| Title: Blood and Water Author: Ruth Hanna Chapter 8: Is That a Crossbow in Your Trunk, or Are You Just Pleased to See Me? Wesley listened carefully as Cordelia related the evening's events to him, polishing his glasses and interrupting occasionally with questions. Angel filled in the details of the conversation he had overheard, then fell silent, allowing Cordelia to gravitate towards her natural position as the center of attention. As soon as they had arrived back at her apartment, she had changed out of the evening dress into a casual shirt and three-quarter length trousers. On her shins, the puncture wounds were beginning to heal over, each one now no more than a flushed red circle with a single bead of blood solidifying at its center. Angel's attention started to wander, and after a moment he found his gaze tracking upwards towards Cordelia's neck and the faint pulse of the carotid artery just under her skin. He blinked and forced himself to look away. Gunn's unexpected arrival at the start of the evening had meant he hadn't fed since the previous night, and he hadn't realized how hungry he had become. Leaving Wesley and Cordelia still talking, he went to the kitchen and blasted a tub of blood from the refrigerator in the microwave for half a minute. As soon as the oven bleeped, he removed the container, broke its seal and gulped down the contents greedily. The pig's blood was stale and tasted sour, but when he had finished it he still wanted more. Cordelia's voice called out from the lounge: "Angel, are you okay in there?" He fought down the desire to lick the tub clean, and instead went to the sink and washed his hands under scalding hot water. The sensation of near-pain distracted him for long enough to bring his need under control. "Yeah. I'm fine." "I mean, you're not sick or anything?" He dried his hands and returned to the main room. "Cordelia, I'm fine. Really." She appeared unsatisfied with his response. "Because I was thinking if you're going to go out again, maybe you should wear one of those surgical mask things-" Wesley was shaking his head. "Even if this is some kind of disease, that wouldn't help. Vampires don't need to breathe, remember. It's being spread by some other means." Angel sat at the table, thinking that something about the plague theory bothered him. "Wesley, did you find anything in the books tonight?" "Just the Aberjian prophecies. I'm beginning to think I misinterpreted them." Cordelia raised an eyebrow. "Ooooh, that'd be a first." "Not mistranslated," said Wesley crossly, "misinterpreted. What if 'a plague of blood-drinkers' doesn't mean a plague consisting of vampires but rather a plague upon them? The English could be interpreted in both senses." Angel shook his head decisively. "I'm not buying that. If there was such a thing as a vampire disease, I would have heard stories about it long before now. Let's forget the plague idea for a minute. If it's not that, what's the next most likely alternative?" Wesley thought for a moment. "All right then, possibility number two would be some kind of mass poisoning. There's only one way that could happen - contamination of the food supply. Bad blood." "Lauren's doctors thought she was suffering from silver nitrate poisoning, among other things," said Angel. "Any compound of silver would do a lot of damage to a vampire if it was ingested." "Silver, one of the three mystical metals," agreed Wesley thoughtfully. "Yes..." "Wait a second," put in Cordelia. "We have one very sick little girl and lots of sick vamps. What have they been doing, nibbling her en masse?" "There are certain substances," said Wesley slowly, "which are much more toxic to vampires than to mortals. Compounds of silver are harmful to us, but even the tiniest quantities can do serious damage to a vampire. So in theory, one could immunize a population against vampire infestation by dosing everyone with very small amounts of, well, a silver compound, or perhaps one of the essential oils of garlic, diallyl disulfide perhaps. The individuals treated would feel no ill effects, but their blood would be quite undrinkable." Cordelia's expression lightened. "Oh, I see. Like my supplements. I take my vitamin E every day, and if my life's blood is drained by a creature of the night, he gets terrific skin as well as dinner." "Umm. Yes, I suppose so. But if you dosed too high..." Angel finished for him: "If you dosed too high, you'd poison the most vulnerable individuals. Starting with the children." "Gunn mentioned rat poison," said Wesley. "It didn't really strike me at the time, but it's beginning to feel like an increasingly apt analogy." His expression became suddenly grave: "The prophecy foretold 'death unto those who live also.'" Cordelia got up and disappeared into the kitchen; Angel heard the refrigerator door opening and closing and when she returned a moment later, she was carrying a glass of water. "Time out, guys. Reality check, huh?" Wesley looked at her. "Cordelia?" She shrugged. "There are vamps all over LA, right? We don't know how many there are, but they're pretty spread out. It's not like the tourist maps mark Chinatown, Beverley Hills and the Vampire District. You'd have to dose pretty much everybody from here to the San Gabriel Valley to be sure of getting even half of them." She lifted her glass and took a drink. "And how would you do that?" Angel looked at Cordelia, the glass in Cordelia's hand, then Wesley. In unison, they said; "The water supply." Cordelia yelped and dropped her glass, spilling its contents over the wooden table top. "You're drinking mineral water," Angel reminded her. "I knew that." She made desultory efforts to wipe up the spill, using her sleeve, before it escaped the edge of the table. "I just, um... My hand slipped. I've got slippy hands." Wesley looked at Angel.. "If we're right, then that little girl is just the first of many. If someone wants rid of LA's vampires, but doesn't mind if they take out some of the human population at the same time, we could be on the brink of a public health disaster. Where does the city's water come from, anyway?" Cordelia had fetched a roll of paper towels and was soaking up the last of the spill. "Most of it comes from the Los Angeles aqueduct system," she said absently, concentrating on the job at hand. "It brings meltwater down from the Sierra Nevada. There are seven reservoirs, but the biggest by a lot is Long Valley. If I was going for maximum coverage with minimum effort, that's the one I'd hit." "You know about reservoirs?" said Wesley, his tone falling somewhere between impressed and outright shocked. Cordelia sniffed defensively. "I know about a lot of stuff. It's just that, unlike some people I could mention, I don't tend to go on and on about it unless it's relevant." She frowned. "Actually, scratch the reservoir idea. You couldn't just dump a barrel of silver nitrate over the side and expect no one to notice. They test for that kind of thing all the time." "It's still worth following up. Silver nitrate poisoning is only one of Lauren's problems. We still don't have an explanation for her other symptoms. Magical compounds would easily slip through scientific checks." Angel stood, and picked up his coat from the back of the chair. "First thing in the morning, I want you two to pay a visit to Lauren's school. If we're wrong about the city's water supply being contaminated, then the most likely alternative is that she got sick from something given to her there." Wesley looked at him. "And if we're right about the water?" Angel shrugged on his coat. "Then we need to convince the city authorities of the danger. Which is what I'm going to try to do now." "That's not what I meant," said Wesley. "Angel, you might not share a food source with L.A's vampire population, but you do drink coffee. You might have been exposed already." "Uh-uh." Cordelia held up her nearly empty glass. "Not in my home." Wesley was confused. "I don't follow." "Cordelia doesn't trust anything that doesn't come out of a bottle," explained Angel. "And it seems mineral water is good for the complexion." "And your colour's totally improved since you've been staying with me," said Cordelia conclusively. "I rest my case. Although if you go anywhere now, all you're going to do is get yourself the world's finest all-over tan. It's nearly dawn." She pointed at one of the apartment's windows, and Angel saw the faint blue-grey light suffusing the horizon above the street lamps. "What I have in mind shouldn't take too long," he said, shrugging on his coat. "Don't worry. If I get caught, I'll find cover." Although, he thought as he lifted his car keys and left, where he was going, he would be more likely to need to take cover from a freshly sharpened stake than sunlight. He didn't think Kate Lockley was going to be especially happy to see him. * * * "It's ten a.m. and you're listening to KCBS on 93.1 FM. Coming up: traffic and travel. But first, here's a real classic - and if you can remember this being a hit the first time around then it's official: you're old." The first notes of California Dreamin' by the Mamas and Papas drifted from the Plymouth's speakers. Angel reached down and turned the radio off, at the same time putting the car into gear and backing up further into the shade. The car park adjacent to the LAPD's headquarters enjoyed - if that was the right word - sewer access, but Angel had decided to drive anyway. Experience, and Cordelia's less subtle comments, had taught him that the odor that clung after using that route of travel was more than a little unpleasant to the human nose. If he was to stand any chance of making Kate listen, he was going to need every advantage he could get, and he was prepared to consider not smelling like untreated effluent a definite asset. Kate's car was in the bay opposite him, on the ground floor of the multi-story parking lot. Angel had been hoping she would end her shift sometime before eight but Kate, for whatever reason, was still at work, and sunrise had come and gone hours ago. The ground floor of the parking lot was covered and consequently shady, but the level of ambient light was sufficient to bother Angel considerably. His head hurt, and his exposed hands and face felt raw and hot. Moreover, whatever happened he was going to have to choose between staying put until nightfall or abandoning the car and returning to collect it after dusk. He hoped this meeting would be worth the inconvenience. He sighed in resignation and turned the radio on again, hopping to a news channel and listening for any reports of outbreaks of unexplained illnesses. There were none. He suspected it would only be a matter of time. A short woman with curly, dark hair walked by, glancing at him guardedly on the way past. Angel watched her, for lack of anything else to do. A minute later, a heavily built man, the side of his face and neck covered in dense tattoos followed her. He ignored Angel. Vampire. Angel stared after the man, wondering if his instincts were wrong. Even when active during the day, vampires never hunted when the sun was above the horizon. There were too many risks, too great a possibility of discovery or exposure to the sun's harsh light. Vampires preferred their prey terrified, alone and disadvantaged in the dark. A vampire would only hunt during the day out of desperation - or because it was certain of an easy kill. Angel got out of the convertible and closed the door quietly behind him. The floor of the parking lot was an oblong, built around a central shaft. The woman, and the vampire tracking her, had already disappeared around the corner leading to the next side of the oblong. If he listened carefully, Angel could just make out their echoing footsteps. He picked up his pace and ran to the next corner, avoiding the bright slanting rays of the morning sun. He smelt blood. It was fresh, hot and human. And very close. It called to him, invited him, sustenance calling to appetite. He responded, feeling the part of himself that was hunger and nothing more rising to the surface. He felt himself change, and he growled. He turned, and in the shadows saw the tattooed vampire bending over the woman's struggling body, his jaws clamped to her neck. The vampire opened his eyes, saw Angel, and released his victim. He emerged from the shadows, and Angel saw that the tattoo which spread over the entire right hand side of his face and neck was in fact writing. Densely packed script filled the hollows of his cheeks and the smooth expanse of skin above his eye. "Leave her," said Angel. "This one's mine. Go find your own." "I think you're missing the point." "No." Tattoo-Face grinned. "You are." He launched himself at Angel, flooring him with a flying tackle, and immediately Angel knew he was in trouble. The other vampire had just fed, and was preternaturally strong. They rolled through the shadows, locked together in a mass of kicking limbs, until Angel managed to force Tattoo-Face off him. A swift kick in the chest sent the other flying back into a concrete pillar. He followed it up with two fast punches to either side of the vampire's head, then grabbed him, attempting to maneuver his opponent into a patch of bright sunlight. "The word is upon me," said Tattoo-Face: "'And a plague shall come upon the city of angels, and there shall be death.'" Angel hesitated, and his opponent took advantage of the moment to slip from under him, rolling free and jumping to his feet before Angel could turn around. Before he had time to react, Angel found himself pinned to the ground, being moved inexorably towards the same shaft of light he had been trying to push Tattoo-Face into moments earlier. He pushed back, and for several long seconds they were locked as if frozen, two forces in opposition and perfectly matched. Then the tattooed vampire began to bear down harder, and Angel was slipping towards the sun's deadly heat. The top of his head began to burn. Instinctively, Angel put up a hand to protect himself, and felt his palm begin to scorch. The tattooed vampire casually grabbed his wrist and held his hand in the light. Angel stared: the other vampire's hand reddened and blistered, but did not burn. Tattoo-Face was smiling, a manic, fervent smile. "This is the winnowing. We are the chosen; we are strong. The strong will prevail and the weak will be scoured from the earth." The vampire's body jolted, and he gave a cry. Through his pain, Angel saw a crossbow bolt appear suddenly in the flesh of his opponent's left shoulder. Tattoo-Face leapt off him, and Angel rolled into the shade, clutching his injured hand to his chest. He struggled to his knees in time to see Tattoo-Face diving into the front seat of a van with smoked windows, which quickly roared off into the traffic outside the parking lot, pursued on foot for some distance by a slim blonde woman with a crossbow. At the parking lot's entrance, she gave up and walked back towards Angel. "If bullets could hurt your kind, he'd be dead," said Kate as she neared him, shouldering the crossbow. "My aim with a gun is better. I'm still learning how to handle this thing. But I'm improving fast." "Bullets do hurt. They just don't kill." Angel put his uninjured hand to the ground and started to push himself up. A sudden stab of pain through his elbow and up into his shoulder made him reconsider. He shut his eyes against the glare of sunlight from outside the multi-story and fought back the sensation of nausea growing in his stomach. When he opened his eyes again, Kate was attending to the woman lying unconscious in the shadows. "Is she alive?" Kate didn't reply. She put down the crossbow and unclipped a cell-phone from her belt. After a moment, Angel heard the emergency operator's faint response. "This is Detective Kate Lockley, LAPD. I need an ambulance for a mugging victim. She's lost a lot of blood. I'm on the ground floor of the parking lot on Central Avenue, beside the Japanese Museum. Thanks." She slipped the phone into a pocket, and straightened up, addressing Angel. "They'll be a few minutes. If I were you, I'd vanish before they get here. Or before I decide I need some more target practice." She nudged the crossbow with her toe. "I came to see you." Kate raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really? Because, y'know, with the lurking next to my car for the past three hours, I'd never have guessed. I was hoping you'd give up before I ran out of paperwork to do." "We need to talk." "We have nothing to say to each other. I thought after our last run-in that was pretty clear." She began to walk away from him. "I have information you can use." Angel made another effort to get up, and failed again. The nausea intensified, then receded. An old instinct, some ancient remnant of humanity, kicked in and he breathed deeply. There was no benefit to be had from inhaling and exhaling, but the rhythm of the action and the concentration required to perform it made him feel temporarily better. "Someone may be trying to poison the city's water supply." She hesitated, then turned back to him. "Okay, point to you. I wasn't expecting that." Angel could see he had her attention. Quickly, he continued. "There's a girl in the I.C.U at St Matthew's, her name is Lauren Tanner. She has silver nitrate poisoning, and something else as well, we don't know what yet. There's a chance what made her ill is in the water and if that's right, she's only the first. Someone has to convince the city health department to check the reservoirs, the water treatment plants." "Someone being me," said Kate dryly. "What, you were afraid they wouldn't listen to a P.I. without a license? No, don't even answer that." "Something else," said Angel. "The vampire we just chased - I think he's part of this." "Drop the 'we'. I didn't see you doing any running." Kate shrugged. "I got the van's plates, I would've checked it out anyway." Angel blinked, and for a moment there were two Kates in front of him, both striking irritated stances with their hands on their hips and lips pursed. A wave of dizziness swept over him, and he tried to steady himself on the heaving ground. "Then you'll help." The Kates leaned over him, wearing twin expressions of annoyance. "No, I won't help. I will follow up your tip-off, and if it leads to something I *may* get back to you. We're not playing on the same team here, Angel. If our goals happen to coincide for ten minutes then fine, but don't start thinking you've got a friend." "You can contact me at Cordelia's," he told her. His mouth was dry and it was an effort to force out the words. "The water..." "Dammit, I said I'll do it. Now get up and get out of here before I have to explain you to someone." "I'm leaving," he said, and with a final, massive effort stood up. There were lots and lots of Kates now. They circled and spun and made pretty kaleidoscope patterns. Night fell again, and not in a good way. Title: Blood and Water Author: Ruth Hanna Chapter 9: Parents' Day Glendale Junior School was a single-story, modern building set in several pleasant acres of lawns and play areas. Getting out of Cordelia's car, Wesley wondered briefly how the single term 'school' could be used to describe both this friendly place and the austere establishment in the Oxfordshire countryside where he had spent some of the most miserable days of his childhood. Beside him, Cordelia straightened her jacket and gave a small, wistful sigh. "What is it?" he asked. "Oh, I was just thinking... It seems like only yesterday you were holding my hand at my demon spawn's ultrasound, and now we're picking a school. Don't they grow up fast, honey?" Wesley looked at her, and she shrugged. "Oh, c'mon. I'm an actress. I'm fleshing out the role." "We're here to investigate, not take part in an improvisation master class," Wesley told her firmly. "Sweetie," said Cordelia. "Cordelia, I mean it." "Honey," said Cordelia pointedly, her gaze fixed over his left shoulder: "Look." Wesley turned around, and found himself face to face with an older man whose dark hair was greying markedly around his temples. The man held out a hand to him. "Mr. and Mrs. Price. I'm pleased to meet you. Surprised, but pleased. When you said you'd drop by and see the school, I didn't think you meant within the hour. I'm Jeff Perry. I'm the Principal of Glendale." Wesley gripped Perry's hand firmly, smiling. "Well, we're very keen to place our daughter as soon as possible. With the move from England, she's missed enough of her education already." "I don't think I got your daughter's name on the phone...?" Wesley opened his mouth to reply, and blanked. He looked at Cordelia. "Regan." "Regan?" repeated Cordelia, a note of incredulous disapproval clear in her tone. Principal Perry looked from Wesley to Cordelia, his smile still present but now somewhat forced. "Well, I'm sure that, ahhh, Regan will be very happy here. If you'd like to come with me, I'll show you the school." Perry led them up the gently sloping avenue which led to the main school building, pointing out the various facilities on the way past. Cordelia hung back and slipped her arm through Wesley's, an action which allowed her to lean close enough to him to speak without being overheard. "Regan? You called our daughter Regan?" "I'm sorry," whispered Wesley in reply: "It was the first name that popped into my head." "You didn't even consult me!" Cordelia's eyes narrowed: "That's what's wrong with this marriage. You never listen to my opinion." "Just be grateful I didn't say Goneril." In front of them, Perry was holding open a door. They passed through, and into a wide corridor, lit from above by sloping skylights and lined with displays of the children's artwork. "So, how did you hear about us?" Perry asked. "Friends of ours recommended Glendale," said Wesley. "The Tanners. They have a daughter Regan's age, Lauren." "Ah, yes," said Perry. His expression was sober. "We're all very concerned about Lauren. Her teacher is going to encourage the class to make get-well cards for her." Wesley examined Perry's face closely as he spoke, searching for any sign of insincerity in his manner. He saw only genuine concern. "I was talking to Lauren's mom last night," said Cordelia. "The doctors don't seem to know what's wrong with her yet." They walked slowly along the corridor, and now passed window which looked in on a class in progress. Wesley paused for a moment, watching a group of some twenty children gather around their teacher like chicks around a mother hen. The children looked to be no more than five or six, and he guessed this was one of the school's most junior classes. The teacher was holding up a series of flashcards bearing pictures of farmyard animals, and Wesley could see her clearly enunciating their names in turn, encouraging the class to repeat the words after her, "The possibility of silver nitrate poisoning has been mentioned," Perry was telling Cordelia behind him. "But I can assure you, Mrs. Price, there is no way Lauren could have had access to any kind of hazardous substances while she was at school. The only chemicals we have on site are sanitary products, and those are kept locked away at all times." In the classroom, one of the children had stopped responding to the lesson. The chubby-faced blonde boy rolled over on to his side and rubbed his stomach. After a moment, his teacher put down her cards and went to pick him up. Wesley was still watching when, without warning, the boy vomited violently. The bile was streaked with blood. Through the window, Wesley heard the sound of children crying. "Oh my God," said Perry. Leaving Wesley and Cordelia, he rushed into the classroom. Cordelia was pale. "Did you see that? He was fine and then... Wesley, did you see that?" "I saw." Wesley looked up and down the empty corridor, then grabbed the sleeve of Cordelia's jacket. Inside the classroom, Perry and the teacher were wholly occupied with the sick boy. "Come on." Cordelia glanced back once, then went after him. "What? Where?" Wesley followed the hallway, past stacked chairs and desks and a water cooler, looking into the other classrooms and opening doors where there was no internal window. "I just had a thought. We agreed it appeared as if there were some kind of magical element to the children's illness, apart from the poison. Well, very often, to perform a curse upon the victim's health, the perpetrator has to be physically close to them while casting the magic." "So we're looking for someone mixing herbs, chanting in Latin, that kind of thing?" "Very probably." "Someone like her, in other words," said Cordelia, pointing. Wesley looked through the door Cordelia had just opened into an empty classroom. In the center of the room stood a slim, dark haired woman. She held her hands out from her sides, and was in the act of crumbling dried leaves into a circle chalked on to the floor. In an instant, Wesley was inside the classroom. He strode through the circle and swiped the woman's arms to one side. She broke off mid-incantation, while a flurry of dried-leaf confetti fluttered to the ground. "Stop that right now, or..." He looked to Cordelia for help. "Or we'll report you," she finished for him. "You can't do magic in a school. Well, not that we didn't at my school, more than a few times actually, but that was kind of exceptional and anyway these kids are a lot younger and I'm drifting off the point here, aren't I?" "Who are you?" asked the woman. "What are you talking about?" "I'm talking about you using the dark arts to make children ill," said Wesley angrily. "I'm talking about Lauren Tanner and now that little boy in the class down the hall." The woman stared at him, then at her stained hands and the circle at her feet. She began to cry. "Oh God. Don't tell me it's happened to another one. This is the strongest charm I know." She let her arms drop to her sides and leaned backwards against the teacher's desk, crying harder. Wesley knelt down and examined a selection of the leaves scattered on the floor. "That's a really crappy act, lady," said Cordelia. "You're not convincing anyone." Wesley held up a leaf. "It's not an act. These are medicinal herbs- loosestrife, ribgrass, milkweed. They're used in protective magic." The woman wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand. "I'm a Wiccan. White magic only. I'm also a teacher, and I can't stand by and watch something black attack the children in my care." Wesley stood up. "My apologies. It appears we're on the same side after all. I'm Wesley, this is Cordelia. We're trying to help Lauren." "Maggie Scott. I'm her teacher." "What do you mean, something black?" asked Cordelia. Maggie shook her head. "I have a sense for good and evil. Always have had. A couple of weeks I started to feel the presence of something dark. Here, within the school. I couldn't tell what it was, or how it came to be here... I just knew that something intended harm to the children." She made a small, helpless gesture. "I tried everything I knew, from divination charms to slipping psylis eucalipsis into the staff room coffee to unmask demon possession. Nothing. I'd almost convinced myself I was being paranoid, and then we had the music night, and Lauren..." She shook her head. "I can't stop it. It's going to take them one by one and I can't stop it." "We'll stop it," said Wesley. "Whatever else we do, we will stop this." "Umm, excuse me," interrupted Cordelia, "but you didn't happen to get any particularly strong feelings around the sinks, did you?" Maggie frowned in confusion. "I'm sorry?" Wesley explained, "We believe Lauren is ill because of something in the water supply." Maggie shook her head decisively. "No. My sense is very specific. Water pipes run everywhere, but the evil I sense is localized. It's in one place, inside the school. But there's strong concealing magic at work, and I can't find the source." She waved a hand at the scattered herbs: "Whatever I do." "Mr. Price. Mrs. Price. You're here. And you've met Ms Scott. I... Good. That's good." Wesley looked to the door, where Principal Perry stood, red-faced and anxious. "I'm sorry, one of the younger children isn't feeling well and in light of recent events, I've decided to call an ambulance. Just in case. I'm afraid we're going to have to cut your tour short." Wesley nodded. "That's quite all right. We understand." Perry nodded once, then propelled Wesley and Cordelia out of the school and back to the car more quickly than was strictly polite. They watched him make his way back up the drive at a near- run. When he was out of earshot, Cordelia said, "Okay. Now I'm confused. It's in the water, it's not in the water. It's poison, it's a disease, it's a curse... What is this, choose your own malaise?" "I was rather hoping this visit would clear a few things up," agreed Wesley. "Unfortunately, it seems only to have served to muddy the waters further." He broke off as Cordelia's cell-phone rang. He watched her turn it on, answer it, then hold it away from herself and squint at the liquid crystal display. "Is something wrong?" "That was my apartment phone number. It rang off when I answered." "Angel?" "Or Dennis. But I hope it isn't Dennis." "Why not?" "Because Dennis only ever calls me when something's really, really wrong and I have to get home as fast as possible," said Cordelia. "Wesley, let's go." |