For over two weeks, Illyria remained at the Hyperion hotel. Connor remained true to his word and visited frequently – in fact, he made it a point of using the Hyperion as a place to continue his studies. The building was quiet, and certainly his companion was not inclined towards meaningless banter... although the young man learned in fairly short order to set aside a block of time if he decided to "wind her up" – his words – with a question or comment. Illyria, for her part, spent her time meditating... or reading.
At first Connor had been excessively concerned about entertaining the demoness, as if he did not she might relieve her boredom through some manner of mayhem. She quickly put a stop to this, stating in no uncertain terms her opinion of human television, human games, and the human need to be distracted from anything and everything. She was older than his species; she had watched empires rise and fall. She was capable of getting through an afternoon in his absence without some form of misbehavior.
He hadn't quite believed her, but at least stopped blatantly pestering her. Instead what he did was bring her a book, under the pretense of a gift. It was a writing by Nietzsche, the human philosopher Connor had quoted the night he had met her at the hotel. He had presented the book with the comment that Illyria and Nietzsche "would get along great", which she had not understood.
To her own surprise, she read the book cover to cover, and pronounced Nietzsche uncommonly intelligent... for a human. Connor had been amused, and then the next day had given her a copy of Sun Tzu's Art of War. Illyria was pleased to discover that she could read any language with which the shell had been familiar; for once, latent memories of Winifred Burkle were working with her, rather than against her.
In short order, she was reading every book she could get her hands on in the hotel. Wesley had left behind some simple texts on demonology, which she found very useful, giving her lethal information for over a hundred types of demon which she had not yet encountered. Angel had a history text, which detailed a large war the humans had waged just a few generations before. Cordelia's desk contained a stack of Cosmo magazines. Illyria ignored those.
The ancient one couldn't explain her own behavior. The writings of the humans were puerile, sometimes annoying, frequently meaningless. Yet the task of reading helped focus her aspects, bringing respite from the roiling chaos which had set into her mind. Helped distract her from the realization that she was now effectively alone, weakened, living isolated in a single human dwelling on a single world in a single plane. Helped her forget that as far as the world was concerned, she was now irrelevant.
Connor was amused by how quickly she tore through the available literature once he got her started. When she'd depleted what the Hyperion had to offer, he surprised her in return with an unexpected offer: to accompany him to the library.
He couched the offer well; an offhand invitation that she come along while he did his own research for a paper. Illyria's strategic mind was not fooled – this was a test, an opportunity for him to observe how she would behave when presented to the general populace. She found that she was pleased by the notion. The boy held promise... with proper nurturing, he could grow to possess subtly and cunning to match his father.
She accepted without hesitation, and Connor had begun to speculate on means of hiding her demonic nature, since the human population was so sensitive and nervous. Without a word, she had shifted to her Burkle appearance in front of him.
Connor had looked surprised, and for a moment, upset. Illyria had feared she'd made a mistake, remembering words spoken by both Wesley and Spike. After a pause, though, Connor had recovered, merely shrugging and commenting, "Yeah... that'll work."
And now they were on their way, an enhanced human and an ancient demon walking the streets of Los Angeles to visit the library. Illyria did not possess the emotional capacity to see the humour of the situation, but she could recognize that it certainly wasn't something the average person would expect.
The Old One would not allow herself to stare and gawk at the city like a tourist. But her eyes snapped back and forth as she walked beside Connor, trying to take in everything. She'd not really had the opportunity to see the city in daylight before; Wesley had never offered to take her sightseeing, and the half-breeds were incapable of going out during the daylight. So this trip was the first opportunity Illyria had to see the human city in full light.
The architecture was not beautiful. Indeed, the humans had far too great a fondness for steel and concrete, and too little appreciation for stone and wood and green. The noise was raucous, as the din of the city blended together into a river of sound. And, as always, the smells offended the demoness tremendously; the scents of cars, sewage, and humanity assailing her sharp senses.
Yet what Illyria could not deny was being moderately impressed that the humans had created all this themselves. The majority had no magical skills to speak of. There were no obvious divine influences, beyond those that attempted to stalemate Wolfram and Hart and the others like them. No, all that she saw, ugly and small and noisy though it was, had been wrought by mortal hands and minds.
Even as she walked beside Connor down the cracked concrete sidewalk, observing the city around her, part of her mind wondered about the other gods and demons, greater and lesser, which had gained some temporary position over this world. Were their days numbered as well? Would they be defeated, not by another god, but by a planet full of mortals who simply didn't care about them anymore? Thanks to Angel, the humans were actively resisting the machinations of the Wolf, Ram, and Hart... whether they realized it or not. Would those beings soon find themselves taking up residence in the Deeper Well?
Such weighty thoughts occupied some of her aspects during the entire length of the walk. It was a fairly long journey, though neither Illyria nor Connor complained. The open space and sunlight was pleasing after so many days inside the Hyperion. Connor had offered to summon a taxi, but she had insisted on the walk, with a side comment about not wishing to be seen in one of the ugly, smelly, bright-yellow vehicles. It had also neatly side-stepped admitting that she found the idea of being trapped within the small metal boxes suffocating.
Soon, though, Connor was leading her up some stone steps in front of a fairly nondescript building, which was pleasantly surrounded by a modest amount of grass and painstakingly-maintained gardens. He politely held the door for her as they entered, a custom she found rather foolish, but the fallen goddess was quite willing to accept any deference she could get. Together, they walked up the short but wide concrete steps on the other side, into the main area of the library.
The building itself was relatively new, built using more modern techniques of concrete and stainless steel. Broad windows dominated the walls, allowing in as much natural light as possible, but was kept from harming the books overmuch by soft white drapes. Thin gray carpet covered the floors to muffle sound, and broad white tables were arranged around the room next to the windows. The center area was dominated by racks and racks of nothing but books, stacked neatly in order upon beige metal shelves.
There were humans here, but their behavior was so comparatively subdued that Illyria found it easy to ignore their presence. An aged man sat in a soft, plush chair in the corner, a heavy volume supported on his crossed leg, his fingers rubbing his neatly trimmed gray beard as he studied. A younger male sat at a table, his balding head bent over a text, one hand marking his place amongst the words while the other scribbled notes into a notebook A couple, barely Connor's age, sat at a table in an isolated corner, ignoring their own reading in favour of stealing kisses from each other when they thought no one was observing them. Other beings walked softly among the books, quietly seeking titles within the vast repository.
For no reason Illyria could name, a gentle thrill ran through her, and then a sense of quietude she had not experienced within a time she could immediately remember. Here was a place where silence and contemplation held sway – and for a moment, it did not matter to her that it belonged to lowly humans.
Had she always possessed this inclination? Illyria didn't know – the primordium was not conducive to quiet time. But being in this place helped calm the endless churning of her aspects, brought a brief interruption to the foreign emotions which more and more frequently bubbled to the surface of her rational mind. For a moment, the ancient demon knew peace.
Connor seemed to pick up on her contentment, speaking softly in her ear from beside her. "I have to visit the biology and medical sciences section, they're downstairs. The political science and history sections are just over there." He pointed out the sections as he named them. "There aren't many rules here – just that we try to be quiet, books need to be checked out before we can take them out of the building, and books marked 'reference' aren't allowed to leave at all."
It was on the tip of her tongue to comment that only humans made noise for the sake of noise, but for once, she resisted. "I understand."
Connor smiled sideways at her. "You can borrow on my card, just give me the books before we leave. Don't get too crazy – the books have to be returned in two weeks, and my pack isn't that big. Otherwise," he gestured grandly at the huge room, "enjoy!"
Connor patted her on the shoulder as he walked off toward the stairs which lay just behind the checkout desk. Since he was doing her a service, she permitted him the contact without causing him harm. Quickly, he was forgotten, as she made her way over to the shelves.
Illyria spent nearly an hour browsing amongst the books, letting her feet and eyes take her wherever they will. Restricting her selections was proving to be difficult; she was continually replacing books in her current stack with new titles she had decided she preferred. The idea that she would be in any way limited was irritating, but neither was she willing to embarrass herself by looking overeager.
She was in the process of reviewing a new possibility when, out of the corner of her perception, she glimpsed a young girl, slender in body, with long brown hair in a braid. Illyria's head snapped about, but the figure was already disappearing behind one of the shelves. Jamming the book she was examining under her arm with the rest, the demoness dashed off in pursuit. She rounded the corner just in time to see the girl disappear around another shelf. She followed quickly, just barely restraining herself from running. She thought she heard a familiar giggle, but was unsure.
The game of cat-and-mouse continued for several minutes, covering nearly the whole area of the upper floor of the library. The Old One was continually just a half-second too late in her chase, never seeing more than a glimpse of her target. She was relatively fortunate that the library was largely unoccupied, being approximately the time for the humans' traditional evening meal. As it was, Illyria plowed past one middle-aged man in the English Literature section, knocking his book from his hands an eliciting a curse as she rushed by.
Finally, she spotted a small form with brown hair standing near a smaller set of shelves close to the front of the library. She bolted forward, seizing a shoulder with her free hand and yanking the child about, none too gently, to face her.
She froze in surprise as a small boy stared up at her, face white with fear. His hair was the right colour, but was too young, and otherwise looked not at all like the girl she sought. Illyria's head jerked back and forth, eyes wide, seeking her true quarry.
Beneath her hand, the boy recovered his wits, and began jerking about in her grasp. "Hey! Leggo!"
Her eyes snapped back to him, as if only just remembering she held him there. She let go – luckily she had not gripped too hard, else she would have likely crushed the boy's shoulder... he would probably gain some bruises from her fingers. Fortunately, the boy was too afraid to make an issue; he scurried away swiftly, leaving the Illyria standing there seemingly in a daze, her aspects spinning as they attempted to determine what had just happened.
"Illyria!" A harsh call, just short of a shout, gained her primary attention.
Over by the stairs to the lower level, Connor stood with two other humans; a handsome, brown-haired man and a blonde woman, both roughly equivalent in age to Angel's son. All three stared at Illyria as if she'd gone mad – and for a moment, she wondered if she had. She stood straight, meeting their gaze, attempting to recover what she had left of her dignity. Her strut as she walked over to them was worthy of her time as god-king.
"There you are. I was looking for you," she said as way of cover as she approached the group.
"We can see that. Connor's taller, though," the blonde joked lightly. She was pretty, long-haired and sweet-faced, and clutched a notebook to her patchwork skirt and blouse. An aspect of Illyria suggested choking her with her own femur. She dismissed the notion, reluctantly.
Beside the girl, the young man smiled tolerantly and placed a hand at the small of her back. Like Connor, he was dressed in plain jeans, with an unbuttoned plaid shirt over a gray t-shirt. His own red pack was slung over one shoulder, already heavy with books.
Attempting to divert their focus, she addressed Connor again. "I have selected the books I wish to borrow. We may leave now."
"Oh," Connor looked surprised. "Uh... good." He leaned in, ostensibly to view her choices. "What was that about?" he questioned, sotto voce, a scowl in his voice, though not on his face.
"Mistaken identity," Illyria hissed, leaving no room for further questioning.
Connor glanced up, realizing they were under increasingly bemused scrutiny by his friends. "Uh, guys, this is Illyria, a friend from... um... Canada. Illyria, this is Theresa and Marc, friends of mine from school."
Marc stuck out his hand toward her. Recognizing the custom, she was careful to hide her distaste as she shook it in greeting. When Theresa did the same, the demoness instead hid a smirk as she briefly squeezed the proffered hand hard enough to make the girl wince.
Illyria realized that she would be expected to make some inane human small-talk. "You are Connor's classmates at medical school?"
"Well, Theresa is," Marc replied pleasantly. "I'm in the Arts program... comparative religion."
"If you need help finding God, Marc's your man!" Theresa giggled.
"Really?" Illyria said. Beside her, Connor coughed. "I will keep that in mind."
"Illyria's actually staying at the Hyperion for the moment," Connor interjected. "She's sort of... watching the place until Angel gets back."
"Oh! So it's okay with you if we come over tomorrow?" Theresa asked.
"'Come over'?"
"For pizza and study!" Theresa pretended to scowl dramatically at Connor. "Connor! You didn't ask?"
"Pizza, beer, and study," Marc corrected. "Let's not forget the important part."
Connor sighed. "It's okay. Right, Illyria?" He looked at her meaningfully, trying to convey a message with his eyebrows.
Annoyed, Illyria was tempted to say no, since the boy had unwittingly given her the power to do so. But then she'd have to justify why to three whining young humans. She might have to kill them. Then borrowing her library books would be even more of an inconvenience. She sighed mentally.
"I see no reason why it would not be... okay," Illyria replied slowly. "I trust you do not mind if I... observe." She gained some mild satisfaction at seeing Connor wince at that proviso.
"No problem at all," Marc replied. He winked at her. "We'll save a slice for you."
"Very well."
"Rock. Alright, we'll see you both tomorrow afternoon. Later!" Marc placed his hand on Theresa's back and together they headed past the checkout counter, toward the stairs leading out of the building.
As the pair moved off, Illyria watched Theresa until she was out of view down the stairs, making note of the glances the young woman would toss over her shoulder toward Connor, the sway of her walk, the flux of heat through her body. Then she turned her attention to Connor himself, who appeared to be unnecessarily checking the few books he held..
"You lust after her," Illyria pronounced. Connor nearly dropped his pack. "And she for you. I do not approve."
"I don't need dating advice from the Jurassic era, thank you," he hissed quietly. "And what do you care, anyway?"
"She is vapid and annoying. Your children with her would not have your strength nor your intelligence. You would be better served finding a mate more worthy."
"You know, there are so many things wrong with that statement, but I'm having problems getting upset because I think there was a compliment buried somewhere in there." He quietly closed his book and shoved it back under his arm. "First off, kids? Way, way, way down my list of priorities right now. Two: Theresa is a good person. Three: she and Marc are together. Four: again, why do you even care?"
Illyria frowned in annoyance. "I am concerned because I am concerned. It is an irritating tendency which I appear to have inherited from this vessel. Both Angel and Wesley placed great concern in your welfare. In their absence, I feel it... necessary... to act on their behalf."
Connor appeared surprised by her candor. After a moment he quirked a smile and an eyebrow at her. "Careful. You have a reputation as a megalomaniac to maintain."
She merely glared at him. Connor repressed a laugh as he picked up his book selections and led her over to the checkout desk, where a heavy, unsmiling woman who reeked strongly of cigarette smoke began scanning bar codes off the inside of each cover. Connor took the short stack of books Illyria had gathered and laid them out with his own, reading the titles as he did so.
"Why am I not shocked by these?" He commented wryly. "The Art of Political Warfare?" He looked over a book nearly three fingers thick, with a title that would take two breaths to speak aloud, which concentrated on the Second World War. "You don't go for the light stuff, do you?" His brow rose as he saw the final title, "Hilbert Operations in Quantum Physics?" He looked at her with surprise.
Illyria met the gaze uncomfortably. In truth, she didn't know why she had selected that particular title, other than it had interested her. Fortunately, Connor did not ask, instead adding the book with the rest when he realized the librarian was glaring at him through her small spectacles.
In short order, Connor had the books checked out and placed in his backpack. The books were heavy, but he slung the pack over one shoulder easily. Together, they left the library and began to walk to the Hyperion.
It was late; the sun was beginning to set. As they traveled, the demoness noted how some humans became more hurried, more desperate to finish their tasks and get home before true nightfall arrived.
On the way, Connor, professing hunger, making a stop at a hotdog stand. After refusing Connor's offer to try one, she watched patiently as he slathered his own meal in a variety of colourful sauces and pungent-smelling vegetables. The vendor, a portly dark-skinned man wearing an apron smeared with fresh stains, continued to throw pleasant, nearsighted smiles Illyria's way despite her utter lack of reaction. Here was one human who did not appear to have altered his life drastically in reaction to the discovery of the world's previously unnoticed inhabitants. She wondered what made him different – and how he would react if she changed to her true appearance in front of him.
There were no unoccupied benches nearby, so Connor gestured her toward a large planter nearby. It was pair of a matched pair which stretched out decoratively in front of a tall office building, its waist-high jade marble walls jutting out of the sterile concrete. The planter was filled with dark earth and tall, green plants, a pleasant distraction for Illyria from the harsh steel of the city, the cloying scents of car exhaust, and the steam from the hotdog cart. Connor dropped his pack casually next to the wall and hopped up to sit as he ate.
Illyria examined the plants while Connor ate his meal; the silence was almost companionable.
"I do not understand your behavior," she commented suddenly.
"How do you mean?" Connor replied between bites.
She fixed her gaze on the young man. "I have not hidden what I am from you. I have stated that I took this shell from Winifred Burkle. That I once wished to wage war upon your species. I have even admitted to you that in one time-thread I killed Angel. Yet you visit me. You bring me here, amongst the other humans, even introducing me to your friends. You have shown concern for me. Why?"
Connor finished his hotdog, chewing while he considered his answer. "You're all I have left of them."
"'Them'?"
"Dad and his team. The Angel Investigations family. Whatever. Family means a lot to me."
"So it is because I look like her." A bitter flavour crept unnoticed into her words.
"No, not really. Both my father and Wesley trusted you enough to include you in the team. Wesley took care of you before, didn't he?"
"Wesley did not do any of these things for me. He considered me a barely-contained threat. He agreed to guide me only because I wore the body of his dead lover. The majority of the time he could only tolerate my presence when fortified by toxic amounts of whiskey."
"Well, so far you haven't been a threat to me, and you certainly don't look like my ex-girlfriend. And I don't drink. Are you confused because I'm actually nice to you when I don't have to be?"
She paused. "Yes."
There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Together, they watched the people hurry by on the sidewalk; people in business suits, others in casual clothes; a beggar. The twilight waned; the air began to turn cool. The hotdog vendor began to pack up his cart, pouring the steaming water into the street where it could flow into the sewer, filling the air with the scent of boiled meat.
"It taints your memory of him, doesn't it?" Connor asked quietly.
"My memory is immutable. What do you mean?"
"Wesley was your connection to this world. You relied on him. And he was spinning toward despair and self-destruction. Everything you experienced with him was coloured by that. Now you're experiencing human life without that kind of misery hanging over you." Connor looked down as he wiped his hands on a napkin. "It's too bad you guys didn't have more time; too bad he didn't give you more of a chance."
"Wesley was an excellent guide, he served me well," she stated, rather more hotly than she intended.
"I'm sure of it. I didn't actually know him all that well – in any set of memories, really – but he came off as smart and tough. But he had problems, I know that."
Illyria's eyes scanned the sidewalk and the people it still contained, not looking up at Connor. She could not deny Connor's words, though for some reason she wished to. She heard him take a breath to say more, but she interrupted him. "I do not wish to continue this discussion. We should return to the Hyperion."
Connor nodded sadly, though she wasn't watching to see. He hopped down to the ground, and gathered up the backpack. Together, the two walked the rest of the distance to the Hyperion in silence. Both beings were more than capable of dealing with any threats which roamed the streets of L.A. - human or otherwise – so they traveled the streets without fear. Soon, they were walking through the courtyard to the hotel.
Not a word was exchanged between them during the entire trip, nor as Connor unlocked and entered the building, turning on the lights and going to the reception desk to unload Illyria's books. Illyria followed behind, reverting to her natural appearance the moment she entered the hotel.
Inside, her aspects spun and twisted as they had the entire trip home, warring until a majority emerged, a chorus of voices demanding the same thing. Ask him.
"He was very different that last day."
Connor looked up from where he was re-zipping his backpack. "What?"
She stood in the center of the room, staring at the couch. "After Angel laid out his plans, Wesley was different. He was... civil... to me. He did not indulge himself in a 'perfect day' as Angel had suggested, but neither did he engage in poisoning himself, and the stench of grief did not hang so strongly about him. He was... resolute. He told me he did not intend to die, but..." She stopped, unable to explain her thoughts.
She rounded suddenly on Connor, voice sharp. "You are human... explain this to me. Do you gain such strength from the specter of risking death, or seeking death? Did Wesley seek to destroy the sorcerer that day, or himself, merely to escape the sight of me?"
Connor hesitated, speechless, shocked by the demoness' departure from her normal cold detachment. "I don't know, Illyria. I don't think anybody can know what was going on in his head." Connor gestured helplessly. He finished with his pack, placing it on the desk, not meeting her gaze. "But... Wes was a survivor. And I don't think he was a liar, either. Did he ever lie to you?"
Another pause. "No. He did not attempt to deceive me, even when he knew I would be angered." Illyria remembered Wesley's defiance, and found the memories oddly pleasing. "He did not fear me at all."
Connor smiled at her. "Well, there's your answer."