There came a short, inhuman scream, followed by the ripe sound of something being ripped asunder.
Unmoved by the twisted death mask his victim now wore, the killer sat back to survey his handiwork. "Messy," he said.
"Quite." One hand braced on the dashboard of the car, Wesley surveyed the mangled demon form sprawled over the convertible's bonnet. "What was it do you think?"
"Hard to tell, especially now that it's in pieces. Besides, you're the expert here."
"Well, the poor wretch wasn't human, that much is certain." Observing the darkening sky overhead, Wesley continued, "The sun's not yet set, but I believe it's safe enough if you keep to the shadows."
"That's good enough for me."
As Angel threw open the door and slid out from behind the wheel, Wesley paused at his words, surprised and unexpectedly touched. It was a small thing, yet instinctive, unthinking trust was something he thought he'd never again receive from Angel. It was a heartening sign that not all had been completely lost that fateful night of Connor's abduction, that there still remained a kernel of friendship, of loyalty no matter the words they had exchanged earlier.
Following Angel's example, Wesley climbed out of the car and gingerly approached the dismembered creature they had run down. Angel was prodding at the gruesome kill, dislodging it from the bonnet, causing them both to step back quickly as the remains plopped wetly to the floor.
They stared at the unfortunate road kill for a moment, before Angel looked up.
"Do you think entrail will stain the paintwork?"
"It was guarding this place," Wesley said, ignoring the comment. "If the information Lilah gave me was correct, then there should be an entrance around here somewhere."
"If Lilah's information is correct." Angel gestured meaningfully to the solid brick wall that marked the end of the alley. "It's a dead end Wes and I don't see a door."
Once again Wesley was pleasantly surprised, this time by familiar, shortened use of his name, yet he didn't comment on Angel's slip. "That unfortunate creature you killed wouldn't have been here otherwise," he said, instead.
Together, they moved to the far end of the alley, Wesley checking the dumpsters, shifting cardboard boxes, while Angel crouched down and effortlessly lifted a drain cover with a squeal of tortured metal.
Wesley grimaced and shook his head as he picked his way over the junk strewn about. "Not the sewers. Lilah would have told me."
"You sure about that?" About her, was the unspoken question.
"Lilah may be many things Angel, vindictive, deceitful and just plain evil. But she hates a mess. Somehow I doubt she'd enjoy having the contents of Los Angeles' literal underbelly trailed into her apartment."
Releasing the drain cover with a resounding thunk, Angel rose from his haunches, dusting his hands. "There's gotta be another way in."
"A concealed entrance then," Wesley suggested. "That wall perhaps."
"Let's find out, shall we?"
Carefully tapping his knuckles against the unyielding brickwork, searching for the tell-tale hollow cavity, Wesley continued, "It's possible there'll be a hidden trigger or a pulley, something we can use to…"
"Step aside."
Wesley glanced back, then hastily obeyed, shielding his face with one arm as, with vampire strength, Angel drove a solid, metal pipe into the brickwork, punching straight through.
"Not solid at all," Wesley reported, peering through the newly formed hole. "It looks like there's a corridor beyond leading downwards. My guess is that it will take us to the Veii."
"And to Connor," Angel added, before bringing the pipe down once more.
*****
Fire raked his back and Connor cried out in agony, stumbling forward as the demon's claws ripped through cloth and tender flesh alike. Batting away the leathery wings that sought to cocoon him within the beast's lethal embrace, instinct took over and Connor kicked out at his enemy, connecting with one knee joint to brutally snap the critical juncture.
The creature screamed out its own pain as Connor staggered away from his would be slayer, distancing himself as he could in such close quarters. His back was aflame now, rivulets of blood trickling downwards from a multitude of agonising lacerations, yet he refused to be distracted by the pain. To do so, was to die.
Damaged as he was, Connor could remember no time when the circumstances had been so dire. In Quor-Toth, his guardian had usually been but a step away, even in his later years, and there were always weapons to be had, whether it was crude, handmade blades or nothing more than a rock on the ground.
Here and now, utterly alone, there was nothing but his own, impaired body and already Connor could feel a weakness brought on by a loss of blood, the faintness that threatened his balance, the rapidity of his of his own, accelerated heartbeat.
You will fight, my boy. The immaculate voice in his head was insistent, chiding, Holtz's words spoken at another time, another place. And you will survive.
It was a desperate struggle, but Connor managed to drag himself upright, breath hitching with the pain, before he could turn to face the demon.
It had given up its bipedal stance and was back on all fours, all the better to nurse its broken joint, but it watched Connor, its unwavering gaze malevolent. "Why could you not die, weakling?" it hissed. "Now see what you have done."
Ignoring the pull of the wounds across his back, Connor fought to regain both balance and strength. He was the Destroyer, he told himself, had faced far worse in Quor-Toth, creatures that made the one before him seem tame. Yet it was the ease with which the thing had tricked him, had taken him at unawares that pricked at him, galled him. Holtz would have been ashamed, he knew, by his son's recklessness.
"I will do worse, demon," Connor swore, sending that oath to Holtz wherever he now resided, whether it be Heaven or hell.
The demon snarled in fury and lunged, its speed blinding despite its maimed leg, but Connor was ready, anticipating. He twisted aside, ignoring the pulling pain movement brought, welcoming the discomfort even as an old and familiar friend. Grabbing hold of the creature's scaly body, he used its own momentum to carry it on forward, head first into the door.
The hinges burst on impact, the combined strength of boy and demon breaking down the spelled door, sending them both sprawling to a sandy floor beyond.
Connor instantly rolled away, leaving a trail of blood as he did so, unsure whether the creature was permanently down and unwilling to take the chance that it wasn't. Slowly, carefully, he fought his way to his knees, raising his head to regard the room through the tangle of hair that had fallen into his eyes.
"So that's how it opens," he said simply, to the shocked priestess.
*****
"He was here," Angel announced, skidding to a stop to scent the air. "Connor. I can smell him. We're close."
"Can you lead us to him?" Wesley asked, quietly, darting furtive glances up and down the corridor.
Angel knew the ex-Watcher was worried by the distinct lack of resistance they had encountered thus far, suspecting a trap. But Connor was nearby, his rescue close at hand and Angel could think of nothing except that outcome. Trusting Wesley to guard his back, he ploughed on, oblivious to all else.
"This way," he said with certainty, turning down yet another labyrinthine tunnel.
"Angel, you should prepare yourself for the worst," Wesley warned, from behind. "They've had Connor for a day now. We have no idea what they might have done to him, what magicks they might have performed…"
"Whatever it is, I'll see that it's undone." A promise, as much to himself as to Connor.
"And what if it can't be?"
Angel didn't hesitate, didn't have time to play twenty questions with Wesley. "Then someone will pay."
"You can't afford revenge, not against the Veii. The Powers…"
"Can go to hell," Angel cut him off, swinging around to face the other man. "If they're using these priestesses to do something to Connor, to my son, then they'd better start looking for a new pawn on their cosmic chessboard, because I'll have quit."
*****
Gaze darting from both Golgoth to the demon child that crouched within her inner sanctum, Valenza abandoned her incantation and rose to her feet. There was a story behind the intrusion, she guessed, but she would hear of it later. For now, she recognised both Golgoth's betrayal and the danger the boy represented.
Calmly, she folded her hands before her, silently gathering her power unto herself. Should either attack her person, they would be sorely surprised. "What is the meaning of this?" she demanded, imbuing her words with the authority of her rank and position.
"Mistress." Golgoth spoke with difficulty as dark blood bubble from its broken mouth. "Your prize seeks to escape you."
At that, the boy let out a short bark of laughter devoid of any humour. "With your help, demon," he spat.
He had gained his feet now, yet Valenza noted the awkwardness of his movements, the stiffness about his shoulders, the iron-rich blood staining the sand. He had been damaged!
Instantly, she was overcome with righteous anger. No one was to be allowed to mark the prize, not if her sisters were to be convinced of his worth. "Golgoth," she stated, with cold fury. "You have betrayed me."
Already on its belly, the demon grovelled in the sand before her. "I have not, mistress. Golgoth is loyal."
The urge to destroy the craven thing was great, yet Valenza restrained herself. It would be too easy a death for the demon were she to activate the runed collar and kill with little more than a thought. No, a lesson would come from this…waste.
Not for Golgoth, its time had passed no matter the outcome, but for the boy. He would learn the price of disobedience and in doing so would become her instrument, administering the punishment himself. Now that he was already damaged, a little more hurt wouldn't unduly harm his worth and would perhaps in turn serve to dint some of that arrogance. He would have no use for it soon enough.
The priestess raised one slender hand and gestured to her fallen slave. "Finish your task, child," she commanded the boy. "Destroy it."
Golgoth's head whipped up that that, clearly not expecting such a punishment. Its tongue swiped its canines, a sign of its growing fear. "Mistress," it whimpered, "if I have failed…"
The boy's upper lips had curled into a feral snarl, baring his teeth, serving only to confirm in Valenza's mind that he was little more than a vicious animal, a demon not unlike the dying creature that even now abased itself at her feet.
"When I have finished with this beast," the boy warned her, grimly, "I will come for you."
Valenza was amused by the pathetic display of bravado. Little did he know of her powers, yet he still strove for defiance, sacrificing order for the sake of his childish pride. Her replacement would be tested greatly by this one, before he broke beneath the might of the collar and the will of the priestess who would own him.
"We shall see, child," was all she said. "You may begin."