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Chapter 10- Waking up
Angel awoke with a gasp, escaping what had been a weird dream in which he'd been part of Charlie Nickels' The Music Man. Cordelia, Buffy, Wesley, Gunn, Lorne, Willow and Xander had been part of it too for some reason.
"Wakey wakey", a voice that was simply infuriating for Angel to hear said right next to him.
And then Angel recalled his last vague memory, realizing it wasn't a fantasy.
Spike, he said to himself, wishing this was just part of a nasty fever dream. Anybody but Spike.
"Some of the others were in half an hour ago, I made some attempt at small talk but vocal chords were still feeling like overcooked bacon", Spike started saying next to him. "Better now. Sure wish I'd a fag though. I'd kill for a bloody smoke."
Angel stared up at the hotel room's ceiling and quivered with repressed fury. He despised the filthy creature lying on a cot beside him. Spike was a painful reminder of a past he would rather not think about, emblematic of every disgusting, insidious thing he himself had ever done.
It sickened Angel the way Spike relished cruelty above all else, and yet even worse was his knowledge that Spike came from his own vampiric bloodline, that if Angel had never blooded Drusilla, she would never have been able to turn Spike.
The vampire would have died a gentle, bad poet centuries ago and not become . . . this. Angel was responsible for Spike, in that way. That knowledge lingered in the back of his mind nearly all of the time, and it made him feel almost obligated to dust Spike himself.
Right now, in particular, he felt the venomous hatred he had for Spike filling him. If he had been at all capable, Angel would have taken the opportunity to rise up from the bed and finally put an end to the vampire's life. But although he was healing, he was still badly burned and his body shrieked out in agony from the tips of his returning hair to the ends of his toes.
So he would not be killing Spike today. And he did not even want to think about the chip in the vampire's head, the one that supposedly made him docile, though no less obnoxious. Buffy had decided it would be wrong to kill Spike if he was incapable of harming humans now. Angel was not so sure.
"What are you doing, Spike?" he asked in a strained whisper. "Why are you here?"
"What? Not happy that the Big Bad's come to the city of Angel?" he asked. "Sorry, mate, but I'm part of the team now," Spike said with obvious amusement. "The Scoobies had an opening for a strong, silent vampire type, and it just so happens I fit the bill quite nicely," he growled, twisting the proverbial knife. "The benefits ain't much, but I do occasionally get the pleasure of killing some nasty beasties—and saving the world, there is that. . . ." Spike's voice tapered off to a wheeze, and then he began to cough. It sounded wet, loose. "Oh bloody hell, that hurts," he hissed, finally getting himself under control.
Angel wanted to laugh out loud, but knew that would hurt more than it was worth. This inhuman, bloodthirsty monster saving the world, now he'd heard it all. He thought of his own suffering since the Gypsy curse had returned his soul. What had Spike endured? he wondered. What did William the Bloody know about the misery he had caused—did he even care?
"C'mon, Spike," Angel said, trying to turn his head and look at the vampire. He winced as the blackened skin around his neck crackled like dry fall leaves. "What's your angle? You couldn't care less about helping the Slayer or saving the world. What's in it for you?"
Spike maneuvered himself on the cot so that he could see Angel. The vampire's skin was black and cracked, the pink of raw, healing flesh peeking out from beneath the fissures. He snarled, his teeth unusually bright in the blackened hole that was his mouth. "Now is that any way to talk to the bloke responsible for saving your crispy bacon? Wasn't for me you'd be so much Angel dust in the wind."
Angel grunted with satisfaction. It seemed as though he had struck a nerve. He continued to prod, enjoying any additional pain he could cause the vampire, taking his mind off his own discomfort in the process.
"No offense," he said, "I appreciate the save and all, but I am starting to recognize a familiar pattern here."
"What are you going on about, then?" Spike asked in a pain-wracked hiss as he turned onto his back.
"Face it, Spike," Angel said, looking away from the horrific sight of the vampire beside him and fixing his gaze on the cracked ceiling. "Since you were turned, you always wanted to be me, and that chip inside your head has given you the opportunity to play at it again."
"Be like you?" Spike yelled. "You're out of your sodding mind. The sun's cooked your brain inside your skull like a pudding."
Angel painfully raised his hand, lifting a charred finger to make his point. "I was the scourge of Europe until I got my soul back. Then who tried to fill my shoes? From Venice to Prague to London, who left a trail of slaughter in his wake, not caring what kind of attention he drew to himself? William the Bloody."
He heard Spike shift uncomfortably. "Drusilla and I saw the opportunity to expand our horizons and have a bit of fun, we—"
"That's another thing," Angel said, lifting his second burned finger. "Drusilla. You were her substitute for what she could never have with me."
"I could never do enough for that one," Spike grumbled. "I was just as savage as you in those days, but Angelus always got the better press. How many families did a fellow have to massacre to get out from beneath your shadow, anyway?"
Angel lifted a third finger. "And now we have the chip in your head. Not quite like getting your soul back, but it'll do in a pinch, keeping you on the straight and narrow." He lowered his arm. "I don't know about you, but I find the similarities pretty unsettling." It had started as a bit of perverse entertainment to distract him from his own pain, but the more Angel thought, the more he realized that there really was something to his theory.
"Bollocks!" Spike rasped, attempting to sit up straight. "I think living here in La-La Land has given you too much time to think, old man," Spike said. "Me wantin' to be you?" he spat, his body again wracked with a painful coughing fit. "Next thing you'll be telling me I'm mooning after the Slayer or some such, but you don't see me behaving like a bloody prat, pullin' a little Anne Rice heartache-and-angst special. If I wanted to be like you, I'd need to whine a bit more, now wouldn't I?"
Angel lay silent, the thought of Buffy and Spike together obscene even if he was moving on from her. Anyone but Spike with her….or Riley!
"You want to know why I'm knocking about with the pep squad, Angel?" He lay back down and flipped onto his side, a shower of loose, charred skin raining onto the floor. "I'll tell you why." Angel waited, perversely curious. "Chip in me damned head makes me a tad defenseless against certain types, like the bloody Council of Watchers, for example." He leaned closer, and Angel could smell his breath. It smelled of raw meat. "Lurking in the Slayer's shadow makes me less of a target, and I'm willing to bide my time until I work out my little problem. Till then, I'm happy to play along, fight-in' on the side of—no offense—the angels. And, believe it or not, there is someone I do care for."
There was silence in the room as Angel pondered the situation. He knew what he had to do, much to his chagrin. He chose to ignore the last part of what Spike had said.
"I don't know if you're smarter than you look or dumber than I think," Angel rasped, every breath painful for him. "You're in a building filled with people who'd like to see you swept up in a dustpan. Right now you're relying on Buffy thinking you're more useful than dangerous. For the moment, I'm willing to go along with that. As long as Buffy's got you on a leash, maybe we have use for a sadistic little lapdog like you after all. But the minute you prove Buffy wrong, it's over for you, Spike. I look forward to the day. For now, I'll play along. But as soon as this is over, I want you out of my sight. Out of my city."
Spike glared at him a long moment, hatred and other, unnameable emotions burning in the eyes that looked out from the charred features.
"No worries, caped crusader," he growled, crossing his scorched fingers atop his chest. "L.A.'s got your stink all over it. 'M'not gonna stay a minute longer than Buffy wants me to."
Angel wondered if there was even more to his theory than he had imagined, but he pushed the idea away. It was too sickening to spend another second thinking about.
"Just as long as we understand each other," Angel said.
"Oh, we always have," Spike replied knowingly. "We always have."
Angel felt incredibly tired. He closed his eyes and shortly drifted off to a dreamless sleep filled with darkness.
And his body continued to heal.
The bell hanging above the doorway ended up tolling to signal their arrival.
"Anyone else feel that?" Tara asked, stepping through the bookstore with Cordelia, Fred, Piper and Paige.
"Is it the tickly kind of feeling in your stomach when you're hungry but not sure what for?" Fred asked back, putting a hand to her stomach.
Cordelia watched Tara nodding in excited agreement.
"Might be for waffles in your mind", Tara started. "But when you get to the freezer-"
"You think its probably cake", Fred finished, grinning.
"Just like that", Tara confirmed.
Both were nodding now, and Cordelia, Piper and Paige wondered if they'd missed some rite of passage. Tara and Fred had dropped Lorne off at Caritas, and had been like this since then. Well, they were clearly wired into the same bizarre kind of frequency, picking and sending the same signals.
Paige jokingly whispered into Cordelia's ear. "You think Willow and Tara have room for a third?"
Cordelia had to cover her mouth to prevent the laughter from escaping. With how Fred was getting along with Tara, it seemed a possibility to her now.
"You guys feel anything?" Fred asked Cordelia and the sisters.
"Well, there is a lot of magick here", Piper could sense it easily, and she was right, as Elijah had set up spells here to hide the store from supernatural threats after a nasty run-in with a Chinese Demon the previous Christmas. They were all reacting to the spell's presence.
"I don't feel anything, except the need for you two take a deep breath", Cordelia told Tara and Fred. "Don't think you've stopped for air for an hour now."
"Uhh, sorry", Tara said, folding her arms, looking a bit embarrassed. "Its just, I'm not comfortable with new people, but with all of you, I am." She looked to Fred. "Thank you for having me in the team."
"And thank you for being part of it", Fred told her with a smile.
Piper whispered to Paige. "I think they do have room for a third."
"Anyways, let's see what we can do with our refugee problem", Cordelia saw a service bell, and tapped it with her palm.
A very loud ding reverberated through the store, everyone knowing it must be magick.
"Wow!" Fred had to block her ears. "How hard did you hit that thing?"
Tara laughed, amused by the situation, her and Willow looking around at all the books in the store.
"Just a minute, please."
A door opened as out walked an old man in baggy slacks, dark shoes, and a very large maroon sweater, making him look a bit like Santa Claus from a Rankin/Bass holiday special.
"Ms. Chase", Elijah Carnegie greeted her warmly. "What a pleasant surprise! Haven't seen you since the holidays!"
Angel and Cordelia had come to pick a present for Wesley, and had run into trouble over an ancient Chinese text and a Demon Queen of a Hell Dimension who'd thought it belonged to her.
The nerve!
"Hi Elijah", Cordelia greeted fondly. "How are the tricks?"
The man started behind her ear for a moment. "What's that behind your ear?" He reached to the side of her head, miraculously producing an orchid. "A thing of beauty to compliment an even greater loveliness."
Tara, Fred, Piper and Paige applauded, as Elijah gave the orchid to Cordelia with a gentlemanly bow, and she took it, clearly charmed.
Elijah looked at the other women. "Seems like I'm in the presence of a veritable garden of beauty tonight."
"You bet you are", Cordelia said. Even as a straight woman, she could admit, her female companions all had very pretty faces. Not something high school Cordelia would ever have thought though. "Elijah Carnegie, meet my associate Fred Burkle, our friend Tara Maclay, and Piper Halliwell and Paige Matthews, two of the Charmed Ones."
"Charmed Ones?" Elijah eyed Piper and Paige reverently now, holding out his hand. "I…I can't believe it. Its such an honor to…."
Piper was the first to shake his hand, followed by Paige, who said. "Its an honor for us too."
"Anyways, while we'd love to talk more", Piper said, finding him quite charming herself. "We're here on business."
"Shocking", Elijah shook his head with mock distaste. "Truly shocking."
"Sure beats the heck out of spending your nights in a cold, dark cave in another dimension trying to keep a fire burning by feeding it chunks of dried moss that smell like dirty feet and . . ." Fred stopped when she realized that everybody was staring. "Sorry," she said with an embarrassed grin. "I'm still getting readjusted to socialization. It's just that all things considered, this isn't so bad."
Cordelia stepped in before the old man could become any more confused. "Angel Investigations was wondering if we could ask you a really big favor."
Elijah looked at her, his grandfatherly features becoming very serious. "And what would that be, Ms. Chase?" he asked in a soft, gentle voice, intelligence and decades of experience a mystery in his eyes.
She, Piper and Paige began to tell him about Axtius and his Coalition, about the vicious murders of half-breeds, with the sisters also mentioning Barney.
Elijah revealed that he had already heard about the deaths from some of his customers and had even sold some texts of spells that would help hide someone who didn't want to be found.
"And speaking of hiding people," Cordelia continued, getting to the real reason for their visit. "Do you think we could stash some of the refugees here? Things are getting kind of hairy on the streets, and you have that really neat spell around the store." She flashed her most winning smile at the old man. "What do you say? It wouldn't be forever."
"And Barney would be one of the people to hide", Piper added.
"Excuse me, dears," he said, moving past her to climb the single step that would take him behind the front counter. "Would any of you care for a hot drink—a cup of tea or instant coffee?" he asked. "I have a fresh hot pot of water back here, and it won't take but a minute." The old man held up a white plastic kettle.
Tara, Fred and Paige politely refused.
"Not in the mood right now, but thanks for the offer", Piper raised a hand.
Cordelia leaned against the counter. "Thanks for the hospitality, Elijah, but we don't really have a moment. We need to know your answer pretty quick, yes or no."
"Of course you do, Cordelia," Elijah said. "I understand the importance of something so dire, and I'm well aware of the danger these poor souls are in." He set the kettle down on a shelf below the counter and brought a hand up nervously to stroke his snowy white beard. Something seemed to be bothering the old magician, something that he did not care to voice. "I think if we were to move some of the stock around out back, we should be able to make adequate room," he said, his fingers still combing through the hair on his face.
"So that's a yes?" Cordelia asked carefully, not wanting to say anything to change his mind.
Elijah smiled weakly. "Of course," he answered. "How could I turn my back on those in need—or refuse the request of five ladies as fetching as you?"
Fred clapped like she was trying to bring Tinkerbell back to life, and Tara beamed, Piper and Paige exchanging a satisfied smile.
The old magician turned the OPEN sign on the door to CLOSED, made himself a cup of instant coffee in a mug with a picture of Hemingway on its side, and showed them to the storage room in the back. Stacks of boxes and crates rose up all over the room. They were amazed at the volume of stock that still hadn't found its way to the store's shelves.
"I'd swear they were breeding," he muttered under his breath as he maneuvered around a pile of rare texts to reach a clearing amongst the sea of boxes. He took a sip from his mug and set it on the floor near his feet.
"If you ladies would be so kind as to step this way," he said, and motioned for them to stand beside him. Elijah raised his arms, cleared his throat, and closed his eyes. "I think I can recall the spell we need," he said as his eyes feathered open. "Shall I give it a try?" The magician muttered something under his breath that Cordelia's years of occult research allowed her to recognize as Latin. She could not speak or read the language, but she knew it when she heard it.
Piper and Paige knew it pretty well themselves, and were aware of what he was doing.
The air became charged with a pulsing, electric energy. He pointed his hands toward the obstacles in the room, his voice suddenly booming. Tendrils of white energy shot from the old man's fingertips, ensnaring the multitude of boxes and stacked books.
In what seemed to be the wink of an eye, the back stock of Cobwebs Antiquarian & Used Books was stacked neatly along the walls from floor to ceiling, clearing an enormous space in the center of the room.
Tara's eyes widened in appreciation. "Wow."
"Impressive," Cordelia said as the magician flexed his hands and blew on his fingertips.
"Age clearly hasn't affected your power", Piper said, impressed herself.
"Once more, thank you for the help", Paige told him.
"Thank you for the compliments," he said, looking about gravely.
"Look, Elijah," Cordelia said, again sensing his discomfort. "If you don't want to do this, no biggie. We'll find another way to—"
"Please understand, Cordelia," he said, touching her shoulder. "It's not that I don't want to help, it's just that—I'm afraid what might happen if the demons should come searching for their prey."
"What do you have to be afraid of, Mr. Carnegie?" Tara asked. "Anybody who can do the kind of magick I just saw shouldn't have any trouble defending himself against—"
"It's not the demons that I'm afraid of, young lady," he said, deadly serious. "It's the magick."
"Why would you be afraid of magick?" Fred asked.
Cordelia stepped in to help the old magician. "Elijah has a . . . an aversion to certain kinds of magick," she began, vaguely remembering something he had said when she first visited the store with Angel.
"Please," Elijah said, "let me explain." He looked at them, his eyes grave. "I am an addict," he said, lightly touching his chest, "not to narcotics, or alcohol, or gambling—magick is my drug."
They were silent, letting him say his piece. "During my years as a stage magician, I became bored with simple sleight of hand— smoke and mirrors, if you will—and I began to delve into real magick. Into sorcery."
The old magician bent down to retrieve his Hemingway coffee mug. He looked at its contents dreamily, as if seeing something other than himself reflected there. "I became engrossed in it, learning all I could about magick and its myriad uses. I allowed it to consume me." Elijah took a sip of coffee.
"Is ... is that even possible?" Tara asked haltingly. "Can a . . . a person actually be addicted to magick?"
"It can actually", Paige said, Tara turning to look at her. "I once dated a guy called Richard. He practised some serious magic, and it nearly consumed him. He couldn't handle it. Eventually, he'd to use a power stripping potion." Paige then remembered the glimpse she had of Willow using magic when Giles had told her not to. It was in a very early stage for her, so she could be helped, and when this was done, they'd help her.
Elijah slowly nodded. "She is right. The magick makes you its slave. It took me close to ten years before I became its master again—and even then—" The old man paused, remembering a time obviously very painful to him. "Now I only do constructive magick," he said. "The kind of magick that would be needed for defense against these demons would probably eat me alive if I tried to control it again."
They were uncomfortably silent. Fred nervously played with her hair, Piper and Paige looking at the old man sadly and with sympathy, while Tara looked as though she might be sick. From her expression, Cordelia thought it had probably never occurred to the young witch that the magick she and Willow wielded with such ease could actually end up hurting them.
Elijah broke the silence with a clap of his hands.
"That's quite enough of that," he said. "I just remembered that earlier this week I uncovered a case of talismans that might come in handy," he said, ushering them to the door. "Why don't we go up front and I'll show them to you."
"What would you do?" Tara asked in a barely audible voice. They all turned to look at her. "If Axtius's men attacked here. What would you do?"
Cordelia looked at Elijah and saw the pain spread across his face.
"Let's just hope it never comes to that," he said, turning quickly and proceeding up the aisle.
"Let's hope the same", Piper whispered as well.
Hyperion Hotel
Buffy had gotten a sword from the weapons cabinet, and was practising with it while speaking with Xander, while Phoebe was going through the Book of Shadows, Sam behind her.
"If there is no info on them here, I don't think there's much use scrolling through it now", Sam told her with a sigh.
"I know, but one can't help but hope", she muttered, turning another page where Sam saw the title 'Kali', with an illustration of her.
"Kali?" He commented.
"Yeah, she is a form of the Goddess Shakti, the consort of the God Shiva", Phoebe explained to him, remembering Piper and Leo being possessed by their essences. "We once had an encounter with them."
"I met Kali, and some other Gods like Odin and Balder", Sam said with a groan. "They were…..well cannibals. And had their own agenda in trying to stop Lucifer."
"Wait what?" Phoebe looked at Sam, brow scrunched in confusion. "Cannibals? But…."
"Yeah, and then Lucifer killed them all, except Kali, who escaped", Sam continued.
"But that makes no sense", Phoebe shook her head, confusing Sam now.
"What makes no sense?"
"None of these Deities you mentioned are any kind of cannibals, and what you said of them does not match up with how they are", Phoebe told him.
"Maybe they're just different from how the stories talk of them", Sam tried to tell her.
"The Book of Shadows does not have everything, but what it has, its pretty accurate about it", Phoebe explained. "So, all these Gods in truth are not too different from how they're supposed to be. And I find it weird they got killed so easily by Lucifer alone."
"Really?" Sam asked, not believing it.
"Well, did Lucifer kill Baldur with mistletoe?" Phoebe inquired.
"Ummm…..no", Sam shook his head.
"In that case, whoever you met, those were not the actual Gods", Phoebe said to Sam. "There are other beings who do pose as popular religious figures, could have been one of those."
"So you're saying I never met the real Deities then?" Sam asked, just to be sure.
"Nope, sounds like people posing as them, not sure why though, or who", Phoebe had to say. "Depending upon their positions in their Pantheons, certain Gods are just as powerful as Archangels, while some are considered to be different forms taking by the Supreme Being himself. So trust me, you didn't meet the real Deities."
"Right, got it", Sam nodded, processing the info, now wondering who those beings he and Dean had met truly were. "Nothing on Addwaitya and Hex, right?"
"Unfortunately, no", Phoebe shook her head, causing Sam to walk off, out of the Hyperion, thinking of only one option.
"Cass, I know you're busy, but I need some help!" Sam called out. Feeling something behind him, he turned around to see Castiel there, causing him to smile. "Thank you for coming."
"Not a problem", Castiel shook his head. "And well, I did notice your conversation with the Charmed One before arriving here."
"And?" Sam inquired.
"Well, she is right. I was myself wondering how those Deities got killed this easily", Castiel's expression turned grim. "Whoever those beings were, I believe their agenda went beyond trying to stop Lucifer."
"You think something big is going on?" Sam inquired.
"Still investigating some things, and I think whatever it was, its still going on, considering there are things blocking me from seeing exactly what's going on", Castiel pointed out. "Anyways, how can I help?"
"These magician Demons called Satanel, Addwaitya, and Hex. The Book of Shadows has very little info on Satanel, and nothing on the other two", Sam put forth. "You know anything about them?"
"Satanel, he is very powerful, can create armies by corrupting people with his presence, mostly goblins", Castiel explained, horrifying Sam. "His power can corrupt magic too, if he chooses to do that. And as you already know, he has been mistaken for the Devil throughout history. All I can say is, be very careful facing him, even with five powerful Witches by your side.
"And the other two?" Sam asked, dreading the answer.
"Addwaitya rules a Dimension of magic called the Legerdomain", Castiel explained. "He is arrogant and wants to eliminate half-Demons, as you know, and he hates humanity for trying to practise magic as well, so after this crusade, he could try to launch one against humans."
Then Castiel frowned. "But Hex…..it just doesn't make sense he is working with them."
"Why?" Sam inquired.
"When Addwaitya took over Legerdomain, he enslaved many. Hex is one of those who escaped. His magic is great, if not on the level of Addwaitya", Castiel noted. "And he is a pretty recent member of the Coalition, he got a high position so soon because of his power. But I just can't see him working with Addwaitya."
"Maybe there is more to it", Sam realized, meaning perhaps there was a chance Hex could be reasoned with.
"Now, regarding Addwaitya, the Book may have no mention of him, but ask the Charmed One to look for the Alpha Rune", Castiel told Sam, then added. "And, the Coalition wields ancient weapons believed to have been lost during the Mahkesh Wars. Now they have acquired these weapons somehow."
"You know how?" Sam asked.
"No, but I'm trying to find out", Castiel told him. "Those beings posing as Deities, the weapons lost during the Mahkesh Wars being found by the Coalition, and something blocking me and others from seeing things directly, I do not think this is a coincidence, I shall need to find out more."
Sam knew Cass was going to go now. "Thanks Cass, for everything. Good luck."
"You too", Cass replied, before disappearing.
With that, Sam went back inside, seeing Buffy and Xander talking while Phoebe was still looking through the Book of Shadows. "Try looking for something called the 'Alpha Rune'."
"Okay…" Phoebe trailed off, wondering where this had come from, and looking through the Book, found it. "Its here!"
Sam walked up behind her, and she explained it to the rest. "The Alpha Rune is an ancient and powerful magical artefact that contains the essence of a magical Dimension called Legerdomain, allowing its wielder to control the Dimension's power, and with further practise, the user can use it to control all kinds of magic as well."
"Oh no!" Sam shook his head. "Angel was surrounded by runes. And Lorne said he saw a magical Demon holding a rune when he was reading Dean, Paige, Willow and Tara."
"So, you're trying to say one of the magical Demons has this Alpha Rune?" Phoebe inquired, Sam nodding in response.
"Most likely Addwaitya", Sam noted from his conversation with Castiel.
"A revelation amidst the drama of war", a low, rasping voice said from above.
Buffy, Sam, Phoebe and Xander looked to the stairway to see Spike carefully descending as if every movement brought him excruciating pain— which it probably did. Angel was right behind him, looking equally pained. Their flesh was still badly burned—red and raw in places where the skin had peeled away.
The four had to wonder how it was possible for them to be wearing clothes—never mind the fact that they were up and around. Buffy rose from the lobby sofa and approached the stairs.
"Should you two be up already?" she asked. "You still look a little—crispy."
"If I have to spend another minute with him in that room, I'll stake myself back out on that rooftop just to get away", Angel muttered, going around the slowly moving Spike.
"Like I asked for your bloody company," Spike said, reaching into a shirt pocket for cigarettes that weren't there.
"Bollocks," he growled. "Anybody have a ciggy they could spare?"
"There's no smoking in the hotel," Angel said as he reached the lobby. "If you want to do it, you'll have to go outside. It should only take you a day or so to make the trip."
Spike snarled. "Pretty tough for a guy beaten within an inch of his life by a Brachen demon."
Angel carefully turned his body toward Spike, who was still making his way down the stairs. "You know I'm still feeling a great deal of anger about that, Spike," he growled. "Maybe I can take it out on you a while, release my frustration."
"Maybe you could try, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Char-Grilled—"
"It's really great to see that distance hasn't torn asunder that special bond you two share," Buffy said, hands on her hips.
"Kinda like one of those A T and T commercials," Xander said, joining them at the foot of the stairs. "Gets you right here," he said, punching the area over his heart, before asking purely out of courtesy and Buffy's presenc. "How you been, Angel?"
"I've felt better," Angel responded. "But all in all, can't complain."
"Just me being curious," Buffy suddenly spoke up, "but how is this going to work with you two? Are we going to have to separate you in the middle of taking down Axtius and the magic Demons, or do you think you can control yourselves?"
Angel glared at Spike, who had finally reached the bottom of the stairs. "We've got a tentative detente going. We'll take it day by day, since what's going on out there is more important right now than what's going on in here."
"That's right," Spike said as he scratched at his neck, flakes of charred flesh drifting to the floor like black snow. Buffy wrinkled her nose with distaste.
"For today we've agreed, nothin' homicidal," Spike continued, pushing the burned pieces of skin around on the floor with the toe of his boot. Then he grinned, the expression cracking his blackened skin. "But who knows what tomorrow'll bring?"
"Angel!" Sam called out, causing Angel to turn to him. "We haven't met, I'm Sam."
"John's son", Angel walked to him. "Good to meet you." They shared a nod, before he turned to Phoebe. "And you must be one of the Charmed Ones."
"Name's Phoebe", she told him.
"Anyways", Sam pointed to the Alpha Rune. "Any of the Demons that got you had that rune on them?"
Angel's eyes widened in recognition. "Yes. It looked like a turtle. This thing was used to make the runes around me."
Phoebe groaned. "Big trouble then."
"He ain't here now," said the enormous beast as it slowly emerged from beneath a blanket of refuse and rose to its full and impressive height outside the basement entrance to the abandoned bakery.
"But has Zeke returned?" Wesley asked the creature, which he recognized as some breed of troll. He casually removed a twenty-dollar bill from inside his wallet and showed it to the beast.
"How come these guys always got their hands out—or claws, or tentacles or whatever?" Gunn asked in disgust, to no one in particular. "They ain't hiring down at the DoubleMeat Palace anymore?"
"Probably not, even they got standards", Dean told him.
"Gunn, Dean, please," Wesley said.
"Yeah," the troll answered, extending a large, spadelike hand covered in thick, yellowed callus. "Yeah, he's back. Got back earlier today."
Wesley pressed the bill into the center of the troll's hand and watched as the black clawed fingers closed around it.
"I watch the place for him while he's gone," the troll said, examining the twenty before it disappeared into a pocket somewhere beneath the filthy layers of clothes.
"I keep the riffraff out, and he lets me crash here, gives me a little cash now and again, y'know what I'm saying?" the troll asked.
Wesley put his wallet away. "And where is Zeke now?" he asked.
The troll thought for a moment, scratching the top of his shaggy head with a clawed nail. "Not too sure," he said. "Was kind of worked up after he got in, said he had to find out some stuff about what's been happening since he was gone."
"I see," Wesley said with a satisfied nod of his head.
"We'd like to wait for him," he told the troll, gesturing to Willow, Gunn, Dean, Bobby, Leo and Calvin beside him. "If that wouldn't be any bother."
The troll smiled, showing off a mouthful of teeth that would have driven the most stalwart dentist to the brink of madness.
"That's cool," he said, reaching down to the floor to pull up a stained blanket. "Zeke's talked about you," he said, draping the blanket over his shoulders like a shawl. "Said you were all right for a human." The monster reached out and opened the door for them. "Go on in, make yourselves at home."
The cool, fetid smell of dampness and rotting wood wafted out of the basement to greet them. "If you don't mind keeping an eye on the place for me," the troll said as he prepared to leave them, "I've got a date with a bottle of Jack Daniels that I'd hate to put off any longer." He patted the area where he had stashed the money Wesley had given him and jauntily strolled away with a friendly wave.
"Nice talking with you folks," he said happily. "Tell Zeke I'll catch up with him later."
"Nice guy," Willow said casually, "for a stinky troll. Meeting him I'm beginning to have second thoughts about that trash those three billy goats gruff were talking."
"Yeah, have to say, didn't expect it to talk instead of punch when I first saw it", Bobby commented.
Wesley gestured for Willow to enter Zeke's dwelling before him.
"Why did we have to bring her along?" he heard Calvin ask Gunn in a whisper. "Fred would have been a better choice."
"You think so?" Gunn asked as they moved through the door. "And why is that?"
Calvin didn't answer as he stepped into the dark basement. Wesley was beginning to suspect that the boy was developing a crush on a certain young lady recently rescued from an inter-dimensional demon realm. Well, he needed to hold his horses.
"So a scientist is better suited for this than a Witch with power, yeah right", Dean said with a chuckle. "And I'm not the most fond of Witches, so me saying this says a lot."
"So this Zeke is like a friend of yours?" Willow asked Wesley as she gazed about the low-ceilinged room. Wesley noticed a lantern hanging on a nail beside the door and removed it.
"Not so much a friend as an informant," he said, looking around for a way to light the lantern.
"Here, let me," Willow said, taking the lantern from him. He watched as she lifted the glass cover. She muttered something softly beneath her breath and touched the exposed wick with her fingertip.
There was a flash of blue, and the wick ignited, throwing off a warm glow. Wesley thanked her and set the lantern down atop a rickety, makeshift desk.
"Oh yeah," Calvin said, turning his nose up. "It's so much nicer in the light."
The wood of the support beams was charred a nasty black, the low ceiling stained with soot. The smoky smell of fire still lingered in the damp and musty air. Gunn nudged the teenager roughly with his shoulder and scowled at him.
"What'd I say now?" Calvin asked.
"Zeke is a Miquot demon," Wesley said, ignoring the teen. "A pariah from his clan for some reason or another. He lives here—in the city, part of the time—and on the island during the rest."
"You mean Monster Island?" Willow asked, raising her eyebrows and smiling.
"Though a tad overly dramatic, yes," he said. "Monster Island." He carefully leaned back against the table behind him. "Zeke was a contact of Angel's before I arrived at the agency— introduced by Doyle, I believe."
"You didn't know him—Doyle—did you, Wesley?" Willow asked. He shook his head.
"No, I didn't," he responded. He had had to deal with the specter of Doyle's death when he had first arrived at Angel Investigations. Angel and Cordelia had never said much about their fallen friend, but they didn't have to. The depth of their grief had been evident to him each and every day. "He'd been gone a few weeks when I began to work at the agency."
"He sounded like a cool guy," Gunn said, walking around the basement. "It must have been pretty rough for Angel and Cordelia."
"Losing those you care about, never not rough", Bobby said to the rest of them. "Sometimes, they're even like family. Family don't end with blood."
For a moment, everyone was silent, Bobby's words hanging over them. They'd the conversation about parents a while ago.
And now, they realized his words were proof that bad parents did not mean the child would turn out to be a mess.
Gunn squatted down in front of a plastic milk crate beside a mattress. The crate was filled with mildewed paperbacks, and he began to rummage through them. "Even today, they can't talk about him without getting all weird and stuff." He began to flip through a Louis L'Amour Western as Calvin joined him.
"I think it hurt much more than we will ever really know," Wesley said as he crossed his arms. Though the awkwardness about Doyle's death had diminished over time between himself and his co-workers, it had never quite gone away. Grief was like that, he knew, beginning as excruciating agony and fading over time to a dull twinge that was barely noticed until something triggered it again, opening old wounds. Wesley was concerned that this case would do exactly that, putting an uncomfortable distance between Angel and Cordelia—and those who had joined them after Doyle's death.
He wondered if he should have a talk with Angel. The eerie quiet of the room was violently shattered as the door into the basement dwelling was kicked open.
Startled, Wesley pushed away from the desk, his sudden movement tilting the rickety table and sending the lantern—their only source of light—crashing to the floor.
"Damn!" he hissed as the basement was plunged into inky blackness.
"Wesley?" Willow called out from somewhere nearby. He could just about make out the shape of a hooded figure as it darted through the door and into the embrace of the darkness.
"You think you can ambush me in my own lair?" asked a gravelly voice. "You're welcome to try," it hissed, and then came a distinctive sound, one that Wesley recognized as that of flesh being peeled apart. Suddenly he knew exactly what was happening and who it was they now faced. Zeke. And that sound . . . the Miquot had the ability to produce organic knife blades from the flesh of their forearms.
"We're not trying to ambush anyone!" Leo tried to say, but was ignored.
"Goddamn it!" Dean tried to take out his gun, but Bobby, who could make him out in spite of the darkness due to being very close, grasped his hand.
"No. Won't end well right now"
Wesley dove through the ocean of black— "Everybody down," he heard himself bellow as the hiss of a razor-sharp dagger passed his head. "Zeke, it's me!" he shouted. "Wesley!"
Abruptly the room was filled with an intense light, as if the sun had suddenly decided to come to life in the basement. Shielding his eyes, Wesley looked upon a glowing sphere that spun and sparked in the air above them. Willow had conjured an illumination spell.
The Miquot demon stood ready, and his ever-present hood had fallen away to reveal his crested, demonic countenance. He was poised to throw another of his arm blades at Gunn.
"It's Wesley," he said again, climbing to his feet, reaching out to the demon. "They're with me—please, put the blade down." It took a moment, but a spark of recognition gradually replaced the look of fury in the demon's dark eyes, and he lowered his weapon.
"Friend Wesley," he said in a breathless whisper. "I thought you were one of them—the killers who have begun to hunt in the night."
The others slowly drew closer.
"No, but we come with news about those very same killers," Wesley said to Zeke as the Miquot went to the door, checking outside before closing it.
"The streets are stained with the blood of half-breeds," Zeke said. "What can you tell me of those who are responsible?"
"A Brachen, who happens to be the father of your old friend Doyle, is leading a coalition of bloodthirsty soldiers on a crusade to eradicate impure demon races."
"Doyle's father," the Miquot said with disbelief, staring off into space, his hand slowly pulling up the hood of his sweatshirt.
"We have information that leads us to believe that the inhabitants of your island—Questral—may be in grave danger."
"Questral?" Calvin piped up. "What's . . . oh, so that's its real name."
"Monster Island sounded too overdramatic anyways", Dean said with a chuckle.
The demon swiftly moved past them toward the old mattress in the far corner. "
Although I have just returned," Zeke said, "I must get back to the island at once to warn them." He produced a duffel bag from somewhere beneath the mattress and began to fill it with items from his living space. "If what you say is true, there is little time." There was a calm intensity in the demon's voice.
"Axtius has raised an army, and has 3 powerful magical Demons on his side," Wesley said grimly. "The people of the island won't stand a chance against them."
The demon stopped his packing and gazed at him.
"What choice do we have?" he asked.
"If you can stand a little company," Willow said, raising her hand to draw the glowing energy sphere back to her, "you won't be going back to the island alone."
"Yeah", Leo stepped forwards, sincerity in his eyes. "You'll be going with help."
And another one done. Now time for the island.
For the Deities from Supernatural 5x19, I was originally thinking the 'Our Gods Are Different' angle, but Brainstorm Sorcerer suggested something else that I realized tied perfectly into my plot as well, so I decided to do that instead, thank you to Brainstorm Sorcerer.
Now they've some more info about who they're facing too, courtesy of our favorite Angel (not the Vampire with a Soul, the Angel of the Lord).
Imagine Brian Cox as Elijah, thank you to Marcus S. Lazarus for the casting help.
Hope all enjoyed and see you all next time with another chapter.