A Union of Souls, Chapter Seven
"This is a strong argument for why the British prefer tea." Angel entered the office in time to see Giles placing a cup – of what Angel suspected to be bad coffee – aside.
"What?" Cordelia stared at the former Watcher from across the desk. "You don't like my coffee?"
"It's – it's a bit strong for my tastes, Cordelia."
"Ah, don't spare her feelings, we're an honest lot around here," Doyle stretched out behind the desk that he had claimed as his, propping his feet up. "You can tell her the truth. That it's absolutely wretched."
"And that from someone who starts the day with a shot out of the closest bottle on hand that isn't empty."
"Did Ami call?" Angel stepped fully into the office, pausing before the coffee machine. He lifted the pot and with a sigh, poured it into a mug. The smell of it caught him instantly, and he decided that maybe Giles – and the British – had the right idea about tea.
Or maybe they needed to either teach Cordelia to make coffee or keep her away from the coffeemaker.
"Who?" Cordelia asked.
"The girl from the college club," Doyle supplied. To Angel he added, "No, she didn't."
Giles pushed his glasses up on his nose and peered thoughtfully at the half-demon. "This would be the young lady from your vision? You two didn't come to her aid last night?"
Angel took a tentative sip of the coffee. The taste of it made him grateful that he was already dead and couldn't die from unintentional poisoning. Putting the cup quickly aside, he turned to Giles. "It doesn't exactly work like that, Giles. Doyle has the vision, but it only tells him who's in trouble. We never know exactly what the trouble is, or really how to help.
"Sometimes, I don't think the people we help know right away."
That had definitely been the case with Ami. The young woman was not in any trouble or danger that he could see. But Doyle had the vision and Whistler – the knowledge that the demon was lurking around LA gave Angel a serious case of what Buffy called 'the wiggins.' Usually Doyle's visions were enough; if Whistler was sent to help him as well, then things were definitely going to escalate. And they would probably escalate pretty quickly.
"But you met with her and determined that she is in some sort of soul endangering peril?"
"I talked to her," Angel nodded, leaning back against the file cabinet. "There's something…"
The vampire's voice trailed off as his mind returned to the meeting the previous night. As usual, his attempts at social finesse fell flat, but that wasn't what disturbed him. There had been something about the girl herself – something about her that screamed out power and energy. Last night at the club, he had only been able to briefly put his finger on what it was – before Whistler's unexpected entry and subsequent distraction. But this morning, upon waking, it came back to him with complete clarity.
Ami Jackson had an aura that was far different from normal mortals. In his two centuries, he had seldom encountered its like – and one of those encounters had been in the form of Drusilla. The aura buzzed of psychic energy, frighteningly strong amounts of psychic energy if he could be so easily aware of it. Even Ronald Meltzer, with the things he could do, hadn't had this particular signature. But then again, Meltzer's entire being radiated darkness, a darkness that tainted everything.
The girl – Ami – was not like that. And had it not been for Doyle's vision, Angel might have simply dismissed her and figured that with that much psychic potential, she could take care of herself.
But maybe that was what Doyle's vision had been about. Maybe that's why Whistler was here. There was a good chance that she couldn't take care of herself. There was a good chance that she didn't know the potential at her fingertips, or how to control it.
Somehow, though, deep inside Angel doubted that. There was something more there that they hadn't seen, or couldn't see.
"So, are you going to take a private moment or clue the rest of us in, here?" Doyle's voice pulled Angel from his meandering thoughts.
"She felt—" Angel paused, his eyes darting from one face to the next. There was really no easy way to say this that wouldn't raise hackles – or even create some worry and fear. "She reminded me of Dru."
"Oh," Cordelia plopped down behind her desk. "So, she's a psycho college student who's desperately in need of our help. Which, by the way, does anyone here see a problem with helping a college student?"
Three faces stared at her blankly.
She rolled her eyes exaggeratedly in exasperation. "I'm talking payment options here. We are trying to run a business and quite frankly, college students are – well they're poor as dirt."
Angel looked away from her. The money issue was still a sensitive spot between the three of them. He understood Doyle's point of view; he even understood Cordelia's somewhat less than altruistic ideas. What they didn't understand was that it wasn't about the money; he could never let it be about the money or he might lose touch with who he was and what he was doing.
Some people just needed help no matter what.
"It isn't always about the money Cordelia."
"Besides," Doyle's voice interrupted them, "College students just use Mommy and Daddy's credit cards. And I had a vision. We can't turn our back on her. Well, Angel can't turn his back on her."
"You charge people?" Angel felt Giles' eyes on him, but he didn't look in that direction. If it had been possible for a vampire to blush, Angel knew that he would have been at that moment.
"No duh. We are running a business here, Giles. We have bills and rent and necessities."
"It's a necessary evil," Doyle explained. "Angel likes to be the mysterious knight in shining armor, but people don't need saviors. They can get salvation at church. They just need a nice guy who's doing his job and getting paid for it."
"No attachment, no lingering guilt," Giles mused. Angel turned to look at the man, hearing a note of thoughtfulness creep into his voice. "It actually makes a bit of twisted sense. And you are still doing a good thing, Angel. Helping people.
"But, I'd rather like to get back to the subject on hand. What did you mean when you said that she reminded you of Drusilla?"
Angel felt a hint of relief. Leave it to Giles to keep the conversation on track. "She feels like Dru. I can't really explain it except that Dru was different from everyone else. She had this . . . energy . . . it's what attracted me to her to begin with."
"You mean bad-vamp you, right?" Cordelia blinked up at him from behind the desk.
"Yes," Angel nodded. He looked at Giles, offering further explanation. "It's been a long time since I've felt anything like that at all."
"You think that's why Whistler's in town?" Doyle asked.
"Whistler? The demon?" The former Watcher looked up expectantly.
"What demon?" Cordelia demanded from behind her desk.
"You know him?"
"I know of him. Buffy mentioned an encounter with a demon around the time that you," the Watcher paused and stumbled, "That Angelus was going to release Acathala." Giles removed his glasses and began to clean them. "She said that she thought he was on our side, but she wasn't in the mood for his 'know-it-all-chit-chat.' "
Doyle nodded. "That would be Whistler."
"Hello? Am I invisible? Who is Whistler? Since when do we talk about demons like they're old friends?" Cordelia paused, her eyes flickering towards Doyle whose face was approaching indignation, "You don't count, you're only half-demon. And you're really not that scary or that evil. Unless we count your apartment. Or your wardrobe."
Doyle appeared to be somewhat mollified. "Whistler found Angel in New York. Pulled him out of the sewers, cleaned him up and sent him to Sunnydale to help the Slayer. I don't think he expected it to blow up in his face the way it did though."
"So, what if it's related?" Angel broke into the conversation before he could feel the usual stinging barbs of guilt and remorse. He noted the three pairs of confused eyes that focused on him.
"If what is related, Angel?"
"This girl and the Book of Isiri."
"I'm not following."
Doyle muttered, "You're not alone."
"Okay, it's pretty much a given that Cordovan has the Book. Whistler implied that Cordovan might have a witch – and we're not talking benevolent Wicca magick here – working for him. What if something in that Book connects Cordovan to Ami?"
"It's a possibility." Giles pointed his folded glasses at the vampire. "You do however realize that if this Cordovan has a witch in his employ, someone familiar with the black arts, this makes him a much more formidable adversary?"
"And sounds like all the more reason we need to get that book back," Doyle pointed out. "What's in it, anyway?"
"I'm afraid that I don't know. It has been lost for nearly two centuries. The rituals and spells contained in its pages are reported to have great powers of destruction and at times, to be capable of even bending the fabric of reality itself. In my greatest imaginings, I can not begin to fathom what may lie in its pages –
"Well, that's not necessarily true, I have lived on the hellmouth for quite some time. However, I must confess that –"
Cordelia slammed her chair backwards away from the desk. It collided with the wall, loudly. "The short version is that you don't know, right?"
"I fear that is correct."
"Great, so Watcher-guy doesn't know. And if Watcher-guy doesn't know, we should probably all just bend over and kiss our asses good-bye."
"Your optimism is infectious, Cordelia."
"Watcher-guy." Angel said the word slowly, a thought forming in his head. He ignored the chagrined and insulted glance that Giles tossed in his direction as he proceeded to explain. "You were a Watcher, Giles. You said the Watchers Council had the Book for a while. Wouldn't they have made notes? Journals?"
"It is possible, Angel, but you must remember that I am not part of the Watchers Council anymore. They really don't speak to me at all. And since Buffy quit the Council – I'm not quite sure what our recourse would be."
"Wesley's a member of the Council," Cordelia pointed out. "He didn't get fired like you did."
Doyle sat up attentively. "Who's Wesley?" The half-man's jealousy would have been humorous if not for the situation.
"Do you think that Wesley would help us, Giles?"
"He helped at graduation," Cordelia defended the absent Watcher. "He swallowed his pride and let Giles be in charge guy again. Not like blowing up the library was that hard but –"
"I shall give him a call," Giles cut off Cordelia's prattle, for which Angel was grateful. The last thing he wanted to hear was Cordelia extolling the virtues of one of the most inept and bumbling Watchers Angel had ever met. Of course that was in comparison to Giles, so there was a chance that he was being biased.
"I'm going to find Whistler," Angel announced. It would give him something to do while waiting for Giles to get the information they needed.
Giles paused in mid-dial. "In broad daylight?"
"He uses sewers and electrical tunnel thingies," Cordelia explained. "He's really good at it."
"Who's Wesley?" Doyle's question drifted to Angel's ears as he left the office. "What makes you think you can trust some one named Wesley? I think –"
The lowering of the freight elevator gate thankfully drowned out the rest of the conversation.