Author's note: This story takes place between the episodes "Eternity" and "Five by Five" in season 1.
Dust Thou Art
by Jeanne Rose
Part 1
Angel stalked the demon relentlessly through the dark alleys of one of Los Angeles' forgotten neighborhoods. He hadn't got a good look at it yet, but he had seen its victim, and he vowed that she would be the last.
The demon's faint, acrid scent led him over a chain link fence and into an abandoned lot between two buildings. A sagging metal shed and a stripped-down station wagon cast faint shadows in the greasy dirt. The scent was strong. It was here.
The demon jumped him without warning. Its claws dug into his arms, drawing blood. He twisted out its grip and shoved an elbow into its face, then spun and kicked it in the stomach. It staggered but turned and swept his legs out from under him with a heavy tail. He went down hard.
As the demon loomed over him he finally caught a glimpse of it in the murky glow of a surviving street lamp – small, vicious eyes, a row of spikes across its head and shoulders, a lot of sharp teeth, and a glowing green amulet hanging around its neck.
He rolled to his feet and kicked sideways at its knee. He felt the joint give. The demon howled in pain and charged him, shoving him into the brick wall of the building with spiked fists that gouged his chest. Ignoring the pain Angel showered it with blows, trying to determine its vulnerable spots. Beheading would probably be effective. He began to look around for a suitable weapon.
Sudden, intense pain shot through the wounds in his chest. He gasped and retreated a pace. The spikes must secrete some kind of poison. The demon growled in triumph and advanced. Angel stumbled dizzily, trying to avoid its grasp, but it shoved him to the ground and pinned him beneath its weight. He struggled fiercely but could not get free.
The demon released its hold just long enough to sink a long spike into his heart. He screamed, and turned to dust.
* * *
Cordelia looked up from the pile of booklets, forms, receipts, and scratch paper scattered across her desk with an end-of-the-world sigh. It was hopeless. There was no way to make the calculator come up with anything remotely resembling a reasonable figure. She hit the "clear" button resentfully and glanced around, looking for someone to commiserate with.
Wesley hadn't come back from supper, and she hadn't heard any stirrings in Angel's office either. Of course, that didn't mean he wasn't there. He could spend hours sitting motionless at his desk, staring at nothing, brooding about whatever dark, deep mystical things vampires with souls brooded about. Perhaps he wouldn't mind a little interruption?
She strode across the office and stuck her head through his doorway. "Angel?"
He was asleep at his desk, forehead resting on folded arms. Then his head snapped up and a cascade of emotions flickered across his face. Fear, confusion, relief, shame?
"Sorry," she said. "Is . . . everything OK?"
He made a visible effort to collect himself. "Yeah. It's OK. It was . . . just a bad dream."
Tiny warning bells went off inside her head, but he stood, dismissing it. "What did you want?"
He didn't want to talk about it – big surprise. And she wasn't in the mood to pry it out of him just now. She plunked herself into a chair opposite the desk.
"I can't figure out why I owe the government four hundred dollars of income tax. I mean, I didn't make any real money." Abruptly realizing the tactlessness of this remark, she hurriedly added, "Not that what you pay me isn't real, I just . . . well, it never seems to add up in my money market account, so how can it add up to four hundred dollars of income tax? No wonder Daddy got into so much trouble."
Angel was staring at her rather bemusedly. So much for commiseration. Had he ever paid taxes? Did he even have a social security number? "I don't suppose you've ever had to worry much about stuff like that."
"No, not really."
"Well, you better watch out." She bristled at the memory of her personal possessions being carted off by blue collar nobodies. "Those IRS guys can be as vicious as any demon."
Her eye was suddenly caught by a gaudy-looking green amulet on a gold chain, resting in a small box at the corner of Angel's desk. It had a fancy network of lines and swirls and looked very old.
"Hey, what's that? And if it's not some precious heirloom or demon-fighting talisman, could we, maybe, sell it? Bills, bills, bills! Not to mention my taxes."
Angel followed her gaze. And inhaled sharply. She watched him closely as he moved slowly around the desk, staring at the amulet.
"It's not yours?" she asked.
"No. Someone must have sent it."
She reached to pick it up, but he blocked her hand. "Don't touch it."
"Right." She reached for the entire box instead. Was it a trick of the light, or was the thing actually glowing? And who in their right mind would imagine the monstrosity as a complement to any conceivable outfit?
She heard the front door opening. "Maybe Wesley will know what
it is."
* * *
Wesley was reading the paper as he came in, oblivious as usual. He glanced at them over the top of it. "Did you see this story on the second page of The Times?"
She deftly pushed the paper away from him and thrust the box under his nose. "Do you know what this is?"
Wesley kept hold of his paper but looked at the box. "It came in the mail this morning," he replied. "I put it on Angel's desk so that he could have a look at it."
"But what it is?"
"It's clearly an amulet of some kind. It looks familiar, but I can't place it." He reached to pick it up just as Cordelia had.
She jerked the box away from him. "Angel says not to touch it."
Wesley's eyebrows went up. Finally he put down his paper and hooked the chain with a pencil, lifting the amulet out of the box and onto her desk. "The design looks Celtic, but it's a very unusual pattern." He leaned down to look at it more closely. "There are words engraved around the edge, but they have nearly worn off." He rummaged for a magnifying glass. "Welsh, I think. Anysbryd mil gwaith marwolaeth," he said slowly.
Angel, who had been hovering rather anxiously at Cordelia's side, took a sudden step backward. Wesley glanced up at him.
"Oh, sorry. I guess that translates roughly to – May evil die a thousand deaths."
"You mean, it kills demons?" Cordelia asked.
"I'm not sure. But I know I've seen this design before. I'll have to do some reading." He looked downright cheery at the prospect.
Angel stirred uncomfortably beside her. "It . . . might explain the dreams I was having."
Ah ha, the truth at last. Cordelia eyed him sharply. "What kind of dreams? Not – biting people kind of dreams?"
Angel's mouth twitched. "No. Stake through the heart kind of dreams."
Wesley stirred. "So, you've been experiencing recurring nightmares in which you were impaled with a stake and, um, disintegrated?"
Angel nodded. "Sunlight too. Fire. Beheading. The whole drill."
Upon closer inspection, he did look rather haggard. Cordelia noticed that Wesley had moved surreptitiously away from the amulet. "And when did the nightmares begin?" he asked.
"This morning."
"The same time the box arrived. Certainly more than a coincidence."
"So what is it doing here?" Cordelia asked. "And what do we do about it?"
"Well, the first thing to do is get some information." Wesley lifted the amulet again with much more caution than he had before, and was about to put it back into the box when Cordelia suddenly spotted something.
"Oh!" she cried, pointing to the box. Wesley nearly dropped it. "There's a return address. That should tell us something, right?" She snatched the box away from him, leaving the amulet dangling gingerly in the air. "1710 Wilshire Blvd. Here in LA. Shouldn't be too hard to track down." She turned toward the computer.
Suddenly the lights went out. Her heart sank. "Oh dear."
Angel walked to the window. "Sun's down." He opened the blinds, letting in the fading evening light. "Lights are still on across the street."
Might as well get the worst over with. "That's probably because they paid their electric bill."
It took them both a second to clue in. "And we didn't?" they said, more or less in unison.
"Last month we only had enough for the water bill or the electric bill. And since Angel isn't too keen on light . . . " She shrugged.
Angel rubbed his forehead as if it hurt. "Get a map," he said to Wesley. "We'll take the car."