Dust Thou Art
by Jeanne Rose
Part 10
Cordelia arrived nearly twenty minutes late and was surprised to find the office empty. Where was Wesley? Hesitantly she tiptoed down the first few stairs into a darkness that seemed much more bat cave-ish than normal. But at least it was a little cooler, and flickers of light suggested that someone was home.
"Angel?" she called into the darkness.
Wesley's voice came back. "Down here, Cordelia."
She hurried down the steps but stopped cold when she saw Wesley sitting in a chair by Angel's bed. Candlelight cast odd shadows over a dark, Angel-sized form and gleamed off of the chains holding it eagle-spread across the sheets.
"Oh no. He didn't – "
"No. I don't think he's turned."
She stepped closer. "Then why . . ." She stopped again and stared. Angel was lying face down, unconscious. His back and arms were badly burned, and his hair and remaining clothing looked charred. A horrible odor of burned flesh assailed her nostrils.
"What happened?" she asked, putting her fingertips to her nose.
"I found him lying in the doorway to the street, just after sunrise. Luckily, I managed to smother the flames and get him inside. A few seconds more and there might not have been much left to find."
Cordelia's heart jumped. This was not supposed to be happening. She spied the amulet glowing evilly on the table beside Angel's bed. "Wait a minute. That thing is just supposed to give him nightmares, not make him turn himself into demon barbeque."
"I imagine that whoever made the amulet wasn't satisfied with merely torturing demons with nightmares of death. It must drive them to destroy themselves." His voice was calm, but it suddenly occurred to her that Wesley must have been sitting here in the dark for hours, alone with Angel's burned body and the knowledge of what had almost happened.
She looked again at the charred form of the vampire she had come to care so much about. "Is he going to be all right?"
"I think so. This may be hard to believe, but he looked much worse a few hours ago. I expect he'll be regaining consciousness soon."
And then they'd know for sure if he still had his marbles, and his soul. She sat down with Wesley to wait.
Fire. Everywhere. He writhed in it, disintegrating endlessly. He had no voice to scream with, and his tears turned to steam in the flames. His father shook his head with disgust and threw another shovelful of dirt over his grave. Kathy's trusting face crumpled as he drained the life from her. Demons clawed at him, ripping him to shreds. A hundred familiar faces paraded past his view, screaming or fainting or staring with horror as he leaned down to drink their blood. Darla kissed his cheek, then pressed a tiny, ornate cross against his face with a gloved hand, burning it into his skin. His heart beat once, a single, lonely contraction in his chest. An arrow flew from Giles' crossbow and silenced it. He tried to pull it out, but it wouldn't budge. The gypsies' chanting rang in his ears. Drusilla draped herself seductively against him and toyed with the arrow, whispering words into his ear that he couldn't understand. Decades of hunger gnawed at his bones like rats. He fell on his face in the street, gasping as his soul slipped away like water between his fingers. Candlelight flickered off of Buffys face, and she smiled at him before she changed to vampire form and bit his neck. Blood ran in hot drops down his back. The Oracles shook their heads sadly and turned and walked away from him. Then the portal to hell swallowed him whole, and there was nothing but fire and pain and darkness . . . .
Cordelia switched the notepad she was using as a fan from one tired hand to the other and sighed, realizing she was going to need a bathroom break soon. And it wasn't too many hours now until she was due on set. She could only go over her four lines so many times in her head, imagining every possible inflection a director might ask for. She was about to call to Wesley to take his turn at Angel-watching when the subject of the vigil finally stirred.
She stared for a moment, making sure what she thought she had seen was real, then called to the study in a tone that brought Wesley scurrying to her side, open book in hand, surreptitiously rubbing sleep from his eyes.
"He moved," she said, pointing.
Wesley grabbed a candle and held it closer. Angel twitched again, a jerky movement as if he were fighting his way to consciousness. A shudder ran through him. Then his lungs drew breath for the first time in hours and his eyes popped open, unseeing and tormented. He jerked at the chains binding him hand and foot – Cordelia prayed they would hold. He moaned in pain and tried to get up, thwarted again by the chains. Finally he lay panting until his eyes cleared and focused on Cordelia.
"What happened?" he whispered. It seemed a lucid question, at least.
"You tried to get a suntan," she said, a touch of remembered fear sharpening her voice. "If Wesley hadn't been there, we'd be sweeping what was left of you into a small urn for me to keep on my mantel."
Wesley threw her an odd look, but Angel's eyes slid shut again before he could answer. They stood staring at him in rather anxious suspense until he opened them again a minute later. His back was nearly healed now, bright red like an ordinary sunburn. He shifted, wincing. The chains did not allow him much movement. He looked up at Wesley.
"Let me go."
Wesley shook his head. "I'm afraid I can't do that. There's very little chance Cordelia and I could stop you from harming yourself if something like this should happen again."
Angel stared at the amulet on the table, then looked back at Wesley. "If this is my fate, you can't stop it."
"I can certainly try. Angel, we're obviously dealing with more than just nightmares now. Whatever atonement you think the Powers want from you, you can make it right there."
"The Powers can't want you dead," Cordelia chimed in. "You're on their side!"
Angel stared at her. "Doyle died."
She could not think about that. "Yeah, but Doyle died saving a bunch of half demons, not to mention you and me. If you had died in the doorway this morning, who would that have helped?"
"I don't know. It doesn't have to make sense. I just have to know it's right."
"And do you?"
"No," he confessed reluctantly. "Not yet. But it'll be a little hard for me to figure it out while I'm chained to this bed."
Wesley held out his book. "We'll help. There are still dozens of sources where we might find more information."
Angel jerked at his bonds with frustration. "Look . . . I'll go crazy like this. We can work something out. You can barricade the doors, get rid of all the stakes. Just let me go."
Wesley swallowed, but stood firm. "No."
"Cordelia?"
"Sorry, Angel, but I think Wesley's right. I like you much better as not a pile of dust."
Exasperation flickered across Angel's face. He turned his head away from them.
Cordelia let out a covert sigh of relief. Holding Angel against his will might be a bit of a tricky proposition. She turned to Wesley to ask him what their next move should be, but suddenly she heard a distinctive clink and looked back. Angel had taken hold of one of the chains. He pulled down on it, muscles shaking, until a link popped open and the chain broke.
Wesley jumped. "So much for shopping sales," he mumbled. Cordelia decided she would definitely have to have a talk with him about what kinds of purchases were suitable for bargain hunting. In no time Angel had freed himself and slowly stood, towering over Wesley with his vampire face on. He held out his wrists.
"Give me the key."
Wesley dropped the book and hurriedly dug into his pocket.
Cordelia suppressed a smile in spite of her concern. So much for Plan A.
Angel's face melted back to its less daunting form and he swayed unsteadily on his feet. She took his arm and pulled him back down to the bed while Wesley produced the key and unlocked the now useless shackles. Angel's hands fell into his lap. His normally pale face was so white Cordelia was sure he was about to faint.
"Angel? Are you ok?"
"I need blood," he murmured.
She hurried to the ice chest he had set by the refrigerator and pulled out a bag. "You want a glass?"
The familiar self-consciousness sprang into his eyes. "No." She handed it to him. He avoided looking at either of them as he switched momentarily back to fangs and sank them into the bag, draining it without losing a drop. She and Wesley stared in covert fascination. He looked much better afterwards. Despite the heat he reached for an undershirt and gingerly pulled it on.
"What about the sea dragon?" he asked.
"There were no deaths last night – at least none that the news services are aware of," Wesley reported. "Maybe we really did harm it."
"Or maybe the lawyer-boys started dumping sides of beef overboard to keep it quiet," Cordelia added.
"Did you figure out how to free it?" Angel asked.
"As a matter of fact, I may be on to something," Wesley said
slowly. "The bad news is, we're going to need about thirty pounds of powdered
fish eyes."