A Union of Souls, Chapter Eighteen
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They had survived the night.
Angel found that less than comforting.
He, Giles and Doyle had been up most of the night talking -- and waiting. They were waiting for anything. Waiting for the inevitable vampire army to descend upon them. Waiting to be hit with waves of inexplicable and powerful magick. But none of that had happened. Nothing at all had happened. Things were too calm for Angel to feel comforted or relaxed by it.
"The calm before the storm," Giles muttered over a cup of coffee that had not been prepared by Cordelia. He checked his watch for what had to be the tenth time in less than five minutes if Angel counted correctly. "If this -- Giselle -- intends on casting the spell tonight, they will have to move soon."
"Unless Ami isn't their target," Angel leaned against the file cabinet, taking a sip from his cup of coffee. Doyle looked questioningly at him, and he gave the Irishman a shrug. "I know, wishful thinking."
"Perhaps not." Setting his mug of coffee on the desktop, Giles leaned forward. "What precisely was your vision of Ami, Doyle? Can you give us anything specific, anything that might point us in the right direction? Or steer us away from the wrong one at the very least."
"I saw her. At Indigo Club. And I knew her name."
Giles frowned at him with obvious disappointment and disbelief. "That's all?"
Doyle shrugged. "I don't understand them, the visions. I just use what they give me. It's all I can do."
"You would think that if the Powers That Be put you here to help Angel, they could be a little less cryptic," Giles growled into his coffee.
Doyle gave the man a lopsided grin, "Tell me about it."
Angel noticed Adam first. A part of him had registered the sounds of the young man's footsteps climbing the stairs, and had taken note of the peculiar energy signature that seemed to surround both he and Ami. He looked up expectantly as the young man entered the office.
Adam paused before speaking, his dark eyes skipping from one individual to the next, but starting and stopping with Angel. "Whistler isn't back yet."
"You're a sharp kid," Doyle quipped. Angel tried to make eye contact and warn Doyle away from the banter, but the half-demon avoided his gaze. Angel couldn't help but feel that it was on purpose. "No, he's not back. And I wouldn't hold my breath expecting him back anytime soon. As far as he's concerned, he did his part and he's probably halfway to New York by now."
Angel shook his head. "He'll be back."
"I'm the one with the visions remember?"
"Yes, but Whistler knows more than he's telling us. He always holds a little back," Angel frowned, remembering how near to impossible it had been to get any information out of the demon when he had first encountered him. Whistler may have been on the side of good, but he had the most unusual ways of demonstrating these things.
"I was hoping that he'd found some more information," Adam explained.
"When he does, he'll be back," Angel promised the young man, "But don't count on him sharing it."
"How is Ami this morning, Adam?" Giles directed his words at the young man who still stood stiffly in the doorway.
"She's still asleep," Adam's eyes slid from his intense scrutiny of Angel long enough to acknowledge the older man before sliding back again. Shadows flickered in those dark eyes, shadows that Angel had a great deal of experience reading. He didn't trust Angel; he didn't truly trust any of them, but that lack of trust would probably be his saving grace. Those who trusted too much and too instinctively often got themselves killed in this world. As long as his mistrust didn't interfere when it came time to face down Cordovan and Giselle, Angel would allow him that mistrust.
"She didn't really sleep well last night," Adam was continuing to speak, mostly to Giles and Doyle. He rubbed his neck, "She kept having bad dreams."
"Under the circumstances that's not surprising."
"You slept in that armchair by her bed all night, didn't you?" Doyle asked, his tone light and teasing. "I told you that you would get a stiff neck. Maybe next time you'll listen to me."
"I hope there isn't a next time." Adam responded simply, without mirth or bitterness. It was a simple statement of fact. One that Angel had to agree with.
The door swinging inward prevented anyone from responding to Adam's remark as all heads turned to see who the new arrival was.
Cordelia raised her eyebrows at the sight of the four of them staring, first anxiously, and then with mild disappointment in her direction. "Expecting someone else?"
Giles gave her an apologetic half-smile. "I'm sorry Cordelia, but I think we were all expecting -- or rather hoping for Whistler."
"So glad to disappoint you," Cordelia remarked. "I dress way better than that. I'm prettier too."
Doyle smiled, lifting his cup of coffee in her direction. "That you are, Princess. Especially this morning. I've always loved that color on you. It makes your eyes sparkle."
She blinked at him, then turned her eyes to Angel, practically pleading. "Will you get him under control already?" Then, looking around again, she tilted her head inquiringly. "Where is she?"
"She?"
With a flair and overdramatization that only Cordelia Chase could manage, she sighed in exasperation and rolled her eyes. "Ami. Remember the girl that was here last night so that she could be protected from the evil bo-ma-witch who wants to steal her soul? You know," Cordelia focused her attention on Adam, "your girlfriend."
Angel was surprised to see the young man pale, nearly choking where he stood.
"She's not my girlfriend."
"Whatever," Cordelia shrugged with a toss of her head. "Anyway, I brought her a change of clothes. I understand that, as men, you are more than willing to wear the same yucky, cruddy, smelly clothes for days on end, but women are more delicate than that. I even brought a portable mirror because some undead people who shall remain unnamed, don't believe in them."
Her words were greeted with silence. Looking from Doyle to Giles, Angel realized that they were as stunned as he by Cordelia's unforced and unsolicited thoughtfulness. Los Angeles really was changing her -- sometimes Angel didn't realize quite how much.
"She's downstairs, still," Adam spoke up, breaking the silence. "She was sleeping when I left her."
The look which Cordelia gave the young man was only a few steps below patronizing. "She's not your girlfriend? Right." Then, spinning on her heel, she headed towards the freight elevator, her heels clicking loudly on the tiled floor.
Adam stared after her for a moment, then turned his attention to the others in the office. "She's--"
"Quite the character, our dear Cordelia," Doyle nodded enthusiastically, his face taking on that sickening sweet dream smile that it often did when he was falling into one of his moments of Cordelia worship. "That's why we keep her around."
"Well," Angel stared at Doyle over the rim of his coffee mug, "It's certainly not for the typing or the filing."
"Or the coffee," Giles added.
They passed the next few minutes in a comfortable silence, each lost in his own thoughts. It was Doyle who finally spoke up, breaking the spell. "So, what's the plan?"
"We keep an eye out," Angel put his empty coffee cup aside. "If they're going to strike they're going to strike soon. We need to be ready."
"Why do I get the feeling I'm going to ruin another good shirt?"
"Doyle, you don't have any good shirts."
Doyle opened his mouth to respond, but his words were cut off by the loud shrieking coming from the downstairs apartment.
"Angel!" There was no mistaking Cordelia's panicked cry.
After a quick exchange of glances, the four men were on their feet, racing down the stairs as quickly as their legs could carry them. Angel felt the demon stir deep within, his body tensing in preparation for a fight.
"Cordelia?"
"What's wrong?"
The starlet met them at the foot of the stairs, her earlier indifference and nonchalance replaced with worry and a strong fear that Angel could smell. "She's gone. Ami's gone."