68: Following a Trail . . .
Precious time had already been lost. Waiting for the others to arrive kept Angel at the house far too long. Picking up a trail already gone cold was not easy even for a vampire. Traces of Cordelia’s intoxicating scent were already diminishing. Drusilla wore no perfume and her lightly floral earthiness was just as faint. They were not alone. The crosathnam demon’s pungent scent was far easier to track.
Angel could not be certain if it was Drusilla who had taken Cordy from the house or the demon. Who was chasing whom? He bet on Dru. The trail he followed was a wayward path, an escape route leading southwest across lawns, back alleys and into the wildwood skirting Sunnydale Park.
They had had a head start on the demon from what he could tell, a distance that had closed quickly. In the places where their passing was obvious, where the ground was soft, he found only two sets of footprints. The impression of Drusilla’s shoes was deeper than her usual light tread.
The reason seemed obvious: she was carrying Cordelia. The distance they had gone suggested no struggle had occurred along the way. He scented blood, its coppery tang hitting the back of his tongue as he breathed it in deep.
Human blood, but whose?
Drusilla’s premonition echoed in his head and the fear he had bottled up as he went inside the house threatened to break lose. His anger overwhelmed it, pushing the fear back, but it was hard to stay calm and rational when he knew that Cordelia’s blood would spill as the events within Dru’s vision unfolded.
Vamping out further enhanced his ability to scent the trail, but brought his violent side closer to the surface. Angel did not see it as a problem. Violence was all part of the plan, assuming there even was a plan beyond finding Cordelia. What he was going to do when he got there did not take a lot of thinking.
The demon’s scent was marked with human blood. Angel figured that it belonged to Faith or Cordelia’s grandmother. At least, he hoped that was the case. If it was Cordy’s, there’d be hell to pay.
Crossing through a thickly overgrown garden, Angel recognized his location. He was close to home, but the trail of broken branches led away from Crawford Street. Dru was not bringing Cordy back to the mansion. If that had been her intention, she had changed her mind, perhaps because of the closing pursuit behind her.
Dru’s entire purpose here in Sunnydale remained clouded. The revelation of some details from her vision did little to assuage Angel’s fears. If his eldest childe had a purpose for her actions beyond the desire to please him, he could not fathom it.
When the trail ended suddenly, Angel was left standing on the edge of a cement gully, a storm drain. One end opened up from the sewers, a foul smell masking all others nearby. The other disappeared into the distance as a thin stream of dirty water carried bits of trash toward the ocean.
Between the night-blooming plants in the garden, the stench of the sewers and the night breeze blowing it down the gully, the final traces of the trail he had been following vanished. Angel dropped down from the edge landing gracefully. He searched for signs that Drusilla or the demon had gone one way versus the other.
Standing hands on his hips, Angel dipped his head low, eyes closed as he thought of all of the possible tortures Cordelia might endure because he had failed to find her. Perhaps the crosathnam had caught up with them and taken Cordy. If that were the case, she would be sacrificed to its god fulfilling her part in the prophecy.
He growled at the thought of the other demon laying a hand on her feeling the irate rumble deep in his chest. Before he let that happen, he would rip the bastard apart piece by piece and hang him with his own entrails.
Assuming Angel could find him first.
The location of the demon’s lair remained unknown. It might be within the maze of the sewer system or somewhere above ground. Angel knew that he could not chance a blind search of the sewers. He was running out of time. If Cordelia was not with Dru, then he needed to find someone who could tell him exactly where to find the Crosathnam.
Angel’s vampire features faded back to softer human form, his face a mask of pure determination. He was not about to give up.
If Dru was not taking Cordelia to the mansion, Angel figured she was heading back to her place. Presuming the demon lost their trail just as he had done Drusilla might have taken her back to her crypt at Kingman’s Bluff. It was on the far side of town, but they were already halfway there.
Angel ran at a pace no longer suitable for the subtleties of tracking. Now that he knew his destination, he took the shortest route to get there. Crossing suburban streets, leaping fences and bushes and making his way over rooftops, he kept going until the crowded township opened up to a view of the bluffs and the ocean beyond.
All seemed quiet. Too quiet, he noted as he slowed his forward progress deciding on a stealthier approach than just kicking down the crypt door. Only the sounds of the waves beating against the rocky base of the bluffs filled his ears as Angel strained to hear anything that would tell him Cordelia was alive and well.
There was nothing.
With the crypt door before him, Angel forgot all about stealth and subtlety. He gathered his strength and kicked in the door. It hit the wall with a bang and a creak of rusty hinges. “Cordelia!” he called out her name only to hear it echo back at him.
The place was empty.
Scene 69