That will be your place, soon enough child.
The unpleasant promise returned to Connor time and again throughout the endless waiting, refusing to allow him either rest or peace, worming its way into his troubled subconscious as he took advantage of a brief cat-nap. It was not a true sleep, oh, no, for that would be a foolish thing to do amongst enemies and in Quor-Toth such an error would have earned him a whipping from Holtz. Not a malicious beating, he knew, more an act of love, just a way for his then-father to keep him alive for another day.
Thoughts of his guardian gave Connor no comfort at all, knowing that were Daniel Holtz still alive and not dead by his own hand, he would never have allowed his son to remained imprisoned, to remain alone. Bastard son of his most hated enemies though Connor was, Holtz had always taken care of his charge, had protected Connor with an intensity that gave even the darkest creatures of that hell dimension pause.
Unlike Angel and his friends, to whom Connor should have meant so much more to. They probably knew of his predicament and were already gloating, thinking he had got what he deserved. It still hurt when Connor thought of Fred's accusations, of her anger and pain when she had discovered what he had done to the vampire.
And how long before we deserved it? she had asked, eyes huge and so, so betrayed.
Never, Connor would have replied, if he had been given the chance, if his own crippling anger at his failure to destroy Angelus hadn't murdered the words before they were even born.
Grief and regret lanced through his heart as he thought of Fred, even of Gunn. That summer spent with them had been the best of his life. Carefree laughter, good and plentiful food, Fred's mothering. Hunting demons and vampires, knowing he had avenged his father's murder and that Angelus was rotting at the bottom of the sea. Life had been good.
But it was all gone now, turned to ashes. Angel had seen to that, seen fit to rip Connor from the one place he had ever called home, from the only people left alive who truly cared. That Angel had every cause, that Connor had messed up, had made the situation all the more galling.
In a pique of anger, Connor thumped his elbow back into the wall, the brick caving in where struck, but otherwise holding firm. The lone guard jumped at that and brought his staff to bear on the cell, but Connor ignored him, ignored everything around him, and drew his knees tighter into his chest, hugging to bring comfort, to stem the tide of the painful memories.
It was time he accepted the one truth he had so far failed to grasp. He was alone.
*****
"What?" Somehow thinking he must have misheard, vampire hearing be damned, Angel turned back.
"The Veii are servants of the Powers That Be," Wesley continued, his look anything but happy.
"But…how can that be?" Feeling as if the very foundations of his world were being shaken, yet again, Angel sank back to the couch, staring at the piece of paper now held slackly in his hand. Evil he could deal with, could fight with sword and axe and fist. But this…
With a weary sigh, Wesley rose and moved to the bookshelf, running a distracted finger over the spines of the volumes he kept there. Without turning, he began to speak, "The Veii are an ancient order, a sisterhood that has spanned millennia. Throughout history, they have been connected to the Sumerian goddess Nin-gal, the Egyptian goddess Nepthys, Tiamat of Babylon, and later still, the Greek goddess Athena and the Roman Minerva." Finally, he turned back to confront Angel. "Each and every one of these devoted to order and good."
"They've taken my son, Wesley," Angel said, hand clenching around the slip of paper, wishing he could crush Connor's kidnappers so easily, knowing he couldn't now, even were he to be given the opportunity. "How can they be the good guys in this?"
"My guess? They believe Connor to be evil, or at the very least, a harbinger of something worse to come."
"He's just a kid." Even to Angel's own ears, the argument sounded weak. Connor was anything but.
Yet Wesley seemed to understand his turmoil, his gaze not unkindly. "Perhaps it would be possible to arrange an audience with the priestesses, plead Connor's case. It might take time, but…"
Angel shook his head and pushed to his feet, cutting him off. "Powers That Be or not, Wesley, Connor's done nothing wrong…" He paused, recalling that fateful night, the fight on the beach, his impromptu journey to the bottom of the ocean. "Well, not lately," he amended, somewhat lamely, then quickly shook off his doubts. "You know where these people are?"
"Of course, but Angel you must realize that…"
"No, Wesley." It came out sharply, and Wesley halted, raising a cool eyebrow, as Angel continued, "No words of caution, no telling me to be careful, that these people are on our side. They've abducted my son and I'll be damned if I let them get away with it."
"If you go up against the Veii," Wesley intoned, solemnly, "you might well be."
They stared at each other for a long moment, a silent communication that spoke volumes where words could only be inadequate. A brief moment of mistrust that led to a child's abduction, a scuffle in a hospital room coupled with harsh and unforgiving words, could not erase the memory of three years of camaraderie, of fighting side by side against unspeakable horrors, facing death each day on the toss of a coin, the whimsy of the Fates.
"Right then," Wesley said, briskly. "I'll just get my coat."
*****
The creak of the door jarred Connor from his misery and he glanced up through the bangs that shielded his eyes. The creature from before was slinking across the cavern floor, observing him through those eerie, yellow eyes, lit by an unholy fire from within.
Giving up on the pretence of sleep altogether, Connor unfolded himself from his curled up position to slip off the bunk, not wishing to be at a disadvantage in the creature's presence.
It moved closer to the bars, cautiously, something red and dripping speared by one hooked claw. Meat, Connor saw with disgust, as he curled his fingers around the bars, wishing that his strength were greater, that he might somehow bend them enough to escape from this terrible place.
"Food," the creature enunciated, the word not coming easily though its thick canines. It pushed the lump of dead animal through the bars to land with a wet thud at Connor's feet.
Connor didn't take his eyes from the creature to look, didn't dare. Once, Angel's friend Cordelia had told him that demon didn't always equal evil. In this instance, she was mistaken. There was something indefinably wrong about this one, a malevolence held tightly in check, that, if freed, would do great damage and take great pleasure in the doing so. It didn't help that the creature was looking at him like he was its next snack, just another lump of bloodied meat not unlike the one at Connor's feet.
The creature backed away a little, then made a gesturing motion, bringing its claws up to its mouth, bobbing its head encouragingly.
It wants me to eat, Connor realized, with dull distaste. How foolish did his captors think he was? Were it one of Fred's bologna sandwiches, or even an Oreo cookie, and not something newly dead, Connor would not consume anything in this place.
The creature appeared crestfallen, then brought its claw to its chest, tapping lightly. "Gol-goth," it said.
Its name, Connor knew. The priestess had spoken it. But why give it to him? Did it, and he scoffed at the notion, somehow wish that they be friends?
It sidled closed, eyeing him slyly, then bent its head to whisper, "Young one Golgoth help."
Connor cocked his head at that, eyes narrowing as he regarded the creature. It was not to be trusted, that much was certain, but perhaps its agenda differed from that of its mistress. Perhaps there was an advantage to be had in such circumstance.
The creature sank onto its back haunches, squatting in the dirt with an ease that suggested it was not so comfortable on all fours after all. It was something Connor would have to remember if he ever fought it.
With one razor-sharp talon, it pointed meaningfully at the freshly dead kill, then twisted with a ripple of muscle and sinew and loped for the door.
Connor watched it leave, saw how the guard shifted nervously as it passed, obviously uncomfortable in the presence of such a beast, then bent to examine the gift the creature had brought. Through the blood and gore, there was a glint of something bright and shiny, something metallic. Wiping away the crimson fluid with the heel of his hand, Connor revealed the creature's true gift.
A key.