GLASS HOUSES
S J Smith
Disclaimer: Joss never writes, he never calls. I'm thinking the honeymoon is over. But I'm still playing with his toys in a not-for-profit manner until he asks for them back.
Rating: PG-13
Timeline: Goes AU during "Sleep Tight"
Written for: Justhuman for the Spring Angel Book of Days challenge.
A.N.: I have no clear idea what Venice Beach looks like but I wanted to use it in a story. All named businesses are real, however, I may have used them in a completely different manner than they are in real life. No harm is intended and any mistakes are my own.
The sun had a peculiar brilliance, as if the spring rain from the night before had washed away all the gloom of the city. The corner flower shop was an explosion of color and scent; tulips and daffodils, daisies and rosebuds and ferns of all types. A man, a baby in his arms, paused to stare at the flowers, as if stunned by the effusive display. The child whimpered and Wesley dropped his gaze, gently bouncing Connor. "Shh," he said, "we've still a ways to go."
Glancing behind him, always behind, he made his way past the shop, heading west towards the ocean. He knew that, given the chance, he would be followed. If not by Holtz, Justine or one of their little cadre, definitely by Angel. Which is why he'd run to this place.
Venice Beach was not somewhere Wesley thought Angel and the others would look for him, at least for a short time. He didn't doubt that Angel would use all resources necessary to locate his son. Wes understood that completely. He also understood that the prophecy in the Nyazian text could be coming true. The earthquakes had happened; the fire; the sky, at least in the form of Connor's blanket, had turned to blood. And while he trusted the others implicitly, they were his family, he couldn't let them make a horrible mistake and have both Angel and Connor pay for it.
Wesley blinked tiredly. He had been taking cabs since he'd left the hotel last night. He knew he'd soon have to stop to rest; that Connor needed some time to sleep as well. He couldn't allow his guard to lapse, though. They needed someplace safe to hole up for the evening. If Angel caught them on the streets, well, Wesley wasn't sure what his friend might do. Perhaps he should have attempted to discuss this with Lorne, to explain why he was doing this but Wesley knew all too well how often the team accused first, apologized later, if at all. He was just as guilty of that as the others, it wasn't as if he cast stones at glass houses.
His wandering feet took him past the Tattoo Asylum on Windward Avenue. Something caught his attention and Wesley found himself staring through the window at a pretty blonde in a bikini top and short shorts, having a lily and a cross, ringed with ivy, tattooed to her upper arm. Idly, he wondered if a tattooed cross might ward off an attacking vampire. The woman met his eyes through the pane of glass, the ring piercing her right brow glinting slightly. She smiled at the sight of Connor then winced as the needle punctured her skin again. Wesley nodded at her politely, turning his attention back towards the ocean.
He could smell it on the air, the sharp tang that blew in with the breeze. All oceans smell the same, he thought, wherever they are. Lifeblood of the earth, the tides were the heartbeat of the world. Who knew what lurked in its depths; things unseen by human eye, nor by the light of the sun. Imagination churning, Wesley found images of mermaids, of krakens, of cities lost beneath the waves. He shook his head, clearing his thoughts, knowing that he desperately needed to rest. Waxing poetic generally was not a good thing when you knew that someone, somewhere, was searching for you.
Connor burbled in his arms.
He glanced down at the baby and amended his previous thought to include, 'and someone else needs you'.
The ocean breeze was laced with the scent of cooking, fresh smells that made Wesley's stomach clench. Right now, he couldn't eat. The tension he felt couldn't be soothed away by food. Passing by the Café de la Plage, he tried to avoid breathing in the aroma. Women dressed in sun dresses and lacy straw hats sipped at their lemonades and coffees, waiting for their lunches, their voices reminding Wesley of ice cubes tinkling in glasses or the susurrus of temple bells. He walked quickly, jerkily on, Connor's diaper bag bouncing on his back.
A flapping banner caught his attention and Wesley hesitated, peering at the grey, three-story building in front of him. The British colors flew overhead, kept company by flags of various nations. The words, "Venice Beach Cotel" wavered in front of his eyes. The deep arches beckoned and he slipped under them, continuing on into the building. A young man smiled at him from behind a lobby desk, his blond hair bleached by sun and surf. "Hi," he said cheerfully, "Welcome to the Cotel."
"Hello," Wesley said, shifting Connor around in his arms as the baby fussed. "Um, I was wondering if you have any rooms available."
The clerk eyed Wesley even as the smile remained fixed on his face. "Sure do. I'll need to see proper I.D., you know, your passport, and know how long you're staying."
Wesley blinked. He hadn't carried his passport on his person since he'd left Sunnydale behind. "I," he said, "I'm afraid I don't have it. It, well, I do have a driver's license." He fumbled Connor around, who fussed at the change of his position and managed to dig his wallet out. "I live nearby." Flipping open the wallet, Wesley allowed the young man a look at his identification.
"Really near by," the clerk said, his voice suspicious.
"My apartment has become infested with rats," Wesley said, wondering how the lie fell so easily from his tongue. "The exterminator will be using poisons which could be harmful to my son. I'm sure you can understand my reluctance to stay there under such circumstances."
"Rats?" the clerk screwed up his face in disgust. "Man, that's gotta suck. I mean, sir."
"No matter," Wesley said tiredly. "Is it possible to get that room, now?"
"Sure thing. Just let me get your information and you'll be on your way."
While the radio droned on behind the counter about a rash of missing teenagers and children from the beach area, Wesley answered the clerk's questions, hoping the young man wouldn't notice the decided lack of luggage for a father and a son. Regardless, he hoped to be in and out of this place within forty-eight hours. Paying the extra amount for a private room, Wesley carried Connor up the stairs and through the hallway. The door to one of the rooms remained open and a young woman stood inside, wearing nothing more than a string bikini. Her back was tattooed with a cross that rose along her spine, sweeping out to cover her shoulder blades. Ivy wrapped around the base and arms, delicate tendrils of green. Wes blinked at it, realizing how exhausted he must be as the ivy seemed to shift on her skin. He continued along the hall, the diaper bag bumping into his side as he walked.
Reaching his room, he went inside, laying Connor on the bed. The baby kicked and waved his arms. Quickly, Wesley made a cage of the pillows, protecting Connor from rolling off the mattress. He then turned his attention to the door. Locking it was only the first precaution. He dug quickly into the diaper bag for the few spell components one could carry easily; sea salt, garlic, a notebook with spells scribbled inside. Clearing his throat, Wesley intoned the guardian spell on the door and the lone window then drew the curtains and collapsed face first into the bed.
Angel stared at him reproachfully, holding Connor close to his chest. "I can't believe you ran off with my son," he said.
"I had," Wesley said, reaching up absently to push glasses back that were no longer there, "my reasons, Angel. Surely you understand that."
"He understands everything Wesley, just like the rest of us." Cordelia flanked Angel, her own face set in righteous indignation. "Didn't you think that we'd find you? Didn't you think what could've happened, with you taking Connor away from our protection?" She turned to the baby, tickling his soft skin. "But you're back with us now, aren't you, snookems?"
"That just leaves the question of what we're gonna do," Angel said, handing Connor to Lorne before moving forward.
"Do?" Wesley asked.
"To you," Angel said, lacing his fingers together and popping them out away from his body in a display of knuckle cracking that nearly deafened.
"Yeah," Gunn said, appearing from the shadows. "What's the proper punishment for a traitor?"
"A traitor? Surely you understand I was trying to save Connor," Wesley said, looking from one to the other.
"I'm afraid we don't see that at all, Wes," Fred said, her little girl voice saddened. "I mean, if you'd just explained to us what was going on."
"If I had, you'd have thought me mad," Wesley protested to Angel.
The vampire shook his head. "You're probably right, Wes. I mean, talking hamburgers? That's a really trustworthy oracle, there. I'm sure it was one of those demons who owns stock in the McDonald corporation, really. They're pretty sick of me not endorsing their product."
Cordelia moved in closer, her dark eyes flashing. "Wesley, I thought you cared about us."
"I do," he protested.
"Then why'd you sell Angel out?"
"I didn't."
"Thirty pieces of silver sound about right?"
He spun to see Lilah holding Connor. "What?"
"Thirty pieces of silver," she said, jiggling the baby. Connor whimpered in response. "I mean, to sell out your friends."
Holtz stood nearby, his eyes fixed on the child. "Give him to me."
"To quote the vernacular, 'as if'," Lilah told the vampire hunter. "Connor's mine now." She smiled at Wesley. "And we have Judas here to thank for it."
"I'm no betrayer," Wesley said, reaching for Connor, who seemed impossibly far away.
"Sure coulda fooled me," Lilah said, grinning. Her smile widened impossibly, teeth becoming monstrously long. Connor started wailing in earnest. "Sssuckling piglet," the thing with Lilah's voice moaned. "Yummy."
Wesley lunged across the slick floor as the monster raised Connor's body over it's head. He tumbled, cracking his head against something and struggled to get to his feet, to stop the insanity of it. Blowing hard, he blinked himself awake to the rhythm of the baby's cries. Someone was banging on the door.
"I've got it," he said blearily to the door, picking himself off the floor where he'd fallen off the bed. "Connor, Connor, it's all right." He picked the baby up from the corral and rocked him soothingly. "Shh, shh, I have you now."
After changing the baby's diaper and fixing him some formula on the room's hotplate, Wesley peered out the window from behind the curtain. Sunlight still skimmed across the water, along with seabirds and surfers, who rose out of the waves like flowers blooming only to drop back into the frothy surf. Young women paraded themselves along the sand; young, and not so young men watching them appreciatively. Kites swarmed in the air, all different colors, mocking the birds in their movements. Wesley sighed softly, turning his gaze back to his charge, sucking on his pacifier in the middle of the bed. "Shall we go see the sights, Connor?" he asked.
The baby kicked his feet in answer.
"Very well." Wesley smoothed his hair as best he could then gathered up the baby, the diaper bag and his wallet, locking the door behind him as he exited. He quickly traced a sigil on the door, the mark glowing like electric blue neon for an instant then flashing off. If someone disturbed his room while he was gone, he would be able to tell by that little bit of magic.
The beach held some appeal and Wesley carried Connor towards the water. He knew he was dressed inappropriately for it but there were other people dressed even more strangely. A pair of mimes, one in white face, playing a guitar, the other dressed as Charley Chaplin, drew a small crowd of onlookers. A wave of surfers sauntered past, boards tucked under arms or balanced on top of tow-heads, their bodies marked by encounters with sun and sand. Girls in bikinis giggled in their wake. Bikers and skaters zipped along the path or meandered along, soaking up the scenery and sunlight. Wesley wondered that he'd never come to the beach before. He could only imagine that Cordelia would love it here; a chance to see and be seen. He wondered somewhat regretfully what the girl had to give up to do the job she did.
But he already knew. He'd given it up himself.
A little girl with a mop of curly black hair, dressed in t-shirt dyed in the primary colors, sat on the beach building a castle in the sand. Her Jack Russell terrier pounced on the castle as Wesley walked past, staring at the sea. Somewhere, on the other side of it lay Europe, and home. A pang like regret traveled through him. How many people had he failed in his life? How many more would he disappoint or turn against?
"Mister?"
He shook his head slightly, turning to see the brightly-dressed girl looking up at him. The dog sat at her left, its intelligent eyes watching them both. "Yes?" he asked, wondering that she might approach a stranger in such a day and age.
"Can I see your baby?" She twisted a curl between her fingers, showing him a missing-tooth smile.
Wesley couldn't help but smile back, squatting down and turning Connor slightly so the girl could have a look.
"Aw," she said, dimples showing in her cheek. "He's cute." One fist firmly anchored in her curls, her other hand reached for him but hesitated. "Can I touch him?" she asked.
"Yes," Wesley said.
She grinned again, her slightly grubby fingers tracing Connor's cheek lightly. The terrier rose on his hind feet, a forepaw landing lightly against Wesley's knee for balance. The heat from the contact astonished Wesley. The dog peered at Connor almost as closely as the child. Connor cooed at the attention, his baby-blue eyes fixing on the little girl.
"I believe he likes you."
"I like him," she said. She lifted her eyes to Wesley. "Too bad he's not older. I bet he'd like to make sand castles and play on the beach and run with me an' Woof." The dog sneezed at the sound of its name, sitting down to scratch at a flea.
"I'm sure he would," Wesley said warmly.
She petted the baby's cheek again. "Does he got a name?"
"Connor."
Her head came up again, her eyes suddenly showing something that disturbed Wesley, though he wasn't sure why and didn't have time to figure it out, since it vanished almost as he thought it. "That's a nice name," she said. The dog resumed its scratching, though its gaze seemed fixed on the baby.
"I'm glad you think so," Wesley said, wondering if he should have remained in the hostel. "I'm sure he's fond of it."
"He's a baby," the little girl said, not quite impatiently. "He probably doesn't even know it yet."
"Yes, well. Hem." Wesley felt his muscles protesting against this pose. "I think we'll take a little walk along the beach, Connor and I." He rose to his feet, studying the area. A policewoman rode a bicycle along the path, heading north. Wesley turned towards the south, not wanting to risk that Angel or one of the others might have reported the abduction.
"Me an' Woof could walk with you," the little girl said. The terrier bounced to its feet, tail buzzing mightily at the sound of the word 'walk'.
"That might not be for the best," Wesley said, looking down at her. She barely came up to his belt line. "Surely your mummy would be worried?"
She laughed, a bubble of a sound. "She doesn't worry about me." Throwing out an arm, she added, "An' Timmie's here."
Wesley followed the line of her arm. At first, he wasn't sure at whom the little girl pointed. Then he saw a flurry of motion, a tanned body capped with dark hair. "Timmie?" he asked.
"My cousin," the little girl said smugly. She turned the point into a wave. The woman waved back, her teeth almost shockingly white, and ran over. Dogs chased at her heels, another Jack Russell, a pair of Salukis who dashed past then circled back to join her, a blood hound lolloping along behind. A brindle dog raced up from the surf, catching up to the others and suddenly, they were all surrounding Wesley and the little girl and Connor. The brindle rose on its hind legs with a Saluki, the blood hound pawed at a Jack Russell, the other Saluki bounded and pranced, mouth open in a doggy grin at Woof. The woman scooped up the girl, who giggled in delight and the pair of them looked at Wesley from equally dark eyes.
"Who're your friends, Iris?" the woman asked, settling the girl on her hip.
She pointed at the baby in Wesley's arms. "His name is Connor." As if a fit of shyness overtook her, she burrowed her face in her cousin's shoulder.
"I hadn't gotten around to introducing myself," Wesley said. "I'm Wesley." He extricated a hand, offering it to the woman.
"You can call me Timmie." She shook it, her own palm nearly as calloused as his own. "What do you think of Venice, Wesley, since this is the first time I've seen you here?"
He turned slowly in the circle of dogs. "It's interesting," he said slowly.
Timmie smiled. "No where else like it. Well, if you discount Italy, of course. And possibly places in Florida, where they've also dredged up canals."
Iris rolled her eyes. "Get down," she said and Timmie obediently set her amongst the dogs. The brindle dog promptly bowled her into the sand and the others joined in on licking her. Iris laughed and squirmed under the pile.
Wesley cleared his throat, stepping from side to side. The image that came to his mind had nothing to do with giggling and much to do with screaming. Connor was suddenly plucked from his arms and he grasped air reflexively, staring at Timmie who bounced the baby lightly, her gaze focused on him.
"It looked as if you were going to fall," she said slowly and precisely. "You might want to sit."
"Perhaps I should return to my room," Wesley said, opening his arms to have Connor returned to them.
"Maybe we should walk with you and make sure you get there safely," Timmie said, not relinquishing the child. Iris sat up amongst the dogs, her attention flicking from one adult to the other.
"I'm not sure that is altogether a sound idea," Wesley said sternly. "Please give me my son or I will be forced to make a scene."
Timmie sighed and handed Connor back. He accepted the child, peering into the baby's face to ascertain that all was well. Connor's blue eyes sparkled up at him and Wesley wondered again how two dark-eyed parents could have such a pale son. "It was nice meeting you, Iris," he said, turning his gaze to the little girl.
"It was nice meeting you an' Connor," she said without prompting, scrambling to her feet and dusting off her rear. She grasped Timmie's hand and the pair exchanged a look. "We really oughtta walk you home," she said in all seriousness.
"We'll be fine," Wesley said. "But thank you." He nodded to Timmie who gave him a rueful smile in return and walked back to the Cotel.
Three hours later, Wesley realized not only was he bored, he was also very hungry. Connor needed more formula as well. Sighing, he packed the fussing child and left his room, nearly bumping into a scantily-clad quartet of girls. They giggled and cooed over Connor, who fussed even louder when they touched him. "He's hungry," Wesley said, over the baby's cries.
"Aw, poor baby," the Hispanic girl said. "Daddy'll fix you right up."
"C'mon, Carla," one of the others said, "let the man get some food for the baby."
"But the little boy is so cute," Carla said, her hot pink fingernails twiddling over Connor's face. "Isn't he the cutest thing you've ever seen, Nancy?"
The tallest of the quartet smiled. "He's darling. But he's hungry and crying and we should let him be. You can see him later." She grasped Carla's shoulder and turned her away from Wesley and Connor pointedly.
Wesley frowned slightly as he walked down the stairs. Somehow, both Nancy and Carla looked familiar.
Angel hadn't located them by the second day and Wesley wondered if perhaps he'd lucked out and the vampire wouldn't find them at all. He knew it was false hope but at this point, he'd take what he could get. He sang to Connor as he bathed the little boy in the sink, carefully cradling his head. Connor splashed the water and gurgled happily and afterwards, Wes fed him while sitting on the bed closest to the window, peering down at the beach.
He caught sight of a little girl in tie-dye and realized Iris, her cousin and all of the dogs had returned to the beach. While Timmie led the dogs in a romp over the sand, Iris began building a new sand castle.
Wesley found himself standing up as a young black woman, with skin the color of café au lait, approached the little girl. Iris shaded her eyes, looking up, her dark head cocked to one side. The woman made as if to squat next to her but one of the dogs, the large brindle one, raced up, shaking sea water over them both. Iris ran off with the dog and Wesley lost sight of the woman.
With Connor fed and burped, Wesley spoke to the clerk about buying some additional clothing for each of them. The clerk kindly directed him to Nirvana Ranch, enthusing about the hemp clothing that could be found there. "They make their own dyes and everything," she said, her eyes popping with her enthusiasm. "And they carry kids' clothes, too, so you can get whatever you need."
Wesley found the store, farther away than he'd been led to believe, but the quality of the clothing made up for the walk. Besides, it was a lovely spring day and Connor could do with some sunlight and fresh air. While the store clerk rang up his sales, someone chirped, "Hi, Daddy!"
Frowning slightly in an effort to engage his memory, Wesley said, "Carla, right?" to the brunette next to him, dressed in a flowered sari and bikini top.
"You remembered," she said delightedly, stretching her hands towards Connor. "And there's your little man. He's a really good baby." Carla nodded for emphasis, meeting Wesley's eyes. "I didn't hear him crying at all last night. You must be the best dad."
Wesley flushed slightly. "Um, well."
"No, really." She picked up his bag and linked her arm with his. "I can tell Connor just adores you."
"Thank you," Wesley said, inordinately pleased at the complement.
"I mean, he's got your eyes," Carla said, peering down at the baby, "so blue." She smiled up at Wesley. "I love blue eyes. Mine are so dark."
"Your eyes are lovely," Wesley said, gallantly.
"Oh, stop it," Carla said in protest, though a smile brightened her face. "They're just brown. Everyone has brown eyes. Not everyone has eyes like yours and Connor's though, robin's egg blue." She kept her arm linked with his as they wandered down the street. "I hope you don't mind me asking but where's his mother?"
"She died in child birth," Wesley said. It wasn't exactly a lie, after all.
"Oh, poor baby." Carla's face crumpled at the obvious image. "Poor you."
"We, ah, weren't all that close."
"At least you're not shirking your responsibility." Carla brushed the back of her fingers very lightly over the baby's cheek. "Aren't they wonderful at this age? I just love babies." She buried her nose against Connor. "Mmm, they smell so good."
Wesley found himself smiling at her enthusiasm. "I assure you, that isn't always the case."
"Oh, but it is," Carla said. "All right, poopy diapers are the worst but right now, he smells just yummy." Her eyes flicked up to meet Wesley's as the alarm went off in his head.
"I think we'd like continue shopping, Carla," Wesley said, suddenly feeling faint. He wondered at it, the sudden dizziness that threatened him. "I, I mean we, need to find something to send to Connor's grandparents."
Her smile grew broader. "Come on," she said, the tone playfully seductive. "You don't expect me to believe that, do you?"
Wesley attempted to jerk free of her grasp and winced in pain. "What have you done?" he asked.
"This?" Carla pulled back slightly, allowing him to see thin green lines, like ivy vines, spanning the distance between their bodies.
"Good god," he whispered, stunned. "You're a Stevraniak demon."
She blinked in surprise. "You've heard of us?" she asked, then shook her head. "Doesn't matter. This really won't take long, Daddy. You're a little too old to be as yummy as your son."
"You can't have him," Wesley said desperately, trying to break free from Carla.
The demon slithered closer to him, pressing him into a space between two buildings in an imitation of affection. "I think I can," she said, the tendrils rising over her shoulders and reaching for Connor.
"Your tattoo," Wesley said, trying to thrust her off, "it's camouflage, is it?"
"Got it in one, Daddy,"she said, the vines making a horrible rattling sound, like leaves in a high wind.
Wesley tried to block the approach to Connor with his own body, feeling the needle-sharp creepers digging into his skin. He grunted in pain, saying between clenched teeth, "I'll die before you have him."
"That's kinda what I'm hoping," Carla said cheerfully. Her voice took a darker tone and more tendrils wrapped around him. "Time for you to say bye-bye, Daddy."
"I don't think so," Wesley said, managing to free his hand enough to reach into the diaper bag. He dragged out the salt, flinging it at Carla. "Respuo!"
The blue light flashed and the Stevraniak cried out in pain, the tendrils tearing away from Wesley. He bit down his own shout of pain as the prickers and needles ripped free. Stumbling out of the alley, Wesley tried to keep his balance, to keep from dropping Connor, who was making like a siren. He caught sight of another woman, realizing, as everything started spinning, that it was Nancy.
"Bloody hell."
She caught Connor as Wesley slumped to the ground. "Just what I've been looking for," she said, grinning.
"Mr. Wesley?"
He groaned, his head throbbing as if a blacksmith had taken up residence in his skull.
"He's still alive, Timmie."
"I see that, Iris." A woman's voice. Wesley instinctively curled away from it but the touch on his shoulder wasn't painful. "Wesley, where's the baby?"
He struggled up at the question, his flailing hands striking the ribs of a dog. The beast yelped and moved out of the way, giving Wesley a hurt look. He ignored it, grasping Timmie's forearms as best he could. The poison still coursed through his body, making it difficult to concentrate but he managed to spit out, "Carla. At...Cotel. She's...dangerous."
Timmie's expression was grim. "I can see that, Wesley. You're bleeding everywhere. What is she?"
He blinked up at the dark-haired woman, seeing the resolve in her eyes. "You," he coughed, "won't believe me."
Iris and Timmie exchanged a glance between them that somehow belied both their years. "I think we might," the woman said. "Can you get up?"
For a reply, Wesley shoved his back against the wall, using that as a stabilizer as he rose. Iris pressed up against his leg, her tiny fingers digging into his thigh. It was a different sort of pain than that of the Stevraniak, something that seemed to clear his head at least a little. He nodded at Timmie. "Right. Let's get Connor."
"Do you know where they've taken him?" Timmie asked.
Wesley nearly crumpled back to the ground. "No," he choked, visions of what the Stevraniak would do to the baby flashing through his mind.
"We can find him, Wesley," Timmie said. She picked up the diaper bag carefully, holding it out to her pack of dogs. "Here, Dash. Get a good whiff."
The bloodhound muscled between the more slender sight hounds to bury his head in the diaper bag. The other dogs sniffed as well, quick darts of their slender, snaky heads. Wesley blinked, wondering at the sanity of this when the bloodhound pulled back. "Got it, boy?" Timmie asked, leaning down to meet the dog's eyes. "You ready to find your man?"
The bloodhound bayed, his tail whipping through the air.
"Good boy," Timmie crooned. "Find your man, Dash."
Wesley couldn't remember much of what happened next beyond the headlong rush after the dogs. The pack seemed to lope along silently and despite what little he knew of dogs, it didn't seem right. Iris ran as well, holding Wesley's hand in one of hers, the guidance of her fingers the only thing that seemed to be keeping him on the path. He managed to keep his eyes focused on Timmie's leaf green t-shirt with the greatest difficulty.
When the dogs paused in their race, Wesley nearly fell. Timmie's strong hands caught him by the shoulders, holding him upright. He blinked, trying to force his sight to resolve itself. "The pier?"
"Under it," Iris announced, pointing towards a figure barely visible in the shadows.
"Go," Timmie said, releasing the dogs.
Their voices echoed under the pier, the sound reverberating like thunder. Water flew up as the dogs crashed into the surf, shooting rainbows when the drops hit light. Wesley staggered through the sand, Iris bolstering him on one side while Timmie plunged after her dogs. "Salt," Wesley managed to say, "Stevraniaks can be destroyed with salt."
"Pretty silly to be coming to a beach then," Timmie said.
Nancy stood with her back against one of the pylons, the dogs surrounding her. She clutched Connor close, tendrils securing her hold. "Easy prey," she snarled, her fangs appearing like thorns in her mouth. "People think the beach is safe." Tendrils lashed out at the dogs, who leaped back, barking.
"And it will be again," Wesley said, fetching the last of the salt from the diaper bag.
"Do it, the child dies," the Stevraniak said.
"You'll kill him anyway," Wesley said, flinging the granules. "Respuo!"
The demon shrieked, creepers flinging themselves everywhere. The dogs rushed forward, knocking it down, savaging their prey. "Connor!" Wesley tried to make his limbs move to rescue the baby but without Iris' assistance, he sank to the sand.
Timmie waded into her dogs, a glint of silver in her hand. He could only watch as she raised the blade then stabbed it down. The vines quivered and a cry like a tree being hit by lightning rose in the air. Wesley rolled onto his back, staring at the slits of sky he could see between the planking of the boardwalk above him. Everything he'd done, he'd done for naught. He tried to console himself with the thought that Angel hadn't killed his own son but it was bare comfort.
"Wesley?" Iris patted his shoulder. "Don't you want Connor?"
He turned his head, staring at the little girl and the woman standing above her, a baby in her arms. A warm, pulsing light surrounded the child. As he watched, Timmie knelt next to him and Iris, stretching out a hand to touch his forehead. The light slipped down to cover him, feeling like a comforting blanket on a cool night. Wesley felt the poison leave his body along with the light.
Connor made a sound somewhere between a gurgle and a laugh. Iris grinned, running her fingers over the baby's cheek, trailing sparks of color behind. Connor managed to grab one of her fingers, fascinated by the light display.
"Iris," Wesley said wonderingly, "messenger of the gods."
The little girl's grin broadened.
"And Artemis," he said, meeting Timmie's eyes. "But...how?"
"We're here, Wesley. Does it really matter how?" Timmie asked as Iris helped him sit up. "Accept it with good grace."
"And move on," Iris said.
"It's time for you to do that," Timmie, Artemis, said seriously. Her head tilted, as if she listened to the call of far-away dogs. "They're looking for you both and they're drawing near."
Iris helped him rise to his feet. Wesley dusted off the sand awkwardly, not quite able to take his eyes from the pair. "I don't understand," he said. "I don't suppose...?"
"Connor has a place, a part he has to play," Iris said, all childishness dropped from her voice. She no longer even seemed a little girl to him. "He will be important in ways you can never understand."
"The prophecy," Wesley breathed.
Artemis' eyes were sad. "That and more." She pressed a kiss to the baby's forehead. "Fare well, Connor," she said.
Iris tapped his nose, a rainbow shooting out of her fingertip. Connor gurgled his appreciation, trying to grab the light. She took him from Artemis, handing him to Wesley. "Take care, King of Summer," she whispered.
"What?" Wesley asked, startled.
"Guard him well, Wesley," Artemis said.
The pair and the dogs seemed to coalesce in an aurora borealis, the light brightening to an eye-watering intensity. Wesley had to turn away from its brilliance, shielding Connor.
When the light dimmed, Wesley shifted the baby around to look into his face. Connor stared back. "I think," Wesley told his charge, "that we've got quite an adventure in front of us, Wart."
A bark startled him and he glanced down, seeing one of Artemis' Jack Russells. "I didn't realize this was a package deal." The dog rose on its hind legs, black nose sniffing inquisitively towards Connor. Wesley knelt in the sand, holding Connor so that the dog and the boy could meet.
"Well, if Connor is to be Arthur and I'm to be Merlin, I don't suppose your name is Cafell," he said to the terrier.
The dog gave him something that could only be interpreted as a dirty look.
"Ah. Hmm. No, then." Wesley noticed the dog sniffing at the air, the hair rising along its spine and remembered Artemis' warning. "Perhaps we should be leaving. Come along, dog."
They stepped out from under the shadows of the pier, into the sunlight. "I suppose," Wesley said, "I need to start telling you stories, shouldn't I, little man?" He glanced down at the dog, seeing, for an instant, that it wasn't truly a Jack Russell trotting next to him but something else altogether. He smiled. "First, I think you should know that all stories fit together. That all stories are one. And that there are more names for hero than just 'champion'."
The telephone in the lobby of the hotel rang four times before the answering machine clicked on. "You've reached Angel Investigations. We help the hopeless. Please leave your name, telephone number and let us know what we can do to help you."
Artemis took a shaky breath. "This is Timmie and I live in Venice Beach. We've got a bad problem with Stevraniak demons and we're hoping you can come and help us out. Please hurry!" Replacing the telephone in the receiver, she turned to her cousin. "That should take care of the Stevraniaks. What do you want to do now?"
Iris grinned at her. "Mardi Gras is coming up."
"New Orleans?" Artemis made a face. "It's dirty and full of vampires."
"Los Angeles isn't?" Iris petted the brindle dog nosing at her wrist.
"You've got a point." Artemis glanced around the beach. "Do you think they'll be all right?"
"Wesley and Connor?" Iris shrugged. "Only time will tell. So, New Orleans?"
"Lead the way, cousin." Artemis whistled up her dogs. "Lead the way."