Veronica stared at her cell phone as if she were caught in the headlights of an oncoming car going 200 mph over the corpses of her favorite kittens.
"You going to answer?" Wallace asked. Veronica continued to stare. "Guess not." He said, after the phone stopped ringing. "That was your dad right? What if he heard, and he wanted to see if you were o.k.?"
At that, Veronica whipped her head in Wallace's direction. "Heard?" she said, slightly hysterical. "How would he have? There's just no way." She shook her head. "No. He was just calling to check up on me. I'll call him back in a little bit and tell him every-things good."
"Veronica. We were attacked. I'm sure Mr. Mars would want to know. And I'm also sure he'd rather hear it from you than from some stranger." Wallace said reasonably. Veronica said nothing. Wallace gave her a disappointed look. "Did he leave a message?" He asked.
"Nope." Veronica lied cheerfully. "I told you. Must not have been all that important."
Wallace didn't believe her, but changed the subject anyway. "Got more info on our heros?"
Veronica yawned. "I haven't had a chance to check."
"You looked whipped. Have you even slept at all?" he asked, concerned.
"I'm fine." she lied again. "I can totally go all night."
"Like I wanna hear about you and Logan." he said glancing at the clock. It read 11:30 p.m. "It's getting late. You should sleep. I'll keep looking stuff up, and if I find anything I'll let you know in the morning."
Veronica looked at Wallace's arm. "How can you 'look stuff up' with a broken arm?"
"Please." he scoffed "You act like this is the first time my arm's been broken. I can handle it. Go to bed."
Veronica rubbed her face in her hands. "I can't." she told him, exhausted. "I tried to last night after you passed out. But every time I close my eyes, all I see are those two guys" She went on. "Their faces changed Wallace. How can I sleep after seeing that?" she asked, a little desperately.
"I understand, believe me. But that was just some Hollywood thing. No way can a person's face change without some serious special effects."
Veronica wasn't convinced. "How?"
"Do I look like Stan Winston? I go no idea. All I know is that right now, you need to sleep. You can only stay awake for so long. Sooner or later, your body's gonna want some down time."
"Wallace, what if..." she started.
But he interrupted her. "What if what? What if you go to sleep and feel better?"
Veronica shook her head. "No! That's not it. I want to go to sleep. I just can't." she told him looking miserable.
"The day my dad died, I couldn't sleep either. I thought if I didn't, I wouldn't have to wake up the next day. I wouldn't have to go on without him. I must have stayed up two and a half, three days straight. My mom couldn't take it anymore. She came into my room, and she told me," Wallace paused to look into Veronica's eyes. "She told me that life doesn't stop because I don't sleep. My dad was dead, and if the next day never came, I'd just be stuck in the worst day of my life. The only thing my not sleeping did was prove that I was afraid." Veronica reached out and grabbed Wallace's left hand. "I cried Veronica. Like I never knew I could. Mom stayed with me all night. I must've passed out though, because the next thing I knew, It was morning."
"Did you feel better?" she asked.
Wallace snorted. "No. But I got through the day, and when it was over, I went to bed. The next day came, and the next, and another one after that. Until, I find myself duct taped to a flag pole for no reason, and some skinny white chick cuts me down."
Smiling, Veronica let go of his hand and leaned back in her chair. "No reason? I seem to recall you somehow pissed off the local thugs, and they were just extracting revenge."
Wallace just gave a one arm shrug. "You remember it your way, and I'll remember it mine." Veronica yawned again. "Don't worry Veronica. We'll figure out the face changing. Now, you going to get some sleep?" Wallace asked. "Or am I going to have to bust out the time my hamster ran away?"
Veronica chuckled, a bit more than that little witticism warranted actually. She was really tired. Also? Hamsters equal hilarity.
"Thinking about it." she replied, clearing her head of the hamster dance. "But I don't want to go back to the hotel alone. I can crash here, right?"
"Only if you don't snore."
Veronica objected to comment, but generously let it slide in exchange for a pillow. She then put her feet up, stuck the pillow under her head, and fell asleep. Wallace's comforting presence helped to chase the demons away.
-
"RUN! RUN! OR DIE!" the Lourat demon screamed to it's fellows right before it's neck was broken.
Spike was disappointed. Lourat demons are big, brown, and brawny. He was expecting something of a challenge. Instead all he got were a couple of fighters mixed in with a bunch of cowards. They have a taste for chicken, dogs, and babies. Usually all at once. It was a simple matter to check police reports for crimes that matched the demons tastes. Missing pets, babies, and stores robbed of poultry. That's how he knew there were some in the area. Finding their layer was not so simple. He had to find a dog, use it as bait, and then track the mutt's scent through a sewer. O.k. It wasn't all that hard to do, but it stank to high heaven. You'd think that after 150 plus years of vampirism, he would be used to sewer smell. Whatever. At least there's violence. And Spike needed some after the news Angel dropped earlier.
'What the hell was he playing at anyway?' He wondered to himself as he ducked under a sharpened fist. Lourats can turn their fists into sharp things. It was one of the reasons Spike sought them out.
Slamming his palm up under the demons jaw, Spike released the spring loaded stake he had up his sleeve, sending it deep into the Lourat's brain. He then threw his elbow into the neck of another one trying to get him from behind, stunning it. In one slick motion, Spike pulled the stake out, whirled around, and stabbed the monster in the eye. Surprisingly, stabbing it in the eye didn't kill it. The Lourat just stopped and stared at Spike through its remaining eye.
"You know, this won't kill me." It said, pointing at it's eye.
Spike raised his eyebrow at it. "Doesn't even hurt?"
The demon thought for a second. "Kinda itches." He replied.
Spike nodded. "Well I guess that's why I brought the sword." And then he cut it's head off. After the body fell to the ground, Spike looked around for something else to kill. There was nothing. "All right." he said to nothing. "Now I'm bored."
"Perhaps you could have amused yourself hunting the cowards that ran." Illyria stated, coming from the shadows. " How unfortunate for you that I killed them."
Spike jumped a mile high at the sound of her voice. "Jesus Christ! What the bloody hell are you doing here!" He asked, shaken. Spike was not used to being spooked. He was the one that did the spooking. Not many things can sneak up on a vampire, and even less on Spike. Usually vampires can smell any potential attackers, or victims, before they can get close. Not so with Illyria, for she has no scent. Even the lauded vampire hearing is useless on one who has had untold millennia to work on their stealth. Despite how long they've slept, or what body they currently inhabit.
Amused, (as much as a god king could be anyway) Illyria started to examine the bodies. "Angel requires your presence."
"Yeah? Well you can tell Captain Forehead that I don't come on command." Spike thought over what he said. "At least not when he's doing the commanding." he amended.
"This one's neck is broken." She said, referring to the demons on the floor.
"Which is how I killed it." Spike pointed out helpfully.
"You failed. It is impossible to kill a Lourat by breaking it's neck."
Upon hearing that, the demon in question uttered a heartfelt "Aw crap!" before it's head was torn from it's body.
"The ways to dispatch a Lourat demon are severing head from spine, or..."
"Or destroying it's brain." Spike finished. "I know. I was just hoping that the beastie in question would wake up and lead me to the clan's fallback hideout after I made it think I was gone."
"So that you may kill the rest of them." Illyria concluded, almost impressed.
Spike seemed pleased with himself, but then frowned. "Well I guess that was a waste of a good plan."
Illyria looked around the layer. Discomfort evident on her face, if you knew what to look for. She left. Spike rushed to follow.
"What's the hurry Blue? Spike asked, trying to keep up with Illyria's quick stride.
She answered without slowing down. "To be in this feculent enclosure disgusts me."
Spike could buy that, it was a sewer after all. "So what does old Anglecakes want now?" He asked, catching up.
Illyria looked weird when Spike used Lorne's nickname for Angel. If Spike noticed, he didn't say anything.
"The merchant from whom Angel purchased the aura reading device has called. He will be arriving at the Hyperion shortly in order to tell us the results of his examination." When the duo reached a ladder, Illyria changed to look like Fred.
"HEY! What the hell?" Spike demanded.
Illyria responded as Fred would have. "Well Spike, I can't exactly walk around all blue and stuff now can I?"
He wasn't having any of it. "We stay in the sewer then."
Illyria wrinkled her nose. "But the sewer smells so bad. Plus I don't find them as comforting as I used to, y'know?" And with that, she made her way up the ladder and onto the streets.
-
Spike stormed into the lobby of the Hyperion, Illyria scampered behind him all Fred-like. "I don't see what the problem is Spike. I just wanted something to eat. And when a person..." she paused, looking thoughtful. "I guess I should say 'being' in my case. When a being gets hungry doesn't it make a whole heck of a lot of sense to eat something? Burger King was just right over there. I don't see why we couldn't have stopped for just one minute to get a cheeseburger."
Spike spun around and got right in Illyria's face. Angry that she even started to babble like Fred. He made like he was going to punch her, but held back at the genuinely startled and frightened look she gave him.
Taking a step back, Spike stared at Illyria in awe. "Fred?" He asked.
Illyria seemed confused for a moment. She shed the burkle persona, and her demeanor became alien.
"You dare to raise your fist against me vampire?" She queried, but with no real heat.
Spike ignored the question. "What was that?"
Illyria said nothing. A blank look on her face.
"I said what was that?"
Again, nothing.
"Fred?"
With that, Spike got a response. "There is no Fred, only Illyria!" She practically shouted at him. Illyria went upstairs. Her feet, Fred's feet, were on autopilot. When she stopped she found herself in Fred's old room. "I am Illyria." She reaffirmed. "God King of the Primordium. Fred is dead. Her soul consumed by the fires of my resurrection." Illyria saw her reflection in Fred's mirror and stared.
-
"Something's up with Illyria." Spike barged into Angel's darkened office. "She just gave me a look. A scared one."
Angel leaned his elbows on the desk, his knuckles folded together. The light from the desk lamp illuminated only half of his face. "Was she Fred when this happened?"
Spike sat down in one of the chairs. "Interesting way to put it." he noted. "I could have sworn it was Fred I almost hit."
Angel sat back in his chair, the darkness of the room reclaimed him. If Spike couldn't see in the dark, he might have been impressed.
'Probably why he bought the lamp in the first place.' Spike thought to himself. 'Bastard always did like to be dramatic.'
Spike mulled over the ponderous expression on Angel's face, and came to an obvious conclusion. "She's done it before, hasn't she?"
"A few hours ago. After we first came back from the hospital." Angel confirmed. "She walked around wearing Fred's face, her expressions. I lost it."
"So that's what that was all about." Spike lit a cigarette, and took a long drag.
Angel went on. "I thought she, Illyria, was just..." he paused, struggling to find the right word. "This may change everything Spike. Are you sure what you saw was genuine?"
Spike nodded, exhaling. "So now what?"
Angel looked at Spike. "We wait. We don't have the resources to conduct a full investigation. We'll need help."
Spike took another drag of his cigarette. "The Watchers?" he enquired. Angel nodded. Spike snorted, blowing smoke out of his nose. "Fat lot of good they were last time we asked them for help."
"Things are different now Spike. They thought I was evil. Who could blame them? I never bothered to explain myself."
"You don't have to." Spike pointed out.
"No I don't." Angel agreed. "But if I did, Giles would have put me through to Willow, and we might have saved Fred."
Spike rolled his eyes. "And if wishes were horses, I would own my own race track. No point in 'what if's Angel. They'll only drive you crazy."
Before Angel could reply, some one started to ring the front desk bell for service.
"That must be McAlester." Angel got up and headed up front. "He's the one who sold me the thermometer." He explained to Spike.
"Peachy." Spike replied, following. "Maybe now we can figure out why Nancy Drew and friend got wammied."
"Ah. Mr. Angel." McAlester said when Angel came into sight. "How good to see you again." McAlester was in his mid fifties, six ft two, and about 250 lb. He was dressed in a dark blue, finely tailored suit.
"Mr. McAlester." Angel nodded in greeting. "What did you find out?"
The merchant looked around. "Is there any place we can sit? This may take a while." Angel brought him into his office and turned on a light. After he was settled, McAlester reported his findings. "Before we get started, I must first explain exactly what Champion's Bane does."
Spike was getting impatient. "We already know what it does Professor. We need to know why it did it."
"What you know is nothing boy." Spike raised his eyebrows at that. "Champion's Bane does not only affect those that are champions. It affects anyone with the potential to be champions." Angel nodded, having assumed something along those lines all along. Spike just leaned on the doorway smoking his cigarette. McAlester continued. "The spell has a detrimental effect on the victim. That effect is passed along to anyone of a," He paused, sending a disdainful look at Spike. "relatively virtuous nature, by the bonds of camaraderie."
Spike smirked at the younger man. "So you're telling us that 'little girl sleuth' and her sidekick, are champions?"
"Potential champions, I believe was the term I used." McAlester corrected snidely.
"Well. We," Spike gestured to Angel and himself, "aren't buddy buddy with the bird and boy. So why did they get affected?"
McAlester rolled his eyes at Spike. "If you paid attention, you would have heard me say that the youths in question were affected by Champion's Bane because they're POTENTIAL champions."
Angel interrupted before Spike could retort. "What my colleague means is; we have no affiliation with Ms. Mars and Mr. Fennel. How could they be affected because of Gunn?"
McAlester spoke to Angel like he was a two year old. "Well, Mr. Angel, the spell directly hinders any efforts to save the victim. That is the reason why you and your dimwitted 'associate' here, had trouble finding Mr. Gunn."
Spike glared at Mcalester. "You want to be careful. I'm beginning to have a powerful dislike of your general existence."
"Spike." warned Angel. "Behave. Mr. McAlester, please continue."
"Of course." He said pompously. "The spell has a minor area of effect on those that it considers to be 'good'." He pulled out cigarette. "Would you mind?" he asked Angel, referring to the unlit smoke.
"Not at all. Spike. Give him your lighter."
"What? No!" He denied incredulously. "Let him light his own!"
"Spike. Do it." His tone left no room for argument. After a second, Spike decided that Angel was serious, and gave the awful little man a light.
"Hmm." He puffed a bit. "All right, where were we? No I remember. The spell could also double as a 'champion detector' for lack of a better term. Upon casting, the spell seeks out those with the characteristics found in a champion." He took a haul of his cigarette, then went on. "Such as, a willingness to do good, see justice done, that sort of thing. Now, what that means is: Your little friends have the potential to be players."
Angel got up and walked around his desk and leaned against the front, folding his arms across his chest. "So they're valuable?"
Spike quirked his eyebrow at that question. McAlester looked a little startled.
"Wuh-Well, I suppose so."
Angel leaned forward and rested his palms on the the arms of McAlester's seat. "In that case," he vamped out. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't let Spike end you for selling them out to Wolfram and Hart."
Spike smiled.
