Scenting his own death in the ozone-tinged air, Angel instinctively braced himself, closing his eyes against the blazing light that surrounded his would-be murderess. He was certain were circumstances less dire, the irony would strike him as amusing, that after countless, nail biting battles against vampire, demon, mayor and lawyer, he was destined to be taken out by his own side.
And yet, despite his fatalistic musings, the seconds continued to tick by, the passage of time stretching unbearably, becoming taut and thin with tension…
Before snapping back with a jolt as Angel dared to crack open his eyes, still anticipating hellfire, wondering why he remained as yet intact and untouched.
Standing upon the dais, the insane priestess continued to thrum with power, the energy enough to send trembling shock waves through the cavern floor. But she was impotent now, her eyes wild as they darted about in fright.
Angel followed her gaze to a group of women standing silent and apart, cowls hiding their faces, seemingly impervious to the falling rock, the destruction and mayhem. Cast images, Angel realised, as their forms shimmered and shivered like glass refracting light. Illusions.
One raised her hand and spoke a single word. "Enough!"
Like the flicking of a light switch, the priestess' power disintegrated in a flash, falling away to be swallowed hungrily by the earth at her feet. Instantly, the ground ceased to shake and the Veii guards who had failed to escape the initial onslaught fell to their knees before the newcomers.
"The other Veii," Wesley spoke up from behind Angel.
The ex-Watcher was gazing keenly at the women, the dark events that led to his exile unable to entirely suppress the boyish eagerness that gleamed in his eyes, that hawkish hunger for knowledge of all things mystical. Angel took it as a good sign, one that suggested the old Wesley hadn't been completely buried beneath the aloof cynic the man had become.
As for Connor, he had Angel's leather jacket slung haphazardly about his shoulders now, the stark contrast of shiny black against too pale skin making him appear all the more vulnerable. Wrapped in a coat two sizes too big for him, he reminded Angel of a kid playing dress up in daddy's clothes. Except the time for such childlike games were over a decade too late.
"Are you ok?" Angel asked, seeing the evidence for himself, yet needing to hear Connor say it.
Connor squinted at him from where he knelt in the sand, then looked away, down at his hands, refusing to make eye contact. "I'm fine," he muttered.
Angel stared a moment longer, then nodded, satisfied. Whatever was going on in his son's head, he'd get to the bottom of it, but not here, not now. Later, when they were safely back at the hotel.
The Veii who had first spoken removed her pale hood to reveal cinnamon skin and a crimson caste mark set low on her forehead. "Angel the vampire," she greeted him, her cool demeanour lacking either regret or guilt. "Be assured, we have no quarrel with you or your get. You may leave now."
Taken aback at the highhandedness of her words, Angel had to bite his tongue to keep from voicing a sharp retort. His first priority was to get Connor out, so he'd play it their way and keep it impersonal. For now.
"Charming," he heard Wesley utter, who was under no such constraint.
Stooping, Angel helped Connor to his feet, pulling his son's arm over one shoulder despite the boy's protests that he could walk just fine.
Yeah, sure you can, Angel thought, that's why you're shaking a like a new born foal.
It was sheer stubborn pride and Angel knew exactly whose genes had contributed to that particular trait. Darla had held her own conceits of course, vanity being foremost, but she'd never been one to turn down help when it would serve her purpose or save her skin.
So instead of pointing out the obvious, that Connor wouldn't be walking out unaided any time soon and run the risk of alienating him all the more, Angel ignored his son and simply tightened his grip. Maybe asking for help was beyond Connor's capabilities, but seeing that he got that help was Angel's duty as his father, had been ever since the night Darla had shown up at the hotel, ready to pop with their child.
Sunniest day of the year, he reminded himself as Connor's slight frame slewed unsteadily against him.
"Champion of the Powers."
The Indian priestess' voice made Angel pause and he silently cursed the woman when he felt his son tense in his arms. Hadn't the kid been put through the wringer enough already, without the 'just one more thing' speech?
"The boy's fate has yet to be determined," the Veii told him. "A darkness is approaching, coming for him…and for you. We are done with the boy, but should he choose his path poorly, there are others who will not be so constrained."
Angel hesitated, hearing the warning in her words and shared a look with Wesley. The players could be replaced, rules shifted between that thin, middle line, but the game would always remain the same. A mouth of Hell opening to swallow them all, a minion of evil looking to make itself head honcho of the world, an apocalypse on the cusp of the horizon. Some things would never change.
Yet neither would Angel, an ever vigilant, immortal guardian, ready and willing to kick back down whatever was currently peeping over the edge of the abyss. The eternal fight was his cross to bear, but he knew he'd never have to shoulder it alone. Glancing at Wesley, Angel knew he had friends, good friends that no matter their history, when things got tough he could count on them to be at his side. And, one day, he knew he'd find Connor there as well.
*****
Leaving the Veii's place of power, their progress slowed by Connor's injuries, Angel could hear the priestesses as they passed their judgements back at the temple. He longed to simply gather his son into his arms and leave as quickly as possible, yet another part wanted to hear that justice had been meted out to those deserving. And he also knew that Connor, with his father's preternatural senses, needed to hear it too.
"Baron, you have acquitted yourself well during this matter," a fluted voice said, faintly. "We do not punish those who have come to seek the light. For your deeds, your unstinting service, you will be rewarded with the gift of freedom."
Angel wondered if he should be aggrieved at that, his ribs still sore where the captain had kicked him, yet something felt right that the man, or demon, or whatever he was, should have come to win his freedom. It would be a long time coming, if ever, that Angel could reap his own such reward, freedom from the demon within, a restoration of his humanity, a life, a love, a family.
"Valenza." And now the voice that spoke was grim, weighing the woman's worth, finding it wanting. "You have brought darkness to this place that is holy. You have betrayed our cause with your selfish purpose."
"I simply wish to be free of this. You can do nothing to me that I have not asked for."
"Then you shall receive what you so desire. You will no longer walk amongst us or call us brethren, but will be banished to the realm of mortals."
"I…"
"And you will come to live as mortals do."
"No!"
"Until the day you perish, as mortals do."
"You murder me! You cannot do this!"
"The judgement is passed."
"I am your sister!"
"The sentence will be carried out immediately."
"I am your better!"
The silence that followed was deafening and Angel felt Connor tense, turning his head slightly to one side as he struggled to hear.
"Connor," Angel began.
A human wail of such agony, such distress rent the air, echoing down the corridors, loud enough that even Wesley, leading the way, spun round in shock.
It ended so abruptly, so sharply that Angel wondered if they had killed her. Yet somehow, he doubted it, it wasn't their way. "It's over, son," he said, gently, as Connor continued to wait, maybe hoping for something more final. Unsure of what to say next, Angel simply repeated, "It's over."
That seemed to get the boy's attention and Connor blinked, blue eyes grazing Angel's concerned browns before glancing away skittishly. "Good," was all he said.
*****
The broken weeping was the only thing to be heard as the woman crouched in the sand, hands covering her face.
"Valenza," Baron spoke gently, wondering what of her would be left now that she had been stripped of her powers, her beauty, her immortality.
"Leave me," she whimpered, flinching at his touch.
But Baron persisted, raising her chin so he could see her face. Youth was gone, along with the radiance of a Veii, but beneath was something real, more genuine than he could ever have dared to hope for.
Crouching down, he took her face between his hands, wiping her tears away with his thumbs as he bent to kiss her imperfect lips.
"Don't," she whispered, pulling away.
But he turned her back, willing her to see into his soul as she had done so many times in their past, urging her to see his honesty, his desire. And when she faltered, eyes growing wide, he knew that she had.
Rising, he held out a hand and tentatively, Valenza slid her much smaller one into his callused palm. As he led the shattered, stumbling woman from the empty cavern, Baron knew much had changed. No longer would he be her servant, able only to temper her madnesses with soft words of guile. Now he was master, and while the demon inside longed for retribution, punishment for all the years of small humiliations she had inflicted, Baron found he could no more harm her than he could stop himself from loving her.
And sometimes, that was all that was needed.