Part 7
Her pace was slow and methodical; walking a hundred miles in her simulated trek, and still no closer to arriving at answers. Gearing up makeshift detective skills, Cordelia replayed the scant fragments of her vision comparing them to her not so sketchy nightmares.
Always the same; flashing lights, blaring music, and the dancing skanky blonde led her to three possible conclusions. Her nightmares were simply escalating as Angel edged closer, Darla had again been summoned from hell, or she was in the midst of a full-blown mental breakdown and would soon be residing at the psycho ward; rubber-padded room number crazy-8.
Sharing this bit of news with her friends wasn’t Cordelia’s first choice. Not if the likely scenario included admitting what had happened with Angel. Wesley and Gunn’s biggest obstacle in forgiving the wayward vampire wasn’t the Darla fiasco per say, but that they couldn’t trust him to tell the truth. If they found out she had withheld the truth, would they feel the same way about her?
This was her own fault, Cordelia reasoned. She had pushed herself into accepting Angel’s return too soon, believing his help would keep Wesley and Gunn safer from harm, and hoping they could find middle ground satisfying both their needs. And now her back was to the wall, and Angel had put it there…again.
***
“Three days Lorne.” His angry kick caught the underside of the chair, tumbling it over. The force of his heavy boot propelling a wild skid across the room until it stopped short of tensely scrunched toes. “Three fuckin’ days Cordelia’s been barricaded in her apartment. What the hell is going on?”
“She’s sick Angel. It happens; get over it already. The girl is sick and just wants to be left alone until she feels better.”
He had crossed borderline obsession two days ago as unanswered calls mounted; every waking minute consumed with touching her again. Cordelia had insisted she needed time to herself, citing human ailments as the cause; but his halfhearted promise of space quickly withering, Angel knew it was only a matter of little time before he forced Cordelia’s compliance.
“You’ve seen her-I can smell her on you!”
“So I took our little patient some chicken soup, it’s not like I can catch anything.”
“Neither can I, so pour me a cup and I’ll be on my way.”
“Jeepers big guy what has you so worked up-and it’s more than being cut off from the princess.” Lorne cringed at the thought, chillingly aware of the last time Angel was so agitated by an unseen force.
“I don’t know.” Angel slumped against the wall, stiff fingers making a jerky swipe through mussed hair. His skin pricked and tingled, raw nerves beyond taut, and ready to snap. “I’ve been on edge the last couple of days, like waiting for a big bang that never comes.”
“Go home Angel. Drink yourself into a stupor if you have to, but get some sleep.” Lorne ordered, handing Angel a bottle of scotch and shaking a warning finger. “Cause you go knocking down doors and you can give this reconciliation a big kiss on its tuchis.”
“You know I liked you better when you were just funny.”
“Yea, well stop beating up my furniture and I’ll tickle you pink.”
Angel snatched the offered bottle, content to let the angry growl rumble between them. He had laid back and followed Lorne’s rules, as far as anyone knew, but this was asking for more patience than he had to give. He and Cordelia should be sharing private dinners and conversations by now, but the vision had allowed intimate contact Cordelia hadn’t expected, and now her fears were shutting him out.
“I’ll go back to the hotel for now, but I won’t wait long.”
“Angel,” Lorne called out before the door could close between them.
Muscles clinched against the halt of his escape; not in the mood for Lorne’s good intentions. Anymore meaningful advice and The Host turned counselor would be taking a sabbatical…with his jaw wired shut.
“I have a friend who’s a couples’ therapist; she seems to think you aren’t entirely to blame for what happened.” Maybe Lilly’s opinion would offer the gloomy vampire a glimmer of hope. Because until he better understood the female oracle’s riddle, Lorne didn’t intend to share any glimmers of hope offered by The Powers. “I hope you don’t prove her wrong.”
“I don’t care what anyone thinks except Cordelia.” Angel growled, leaning his head against the doorjamb, shaky hands concealed inside his coat pockets. Tired from days without sleep, control was only a quick snap from being lost. “I’ll try not to prove your friend wrong.”
***
The phone interrupting his concentration again, Wesley cursed as the ink-dry pen tore across his page of notes.
What’s the point of being in charge when your staff doesn’t bother to show up? “Angel Investigations.”
“Good morning my little lean-mean-researching machine. I’ve got a case of Boddingtons chilling in the cooler for all the tantalizing good news you’re ciphering.”
“Ciphering? Ah the scroll; Lorne, our caseload hasn’t actually allowed me time to-”
“Time! Make time! The big bad isn’t coming Kemosabe, it’s here!”
“Good Lord, calm down.” Wesley directed, the threat of impending evil surging watcher mode to the forefront. “Who was singing; did you sense something apocalyptic?”
“I don’t need to hear the big guy caterwaul to know it’s bad.”
“So this is about Angel… Lorne, I know Angel turning his back on the mission was a shock for you, it was to all of us; but his offer to help with the visions doesn’t change anything. Our priorities are no longer set by what Angel deems important…at the moment.”
“This isn’t about who’s leader of the pack. You want to be king of the hill, knock your socks off, but The Powers want those two back on the same path. So like it or not, their priorities are the same.”
“And how do you know this; other than Angel’s caterwauling.”
“I told you already, I got a-”
“Ah yes, a memo from above. Alright Lorne, I’ll drop by the hotel later today.” Cajoling Lorne would be easier than eluding his pestering; and besides, Wesley refused for Lorne to waste a case of Boddingtons on palates dulled by American beer.
“Good, now that that’s settled; why didn’t I get a we help the hopeless?”
“Lorne, we don’t always say it.” Wesley shook his head, positive he’d be the recipient of a good tongue lashing should Lorne tattle. “…when Cordelia isn’t here.”
“Wouldn’t sound as sweet with the accent anyway.”
***
“Angel,” Wesley called out entering the hotel lobby. The place felt strange, bigger than he remembered and in more need of a thorough cleaning than when they had first moved in. Ignoring the eerie tingles prickling his neck, he inched his way further inside, following the trail of snores rolling from the office.
Long legs stretched up resting bare feet on the cluttered and dust covered surface, an unbuttoned shirt barely hanging on slumped shoulders. His head lopped over the back of the chair and mouth wide, his chest rose and fell with each heavy snort; and Wesley pondered why Angel’s sleeping body would mimic breathing.
“What do you want,” husked from lips loosely pursed into two rumpled lines, and Angel inwardly grinned as Wesley stiffened, gulping down the stifled yip caught in his throat.
“Lorne suggested, quite adamantly…” his explanation almost drifting to indistinct mumbles while taking in Angel’s scraggly and disheveled appearance, “…that I review The Scroll of Aberjian.”
“I was told to busy idle hands with this.” The bottle plopped onto the desk, revealing the sour stench assaulting Wesley’s nostrils. “A gift for being a good boy and following the rules.” Angel offered as explanation, fisted fingers slipping away and allowing the empty bottle to topple off the desktop.
“I see… The scroll; may I-”
“Take it,” Angel aimlessly pointed in the direction of the safe. “…but if I need to fight a coming apocalypse, we may be screwed.”
“Lorne simply insisted that the big bad was here.” Wesley corrected, layering a heavy dose of sarcasm on the simple euphemism.
“As long as he’s not overreacting to me being a little on edge…no harm done.”
“On edge…like with Darla?” Appeasing Lorne and earning the prized brew were no longer a concern. Darla’s resurrection had been accomplished once; there was no reason to believe a second time wasn’t possible. A quick session of strides and he was standing across the desk, back straight and in-charge persona sternly poised. This time Wesley did not intend to be caught unaware.
“Darla’s dead Wes and Wolfram and Hart got what they wanted.” Angel disregarded the man’s distress, refusing to be distracted by his jump to illusory conclusions; he had more important things to obsess over. “They don’t need Darla.”
***
“Hello lover; miss me?”
Tense fingers gripped the doorknob tighter as the sultry greeting purred across the threshold. “What the hell are you doing here? Does anyone know?” He asked, frantically glancing up and down the hallway.
Darla licked her fingers, casting her reluctant host a wicked grin. “No one that can tell.”
“Are you insane; the next contract will be on both our heads.”
“Silly boy, Wolfram and Hart won’t expect my head on a platter.”
“No, just mine, you’ll be scattered with the rest of the grit and grime. You gave me your word; I get you out of LA and you enjoy a long life of death and maiming in another country.”
“Not happy to see me Lindsey. There was a time you thought you loved me.”
“I never loved you Darla. I was obsessed with taking what was his.”
“And now?”
“And now I know. You were never the one he wanted…just what he got stuck with.”
Anger seethed beneath features trained to be soft and coquettish, contorting the seductive smile into a sneer. “My boy has always wanted me, and he will always come back to what he needs.”
“Stay away from him Darla.” The last thing Lindsey MacDonald needed was the crazed vampire waging war on Wolfram and Hart again, which could disclose his role in Darla’s escape. “Angel will likely blame you. Easier than blaming himself I guess.”
“Blame me for what?”
“She won’t take him back, and he’s not handling it well.”
“Who, his little friend from sunny town? Don’t be ridiculous; she doesn’t matter to him.”
“All I know is that Angel trailed you for almost three months before giving up…and it wasn’t a happy reunion he was after.”
“Forget about the seer. I’ll take care of her soon enough.” Darla hissed, skillfully shifting to a bewitching guise as crimson nails stroked down the front of Lindsey’s robe. “Now, going to invite me in so we can celebrate? Not that I need an invitation.”
“It’s not safe…for either of us. You can stay here,” Lindsey stepped back thrusting a card with an address scribbled on the back across the threshold, “until I figure out a way to get you out of the city…again. Just lay low and I’ll send someone for you tomorrow night.”
The door closed shutting out Darla’s protest, nervous fingers already punching memorized numbers. “I’ve got another job for you, the vampire Darla; yea she’s back in LA. No, I don’t want her smuggled out again. I want her gone once and for all. She’ll be at the usual place. Yea-yea, I know the rate. You’ll get your money. Just make sure the job is clean.”
***
“Feeling better?” Wesley asked, his palm affectionately pressed across Cordelia’s forehead.
“Yep, almost good as new.” Cordelia appeased his concerns, deciding against her initial response of telling Wesley he had sweaty palms and his doting father routine was irritating the hell out of her.
“So that means you’ll be back at work tomorrow; right? Cause time alone with the boss does not a good time make.”
“I told you, we’re there to work not have fun.”
“Me and Barbie have fun.”
“Yes Charles, I’m all a tingle with your and Cordelia’s ability to turn demon research into a rousing game of strip trivial pursuit.”
“You’re just mad cause you lost your pants.”
“Yes well, as interesting as this discussion…is not.” Wesley beamed a satisfied grin, almost successfully using one of Cordelia’s infamous lines. “I’m afraid I have news that may be…well a bit distressing.”
The announcement of his pending news drawn out even longer than he imagined possible, Wesley took a deep, lung-replenishing breath. He had quickly rejected the prospect of closeting the information until convinced of its probability. Their friendship worked because of honesty and trust. Not telling them of his suspicion, regardless of its unlikelihood, was unacceptable.
“I believe…it may be possible…”
“Uh, spit it out English.”
“Darla may have been resurrected again.”
“The bitch is back?”
A brow twitched barely noticed, her silence more attention grabbing than a neon sign. Oblivious to her friends’ questioning stares, she sank deeper into the deluge of what ifs and what now. The dawning conclusion of Darla’s last visit catapulting her into action.
“You have to redo the un-invite spell!”
“Redo? Cordelia, Darla was never invited into your apartment.”
“No, not her…”
They had never seen Cordelia so timid and afraid. Even when Angel left LA, she had only taken a couple of days before returning to work, her usual dedicated and complaining self firmly intact.
“I could very well be wrong Cordelia.” Unnerved by the frightened expression, Wesley grasped her hands inside his. “My suspicions are based on nothing more than…” He hesitated briefly, deciding it best not to mention Angel’s disturbing behavior; a drastic change from the social skills exhibited just three nights ago. “It will only take a few minutes to perform the spell. Then no vampire will have admittance without your expressed consent.”
“I’ll stay over, if you want Cordy.” Gunn offered, settling next to Cordelia when she responded with little more than an unsure nod.
“No, I’m good.” Overnight guests required perky Cordy, and Cordelia doubted a single emotion was willing to perk up, even for Wesley and Gunn. As long as she remained inside the spell- protected apartment, she’d be safe; at least according to the feeble chant droning inside her head.
***
Cordelia rolled onto her side and snuggled deeper under the rumpled covers, shooing away the faint tap invading restless sleep. The repetition escalating into a persistent knock and Dennis whirling franticly above her head, she stumbled out of bed, determined that whichever ex-friend had returned to check up on her would only live long enough to regret it.
“I’m gonna kick somebody’s-”
Wood splintering under a heavy-fisted whack, Cordelia stumbled back placing a mere breath of space between her and the door as it tore from its hinges.
“I’ve heard a lot of interesting things about you Cordelia, and just couldn’t wait to meet you face to face. Or is it fang to throat?” Bone and muscle shifted, soft, feminine features contorting into bumpy ridges and sharp, pointed weapons. “I always get those two mixed up.”
The scream suffocated in her throat, and survival instincts kicking in, she dashed behind the sofa. Unsteady legs threatening to buckle, Cordelia gripped the useless obstacle as her mind raced to find a more effective option.
Darla had been the catalyst of evil’s dark plan, set loose to lure the beast shackled and hidden. Victimized once by forces beyond her control, Cordelia refused to fall prey a second time to the evil synergy of Angel and Darla.
Her mouth dropped open, but the tempest of her reprisal reduced to a sibilating wheeze, Cordelia numbly berated giving up alert senses for the comfort of drug-induced sleep.
Trapped outside the protective screen, Darla could only intimidate, and common sense cautioned Cordelia to stay put while fear spurred her to take flight. Any plan of escape yet to form, she spun around jerking the drapes out of her way.
Palms pressed against the glass and knees bent ready to leap, Angel had waited impatiently, constantly mindful of the other vampire’s every move. His forehead rippled with stress-tight folds and narrowed eyes a murky swirl of brown and amber, the human face appeared forced, hinting of deceit.
“Cordelia invite me in.” The heavy downpour soaking his menacing form doing little to dilute the harsh and threatening demand.
Cordelia shook her head, staggering back until her hips collided with the sofa. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled as the thin glass wall shattered; and the intractable scream finally finding its voice as her world faded to black.
