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Chapter 4.09
Sunday, May 19th, 2002
Angel slid the envelope through his
fingers. However, his mind wasn't really on it or
its contents but on the previous night's futile search.
Yet again, they had found a lead on the whereabouts
of The Axis of Pythia, only for the trail to peter
out far short of their goal. They had been looking
for the axis for what seemed like months now. He couldn't
believe that it was only a week since he had sought
out Dinza, in hope of being able to locate Cordelia.
He hadn't found the missing girl. He hadn't even managed
to find the axis, which he had been told would help
him find her. Yes, they knew where it would be in
three months time. The picture on the front of the
glossy auction house brochure taunted him. In three
months, Cordy could be dead or worse.
Angel sighed and picked up a letter
opener. Until they came up with a new avenue of investigation
there was no more they could do for Cordy. If Wesley
was right, which the vampire grudgingly conceded he
normally was, she had literally disappeared off the
face of the earth.
He pulled the thick pages from the
envelope and read the words written within.
"What does it say... Dad?"
Connor still stumbled over the word but Angel appreciated
the fact that he used it anyway. Some day, somewhere
down the line he would say it without the hesitation,
the way Angel had dreamed he would.
"Nothing. It's not important.
He's gone for now. We can worry about him once we
find Cordy."
Even Connor wasn't naïve enough
to believe the vampire's platitudes. "Fine, Angel."
The youngster turned and stormed from Angel's office,
exiting the hotel in short order.
"You know, Angel-cakes, a big
part of this whole family thing is trust. He's never
going to accept you as his dad if you keep
telling him you don't trust him," Lorne pointed
out. "So what does it say?"
Angel hesitated for a second before
tossing the heavy cream writing paper to the anagogic
demon. "See for yourself." He jogged to
the main door of the hotel, knowing he was already
too late, but calling after his son from the doorway's
shadow, just the same.
Xander rolled over in his sleep.
The motion set off enough pain signals to his abused
brain to end his period of blissful unconsciousness.
He reached for Anya only to discover that her side
of the bed was cold and empty. He reluctantly opened
his eyes to look for evidence to explain her absence.
The bright mid-morning sunlight made him roll instinctively,
shielding his eyes with his forearm, as it streamed
through the open blinds. This brought him face to
face with the bucket Anya had placed on the floor
next to his side of the bed the previous night. The
sight and scent of semi-digested chocolate brownies
mixed with both bile and the salt water Anya had made
him drink after Buffy had left, brought on an attack
of the dry heaves and refreshed his memory of the
previous night.
Anya had been far from happy. Xander
swiftly decided that his best course of action was
to cultivate selective amnesia. Obviously, one of
the other guests had slipped him some sort of Mickey
Finn before loading his plate with the offending brownies.
He had no memory whatsoever of searching Lily's cupboards
for undemonised foodstuffs, or at least that was going
to be his story when he spoke to Anya or anyone else
for that matter. The tactic had already worked to
get him out of one sticky situation when he was involved
in that hyena possession incident. It would work again.
Only this time, instead of possession, he would firmly
blame the drugs... And who the heck mixed chocolate
with other mood enhancing substances anyway? It all
just went to show how right he'd been to mistrust
these demon types in the first place. In fact, ten
to one, if Anya hadn't got him out of there in time,
some demon woman would have been forcing him to impregnate
her before the end of the night. Xander Harris was
like catnip to the demon babes after all...
The bedroom door pushed open and
he heard his wife's voice gently say his name. "Xander,
honey?"
"Ahn..." Xander whimpered
in his own particularly nasal fashion.
"You're awake?" the former
demon asked her voice solicitous in the extreme.
"Sure." As Xander's stomach
recovered from its upset he decided to pre-empt any
questions Anya might have. "What happened? I
feel like I have the entire cast of a Buzby Berkeley
musical rehearsing in my skull."
"You don't remember the party?"
"I remember going to the party.
I remember meeting Spike's bella senorita, but that's
about it. I think maybe someone spiked my drink. After
that ... nothing. I coulda been doing the horizontal
mamba with Clem for..." Xander paused as the
image of him perhaps not getting naked with the wrinkly
demon but certainly indulging in a manly hug returned
to him. "...All I know."
"You poor thing. Let me take
care of you," Anya crooned. "How about I
make you breakfast for starters? ...I'll do all your
favourites. You can have devilled kidneys, or maybe
those kippers from the hamper Giles had sent from
London. How about some blood sausage with nice fried
tomatoes?"
Xander rolled over and tried to control
his stomach once more as he clutched the pail with
both hands out of reflex, even though he knew there
was no more for his stomach to disgorge.
"You would do well to remember
that I am neither an amnesiac nor an imbecile, Xander,
and I do not appreciate it when my husband lies to
me and besides you already admitted what you did last
night. You embarrassed me in front of my friends with
your gluttony and your bad manners. You should know
better than to ransack someone's house when you are
there as their guest. It's inexcusable. Your feeble
story is insulting, both to my intelligence and to
Lily and her guests. It's also in very poor taste
given the current circumstances which I only hope
you are genuinely unaware of because I'd really hate
to believe that you were malicious rather than misguided."
Xander coughed a couple of times
before he managed to ask, "What circumstances?"
"I don't know exactly. Willow
might have poisoned Spike ...or not. Last I heard,
Buffy and the watchers were headed over to the Rosenbergs'
to beat the truth out of her. Well, that's not exactly
how Tara put it when I called her to see if that other
watcher whose email I answered spoke to Giles, but
you know Buffy when it comes to family..."
"What other watcher? What do
you mean family? Who's family?"
"Well, Spike, of course. You
don't get much more family than a husband."
"She married him already?"
"No, silly, but I mean it's
all over bar the ceremony. We all know Spike isn't
going to do a disappearing act at the altar."
"Thank God!" Xander sighed
his relief that Buffy's marriage was as yet not a
fait accompli. "So how sick is he?" Xander
failed to totally eradicate the glee from his voice.
"Worse than I am?"
"No, Xander." Anya answered
coldly. "I'm ashamed to say I don't think anyone
could be sicker than you."
Bee and Brandon both pulled up outside
the Summers' house within seconds of each other. Brandon
cast an admiring eye over Bee's classic convertible.
Its rich cream-coloured curves effectively matched
it to the same decade as the dress she had worn the
previous night.
He let out a low whistle. "Nice
wheels. Can't say I recognise the model, though."
"1953 Sunbeam Alpine Sports."
"Need a hand with those books?"
Brandon asked as he saw the stack of reading material
when Bee opened up the car's trunk.
"Thanks." Bee passed off
the stack of heavy books to the boy, making him gasp
at their weight before she walked round to the car's
passenger side, lifting the end of Rupert's lead and
opening the door for him to step out of the vehicle's
passenger seat.
"You brought your cat?"
the teen asked as Bee delicately shut the car's door
behind the feline.
Bee sighed as if she'd had this conversation
many times before. "I always take him with me
when I'm working. I don't like leaving him on his
own for long periods of time. He gets lonely. Besides
he likes the drive."
"And he always comes on a lead?"
"Well, you don't think I'm going
to carry him round in one of those silly baskets when
he's perfectly capable of walking on his own four
legs, do you? It's comparatively common for Siamese
cats, you know. They're more intelligent than your
average felines. Rupert knows that if we go somewhere,
he needs to wear a lead or people will freak, but
I'll take it off when we get wherever we're going.
He doesn't mind... much. Well, he prefers it to being
stuffed in a box."
Rupert led the way to the front door
of 1630 Revello as Bee explained.
"I'd say you were insane, but
judging by the car, I should say eccentric instead."
"Oh, the car was a birthday
present from an adorable man who knows my tastes very
well, but the truth is I spend money as fast as I
make it, so feel free to say I'm a mad old coot."
"Mad maybe, but even from the
dizzy heights of eighteen I wouldn't have used the
word old."
"You're so—" Bee paused
as a shrill scream rent the suburban Sabbath morning.
"Dawn!" Brandon dropped
his cargo of precious books to the ground and dashed
toward the front door, yanking it open when he got
there. Bee skirted round the scattering of reference
materials as quickly as she could in her high-heeled
ankle-boots, following as closely behind the teen
as she could manage. This still placed her third behind
Tara in the dash for the stairs. Brandon rushed up
the stairs three at a time, colliding full speed with
Dawn as he reached the landing. Turning them, so that
he was between her and the perceived danger, he watched
along the corridor as he spoke.
"What is it? Are you okay? What
happened? That scream scared the hell out of me."
"It was Spike. He's hallucinating
and stuff. I don't think he knows what's going on
or who anyone is."
"Did he hurt you?"
"No-o-o-o, Brand. Well, I guess
my knee might bruise but you're not getting me. The
scream? That was Spike! I kicked him, just
like he taught me. Tara, we've got to get Buffy back
here. That last phone call was from someone who says
he knows what's wrong with Spike. He says unless Spike
meets him alone within the hour he'll be dead before
we can find out what's wrong with him. She is so
going to kick this creep's butt."
"Glinda?" Spike groaned from his
foetal position on the floor. Even in demon form Tara could
see that the bruising she had witnessed earlier had spread
to his face and extremities.
"It's me, Spike," the witch
answered. "You know who I am?"
"Course I bloody know who you
are, you silly bint. Where's the Bit?"
"She's just outside. Her and
Brandon and your friend, Bee."
"Stubborn little madam. Get
the kid to get her out. Now. She doesn't understand."
"Doesn't understand what?"
"That the monster wants blood.
That he can smell her wounds and that he'll do anything
to taste her. He knows her blood is strong enough
to make him better, just like Buffy's. I can't keep
telling her no. I can't fight the evil inside me and
her as well. He has to take Bit away or I'll give
her what she wants."
Unaware of the presence lounging on the bed,
watching the scene and urging Spike along the path to damnation,
Tara misinterpreted his words. "All she wants is for
you to get better. That's what's important to her. That's
all she wants."
Spike covered his ears, doing his
best to block out what sounded to him like the gentle
Wiccan bidding him to commit murder. "Get out!"
he yelled at the witch. "Get out and get her
out! Now!" Tara stepped back, more from shock
at the vehemence of his words than out of any will
to do as he said. She watched as Spike crawled along
the floor to the armchair where he had left his duster
the night before. Using the chair, he pushed himself
to his feet and wrapped the leather around himself.
"Tinkerbell," Spike lowered his
voice to somewhat less than normal conversational level, somehow
making it seem all the more chilling. "Unless you want
to share responsibility when I drain her dry, you will get
that Andrew Eldritch wannabe that she calls a boyfriend to
get her the hell out of the house, out of town and preferably
out of the state before I leave this room. Am I making myself
clear? You've got five minutes." He turned toward the
bed. "And you know damn fine I'd do anythin' for you
but will you take five minutes to think what Joyce'd have
to say if she could see you now?"
Something finally clicked in Tara's
brain as she saw for herself the way Rogue reacted
to Spike's hallucinations. In fact, in retrospect
even when Spike had been talking to her, Rogue had
seemed to be trying to hold something or someone at
a distance.
"Spike, if you feel that Dawn is in
danger I will make sure that Brandon takes her away somewhere.
Okay? But you can't go anywhere. You need to go back to bed."
"I got a place I need to be,
luv. Seems I need to have a bit chat with some bloke."
"At least wait until Buffy can
help."
"Buffy's got other things on
her mind and this is my score to settle."
"Think about this. Dawn put
you down on the ground."
"I'm not planning on letting
the wanker kick me where she did."
"And you planned on letting
Dawn do it?"
"Course I bloody did. You think,
if I'd really let him out, that I could have put him
back in his box? I had to let her do it. Now tell
that daft bugger of hers to get her the hell out of
here before Buffy talks me into doing something we'll
both regret come morning. You've got five minutes
at most before I leave this room and I don't know
if it'll be me in charge of this body or the demon
so you better get a move on." |
