Dust Thou Art
by Jeanne Rose
Part 6
Cordelia was waiting for them when they arrived back at the office. "Well?" she asked.
"You should have been there," Wesley said exuberantly, feeling the need to lighten the mood. "Sir Angel versus the Sea Dragon, our hero charging into the fray with only a trusty broadsword and his faithful squire at his side, defending the innocent maiden and her lackey against the fearsome evil lurking in the deep."
Angel's mouth quirked upward in amusement at this version of events, and Wesley counted it a tiny victory. "Too bad Sir Angel' had to do battle with a blanket over his head," he said ruefully. "Not quite the heroic figure you usually find in the fairy tales. And it's a good thing it didn't turn into a pitched battle, or this might have been one of those stories where the first few knights end up in the dragon's stomach."
"But you won, right?" Cordelia asked. "You saved that blond woman in my vision?"
"Yes," Wesley replied. "It turned out to be the good Detective Lockely, who is on the case and in over her head, I fear. We frightened it off long enough for her to escape, but not before a police officer was wounded.
"I'm not sure it was frightened as much as good and annoyed," Angel said, shaking his head. "We got lucky. We still don't know how to kill it, and until we do, more people are going to die."
"I guess it's back to the books again, then," Cordelia sighed.
* * *
Angel kicked sullenly at the inside of the barn door, knowing he couldn't break the lock. He was in serious trouble this time. When Father waited until his anger had cooled, the strap connected much more consistently.
It wasn't that he didn't deserve it. His carelessness had cost the life of their best milk cow. He squirmed at the memory of his mother's face as she absorbed the news. It had been a bad year. Without the extra milk to sell, it would be a hard winter.
Finally he heard the key turn and the door opened. Father stood framed in the doorway against the bright afternoon sun, a green amulet hanging across his chest. With a quick thrust Angel knew he could push his way past the old man and be gone faster than anyone could follow. But he planted his feet and stood his ground.
"I shouldna be surprised that ye have disappointed me again. Thinking only of yourself and your friends, caring nothing for your own family. We'll all go short come winter, thanks to you."
"I'm sorry, Father." He was mortified that his voice shook. "I didn't mean for –"
"No, you didn't think, did you? You'll see us all dead, and go on your merry way. It was a sin to have sired you."
Angel stared at the blood seeping from his father's neck. Then he remembered his mother and sweet Kathy lying lifeless beside the kitchen door.
"Your own flesh and blood, dead at your hand. What am I to think of that?" His father reached to his belt, but instead of a strap, he held a stake. "Ye have no family. Ye are no son of mine."
With a snarl of hatred, he plunged the stake into Angel's heart.
* * *
Angel woke abruptly. He looked around his office and was relieved to find himself alone.
He almost forgotten about the cow. He had only been eleven years old and hadn't realized how far a cow could wander while he joined the rest of the village lads for a cool dip in the river. She had fallen in a hole and died, and bread had been scarce that winter.
The beating had not hurt nearly as much as the disapproving look that lingered in his father's eyes.
Angel shook his head to dismiss the memory. It had happened over two hundred and fifty years ago. His father would be dead now even if his son had not become a vampire. The cow was just an innocent mistake. The rest was not, but there was nothing he could do about it. He had murdered his family. He accepted it. But that didn't make it any easier to live with.
He paced the length of his office and back, needing something to do, something to fight, or at least enough room to walk off the growing burden of all the memories the amulet was dredging up. But the sun was still up, and there was no reason to think that the sea dragon would be causing anymore trouble just now.
He glanced through the office windows. Wesley was reading. Cordelia was . . . filing, or something. There was not much he could do to help them.
He found himself staring at the plant that Melissa had given him, sitting on the shelf behind his desk. Despite the fact that Cordelia watered it faithfully, it was looking rather stunted. It wasn't supposed to need much light, but the pot it was in looked quite small. If nothing else, he supposed he could relieve its suffering. He went downstairs to find a bigger pot and some potting soil.