Part Two

Doyle was frowning at his computer. He was on the Demons Demons Demons database, and what he was looking at didn't make any sense. The leads Wesley had given him, the Wan Shan Dhole and the Fook Beast, had been red herrings - but he had found a link, embedded in the page dedicated to the Wan Shan Dhole, that had taken him through to a list of other demons of Chinese origin. There was one very likely looking demon - the Tongshi - or bronze lion. They had the claws, they had the bronze - like the coin, but… this was then the part that didn't make sense. They were guardians - protectors… they worked for the side of good. Why would The Powers send Doyle a vision of some demons who worked on the same side? - And why would that vision, or those demons, physically attack the messenger?

His shoulder and his belly throbbed where the scratches were gouged into him - reminding him of the damage he had sustained. Cordelia had rubbed some kind of cream on him, and it had helped some - but the wounds were deep and vicious - and there wasn't much she could do to numb the pain. He knew what she had said to him, but still - he couldn't help but feel that this was a punishment, that the powers had meant for him to get injured because they thought he deserved it. That was the only reason he could think of as to why they would send him a vision of other warriors for their side. He hung his head as he contemplated his cuts, and the reasons behind them. Was he really so bad? Did he really deserve this? The universe seemed to think so… but he was already trying his best to put right his mistakes. He wasn't sure how much more punishment he could take...

Hidden up on the first floor landing, Fred looked down on the brooding half demon. He and his consort hadn't realised she was still there. They were so caught up in his vision that they had forgotten her presence… but she had seen the raw looking scratch marks that now disfigured the Irishman's body. She knew well enough about the visions he suffered. That was why the monsters had released him from the prison she had found him in and made him their King, back in Pylea. But until today she had always thought of the messages he received as being a gift. Now, it was all too clear to her that they were anything but.

She didn't like Doyle - and she didn't really trust the woman that loved him, though she was a human. Doyle was a monster - and not just any monster - he was the King of all the monsters who had hunted her, and enslaved her and tried to have her executed. Even if she could forgive him for being a demon, she couldn't forgive him for that. Angel was a monster too, of course - he had that beast in him - but back in Pylea, Angel had been just as hunted as she was. And he was ashamed of the creature he became. Doyle, on the other hand, had lived up in the castle, wearing his golden crown, allowing the bad things to happen.

And he was the king because he had the pure sight - chosen by The Powers to receive their messages. Only now it turned out that The Powers had chosen him because he was bad, not because he was good. He was being punished for something terrible he had done… and Fred wished that the others had not left her alone in the hotel with him. She saw the way he hung his head, feeling sorry for himself. Did he feel guilty? She wondered. Could the King feel guilty? Or was he just angry that someone as royal and important as he thought himself was having to suffer the side effects of his visions?

As she watched, he pushed his chair back and got to his feet, wandering across the lobby on the hunt for his chosen consort.

Cordelia had shut herself in Wesley's office, once she had seen to Doyle's wounds and he had gone to his computer to research. She had scanned the bookshelves and then selected some likely looking books, dragging them down and laying them out across the watcher's desk. She skimmed through the index of each book, looking for references to either The Powers That Be, seers, or visions - and once she had page numbers, she flipped through to look at the content.

She was searching for any mention of previous seers, other demons who had been cursed with the visions - as Doyle had - and was looking to see if there was anything about the images physically manifesting on the seer. But so far she had nothing. There was the occasional mention of humans who had had received the visions accidentally - however, with ordinary people - if they weren't burned at the stake, then it seemed that within a couple of years their brains would simply explode. But that was the only physical side effect she could find reference too - a tendency to blow a hole in the skull of any human seer. A half demon like Doyle should have no problems bearing the visions. Certainly there was nothing about psychic claw marks being gouged into the messengers' bodies.

She snapped the book closed, in frustration, just as she heard her boyfriend call out her name, 'Cordy? Where are you?' And then there was a sudden thump - which sounded very much like an Irishman hitting the floor. She ran out of the office and, sure enough, there he lay on the ground, in the middle of the lobby, spasming as the vision pain crashed into him.

'Oh my God, Doyle! Twice in one night! Are you OK?' she rushed over to his side and knelt beside him, only to draw back in horror, her hand clasped across her mouth. Even from her position, up on the landing, Fred could see what it was that was causing the consort so much distress.

As he lay on the floor, still twitching as he saw the images in his mind, a rash of hideous, pus filled boils erupted across his right cheek; stretching from his neck to his forehead, they marred and disfigured the entire right hand side of Doyle's face...

'An icky, gross, boil covered demon,' Cordelia told the others, 'that's what he said he saw.' The team were gathered back in the lobby of the hotel, the men having returned with the coin. Fred had come down to join them, now that Angel was here. The only person missing was Doyle, who sat out on a bench in the courtyard, studiously keeping his back to the others. 'There was a storefront downtown on fifth and something,' she continued, 'and there was a key,' she produced a sketch. 'This is what he described, I drew it for him… it's another 'find the artefact' mission but…' she trailed off and stared out at where her boyfriend sat, all alone.

'But every time he gets a vision of a new mission - the demon he sees physically manifests itself on his body?' Wesley asked. Cordelia nodded.

'Why didn't you say anything?' Angel demanded, 'this can't be ignored, we need to talk about this.'

'And say what?' she asked, exasperated, 'what is there to say except yuk, gross and unclean?' The others looked at her in disapproval, and she sighed. 'If you had seen it, you'd think the exact same thing… I love him, you know I do. It doesn't make a difference to me. But he can't live like this - waiting for the next vision to cut him up or disfigure him even more - you know how touchy he is just about the scary, ugly, hedgehog thing. This can't go on. But talking won't solve anything.'

'So - earlier tonight he suffered scratches that tallied with the claws of the demons we fought in the herbalist shop?' said Wesley, 'and now he is marked with the boils of the latest demon that Angel has to fight?'

'Pretty much sums it up,' Cordy said. 'He was going to tell you about the scratches once you got back with the coin… but I guess circumstances overtook us…' She looked into Angel's eyes, then, concentrating only on him. 'He thinks this is a punishment,' she said, 'that this is the next step in his atonement from the powers - but it can't be, it just can't. I've looked in Wesley's big old books and there's nothing about seers being afflicted this way. The Powers wouldn't do this to him on purpose! He's their messenger, he's on their team! Why would anybody do that to him on purpose?'

All the others just looked down at their feet, they had nothing to say - no information they could offer to help, or to make Cordy - or Doyle - feel better. Cordelia sighed again, 'I'd better go to him,' she said, 'I don't want him…' she didn't finish her sentence, there were just too many endings, so much she didn't want - she couldn't pick one. Instead, she eased open the glass doors and stepped outside.

Angel turned to look at the rest of his friends, 'We need to figure this out now! Anybody? Gunn?' The street fighter looked surprised at being called upon, and scrunched up his face as he tried to think of something useful. 'I had this auntie who used to get this nasty, crusty stuff on the back of her neck every summer,' he offered, 'turns out - she was allergic to shellfish.'

Angel stared at him for a moment - and then - 'that was helpful.' Gunn shrugged apologetically. This was not his area of expertise.

'Why would the powers choose to communicate with Doyle this way?' mused Wesley, 'I'm sure we can rule out his idea of further punishment. The visions are his punishment and his atonement wrapped up in one… to harm a seer, and one connected to a champion no less, seems deeply counterproductive. But they must have their reasons.'

'Maybe we could ask them?' said Fred, everyone turned to stare at her, and she gulped as she found herself under the scrutiny of so many people at once. But she tried her best to explain herself. 'Y-you said 'communicate', which got me thinking, everything's made of energy, right? Light waves, radio waves, x-rays, even brain waves are all electrical energy. If the King of th-' she cut herself off, scrunched up her nose, and started again, 'If Doyle is receiving visions from The Powers That Be then they're being communicated somehow. Maybe we could figure out the frequency and trace the calls?'

Wesley's face lit up, 'yes of course! Well done Fred,' he began to formulate a plan. 'Fred, Gunn I need you to start researching that coin - I'll draw up a list of books. Angel, you go find the demon and get that key.'

Angel glanced outwards, to where the young couple sat out together on the bench, Cordelia's arms wrapped protectively around Doyle. 'I don't wanna go anywhere,' he said. But Wesley was insistent. 'Doyle has had two visions in one night - I've never known that to happen before! And you can see what they're doing to him - or you could if he would let us near him. If The Powers are taking such extreme measures, then we have to assume that the coin and the key are of great significance.'

'And so is Doyle. I got the coin like he said, and they sent him an even worse vision. If I go and get this key, how am I helping him?'

'You have to trust me,' Wesley said to him, 'I have an idea.'

As Cordelia had slipped out into the night air, Doyle had stiffened up on the bench, aware that he was no longer alone. He knew who it would be though, without having to look. 'Yuk, gross and unclean, huh?' he said to her. She closed her eyes, and bit her lip, regretfully. She hadn't realised he could hear her all the way out here. 'Doyle - '

'No - it's OK. It's true. Might as well get used to hearin' it. It's not like children aren't gonna scream when they see me… might as well start growin' my thick skin now.' He heard the men talking inside, and twisted his mouth in bitterness and disgust, 'like Gunn's crusty auntie.'

Cordelia took a few steps towards him, and he shuffled further down the bench, away from her - turning his head slightly so that the right side of his face remained completely hidden from view. She sat down beside him.

'So much for not showin' the guys, huh?' he said to her, 'you think maybe I can get one of those 'Phantom of the Opera' masks?'

She smiled, and wrapped her arms around his waist, nuzzling into the left hand side of his neck. 'That look would be a little melodramatic for you, I think,' she told him. 'It's more Angel's style. But maybe we can get you a nice ski-mask.' She kissed his neck, and then his jawbone. 'We'll sort this, Doyle - you'll see. It's just a mistake.'

'And if it's not? If I'm stuck this way?'

She nuzzled into him again, 'then I guess we both have to get used to the sound of screaming children.' She chuckled a little bit, and squeezed him tighter, 'luckily, I was never with you for your flawless skin.'

He managed a smile, he knew this didn't change the way she would feel about him - his Cordelia was no longer that shallow. But he still didn't want to have to look this way - for his own sake, if not for hers. Sure, he had never been the best looking of men, but he had never been a circus freak before, either - at least not in human face. 'You still think I shouldn't have left these visions back in Pylea?' he asked her. But she didn't answer. She only held him tighter. He closed his eyes, realising that, for the first time, she was beginning to relent on the idea of him giving up the visions. He knew than how bad this was, how bad he looked - and how scared Cordy was for him.

Angel pulled up outside the store and jumped out of the car, sword in hand. He kicked the door down and strode in. 'I want the key and I want it now!' he demanded. The man behind the counter looked startled. 'Oh - w -which key might that be?' He switched on a light revealing hundreds of keys covering the wall. The store was a key cutters. Angel felt a little bit stupid, but he didn't have time for embarrassment - Doyle needed him. 'Did you lose the original?' the man was asking.

The vampire brought out Cordelia's sketch, 'it looks like this,' he showed it to the man.

'Ah - yes - of course - this should only take a moment.' He reached under the counter and pressed a button - like a panic button in a bank. A buzzer sounded and a demon dropped down through the ceiling, behind Angel. Angel turned to face him, raising his sword to block the demon's own weapon. The demon was hideous - covered in throbbing, pustulating, bright yellow boils. The vampire hadn't seen Doyle's face - the half demon hadn't faced any of them since he'd been disfigured; but if this demon was anything to go by, then his friend must be really suffering - and Angel couldn't blame him for trying to hide his face - for being too ashamed to let people see him.

Spurred on by his desire to save his friend, he made short work of the boil covered monster - and took the key from him, before returning to the hotel.

Fred and Gunn sat out in the lobby, reading through the books that Wesley had asked them to look at. After a while, the young woman looked up and spoke to the man - she felt almost comfortable around him now, felt comfortable talking to him. 'I guess you'd rather be out fighting that thing with Angel than stuck here with me?' she asked.

The street fighter looked up and smiled at her, 'well - yeah - 'cause why would I wanna sit here with a cute, young woman, enjoying her company - when I could be out fighting an ugly boil covered demon monster and getting myself killed?'

'I really can't apologise enough.'

Gunn began to laugh.

Angel arrived back at the hotel to find Lorne standing in the lobby, along with Wesley, Fred and Gunn. Doyle and Cordy were still out in the courtyard, the woman's arms still tightly wrapped around the man. 'How is he?' Angel asked, 'how are they?'

'They haven't come inside at all - we still haven't spoken to Doyle - or seen…' Wesley didn't finish. It didn't need saying. They all knew what they hadn't seen.

'So what happens now?' the vampire wanted to know. Wesley explained his plan - the Host would use his psychic abilities on Doyle to try and trace the signal coming from the Powers That Be. Perhaps, once they had the signal, they could make contact with the higher powers - ask what was going on. 'It's a risky strategy,' Wesley informed the group, 'I'm sure Angel remembers from his dealings with the Oracles that the higher powers can be finicky and unpredictable. They might be very angry that some lower beings, such as ourselves, dare to contact them or question their methods, but…'

'But we can't just hang around here, lettin' them do this to Irish,' Gunn finished for him. The watcher nodded.

'So what are we waiting for?' Angel glanced between the people standing in front of him, 'Lorne - go out there - help him.' But Lorne just looked awkward. 'Easy there - crumb bun,' he said to the vampire. 'I can't do this without getting up close and personal with our little Irish stud muffin - and so far he has allowed precisely Cordelia, and she alone, to get within ten feet of him. And even she isn't allowed on his right side. He needs to be talked into this - and it has to be gentle.'

Angel nodded, and then headed for the glass doors.

...

He stepped outside. It was a beautiful evening, the air was balmy and there was a slight breeze that carried the scent of the Jasmine bushes wafting through the air, like a delicate perfume. It was the perfect night for two young lovers to sit out under the moonlight - as long as one of them wasn't getting psychically attacked by monsters that were on the other side of the city.

'Hey guys,' Angel said, keeping his voice low. He thought about following up with a 'how are you?' but then decided it was a stupid question. Cordelia turned to look at him, though she never let go of Doyle, and gave the vampire a sad smile. The half demon didn't turn around, however, he stayed staring resolutely in the other direction.

'Uh - Doyle?' Angel was hesitant, this would be a difficult subject to broach - the Irishman might try to resist. 'Wes has an idea for getting in touch with The Powers - finding out what's going on, why they're doing this - maybe get them to reverse it.'

'Yeah?' He still didn't turn around.

'Yeah… but … Lorne is gonna have to… gonna have to … well I'm not sure what he'll do - but he has to get close to you, to track the signals from the visions. It means… it means he'll see…'

Doyle hung his head. Cordelia stroked his back, soothingly. 'It's better this way, Doyle,' she whispered. 'He might be able to fix this… otherwise… you can't hide out here forever.' The half demon nodded his agreement, and Angel felt relieved. But his eyes lingered on the spot where Cordelia's hand kept moving in calming circles on his friend's back, and the way her head was nuzzled down onto his shoulder. Even as he felt pleased that she had convinced Doyle to co-operate, he still felt an uncomfortable jolt in the pit of his stomach, as he witnessed the closeness and tenderness of the young couple. 'I'll - I'll just get him,' he said, and stumbled back inside.

Cordelia had relinquished her spot on the bench to Lorne, though she stood close by. Angel hovered in the doorway. The rest of the gang stayed inside, respecting Doyle's desire to not be seen whilst he was afflicted with the boils.

With great reluctance, the half demon turned his head, so that the Host could perform his mojo on him. He tried to keep his face as low as possible, but there was no real way of hiding the gruesome, pus filled lumps that marred his skin. Lorne inhaled, sharply, on seeing the damage, but didn't make a comment. His red eyes were soft and sad, though, as he reached out and placed a hand at either one of Doyle's temples. Doyle sighed to himself. He was an object of pity to a guy with green skin and horns - that was how monstrous he had become.

The Host pressed his fingers to the sides of Doyle's head, rubbing them in small circles. He closed his eyes, and Doyle did likewise. 'OK,' said Lorne, 'now I want you to relax - picture yourself somewhere wide and open, like a field or a mountain.'

Doyle scrunched his eyes up tighter, remembering day trips out to the Wicklow mountains when he was small. 'Uh - OK - got it - on a mountain.'

'Beautiful. You're on a mountain top. It's warm and sunny. The sky is blue - the clouds are white and fluffy. You're Julie Andrews in the sound of music.'

Doyle opened his eyes and just stared at the other demon. 'Don't resist the process,' Lorne told him, keeping his own eyes closed.

'Fine - let me just mentally adjust my wimple.'

'Don't sass. I love that movie.'

The half demon shrugged and closed his eyes once more, trying to picture himself back at home, on top of the mountains. 'Alright,' Lorne was still massaging his temples, 'let's go looking for the Powers That Be - see if we can reach out and touch someone.'

Lilah paced up and down her office, as her independent contractor signed the paperwork. Outside agents were always such a faff, they never filled out the correct forms and then she was left chasing up documentation for months afterwards. If she didn't have a ten ninety nine for this guy then he couldn't get paid. Not that she cared - but he would expect payment for his unique services. 'You remember what we spoke about?' she said to him, once he was done.

'All that fire? How could I forget?' He sat down on the table, cross legged. He took a deep breath and then began to levitate. Slowly, he reached up and removed his Fez to reveal his exposed brain. It was grey and glistening and, as he levitated, it pulsated away in time to a strange rhythm. Lilah smiled to herself.

Lorne was still touching his fingertips against Doyle's skull. He was searching for the signal but he didn't seem to be finding anything. The half demon was resigning himself to the idea that this would turn out to be a bust, and that the gang would be no closer to curing him than they were before. BAM he was hit by a vision - and the force of it threw Lorne across the courtyard. Doyle, himself, was knocked from the bench and lay on the floor jolting and spasming, as his mind was invaded by a new set of images.

He saw an office, and a guy with an exposed brain; and then he flashed to a dark place and a person engulfed in flames. As he saw the fire, in his mind's eye, he screamed out in agony - feeling the flames against his own skin. The man in his vision was trapped in a cage of fire, and then there was a demon - massive and bronze, guarding him. And then the pain in his head, and the pain of the fire, was too much - and Doyle lost consciousness, passing out on the ground where he lay.

Cordelia was at his side in a moment, and the rest of the gang tumbled out into the courtyard when they saw their friends fly from the bench and fall to the floor. Shakily, Lorne got back to his feet and made his way back over to the group. And then he saw what they were all staring at. Doyle was passed out cold, lying prone on the ground. The unclean disfiguration of his skin was all too visible to his friends - but it was not that that was making them look sick with horror. They were staring past the boils, and instead concentrating on the half demon's arms - which were now red and black and raw. The first degree burns, caused by the flames in his vision, had removed all the skin from his arms.

The man with the exposed brain gently landed back on the table with a soft bump. He opened his eyes and put his Fez back on. He grinned up at the lawyer. 'Well?' she asked impatiently.

'I think he got the message.'