Chapter 2
She tried. Cordy really tried. She tried closing her eyes, breathing in and out deeply, imagining their office an older, shabby chic version of some ’40’s Dashell Hammett throwback, all sleek lines and horizontal shadows of blinds lining one wall.
She’d be Doll-Face, the intrepid and leggy secretary. She tried to envision it, she really did. But when she opened her eyes, shabby chic just became shabby crap.
The paneling on the walls, cheap to begin with when it was new back in the stone age, was chipped and splintered in several places. The furniture was a mishmash of dented metal chairs and desks. The one upholstered chair had a spring poking out of the seat cushion. And the smell….oh God, the smell. It was that “eau de used gym socks” scent so often found in old moldy buildings.
Cordy looked up at the front door and smiled slightly, seeing the backward white lettering that spelled Angel Investigations to the outside world. It was dank and stinky and crappy, but it was theirs. A little paint…a dehumidifier….some judiciously placed duct tape, and…it would still be dank and stinky and crappy.
She sighed. Maybe in a year or so…after they had built up a good client base and had racked up some cash, they could move. Maybe.
It was dark outside and she leaned back in her chair, staring out into the night visible through the glass of the front door. Three days ago, her world had tilted when the King of Brood calmly threatened to set sheets on fire with her.
No, she told herself….it wasn’t really a threat. He had sounded…absolute. Almost as if he expected her to….well, she didn’t know what. Throw down and drop trow? Scream? Slap him? She had no idea what he thought he was saying.
Because Cordy had never wanted….ok, she had thought about it, in her more kamikaze influenced moments, but she had never imagined it to be a certainty, or even a possibility. And she had never, ever, thought that Angel’s soul would be so empty.
Ever. She had never thought it at all. And now, because Angel was getting in touch with his inner asshole, it was all she had thought about for three solid days.
The phone rang and she leaned over to pick it up. “Angel Investigations, we help the hopeless.” Silence. “Hello?” Frowning, she hung the phone up. Usually, wrong numbers didn’t bother her, but here, alone in office after dark, little frissons of worry ran up her spine.
The phone rang again and she stared at it a moment before picking it up.
“Hello?”
“Cordelia.” There was a wealth of disapproval in Wesley’s voice. “I applaud your commitment, Cordy, but it’s past six.”
Cordy grinned to herself. Ah, here was the light. “Just wanted to wrap up the Connard file, Wes. I’m going to deposit the check on my way home. I was just….” She rose and stretched, reaching for her purse and stuffing the check into a side pocket ” getting ready to go. Really, out the door here. Stop being such a guy.”
“Do you want me to send Gunn to see you home?”
“Nope. I’m armed and dangerous, Wes. Got my mace. Got my whistle. And hey, I have it on good authority that I never shut up so I could just annoy someone to death.” The last came out in a bitter breath she didn’t even realize she had been holding.
There was a startled silence on the other end of the phone.
“Cordelia, you’ve never….I mean, your natural bubbly personality…”
“Wes, it’s ok. Just having a pity party here, need to back off.” She smiled slightly. “I’m good. Now, let me go here and I’ll see you tomorrow.” After hanging up, she turned off the last light and walked to the door, leaving and shutting it behind her as she turned to lock it.
She felt a cool whoosh of air and turned, startled, to run into a solid chest wrapped in black. She squealed, leaping back, and dropped her bag, spilling stuff everywhere. She slammed back against the wall and raised wide eyes to the Vampire who watched her with a cool detachment.
“Cordy.”
“Dumbass.”
Angel smiled slightly and leaned in to whisper, “That’s right, Cordy. Go down fighting.”
Cordy pushed him away and knelt to gather up the spilled contents of her bag. “What the hell do you want, Angel?”
He leaned against the wall, hands in pockets, watching her. “Trowhurst’s Demonology. That one is mine. I want it back.”
Cordelia fingered her keys for a silent moment, then rose and unlocked the door to the office. Swinging the door open, she stood aside, a small grin tilting her lips. Angel smirked at her and walked to the door, moving to enter.
He bounced back, unable to enter, and tried again, sighing and shaking his head. “An uninvite, Cordy? That’ll cost ya.”
Cordelia reached past him to pull the door shut again and quickly locked it, stuffing her keys in her bag and walking down the sidewalk, flipping a little wave at him as she went without a word. He watched her, not moving for the longest time, finally fading into the darkness as he planned his next move.
The next morning, Cordelia trotted down the sidewalk, jostling the carry tray holding three coffees as she juggled her bag looking for her keys. Finding them, she unlocked the door and swung into the office, stopping short as she looked at the bare bookshelves lining the back wall. Not a book remained. Her mouth fell open as she looked all around the office.
Nothing else was disturbed; her desk was exactly as she left it. The same spring poked out of the same chair in the exact same spot, the memo pad still rested square in the middle of Wes’ desk. But every book in the archive was gone. She moved to her desk and plopped down in her chair, total disbelief on her face.
She put the coffee carrier on her desk and noticed a small white card, one of their old business cards. She turned it over.
On the back, in a sure hand, was written “Come and get ’em.”