of the suitcases. Even occasionally Connor's reserve would crack enough to show a brief grin, although Angel wasn't sure whether it was the anticipation of a trip or the girls who had brought it on.

Sneaking a quick look at Connor who still had eyes only for the bright neon of Times Square outside the shuttle's window, Angel could barely hide his own grin at the memory of the flight out of LA. It wasn't until the first plane had flown in low over them near the airport that he had remembered that Connor was still new to this world. Reacting to the ground-shaking blast of the jet engines close overhead, Connor had been ready to leap out of the convertible to do battle with the silver-white beast that had blindingly lit up the night sky.

Connor had never been close to a plane, never mind riding one. Younger, he might have been filled with questions that needed to be asked and answered. As a teenager, he could only pretend that there was nothing that could faze him. Angel had made sure that he had sat next to Connor on the plane, not so much as to reassure the young man, but to make sure he didn't try to bolt out of the plane while it was in midair. Connor had reacted well to the take off, although his hands had gripped the armrests tight enough to put dents in them. The few air pockets they had hit occasionally paled Connor's already fair complexion, but then even Gunn's mocha complexion seemed to get a few shades lighter whenever the plane unexpectedly dipped and rose like a ship on the sea. It was only after Gunn's skin started assuming a green shade worthy of Loren's that Angel had remembered that this was the first time for him as well.

"There it is!" Cordy squealed, pointing a building that was shouldered between two much newer and taller buildings. It was very old, at least 100 to 150 years old with great grey gargoyles guarding its corners and elaborate vines and leaves decorating its brightly lit windows. At the door a pair of massive Atlas' held up on their shoulders a lintel made to look like a vine shrouded log.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Fred enthused to Gunn.

Gunn looked at the building, frowned his opinion, then said, "Yeah."

"It's very historical," Cordelia said as she led them off the shuttle. "The builder was very famous. They say he died very mysteriously," she explained.

"That's all we need," Gunn groused under his breath to Angel as they started pulling all the luggage off the shuttle. He glared up at the building. "If you ask me, there wasn't anything mysterious about his death. He probably died of embarrassment."

"I like mysterious," Connor said, "You think there might be ghosts or demons around?" he asked. "Do you think there are vampires in New York?"

"Even if there are," Cordelia answered primly, "You're not going out to hunt them." Then she called to the green-uniformed doorman who was muscling their mountain of baggage through the wide double doors, "Now you be careful with that," she ordered

Connor frowned, disappointed. "We're here to relax," she said firmly as she turned back to him. "We're going to pretend we're normal people. No demon hunting on this trip."

Connor looked at Angel meaningfully, "Normal?" he echoed.

"Well..." Cordelia answered. Then she smiled brightly, "There's a lot of things we can do after the sun goes down. New York's fascinating at night, you know. In fact I think even more so. New York is famous for its night life."

Angel shook his head ruefully at Cordelia's reply. "Just because I can't go out during the day, doesn't mean that the rest of you can't," he said.

The shuttle driver looked curiously at Angel as he handed him several dollars as a tip. Angel tried to smile charmingly. "I have an allergy to the sun. I burn very badly," he explained, wondering what the driver thought about their talk about demons.

Unimpressed, the driver shrugged, then counted the bills Angel handed him. From the look on his face Angel gathered that he was more concerned about the size of the tip then about demon hunters, vampires and ghosts. Angel thumbed through the remaining bills in his wallet. This going to be an expensive trip.

Gunn's low whistle of appreciation caught his attention. "Will you look at that," Gunn said as a large low slung vehicle dressed in taxi yellow and black pulled up to the curb. The light on its roof said OFF DUTY.

"I think it's an Auburn Cord," Angel said, "Probably made around the mid-30's."

"Sweet..." Gunn breathed.

The taxi driver, a stout man with a bull dog face, tipped his hat at Gunn and Angel then quickly strode toward the front door through which Cordelia had already herded Fred and Connor. Just a he approached the doors, a man and a woman, obviously his fares, stepped out.

Much like the taxi they could have stepped out of a different era. Yet they seemed to be timeless. The woman could have been in her late 50's or even older. Her face was that of a beauty that had not aged, but had instead defeated time. She was stylishly dressed for the cold New York night in a thick rich brown fur coat that reached just below her knees, revealing long legs that were as slim and shapely as a young girl's. Her snow-white hair was cut in a short bob upon which jauntily perched a small brown hat graced by a long curving pheasant's feather.

If the woman was arresting for her beauty, the man was equally distinctive for the aura of command that surrounded him. He was tall, dressed in a heavy black overcoat trimmed with a collar of sleek fur. Steel-grey hair was covered by a matching black hat. His face was not classically handsome, his nose was too beaked and his eyes were hooded, hiding thoughts that none could divine.

Those eyes briefly caught Angel's. During those few seconds the man's eyes seemed to flicker from mild blue to metallic green, leaving Angel feeling as if he had been weighed, judged and then filed away for later consideration. Tool? Ally? More? Then as quickly as it happened the contact was broken. Angel stared as the couple gathered themselves into the taxi.

Beside him Gunn gave an involuntary shudder. "Weird...," Gunn muttered under his breath.

"You felt it too?" Angel asked.

"Yeah," Gunn replied. "I hope Cordy isn't going to be disappointed."

"Why?"

"I dunno. I just got me a bad feeling that this little vacation is going to be anything but normal."

Angel shook his head, then slapped Gunn on the back with a heartiness he didn't feel. "C'mon. You're just nervous from being in a strange place. It was a long flight. Things'll look different in the morning." He looked at the taxi as it disappeared into the traffic. Oddly enough it seemed to find impossible holes through the thick traffic, moving quickly and smoothly while every other vehicle stood at a standstill in the gridlock that choked the city. "I'm sure we'll never see them again."



The woman looked back at the two men still standing at the curb. "Lamont, who were those two men?"

"I don't know who the black man is, Margo," Lamont answered, "but the other man... I have heard of that one before. Great power and happenings follow him. I fear it begins."

"What begins?" Margo asked.

Lamont's face grew grim as his eyes turned green and his features changed subtly into those of another. "Evil lurks not only in the hearts of men," he said barely above a whisper as a soft laugh, slipped through his lips. It chilled even Margo's and taxi driver's blood. The hunter, the Shadow, had caught the first tantalizing scent of trouble.