Part 5
Earlier
Angel watched from the shadows as Cordelia exited the ladies’ room at the club. He saw her raise her hand to her neck and remove the tranq dart form her skin, and he couldn’t help the low growl of anger that escaped him. He sank further back into the dark corner as the rumble reverberated in the hallway.
It was against every fiber of his being to just stand back and watch as his best friend was abducted, but he couldn’t see any other way to get answers in this case. He cursed Wesley and his suggestions as his worry for her safety increased.
As he watched, a blue-skinned demon slowly crept out of a doorway opposite of the ladies’ room. Glancing up and down the hallway, the demon knelt down near Cordelia and checked for signs of consciousness. Finding none, he gathered her up in his arms and left the way he came.
Moving with complete silence and preternatural speed, Angel followed. He’d parked the Plymouth in the alley near the club’s rear exit, and he was able to jump in and follow the black sedan holding Cordelia, her captor, and his companion.
Trailing a few car lengths behind, Angel followed for several minutes. Recognizing landmarks that they passed, Angel discovered that they were headed deeper into the posh jungle that was Beverly Hills. The sedan slowed and pulled into the driveway of an immense estate surrounded by an imposing iron fence. Angel parked the Plymouth a ways up the street and watched as the sedan pulled through the gate and disappeared behind the house.
“Hang on, Cordy. I’m coming for you,” he promised silently as he wrenched open the car door and sprinted towards the fence.
***
“H-Hey, Cordy,” Xander smiled weakly, as if he was in total despair but trying to make an effort.
“Did YOU do this?” Cordelia demanded, mystified. Her mind didn’t want to believe it. She and Xander had had a rocky break-up, but she still couldn’t fathom the idea that he’d be behind this scheme.
He met her gaze, his distress evident. “No, Cordelia, I didn’t. I got here the same way you did; somebody shot me with some kind of a tranq dart and the next thing I knew, I woke up here.” He gestured to the room they were in.
Cordelia took in her surroundings. She was in the middle of a luxurious king sized mahogany bed, laying under a burgundy damask comforter and being supported by what must’ve been at least fifty pillows of all shapes and sizes. The room was huge; a massive chandelier hung from a vaulted ceiling, and the wall across from the bed sported a huge marble fireplace, complete with an intricately carved mahogany mantle. The light was low, and a few dozen candles were placed intermittently, effusing the room with a golden glow, shadows dancing on the muted beige walls. In short, it was a million-dollar love nest.
Her eyes narrowed as she took in the most dire feature of the room: the doors. They were huge oak panels, at least 10 feet tall, with heavy iron hinges. The worrisome part was that there were no doorknobs or handles. The doors fit together seamlessly, no light coming from anywhere around the edges.
Turning back to Xander, she asked, “Do you know why you’re here?”
“No.” He answered, his frustration evident. “I was out with Anya shopping and I—“
“Wait,” Cordelia interrupted. “Anya? As in ‘I’m a man-hating vengeance demon’ Anya?” Her tone was incredulous.
Xander looked embarrassed. “Um, yeah. We’re sort of–, well, sort of dating.”
Cordelia had her mouth opened, ready to launch a scathing attack at Xander for being so stupid to date a vengeance demon, when she realized that she’d been making out with a demon herself lately. And loving it. She smiled wryly.
“What’s that look for?” Xander asked defensively.
Cordelia thought fast. She wasn’t about to tell him what she was thinking. Did she want Buffy to know she’d been making out with Angel? Xander’s loyalties had always been clear.
“Nothing, Xan. I just realized that it wouldn’t be all that unusual for you to choose a demon to date. I mean, look at your selection. Sunnydale isn’t exactly crawling with girls who are willing to put up with your lifestyle.”
“Well, she’s not really a demon anymore. She lost her powers when the wish you made went wrong. She’s been living demon-free since then, and she seems to be happy.” His eyes softened as he thought about his girlfriend, and Cordelia realized then that she’d forgiven him for how he’d wronged her. She didn’t know when it had happened, but she’d grown since then and she could get past it.
“Well, I’m happy for you, Xander, but as usual, your life choices have led to a major problem.” Cordelia proceeded to fill him in on everything Angel Investigations knew so far.
“So what do you know?” She asked after she finished.
Xander shrugged. “Not much. They let me out for an hour or two this morning, fed me lunch, and brought me back up here. They must have drugged my food, because I woke up next to you. You woke up about 15 minutes after I did.”
“Did you see anything downstairs?” Cordelia prodded.
“There are at least 20 other people being held here. There are also at least one guard for every three prisoners. I counted 7 around the perimeter of the dining room. There was no way to escape; I looked.” His frustration was evident as he continued. “I sat next to a woman at lunch. The guards didn’t seem to care if we talked, so I got some more information from her. She said that her roommate had tried to escape. She was shot in the courtyard, and they put her body on display for a week for everyone to see. Apparently they haven’t had any escape attempts since then.”
Cordelia grimaced. “I can see why.”
They sat in silence for a moment, processing what they’d each learned.
Cordelia looked up into Xander’s face. “It’s good to see you, Xander. Even if we’ve been kidnapped.” She smiled at him, the forgiveness evident in her face that she’d been unable to extend two years earlier.
“Thanks, Cordy. Guess we’ll have to sit here and wait for Deadboy to rescue us, huh?” He looked chagrined at the prospect of encountering Angel again.
“Like I want to see Buffy, either. But you know they’ll come for us.”
“They always do.”
***
Outside the gate, Angel surveyed the scene. He could sense the hum of an electric current running through the metal, so he knew scaling it would be a problem. Well, sometimes being a vampire came in handy.
In a move that Cordelia would’ve said was showing off, Angel jumped noiselessly over the 15 foot fence, coat billowing. As he landed, a guard came rushing towards him. He dropped to the ground, rolled, and came to his feet several feet away. As he stood, his energy waned. Some powerful force was draining him of his strength, reducing him to the weakness of an out-of-shape human.
Angel had no time to adjust to the sensation. The guard came at him again; this time, Angel tried to kick the guard’s feet out from under him, but it amounted to little more than a tap. The energy it took to deliver it was almost more than he could spare. Growling in frustration, Angel turned quickly and stumbled toward the fence and safety. Just as he approached the fence and began to feel his strength increasing, he felt a sharp tug on the back of his jacket, pulling him away.
Part 6
Using the last of his remaining strength, Angel jerked away from the hands that were trying to restrain him. He lunged for the fence, careful to avoid touching the electrically charged metal. As if he’d crossed an invisible barrier, his strength returned in full force, surging through him powerfully. His limbs tingling, he jumped over the fence and escaped into a dense copse of trees and bushes nearby.
After hiding in silence for several minutes, Angel cautiously looked out from behind a large tree trunk to check for guards. He knew now that he couldn’t get to Cordelia in the mansion, and the thought that she would have to stay there indefinitely sickened him.
He cursed Cordelia for agreeing to the scheme, Wesley for suggesting it, Jeremy for hiring them in the first place. But most of all, he cursed himself for allowing her to be put in such a precarious position. He had known that there would be no foolproof way to protect her, but he’d felt heat sweep through him at the idea of her soft lips on his, and he’d let it cloud his judgment. Now he called himself a thousand kinds of foolish as images of her being killed or tortured surged through his mind. His guilt increased second by second, a sharp knife that twisted and burrowed in his gut as he was forced into inaction by the mystical force protecting the compound.
The only shred of hope he held on to was the thought that this trip didn’t have to be a total failure. He would come back with something useful even if he had to kill everyone in sight to do it. Cordelia was not going to stay in there any longer than necessary if he had anything to say about it.
For once in his unlife, fortune seemed to be smiling on him. Just as he was reviewing his extremely short list of options, a guard passed near his hiding place on a perimeter check. Ten seconds later, the guard was unconscious and in the brush with Angel. His mouth set in a grimly determined line, Angel tossed the man over his shoulder like so much baggage and raced for the Plymouth.
Cordelia’s Apartment
Wesley paced the polished hardwood floor of Cardelia’s living room, his left shoe squeaking rhythmically in the stillness. Angel and Cordelia had left for the dinner club around 7 p.m.; it was well past midnight and they weren’t back yet. Wesley knew that their plan had been at least partially successful; if the perpetrator hadn’t abducted Cordelia, they would’ve returned by now. The one thing that worried him was whether or not Angel was going to be able to retrieve her once they’d received the phone call from the kidnapper.
The sharp ring of the telephone jarred Wesley out of his thoughts, nearly causing him to stumble on the edge of the rug. After stopping momentarily for his balance to return and his heart to regulate, he lunged for the phone, grabbing it in the middle of the third ring.
“An-, uh, H-Hello,” Wesley answered breathlessly. He’d almost answered “Angel Investigations,” which would’ve proved awkward, to say the least.
“Angel.” The caller stated. It was a demand, not a request.
“This is he,” Wesley lied, not wanting to anger the caller by saying that Angel wasn’t there.
“You are a traitor to demons everywhere. You have been found unworthy and will be punished.”
An uncomfortable silence followed, intimidating in its length.
“By now, I’m certain you’ve realized that your wife, or, more accurately, your employee, is missing,” the voice was deep and gravelly, as if the owner had small stones lodged in his voicebox that rattled as he spoke.
Wesley, startled by the fact that the caller knew of their undercover scheme, still managed the foresight to press the “record” button on Cordelia’s answering machine. As he did, the apartment door swung open violently. Angel stormed in, dragging a figure in black behind him.
Wesley motioned wildly to him, pointing at the phone. Angel’s face darkened as he stilled, silencing the moan coming from his captive with a solid, muffled punch to the face.
“You have Cordelia?” Wesley continued worriedly.
“Yes, I do. And, might I say, she looks—,” he paused again, “delectable.”
Wesley growled, an unusual sound coming from him, but appropriate nonetheless. His voice lowering to a threatening timbre, he asked, “If you touch her, I’ll—”
“You’ll what, exactly?” the caller interrupted. “You don’t even know who I am. You don’t know anything about me. You’re not a threat, so don’t even pretend that you are.” The arrogance in his words was tangible, crackling over the phone lines and adding a level of intimidation that was infinitely more effective than mere words.
“What do you want from me?” Wesley asked, his words infused with desperation.
“Oh, just a few things. If you want your Cordelia returned to you, I suggest you do exactly as I ask.” He took his time with the words, as if he were doing his taxes rather than holding someone’s life in his hands. “By midnight tomorrow, you must deliver the Slayer to me.”
Wesley was taken aback; this was a demand they had not anticipated. “The Slayer? What do you want with her?”
“Silence!!” the voice hissed. “My motivations are no concern of yours. I understand you have a, hmmm, attachment to the slayer. Your successful completion of this request will prove to me your loyalty.”
“So if I bring you the Slayer, you will release Cordelia to me?” Wesley asked, playing dumb, hoping to get the caller to reveal more information.
A low, evil laugh reverberated through the line, sending chills up Wesley’s spine. “Are you joking? I have a powerful vampire at my beck and call and I only plan to use him one time?” his tone was incredulous. “You will have several jobs to complete for me before you can even think about getting Cordelia back.”
“I want to talk to her,” Wesley demanded. “I want proof that she’s okay—”
“I will not allow that. I have, however, taken the liberty to show you that I do, in fact, have her in my possession. Check in your mailbox; the proof is there.”
“You’ve left something in our mailbox?” Wesley repeated for Angel’s benefit, who raced out the door. Wesley had stomach-churning visions of fingers in boxes or pictures of Cordelia’s mutilated body. The caller’s next words only served to confuse him further.
“She has someone familiar to keep her company. I assure you, she is quite safe, and very, very comfortable.” The way he said that last word made Wesley uneasy.
“What do you—”
He was interrupted again.
“You have until midnight tomorrow to bring me the Slayer. If you do not, Cordelia will be on the auction block the next morning. There are several buyers who will pay handsomely for a Seer, especially one as luscious as she.”
Wesley could almost see the evil smile on his face as he verbally leered at Cordelia.
“Bring me the Slayer.” He then stated an address for delivery.
The line went dead just as the front door was violently shoved open and Angel returned, carrying a manilla envelope and a glossy 8×10 photo. He shoved it into Wesley’s hands.
With barely controlled rage, Angel ground out through clenched teeth, “I have to get in there, Wesley. Find a way.”
Wesley looked down at the photo in his hands and his mouth dropped open in shock.
Cordelia lay on her back under a purple cover, eyes closed, shoulders bare, fingers burrowed in the hair of her companion. Xander’s dark head rested on her shoulder, his mouth tantalizingly close to one naked, rose-tipped breast peeking out from the edge of the blanket, a small, contented smile on his face as he slept.
