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Disclaimer: The characters and universe portrayed in this story are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, Sandollar T.V., and Kuzui Enterprises. It is distributed by 20th Century Fox and Warner Bros. Television Networks. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's note: This story takes place between "Eternity" and "Five by Five" in season one of Angel
Part 1
Angel stalked the demon relentlessly through the dark alleys of one of Los Angeles' forgotten neighborhoods. He hadn't got a good look at it yet, but he had seen its victim, and he vowed that she would be the last.
The demon's faint, acrid scent led him over a chain link fence and into an abandoned lot between two buildings. A sagging metal shed and a stripped-down station wagon cast faint shadows in the greasy dirt. The scent was strong. It was here.
The demon jumped him without warning. Its claws dug into his arms, drawing blood. He twisted out its grip and shoved an elbow into its face, then spun and kicked it in the stomach. It staggered but turned and swept his legs out from under him with a heavy tail. He went down hard.
As the demon loomed over him he finally caught a glimpse of it in the murky glow of a surviving street lamp – small, vicious eyes, a row of spikes across its head and shoulders, a lot of sharp teeth, and a glowing green amulet hanging around its neck.
He rolled to his feet and kicked sideways at its knee. He felt the joint give. The demon howled in pain and charged him, shoving him into the brick wall of the building with spiked fists that gouged his chest. Ignoring the pain Angel showered it with blows, trying to determine its vulnerable spots. Beheading would probably be effective. He began to look around for a suitable weapon.
Sudden, intense pain shot through the wounds in his chest. He gasped and retreated a pace. The spikes must secrete some kind of poison. The demon growled in triumph and advanced. Angel stumbled dizzily, trying to avoid its grasp, but it shoved him to the ground and pinned him beneath its weight. He struggled fiercely but could not get free.
The demon released its hold just long enough to sink a long spike into his heart. He screamed, and turned to dust.
***
Cordelia looked up from the pile of booklets, forms, receipts, and scratch paper scattered across her desk with an end-of-the-world sigh. It was hopeless. There was no way to make the calculator come up with anything remotely resembling a reasonable figure. She hit the "clear" button resentfully and glanced around, looking for someone to commiserate with.
Wesley hadn't come back from supper, and she hadn't heard any stirrings in Angel's office either. Of course, that didn't mean he wasn't there. He could spend hours sitting motionless at his desk, staring at nothing, brooding about whatever dark, deep mystical things vampires with souls brooded about. Perhaps he wouldn't mind a little interruption? She strode across the office and stuck her head through his doorway. "Angel?"
He was asleep at his desk, forehead resting on folded arms. Then his head snapped up and a cascade of emotions flickered across his face. Fear, confusion, relief, shame?
"Sorry," she said. "Is . . . everything OK?"
He made a visible effort to collect himself. "Yeah. It's OK. It was . . . just a bad dream." Tiny warning bells went off inside her head, but he stood, dismissing it. "What did you want?"
He didn't want to talk about it – big surprise. And she wasn't in the mood to pry it out of him just now. She plunked herself into a chair opposite the desk.
"I can't figure out why I owe the government seven hundred dollars of income tax. I mean, I didn't make any real money." Abruptly realizing the tactlessness of this remark, she hurriedly added, "Not that what you pay me isn't real, of course, I just . . . well, it never seems to add up in my money market account, so how can it add up to seven hundred dollars of income tax? No wonder Daddy got into so much trouble."
Angel was staring at her rather bemusedly. So much for commiseration. Had he ever paid taxes? Did he even have a social security number? "I don't suppose you've ever had to worry much about stuff like that."
"No, not really."
"Well, you better watch out. Those IRS guys can be as vicious as any demon." She bristled at the memory of her personal possessions being carted off by blue collar nobodies.
Her eye was suddenly caught by a gaudy-looking green amulet on a gold chain, resting in a small box at the corner of Angel's desk. It had a fancy network of lines and swirls and looked very old.
"Hey, what's that? And if it's not some precious heirloom or demon-fighting talisman, could we, maybe, sell it? Bills, bills, bills! Not to mention my taxes."
Angel followed her gaze. And inhaled sharply. He moved slowly around the desk, staring at the amulet.
Cordelia watched him closely. "It's not yours?" she asked.
"No. Someone must have sent it."
She reached to pick it up, but he blocked her hand. "Don't touch it."
"Right." She reached for the entire box instead. Was it a trick of the light, or was the thing actually glowing? And who in their right mind would imagine the monstrosity as a complement to any conceivable outfit?
She heard the front door opening. "Maybe Wesley will know what it is."
Wesley was reading the paper as he came in, oblivious as usual. He glanced at them over the top of it. "Did you see this story on the second page of The Times?"
She deftly pushed the paper away from him and thrust the box under his nose. "Do you know what this is?"
Wesley kept hold of his paper but looked at the box. "It came in the mail this morning," he replied. "I put it on Angel's desk so that he could have a look at it."
"But what it is?"
"It's clearly an amulet of some kind. It looks familiar, but I can't place it." He reached to pick it up just as Cordelia had.
She jerked the box away from him. "Angel says not to touch it."
Wesley's eyebrows went up. Finally he put down his paper and hooked the chain with a pencil, lifting the amulet out of the box and onto her desk. "The design looks Celtic, but it's a very unusual pattern." He leaned down to look at it more closely. "There are words engraved around the edge, but they have nearly worn off." He rummaged for a magnifying glass. "Welsh, I think. Anysbryd mil gwaith marwolaeth," he said slowly.
Angel, who had been hovering rather anxiously at Cordelia's side, took a sudden step backward. Wesley glanced up at him.
"Oh, sorry. I guess that translates roughly to – May evil die a thousand deaths."
"You mean, it kills demons?" Cordelia asked.
"I'm not sure. But I know I've seen this design before. I'll have to do some reading." He looked downright cheery at the prospect.
Angel stirred uncomfortably beside her. "It . . . might explain the dreams I've been having."
Ah ha, the truth at last. Cordelia eyed him sharply. "What kind of dreams? Not – biting people kind of dreams?"
Angel's mouth twitched. "No. Stake through the heart kind of dreams."
Wesley stirred. "So, you've been experiencing recurring nightmares in which you were impaled with a stake and, um, disintegrated?"
Angel nodded. "Sunlight too. Fire. Beheading. The whole drill."
Upon closer inspection, he did look rather haggard. Cordelia noticed that Wesley had moved surreptitiously away from the amulet. "And when did the nightmares begin?" he asked.
"This morning."
"The same time the box arrived. It would seem to be more than a coincidence."
"So what is it doing here?" Cordelia asked. "And what do we do about it?"
"Well, the first thing to do is get some information." Wesley lifted the amulet again with much more caution than he had before, and was about to put it back into the box when Cordelia suddenly spotted something.
"Oh!" she cried, pointing to the box. Wesley nearly dropped it. "There's a return address. That should tell us something, right?" She snatched the box away from him, leaving the amulet dangling gingerly in the air. "1710 Wilshire Blvd. Here in LA. Shouldn't be too hard to track down." She turned toward the computer.
Suddenly the lights went out. Her heart sank. "Oh dear."
Angel walked to the window. "Sun's down." He opened the blinds, letting in the fading evening light. "Lights are still on across the street."
Might as well get the worst over with. "That's probably because they paid their electric bill."
It took them both a second to clue in. "And we didn't?" they said, more or less in unison.
"Last month we only had enough for the water bill or the electric bill. And since Angel isn't too keen on light . . . " She shrugged.
Angel rubbed his forehead as if it hurt. "Get a map," he said to Wesley. "We'll take the car."
***
"Turn left at the next light. It should be Wilshire Blvd."
Angel switched lanes and looked for a street sign. The air was finally beginning to cool, blowing in from the ocean, and it felt good rushing past his face. To his surprise, Wesley was proving to be an adept navigator. At this point Angel was inclined to appreciate any small favors the universe deigned to throw his way. He could not even bring himself to wonder why Cordelia had neglected to inform him that they were behind on utility payments. Didn't they usually give you two or three months before cutting off service? Thank goodness she had begged off this trip to catch some evening audition. A day without sleep had not done wonders for his patience.
Wesley hunted for numbers as they drove. "1546 . . . 1620 . . . 1688 . . . why don't more businesses put their address on the front, for goodness sake? . . . 1760. We've gone too far. It has to be one of those office buildings."
Angel turned the corner and parked out of sight. All of the doors they tried were locked for the evening, but beside the main entrance they found a placard with the street numbers of the businesses within. Together they stared at the listing beside 1710.
"Wolfram and Hart," Wesley read aloud unnecessarily. "Must be a branch office."
Angel abruptly pulled Wesley away from the building. "And they gave us the address. They are probably expecting us."
They hurried back to the car, expecting shots to ring out or demons to attack from the shadows at any moment, but nothing happened. Angel rubbed his eyes, feeling fatigue creeping up in his brain. "It figures. They've had it in for me for a while now. Trust them to come up with something really creative."
Wesley folded up the map, getting all the creases right, and picked up the paper he had brought along. "We may have another problem."
"What?"
"There's been trouble at the waterfront. Demon trouble, I'll wager."
"What does it say?"
"Remains of several persons gone missing who were last seen around San Pedro harbor at night were found washed up on shore this morning."
"And?"
"They look as if they've been snacked on by something with really large teeth."
Angel looked at Wesley incredulously. "They put that in the paper?"
"In point of fact, no, but something about it seemed suspicious, so I did some checking."
"Well, aren't there any, uh, big fish in the bay? Sharks, maybe?"
"Are you kidding? With all that pollution?"
It didn't seem terribly promising, but at least it might keep him awake. "OK, let's go have a look."
***
Lindsey McDonald stepped back from the darkened window, satisfied. The junior assistant beside him was exuberant.
"He's taken the bait," Payton whispered ecstatically. "It's working."
"Did you doubt that it would?" Lindsey asked coolly.
"No, no, of course not. I told you, no demon has survived the amulet's curse for longer than 2 days. It's just nice to have some proof, that's all."
"I'm not sure it was wise to tip him off to our involvement."
"What, are you afraid he'll come after us? What could one vampire do? Don't worry. It'll work."
Lindsey studied the other man just long enough to make him start twitching. "You know the senior partners will have your head if he interferes with their plans," he said. "And I'm not speaking figuratively."
Payton swallowed nervously. "Hey, I was the one stuck doing inventory of cursed swords and moldy scrolls and preserved demon parts in that tomb of a vault. I was the one who found the amulet. If there's any credit to be had here, it should go to me."
"As will the blame if it doesn't work. That is usually the way the game is played," Lindsey reminded him.
"It'll work. You'll see. By the time that amulet is through with him, you won't have to worry about your super vamp interfering with anything ever again."
***
Twilight had nearly turned to darkness by the time Angel and Wesley reached San Pedro. Angel led them in a circuitous path along the waterfront, poking his head into warehouses and railcars, occasionally stopping to talk to longshoremen working on the wharves. They didn't look like the type to be easily spooked, but suspicion and dread hung heavily in the air. No one had many words to spare for strangers.
At the far end of the harbor he slipped through a gate and walked out to the edge of a long pier. Wesley followed silently. The ocean lapped rhythmically at the posts below. The lighthouse out at the entrance to the harbor blinked periodically with a bright green light. Angel took a deep breath of the sea air, appreciating the sense of the vast dark ocean spread out before him. Finally he turned to Wesley.
"Something's definitely happening here, but there's not much to go on . . . " he trailed off, thinking he had heard an odd, muffled sound. He looked back along the pier, then out into the water.
"What is it?" Wesley asked.
Angel stared at the surface of the water. "I think there's something out there."
He heard a cry behind him and turned just in time to see Wesley get pulled into the water. He shed his coat and shoes in an instant and dove in after him.
He kicked furiously, swimming as fast as he could, and by some miracle his hand latched onto Wesley's ankle. Cold water streamed past him as they were dragged further from shore. He caught hold of Wesley's belt and tried to pry open the huge claws wrapped around his waist, but they wouldn't budge. He hadn't brought a knife. With no alternative, he bared his fangs and sunk them into the rough skin of the creature's forearm.
The blood was thick, far too salty, and overpoweringly rich. He swallowed involuntarily as the strange hot blood poured into his mouth. Then suddenly the claws opened, freeing Wesley, and Angel was violently shaken loose. He reached up to make sure his jaw was still intact, then got an arm around Wesley's chest and kicked to the surface.
Wesley spluttered and coughed but didn't resist as Angel towed him back toward the lights on the pier. By the time they reached it, Wesley was able to climb out on his own.
"You OK?" Angel asked. His stomach churned uneasily, full of the creature's blood.
"Just bruised, I think," Wesley answered, feeling his ribs with probing fingers. He was beginning to shiver, and Angel handed him his coat. "It must have gone for the only good eating in the party," Wesley commented dryly.
Abruptly Angel leaned over the edge of the pier and vomited the contents of his stomach into the water. Immediately he felt much better. Wesley looked at him strangely as he straightened. "Are you all right?" he asked. "I didn't know vampires could – "
"Neither did I," Angel finished. It had been a very long time since his days of puking up his guts under the influence of Irish beer.
His eye was caught by a dark shape hovering just above the surface of the water, barely visible against the faint gray tinge on the western horizon. He stared at it, trying to make out the details. It was hard to tell how far away it was, to get an accurate idea of its size. But he could feel it watching them and had a fleeting impression of a huge, sinuous shape hovering just below the water.
He got up and pulled Wesley to his feet. "It's still out
there," he
said. "Come on." Together they hurried back up
the pier.