Part 11
“ANGEL!”
Buffy’s heart lurched to a momentary stop when the stake pierced the vampire’s skin, but her trained eyes swiftly recognised that the wooden implement was wide of the mark, prompting a flood of relief to race like wildfire through her veins.
Cordelia threw herself blindly at the invisible barrier that blocked her entrance to the Gauntlet, salty tears blurring her vision and making her boyfriend’s stricken form eddy like a mirage before her eyes. Firm hands grabbed her upper arms and pulled back, but she struggled violently against their unyielding hold, frantically trying to shake off the unwanted restraints.
“Let me go – I have to go to him! Oh my God – please not my Angel. Please no!””
“Cordelia; calm down. CORDELIA!”
When the seer’s hysteria showed no sign of abating, Buffy roughly jerked the panic-stricken girl around and slapped her hard across the face. “Just listen to me,” she ordered, taking her former classmate by the shoulders and shaking her.
Despite her envy of the anguished brunette, the slayer wasn’t immune to her rival’s distress. “It’s okay – she missed.” she reassured the sobbing young woman, her voice softening in tone. “She missed.”
“Are you sure?” Cordelia clutched at Buffy’s forearms, her tear-filled eyes going impossibly wide as wild hope supplanted the bleak despair that had taken hold of her heart.
“One hundred and ten percent – I’m the slayer, aren’t I?” Buffy replied gently, giving the seer’s shoulders a comforting squeeze. “That Mr Pointy is too low; I’m absolutely sure of it.”
Sagging in partial relief, Cordelia whirled around and pressed her fingers up against the transparent magical blockade that prevented more than one person from entering the Gauntlet. In spite of the blonde slayer’s steadfast reassurances, her anxiety had not completely subsided. She needed to see and hear for herself that the man – whom she loved more than life itself – was indeed okay.
“Angel – please talk to me,” she cried out desperately, her voice shaking with suppressed sobs.
The incapacitated vampire was slumped against the stone wall, his head hanging down and one hand wrapped around the stake, which was sticking grotesquely out of his chest. Her heart in her throat, the petrified seer watched as he awkwardly pushed himself upright and tugged the piece of wood from his ribcage with a hoarse cry of pain.
Flipping the stake over in his hand, Angel lurched forward and slammed it through the hollow of the Clone’s throat, effectively nailing her to the wall with the blood-soaked weapon. Then, with his palm over the gaping wound in his torso, he stumbled erratically along the last few feet of the Gauntlet and tumbled forward onto the raised dais, collapsing there in a crumbled heap.
The entrance to the Gauntlet corridor opened up as the vampire crossed the finish line, and Cordelia almost fell flat on her face when the invisible wall dissolved under her fingertips. Quickly righting herself, she bent and grabbed her discarded sword, and then determinedly stepped down into the Gauntlet, her earlier fear all but gone as her attention focused on getting to her injured boyfriend as soon as possible.
As the excruciating agony that was ricocheting through his entire body started to diminish, Angel rolled over onto his back, noting out of the corner of one eye that Cordelia had already entered the Gauntlet. Struggling to a seated position with a low groan, he leaned back against the stone podium to monitor his girlfriend’s progress, his concern for her welfare quashing the additional pain the semi-upright posture caused him.
“Oo – scary demon,” the seer quipped sarcastically when a mustard yellow individual, sporting a set of blue horns, popped up in front of her.
As the ringing clash of metal upon metal filled the air, Angel was thankful to discover that the hearsay about the Gauntlet regulating its skill level wasn’t just a myth. The brightly coloured creature was reasonably competent with his sword, but nowhere near as skilled as the demon that he had fought a short while earlier. Cordelia was easily managing to hold her own against her opponent, the vampire observed with intense relief.
Angel had never stepped back to watch his seer fight before, and found himself extremely impressed with what he saw. Cordelia handled her sword with the poised grace of a ballerina, everything he’d taught her slotting into place like adjacent pieces on a jigsaw puzzle. The elegant movements of her lithe body were utterly bewitching to behold, her polished style a remnant from her years as a cheerleader.
Good girl, he thought approvingly when he saw her adjust her footing, clearly preparing to go on the offensive instead of letting her adversary get the upper hand.
Her sword slicing through the air with effortless proficiency, Cordelia proceeded to execute a slick combination of manoeuvres that permitted her to go safely in for the kill, and the demon stiffened in open-mouthed astonishment as she plunged her weapon deep into his belly.
Withdrawing the sword with a flourish, the seer prudently waited long enough to confirm that the creature was indeed dead, before she continued to march down the corridor, her weapon grasped tightly in her right hand.
Angel frowned in confusion when a man in his late forties was the next to step into the ring to confront the pretty brunette. The human’s non-descript brown hair was streaked with flecks of grey, and he was dressed in a pressed navy suit, a pale blue open-necked shirt underneath. The middle-aged man was eyeing up Cordelia with unmistakable sexual desire shining in his gaze – and bulging large in his pants.
The vampire’s deep brown eyes flickered to angry yellow as he observed this detail and he growled possessively, despite being aware that non of this was actually real.
Cordelia was visibly taken aback by this turn of events, and Angel’s heart sank in his chest, as her confidence seemed to fold in on itself, her assertive stance faltering. Who the fuck is this bastard?
A triumphant smile spread across the man’s features at the seer’s apparent capitulation, and he moved forward, reprehensible intent shining lustfully in his green eyes.
“Cordelia…” Angel croaked out, his attempt to speak triggering a hacking coughing fit when blood from his damaged lungs rose up into his throat to momentarily choke him.
The vampire’s hoarse warning did the trick however, and Cordelia stiffened, lifting her head, her hazel eyes blazing with an indefinable mix of emotions.
“Eew! Perv much,” she exclaimed in disgust, bringing her knee up into her attacker’s engorged groin and fiercely shoving him away from her. “Sorry bucko, but you know that scared innocent girl that I used to be? Well, she no longer exists and – hello? Not a virgin anymore either. Guess that means I’m not your type, Mr-I-Want-a-Virgin-Bride.”
“And you wanna know something else?” the seer continued threateningly, tossing her sword to one side and reaching down to un-hook her other weapon from her belt. “In my opinion, sicko men like you should be castrated, so it’s lucky that I’ve got just the thing, isn’t it?”
“See – it’s perfect for the job, don’t you think?” she said, brandishing the small, curved – and very sharp – scythe in front of her tormentor’s bulging eyes.
The man flickered and disappeared after that, and Cordelia hesitated in confusion, perplexed because she hadn’t been required to kill him, but also relieved that it wasn’t necessary. She may hate the man, but she still wasn’t comfortable about taking his life, regardless of the fact that he was only a projection of her subconscious fears.
Gathering up her weapons and turning on her heel, the seer ran as fast as she could down the rest of the Gauntlet, leaping onto the dais, and dropping to her knees in front of her wounded boyfriend.
“You put me through something like that again, and I swear I’ll stake you myself,” she cried passionately, peppering his face with frantic kisses and stroking the sides of his face and neck with the soft pads of her fingers.
Angel felt a wave of guilt run through him at her words. “I’m sorry baby,” he said, lifting a hand to rub soothing circles on her back, as she looped her arms around his neck and buried her warm face against his throat. “I should have left you back at Caritas. I was just so afraid of Faith showing up there again.”
“Not that, you dork,” Cordelia replied, sitting back on her heels and jerking her thumb over her shoulder at the Gauntlet. “I meant this,” she whispered, pushing up his t-shirt to the reveal the already healing wound in his chest.
“Oh,” Angel said, still mortified that he’d fallen for such an obvious ploy. “Don’t worry, I’m fine – well, I will be in half an hour or so,” he assured off Cordelia’s sceptical look.
“Who was that man?” he asked, deliberately shifting the subject of the conversation onto her.
“Oh – Ryan Lauper – Daddy’s warped idea of the perfect husband for me.”
“Does that still scare you?” the vampire asked worriedly, palming her beautiful face between his big hands.
“Not really, not anymore. I guess I have the odd nightmare about it every once in while, but that’s all. I don’t understand why I didn’t have to kill him though.”
“Defeating the enemy doesn’t always involve bloodshed,” Angel explained. “I think it’s enough that you stood up to him and faced down your fear.”
“Remind me never to piss you off, by the way,” he added with a sly wink.
“I don’t think I really would have done it,” the seer giggled, blushing a rosy red as she recollected her rather outlandish threat.
“Well, I’m not gonna risk finding out, that’s for sure.”
“Wise boy,” Cordelia advised sagely with a cheeky smile, and then her expression turned serious again when it dawned on her what the Gauntlet had inadvertently revealed about Angel’s own inner fears.
“Is that what you have nightmares about?” she asked gravely.
The vampire’s first instinct was to deny it, but he caught himself before the falsehood could escape from his lips. Their recent relationship troubles were due, primarily, to a breakdown of communication between them, and he was determined to be completely honest with her from now on.
“All the time,” he whispered, his voice thick with all the underlying emotions that he’d been bottling up for the past couple of months.
One hand resting flat against his torso, Cordelia reached up with the other to touch his cheek with gentle fingers, her eyes growing suspiciously wet. “But I thought that…”
“You thought what?” the vampire asked in a low voice as she trailed off and leaned in to press her warm lips against his cheek instead.
“Never mind – it doesn’t matter now,” the seer replied, shaking her head and reaching down to lace her fingers through his. “I got it all wrong.”
“Cordy…”
“I know – just later okay? When we have more time to ourselves, we’ll talk – about everything, I promise.”
Angel nodded and drew his girlfriend back into his embrace, pressing his face into her sweet-smelling hair, “I love you.”
“I should hope so,” Cordelia murmured against his throat as she nestled closer, her arms rising to encircle his back. “Cus there’s one crazy-in-love girl snuggled in your arms right now.”
Angel smiled and gently kissed the top of her bent head. “Glad to hear it.”
***
“Voila!” Willow placed the frosted cocktail glass in front of Lorne with a dramatic flourish.
Wrapping his fingers around the glass’s delicate stem, the Host carefully lifted the ice-cold alcoholic drink to his lips, expertly inhaling the fruity aroma, before taking a tentative sip of the cloudy pink liquid.
“Mamma mia!” he exclaimed, closing his eyes and shuddering with exaggerated pleasure as the sharp-tasting drink hit the back of his throat. “Now *that’s* a Seabreeze to die for – you’ve sure got the magic touch, baby doll.”
“Mixing cocktails is not that much different from conjuring up witches brews really,” Willow said. “The success of both hinges on getting the right balance of ingredients, although I have to say, blending a magical potion incorrectly has a rather more spectacular effect than a bad cocktail does.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you’d been party to the abuse heaped on my poor intestines, by some of the ghastly concoctions that I’ve been forced to endure,” Lorne replied with a grimace. “If you ever get tired of the white-witch-slayer-sidekick-saving-the-world gig, you can come and work for me – good bartenders are hard to find. I’d even throw Ramone over for you, my sugar plum.”
Willow favoured the green-skinned demon with her wide beaming smile. “Thanks, I’ll remember th…”
The sudden trilling of her cell phone cut off whatever she had been about to say, and she rushed across the room to answer it. “Hello?”
“..”
“Hi Angel – how’d it go?”
“..”
“You did, that’s great!”
“..”
“Yeah, I can do that. How long will you be?”
“..”
“No, no, that’s okay – Lorne can help me.”
“..”
“Of course – see you in a bit then, bye.”
Willow shut off the phone and placed it back on the bar, then purposely moved towards the table where Wesley’s icebox of supplies stood.
“Pray tell me, little one – exactly what is Uncle Lorne going to help you with?” the Host asked the suddenly industrious witch, his red eyes wide with trepidation.
“Making the Orb exorcising potion,” Willow replied, as she flipped open the metal clasps on the blue plastic container and carefully began to unload the small glass specimen tubes. “The others succeeded in getting Faith’s address from Wolfram and Hart, so it’s time to get busy with that saving-the-world stuff.”
“Oh no, amigo – providing accommodation and offering advice is about as far as I go for the PTB cause. The hands-on stuff? Not in my contract, sweet thing.”
“It is now, oh brightly-suited one,” Willow firmly told the reluctant Lorne, mimicking his habit of peppering his speech with syrupy nicknames. “The incantation requires two people and you’re the only person available. So stop being such a wussy girl-demon, and find me something to mix up the potion in.”
“Whoa, scary wicca alert! You weren’t a tad dominatrix-y in a former life, perchance?”
The witch shot him a dark look, “I think one of those cocktail shakers will be perfect for the task – we can whip up several batches all at once with that, and we won’t have to worry about when each will run out.”
Pursing her lips, she surveyed the myriad of glass bottles dotted over the table’s surface. “Wesley measured out enough for ten portions – I think we’ll just make up five to start with, and save the rest for if Plan B is necessary.”
Taking the two-part metal container from the green-skinned demon, Willow consulted Wesley’s notes and tipped in the various contents of the specimen tubes in the specified order. Before adding the last ingredient to the cocktail shaker, she took a plastic stirrer and mixed up the potion with a brisk hand.
“Okay, when I add the Kaylem powder, it should start to react, but the amalgamation won’t be complete until we recite the incantation. We’ll do that just as Angel and the others get here – that way the potion will last as long as possible, giving us the best chance to get the Orb out of Faith.”
The mixture began to spit violently as Willow poured the final item into the container, and Lorne had to resist the desperate urge to duck. Slotting the top half of the shaker into place, the redheaded witch vigorously shook up the magical fusion, increasing the popping sounds coming from the metallic receptacle ten-fold. That done, she placed the vessel back down on the table and removed the top, releasing a cloud of bright purple smoke with an accompanying sulphurous odour.
“Angel said they’d be here in ten minutes.” Willow handed Lorne a slim piece of paper and glanced at her watch, “When I say go, say that with me twice over.”
The Host nodded as they sat down to await their companions’ arrival, “I would just like to point out that a significant pay-rise is definitely in order after this.”
Willow smiled, “I promise I’ll make you another Sea-breeze before I go home.”
“Mmm – now I’m in heaven, floating on a big white fluffy cloud of blissfulness.”
***
“Watch out for that dark green car,” Angel said, indicating a vehicle that was at least a hundred metres away.
“Hey – back-seat driver much.”
“You’re not used to driving through heavy city traffic, Buffy,” he told her pedantically. “You live in Sunnydale remember?”
“So? And what heavy traffic?” Buffy snapped back, gesturing wildly with one hand at the handful of cars that had ventured out on the LA roads in the middle of the night.
“Will you *please* keep both hands on the wheel?” the tense vampire remonstrated, oblivious to the murderous look that the irritated slayer threw in his direction.
Riley and Buffy had both made it through the Gauntlet intact, though the soldier had sustained a deep laceration to his left arm in the process. Cordelia was currently doing her best Florence Nightingale impression and swathing his injured limb in a crisp white bandage that she’d taken from the first aid kit, which Angel kept in the Plymouth for emergencies.
The vampire’s stab wound was healing at a rapid pace, but the seer had insisted that he rest up on the journey back to the Karaoke Club. She had sensibly pointed out that he would be facing Faith in less than an hour’s time and so needed to recover his fighting strength as quickly as possible. Thus, with Angel relegated to the passenger seat, the driving had fallen to Buffy, who was beginning to regret offering to do it – playing nurse to Riley seemed a much better option right now.
“Take a left at the next set of lights,” Angel instructed, “Caritas is down the fourth street on the right.”
“There you go – almost as good as new,” Cordelia said cheerily, sticking the final piece of medical tape over the bandage on Riley’s arm.
Packing up her supplies, the pretty seer graced the soldier with her beautiful sunny smile, and he couldn’t help grinning back.
“You’re very professional with the first-aid stuff,” he complimented her.
“Yeah well, I’ve had enough practice – Angel forever needs to be patched up. Sometimes I think he deliberately gets hurt just so I have to act as his nursemaid.”
“Hey – you don’t do you?” she asked then, poking the vampire hard between the shoulder blades with her forefinger.
“Of course not,” Angel lied smoothly, keeping his eyes facing front to prevent his too-smart-for-her-own-good girlfriend from seeing straight through his carefully orchestrated subterfuge.
Okay, so he *occasionally* dragged out his battles with various demons a little longer than was strictly necessary, *and* allowed himself to incur minor injuries, all for the enjoyment of having Cordelia fuss over him. He never took unacceptable risks though, so where was the real harm in it? There wasn’t any as far as he was concerned.
“It’s the next on the right,” he piped up, effectively ending the dangerous line of conversation. “Willow said she’d have the exorcising potion ready for when we arrived. We’ll discuss the plan of action on the way over to Henshot Avenue.”
Buffy pulled up in the alleyway outside of Caritas and they all piled out of the car and into the basement club, where they found Willow carefully pouring a thick orange liquid into several small screw-top plastic bottles.
“Is that it?” Angel asked her.
“Yeah – we made five batches, with any luck that will be enough. If we do require a second attempt – Wesley weighed out ingredients for five more.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. How do we administer it?”
“You’ve somehow got to get her to drink it – I don’t think it’s the pleasantest tasting concoction in the world.”
The vampire nodded and picked up three of the tiny bottles; he tucked two in his jacket’s inner pockets, and then handed the third to Buffy. “We’ll keep the other two in reserve – Cordy can you look after them please?”
“Sure,” the seer agreed, stepping forward and scooping up the last two containers.
“Have you got everything you need for the binding spell?” Angel queried of Willow.
“Yeah – all present and correct.”
“Okay then – About time we got this show on the road.”
***
The Orb/Faith sat on the ledge of the open window, looking out into the darkness and breathing deeply of the cool night air. The shard of glass that, until a few minutes ago, had been used to torture Wesley was still clutched between their bloodstained fingers.
Faith couldn’t stand to look at it anymore, so broke her silent pact with her watcher and briefly wrested control of her body’s movements from the Orb. Forcing her fingers open, she let the hated weapon fall.
“Ah well,” the Orb commented blandly as the glass shattered on the ground below. “I was getting bored with that game anyway. How about we try something new?”
Swinging her long legs around and hopping down onto the panelled wood floor, the possessed slayer crossed the room towards a barely conscious Wesley. “That was refreshing, but I’m feeling a little cold now. What do you say we warm the place up?”
The ex-watcher was startled into lucidity when he suddenly felt a scalding heat up close. Forcing his eyes open, he looked up to see his tormentor standing over him with a spray can and lighter in her hands. With a slow smile of triumph, the Orb depressed the spray can top and held it near the lighter, so that a bright orange flame shot forth with a crackling hiss.
“Pretty, isn’t it? I bet you’d appreciate a closer look, wouldn’t you watcher-boy?”
The Orb/Faith deliberately moved the highly flammable objects until they were about six inches from Wesley’s face, preparing to ignite them again. She was prevented from doing so however, when the door burst in on its hinges, flying halfway across the room.
Angel strode into the apartment, his purposeful movements the embodiment of absolute power and determination.
The Orb tossed the spray can and lighter aside, and quickly drew Faith’s knife, setting the blade against her captive’s throat.
“About time, soul-boy. Ready to play now?”
The resolute vampire turned to face his archenemy before calmly answering the question.
“I’m ready.”