A Union of Souls, Chapter Three
"I didn't know we had taken up stalking as part of our services." Doyle's Irish brogue drifted to Angel's ears as the half-demon stepped up beside him. They were standing in an alley outside of Club Indigo, blending into the meandering college students. Ami Jackson was talking – seemingly somewhat distractedly – with a cute and overly bubbly blonde and a flock of admirers. Mostly of the cute and bubbly blonde it seemed. Not that Ami wasn't an attractive girl in her own right, but she appeared about as interested in flirting as most people were in having a root canal.
"I think I scared her." Angel remarked thoughtfully. He narrowed his focus, trying to ignore the humans surrounding Ami and focus just on the young woman. There was a familiar sense about her, something that he had sensed once or twice before but hadn't sensed since . . .
Since Drusilla.
"Well, you certainly aren't going to win any awards for being smooth." The new voice caused both Angel and his companion to turn and stare.
"Whistler." Angel's greeting lacked anything even remotely resembling warmth. The last time he had heard that the demon was around had been during his reversion to Angelus. The demon appeared in Sunnydale in time to give Buffy the insight she needed to be able to send Angelus – or rather the newly ensouled Angel – directly to hell. For someone who considered himself to be a messenger of 'The Powers That Be' his timing had been pretty lousy.
"Whistler." Doyle's even less than enthusiastic and more than disdainful greeting pulled Angel from his thoughts.
Angel blinked at Doyle. "You know him?"
"Unfortunately," Doyle muttered. "We travel in the same circles."
Angel looked from the half-demon to the full one and back again. "Use the same tailor too?"
"Hey," Doyle waved a finger at the vampire, "I dress better than him any day of the week. I, at least, avoid bad hats. Besides not everyone can pull off that mysterious-stranger-flowing-black-coat thing that you do so well."
"What's wrong with my hat?" Whistler protested, pulling the aforementioned garment from his head to examine it. "I like it. It's my favorite hat. It's my lucky hat."
"And the rest of us are lucky that the fashion industry had the good sense to only make one like it."
With a frustrated shake of his head, Angel interrupted what could probably turn into a lengthy dialogue of insults and the like. "Whistler, what are you doing here?"
"They sent me."
"They?"
"The same ones that sent him." The demon placed his hat on his head and indicated Doyle. "I guess they thought you two might need some backup with the pretty little Brit. This one's major."
The vampire stared at Whistler, wondering why 'The Powers That Be' felt the need to guide his path in the form of demons and half-demons who dressed badly or received cryptic visions. For not the first time since moving to LA, he considered the fact that maybe dealing with Doyle – and certainly now dealing with Whistler – was a part of his penance. "She didn't seem to be in any trouble."
"They never are right away, now are they? I mean, if they were so deep in trouble by the time Doyle had one of his little visions then what would be the use of the vision?" Whistler straightened his hat, "She's in trouble, my oblivious undead friend. She just doesn't know it yet."
"Well, why don't you save us some leg work and tell us what the big trouble is?" Doyle suggested. "Then Angel can go destroy it and we can all go on with our lives. And you can leave LA."
"What makes you think that I know what sort of danger she's in?"
"You're here," Angel said simply.
"I'm here because they sent me. They think you might need a little extra help, but they don't tell me everything. If they did we might have avoided that whole nasty happiness business with your pretty Slayer. By the way, how is she?"
The mention of Buffy was a splinter meant to get under Angel's skin. Even knowing that, it still worked. And knowing that it worked made Angel restrain the urge to throttle the demon on the spot. "I don't know."
"Ah, that's right. Love 'em and leave 'em. Always been my philosophy anyway." Whistler checked his watch. "I'm hungry. There's a really great all night deli about two blocks up. You already ate, right?"
"Yeah, but I'm feeling hungry again."
"I knew you when you were feeding on rats, so I'm not worried about my throat."
"Whistler. Why are you here? To bore us to death?" Angel heard the annoyance in Doyle's voice. He was beginning to feel more than a little annoyed himself.
"To help you help her. She's important. Special. Just like the Slayer." Whistler looked from one to the other. "What do you know about Cordovan?"
"That he's virtually untouchable," Angel felt the demon stir at the sound of the half-demon's name. "And that one day I'm going to kill him one day."
"You think she's in danger from Cordovan?"
"If it's not improbable, then it's definitely possible. Cordovan and his little witch just might have some interest in her."
"Witch?" Angel raised his eyebrows in interest.
"You really haven't been doing your homework, have you? You think someone like him works alone? You think he just has piranha lawyers and a vamp army? I'll bet my lucky hat that it's related to our girl over there, I just don't know why yet. But I guess we'll all find out together." Whistler turned on his heel and started down the street in the other direction, calling over his shoulder, "Now, stop talking and start walking. I really need some food."
"You were feeding on rats?" Doyle's mouth curled in distaste. "Come on, Angel, even house pets would have been better than that. A stray kitten every now and then?"
With a low growl, Angel stalked off after Whistler. "Shut-up, Doyle."