CHAPTER FIVE See his eyes and how they start with light

Getting colder as the pictures go

Did he carry his bad luck upon his back?

That bad luck we've all come to know

Suzanne Vega - Blood Sings

Connor woke up feeling horrible and for some reason, damp and cold as well. He rolled onto his back, wincing. His shoulder hurt so he flopped back over, keeping his eyes squeezed shut. He instinctively knew light would hurt them.

"So you are alive." Saeth sounded angry and it made Connor grimace.

Connor knew he was in trouble if Mad Dog had entered his room. He didn't know when he got home last night. He didn't even remember leaving the pub. All he knew was his tongue felt moldy and his head throbbed in time with his heart.

"So he is," Giles said.

"Am I late for work?" Connor moaned, tasting bile in the back of his mouth. He couldn't stop salivating, a clear sign that he was going to vomit.

"It's Saturday, Connor. You don't work on the weekends," Savage replied.

Connor groaned. If he opened his eyes he'd see all three of his guardians looking at him grimly. He was in so much trouble and so long as he didn't look the trouble couldn't get him. He knew that was a lie but it made him feel good for a moment. Cracking open his eyes he saw he was face down on grass. He flipped back over, flinching again. He stared up at the sky. "Where am I?"

"Believe it or not, you aren't in a ditch somewhere," Saeth snapped. "Somehow you made it to my gardens." She prodded him with a toe. "Get up."

Connor sat up. His stomach lurched and he managed not to puke all over his guardians. The rose bushes weren't as lucky.

"Well, that's a pretty sight." Saeth swept his hair back out of his face.

Connor wiped his chin. "I feel terrible."

"And well you should. You're lucky you're not in a coma. What did I tell you about alcohol?" Savage hauled Connor up.

"Not to drink it. I was only going to have one beer. You said I could have just one," Connor said defensively, wobbling on weak legs.

"When did one become half the keg?" Giles crossed his arms, frowning at Connor.

Connor managed a petulant look that didn't impress Giles, not after years of watching over Buffy. "It didn't. I only had two beers." Connor wove a bit; standing up was hard. He felt like retching again. "But there were some shots of Irish whiskey."

"Why did you decide to get drunk?" Savage let him go, taking a step back as if anticipating further gastric mishaps.

Connor shook his head, turning as he went to his knees. He gave the rest of his stomach contents to the roses.

"I think he's already learned his lesson," Giles said.

Connor had to agree with that. No more drinking for him. And he couldn't answer Savage's question. He barely remembered last night. He had vague memories of Justine but was that real or one of his nightmares? He couldn't clearly remember anything beyond dancing with Rhiannon. He decided he couldn't tell Savage he had seen Justine. What if it wasn't real? What if she were a hallucination? Savage would increase his medication and he couldn't bear that. He thought maybe he could smell her on his clothes but it was faint, almost ghost-like. The information his nose carried to him was of dew, stale alcohol, pungent vomit, cigarette smoke and his own body odor. The hints of Justine could be just because he was expecting it. Were he entirely sober and not feeling like he had just survived a day-long fight with a Saikipr demon, he wouldn't swear to being able to detect her scent. He tried to get up and his shoulder hit him with fire again. He moaned, reaching for it.

"Hurt yourself?" Savage's voice sounded a little softer than it had.

"I don't remember and I don't know why I got drunk. I guess I was trying to be like Dylan and Bron." Connor paused, flashing a horrified look at his companions. He hadn't meant to get his friends into trouble then realized the adults would have guessed he hadn't been out alone. "I didn't know how much I had drank. Cerridwen tried to warn me."

"Their parents will deal with them. Cerridwen isn't old enough to be in a pub and certainly not to be out all night. I'll deal with you later, Connor," Saeth said, turning him around so she could look at his back. She eased his shirt up. "Any reason you have gauze all over your shoulder?"

Connor's brow beetled. "I don't remember."

"Let's get you to the bathroom so we can have a look at whatever it is you did to yourself." She propelled him toward the house.

Connor didn't protest. He stumbled into the downstairs bathroom and took off his shirt. Giles brought him a sports drink while Savage got out a first aid kit. "This will make you feel a little better," the older man promised as Saeth peeled the gauze away.

A smile flitted across her full lips. "Connor, do you remember paying a call on the Coffins last night?"

He shook his head, instantly regretting it. It felt like taking a bat upside his forehead and it made his stomach flip. "No. Rhys makes me nervous."

"Rhys makes everyone nervous. Here's another lesson for you. When you're drunk, you do silly things." She turned Connor so his back was to the mirror.

He looked over his shoulder. Under the bandage was a fresh tattoo that took up most of his right shoulder blade. Depicted in sharp red and blue was a triskele of hounds surrounded by a circle of Celtic knotwork. Licks of triangular knotwork flickered off the circle like rays, depicting the sun.

Connor's jaw dropped. He had let the Coffins touch him? How had this happened? "I remember this. Lowri drew it and I really liked it. How'd it get on my back?"

"Someone convinced your dumb ass a tattoo was a good idea," Saeth said, taking a tube of antibiotic ointment out of the kit. "This doesn't wash off, you know."

"I'll call the Coffins and see what kind of spell they wove into the tattoo," Giles said, disappearing down the hall.

"Am I in trouble?" Connor gave Mad Dog a nervous look. He wasn't too worried about Savage. The psychiatrist was too laid back to get really angry but Saeth was another story.

"Not for the tattoo. There's no one in this house who doesn't have ink. The Coffins' art magic has helped me more than once." Saeth smeared the ointment over the fresh tattoo. "But beware, tattoos are addictive."

"As for the drinking, consider yourself grounded," Savage said, surprising Connor. He hadn't expected him to hand down the punishment. "You go to work and that's it. And no one will be visiting you here. And you'll write a ten page report on a demon of your choice, natural habitat, how it kills and how you kill it."

Connor frowned as Saeth covered his shoulder in soft gauze. This punishment was too much. He was used to getting a strapping and getting over it. Savage tapped the boy's lower lip.

"Put the lip away. Pouting won't help you."

Connor's eyes darkened. "I feel terrible."

"I'm sure you do," Savage replied. "Get some sleep...in your bed this time. When you wake up and shower come find one of us so we can redress that tat."

Connor nodded and dragged to his room. Canaid was on his bed. He didn't have the strength to push the dog off. The king-sized bed was big enough for them both. He climbed in and Canaid licked his face. He shoved her away but she kept licking him. He fell asleep with her licking his hand.

Connor woke late in the afternoon. His caretakers were kinder to him this time and allowed him his rest, unlike the first time he got drunk. Connor scowled, remembering when Dylan and Bron had gotten him, and themselves, totally pissed. Saeth had found them unconscious amidst the beer bottles and nacho remains in her living room. As punishment she had let Cerridwen and Arian strip all three of them, paint their bodies, cloth them in dresses and put make up on them. He remembered his terror waking up the next day, sick as a dog and painted up under his dress. There were pictures at all stages of this endeavor. He still blushed thinking about it. He didn't know which one of them had painted his penis like a flower and he didn't want to. Saeth had made him go to work hung over.

He dragged into the shower. The water felt like hail on his throbbing head as he washed the stink off his body. If the others could smell him, and they couldn't tell much with their poor senses, he knew he had to stink.

Afterward Connor looked at the tattoo again as best he could in the big mirror. It was pretty. He liked it. He made eye contact with himself in the mirror. Had he always looked so hard? His eyes so dead? He couldn't remember. There was something scary about him and he wished he knew how to change it.

After pulling on pants, he searched the house for someone to help him with the tattoo. Savage and Mad Dog weren't around but Giles was in the library reading something. He glanced up, hearing Connor stumbling in far more noisily than his norm.

"Need help?" Giles set his book aside when Connor nodded.

They went into the bathroom and Giles got the first aid kit.

"It's a handsome tattoo," Giles said, putting ointment over it.

"Lowri said she drew it for me the first time she showed me the sketch," Connor said, fidgeting. Giles forcibly rooted him. "She said it captured what she saw in me, something about a relentless warrior and sunlight. Kinda nuts since I don't see much sunlight."

"Perhaps not. However, the Celts have long identified hounds with their great warriors," Giles said, layering the gauze over the tattoo.

"What kind of magic did they use on me?" Connor shot Giles a wary look. "It's a protection spell. It makes it a little harder to harm you. They added something to help warn you if a demon's approaching, much like the spell Saeth uses. The tattoo will feel warm in their presence but the demons have to be relatively close. Still, some warning is better than none." "That's good then," Connor mumbled, trying to imagine how he had allowed magic to be used on him.

"Yes. Maybe you should try to eat," Giles suggested, putting the last bit of tape to anchor the gauze over Connor's shoulder.

Connor nodded and headed for the kitchen. He poked around the fridge but nothing looked very good. His stomach still felt like it wanted to crawl out his craw but he picked out a dish of leftover pastai gocos and put it in the microwave. Less than halfway through heating it, the smell of the cockle pie nearly made him vomit. Any other time it would have made his mouth water but his hangover wasn't done with him yet. He put it back in the fridge and grabbed up another sports drink. He found a bag of salt and vinegar crisps and took them into the living room.

He stretched out on the couch and turned on the tv. He found one of the history programs Mad Dog was addicted to and left it on. Let everyone think he was trying to learn while he turned his brain off and relaxed and ate crisps.

The phone rang but Connor ignored it, picking up the artist's tablet Savage had gotten for him. Let Giles answer the phone. He wasn't allowed to talk to anyone being grounded so he decided that extended to picking up the phone. He flipped open the table and looked at the things he had drawn. Frightening images, mostly of things from Quor-Toth, prowled the pages. He knew Savage had put him on this path to explore his inner mind. Savage encouraged Connor to continue as a hobby. Connor was surprised he enjoyed it so much. It was sedentary and he never had had time before for pastimes. But he had a talent for it. He took pride in that. He didn't consider himself good at much beyond killing so he tried to practice often. Dylan had him singing with his little band to encourage him to grow artistically and Giles was teaching him guitar. He drew better than he did either but he enjoyed music, too.

"Yes, I'll talk to Savage about it," Giles was saying into the portable phone as he walked into the room. "Would you like to speak to him? He's sitting right here eating crisps instead of real food." Giles shot Connor a perturbed look.

Connor's eyebrows raised, questioningly.

"It's your father," Giles said.

Connor's puzzled look deepened. His father never called. They always called Angel. He took the phone. "Hi, Dad."

"Hello, son." Angel's voice was more relaxed than Connor remembered in being in a long time. "I would have thought you'd be out with your new friends, it being a Saturday." Connor realized Giles hadn't ratted him out so he had no plans of telling Angel he was grounded. "I don't feel so good. I have a bad headache. Is there something wrong? We just talked."

"Just some business I needed to talk to Giles about." Angel's voice changed, now disappointed and guarded. It made Connor's hackles rise. "Do you feel up to talking, Connor? Or does your head hurt too much?"

Connor rolled up the opening of the crisp bag. "I can talk."

"Good." Connor heard the excitement flooding into his father's voice. It was unusual. Angel was always so reserved when talking to him ever since it happened. "I think you'll get a laugh out of what happened to Faith and Kate last night."

"I'm listening," Connor said then sucked the crisp grease and salt off his fingers. Angel was right. He was more than a little amused at the misadventures of Faith, Kate, an abandoned theater, a rainy night and one wet, angry cat. They had gotten a call from the people renovating the theater about a haunting. A haunting by a cat who had leapt out of half done stairs nearly scaring Kate to death. It led them on a wild chase, mostly because Faith was too stubborn to let the thing go after it dive- bombed her from the mezzanine. She had finally caught it an hour later when it had stopped to clean itself. When Faith picked it up, the cat wasn't cleaning itself. It had been licking a live rat it was toying with. The rat landed on Faith's head. The cat went home with Kate and the theater got billed for a night of animal control.

Connor didn't know why Angel was telling him this. It was like something had changed between them and for the better. And the picture of Faith running around the theater with a rat clinging to her head was worth the story. Connor had sketched while he listened, not really paying attention to what his hands were doing.

"I'd better go, son. Wesley will hit the roof when he sees the phone bill," Angel said.

"Okay. Tell him I said hello. Faith, too."

"I will," Angel replied and was gone.

Connor looked down at his sketch book. Justine looked up from it at him. He frowned, shutting her image up in the tablet as Giles appeared from the kitchen carrying a tea tray loaded down with cups a pot, the cream and sugar and two plates of bara brith. The speckled fruit bread was smeared with butter.

"This might be more appropriate than crisps. It's a little past tea time but neither of us really pay much mind to that," Giles said a little wistfully.

"Thanks." Connor helped Giles pour the tea. "What did Dad want?"

Giles gave him a guilty look, shoving his glasses up. "Just business." Connor nodded, taking his plate of bread. Identical answers. That meant it had to do with him and they didn't want him to know. Well, he didn't want them to know about Justine, at least not yet so they were even. He gingerly ate the bread, thinking about her. Real or figment of his imagination? He'd have to discover that for himself.