Part VI: Wolfram & Hart
"You work here?"
Stretching far up into a cobalt-blue sky the sleek obsidian lines of the structure faintly resembled an enormous head stone, although he couldn't say how exactly. More of a feeling than an actual physical similarity come to think of it. The stark beds of silver-grey slate surrounding the front entrance weren't helping though.
"Bloody hell. I figured you for some dank little office somewhere. All venetian blinds and filing cabinets. "
Shaking his head, he shot a disgusted look at Wesley as the other man exited the driver's side.
"This place looks like a bleeding mausoleum."
His companion's face betrayed wry amusement,
"You have no idea."
Pocketed his car keys and led the way into the foyer.
Inside the air fairly thrummed with quiet industry. Everywhere through panes of smoked plate-glass suited men and women worked, intent on their tasks, serious faces and the soft buzz of importance in their voices. On either side of the doorway cameras pivoted soundlessly, tracking their path with interest. Seemingly oblivious to it all Wesley strode ahead of him, brushing the attentions of a desk clerk aside as if he were a particularly tiny insect, his path unswervingly focused on the elevator at the end of the hall.
"You don't have to punch in or out or anything?"
"Only spiritually."
The door slid closed behind them with an imperceptible hiss. Checking his watch the other man frowned and punched a button.
"I doubt he'll be in yet."
"The mind reader?"
"Angel. Lorne has his own suite here."
"It's him we want to see first though right? I mean...no need to bother the head honcho if your man can just..."
He started to mime a Vulcan mind-meld before realising the pop reference was completely lost on Pryce. Staring at him Wesley nodded vaguely before checking his watch again.
"Yes. Well, we can only hope. In the meantime I'm going to see what I can dig up on this mysterious talisman of yours. There are some documents in our reference library I think might shed a little light on the inscription, and I'll get Fred to run it through the spectrograph and see what comes up. This thing could be emitting some kind of energy that's affecting you."
"What? You're just going to leave me with him."
The other man smiled at him reassuringly as the elevator slid to a stop.
"Don't worry it's completely painless. Unless you're fond of show tunes that is."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
For some reason Wesley had neglected to mention that his friend was demon. Or about the horns. Although judging by the way the two greeted each other, it didn't seem as if either considered his appearance even slightly unusual. He'd played down his own reaction of course, disguising his initial start of terror as a cramp, although by the creature's amused expression it hadn't fooled anyone. The inconvenience of their unexpected visit acknowledged, Lorne had stepped aside to let them in, casting only a mildly curious gaze over the stranger before offering them both some coffee.
"No. Thanks."
"How about some breakfast. I have some fresh papaya that just defies description."
"No, s'ok."
"Pain de chocolat? I have some fresh croissants."
"Got any pop tarts?"
The ghost of a smile.
"Sorry lambkin, I'm fresh out."
Taking the demon aside to speak in private for a moment, Pryce gave him a reassuring nod indicating he should sit and he did so, still a little wary. But the other man seemed to treat the freak like he was just another old school friend, pink silk pyjamas not withstanding, and after a moment or two he relaxed into a bemused silence at the sight of them talking together. The whole Halloween get-up aside, the bloke seemed pleasant enough. Camper than a van-load of boy scouts of course, but since when had that been an indicator of evil?
Flitting one scarlet eyeball his way, Lorne flashed him a tight smile before lowering his voice to a barely audible mumble.
"He looks like a musician. You sure this isn't just some crazy drug-induced post-Lollapalooza thing?"
"I don't think so."
"Did you get Fred to run a tox-screen on him?"
"No. Because..."
"You think it's magical. Like that memory hex I jinxed y'all with?"
"I think so. There's just something about him..."
"You're telling me. Those eyes! And mama, what I wouldn't do for cheekbones like that."
"I mean his whole...aura. And then there's the amulet. It's powerful, and I'm guessing it's no coincidence he has no memory of how he came by it."
They both turned to look at him again and, seated comfortably on the reproduction Louis XVII gilt-edged throne, he stared back. Raised an eyebrow questioningly.
"So we going to do this then or what?"
"Feisty little Cockney isn't he?"
"Just nervous I think."
Taking a step towards him, Wesley's expression assembled itself into one of gentle reassurance.
"I don't want you to be afraid. I can assure you Lorne may be a little...unorthodox looking but he is a professional. You'll be completely safe in his hands."
"Knock it off will you, I'm not five."
"Right. Sorry."
Shooting the green demon a last look of gratitude, Pryce turned for the door.
"I'll see you in a while then."
"Yeah, right," muttering, "Unless he sucks out my brains and eats them with a spoon."
Pausing mid sip, Lorne eyed him over the rim of his expresso.
"Before eleven? Are you kidding me? Fresh fruit only cupcake. Gotta keep Mr.Colon happy."
Popped a fresh strawberry in his mouth and advanced on him in a swirl of flamingo-coloured satin.
"Now see what we can find that pretty little noodle of yours. And I'm betting that you my friend, are a closet Sondheim fan. Am I right?"
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Something about the drained defeated look in the demon's face made him fear the worst but he carried right on singing anyway, long after he'd started to flag him down. Had already worked his way through most of Joe Strummer's best stuff anyway so he figured he might just as well finish. As a token of respect to the master if nothing else.
"O.K. O.K. That's enough."
"You sure. I could do another verse?"
"No, that's fine sweetie. You did good."
Running a hand distractedly through short flame-coloured hair, Lorne shot him a look filled with a mixture of confusion and discomfort and then motioned for him to sit down next to him. Warily, he complied.
"O...kay."
Clearing his throat, the demon took another small sip of coffee and then frowned.
"So. This is a little embarrassing for me..."
"Right."
A deep weary sigh and he got to his feet, shaking his head, before a bright green hand arrested him.
"Hey, hold fast there a moment fella! How'd you know what I was going to say."
He scowled,
"'Cause it's written all over your face. Didn't work."
"Did I say that? I didn't say that did I?"
"No? Then why'd you call me 'fella'? Mind mojo worked like you said it would, you'd know my name, social security number, every damn thing about me by now wouldn't you?"
Smiling sheepishly, Lorne scratched at one eyebrow, half nodded.
"O.K, so there wasn't much to see in there but that's something in itself, believe me."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means that sombody's really done a number on you. Wiped that slate so clean you could eat your dinner off it."
"When you say wiped you mean...."
"I mean gone. Everything that should be in there, squirreled away, all the crap that any normal hunk of grey matter stores up over a lifetime. Zap. Erased. Someone's had themselves a hell of a spring-clean."
The demon's tone was friendly, light-hearted even, but his words felt like stones none the less. Rocks piling heavy on his chest, and he swallowed, his gaze sliding off him and onto the carpet.
"And the things I remembered? Dawn? That night in Barstow?"
Lorne cocked his head, gave him a smile full of heartfelt sympathy.
"Yeah, I saw what was left of that. But it's fading fast like you said. Kooky thing is, they don't look like they're your memories."
"What are you talking about? How can they not be mine."
Glaring at him he tried to summon the images again. Rissa's face, the sight of those mouths smeared with her blood, but it was fogged even more now, indistinct.
"I can't describe it very well, but people's memories they're kind of patterned...uniquely. Those things you have floating about in there, they're clashing like paisley and plaid."
"Meaning what? What I'm remembering isn't real?"
"Oh no honey, it's real enough. It's just not your real. It's like it's been filtered through someone else who was there and you've just picked it from them somehow."
In some parallel universe he supposed what the guy was saying might make some sense, but right now it really wasn't. He had no memories of his own, but there were memories in his head. And he'd picked them up from who? Rissa? And how? Like radiowaves? TV signals?
"No. That can't...what about the hand."
"The hand?"
"Someone's hand, I saw it. A girl handing me the amulet. She had tiny hands. And we were alone. No one else was there."
"That I can't explain."
"No, it all sounds like complete...I know what I saw. Those are my memories."
"I'm sorry sugar, I just tell it as I see it, that's all."
Unable to stand any more he let himself slide back into the seat, and after a moment he realised that the bright green demon was holding his hand, petting his shoulder comfortingly.
"There is some good news though."
Weakly he stared back at him, tried to summon up the ghost of optimism.
"There is?"
"Wesley was right. A spell did this and from what I can tell, it was a real doozie."
"And that's a good thing?"
"Good and bad. Good because...hey chances are we can find out who did this to you and maybe you can go give them the bitch-slapping they so richly deserve. But bad because..."
he grimaced,
"Bad because I honestly have no idea how to reverse it. Or even if it can be reversed."
"You're saying I might be this way forever?"
"Well, forever's a relative concept." he shrugged, "You're what thirty-five, forty?"
"What? So I might as well just live with it?"
"There are worse things."
"Worse things? Than not knowing your own name? Not knowing who your family are, where you come from?"
He could feel his jaw starting to ache with a sudden pressure, blunt nails digging into his own palms.
"Worse things than not knowing if everyone you care about is alive or dead?"
"Oh sure!"
"Like what?"
"Oh, I don't know..."
The strange man that answered him from the doorway looked oddly emotional, angry even, and staring back at him in sudden confusion he tried to imagine what someone had done to so completely piss him off. Stepping into the room, his eyes narrowed to flint grey slits as he circled him slowly with barely repressed fury.
"How about...you get these 'misplaced memories' of yours back and find out...hey! You weren't such a nice guy to know. Maybe you made some bad choices, hurt the people that cared about you real bad. Messed up their lives and your own pretty good. What if you find out you aren't worth knowing?"
The guy was really mad at somebody that was for certain, and it seemed like he needed to work off some steam. Eyeing him warily, he glanced at Lorne for a clue but the demon looked just as confused at he did. He cleared his throat.
"I still reckon it'd be better than not knowing at all."
"Oh you think so?"
"Yeah, why not?"
Frowned,
"Least then I could maybe try to make things right."
"Right? What do you know about what's right?"
The venom in the man's voice suddenly seemed very real, and very focused. Taking another step toward him he bent down and pushed his face in close to his ear, spoke softly into it.
"How about this then? How about you unlock that precious little treasure box of yours and you find out that you're a cold-blooded monster. With the moral code of a rattle-snake, and a past that'd make Goebbel's seem coy."
His mouth was so close to him now he could almost feel the smile, feel his mouth stretching into a grin as his breath tickled his cheek. One grey-brown eye laid alongside his, staring into him.
"You want to know what the real you looks like? The you that's still buried in there somewhere? Looks something like this."
A flash of movement, and suddenly there it was. The monster of his nightmares, of Rissa's; razor-fanged and golden eyed, hissing into his face, black-slitted pupils and claw like hands grasping at his neck as his heart jumped crazily, leaping up in his chest to pound at his throat. Choking back a scream he gasped, fingers dragging ineffectually at the creatures, terror seizing up his limbs as the images began to flare, bursting behind his eyes.
::Flash frames.
Scarlet.
Scarlet and gold.
Wet and dripping and ripping, tearing sounds.
Silk and lace and the sound of a child screaming, shrieking thrashing limbs and tiny booted feet.
"Look at the lovely mess you've made."
Smashing through bone sinew and wild laughter, hot wine.
"She's a pretty bitty little one. Make her dance for me my William."
"Leave some for me boy, there's more than one mouth to feed here."
Silver-plate moon and black, wet puddles on flagstones.
Cobbles and something limp and tiny, white, lying at his feet.
"Naughty boy, should have left some for Mummy."::
"Jesus..make it stop."
::Hay-smell and the sound of fiddle music.
Laughter turning to terror, spitting, choking, rasping.
Smoke and blood and something catching in his teeth that could be hair, silk strands.
"Got this one for you, keep your strength up"
Burning skin and hair and wailing, hands at his throat::
Hands on his throat. His face now and then, fast and blurred, in and out of focus like Rissa's had been.
"You really are the dumbest little fuck, you know that laddo? Maybe it's time I taught you another lesson about family."
Faster and iron hard, beating at him like rain they came. The smell of blood, warm splashes on his cheeks and the sounds of struggle, of so many, many deaths. Pushing into him like the fingers on his throat. Sawed his head from side to side, looking for something, anything that would end it, and then saw Lorne. Glaring at them both like he was in the very first stages of a minor hissy fit, arms crossed and mouth pursed up like an angry grandma.
"So I take it introductions are in order?"
"What?!!"
Swinging round, the vampire took him as well, still clutching painful handfuls of his skin and t-shirt. Lorne scowled, his mouth setting in a hard green line.
"Don't you dare use the tone with me. You don't just walk in here when I'm with a client and start dragging him around like a chew-toy without giving me some kind of explanation first. You know this boy or don't you?"
The creature's face melted, cheekbones smoothing away in front of him into nothing, grip loosening. Then finally the eyes returned to normal and with them his own heartbeat. Deep, wrenching breaths.
"Jesus! Fucking! Christ! What the fuck....was..."
Ignoring him completely the man/vampire glowered back at Lorne, before dropping his head with a small shake of apology.
"Sorry. He just makes me....mad."
"Yeah, I'm kinda getting that whole vibe. Now you want to tell me his name?"
With a shrug of disgust the vampire let him go, making a big show of wiping off his hands on his thighs, like he'd gotten them dirty. Dropped into the seat opposite and eyed him like a cat with a mouse.
"He's had a few. Born William Henry Forster. Then it was William The Bloody for a while, although not for any of the reasons you're thinking, I can guarantee. Called himself 'Phillipe' for a while when we were in Paris, although that was mostly to avoid being hunted down and dissected by some guy he'd hustled in a game of billiards. Oh, and he once published a book of really bad poetry under the nom de plume 'Jonathane Sanguor' although he never knew I knew it."
Through still unfocused eyes he saw a slow malevolent grin spread across the man's face, one that he recognised now. Knew he'd just seen a thousand times or more in the space of a second.
"But for the last hundred years it's mostly been Spike. And believe me when I say there's a story behind that one as well, although again...not what you're thinking."
"Spike? The Spike?"
"The one and only."
::Spike my boy, I thought I'd taught you better than that::
"The same Spike that went and saved the world last week?"
"Alledgedly."
"The same Spike that little fluffbunny at the hotel is tearing her heart out over?"
::Spike! Spike!! Can you hear me?::
"I wouldn't say 'tearing' exactly. I mean she's upset, sure..."
"I thought he was dead?"
::my darling deadly Spike::
"Apparently not. Apparently he found some way out of there they didn't see, like always. I'm guessing the memory thing's just a side-effect from the amulet he was wearing. I'm telling you, this guy's like pond scum, always rises to the top."
"No, I mean I thought he was dead...like undead. A vampire?"
::Spike! You've. Got. To. Get. Up.::
"He is."
"Nuhuh. Not unless they changed the definition in the last few days. Check it out. Pulse and everything."
The fingers against his throat were ice-cold, but this time no more pictures came. Managed to shove at it weakly though, push him away.
"Get the...fuck away from me."
The face that stared back into his was just a man's though, albeit a rather pasty-looking one with a puzzled frown on it. Had pretty ridiculous hair too, although he was pretty sure that this wasn't the right time to apprise him of that fact.
"Spike? You want to tell me what's going on here?"