Chapter 36
Angel parked Cordelia’s car along side the Plymouth. Grabbing a brown paper bag off the passenger seat, he got out of the car. He rolled his shoulders and kneaded the tense muscle along the side of his neck as he walked into the atrium.
He paused by the stone fountain as he pictured a brunette in the midst of the moonlit garden. Only this time there was no question that Cordelia was the young woman who captured his imagination. He shook his head and moved towards the mansion.
He stopped mid-step as he realized that his boot was about to crush a daffodil that had fought its way through a crack in the stone path. He knelt down and, gently brushed the bright yellow petals with the tip of his finger. He recognized its beauty but it paled in the remembrance of Cordelia’s wide smile when she had first seen the over-grown garden.
He stood, his gaze following the twisted ladder of wisteria up to his bedroom. He concentrated on the young woman hidden behind the darkened window. He could smell her and hear her heartbeat through the brick walls of the mansion.
Her scent was mixing with and overwhelming the delicate perfume of the garden. He wetted his lips at the resulting bouquet. He bent down again and freed the flower from the pathway. Angel carried the flower into the house.
***
Angel shoved five out of the six cartons of blood deep onto bottom shelf of the refrigerator; the sixth he gulped down. He hadn’t realized that he had been down to his last until he drank it after Cordelia went to bed.
He tossed the empty carton and bag into the trash and then went to the living room to unlock the front door’s hidden bolt.
He studied the odd-shaped keys for a moment and then buried them in his pocket, where, the metal of the keys clanked against his and Cordy’s car keys. It would be better to keep them all together.
Angel strode back into the kitchen, picked up the flower he had taken from the garden and went upstairs.
He reached for the mis-shapened keys and unlocked his bedroom door. Cordelia was still curled in the bedcovers, her hair barely distinguishable from the sable velvet. He slipped in and stood by the head of the bed.
His eyes swept over her blanketed form and then traveled back up to her profile. He brushed aside the loose dark strands of hair that hid her face. He brought the flower in his hand to her cheek and brushed it over her smooth skin then he brought the bloom to his face and breathed in the combined flavors. He moistened his lips as he placed it on pillow next to Cordelia.
He stepped back transfixed by the rise and fall of her chest for a long moment before backing away and leaving.
Chapter 37
Cordelia bolted up in the bed. She squinted at the haze of sunlight that streamed from behind the heavy curtains. Her gaze shot around the room until it rested on a digital bedside clock.
Her burgeoning “Oh crap” stalled in her throat, as she looked around again and thought. Saturday. Yeah.
Cordelia closed her eyes and flopped back on the bed. She punched her pillow and squirmed diagonally across the bed completely unaware of the flower she pummeled and knocked to the floor.
***
Barney sat in his orange and brown recliner and cleaned his .45 for the fifth time that morning, the mantra “a clean weapon is an effective weapon”, repeating in his mind. He looked again at the cheap clock resting on the metal TV tray he used as a table.
Eight a.m. Bitch. He hadn’t even bothered to call Gladys last night after he saw her at Starbucks. He knew the batty woman well enough to know that calling after 7:00 p.m. was useless, even with the store closed.
He pushed aside his old issues of “Gun and Ammo” & “American Warrior” and reached for the black rotary phone.
Gladys may be glued to the dramas of daytime and nighttime, but Saturday morning cartoons he knew she didn’t like. She couldn’t keep the real from the unreal on a daily basis, yet the deluge of Japanese cartoons that crowed out the “classics” of Saturday morning offended her sensibilities.
If he ever had to listen to her bemoaning the loss of the heroes of “Jonny Quest” one more time he would put a bullet through her eyes.
“Hello?” Miss Twittle answered.
“Gladys, it’s me,” Barney said, fondling his gun.
“Oh, Barney. Isn’t this a bit early for you?”
“I couldn’t sleep. It’s about Cordelia Chase.”
“Cordy? Oh! I need to tell you that Damien’s– that’s the name of the horrible stalker–well, his brother is here taking care of Cordy, making sure she’s safe. He’s the good twin.”
“Twin?” He took a deep breath. “His twin?”
“Yes, their parents–.”
“I don’t need to hear it,” He snapped.
“Barney!”
“Gladys, this isn’t a damn soap, it’s real. Good and evil twins DO NOT drop from the sky.”
“Don’t use that tone with me, young man. I’ve met Angel and he is a perfectly polite and nice person who is very protective of Cordy. She’s staying with him now, so you can just stop your surveillance of her. I must say I’m quite disappointed that you did not call me and tell me that Cordy had been forced to stay at the Sunnydale Inn. That should’ve never been allowed.”
“The Sunnydale Inn?” Barney frowned at his gun.
“Oh, yes,” Miss Twittle lectured. “Angel told me he saw you there. While I have to commend your zealousness at watching over Cordy, I can’t believe that you didn’t tell me that she was staying in that dangerous place. Shame on you. Now, what is it you wanted? Do hurry, the children want their breakfast.”
He shivered in disgust at the meowing he heard through the phone. “Where is Cordelia? How do you know she’s safe?”
“I told you. She’s with Angel.”
“And?”
“And nothing. He’s shown great concern for her welfare.”
“You don’t know where he has her, do you?” Barney snorted. “And what if he isn’t so wonderful? What then, Gladys?” Barney slammed the phone down.
“Stupid Bitch,” he said out loud in the quiet of the room.
His eyes zoomed in on the photos that littered his fake wood-paneled wall. He lumbered to his feet. His .45 dangled in his right hand as his steel-toe work boots pressed down on the thin tan carpet.
His blunt finger traced the photos of Cordelia Chase. Most were cut from Sunnydale High yearbooks: small class photos, group pictures with the other cheerleaders, candid shots of her cheering at athletic events, candid photos of her at her locker, her amongst other pretty teenagers. The number of pictures he found proved her popularity.
The other photos were ones he had taken himself: snapshots of Cordelia coming and going from the Sunnydale Inn. Cordelia sitting in Starbucks or leaving Starbucks. These photographs sliced so that Cordelia was the only subject.
Fate, he thought, as he brushed her face in the pictures. It was almost time for him to get a new girlfriend. And here she just fell in his lap, the young woman that his cousin had wanted him to protect.
At first he had just thought about the few easy bucks he would get, but then he saw her picture in the high school yearbook that Gladys showed him. She was the prettiest of all the flowers he had picked. He rolled up his shirt and rubbed the empty space over his heart. A spot of pale flesh broke the ring of tattooed roses that circled his massive torso. He had known there was a reason why none of his other girlfriends took that spot.
He grunted at the memory of the man that had come to Starbucks to claim what was meant to be his. Even from a distance, Barney knew that the man was the one who had been with her at the motel and carried her away. He recognized the way his hand touched her, leading her while keeping her close. It pissed Barney off.
Gladys was an idiot. Barney didn’t believe that there was a twin or a stalker. The man was her lover. The way he touched her- there was no doubt in his mind. Why Cordelia lied, he didn’t know or really even care.
Barney’s knuckles whitened around the .45. He should’ve shot him that first evening in front of The Dress Place.
Barney took a deep breath to calm down the white rage burning behind his eyelids. Cordelia’s guardian “Angel” didn’t matter. He was a man and his skull could be smashed as easily as that of the interfering bum’s.
He went back to his armchair and placed his gun on the metal table. His hand reached for the red negligee that was hanging over the back of the chair. He sat and pulled the negligee on his lap as he fondled it. It was too enticing for a high school student. It proved that Cordelia was special — the right choice.
A slow grin slid over his face as he rubbed the silky material against his pale lips. He had wanted to take all of the delicate items in her drawer. But, the single garment would have to do for now. It had been hers; now it was his, just like she would soon be.
He frowned. He would have to be patient, though. The boyfriend had seen him at the motel. Barney would find out where Cordy was and then he would watch. He would know when the time was right to start courting her.
He dropped the silk, cocking his head towards the bound and bruised naked woman in the solid wooden chair across from him, her matted hair partially hiding her bloody face. He raised the woman’s chin and stared into her dull eyes. He smiled at the jerk of her chest that showed she was still breathing.
“You like my courting don’t you, darlin”?” Barney cupped the woman’s swollen cheek. “I still love you, you know. But your bloom is fading. Soon another flower, a special flower will take your place. But until, then,” Barney stood and unzipped his pants, “you’ll have to do.”
Chapter 38
Cordelia stretched, peeking at the clock. Wow. Ten o’clock. She didn’t want to leave the comfort of the bed, but she also realized that the unheard – of twelve hours of sleep required her to get up. She grumbled as she rolled off the bed.
She frowned as something soft squished between her toes. She bent down and picked up the bruised daffodil. She didn’t remember dragging the poor flower in from the garden. She sighed. She couldn’t help the twinge of sadness at its damaged beauty. She sniffed at the petals before laying it gently on Angel’s dresser.
***
“Did you sleep okay?”
Cordelia barely even jumped at Angel’s sudden appearance once she left the bedroom. She wondered if she was getting used to him popping out from behind doors.
“Yeah. Excuse me.” She pushed past him to get the bathroom. She paused, her hand on the doorknob and looked over her shoulder. “How come you’re up? I thought vampires slept during the day?”
“There’s no rule, Cordy.”
“There should be,” she mumbled.
“Then who would make you French toast?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Cordelia wrinkled her nose, trying to think of a response. She wanted to tell him that she could feed herself just fine — except she really did like French toast and she couldn’t cook. Cordelia sighed.
“Cordy, what is it?” Angel said.
“Nothing,” she answered with a frown as she turned to go into the bathroom. She paused again. If she was going to be poor and maid-less from now on she should probably learn. “You can really make French toast?”
“Yes.”
She took a deep breath. “Um. Will you teach me? I mean if you’re going to make some anyway.”
“Yes. Okay,” Angel said with a small nod.
Cordelia nodded in return and went into the bathroom.
***
Angel frowned as he stared at the closed door. Cordelia hadn’t said anything about his gift.
He went into the bedroom and scanned the room. He saw the flower on the dresser immediately. His frown deepened. It looked crumpled. Hadn’t she appreciated it?
A slow irritation started to burn in his chest. He wanted to know why she hadn’t.
***
Cordelia raised her brows. Angel wasn’t in the hall. She shrugged and headed down the stairs. She brushed her hands down her sweats and tugged at the silk long john shirt she had slept in. She pouted a little as she fingered the shirt. She probably would never wear it skiing again. Oh well, it made a great pajama top.
She paused in the middle of the steps as her hand felt her messy ponytail. Maybe she should go take a shower and get dressed? She shrugged. Whatever. It was Saturday. And she had gotten way past the need to impress Angel — after she found out that under his “salty goodness” he was not only a vampire but also Buffy’s vampire.
Cordelia took another step and paused again. She really wished she had at least brushed her hair. Oh well, at least she’d washed her face and brushed her teeth. Cordelia took another slow step. Maybe she should’ve at least put some lip-gloss on. She took another step as she sighed.
Oh where had she gone? Where was the Cordelia Chase that wouldn’t be caught dead without the designer outfit and perfect makeup and hair?
Cordelia shook her head at the loss of the girl that had grown up with every luxury and had expected at least the same, if not more in her future.
“Fuck it,” she grunted as she walked proudly through the living room and into the kitchen wearing her rumpled clothes and ugly gray socks on her feet.
***
Angel knew she was coming before she reached the living room. His frowned deepened when he sensed her stalling on the stairs. He pictured her debating coming down or staying upstairs. He threw the daffodil on the marble island, ready to go drag her down, when he heard her move again.
“Hey.” She tugged at her ponytail as she slid on the stool.
Angel nodded at her smile, his thoughts confused. She didn’t seem like she wanted to hide from him. She was sitting in the kitchen smiling at him. He slowly began to relax.
“So, when does the lesson start Mister Julia Child?” she said in a teasing voice as she pointed to the empty counter and stove.
“Um–“
“Oh, did you drag one in too?” She frowned, picking up the flower. “I think I killed one upstairs. It’s so not right.” She placed the mangled flower back on the marble top.
“You should trim the garden. They’re so pretty, they shouldn’t be subjected to us trampling them into the house.” She picked up the flower again. “It’s all rumpled.” She lifted it to her nose. “It still smells heavenly though.” She shrugged, placing it back down.
Angel stared. Cordelia hadn’t rejected his gift, she just hadn’t understood it. “I can cut some and bring them in?”
Cordelia shrugged. “Well, if you’re going to do some landscaping then yeah, bring the poor things in. You can’t just throw them in the trash. But, if you aren’t then don’t bother — let them grow. We’ll just have to be careful where we step, that’s all.” She looked to the stove, getting off the stool.
“Cooking lesson?” She smiled, then stepped back, biting her lip. “You said you would. I mean, if you don’t want to you don’t have to, I just thought….”
“I was waiting for you.” Angel reached for her arm, gently pulling her towards him, no longer feeling a trace of his earlier irritation or tension. “Get the eggs and milk,” he said, giving her a slight push towards the refrigerator.
Chapter 39
“Well?” Cordelia asked. She frowned at the partially eaten French toast on Angel’s plate. “Oh, taking cooking lessons from a vampire is so stupid.”
“I.I …it was good. Really,” Angel pushed at the egg-coated bread with his fork. “It’s fluffy and the consistency is just perfect and it tasted good.” Angel looked up at Cordelia’s frown. “Cordy, if I can say that then it’s true.”
Cordelia cocked her head. “Really?”
“Yes. Look,” he shoved his plate towards her,” I ate some, because it was good.”
Cordelia crossed her arms and leaned back. “I think you’re humoring me– but if this story is ever told, I’m holding you to your word–I got a vampire to eat French toast. Deal?”
Angel grinned. “Deal.”
Cordelia slanted her gaze at him. “You should do that more often.”
“Eat French toast?”
“Smile, silly,” she said, giving her own smile.
Angel couldn’t help but grin even more.
“Like that,” she laughed, pointing at him, then sighing. “Well, as fun as this as been,” she pushed up from her stool, “I have to go take a shower.”
“Cordy?”
She turned towards Angel. “I’ve got to go to the library.” Her forehead wrinkled. “Shoot. My car. When can you get my car? Not until tonight, right? That’s not going to work.”
“Why do you have to go to the library? Buffy hasn’t—”
“Please, not everything revolves around Buffy.” Cordelia paused. Shoot, she was supposed to keep Angel thinking sappy thoughts about Buffy. She wasn’t supposed to bitch about her.
“Then why do you have to go?”
She frowned. There was no sign of the dark shadow in his eyes that he had last night when she mentioned Buffy. He wasn’t thinking about her. Cordelia wrinkled her brow, trying to figure out something else to say that would get him brooding.
“Cordy?”
Oh nevermind. She’d figure out something later. “I have to go to the library — the public library — for school. Snyder said he’d let me off detention if I wrote a paper for Mr. Edwards. He ordered that I do an essay on a 18th century author.”
“I’ve got some books here.”
“Yeah. I know.” She shook her head, and slipped back on the stool across from Angel.
“I’ve—”
“We’ve discussed this. You have depressing taste in books. I’m sticking with Jane Austen. I’ve read “Pride and Prejudice.” I’ve seen the old movie and the two mini-series — I know the story. I just need to get the book for footnotes and a computer to write the paper on.” She blew out a deep breath.
“So, I need to go to the library…unless, ” Cordelia tilted her head towards Angel, “you have a computer and some up-lifting Jane Austen hidden somewhere.” She looked at Angel’s blank stare.
“Didn’t think so. Library.” She nodded and then rested her chin on her hand. “Except the library doesn’t have evening hours on the weekend. Hey,” she looked up at Angel, “I could take your car.”
“Ah, no.”
“I can drive.”
“Not my car.” Angel shook his head to emphasize his point.
“Oh, that’s just wrong. You are the one that made leave mine. You could at least lend me yours. I have to go to the library. Your weirdness over your “classic” is going cause me to get detention.”
“It’s not weirdness.” Angel scowled. “Anyway, I brought your car back last night.”
“You did? When?” She said, sitting straight up.
“After you were asleep.” Angel frowned. He didn’t want her to go to the library.
“Oh. Well, thanks.” She swung around on the stool and got to her feet. “Shower time.”
***
Angel made his decision before she even left the kitchen. Cordelia was not driving off into the daylight. He waited though until he heard the shower running before he left the kitchen.
He strode purposefully to the weapons cabinet in the living room. He studied each weapon carefully before picking a slender dagger. He nodded as he rubbed his thumb along the razor-sharp metal.
Angel walked along the shaded side of the atrium until he reached the opening to the stables. He draped the blanket that he had been holding over his head and ran ten feet under the sun to the structure.
He circled Cordelia’s car, stopping at the front passenger-side tire. He slid the blade between the grooves and pushed through the initial resistance until the dagger was fully embedded. Satisfied, he pulled it out, went to the back tire, and did the same. The minute slashes were undetectable.
