| Title: Queen of the Damned Author: Starlett Chapter 19 "Dreams. They're as important as the visions. You must learn to interpret them properly so you can put them to their best use." Mr. Zhou sat at the white tiled island in the kitchen, his hands wrapped around a mug of tea. The day was gray and heavy with clouds, and the wind blew through the tops of the trees. But it wasn't the winter wind that gave her a chill. "How do I know which dreams to pay attention to?" She remembered the one she had the night before she met Zhou. And how she'd woken up, shaking and terrified, and full of the knowledge that she'd just been warned. Something--or someone--was coming for Angel. "There are many forms of dreams. There are those that are simply the chatter of the subconscious, letting go of the day. There are waking dreams, or conscious dreams. These are usually communications from your guides. In them, you can interact consciously with the other beings who appear." "Can I learn to do that?" "Of course. I will teach you. After that, there are the visions, themselves." Cordy shuddered. "If the theory I am working on is correct, you will be able to access visions any time, anywhere, without pain. As you begin to understand them, you will see that they always exist, right beneath the surface of your conscious mind. Even in sleep." She had a sudden thought. "Before, at the apothecary, I saw something." Zhou nodded. "Yes. You saw the visions." "But I saw something else, too. Just before you let go of my hand, I saw a net thingy, covering everything. Like light or something." She was having a hard time describing it. Despite that, Zhou nodded again. "You have studied physics, I'm sure." She snorted. "Get real." "You should read about modern physics. It confirms what we students of the Mysteries have always known. There is only one energy field connecting everything. What we see with human eyes is like the tip of an iceberg. Most of our reality is contained below the water." "That's what being a Seer is?" "Yes. Being a Seer is rather like using the connection as a phone line. It enables you to see beyond the surface, into what's happening anywhere, at any time." "And your theory?" "It's coming. Slowly but surely." "Right. Just make sure you get it done before my head pops off." "That's the first time you've joked about your plight, my dear. It's a good sign." "Humor's a great way to deflect," she countered. "Maybe I was just deflecting." "Or possibly you were making the best of a bad situation. I admire that trait in you. It's one of your real strengths." "Thanks. And you know what else?" Her smile was warm and friendly. "Before, I didn't trust you at all. But now? I almost do." Zhou laughed. "And it only took a week and a half. I must be slipping." Title: Queen of the Night Author: Starlett Chapter 20 Wes rapped his knuckles against the door. "Hey," he said, when Angel opened it. He held up a six pack. "Guinness and a couple of cigars. You up for it?" Angel stepped back, holding the door open. "Sounds good." Wes ignored the almost pathetic look of relief on Angel's face and followed him into the apartment. "You've been cleaning," he commented, gazing at the polished surfaces. The smell of lemon oil and beeswax filled the air, an odor Wes remembered from his childhood. "Things got dirty," Angel shrugged, following Wes's glance with his own. The entire suite sparkled. He'd even gotten rid of the cobwebs in the corners. "Beats nightclubbing," Wes remarked. "Which is what Cordy would have us out doing, if she were here." "God, yes," Angel said as he trailed Wes to the living area. "Can you imagine? All that noise, all that heat, all those people." His voice trailed off and his eyes glazed over. Wes cleared his throat. "Yes, exactly," he said, setting the beer on the coffee table and pulling a couple of tall glasses out of the cabinet next to the refrigerator. He began building the Guinness into a chocolate-brown column. Angel set a heavy, crystal ashtray and a pack of matches on the table then held his hand out for the cigars, which Wes pulled from his shirt pocket. "Smuggling, now?" Angel asked, eyebrows raised. Wes shrugged. He began pouring the second beer. "One of Gunn's friends brought them up from Mexico." "Nothing like a good Cuban," Angel said. "Cigar, Cuban cigar," he added quickly. Wes glanced over at him. "I thought nothing other," he replied, without a trace of irony. Angel pulled out a pocketknife, clipped the butts on both cigars then lit one, drawing steadily until the tip glowed red. "Mmmm," he said. "That's good." He took a beer from Wes and handed him the unlit cigar and the matches in exchange. "So," Wes said, lighting up and puffing out smoke. Angel sat down and rocked his chair back on its hind legs. "Kinda quiet," he mused, looking around the apartment. His eyes returned to Wes. "Just the way I like it." Wes nodded, briskly. "Yes," he said, sipping the Guinness. He wiped his foam off his mouth with the back of his hand. "Quiet. Perfect for research. Just think how much we've accomplished in the last two weeks. Why, I found information I never knew existed on the Quyuaa demon." "Exactly. And that's the kind of thing that'll come in handy someday when we find one, even though they don't often leave, uh, Fiji. But you never know," Angel agreed emphatically. "They could catch a boat or something. Hey, you know what else? The other day I got in the car, and the radio was still on the classical station. No Kenny Kravitz, no..." "Lenny," Wes said. He pushed his glasses up his nose. "What?" "Lenny, not Kenny." Angel waved his hand. "Whatever. No more of that tuneless crap she calls music. No smelly nail polish. No, 'Angel, you're brooding again, Angel you're not eating enough, Angel, did you remember to cut the paychecks,'" he said in a pretty good Cordy-voice. "Precisely." Wes nodded fiercely and sipped his stout. "Ah, now that's beer." "Yeah, a man's beer. What do you call that crap she drinks?" "Rolling Rock," Wes shuddered. "Horse piss." "Exactly my point," Angel said. He puffed a couple more times. The room was starting to fog with blue haze. "Hey, where's Gunn?" Wes asked. "He should be down here with us." "He and Fred are upstairs watching Evita with Lorne." He shrugged. "Connor and I decided we'd rather hang out down here and do manly things. Unfortunately, for Connor that means sleeping." "Ah. I'd say he's a bit young for a pint, anyway." Angel nodded. "Give him a few months. We'll wean 'im on stout," he said, his old accent slipping through. "You're a walking history text, Angel," Wes said dryly. Angel grunted. "I've heard that somewhere before." He tapped the cigar against the ash tray. "You think Gunn's doing okay since that thing went down with his gang?" "As well as could be expected. I haven't spoken with him about it. After Billy...." He cleared his throat. "Yeah." The room was silent for a moment. "Hey, maybe Cordy can talk with him. They have a thing, a connection," he said with a slight frown. "That's a good idea. She does tend to worry about his safety," Wes replied innocently. "Uh huh, that's Cordy, always worrying about something," he said, dropping his chair to the floor with a thunk. "Hey, how about some music? I picked up a new CD the other day." "Sure," Wes shrugged. Angel went to the stereo and dropped a disk into the CD player. David Gray's "Babylon" wafted through the air. "Say," Wes said. "That's pretty good. What is it?" "Some Welshman. Cordy thought I'd like him." He brought the disk cover over, flipped it to Wes. "Not bad," he mused, studying the cover for a moment, then laying it back down on the table. "So," he said. He took a swallow of beer, tapped his ashes into the glass dish. "Uh huh," said Angel. "Well," Wes said. "This is nice." Angel's face fell into the familiar lines of a brood. The CD was halfway through the fourth song before Wes finally spoke. "Oh, bugger it," he said. Angel glanced up at him. "What?" Wes sighed and took a puff. "I miss her terribly." There was a beat of silence. "Yeah. Me too," Angel finally admitted. "It's too quiet. No phone calls, no nagging, no stupid Cosmo quizzes. I even miss the nail polish," he said in a pained voice. "Exactly," Wes sighed again. "It's 11:00 on a Friday night. We could at least be out patrolling. But here we sit, like a couple of lugs. What wankers," he said. "Yeah. Hey, I've got an idea!" Wes looked at him curiously. "How about a drink?" He got up and pulled a bottle of very old Scotch from under the sink. "But we *are* having a...." Wes got a good look at the bottle. "Oh," he said, mouth watering in anticipation. "But what about Connor?" "He's asleep. Besides, we can hold our liquor." He set a couple of squat glasses on the table. "Angel, you have glassware for every purpose," Wes noted with admiration. "You live long enough, you collect stuff," he said, pouring two fingers in each glass. He sat down, clinked his glass against Wes's. "To uh, what?" he asked, his brow wrinkling. "To Cordy coming home and relieving us of our miserably boring existences," Wes said. He sipped the Scotch and moaned as it slid down his throat. "Godalmighty," he said reverently. "Pinched it from Spike," Angel said with an impish smile. "When we were in Sunnydale. One thing you can say about my childe, he knows his drink," he said, nodding. He poured another finger for each of them. "Ah, Spike. I kind of feel sorry for the guy," Wes said. "Neutered like a puppy." "Yeah," Angel nodded. "I'd rather have a soul than a chip, any day. But you gotta admit," he said grudgingly, "he does take good care of Dawn." Wes grimaced. "Never thought I'd see that happen. He must feel something very strong for Buffy to tie himself to a child that way." Angel's mouth pulled into a flat line. "Spike and Buffy. Now there's a joke. That poor bastard." He paused. "Spike likes to think he knows what love is. He's just a romantic boy," he said, finishing his Scotch and chasing it with beer. "Now I, on the other hand, know what it means to love. It means giving up the person you love most in the world because you want them to be happy. It means sacrifice," he said, slamming his fist on the table. Wes jumped. "Sacrifice," he repeated. Angel opened two more cans of Guinness and began pouring them into the empty glasses. "I thought I knew everything there was to know about love. I was with Darla for centuries," Angel continued, crumpling the cans and pitching them toward the garbage can. "Of course, that all changed, when Wolfram & Hart brought her back," he grimaced, taking a large swallow of beer. "I'll be forever grateful to her for bearing Connor. But I can't say I miss her. If she were still alive, I'd probably be making it my life's work to stake her." A slightly tipsy grin crossed Wes's features. "Stake her, as in, with a stake, or stake her as in..." Angel snorted. "Oh, please. Even if I wanted to, which I don't, Cordy would kill me." "Seriously, Angel, why did you do it?" Wes leaned forward on the table, balancing his forearms on his knees. "What, exactly, are you asking?" Angel said cautiously, glancing up at Wes. "C'mon, Angel." Wes narrowed his eyes. "You can't tell me you didn't make love with Darla. The proof is in your bedroom asleep." Angel sat quietly, fiddling with his Scotch glass. "That's not really what I'd call it," he admitted. "What, then?" The furrow in his brow grew deeper. "I'd actually call it an act of desperation, myself," Angel continued. "The good thing is, it kicked me in the butt. Got me to realize how stupid I was being. You could say that screwing Darla was what started my epiphany." He looked up at Wes. "Imagining what my life would be like if all of you were dead? That's what really made me see the light." Wes frowned, gulped his beer. "I have to admit, I'm a little pissed right now." "Pissed, as in drunk, or pissed as in mad?" "Both, actually," Wes said, anger flaring. This conversation had been a long time in coming. The uproar created by Connor's birth had simply postponed it. "Did you not realize that banging your Sire could very well unleash Angelus?" Angel scrubbed his hand over his face. "Oh, I knew. I just didn't care." Wes gasped. "But, but.... *Angel*, if you'd... if he'd..." he spluttered. "How could you compromise us that way?" Angel barked out a laugh. "Honestly, Wes, my life was so bad at that point that I didn't care. I just wanted to feel...something. I was so cold," he said, shivering at the memory. "Well, next time you're cold, get a blanket!" Wes yelled, leaping from the couch and pacing agitatedly. Angel watched him, a sad look on his face. "You think I don't know how lucky I got?" Wes glared. "Boy, did that come out wrong," Angel apologized. "Look, Wes, I did a stupid thing. I can't lie to you. There was a moment when I really hoped I was going to change," he said quietly. "Because then I would have felt...something. But it didn't happen, and I realized that it wasn't going to. Let's just say that profound gratitude doesn't even begin to describe it." Wes's mouth opened and closed a couple of times. Then he picked up his glass, splashed more Scotch into it with a shaking hand, and downed it in one gulp. "Your decision-making skills leave a lot to be desired," he snapped. "You *bastard*. When I think about what could have happened to any one of us...." Angel nodded, looking dejectedly into his glass. "I know. It was stupid," he repeated. Wes rubbed his hand across his face and slumped back onto the couch. "Well, I for one am pathetically grateful that we didn't have to face your alter ego." Angel looked up from his glass. "Kill him," he said. "Shanshu, or no shanshu. Kill him. Because if he comes back, he'll go straight for the baby. Or one of you." His jaw clenched. Wes nodded. "We know that, Angel. And we're prepared to do whatever we have to do. But killing will always be a last resort." "Make it your first," he said. "But what about Cordy? The research seems to indicate that if one of you dies, the other will have real difficulty surviving." Angel stared into the shadows. "We'll just have to make sure it never happens, then, won't we?" |