Body

28

"What's wrong with you?" Prime sneered. Angel refused an answer.

The last dream had shaken him. He'd awakened not with a start, but slowly and with a terrible feeling of dread. If Angel hadn't known it before he knew his other-self meant to destroy his wife. The last visages of denial died in Angel's mind. He was Christi's only hope and time was running out.

Angel up into the attic where Willow and Tara prepared to open a Door To. Tara created a circle made of fine volcanic ash, encircling runes and various talismen chalked onto the floor. Willow had just finishing chalking a large door on one of the unoccupied walls. It was surprisingly detailed with strange designs that, were they not so malevolent, would appear comical from crude representation. She turned around to face him, a dreamy half-gaze on her face. Oz, who had been standing in the shadows mostly unnoticed, stepped forward and pressed two fingers to the center of her forehead, mouth and heart in turn. Tara came forward and did the same touching her eyes, throat and temples. Suddenly Willow snapped out of her daze.

"Is everything ready?" Angel asked in a subdued tone. Oz stepped back and down the stairs, his role apparently done while the two witches stepped in the open portion of the circle, Tara closing it behind them.

"Ready when you are," the redhead answered him. "Are you going to bring Chri-, er Prime with you?" No one was quite comfortable with the Slayer turned vampiress.

Before Angel could answer Oz appeared, leading the subject of discussion down the plazwood steps. "Yes." She tried resisting but her arm bands were chained together, Oz handed them over to Angel. "We're ready."

"What's taking so long?!" The Master was becoming mildly annoyed.

Angel walked up to him, Christi in silent tow. "Everything is going well. Your body is ready, we need only bring it here to complete the change."

"And as for Christina?"

"She has sent her signal. As soon as you are ready and transferred we can go to the other side."

The Master smiled, "Excellent." He stopped short of rubbing his hands together. "And how does it go with our little Slayer," he mused. Blankly she gazed at Angel's back. "Well, I see. Is she completely bent to your will?"

Angel laughed. "Absolutely. Christina, come here." She did, her eyes only slightly less glassy. "Bare your pretty neck for the Master." Again, she complied without hesitation.

"Very nice. Nothing is absolute, remember, though it is a hard lesson to learn. However, she is a delightful thing. You are making an event of killing her, aren't you?"

The vampire grinned wolfishly. The Master nodded again, pleased.

As Angel woke from yet another disturbing dream Hermoine was setting in the Library. Many of the objects she had with her were the similar to, if not the same as, the ones Willow, Tara and Oz would bring to Angel's apartment. It was much harder to find the completely unused wall necessary for the spell she was about to cast, but find one she did. Hermoine eyes held the half glazed look that reflected her trance. Unlike Willow, there would be no one to release her; she was counting on the transit to jolt her from the magic induced Other State. There was no way of knowing, of course.

Instead of a circle made of white volcanic ash Hermoine used fine black volcanic sand. It also extended to include the chalked on door; this created with black chalk, mostly because pale color of the wall. The spell specified a clearly defined door. It too was as surprisingly and painstakingly detailed as Willow and Tara's would be. However, this door led to another room and another fate.

To those who spared you a glance, you stare unseeingly. Once, in another life, someone called this non-sight looking into Third Space. It is the place between yourself and the object you are not seeing. It is the middle space, the air between, it is . . .

But you are losing yourself in this circular, paradoxical logic.

You hear a command which you follow, staring blindly. They laugh softly, it makes your skin crawl -- not that they can see -- while you silently store every word. Once again you are forgotten. You relax and, seemingly blindly, survey the room. No one notices you, you are no longer a threat. That's all right. You almost smile, a small sliver of wood caressed in your palm.

"What's she doing?" a thin vampire asks, nervous.

Angel hardly noticed either of them. There were things going on beyond his control. His plans were being subverted and he had to have it all back in his grasp. Nothing less would do. Angrily he turned around and glanced at the Slayer. Her gaze slowly roved from place to place. Angel tried to capture it only for her eyes to slide past his. Directing his order to her he said, "Stop that!" She did, her stare settling just past his left shoulder, to the wall behind him.

Angel turned his attention back to his plans.

The shock of rushing Between elicited a shocked gasp from Christina Prime. Angel fared worse, doubling over in pain and nausea. The vampiress was compelled to help him stand, if only to be sure that she would be freed of her fregged enspelled cuffs.

Hermoine stands waiting on the other side of her door. Still entranced by her own spell working she waits for someone to release her. Over the past hours the imprint of her chalk made door -- made real in this other realm -- has dissipated, Hermoine's chance of leaving disappearing with it. When it is completely gone a lank vampire comes to fetch her.

"Where are we you fool? You can't get sick now," Prime hissed at Angel. He stumbled to his feet.

Forcing the retching feeling away, Angel glanced around. "We're in an upper room or the mezzanine or something." In a quick sweeping look Angel made his decision, "We have to go back through."
"What?!"

"I don't know where we are and we don't know how many vampires are here. Now while that may make you happy," he whispered fiercely, "I need better odds than that."

Before she could object, the former vampire pulled Prime through the Door.

He smiled, "So this is my prize." Turning her around he said, "Yes, this will do nicely."

You are humming. Not so much because you like it, but because it annoys them. The haunting melody works its way underneath their skin, making it crawl, wrapping around their hearts, into the depths of their minds. Consequently it makes you smile vacantly to yourself. Of course you know what it is doing to them, its part of your magic.

Angel looked up . . . only to see himself. He smiled sardonically, the lackey standing beside him scurried to the shadows. "So, this is what I would look like if I were still human. You know," he added in an pseudo-inviting whisper, "it doesn't look good on us. You really should find someone to fix that for you." Clad in black leather pants -- illegal in our own world -- and a deep red shimmering work shirt that accentuated his muscular body the Vampire Angel was quite a contrast to his human self; the latter looking sleep deprived with longish hair in disarray and wrinkled poly-plaz/cotton clothes making Angel look unfinished

"Yeah, well--" Angel couldn't come up with a rejoinder. It had taken another two tries before he and Prime had come through the right Door. Apparently the place, where ever it was, was riddled with such passageways Between, hence the detail of the door. "Where's Christina?" he asked instead.

"Right here." The vampire turned slightly and called to her as if she were a pet.

She was a wreck. There were bags under her eyes, her clothes looked worn and hung limply from her frame and a vacant smile played across her lips. For the first time Angel and Prime noticed the humming. It was like nothing either had ever heard before. For Angel it was if his wife was calling to every ugly and evil thing he'd thought buried in his soul. To Christi's vampiress counterpart it was a siren song. It called to her in an almost frightening way. Memories of her transformation rushed passed her eyes, including a similar song her lover had sung to her.

The two Angels watched as Christina Prime walked inexplicably closer to her counterpart. Though her sire called to her, she was oblivious to all else. Christi's unseeing smile grew wider. Their hands stretched out towards each other, fingertips nearly touching. The men watched in silent wonder and with trepidation.

They came nearer and nearer as if trying to become one body, one mind, one person. Prime felt her canines and fingernails grow and sharpen without much thought. Teeth bared she stepped into her twin's embrace, finding little trouble with the other's hands on her chest. Suddenly clear eyed, Christi was supporting her vampire self, the latter with a sliver of wood protruding from her breast. It flared in an instant. "No!" Angel screamed, as Christi let fall her twin.

Only dust and the bespelled cuffs hit the stone floor.

Christi collapsed after her.

Quickly her husband recovered from limb numbing shock. "Looks like your not going to win after all," he said before launching himself at himself.

The Master watched from the mezzanine as his favorite son threw his disgraceful human counterpart. He was up in an instant. They once again became a tangle of blurred feet and arms distinguished only by the color of their clothing, both of which were quickly becoming blood stained.

"Stop!" he commanded from his perch. He was quite pleased to see that this new body commanded attention as well as the old. Its appearance could be worked on later. The two combatants did indeed stop.

One of them smiled the other looked at him quizzically. "Where is Christina," he asked imperiously, "and why is the Slayer on the ground?"

The smile quickly turned dark. "The Slayer killed her."

"The Slayer did what?" He went pounding down the steep metal stairs.

The other shook his head. "Whoa, whoa, wait." Confused he asked, "What are you doing here?"

The Master laughed, the sound tinkling through the cavernous room. "You don't get it do you. No of course not. You've been keeping your little Hermoine here out of the loop." He petted his new body and said, "It seems fitting that I should dominate your world in the body of one trying to protect it."

"He has been rather slow," the vampire said, rubbing his jaw. "Looks like he still doesn't get it."

"Don't you recognize me Angel?" Abruptly the voice deepens, "Maybe you know me now?"

The man gasped. This was voice not easily forgotten . . . especially after almost two centuries of service. He couldn't understand how it was possible.

"You see, I cannot cross into your reality without the existence of my counterpart. To . . . sidestep this little problem I needed to appropriate one from yours." Looking down at himself the Master said, "I quite approve."

"I can't let you cross over."

The Master laughed. "Of course not, dear boy. That is why you're here."

Attention off his double Angel was unprepared for heavy weight landing atop him. The air went out of his lungs with a whoosh! Was he this annoying as a vampire?

With strength belied by his humanity, Angel pushed his double off. Only to be attacked again. The two grappled, their clothing the only thing distinguishing them. The double threw Angel across the room -- by his wife. Out of habit, he picked up the first piece of sharp wood his fingers touched. It was similar to the one Christi killed Prime with. Angel wasn't sure how it worked. Who cared how the freg it worked, so long as it did! He wasn't all too confident in their success. The crimson things were mere slivers instead of hearty stakes, but Angel didn't have the time to think of that. The vampire double was advancing, intent on not death, but incapacitating him. Angel wouldn't admit it, but he was nearly there.

Christina moaned, but the others didn't notice. The Vampire Angel said something snarky to his human self. "Oh yeah?" was his reply. I'm losin' my touch, he thought to himself. His vampire seemed to agree. He threw his head back and laughed.

Angel, not finding it the least bit funny, took the opportunity to throw one of the little crimson sticks into his mouth. The vampire's cat-like eyes widened in shock, then seemed to glow with an inner light. Actually his entire body seemed aglow from the inside.

Screaming terribly, Angel watched himself burn from the inside out. He looked down at his wife. She was gone. Held in thrall, watching himself die, he hadn't noticed Christina crawl away, weak from hunger and exhaustion. Angel's gaze swept the large space. There she was, holding the Herm- the Master in a vice-like grip. Incredulously he watched to two match strength for strength, his wife slowly winning the battle of wills.

With speed Angel didn't think she could muster, Christi grabbed a piece of sharp metal lying close to the steps beside which the two were fighting.

"No!" he yelled across the room.

She shook her head. "I have to or it crosses over to our world." Christi took a breath and growled low, "I will not be known as the Slayer who let the Master back into our world."

"You won't kill me will you, dearie?" He asked in Hermoine's familiar comfortable voice. Christi nearly wavered.

"I wouldn't kill her," she said in a low voice, "but you're not her."

The Master locked her gaze to his, "Come now Christi, you've been through a lot these past few days. You haven't eaten," he said slowly, "you've slept badly, you need help and rest. Let me help you."

Angel slowly walked up to them, afraid that any sudden movement might shift the precarious balance of power.

She swayed slightly. Angel was afraid he'd lost her. Suddenly, her eyes narrowed, "And just to let you know," Angel barely picked up her words, "your little trick doesn't work on me." The very air hummed with tension. She drew back ready to kill him.

The Master screamed, a multi-tonal sound that made vampires throughout the complex cringe. Christi pulled back, hands over her ears. Instantly, Angel was with her. "Are you all right?" She nodded. They looked at where the body of the Master lay trembling.

Christi went over to him. "Christina wait. It might be a trick."

"I . . . I don't think so." She crouched over it and tentatively cleared the hair from it's eyes.

They blinked and opened. "Mayja?"

"Hermoine? No, it's me, Christina."

"Ah." She sighed and it sounded like a death rattle. She grasped the ex-Slayer's hand, "You have to kill me."

"No! Hermoine I can't, not if you're in control now."

"But I'm not," her voice was tired. "Its taking all my strength just to hold him at bay, I can hardly talk." She pulled tighter on the young woman's hand. "Kill me," she pleaded.

Tears streamed down Christina's face as she nodded. Angel stood behind her, not wanting to get Christi any more involved than she was. "I'll do it."

Sniffling, the ex-Slayer shook her head. "I have to. It's my fault this is all happening. If I hadn't ignored my gift I would have seen the signs of a interdimensional rift, would have felt my double pushing through."

Hermoine convulsed, tears squeezing from her eyes. "Do it. Now! Please," her voice broke, "I can't hold him any longer."

Christina straddled her body, arm poised high. Hand tight on the shard -- it cut into her palm -- she whispered, "Let him go."

The tightness in her body relaxed only to be replaced by vivid alertness. Quickly and with precision she ran the long hard metal across the Master's neck. Hot blood spurted up and out, covering Christi before she could scramble off the body.

"That won't kill me," the Master said.

Palming a crimson stick from who knew where, Christi said, almost mournfully, "I know."

She dropped it into a pool of blood and jumped back. It immediately caught fire, traveling along the red pathways until they consumed the Master in fire. Angel shielded his wife from the heat and fire.

When it was over he let her go. She collapsed back into him. "Think you're strong enough to carry me," she asked weakly.

He smiled and lifted her.

29

"We were starting to worry," Tara said upon their arrival through the door. She and Willow hastily brushed away the chalk door, erasing their magic with it.

The two witches and werewolf followed the former vampire and ex-Slayer up to the couple's bedroom. Angel lay his wife on the bed and kissed her forehead. She looked like so much walked over mudo-crudoff, but Angel was simply happy to have her back. A glance in their floor length mirror told him he didn't look much better. Those bruises were going to hurt something awful tomorrow.

"Hey, Angel," Willow started to say, he was looking down at his wife as she fell asleep, "if you're not too tired I'll tell you about those little red stix you bought for Christi."

Half asleep, she perked at her name.

"They're called Fire Stix you know."

Angel groaned. Christina turned over, buried her face in a pillow and giggled.

"What? Did I say something funny?" Oz and Tara looked from her to them and shrugged.

Angel stretched out and laughed with his wife.

"We'll show ourselves out."

Fin

They laughed even harder.