Part IX
Every light in the office shone brightly and Cordelia’s hair gleamed golden brown as she bent over a thick, ancient tome. Slim fingers rubbed her temple absently, the pulse of her headache heavy in the air. “I’m still mad,” she said without looking up, and he let the door close behind him with a quiet click.
“I know,” he said. It was all he could think of to say, because all he could think was that she was safe. She’d stayed and she was alive and that made everything he had done and said worth it.
“Wes is at the bookstore,” she said, and the rasp of the page turning was loud in the quiet. “He called a while ago, said he’d found a connection. He should be back soon.”
“Okay.” He stripped off his coat, hung it over a nearby chair and stepped closer to her, hovered a hand over hers. Somewhere, there were the right words but he had no idea what they were or even where to look. And so he didn’t even try. Instead, he bent over her, bracing his hands on the desk and pressed his lips silently into her hair. “What are you doing?”
“Researching,” she said, and pushed forward a spiral bound notebook. “I’m researching,” she said again, but her voice broke on a little hiccup and she turned her face down, into an elbow.
He glanced down at the notebook, but instead of Cordelia’s carefree half cursive spiral handwriting, the margins were full of doodles, penciled hearts outlined with ballpoint lace; a variety of unidentifiable shapes. And line after line was filled with the same words:
Angel loves Buffy Angel loves Buffy Angel loves Buffy Angel loves Buffy Angel loves Buffy Angel loves Buffy Angel loves Buffy Angel loves Buffy Angel loves Buffy Angel loves Buffy Angel loves Buffy Angel loves Buffy Angel loves Buffy Angel loves Buffy Angel loves Buffy Angel loves Buffy Angel loves Buffy Angel loves Buffy Angel loves Buffy Angel loves Buffy Angel loves Buffy Angel loves Buffy Angel loves Buffy Angel loves Buffy Angel loves Buffy
And down, at the very bottom, in meticulous block letters she’d printed:
MY HEART AND I HAVE DECIDED TO END IT ALL
Horror shattered through him, freezing his fingers as they stretched out to her, paralyzing his body and silencing his voice. No. Oh, God, no. He’d only been gone an hour, maybe two. And Wesley had been there for most of the time, sworn to protect Cordelia because he too loved her. But they’d been too late or too weak or too confident. Too something because it had gotten to her.
Somehow, it had gotten to her. Cordelia was strong and she was life and breath and happiness. But here she was, curled into her arm while her hand scribbled out secret fears and he’d let the demon get to her. He’d sworn to protect her and even now, she shuddered underneath him and her shoulders quaked with sobs that Cordelia would never, ever let show.
“Oh, God,” he forced out and dropped over her, pulling her to him, tilting her beautiful, sad face so he could look into her eyes.
They were dark. Sad and dark and silvery threads traced down her cheeks. How long had she sat there, doodling and crying? How long did she have?
He clutched her to him, cradled her, and she burrowed into him. “Angel,” and her voice was hers again, fierce and scared and demanding. “God, Angel, help me. Please help me. I’m so scared and I’m so lonely and I can hear it in my head, Angel, it keeps whispering to me and it’s so alone and I’m so alone and I just can’t take it, I can’t deal with this Angel, please help me, don’t let it talk to me anymore, I don’t want to be alone, Angel, please, Angel, please, Angel …”
Panic twisted him and he could only clutch her tighter and swear on everything that meant anything. “You’re going to be okay, Cordy. Just be strong, okay? We’re gonna get through this, Cordy. You’re not alone. Just be strong. Cordy, please be strong.”
****
“I have to kill it, Wesley. And you need to find out how.”
“It’s not that easy, Angel.” Wesley couldn’t take his eyes off Cordelia, fingers sealed flat against her ears, lips pressed together into a thin, straight line. “We can’t see it. As far as we know, it could be here, right now.”
“Why is this happening to her? Why not me? I met it first,” he said. Cordelia rocked against him, bare feet slapping the floor with in a staccato rhythm.
Wesley blew out a hard breath. “I don’t know, Angel. I don’t know nearly enough. I need you to let me concentrate.”
He was trying. He really was. But Cordelia was all tense muscle and sheer focus, nearly vibrating in his arms with the effort it was taking to keep the fear, the terror, the demon at bay. “Time’s the one thing we haven’t got, Wes.” And when Angel stood, Cordelia cradled against him, Wes didn’t try to stop him.
He paced, Cordelia weightless in his arms. He’d railed for years against her trademark chatter but at some point in time he’d become used to it and now he’d give an arm to hear her boisterous enthusiasm. Even if it came with a shrill voice and ear-piercing volume. He jiggled her against him, relishing her dissatisfied mumbles because it meant she was still alive. Still fighting. He’d be damned if this demon broke her – broke them – just as he was learning what it meant to be whole again,
An idea sparked in the darkness of his subconscious and relief warmed him to the tips of his fingers. “I need a few spells,” he said. Wesley, always sensitive to tone, looked up cautiously.
“What kind of spells?”
“A visualization spell,” Angel said, and his smile was a fierce grimace of promised retribution. “And a containment spell.”
Wes pushed his glasses up securely on the bridge of his nose with one frustrated finger. “Angel, it’s not nearly that simple. Each of these demons needs their own containment unit, a storage vessel per se, and you can’t just fudge those. Don’t you remember the Ethros demon?”
Angel cut him off with a look. “I don’t want to stash it away in a box and keep it safe. I want it corporeal. I want it real. And then I want to tear it apart.” Scenarios flickered through his heads, shuffling and organizing automatically, just another habit after years of tactics and battles. “And I want it contained in one area. One room. That should be enough space.”
Wesley was shoving out of his chair and into an open box of textbooks. Rifling quickly through them, he pulled out a slim volume bound in dark leather. Not bothering to open it, he tossed it across the office. Angel caught it in his free hand, barely jostling the still silent girl in his arms. “This has what you need.” Angel tucked the book into a pocket, but Wesley’s concerned face stopped him before he could do anything else. “How do you plan on finding it? It’s not exactly leaving a trail you can follow.”
“It craves angst and pain. It needs them to survive.” He was moving quickly now, sorting through weapons and stashing the ones he’d selected, all the while barely jostling Cordelia. “And I don’t need to find it. It’s in her, Wesley, but I’m the one it wants.”
Wesley struggled silently; his desire to support warring with his more practical instinctive nature. Angel didn’t seem to notice, efficiently packing a gym bag with an assortment of magical herbs, organized into Tupperware and labeled clearly with masking tape and Cordelia’s loopy handwriting. And even though Wesley had decided to stay quiet, the words exploded out of him. “But Angel, you can’t just—”
Wesley froze under Angel’s sudden glare, fierceness and determination boring into him until he sighed, and dropped his own eyes. “Very well. I’m sure you’ll just do as you please anyway, you always do, you never think of the rational—”
“The rational?” Angel’s voice sounded almost dead it was so flat and Wesley felt nerves swimming up from his gut into his throat. He breathed hard; gulped them down. “Does this look rational to you?” Angel continued, gesturing to Cordelia. And indeed, as if to prove his point, she was biting her lips in seemingly futile effort, clenching her palms flat against her head so tightly he could see white outlining her fingers.
“How long do you want me to let her go through this? Your rational isn’t an option, Wesley. The only option is saving Cordelia. And that’s what I’m going to do.” He turned back to his task, jiggling the bag to free space for an extra pack of herbs.
For two moments, maybe three, Wesley simply watched. But Angel was right. Perhaps he never thought out plans, and maybe he had a tendency to dive right in to dangerous situations, but Angel had always come through in the past and if the only other option was losing Cordelia, letting her slip away into a depression so deep and total that she would never beam that giant smile at them again, or try to wrap them around her little pinky because she wanted the last donut, or even tease and insult them – those were not options. Not for him.
“Where are we going?”
Angel heaved an impatient sigh, his shoulders girding against any possible delay. “There’s a high school a few blocks from here. We’re going there.”
“Aha! Give that demon as much angst as it wants, eh?” Wesley tried his best to appear calm and collected, but the subtle vibrations of his excited heart beat racing filled the room, and the spark in his eyes would have betrayed him to even the most clueless of observers. But Angel couldn’t comment. His attention was on the rigid girl in his arms, embroiled in silent struggle.
She’d wrapped her arms around his neck, fingernails digging into his skin in mute testament to her inner battle. Her slender body practically vibrated under his fingers, the usual vibrant blush of her lips blanched into pale white under the grip of her teeth. Her eyes were screwed shut and he was pathetically grateful for it, because the sight of her now desperate, wretched eyes might just break his heart, the heart she herself had healed.
The phone’s trill was sharp in the heavy silence, and Wesley reflexively reached for it before Angel’s growl arrested his movement. “Don’t even think about it.”
Wesley’s hand froze and guilt swamped his slender shoulders. Angel didn’t even pause to think about it, instead jerking his head toward the door. “Get the spell books. I’ll meet you in the car.”
Cordelia’s voice chimed cheerfully in, the recording tinny as it played the message they all knew so well: “Thank you for calling Angel Investigations. We help the hopeless! We must all be helping people now, so please leave your name and number at the tone, and we’ll call you back as soon as possible, with an estimate of our reasonable rates. Thanks!”
The machine beeped, and paused before a familiar voice began to speak. “Hello? Angel?”
Wesley shot a glance over at Angel, frozen in silhouette in the office doorway. “Angel, it’s Buffy.”
She paused for a moment, as if collecting her thoughts, before brashly going ahead. “I know we didn’t exactly part under the best terms, and I know you’re probably still furious with me, but …” her voice faltered again, and she pulled in a deep, courage-gathering breath. “I need your help. There’s this government agency, and they’re created this Frankenstein-Super-Monster-Man, and we can’t figure out how to kill him. He’s strong, Angel, so strong, and we’re just –” She sucked in another breath, its exhalation loud into the phone. “We need help, Angel.” And then, even more quietly, “Please.” The click startled Wesley, who turned confused blue eyes to Angel.
Angel jerked his head toward the door. “What are you waiting for, Wesley? Let’s go.”
Wesley’s forehead crinkled in confused chagrin. “But what about—”
Angel’s jaw clenched with the effort it took to keep from striding across the room and pulling Wesley bodily from his chair and muscling him out the door. “Let’s. Go.”
Wes didn’t question him again, instead shoving hurriedly out of his chair and out of the door.
****
Cordelia was adrift in a sea of confusion, lost in the dark, struggling for balance on the thinnest of precipices while the unknown called to her, taunted her, reached for her. Underneath her fingertips was the sole isle of safety, a bastion in the midst of swirling misery and loneliness and she clung desperately to it, fighting the insidious voice creeping inside her. She struggled to open her eyes, but the lids were cemented shut.
In the distance, a voice crooned to her in bittersweet melody. She could feel herself leaning toward the sound, straining to absorb its beauty and its sadness alike. It was familiar and compelling and she fought mindlessly against herself, against her own stubborn will that was holding her back from its tuneful spell. And yet through it all he was there, beside her, inside her. His skin was textured under her fingers, and it flexed with fear and with helplessness.
With rage, because he hated impotence. And with desperation, because he couldn’t let her go and yet she could feel herself slipping away. The voice called to her, sang for her and for the first time in her short life she wasn’t alone. It promised her bliss. Heaven. Somehow she even knew the words and she sang along with it in her head.
But he screamed at her, wouldn’t let up, wouldn’t let go, always willing her to fight, to keep fighting, to hold on, Cordelia, just for a little while longer, hold on and I’ll save you.
She screwed her eyes shut as hard as she could and struggled against the voices in her head. The angel on one shoulder, a silvery voiced demon on the other. She gathered up every little bit of strength she could find and started to sing the one song she could think of. The one song that might be strong enough to shatter this nightmare. Whitney Houston. The Greatest Love of All.
Part X
The car hardly seemed large enough for all of them; Wesley driving for once so Angel could sit in the backseat, Cordelia lying carefully across his lap. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, but it was all so wrong. Instead of her animated face, sparkling eyes and razor-sharp observations, she was huddled against him, face smoothed into an eerie calm.
While he’d been out fighting the demons from her vision, she’d changed out of her sewer-stained clothes into a fresh outfit. She thought she was so clever but he’d found her ‘secret’ suitcase months ago, filled with beautiful filmy blouses and flirty skirts, a rainbow of colors, textures, something for every occasion. God, he missed her.
Wesley cleared his throat, and Angel looked up to see blue eyes glancing at him in the rearview mirror. “Angel, are you sure you don’t want to take her home? Dennis can keep an eye on her. Even if the demon is actually within her, I’m not sure bringing Cordelia with us is the wisest thing to do.”
He was right and Angel knew it. But somehow, the thought of letting her out of his sight again was unbearable. “No,” was all he said.
****
Angel slammed his shoulder into the door, relishing the sharp crack of splintering wood. Kicking it for good measure, he opened up a passable space and forced his big body through. Wesley slid through easily behind him, lugging their bag of spell books and materials. His footsteps echoed hollowly in the empty hallways, but Angel strode silently, stoically ahead, not even looking back to see if Wes had made it through.
He moved purposefully, turning a corner here, forcing a door there, until the respectful hush of the school library welcomed them, the unmistakable heaviness of a thousand dusty books rife in the air. It was nothing special. Wesley carefully examined the room, eyes flickering over a few computers, an empty information station, a few rows of long empty tables awaiting students and stacks of research volumes.
It was bigger than Sunnydale High’s, much smaller than the Watcher Council’s, but possessed the same silent expectation, a veritable font of information for anyone prepared to look. And yet, in the dark hush of night, goose bumps trailed up Wesley’s back.
Something was not right.
Angel was barely paying attention, instead tugging the duffle free from Wesley’s grip and pulling free the spell book. Rifling through it impatiently, he immediately began barking orders. “Vervaine and aloes,” he said, gesturing to a table near the sole window, gleaming in a faint moonbeam. “Over there.”
Wesley occupied himself sorting out the proper containers and placing them where directed, and the orders kept coming. He lit ceremonial candles of the purest honeyed beeswax, set burning incense which filled the room with dense, amber flavored smoke, and still Angel moved, scattering one herb in the corners, using another to line the windows and doorways, and still another to outline the circle of candles until Wesley’s head swam with all the various scents.
The candles flickered, sending gloomy overlarge shadows dancing across the ceiling, and then Angel was reappearing before Wes had even realized he’d left, Cordelia cradled in his arms. Her face was contorted as if she were in pain, and Angel was staring down at her, his own face etched deep with his own private torment.
When he laid her down in the center of the circle, it took him a moment before he could back away, and the moment his arms left her, she curled in on herself, fingers clutching anything they could grasp: clothes, hair, skin, pulling until Angel stepped close, sliding his fingers into her own, intertwining them tightly together.
“Angel?” Wes asked softly, but the vampire didn’t move or answer. “Angel, we had better get going.” I don’t know how much more time we have, he added silently in his head. And Angel seemed to understand, because he withdrew the slim volume from his jacket and tossed it to Wes.
“First the containment spell,” he said brusquely.
“Perhaps the visualization spell first?” Wes dared to suggest. “If only to ensure the demon does not strike again before we can see it.”
“It won’t,” Angel said, so quietly Wes had to strain to hear. “It’s drawn to Cordelia. And to me.” And then Wesley understood – Cordy and Angel were the bait. And that meant all this, saving Cordelia, saving Angel, rested on his own narrow ex-Watcher, ex-rogue demon hunter’s shoulders.