"Where is he?" Angel couldn't keep the impatience out of his voice, and was beyond caring who heard it.
Cordelia swiveled around in her chair, which had been facing the computer on her desk. "He's only been gone about ten seconds," she replied wearily. The strain of the new vision that she'd had in the park, so soon after the vision that sent them there, was taking a toll on her. "But the way you're pacing around you're going to wear a groove in the lobby floor I polished. Remember how gunky it was after we killed the Thesulac?"
Angel remembered. The paranoia demon had fed on the Hyperion Hotel's residents for years, and back in the early fifties, when he had lived here for a while, Angel had just let the demon have his way. Upon returning to the hotel fifty years later, he had finally slain the Thesulac and decided then and there that this place would be the new headquarters of Angel Investigations. Since then he'd temporarily left the team, at which point Wesley stepped up to the plate and took over. They were all back together and on good terms now, and the Hyperion continued to serve as hearth and home.
And yes, he remembered what a pain it had been to clean scorched demon goo off the floors. And the walls.
"Anyway, at the risk of having my head bitten off, so to speak, I could also point out that Wes is the boss now, and if he makes you wait a couple of extra seconds then it's certainly nothing you haven't done to him in the past."
She's right, Angel thought. But he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of saying so. And probably, waiting another minute or so was not going to make a difference, one way or another. But he'd had to go out of his way already, to bring Cordelia, Wesley, and Gunn back to the hotel in Hollywood, and he wanted to get down to the Yorba Linda Ranch women's prison to check on Faith.
To be fair, he knew, Hollywood wasn't that far out of the way. Griffith Park was north of downtown L.A., and Hollywood was a little south and west of the park, but still north of downtown. Yorba Linda, on the other hand, was all the way down in Orange County, almost to the San Bernardino County line. So he had to more or less pass by Hollywood to get there from the park, anyway.
He was just anxious about Faith, he knew. Because Cordy's vision had shown her in danger. And, he thought, because I wasn't around to help the last Slayer who died.
Buffy was back now, thanks to Willow-witchery. But she had died, while he'd been off in Pylea, Lorne's home dimension, so there had been nothing he could do about it. He wouldn't stand by helplessly while the same thing happened to Faith.
"He'll be right back," Cordelia insisted. "I thought you went to Tibet to find inner peace."
"I have inner peace," Angel said. "This is only outer tension. My inner self is as calm as a mountain lake."
"Yeah, on a volcano."
"Can I help it if the Tibetan monks turned out to be evil?" he asked.
"Even evil monks ought to know the value of patience," she observed.
"Cordelia..." He let the word hang there, sentence unfinished. She got his drift and turned back to the computer screen where she was supposed to be trying to research the creature she had seen threatening Faith.
"Got it," Wesley said, coming in from his car with something dangling from his hand.
"About time," Angel grumped.
"Ignore him," Cordelia urged. "He's testy."
Angel glowered mildly. "I'm in a hurry."
"I understand, Angel," Wesley assured him, approaching Angel with it. "But I thought this was important." He held out the object in his hand—a medallion of some sort, strung on a worn leather cord. The medallion was oval-shaped with a stylized sun in the center, but inside the sun, where an orange juice advertisement would probably put a happy, jolly, sun-face, there was instead a distinctly recognizable skull face.
"Because it's the accessory everyone's wearing this year," Cordelia suggested.
"Because it's a warding amulet from ancient Mesopotamia," Wesley countered. "Given to me by an acquaintance, a shaman from New Guinea, in fact, after I did him a rather immense favor. It's exceedingly rare and quite powerful. It will keep Faith safe from all manner of evil."
"If it's so powerful," came a small voice from up the stairs. "Then why don't you wear it, Wesley?" The voice had a bit of a Texas twang, even after five years in Pylea. Fred. Winifred Burkle appeared on the stairs, a slight young woman wearing a conservative tan sweater and knee-length brown skirt. The contrast with Cordelia, who had changed out of her grass-stained outfit into a revealing V-neck yellow shirt and tight red leather pants, couldn't have been more pronounced.
"Fred's got a point," Cordelia said. "It might have done you some good, like, for instance, when you were shot by a zombie cop."
Wesley nodded. "It might have," he agreed. "But then its power would have been dissipated. I preferred to save it until a time when I thought it would be truly needed. Now, with Faith in peril, seems like that time."
"Because you couldn't have let me have it the time demons tried to lay their young in my scalp," Cordelia muttered, turning back to the computer again.
"One can't just wear it all the time," Wesley said. "According to the legend, if it's worn too much it will use up its energies protecting the wearer from all manner of threats, real and imagined. You might be wearing it on the streets of Los Angeles and it will be busy keeping an elephant from falling out of the sky and crushing you—but then again, what are the chances of that happening, realistically speaking? It's like a battery in a flashlight—if it's turned on, it's losing juice."
"So it needs to be saved until there's a definite threat," Angel said, catching on. "And you're willing to let Faith have it."
Wesley swallowed. He had been no great supporter of the rogue Slayer. The fact that she kidnapped and tortured him may, Angel realized, have entered into that. So it was really quite a sacrifice for him to hand something this precious over to her.
I'd better go before he changes his mind, Angel thought.
"If it's like a battery," Fred said slowly, "there might be some way of recharging it."
"It's possible," Wesley agreed. "I haven't run across any in the literature, but that doesn't mean it doesn't exist."
"I'll work on it," Fred said, starting upstairs again. "Drive carefully, Angel."
"Yeah. Thanks." Angel said. He tucked the amulet into an inside pocket of his black leather duster. "And thank you, Wes," he added.
"Keep her safe, Angel," Wesley said, sincerity evident in his tone. "Please."
"That's what I'm planning to do," Angel said. He walked out of the hotel lobby to the alley where he'd parked his car.
Driving down from Griffith Park, they'd agreed on how to split the workload. Angel would go see Faith. Cordelia and Wesley would get busy on research, trying to identify the threat—although Cordy insisted that it had been so vague, in the vision, that it could have been anything from a ferocious killer demon to a murderous jelly-filled donut. Gunn would hit the streets, to find out if there was any scuttlebutt—a word that had seemed to entertain Cordelia and Gunn no end, when Angel had used it—about anything coming into town that might have its sights set on a Slayer. And Fred—well, Fred rarely came out of her room, but Cordelia offered to bring her up to speed when she had time, in case Faith could be saved by the handy application of some obscure mathematical formula.
Cordy's grown a lot since her Sunnydale days, Angel thought as he keyed the engine, but that sarcastic streak will never die.
***
"He's a bit on edge, isn't he?" Wesley asked after Angel was gone.
"He's not the only one," Cordelia replied. She rubbed her temples with her fingertips, as if she could massage the vision-induced ache out of her head. "I'm just about wiped from tonight's double whammy, and staring at this computer screen isn't helping."
"You could take a break," Wesley offered. "Would you like a cup of tea?"
"I'd like a barrel of tea," she said. "Hit me in the head with the barrel and put me out of my misery. Then you can drink the tea while admiring my deceased but still excruciatingly hot corpse."
"I believe that a corpse is, by definition, deceased," Wesley pointed out.
"There you go, Wes. Bust me on grammar, because that's going to help my mood a whole lot."
"Sorry," he said.
He really is trying to help, Cordelia thought, so I probably should cut him a break.
But then again, why?
"Never mind the tea," she said. "You should be getting busy on the reference books, shouldn't you?"
"I should, yes. But it would help if I had something specific to look up. ‘Vague shadowy could-be-a-demon form' doesn't appear in any of the indices that I'm aware of."
"I'm sorry I didn't get a better look," Cordelia said for what seemed like the hundredth time. "But it's really not up to me, you know? The Powers That Be are the ones who decide what I see, and when. I pretty much have to just go along with what they want to show me."
"Let's just go through it again," Wesley urged.
"Wes, we've been through it—"
"Just once more. You know sometimes it helps, Cordy. Jogs your memory, shakes loose another piece or two of the puzzle."
"This time I think all that's shaking loose are brain cells."
"Give it a go," he said. "Exactly what did you see?"
"I saw Faith. Close-up, eyes wide. Jumpy-looking. Whatever is coming for her, she's aware of it, and has been for a while, I think. It's got her spooked."
"She's inside her cell?"
"I can't tell," Cordelia said, closing her eyes. She was trying to see the vision again in her mind's eye, trying to recall every minute detail. But the background behind Faith was a dark blur, without detail or form. "It's kind of dark, but there's enough light to see her face. She could be inside or outside. All I can see is her, and the expression on her face that tells me she's afraid of something. I can hear a kind of shuffling, scratching noise, and it's getting closer—she can hear it too, because her eyes move and she looks toward where the noise is coming from. And then that's it—it's over." She opened her eyes again and wiped her forehead with the palm of her hand. "That's all I can remember, except for the lancing pain in my skull when it happened. That part I remember vividly because I'm still living it."
"I know these are hard on you, Cordelia."
She shrugged. "I could have given them up to Groo," she said. The Groosalugg, back in Pylea, would have been able to free her from the visions—and he was the only person she had encountered since Doyle had passed them along to her who could have. But in the end, she had declined the offer, realizing that the visions were Angel's best link to The Powers That Be and the greatest contribution she could make to Angel's cause.
"And you chose not to, which was terribly brave."
"We all do what we have to do," she said. "You chose to hang onto your protective amulet instead of using it yourself. I chose to hang onto blinding headaches and the accompanying nausea."
"Ah, but it's nausea for the best possible cause."
Cordelia took a big breath and blew it out, but there was no relief for the throbbing pain in her head. "Yeah, a good cause," she said. "That makes me feel a whole lot better about it."
***
"I'm okay, I guess," Faith said. Angel had arrived at the Yorba Linda Ranch too late for visiting hours, but he'd already established false credentials as Faith's attorney so he wouldn't be inconvenienced by such minor details. When he used that alias then he also got to see her in an interview room instead of simply through a window, talking on a phone, like the first few times he'd visited her here.
"You haven't seen anything threatening you?" he asked.
"Angel, this is prison," she pointed out with a half smile. "Yesterday a girl pulled a knife on me because she said I used some of her leave-in conditioner without asking."
"Did you?"
"Well, you know, hair like this doesn't come without a price," she said, fluffing her dark locks with both hands. "But the point is, everybody in the joint gets threatened on a regular basis. A woman was killed last month because she wouldn't share her mashed potatoes in the mess hall. Couple of her friends found the chick who killed her and they cut her an extra mouth, right across her throat. Now she could eat potatoes twice as fast, if she could eat 'em at all."
"And it doesn't bother you, staying here?" Angel knew that Faith was tough—Faith personified tough, in fact. But she was a Slayer—if she wanted to get out, she'd be out. Humans hadn't built the prison that could hold her against her will.
And, I guess, that really shows how truly strong she is, he thought. Strong enough to know that she has to pay a price for the things she's done, so she's willing to put herself through this to atone. He wasn't sure he'd be that strong, if the circumstances were reversed.
Of course, prison had other disadvantages for those of the vampiric persuasion. Like "lights out" coming at night, and the rest of the scheduled activities—including time in the exercise yard—being slotted for those times of day guaranteed to make him burst into flames. Any jail sentence could be a death sentence for Angel.
"Of course it bothers me," Faith told him. "But you know. Girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do, right?"
"Yeah, I suppose," he said.
"So what was it Cordy saw stalking me? You got a line on it?"
He shook his head. "She said it was really vague. Maybe a demon, maybe a human... she just couldn't tell."
"Think she'd be able to tell if she liked me better?"
"I'm sure that's not it, Faith," Angel replied. "She doesn't play around like that with her visions. She takes them very seriously. She has to—I'm worried about her, in fact. They've been getting worse and worse, really taking a lot out of her."
"Maybe that other guy, what was his name—"
"Doyle?" Angel prompted.
"Yeah, Doyle. Maybe he was better suited to them. You said he was a demon, right?"
"Half demon."
"Still."
"I think it was easier for him, yes." Angel glanced around the interview room. A bare metal table with a fake wood-grain surface, three plastic chairs. The room smelled like disinfectant, but it just masked other odors—sweat and tobacco foremost among them, even though there was no ashtray and a big NO SMOKING sign on one of the walls. Two of the walls were glass, and Angel could see Orange County corrections officers watching them without interest. The other two walls were cinder block, painted a kind of light green, almost the same green as the sky had been near the Chaos demon. He remembered thinking it looked like mint chocolate-chip ice cream without the chips, and wondered if he'd ever enjoy ice cream again.
"Oh, speaking of people who don't like you much," Angel said, reaching into his coat. "Wesley sent this." He drew out the amulet.
Faith took it, turned it over in her hands, examining it. "I guess he doesn't like me," she said. "Am I supposed to wear this? The ladies on the block'll kick the crap out of me just for offending their fashion sense."
"You can take them," Angel said with a grin.
She returned the smile. "Yeah, I can."
"No, it's really valuable," he went on. "It's Mesopotamian, Wesley said. It's ancient. One of a kind."
She looked at it again. "Not hard to see why."
"It has power," Angel explained. "It'll keep you safe."
"From what?"
"From anything that might endanger you, I guess. He says it's very powerful magic."
"And he gave it to me?" Faith asked quietly. She didn't seem to quite believe it, as if she were looking for the catch that must surely come with it.
"He wanted you to have it. Said he was saving it for the right person who would need its protection. That's you."
He thought Faith was tearing up, but she turned her head away quickly, and a shock of thick dark hair blocked his view. "That's... really nice," she said, her voice catching a little.
She is crying, he thought. I'll have to tell Wes his gift was appreciated.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, I just... ," She dabbed at her eyes with the tail of her orange prison uniform. "Just got something in my eye, I guess."
"That'll happen in places like this," Angel said.
"Once in a while," she agreed. She turned back to him, blinking away the moistness that remained in her eyes.
"So they're all right?" she asked him. "Wesley and Cordy?"
Angel thought it over for a moment, not wanting to give her the facile response. Wesley had been through some tough times recently—taking over Angel Investigations, dealing with Angel's Darla-induced trip to the dark side, getting shot in the gut, and still being unable to impress his father with any of his accomplishments. But the trip to the demon dimension of Pylea seemed to bring a lot of things into focus for him. There, too, he became a leader, of the rebel forces opposing the wicked rulers of that world. And he excelled in the role.
Pylea had been a strain for Cordelia, too. She had been captured, and taken for a simple "cow"—what the locals called humans—until she'd had a vision. Then she was hailed as their Queen, a role she played to the hilt. Even as the Queen, though, she had to answer to the high priest. She'd been expected to mate with the Groosalugg, who had turned out to be not only handsome but genuinely nice. But Angel had to fight him, and the mating part never happened. Finally they'd all been happy to get home and leave the strange world behind—bringing Fred, a human who had accidentally been trapped there, with them.
He supposed he'd faced some challenges there, too. He had been able to move about under Pylea's suns, but when threatened, he had become an AngelBeast, his inner demonic nature coming to the fore in a big way. Fred had seen him as human and demon, and hadn't judged him, and that had helped him realize the value of both aspects of his personality.
"Yeah," he said finally. "They're good. They're really good. I am too, I think."
"Glad to hear it," Faith said. "I miss you. All you guys, I guess. But you know, especially you." She draped the amulet Wesley had given her around her neck. "I should probably get back to my busy night, y'know," she said.
"I guess so." He noticed that the guards were looking more carefully now, and one of them was eyeing a wall clock. Even fake attorneys weren't allowed to overstay their welcome. Faith had just been trying to give Angel a graceful out, before they came and ejected him. Something the old Faith would never have done, he thought. Showing consideration for others. Maybe prison isn't all bad. "You be careful, Faith. Cordy's visions are sometimes vague but they're never wrong. You are in danger. Just keep your eyes open, and be sure to call me if there's anything I can do."
"I will, big guy," she assured him. "Count on it."
***
Faith always watched her back in the joint, Cordy or no Cordy. Those who didn't ended up on slabs with tags wired to their big toes. Faith was Slayer-tough and Slayer-trained, better than any ten of the other inmates around her. But even a Slayer could be killed if she didn't pay attention. Faith didn't intend to fall into that category.
She'd been truthful with Angel—beyond the ordinary, day to day dangers of life behind bars, she hadn't been aware of any particular threats. Wesley's amulet notwithstanding, she felt kind of keyed-up after Angel's visit, hyper-aware. She was escorted back to her block, where she lived, if one could call it that, with her cellmate. The cell had two wafer-thin mattresses on platforms, and there were seven cells just like it on this side of a wide, central corridor, with eight more lining the other side. There were doors in both ends of the small building, and a tiny barred window in each cell. From her bunk, with her head on the pillow, she could see a tiny square of night sky out the nearest window.
This night, she lay in the bunk with a blanket pulled up over her, thinking about Angel's warning, and thinking about how unexpected it was to have Wesley, whom she had treated so horribly, do something so nice for her. All around her, the steady breathing and occasional snores of the other women indicated that they had all fallen asleep; she was the only one staying awake into the night wondering how she had gotten so lucky as to have someone like Angel looking out for her, in spite of everything she'd done. Finally, as she was beginning to drift off herself, something moved in front of the window, blocking the few stars she could see.
Suddenly alert, Faith tensed her body, ready to hurl off the blanket and spring into action if anything came at her. Her senses were alive. Since becoming a Slayer, she had felt like she had an extra sense that no one else got to experience, and it warned her when she was in real danger. It was screaming now. In the window she could only see a dark silhouette. It was rounded at the top like a head, but had no more detail than that. Then it moved away from the window. She strained to listen, and heard barely audible footfalls on the gravel outside. A moment later the doors at the end nearest her bed rattled gently. But nothing else happened—whoever or whatever it was didn't come in, didn't make a play for her.
The amulet, she thought. It warded off whatever that was.
She knew there were plenty of other possible explanations. There never was any danger; she'd only caught a glimpse of one of the guards making rounds, checking to see that the doors were locked.
But she had sensed the peril outside. That had been something malevolent, and it had been looking for her.
"Thanks, Wes," she mouthed silently.
© 2002 Nancy Holder and Jeff Mariotte. Taken from Angel: Endangered Species, published in the UK by Pocket Books on October 7th 2002. Reproduced with kind permission of Pocket Books.
