Queen of the Night – Part 2  

Cordelia woke sometime deep in the night, her room cloaked in darkness, the mosquito netting rippling softly in the chilly night air. She lay still, listening to the silence, trying to figure out what had wakened her.  
   
Nothing stirred in the house. She wasn't thirsty and she didn't need to pee. But something had nudged her awake.  
   
It was the moon, she realized. It was full and bright, its silver rays casting a slant of light across the floor nearly as bright as a street lamp.  
   
Fascinated, got out of bed and stuck her foot in it. She'd never seen moonlight like this, a purpled silver haze that illuminated everything it touched from the inside out. It turned her skin an eerie violet, making the tracery of veins stand out against the paled flesh.  
   
She stepped all the way into the silver slant and let it wash over her body, feeling the kiss of the breeze on her skin and imagining that it was actually the moon's cool touch.  
   
Outside the night birds called and the treetops sang their windy song. Ignoring the chill, she padded onto the deck and leaned against the rail. All sleepiness vanished as she saw, for the first time, just what Angel loved about the night.  
   
It was softer, deeper than the day, a place where shadows ruled. She stepped off the porch and onto the grass, feeling the cold tickle beneath her feet, and the dampness that would become frost by morning, collecting on the legs of her pajamas.  
   
She breathed the clean air deep into her lungs, letting it spread through her entire body. Gooseflesh rose, sending a tingle over her skin. It reminded her of brushing against Angel first thing in the morning, before he'd had a chance to collect heat. It was comforting and a little scary.  
   
The woods were so dark, like black velvet, and they pulled her irresistibly to them. She slipped along the trail, kicking up dust. It coiled around her ankles like a gray cat, soft and mysterious.  
   
Trees towered over her now, and as she followed the path, she noticed the different texture of the shadows, the intricate weaving of leaves and branches. Small animals scuffled in the bushes and somewhere far off an owl hooted.  
   
The forest was lit by silver, stained-glass patches of moonlight, a light so penetrating that it went places even the sun couldn't find. She saw things that she missed during the day, despite the fact that she'd walked the path for nearly three weeks. A rock shaped like a man's face; a tree with limbs that touched the ground like fingertips; a glowing column of light that became the space between two oddly bent trees.  
   
She inhaled, awestruck, as she realized that for the first time since high school she was out at night by herself, with no stake in her pocket and no warrior or Slayer to protect her. And she felt perfectly safe.  
   
As the visions smoothed out and she opened herself to the energy behind them, her sense of being connected to the rest of the world expanded. If there had been anything dangerous out here, she would have known it from the moment she stepped off the deck.  
   
Joy flashed through her and she ran, laughing wildly, meeting the breeze breath for breath. Oh, it was so beautiful, and it made her miss Angel terribly.  
   
Even as she thought it, the link opened, sending its luxurious, sensual spell over her. She exhaled with it, welcoming the erotic throb, courting it now like a surfer courted a wave. Her mind opened with it, and she saw herself as if from above, a small, dark-haired woman, running joyfully through the night.  
   
Then the link opened wider expanding with her desire to see. Angel's suite came into her mind, its quiet masculine atmosphere as comforting as the moonlight. It was empty now, but he would be home in a couple of hours.  
   
She wanted to be there to see him come home that night; she wished she could travel in dreams the way Mr. Zhou could. She would wait for him in his leather chair, sleeping lightly under the lambswool blanket.  
   
Being separated from him was like watching the moon disappear behind clouds. She didn't understand why her feelings for him had changed; she had never needed him like this before. Maybe absence did make the he art grow fonder. She laughed again, rounding a wide curve and coming into a clearing. The moon iced her hands as they pumped with each step, throwing a lavender shadow on the path next to her.  
   
She jogged up the hill toward the house as the moon sailed overhead and the owls sang their call and response. She understood the word holy now, and the word worship. She wanted to take Angel's hand and say, yes, now I understand.  
   
Now I understand how some things live their entire lives at night.  
   
***  
   
A few evenings later, Cordy sat, bundled in a sweater, on the lawn between the deck and the forest. She was trying to meditate. She hadn't given up on it. Yet.  
   
The words of the 23rd Psalm seemed to be working pretty well at keeping her focused. They were easy to remember and actually sort of comforting once she got past feeling like a dork for meditating in the first place.  
   
"I see you are experiencing more ease with the darkness," Mr. Zhou said, settling next to her on the grass.  
   
Cordy opened her eyes and smiled. "Yeah. It's kinda weird. The Hellmouth holds you hostage after awhile, you know?"  
   
"Not just the Hellmouth," he said, plucking a blade of grass and holding it up to the moonlight to study.  
   
"Nah, everything. Gang-bangers, rapists, jeez, it gets to the point that just going outside takes balls." She snickered. "Sometimes, literally."  
   
"Yes, it is more difficult for women than men in this respect," Mr. Zhou said, dropping the blade of grass and linking his fingers in his lap. "But you will no longer need to worry about that, now that you have discovered the link."  
   
"Really?"  
   
"Of course. Just close your eyes. Let it lead you."  
   
"Use the Force, Luke," she snickered.  
   
"As long as you don't call me Yoda," Zhou responded with a laugh.  
   
"But back to the subject at hand. If what you're saying is true, I should just be able to close my eyes and, what? Walk around without tripping over anything?"  
   
"Night creatures do it all the time, child. They have sonar, night vision, sense of smell," he replied. "One creature will call and another will respond, and in that way they will orient each other. It's not so different than day-walking. Strong light simply plays a smaller p art ."  
   
"Cool," Cordy said, her curiosity piqued.  
   
Mr. Zhou pushed himself gracefully to his feet. "I am going back to the house, now. I just wanted to check on you."  
   
"I'm great," said Cordy. "Just hangin'."  
   
Mr. Zhou patted her shoulder. "Come in soon, my dear, you need your rest," he commented.  
   
"All right," Cordy called as he disappeared. "I won't be long."  
   
She closed her eyes again and tried to imagine what it would be like to navigate without vision. Her ears began picking up on little sounds: rustlings in the bushes, the flutter of bird wings. Her skin felt like it was blooming, soaking up the atmosphere: a dampness in the air, the brush of the breeze, the individual grass blades tickling her ankles.  
   
She stood, keeping her eyes closed, and took a cautious step. The ground felt different this way, firmer, but she'd have to move really slowly so she didn't throw herself off balance. She put her hands out in front of her and took another step, letting her ears and her skin become her guide.  
   
As she walked, she felt the grass become the soft dirt of the path, then the springy undergrowth of the forest. Twigs snapped beneath her feet and tree roots rose out of the ground like hard ropes.  
   
Deciding to try an experiment, she rubbed her chest and took a breath, concentrating on the link. It opened beautifully, like a window sliding upward, and flooded her with light and warmth. She stopped as it permeated her body, and waited for its deep thrill to subside.  
   
Eyes still closed, she dropped her hands and let the link guide her through the woods.  
   
Through it she could see, not just in front of her, but all around. She felt attached to thousands of silken cords, almost as if she were p art of a web. If she stepped one way, the web changed its pattern, and she could sense shapes like one would sense a shift in an energy field.  
   
Trees felt vibrant, alive. The shockwave of their power rippled through her, causing a giggle to rise from her throat. It was almost as if they were flirting with her, their branches tickling and nipping as she walked by.  
   
Rocks were silent, stoic. Their energy was lower, closer to the e art h, more solid than the trees. She moved carefully around the larger ones, brushing them with her fingertips as she passed.  
   
Overhead a bird fluttered, its flapping wings st art ling her he art into a racing gallop. She gasped, then laughed at herself. The bird called, and another answered, and Cordy felt it reorient and fly in a new direction.  
   
"Cool," she whispered, following the bird until she couldn't hear it any more.  
   
Is this what Angel feels, she wondered as she mapped a wandering path back to the house. Connected to everything, open to everything. Able to hear the smallest sound, sense the tiniest movement of the leaves, smell the dirt and the grass and the pine needles?  
   
She knew his senses were far more honed than that, but using the link gave her a new appreciation for what he must feel, what he must know. For nearly 250 years he'd had the highly developed senses of a predator. How could he live with the intensity?  
   
And how could he stand to be around humans, who must seem plodding and dense?  
   
The answer to that was clear: he'd give up eternity to become like her, human and fallible. He'd give up the night vision, the heightened hearing, the crazy-intense ability to smell, just to feel his he art beat. Just to sleep at night. Just to die.  
   
Cordy sighed and opened her eyes. She was within sight of the house now, and the porch lights beckoned her to her bed. Angel, dead, was a fear she faced every night. Like the Slayer, all he needed was one bad fight, and he was gone.  
   
What would happen to the link, then? Would it flicker, and go out? Or would she be left with visions that had no warrior to fight them?  
   
She stepped onto the deck, her tennis shoes slapping softly against the wood. The bedroom doors were open, and she slipped in through the dark, her eyes adjusting quickly after the glare of the porch lights.  
   
The bathroom floor was cool under her feet as she toed off her shoes. She stripped off her flannel shirt and sweat pants and pulled on her silk pajamas. The water was warm on her chilled skin. She washed her face slowly, carefully, and moisturized. Flossed and brushed. Ran a brush through her hair.  
   
She lay down on the bed, tucking herself under the covers and closed her eyes. Sleep took her down, slowly and easily.  
   
***  
   
"I love you, Cordy," Angel crooned, running his lips over her neck, her jaw, her temples. His eyes were golden, like a cat's. His hands, so big, were all over her.  
   
He drew her down and kissed her, his tongue finding hers through the fangs. She pulled his tongue deeper into her mouth, swirling hers against it, not caring that his teeth were scraping her raw.  
   
Her eyes closed on a whimper. So big, so hot, so good. He caressed her breasts, pulling heat from her belly like strings of red fire. Her nipples scorched against his open palm, and she cried out when she felt him slip his fingers into her overheated core.  
   
She was slick with desire, her thighs damp against his hand. The scent rose up in the room, warm and heady.  
   
He growled, a sound of pure, male lust. It was like a match dropped in a dry forest, pushing her already aroused system nearly to the breaking point.  
   
"Please," she whimpered. "Angel, please." She rolled them over and wrapped her legs around his waist.  
   
He rammed into her, pinning her hips against the mattress.  
   
"Oh, God," she moaned.  
   
One thrust, two, she was already so close. He found her mouth with his, and the touch of his lips, his teeth was all she needed.  
   
The orgasm erupted like a volcano, melting the hollow between her legs into a river of fire. "Angel!" she screamed, her body jerking in ecstasy.  
   
"Yes," he hissed. He grabbed her hips, held her steady as he jerked against her. His body was steel-tight, his movements uncontrolled. He buried his face in her neck, and with a sharp cry, emptied himself into her.  
   
They lay, still connected, for several long he art beats. Then Angel slid his hand up her, caressing her belly, her breasts, her lips. "Amazing." He pulled back, his face sweaty and pinker than she'd ever seen it, almost human. His eyes were as bright as little suns.  
   
"Yeah," she breathed.  
   
Angel scrubbed his hand over his face and it returned to normal. He leaned over and kissed her again, this time gently, his tongue swiping out to soothe the scrapes his fangs had left.  
   
"Hey," she said, a thought occurring to her. "This doesn't mean Angelus is coming out to play does it?"  
   
Angel stared off into space. "Doesn't feel like it," he said after a long moment.  
   
"Thank God," Cordy breathed. "Wait, should I be insulted?"  
   
Angel laughed. "Hardly," he grinned. The look he wore, a seductive mixture of awe, dark thrill and tenderness, made Cordy's insides quiver.  
   
He rolled them onto their sides and took her hand, bringing it to his lips. Cordy's he art turned over in her chest.  
   
"I bought something for you." He reached over and pulled a small wooden box from the bedside table. The inlaid jewels on the lid glinted in the dim light.  
   
"The five most beautiful words on the planet." Cordy sat up and took the box from his hand. Her he art rushed when she saw the tiny, hand-carved silver cross resting on the bed of velvet. It was about the size of her thumbnail, intricate and glowing and utterly feminine. She pulled it out by its chain.  
   
"It'll keep the big, bad vamps away," Angel said with a smile.  
   
"Not all of them, I hope." She put the cross on. It nestled in the hollow of her throat.  
   
Angel put his fingertips on her neck, touching her pulse as it beat next to the charm. "Beautiful," he breathed.  
   
She leaned over and kissed him.  
   
Cordy's eyes opened and the room came into focus. "Oh, God," she groaned, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyelids.  
   
She sat up. "It was a dream, Cordy," she whispered. "Another stupid dream."  
   
But she'd never had a dream like that about Angel in all the years she'd known him. Not one that left her craving him like a drug. That left her knowing how his hands felt, what he tasted like. How it felt to have him inside of her....  
   
She shook her head. "Doesn't matter. He's strictly no-bone, you know that." She scrubbed her hands over her face, trying to get rid of the lingering wisps of desire. "Don't waste your time on something that can never, ever happen."  
   
Her he art gave a painful, grieving twist. She ignored it and closed her eyes, hoping she could go back to sleep.  
   
***  
   
"Cordelia, how much do you know about Angel?" They had finished lunch and were sitting in the kitchen, watching the rain that had finally descended on the mountain.  
   
Cordy looked over at him. "Uh, you mean, like historically, or everyday stuff?"  
   
"Historically."  
   
"Just that he's a vamp with happiness issues," she said, stretching her arms overhead like a lazy cat. "Why?"  
   
"It's p art of the theory I'm working on. Nearly finished with, I should say."  
   
"Oh, well, I know he was sired by that bleached-out ho, Darla. He's..." she tapped her fingernail on her teeth. "Two hundred forty-eight. The Kalderashes, a gypsy family in Rumania , cursed him with a soul for killing their favorite daughter, and in order to shanshu he has to atone for his crimes committed before he was ensouled. And you never want to meet Angelus. He's evil incarnate."  
   
"Not bad," Mr. Zhou said.  
   
"Thanks. And this fits into your theory, how?"  
   
"Because I believe Angel may be the key."  
   
She reached for her mug of tea and sipped, letting the warm, honeyed liquid warm her body. "Again, how?"  
   
"Angel was once human, and he survived the transition."  
   
"Angel's dead. He didn't survive anything."  
   
Mr. Zhou shook his head. "I mean, he has successfully melded demon and soul. It shows that it can be done."  
   
"Are you saying I have to become a demon? A vamp?" Her voice rose.  
   
"No, not at all. But I think, somehow, if we were to bind you to Angel, his demon would strengthen you."  
   
"I'm already bound to him," she said, pointing to her eyes. "Visions? Hello?"  
   
"Yes, but that obviously isn't enough. It has to be something stronger. Something at a soul level."  
   
"Guess that means we gotta do some reading, huh?" Cordy set her mug down on the island. "Oh, boy. Research."  
   
Mr. Zhou laughed. "Research is a fact of life, my dear."
"Speaking of research, what do you know about Angel's past? I mean his way-in-the-past, past?"  
   
He crossed his legs and steepled his fingers, his eyes losing focus as he thought about her question. "Probably quite a bit. What would you like to know?"  
   
"Just.... Sometimes he says things that freak me out. Historic stuff. Then I had this dream and...." She shrugged. "It's just weird, knowing someone, but not really knowing them."  
   
Zhou nodded. "I understand." He sat silently for a moment. "Vampires are a specific breed of demon," he began. "And until recently quite a few lived to be very, very old. In p art this was because they lived within very precise social structures."  
   
Cordy arched an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"  
   
"Liam, the boy who became your Angel, was born in 1727. His was a world ruled not by freedom as we know it, but by monarchs and religious wars. He was 13 when the famine hit, something that changed Ireland forever.  
   
"His father was a merchant. Not royalty, but wealthy enough that his family was protected from starvation. He probably owned some land, and like the other lords of his time, protected it with everything he had. These men formed alliances, swore oaths. They promised that they would not betray one another, in battle or otherwise.  
   
"In the way of vampires," he continued, "that which was human was taken and distorted. They amassed power by winning territories and increasing the amount of land--and people--under their control. Eventually a handful of very influential vampires dominated most of Europe . Angel's grandsire, the Master, was one."  
   
Cordy sneered. "That creep."  
   
"Yes, I have heard that," Mr. Zhou replied dryly. "These rulers usually would choose a fight over a truce, but there were times when peaceable behavior was necessary. When this was the case, they swore an oath of loyalty to each other, much like their human counterp art s."  
   
"Vampires. Loyal," Cordy snorted. "Yeah, right."  
   
"Stand up and I'll show you," Mr. Zhou said.  
   
Cordy pushed her chair back and stood, facing him.  
   
"If you were passing through another vamp's territory and you didn't want a battle," Mr. Zhou explained, "you would bare your throat to him." He gestured and Cordy tilted her head, exposing the long line of her neck.  
   
"He would know, then, that you wished him no harm, but, more importantly that you swore your allegiance to him while you were on his property."  
   
"That's pretty stupid," said Cordy, rolling her eyes. "He could rip your throat out."  
   
"Exactly," said Mr. Zhou. "That's why it was a show of faith. The Master would then press his teeth to the other vamp's jugular. He might also swear an oath, promising to protect him."  
   
He took Cordy's shoulders in his hands, then pressed his mouth to her flesh. As he straightened, he said something in a strange tongue.  
   
"What did you just say?" Cordy asked.  
   
"I said, 'I swear my loyalty to you,' in Angel's mother language, Gaelic," Mr. Zhou said.  
   
"In this way," he continued, releasing her shoulders, "each held something of the other's, creating a balance of power that allows both to thrive."  
   
Cordy nodded and sat back down. "Say that line again."  
   
Mr. Zhou repeated the phrase.  
   
"Cool," Cordy said. "I've never seen Angel do that before, though."  
   
"I am not surprised. Most vampires nowadays are woefully unaware of their history, and the masters who do travel would only come to challenge Angel's turf. I imagine he hasn't used that signal in decades; maybe more than a century.  
   
"But it is good for you to recognize. If you are with him, and you see him make that sign, you will know that the vampire he has greeted will do you no harm. As his Seer, you are considered his property, and you will be respected."  
   
"Property," Cordy snorted. "Hardly."  
   
"Yes, it is hard for a modern-day woman to understand. It seems archaic, demeaning. But truthfully, these vampires would view your relationship like a marriage. You are, after all, linked for life."  
   
She was silent for a moment, considering. "Which brings up a question. What happens if one of us dies?"  
   
"The other might survive, but it would be difficult, especially for the first few years."  
   
"Years? Jeez!"  
   
"That is why it is of the utmost importance that you keep your health and his as your first priority. If either of you slips, the other suffers. Angel was lucky that you were there to receive the visions from Doyle. He might not have survived the night, otherwise."  
   
Cordy shuddered. "Makes me wanna stay in the house all the time. Not risk anything."  
   
"Ah, but that's the catch. Without human contact, Angel cannot shanshu. And you are his key to human contact. Life is a risk, Cordelia. In that way, every day, every night, is precious."  
   
"Yeah, I've heard that," she said, turning her face toward the windows.  
   
***  
   
"I have something you might be interested in," Mr. Zhou said the next morning.  
   
Cordy looked up from the pot of bubbling porridge she was stirring. "What's that?"  
   
He set a book on the counter next to her. Vampires Through the Ages glowed in gold lettering against the dark, green cover. "It's a series of history books. You've probably seen others."  
   
Cordy nodded. "We've got the Warriors version back at the office. I didn't realize they had one of these, though." She picked it up and flipped through the pages. "Looks interesting. Oh, my God," she said.  
   
"What?"  
   
She poured their breakfast into bowls and set the pot in the sink to soak. "Spike's in there. Geez. Like his ego isn't big enough already."  
   
Mr. Zhou laughed. "Yes, well you don't have to tell him." He took the bowls to the island and sat down on one of the stools.  
   
Cordy joined him, resting the book next to her so that the picture of William the Bloody was highlighted in the morning sun. "His ego is hardly the worst of his problems right now," she said taking a bite of rice. "He actually pulled an Angel, if you can believe it."  
   
"What do you mean?"  
   
"He's fallen in love with Buffy."  
   
Mr. Zhou blinked. "I'm sorry, did you say he's in love with the Slayer?"  
   
Cordy nodded and took another bite. "I just saw him. We spent the night before I met you at Buffy's. It was totally wild. Like a trip into the past, only not." Cordy flipped through the pages as she chewed.  
   
"It frightens me that you're st art ing to make sense, Cordelia," he said wryly, as he sipped his tea.  
   
"Whoa, wait a minute," Cordy said, stopping at a page. "Son of a...."  
   
"What?" Mr. Zhou said, leaning across the island to peer at the page. "Oh, you know them, too?"  
   
She looked up. "What? No. I...man that is so weird." She studied the page carefully. Under the chapter title, "The Elders," was a black-and-white drawing of two vampires, a man and a woman, in game face and old-fashioned clothes. "I had this dream the other night. While I was at Buffy's, actually."  
   
"Really? What about?"  
   
She pointed at the book. "Them."  
   
"You had a dream about the Elders?" he asked in surprise.  
   
"Yeah, this vamp came up to me and said the Elders were coming for Angel. Then he tried to kill me." She shuddered at the memory.  
   
"Did you tell Angel?"  
   
"Yeah. He said it was just a dream and not to worry about it."  
   
Mr. Zhou sat quietly for a moment. "This is all very interesting."  
   
"Having a nightmare is interesting?"  
   
"That's not what I mean. I think there's a bigger theme here." He rested his hand on the book. "History."  
   
"You think the theme is history?"  
   
He nodded. "Yours and Angel's. You share a history together, through your friends in Sunnydale."  
   
"Yeah, so? Lots of people share a history. Big deal."  
   
"In this case, it might be. When was the last time you were in Sunnydale?"  
   
"Years."  
   
"My point exactly. Not only do you get pulled back in order to meet me, but while you're there, you come face-to-face with your past. And Angel's."  
   
"You mean like Buffy and the whole star-crossed lovers thing?"  
   
"Yes, but more than that, someone, somewhere sent you a warning. About vamps Angel once knew."  
   
"Angel knows them?" She pointed at the book. "He didn't say anything to me." She huffed. "That's so like him."  
   
"Angel's got over 200 years of back story that you, the woman most intimately connected to him, know nothing about. I imagine there's some of it he doesn't want to share--or doesn't know how to."  
   
He leaned forward and covered her hand with his. "Cordelia," he said intently, "Angel and the Elders were once very close. The books don't say why they didn't remain so. Most historians assume there was a betrayal of the oath of loyalty, but it is all speculation. That you dreamed about them coming for him could be the truth. And if that is so, you must be on your guard."  
   
"Why? We kill vamps every day."  
   
"Not these vamps. There's a reason they are called The Elders."  
   
"Let me guess. They've lived a long time," Cordy said wryly.  
   
"Not just that, they wield great power in their community. If you are their enemy, you are also the enemy of vampire cadres all over the world."  
   
She took a deep breath in an attempt to calm her nerves. "But it could just have been a dream, right?"  
   
"I suppose it could simply have been a metaphor for you coming to terms with his past. Not just who he is, now, but who he was."  
   
"Angelus? I know he's p art of the equation. I do everything I can to protect myself in case he returns. Other than that, what can I do?"  
   
"Maybe nothing," Mr. Zhou said thoughtfully. "Maybe I'm reading more into it than I should."  
   
Cordy shrugged. "I'll keep it in mind. So, what's on the agenda today?" She pushed the lingering discomfort aside and stood to take their bowls to the sink. "I need some exercise. You up for training?"  
   
He nodded. "Sounds good. Then I plan on spending the afternoon researching. Why don't you do the same?"  
   
"Fine with me."  
   
***  
   
She sat on the back porch watching the stars peek through the last of the clouds. It was cold out, now. The ground had frozen in the night, and snow dusted the ground.  
   
She found herself wondering where Angel was and her longing for him became palpable, an ache deep in her chest. She rubbed her breastbone absently and thought about him gathering weapons for the evening patrol. She breathed a prayer for his safety.  
   
There was a click as the door behind her opened. Mr. Zhou walked onto the deck and handed her a mug of tea, then sat down on the chair next to her and propped his feet up.  
   
"Thanks," Cordy said, slurping the hot brew.  
   
He nodded, leaned back and looked at the sky. "It's a beautiful night."  
   
"The night Angel drove me here," she said quietly, "we stopped and looked at the stars. He told me how he wanted to be a sailor so he could follow them around the world." She sighed, missing him with an intensity that made her entire body hurt.  
   
"You are in love with him," Zhou said.  
   
Cordy laughed, ignoring the way her he art jerked at his words. "Well, of course I am. I mean, he's gorgeous. Who wouldn't be?"  
   
Mr. Zhou smiled and sipped his tea delicately.  
   
"But I'm not in love with him, like a boyfriend, if that's what you mean."  
   
"What do you mean, then?" he asked curiously.  
   
"It's hard to describe." She rubbed her chest again. "It hurts to be apart from him. And not just emotionally, but physically. It's like an ache."  
   
Mr. Zhou nodded. "As if part of you is missing."

"Uh huh."  
   
"You want to bring him into your body."  
   
Again, her he art lurched. "Not like you're thinking. But it's almost like I want to open up my chest and put him next to my he art . Keep him there so he can never leave." She groaned. "God, that sounds so Angelina Jolie."  
   
Zhou laughed, then, in his way, was quiet for a few moments. "It's nothing to be afraid of, my dear. It is simply the link. It is a sign of a successful connection that you feel this."  
   
Again, he paused and drank his tea. In the woods an owl called to its mate and she replied, a love song to the night.  
   
"You are both p art of a long line, whose history you will one day know and understand." He leaned forward, a serious look on his face. "You must always be prepared, Cordelia. With a link as powerful as yours, the Powers will test you many times."  
   
Cordy shivered, as if his words had flung open a window and let in a draft. "Why?"  
   
"It is like the refiner's fire, burning you to your purest essence."  
   
She was floating high above the e art h, untethered, and surrounded by space as vast, empty and cold as anything she'd ever felt.  
   
"Cordelia?" He tapped the back of her hand.  
   
She jerked, sloshing tea. "What?" She blinked in confusion.  
   
"Are you feeling okay?"  
   
She set her mug on the table next to her. "Just tired, I guess." She ran her hands over her arms, trying to get warm. "A little cold all of a sudden."  
   
Mr. Zhou slapped his hands briskly against his knees. "You must go to bed then. And I must begin my work for the night."  
   
"Yes," Cordy agreed, the need to sleep suddenly becoming overwhelming. "Good idea."  
   
"Sleep well," Mr. Zhou said, picking up the mugs and heading toward the door.  
   
"You too," Cordy replied. "Whenever it is that you sleep," she whispered as she walked across the deck to her bedroom. She left the doors open and dropped the mosquito netting, then went to the bathroom to get ready for bed.  
   
***  
   
Wes sat with his feet propped up on the desk, reading a book written by a yogini from India 500 years before. His stomach growled. He glanced at his watch. They'd been at it since morning, and it was now well after two in the afternoon.  
   
I'll just finish this chapter and then we'll take a break, he thought. Probably not going to find anything useful in this book anyway. Then his gaze stumbled across a series of words that had his eyebrows arching. "Oh, my. That's interesting."  
   
"What's interesting?" Fred asked, looking up from her copy of Warriors Through the Ages.  
   
"I may have found something," he said, turning the pages rapidly as he cross-checked a paragraph he'd read earlier. "Yes, it looks like...."  
   
Gunn turned his scythe over and began sharpening the other side of the blade. The smell of honing oil permeated the office. "Yo, man, you gonna clue us in, or what?"  
   
"I don't think you're going to believe this," Wes said. "But it looks like the only way Cordy can be saved is if she has sex."  
   
Gunn shook his head. "Damn, that girl gets all the luck."  
   
Wes paused, his glasses glinting in the desklamp's light. "With Angel."  
   
Lorne walked into the office. "Hello, all," he said cheerily, jiggling Connor against his shoulder. He looked from Fred to Wes to Gunn. "Okay, at first, I thought it was just me," he said to the baby. "Now I realize that this group is the master of the awkward silence."  
   
Wes cleared his throat. "Yes. Well."  
   
"What English is trying to say is that we've had a little epiphany," Gunn replied, his voice laced with disbelief and humor.  
   
"Really." Lorne pulled a chair out with the toe of his shoe and sat down. "Do tell."  
   
Connor began to fuss.  
   
"Here, I'll take him," Fred said, leaning across the table. "I haven't gotten to hold him yet today."  
   
"There, little nipper, go see your Aunt Fred," Lorne said, passing the baby to her and settling back in his chair. "In this bunch, the word epiphany can mean many things. Not all of them good," he said, lacing his fingers together and resting his hands on his chest.  
   
"This might be good. We're not sure yet," Wes said. "Since Cordy left, we've been researching the visions."  
   
Lorne nodded.

"Just a moment ago, I came across something that sounds promising. From what this says, it seems one way she can keep the visions from overpowering her system is to have sex," Wes said, tapping the page.  
   
Lorne's eyebrows raised. "Why is that surprising? She was going to have to com-shuck with Groo to get rid of them. Wouldn't she have to do the opposite in this dimension to keep them?"  
   
"It's not the deed itself, bro," Gunn said. "It's who she has to do it with."  
   
Lorne made a "give it to me" motion with his hand. "Spill it, boys."  
   
"It's Angel," Wes finished.  
   
Lorne burst out laughing. "You've got to be kidding."  
   
Wes shook his head and pushed the book toward the demon. "No, take a look."  
   
Lorne shook his head. "I'm no good with the research mojo. Explain it to me."  
   
"Cordelia's human body is being overpowered by the visions. That we already knew," Wes said.  
   
Lorne nodded in agreement.  
   
"But upon further reading," Wes continued, "it appears that, if Cordy can become demon--or p art demon--the visions won't kill her. They'll likely still cause great pain, but she would be able to live with them, much like Angel's previous Seer did."  
   
"Wait. That's not what you said before," Gunn interrupted. "You said she'd have to do the nasty with Angel in order to save herself."  
   
Wes nodded. "Yes. You see, in Cordy's case, there are only two ways she can become a demon. One is simply not an option, as it would involve her being vamped."  
   
"Okay. Definitely not an option. I'm still not getting the love connection, though," Gunn said, shaking his head.  
   
Wes leaned forward, his elbows coming to rest on the open book. "Sex," he said intently. "Tantric sex. It is the fusion of souls by way of the physical."  
   
"Meaning, if they get down and dirty, their spirits are joined," Gunn said.  
   
"Exactly. By performing tantric rituals with Angel, his demon and her human would join on a higher plane."  
   
Lorne nodded thoughtfully. "So they'd do a Sting-and-Trudie, and Cordy would get to keep her visions...and her life."  
   
Wes nodded. "Exactly. Since the Seer-Warrior relationship is rather a mystical marriage of sorts, it actually makes sense."  
   
"But what if his human and her human merged, instead? We'd be back to square one," Gunn interjected.  
   
Wes shook his head. "That's the lovely thing about tantra," Wes said. "It joins the *entire* being, not just a p art of it. Since Angel is both human and demon, a hybrid, as it were, everything he is would merge with Cordy--and vice versa."  
   
"Except for the p art where Angel loses his soul when he gets blissed. And I gotta say, it'd be hard not to get blissed out with a babe like Cordelia," Gunn said. "So, no dice."  
   
"Angel had sex with Darla and he didn't lose his soul. And from what we saw the night Connor was born, I imagine he had some sort of relations with the Furies," Wes argued.  
   
"Darla. Hardly the kind of woman that would give a man a happy," Lorne said. "And the Furies? Please. Achieving pure bliss with them would be like trying to find nutritional value in a Twinkie."  
   
Fred, who had been rocking Connor, looked up. "Kye-rumption," she said.  
   
"Bless you," Gunn replied.  
   
Lorne leaned forward, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "I hadn't thought about that."  
   
"What are you talking about?" Wes asked.  
   
"Kye-rumption," Lorne repeated. "It's a Pylean word. It basically means 'two warriors of equal strength meet each other on the field of battle.' I never thought about them that way, but...."  
   
"I'm still not following," Wes said, shaking his head.  
   
"It's really very simple, actually. And, like any great equation, quite elegant," Fred continued. "I noticed it a few weeks ago when I walked in on Angel and Cordy during a training session. It was like watching a pas a deux of two perfectly matched dancers. Only it was more than physical. Their souls were dancing, too."  
   
Wes blew a breath through pursed lips. "Well."  
   
"Almost like the PTBs had this planned all along, huh?" Gunn said.

"Except we still have that happiness clause," Lorne commented.  
   
Wes nodded. "Yes, that's something to consider."  
   
"Well, there's that good old British understatement," Gunn snorted.  
   
Fred shifted the baby so he lay more comfortably in her lap. "I think we should tell Angel," she said quietly. "I mean, if there's a chance...."  
   
"Tell me what?" Angel asked, coming into the room with a steaming mug. He took a sip and set the mug down on the desk.  
   
"We think we may have discovered a way to keep Cordy from being killed by the visions," Wes said quietly.  
   
"Why would you not tell me that?" Angel looked from person to person, his face registering uncertainty.  
   
"Because we're not sure it will work, and we didn't want you to be disappointed," Wes replied.  
   
"Anything that will save Cordy is worth a shot," Angel said, crossing his arms.  
   
Wes nodded and opened his mouth.  
   
"You have to have sex with Cordy," Fred blurted. "Tantric sex."  
   
Angel's eyes widened. "I'm sorry, did you say I had to have...."  
   
***  
   
"...sex with *Angel*?" Cordy asked, stunned. "That's how he keeps his soul?"  
   
Mr. Zhou nodded and set a stack of books in front of her.  
   
"I think you've got it backwards," Cordy said, pushing the books aside. "That's how he *loses* his soul." The sitting room was bright with noontime sunlight, though outside snow blanketed the area six inches thick. One of Ben's men had shoveled the path from the house to the clearing, and the black dirt was like a graphite line on pure, white paper.  
   
"With certain people. Not with you. You see, having sex with you actually binds his soul by way of the link. It's all right here." He patted the stack of books, then smiled happily.  
   
"Huh?" Cordy asked, obviously confused.  
   
Mr. Zhou opened the book on top. "See here?" He tapped a page he'd marked with a yellow sticky note. "The gypsies are usually quite visionary, but in this case they were blinded by their desire for revenge. Their only goal was to make Angel suffer for eternity, and in casting their spell, they didn't anticipate the Powers' plan for him."  
   
He set that book aside and reached for another. "Because he has committed his life to fighting the good fight, Angel has become more than an ensouled vampire."  
   
A portrait of Angel looked at her from across time, its classic lines surrounded by ruffles and long, beribboned hair. "Angel is now a man with a divine purpose, one that is directly linked to you. In this way, the Powers have not only created a powerful Warrior-Seer union, they have effectively bypassed the curse."  
   
Cordelia couldn't help it. She laughed. "You have *got* to be kidding. The one thing--the *one* thing--we've feared for the last three years is the thing that *saves* him?"  
   
Mr. Zhou nodded, his eyes glittering with amusement. "The irony of this situation does not escape me."  
   
"So if Angel and I get physical, then his soul is bound forever?"  
   
"Not exactly."  
   
Cordy's eyes narrowed. "But you just said...."  
   
"In order for Angel's soul to be bound, you must have sexual relations. In order for it to remain bound forever...."  
   
"We have to have sex regularly," Cordy said, catching on. Her he art gave an excited dance. "It's bound only as long as we're in a relationship."  
   
Mr. Zhou nodded. "Exactly."  
   
"But what about me? That solves Angel's problem, but it doesn't solve mine."  
   
"Oh, but it does. Binding you to each other in the physical plane saves Angel. But in the spiritual plane, it unites you with his demon, thus saving you."  
   
"Oh, man," Cordy said, wrapping her arms around her waist. The dream wasn't just a dream, after all. It could actually be real. The thrill spread from her he art to her entire body. "This is so wild."  
   
"You think this is wild? Wait until you see the texts."  
   
"You're going to show me sex manuals?" Her mouth hung open in disbelief.  
   
"Yes, but don't worry. With me, you will simply be reading and asking questions. With Angel, you will be putting your studies to use."  
   
"Whew. Because I'm *so* not into the dirty-old-man thing."  
   
Mr. Zhou laughed. "Except that your warrior is about 230 years older than you are."

"Yeah, but he's always gonna be a hunk of salty goodness." Cordy stopped, an odd look crossing her face. "And I won't be." Her gaze flew to his, every ounce of joy suddenly draining out of her. "Mr. Zhou, what happens when I'm 50 and he's still 25? What happens when I die, and he stays behind?"  
   
Mr. Zhou regarded her solemnly. "That is a problem. But you know, you could die first."  
   
A shiver walked up her spine. "Are you trying to tell me something?"  
   
"No. I'm simply stating a fact." He came back to the table and sat on the stool next to hers. "None of us knows the time of our death," he said quietly. "We only know that one day we will die. It is what I am trying to teach you in meditation. You must live fully in each moment, for the one behind is past, and the one before has not come. This moment is all you have."  
   
He leaned forward, his eyes intense and direct. "If you are able to be awake to the present, then when it is your time, you will be able to take your death with dignity. And so will Angel."  
   
"But that's so...I don't know...." She waved her hand, unable to put into words the sinking feeling in her stomach.  
   
Mr. Zhou's face smile showed nothing but compassion. "The Buddhists have spent eons studying the concept of impermanence." He patted her hand warmly. "If you would like, I will loan you some books on this subject. You might find them useful."  
   
Cordy nodded, feeling slightly less frightened. "I'd like that. But, still...."  
   
"Cordelia, facing loss and death is the very nature of life. Every day when I awaken, I remind myself that I have been given 24 hours in which to live most fully. Except I also know that one day I won't live to see that 24th hour.  
   
"The pain and fear you now experience are no different than what I, or any other sentient being, felt when they realized for the first time that life was not eternal. People die. You know this in your head, you have seen it in your life. But to know it in your he art ...."  
   
"But for Angel, life *is* eternal," Cordy interrupted.  
   
Mr. Zhou nodded. "It certainly has the potential to be, but whether it will or not, well that's up to some power besides Angel. He's no different than the rest of us in that respect. And, I imagine, for a man who could live to be thousands of years old, death is both more feared and more desired than it is for the rest of us."  
   
"Okay, all that aside. I'm still reeling at the idea of...you know...with Angel."  
   
"Do you know the story of the frog in the pot?" Mr. Zhou asked with a laugh.  
   
Cordy looked confused. "Talk about your basic non sequitor."  
   
"It's an old story, but one that bears retelling. If you drop a frog in a pot of boiling water, he will be burned by the heat and jump back out. However, if you drop a frog in cold water and gradually increase the heat, he does not notice, and he will stay in the pot until he boils to death."  
   
Cordy raised her eyebrows. "Lovely. Your point?"  
   
"You and Angel are like the second frog. You have been married on one level since you became linked. But your friendship has also evolved into a matrimonial relationship over the years, something you haven't noticed because it has happened so gradually."  
   
Cordy stared at him.  
   
"When you first met him, you found him attractive."  
   
"Sure, but I was young and stupid. Besides, he was dating Buffy."  
   
"And that didn't bother you because you didn't have feelings for him. But think back to the way you felt when you found out he had sex with Darla. It was a very different story, wasn't it?"  
   
"Well, sure." Cordy shrugged. "But he'd not only lied about it, he'd also risked his soul by doing it in the first place. Why wouldn't I feel pissed off?"  
   
Mr. Zhou nodded. "Of course, but remember a few weeks ago when you woke up in the hospital. When you looked at him, what did you see?"  
   
Cordy swallowed, but this time remained silent.  
   
"You have not allowed yourself to think of Angel as anything but your friend because of the curse. You are too practical and compassionate a woman to risk yourself or your friends by falling in love with him. But that doesn't mean it hasn't happened. We can't choose who we love, Cordelia. Especially when the Powers have chosen us for one another."  
   
"I didn't have a choice?" Well, that was hardly fair, now was it?  
   
"You did. You made it."  
   
She narrowed her eyes. "Funny, I don't remember that."  
   
"You could have gotten rid of the visions," he reminded her. "You didn't. You knowingly allowed yourself to continue receiving them, even at great risk to yourself. Not only was it an act of great self-sacrifice and courage, it allied you permanently with Angel."  
   
Cordy took a deep breath. She knew he was right. She'd felt it in her bones when she left Pylea. "Okay, fine. I chose. But I did it because I needed to feel special, not because I was in love with Angel."  
   
"Methinks the lady doth protest too much," Mr. Zhou teased gently. "You are special, but you were special--and needed--before you had the visions. Even if you had given them up, you and Angel still would have loved each other. You just would have faced a different set of circumstances."  
   
Cordy looked at him intently. "So what you're saying is that Angel is my destiny."  
   
Mr. Zhou nodded. "And you are his."  
   
Cordy stood and looked out at the woods. "I need to take a walk."

***  
   
"So, explain this to me again," Angel said, drawing out a chair and sitting with as much care as an old man.  
   
"What's to explain?" Gunn asked. "You boink Cordy, she stays alive."  
   
"Yes, but...." Angel st art ed. He ran his hand through his hair nervously, mussing the already spiky 'do.  
   
"You know about tantric sex, don't you?" Wes asked.  
   
Angel shrugged. "Sure. It's not the sort of thing vamps get into--most of us prefer a less life-affirming brand of sexuality. But it's hard to live more than 200 years and not pick up on things."  
   
"Right. So what you need to pick up now is a book. Because it sounds like you have some studying to do," Lorne said. He waggled his eyebrows. "And, boy, talk about a final exam."  
   
Angel looked at Fred, who smiled at him over Connor's sleepy face. "Remember when I came downstairs and saw you and Cordy training?"  
   
Angel nodded, obviously feeling awkward. "Yeah, you said that strange word about warriors."  
   
"Uh huh," she said. "I was right. You two are evenly matched. Your fire, her courage. Your spirit, her he art . The Powers seem to like you together." She smiled. "It's so romantic."  
   
"Uh, right," Angel flinched. He put his forehead in his hand. "But what about the curse?" he asked weakly.  
   
"That's the only thing we're not sure about," Wes said quietly. "Otherwise, it seems like it will work."  
   
"Would bliss be a problem with Cordy?" Gunn asked, his voice serious.  
   
Angel didn't look up. "It already is."  
   
"Ah," Wes said. He cocked his head thoughtfully. "I wonder.... Angel, can you think of a time when you might have experienced bliss that wasn't sexually related? Like, a moment where you felt overwhelmed with happiness or love or joy?"  
   
Angel looked at him strangely. "Why would you ask that?"  
   
"I know that I often experience bliss that has nothing to do with the sexual act. It's one of the best things about being human, don't you think? Those moments where things are suddenly clear, where time stops, where your he art is full?"  
   
"Like the first time I heard Aretha," Lorne said.  
   
"Yeah, or when my sister said her first word," Gunn added.  
   
Fred nodded. "When I landed back in LA after all those years in Pylea." Her eyes filled with tears and she rested her face against Connor's downy head.  
   
Angel cleared his throat. "Okay," he said. "The other day, after we fought that Brazilos demon. I came upstairs to change clothes and Cordy was feeding Connor. It was just...." He breathed a long sigh.  
   
"Exactly," Wes said. "In that moment, you forgot everything but what you were feeling. You experienced bliss, Angel, don't you see?"  
   
His voice rose with excitement. "The meditation and physical training you've been doing with Cordy, it's based on ancient ritual. You are so closely linked already, it was probably enough to st art the process of anchoring your soul." He looked around the room. "Now all you have to do is take the next step."  
   
Fred st art ed to laugh.  
   
"What's funny?" Gunn asked, laying the gleamingly sharp scythe carefully aside.  
   
"Well, it's just.... I haven't known you guys for long, but I do know that avoiding sex has been tops on Angel's list for years. Now, not only are you not supposed to avoid it, you actually have to seek it out."  
   
Wes grinned. "As you said, Fred, it is quite elegant."  
   
"Elegant," Angel grunted. Suddenly his eyes widened. "I get to have sex. With Cordy."  
   
Gunn laughed and slapped him on the back. "No, man. You *have* to have sex with Cordy."  
   
Lorne got to his feet. "You wouldn't believe what your aura is doing right now, bro," he said.

Angel glared at him. "Not one more word about this," he said. He looked at each of them, his face fierce. "Thank you for the information. Please keep researching. But as for what happens between me and Cordy from now on, that's our business."  
   
Lorne snorted. "As if. Don't forget, my room's down the hall from yours." He looked at Gunn, "Bet she's a screamer," he said archly.  
   
Gunn nodded sagely as he put the cap on the honing oil. "With that mouth? Count on it."  
   
"Guys," Angel growled.  
   
Ignoring him, Wes closed his book and stretched. "I'm starved. You want a pizza or something?"  
   
"Mmmm, pizza," Fred said. "Here, daddy, take your baby. He wants his crib."  
   
Angel walked around and squatted in front of Fred. "No privacy. No respect," he grumbled, easing the sleepy baby from her arms.  
   
Fred brushed her hand over his shoulder. "They love you both so much," she said. "You're family. Families tease each other. But they also go to the wall for each other." She smiled. "I'm glad you and Cordy are together. It's perfect."  
   
Angel looked down at his sleeping son, now cradled in his arms. "I just want her to be happy."  
   
"Oh, Angel, look at you. You're a hero. It's obvious that you love her. How could she not be happy?"  
   
He glanced up at her, a worry line appearing between his brows. "What if she doesn't want me?"  
   
Fred snorted. "She'd be a fool. And we both know, Cordy is anything but a fool."  
   
"Yeah," Angel breathed. "Okay." He stood and waited for Fred to get to her feet. "I guess she and I need to talk."  
   
Fred grinned. "You want tips on talking to girls, you just let me know."  
   
"I may take you up on that." They walked out into the lobby where Gunn was putting on his jacket.  
   
"They got a wait on deliveries. Gonna go down and pick it up. Anyone want to ride shotgun?"  
   
"I'll go," Lorne said. "I need to pick up some stuff at the convenience store. This hotel just does not stock the right kind of soap," he said, arching his eyebrow at Angel.  
   
"You're lucky it has soap at all."  
   
Lorne rolled his eyes. "Oooo-kay." He straightened his already-perfectly-straight lemon-yellow blazer. "For someone who just got the green light on the hot, monkey love, you sure are cranky."  
   
"Come on, Connor," Angel said. "Let's get you upstairs before your Uncle Lorne says anything else you shouldn't hear."  
   
He glanced at Wes as he st art ed up the stairs. "Thanks," he said, catching the other man's eye.  
   
Wes nodded. "I'll keep researching. But if this is it, Angel, we may have found a way to save her." A smile bloomed over his face. "It's simply wonderful."  
   
"For you, maybe. Makes me nervous as heck."  
   
Wes laughed. "Like falling off a bike, my friend."  
   
"I never learned to ride a bike," Angel said, shaking his head.  
   
"'Bout time you learned, then," Gunn called from the doorway. "Yo, Lorne Green, quit primping and get yourself to the car."  
   
"Coming," Lorne called. "Angelcakes. Don't worry. It'll work out. Always does, you know."  
   
"Right," Angel said, disappearing up the stairs with his sleeping child.  
   
***  
   
A noise somewhere in the house had Cordelia looking up from the book she'd been reading. Either Mr. Zhou was back from the grocery store or some hungry demon had gotten in through the garage. Probably the former, since the quiet "whump" of full grocery bags hitting the counter was the only sound coming from the other room.  
   
She set the book aside, her fingers tracing the leather cover. It was one of a ten-volume set Zhou had ordered from the Watcher's Council bookstore, which traced Angel's history from birth to just before he came to L.A. 
   
She was relieved to see the next edition wouldn't be published for a few more years. Fame was certainly seductive, but seeing her name in a geeky Watcher's book was hardly the kind of notoriety she was looking for.  
   
She had deliberately skipped the chapters on Darla. Having met her personally, she didn't feel she needed an education on her preferred style of dress (skanky) or her preferred mode of killing (brutal). It was Angel she wanted to know more about.  
   
Now *he* was a brutal killer, she mused, turning the book over to study one of the pencil drawings again. Like the portrait she'd seen earlier, Angel's face peered at her from across time. This picture, however, showed him in full vamp mode. The drawing was incomplete, the copy showing speckles of what she assumed was dried blood on the paper.

One of the passages she had read discussed the fact that, while Darla may had sired Angelus, he was the real star of the family. He'd devised more methods of torture and death than the Council could chronicle, mostly because the people they'd sent to study him had joined his extremely long list of victims.  
   
The last week had stacked up to be one of the most disquieting of her entire life.  
   
Her mornings were devoted to reading the Watcher's texts on Angelus. In them, he came to life before her eyes, her Angel turned dark, dressed in blood-soaked linen and silk.  
   
She learned that he preferred young women, especially virgins, for their untrained responses and honey-like blood. He made death a game, courting them for weeks with beautiful lies and angelic smiles. He was cold and calculated, sensual and erotic. When he finally succeeded in getting them into bed, he gave them hours of pleasure, days of pain, and a humiliating, horrible end.  
   
And after he killed them, he often went after their families. He had decimated entire villages simply by following a bloodline.  
   
Cordy swallowed, remembering the Angelus she had met. He was a terrifying creature, not just for his power, but for his obvious sexual prowess.  
   
He charmed women mercilessly, with his hungry eyes and hard, experienced hands. If she hadn't known who, or what, he was, she would have fallen for him herself. The older man, the college boy, the one who could teach her things about her body that she hadn't even dreamed of.  
   
Add to that her afternoon study of tantric ritual, which was designed to elevate the act of sex into an hours-long, bliss-soaked experience.  
   
Not seconds of bliss, or even minutes. But hours.  
   
She left the sessions feeling frustrated and terrified. If she agreed to do this--and it seemed she really didn't have a choice--then she willingly put herself into the arms of a man who could end her life in seconds. Or turn her last days on e art h into the most art ful kill of his centuries-long career.  
   
She got up and ambled through the dining room and into the kitchen, pleased to be leaving the grisly thoughts behind.  
   
"Whoa, you feedin' an army?" she asked as Mr. Zhou unloaded the last of about ten bags of groceries onto the counter.  
   
"I thought we might have a little celebration." He pulled several stalks of bok choi out of a bag.  
   
"Celebration?" Cordy asked, trying to get her mind back to the present.  
   
"Yes, your study with me is over at the end of the week. It seems appropriate that we might have a few people over to celebrate."  
   
"A p art y? Really? Cool!" She took a 10-pound bag of jasmine rice from the grocery bag and set it on the counter. "Who's coming?"  
   
"It's a surprise," he said, eyes twinkling.  
   
"Cool. I love surprises." She shoveled mangos into the produce drawer of the refrigerator. "As long as they don't involve demon goo."  
   
"I certainly hope not," Mr. Zhou replied.  
   
"So, when is this p art y?" Cordelia asked, grimacing at the raw ground pork and dropping the slimy package in the sink.  
   
"Tomorrow night," Mr. Zhou said. "You and I will prepare the food."  
   
"Cook? Me?"  
   
He laughed. "It will be good for you."  
   
   
   
***  
   
Cordy climbed into bed. Her back ached from the hours she'd spent helping Zhou prepare tomorrow night's meal. Who knew it was so much work to cook, she thought. No wonder people just popped a frozen dinner into the microwave.  
   
Her head swirled with details. They'd prepared the appetizers and stored them in the large, industrial refrigerator for reheating tomorrow. She'd restocked the bar and stacked crates of Perrier. The freezer was loaded with bags of ice. Tomorrow they'd cook the main course and put together the desserts.  
   
All of that in addition to cleaning the house, hauling out the china, and putting up the decorations. It hadn't left her much time to think about Angel. Which was actually a good thing, because otherwise she would have slipped into full brood mode.  
   
Sometimes she ached with need for him, and others she wanted to run as far away as she could. The thought of seeing him nearly undid her, the dark thrill and the horror combining into something so powerful she was shaken every time his face flashed before her eyes.  
   
She breathed deeply, trying to relax herself enough to get to sleep. She was so tired, so twisted up inside, like one big knot....  
   
I must be dreaming, she thought, as she found herself in front of the Wolfram & H art headqu art ers. She blinked in confusion as the elevator dinged. Why else would I be here?  
   
When the doors slid open she got on. There was only one button. "Home Office," it said. She pushed it.  
   
And then the vision hit, jerking her in her sleep.  
   
Flash: Angel standing just inside his bedroom door, his hands hanging loosely at his sides. His face was like the desert, empty and desolate.  
   
Flash: A ring, falling from his hand like bait. Darla, skittering forward to grab it.  
   
Flash: Angel slamming her against a wall, his hands and mouth moving over hers in a grotesque parody of gentleness. Even as Darla laughed, Cordy could see that Angel's eyes were black, frozen orbs.  
   
Flash: Angel throwing Darla through the French doors in his bedroom. They flew open in a rain of glass and she fell to the floor, fear written across her face.  
   
God, Cordy thought, what would it take to scare *Darla*?  
   
Flash: The two of them on Angel's bed, a writhing, twisting mass.  
   
"No," Cordy moaned. What she saw wasn't love or tenderness or even desire. It was fear, desperation, and domination. "Don't," she whimpered, but it was too late. He shuddered as he came, his face pulled taut with release.  
   
There was another flash as Angel jerked awake, threw himself out of the bed and fell onto the terrace, screaming.  
   
The vision folded in on itself like a collapsing star and Cordy jerked awake, her he art hammering in her chest. She reached for the phone, desperate to warn him, and rammed her hand against the bed's carved rail.  
   
She sat up frantically. Where was the phone?  
   
She leapt out of bed. Have to find Angel, she thought, ignoring the way her sweaty fingers slipped as she pulled on her running shoes.  
   
Then she stopped as the memory of all those other sweaty, headache-filled nights slammed into her full force. The nights when the visions came and she couldn't call him.  
   
Because he was off chasing Darla.  
   
"Oh, my God." Her muscles went rigid and a feeling of dread settled in her gut. She pressed trembling fingers to her lips. He didn't, he wouldn't....  
   
But he had.  
   
She came awake fully, then. She hadn't seen the future, but the past. She had just witnessed the reason for Angel's epiphany.  
   
Anger welled up, thick and hot. How could he? Not only had he risked their lives and his own, he'd lied about it to her face.  
   
That *bastard*.  
   
He turned his back on his friends and then got off on tormenting them. He locked a room full of people in with two psychotic vamps and walked away. He screwed his sire then acted like it had never happened.  
   
She'd forgiven him for leaving her. He'd made up for that, with the clothes, and the tenderness, and the constancy he'd shown her since he came back. And then there had been Connor, her sweet little baby, who filled her life with light and joy.  
   
And now she knew what had made him. How eager his father had been to gamble so recklessly with their lives.  
   
Cordy grabbed her jacket, ran out the door and disappeared onto the snow-packed path, rage fueling her steps until she was sprinting.  
   
She didn't come back until the sun was painting the dawn sky.  
   
***  
   
"I think that does it," she said, stepping back to inspect. A long silk runner covered the middle of the table, leaving the edges bare for china plates and chopstick rests. The runner, red silk on one side and yellow on the other, glowed in the light from the dimmed torchieres.  
   
Cordy ignored the sense of unease that had been growing in her since she'd awakened. The dream had only added fuel to the fire, the images of Angel and Darla unnerving her on a level so deep it nearly rattled her bones. On top of the horror and disgust she already felt, all the doubts, the fear, and the anger that had surfaced during Angel's betrayal bubbled to the surface.  
   
She was surprised she hadn't snapped Mr. Zhou's head off.  
   
"It's lovely," he said, bringing out the first plates of appetizers and arranging them on the living room tables. He looked around the room approvingly. "Ready?" he asked, his stare more penetrating than usual.  
   
The doorbell rang.  
   
"Cordelia, would you mind?" Zhou called retreating to the kitchen.

She skimmed to the door, her spiky sandals clicking distinctly on the stone. She adjusted the low waist of the silver snakeskin pants and smoothed the spaghetti straps of the form-fitting black top. She plastered a fake smile on her face, as far from a p art y mood as she could get.  
   
"Cordelia," Sally said, stepping in and bending down to press her cheek against Cordy's. The cold air blasted in, heralding more snow.  
   
"Hey, Sally, Ben, how are you?" Cordy asked, injecting a note of warmth into her voice.  
   
Ben's blue eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. "Fair to middlin'," he said in his soft Texas drawl.  
   
"Glad to hear it," Cordy said, her smile warming. "Give me your coats and go on in. Mix yourself a drink."  
   
By the time the doorbell stopped ringing, there were eight people in the room, all clustered around the appetizers, and Cordelia let herself relax a bit.  
   
She went to the kitchen to find Mr. Zhou. "Someone was asking for a m art ini," she said.  
   
Mr. Zhou looked up from the bar where he was arranging food on a tray. "I'll see to it," he said. His eyes narrowed. "Are you all right, my dear?"  
   
Cordy shrugged. "I've felt strange all day. Maybe it's the p art y."  
   
"Ah, of course," Mr. Zhou said with a slight smile. "Just the p art y." He hefted the tray. "Would you mind bringing those bottles in?" he said, tilting his head toward several bottles of Perrier.  
   
The door swished behind her and she was met by the sounds of a p art y in full swing. Doesn't take these people long to get going, she thought, dropping the bottles on the rosewood sideboard.  
   
A movement from the woods caught her eye and she glanced up. A chill coursed over her skin. Two people stood at the edge of the trees, silhouetted by the sunset's fire. Even though she couldn't see their faces, there was something eerily familiar about them.  
   
"We have visitors," she said quietly. She turned to Mr. Zhou and saw him looking out the window, his skin ashen. "Mr. Zhou? Are you all right?"  
   
He jolted and took a long, deep breath. When he turned to her, his face was composed. "Yes, of course," he said. He opened the door as the couple walked up the stairs.  
   
"M art in," the man said in a French-accented voice. He came forward, shook Zhou's hand.  
   
"Jean-Pierre," Zhou said, his voice quivering. "Cordelia," Zhou continued, clearing his throat. "Please come here. I would like to introduce you."  
   
Cordy walked over, her eyes narrowed. "Hello," she said warily.  
   
Mr. Zhou smiled. "Cordelia, I would like you to meet two, long-time family friends, Jean-Pierre and Savannah ."  
   
Jean-Pierre extended a long, pale hand. "Cordelia," he said, bowing low. "I'm charmed." He turned her wrist and before she realized what was happening, pressed his mouth against the throbbing pulse, breathing deeply, as if he were defining her by scent.  
   
Cordy's senses went on high alert as she came into contact with his cold skin. When she looked up, Savannah was watching her with hungry eyes.  
   
Cordelia snatched her hand back and crossed her arms over her chest. "I knew this was a dinner p art y. I didn't realize we were the ones on the menu."  
   
The vamps laughed, a low hiss.  
   
"No, no, it's not like that at all," Mr. Zhou said quickly.  
   
"Yes, M art in invited us." Jean-Pierre turned to Mr. Zhou. "We got your invitation. Or, rather, it got us," he continued cryptically.  
   
A look of resignation crossed Mr. Zhou's face. "I rarely use that mode of communication. I'm surprised you recognized it."  
   
"Yes, it did take me a moment," Jean-Pierre replied, his accent sliding over the syllables. He shrugged, a Gallic move that fit his dark good looks.  
   
"So, you've known each other a long time?" Cordy asked Mr. Zhou, remembering what he'd said earlier.  
   
He smiled fondly, if a little sadly. "Our families have been united for centuries. Actually, now that they're here, you might like to speak with them."  
   
Cordy arched an eyebrow. "Any p art icular reason?"  
   
"I think you'll find you have someone in common."  
   
Jean-Pierre ran a hand over Savannah 's short cap of chestnut hair. Her green eyes gleamed and she leaned into the stroke like a hungry cat. "Really?" she asked. "Who?"  
   
"Cordelia can explain it. You might want to st art by telling them what brought you here," Mr. Zhou said to Cordy. "Can I get you anything?" he asked the vamps. "I have some superior brandy, Jean-Pierre."  
   
"Oh, that would be lovely," he responded. "And a Bloody Mary for Savannah ."  
   
"It's such a cliché, isn't it?" she said with a smile. "But I do like them so. Now, tell us all about what brought you here."  
   
Cordy looked at them warily, distinctly uncomfortable with their thinly disguised veil of dark power. It was like being too close to a cobra: seductive and terrifying. "I'm a Seer," she said. "I came to learn to regulate the visions."  
   
"Ah," Savannah nodded. "I've met a few Seers." She glanced at Jean-Pierre and licked her lips. "I enjoyed them immensely."  
   
Cordy backed up a step. "Yes, well. I have no idea why Mr. Zhou thinks we might have something in common."  
   
Jean-Pierre shook his head. "Not what, who," he said.  
   
Realization dawned. "Oh, no," Cordy said. "Not Angel."  
   
"Angel?" Savannah asked, her voice rising sharply. "Angelus?" She narrowed her eyes. "You know Angelus, and yet you live?"  
   
Cordy blanched. "He's my warrior."  
   
There was a long beat of silence. Then Savannah threw back her head and howled with laughter. The room went silent and everyone looked at her. "How fitting, how lovely," she said, wiping her eyes with her fingertips. She looked at Jean-Pierre, whose pale face had gone smooth as a death mask. "Ah, my darling, it's revenge at its sweetest. The Scourge of Europe tied forever to a human girl. Doomed to help the hopeless."  
   
Mr. Zhou interrupted with drinks. "I see you are getting acquainted," he said. "Cordelia, maybe you would like to take them into the sitting room? It is more conducive to private conversation." He walked away, calling a greeting to another guest.  
   
"That sounds perfect," Savannah said, with a smile. Her teeth glimmered white as bone.  
   
Cordelia flinched. "I think I'll, uh, just go..." she said, taking a step back. She came up against a something hard. "Uh...." She looked over her shoulder and into Jean-Pierre's gray-green eyes. He smiled, a seductive tilt of his lush lips.  
   
"You are lovely," he said. "I can hear your he art pounding like a little bird's." He smiled over her head at Savannah , who slipped her arm through Cordy's and pulled her down the hall. The sun leaked brilliant red over the sky, bleeding out the last light of day.  
   
"Such a beautiful night," Savannah said, sitting gracefully on the leather sofa and pulling a pack of Marlboros from her pocket. She lit one, offered it to Cordelia.  
   
"No, thanks," Cordy said, wrinkling her nose. She sat gingerly on the edge of the big reading chair.  
   
"Sm art girl. These things will kill you," she laughed and crossed one leather-clad leg over the other. "Those pants are beautiful," she said. "Do you mind if I ask where you got them?"  
   
Cordelia looked down at the silver snakeskin. "Second-hand store in L.A. " she said, brushing her hand over the crackly material. "They're a little difficult to move in, but they look amazing." She shrugged, trying to ignore the prickle at the back of her neck.  
   
"The price we pay for beauty." She tilted her glass and sipped. As she lowered it, she smiled and the blood left red trails on her lips and teeth.  
   
Jean-Pierre stepped behind Savannah and laid his hand on her shoulder, though his eyes were gazing hotly at Cordy. "It's well worth it."  
   
Cordy shuddered and the prickle turned to a sweaty itch.

Savannah placed her pale fingers over his and looked up at him, her eyes glowing. "You have delicious taste, my dear," she purred, following the direction of his gaze.  
   
"I know." He smiled, leaning down to kiss her.  
   
Cordy cleared her throat. The kiss didn't break; instead it went on for several humming seconds.  
   
Finally, Jean-Pierre stood, let go of Savannah 's hand, and leaned against the couch. "You must pardon us. We are giddy as children," he said, sipping his brandy. The snifter sat comfortably in his hand. Long and lean, he was the picture of timeless, masculine elegance.  
   
"Yes, it's our anniversary," Savannah said. "Two-hundred-eighteen years ago tonight, we met for the first time."  
   
"Congratulations," Cordy said, with only the slightest trace of irony. She shifted in her seat and glanced over her shoulder toward the rest of the p art y. They all sounded so safe in there, away from the vamps.  
   
"Thank you," Savannah beamed. "I never thought I could be this happy."  
   
Cordy turned back to them with a polite smile.  
   
"Well, except with that Russian, but I took care of him," Jean-Pierre murmured around his glass.  
   
"That you did, my dear. In one, big bite, no less." She shivered delicately, trailed a fingertip around the rim of her glass and then sucked the red beads into her mouth. "I was never the same after that."  
   
"No, you were mine," Jean-Pierre said, his voice like molten gold.  
   
"So," said Cordelia, desperate to change the subject. "You know Angel."  
   
Jean-Pierre's eyes narrowed at the mention of his name. Savannah simply nodded and took a deep drag, exhaling smoke in a delicate plume. "Oh, my yes. We've known him for ages."  
   
"Far too long," Jean-Pierre murmured, sniffing the caramel-colored liquid and swirling it in his glass. "Where was it was met him, darling? Prague ? No, Vienna ."  
   
" Vienna ," Savannah breathed. "Around 1790? Yes, I think that was it. We'd only been together a few years, Jean-Pierre and I, and we were still in our honeymoon phase." She ran a hand through her beautifully tousled hair and smiled.  
   
"Not that we've ever really gotten out of it," she continued. "But, yes, Vienna . Such a beautiful place. And Angelus, oh, he was a killing machine," she said, her eyes growing soft with memories.  
   
"That was when he marked his victims with the cross," she said, making the sign in the air over her cheek. "He made killing into such an art . I've never seen anything so beautiful as that night at the palace."  
   
She shifted in her chair and looked back at Jean-Pierre. "Do you remember that, my love? All those lovely ladies, all that beautiful fabric, ruined." Her game face flickered on at the memory, eyes glowing yellow, like a feral cat's.  
   
And in that second, Cordelia recognized her. "Oh, my God," she whispered.  
   
"Oh, I remember it well," he said tightly. "I especially remember him going after you." He made a visible effort to relax his grip on the delicate glass.  
   
Savannah smiled, sucked in smoke, and blew out another stream. "Yes, he did try to woo me. A still-beating he art , such an extravagant gift," she said, laughing merrily. "But I resisted."  
   
"Of course," Cordelia choked out.  
   
That dream hadn't been about Angel facing his past, it had been about her. This whole thing had been about her from the beginning. The test wasn't whether they could fight together, but whether she could fight alone.  
   
Oh, God. The Elders. She was facing the Elders.  
   
Alone.  
   
Savannah laughed, pulling her attention back to the conversation. "Dear me. Here I am, talking in front of you as I would any other consort. I forget that your Angel is nearly human now," she sneered. Something seemed to occur to her. "He does exercise his blood rights, doesn't he?" she asked, leaning forward in the chair, a look of sensual urgency on her face.  
   
"Blood rights? You mean, do I let him drink me?" Her head spun crazily. "No," she whispered. "He would never...."  
   
Savannah 's cruel laugh rang out across the room. "Oh, Angelus," she said. "How far you've fallen." She stared up at the ceiling for a moment, a look of triumph on her face. "Sometimes we really do get what we deserve," she said, her accent growing stronger with emotion.  
   
Cordy looked from Savannah to Jean-Pierre, who was staring at her with barely restrained dislike. She rubbed her hands over her arms.  
   
"He was Darla's mate," Jean-Pierre said, breaking the silence.  
   
"Yes," Cordy said, looking down at her hands. Angel's face, pulled taut with pleasure, flashed before her eyes.  
   
"Then why are you linked with him?" Savannah asked, shooting a smoldering glance at Jean-Pierre. "The Darla I knew wasn't very good at sharing." She took a drag off her cigarette and blew smoke in Cordy's direction. Behind her, Jean-Pierre snorted into his brandy snifter.  
   
Cordy glanced warily from one to the other. "He killed her," she said quietly.  
   
Savannah recoiled. "He killed his *Sire*?"  
   
"Yes. But she was brought back to life. By a law firm." Cordy sighed. "It's a long story." And no torture in the world was painful enough to reveal Connor's existence to these predators.  
   
The vampires stared until Cordelia began to squirm. "So, where do you guys live?" she asked, hoping to break the tension.  
   
"We have a large home in the Low Country," Jean-Pierre replied. "It's been in Savannah 's family for generations. Miles of swamp and shacks. Lovely people there, taste like saltwater," he said dreamily.  
   
Savannah laughed. "Homesick, darling?" she asked, taking another drag. "We like the Low Country, where people recognize us for what we are. Nowadays, you become a vampire, and simply hop up one evening hungry for blood instead of hamburger." She rolled her eyes. "In our home, respect for history is in the blood. Literally."  
   
Savannah leaned back on her chair, crossed an ankle loosely over her knee in a pose that should have looked masculine. Instead it made her hips seem boneless, opening her body in a way that was outrageously sensual. It was both frightening and frankly sexual.  
   
Jean-Pierre touched her shoulder and Savannah glanced up at him. Their gaze met and held, looking like they wanted to rip each others' clothes off.  
   
Cordy cleared her throat uncomfortably and the vamps' attention snapped back to her with an eerie predatory glance.  
   
"Oh, it sounds as if we're getting called in to dinner," Savannah said, glancing down the hall. Cordy hadn't heard anything, but then, she was human.  
   
"I'm so enjoying our little chat," Savannah continued, patting Cordy's knee companionably. "We'll just have to continue it later." She stubbed the cigarette out in a crystal ash tray, then stood. "I'll just see if M art in needs any help," she said, disappearing into the living room.  
   
Cordy, left alone with Jean-Pierre, stood as well. "Dinner?" she asked, hoping she could finally put some distance between them. Mr. Zhou would know what to do. She would just explain everything to him and....  
   
Jean-Pierre put an arm around her. It felt like marble that had set outside all night. "Cordelia, how long will you be here?" he asked, leading her down the hall and toward the kitchen.  
   
"I'm leaving at the end of the week," she said tightly.  
   
"Oh, too bad. I was so hoping to see Angel," he said with a feral twist of his lips.  
   
"Cordelia," Mr. Zhou called as they walked into the room. "Would you mind going down to the wine cellar and bringing up that case of champagne? It needs to st art chilling."  
   
"Can I speak with you for a moment?" she asked, as casually as she could.  
   
"Can we do it later? I'm very busy," he replied. His hands flew as he arranged food on a platter.  
   
"Yes, can't you see the man needs help, not distractions?" Jean-Pierre asked silkily. "Let's go down to retrieve what he has asked for, shall we?"  
   
Cordy shook her head. "No way."

"It's all right, Cordelia," Mr. Zhou said, glancing up with a smile. "Take Jean-Pierre. You'll need help carrying it," he said, disappearing into the dining room with Savannah on his heels.  
   
Cordy looked into Jean-Pierre's glinting eyes and her he art rolled uneasily in her chest.  
   
In the dining room someone laughed and the sound jerked her out of her reverie. There were a dozen people out there, any of whom would hear her scream if she needed help. She wasn't going to forget who he was, like she had with Darla. She was simply going to go downstairs and help him carry up a case of champagne. Then she was going to put as much distance between them as possible.  
   
"Lead the way," she finally said.  
   
Jean-Pierre opened the door next to the garage with a flourish. The steps were dark, and he st art ed down.  
   
She cleared her throat, and Jean-Pierre looked up curiously.  
   
"Oh, of course. You need light," he said, reaching out to flip a switch. The stairs, open except for a wooden rail on one side, were flooded with a harsh yellow glow.  
   
Cordy followed him down and through a narrow, low-ceilinged hall with stone walls. It smelled damp and musty. They turned a corner and the room opened up into a cavelike space, lined with shelves. Bottles rested on their sides, their glossy surfaces matted with dust.  
   
She shivered. I'm alone in a cellar with a vampire, she thought, who is older than Angel and has no soul.  
   
And has me cornered against the wall.  
   
He'd moved so quickly that her back was pressed against a row of shelves before she realized what had happened. The wood was raw against her skin, scraping her shoulders where the top left them bare.  
   
She opened her mouth to scream, only to find it covered by the vamp's large palm. She gasped, her knees going liquid with terror.  
   
"So, you're connected to the souled one," he said, his voice a hiss. "I should have known. You have his scent about you." He nuzzled her throat delicately.  
   
Cordy whimpered.  
   
"I have a message for Angelus," he said, sliding his free hand up her body and caressing the ends of her hair.  
   
Her he art pounded and she knew he could hear it. And, dammit, that pissed her off.  
   
She scrabbled for a weapon in the shelf behind her. Her fingers hit something long and cool. A bottle. In one quick movement, she grabbed it by the neck and swung it, thrilled when it connected with the side of his face.  
   
His head snapped viciously to one side and Cordy ducked out from under his arm and ran down the hall.  
   
"Oh, good," she heard him say.  
   
She clattered up the stairs, her heels catching on the rough wood. She stumbled, fell, and felt his hands grab her ankles. He yanked, and she flew through the air, landing with a bone-jarring thud against the floor. She ate dirt. Furious, dazed, she struggled against him, unable to find a handhold.  
   
"You're an awful lot of fun," he said, locking his hand on the back of her neck. "Angelus always did like spunky women."  
   
"Get off of me," she shrieked. "Mr. Zhou! Help!" There was no response, no rushing of feet. In fact, upstairs was eerily quiet. Oh, God, what was going on?  
   
"Oh, M art in trusts me," Jean-Pierre drawled. "He knows I would never hurt you." He straddled her hips and twisted her wrists behind her. She shimmied back and forth trying to unseat him.  
   
"Now, we can do this the hard way, or the *hard* way," he said, thrusting himself against her butt. She stopped struggling.  
   
"You tell Angelus...."  
   
The door at the top of the stairs opened. "Why don't you tell him, yourself?"  
   
"Angel?" Cordy said, looking up into the glare.  
   
"Ah, Angelus. Quelle surprise," Jean-Pierre drawled. His weight disappeared off of Cordy's back and she struggled to her knees. He grabbed her hair and hauled her to her feet, pulling her in front of him like a shield.  
   
She cried out in pain as his fingers twisted cruelly against her scalp.  
   
Angel walked slowly down the staircase, one arm clamped around Savannah 's throat, the other hand holding a lethal stake to her he art . She spit like a wet cat.  
   
"Jean-Pierre," Angel said, eyes glinting with fury. "I'd say it's been too long, but that would be a lie."  
   
"Yes, and one must always tell the truth, mustn't one?" Jean-Pierre responded. The arm around Cordy's throat tightened, nearly cutting off her air. She choked and clawed, but it was like trying to grip sand-smoothed stone.  
   
"Let her go," Angel said, poking the stake into Savannah 's chest. She flinched, her face twisting in fury.  
   
Jean-Pierre sniffed Cordy's throat, laughing cruelly as she struggled against him. "Shall we see who can draw the fastest?" he asked, vamping out and pressing his lips to Cordy's jugular.  
   
"No!" Angel yelled, loosening his grip.

Savannah jerked free and knocked the stake to the ground. She leapt down the stairs in one graceful step, with Angel on her heels.  
   
Jean-Pierre pulled Cordy deeper into the cellar. "Come get her," he said with a mocking laugh.  
   
Cordy heard a thud, then Savannah shrieked. Jean-Pierre's arm loosened at the sound, giving Cordy the chance to twist free.  
   
"Let go!" she rasped, dodging Jean-Pierre's lunge and running for the door. She ran right into Angel, her momentum sending them tumbling. He twisted, taking the fall, and she landed on him in a heap.  
   
"You okay?" he asked.  
   
She shoved herself off of him. "Just get me the hell out of here," she spat.  
   
Savannah laughed and walked nonchalantly across the room, brushing dirt from her pants. Her eyes glittered, diamond points of pleasure. "Looks like trouble in paradise," she said merrily. "But, then, tractable women were never your style, were they, Angelus?"  
   
Cordy reached into the shelves, drew out another bottle and rolled to her feet, just as Angel stood next to her. She pressed her back against his and they circled, waiting for the vamps to get within striking range.  
   
"I seem to remember the one you courted for over a month in Vienna that year. A sweet thing, she wasn't. But I'll bet she was hot in the sack," she laughed.  
   
Cordy snarled. "Would you just shut *up* already?" She brandished the bottle, only slightly comforted when she heard the snick of a knife blade being locked into place behind her.  
   
"Oh, but why, when it's so much fun. And it was fun, wasn't it, Angelus?" Jean-Pierre asked, getting into the groove. "We ruled Vienna that year. Your Darla and my Savannah were the belles of the ball. Of course, that all changed when you sold us to Holtz."  
   
She felt Angel flinch, but when he spoke, his voice was as cool and mocking as theirs. "Oh, you know me. Always looking out for myself."  
   
Jean-Pierre struck, quick as a snake, his reach longer than Cordy had given him credit for. Angel swerved, twisting her awkwardly into the shelf, then danced away. She side-stepped, regaining her balance, only to come face-to-face with Savannah 's stake.  
   
"Won't do you much good," Cordy said, glancing down. "Only works on vamps." She swung the bottle, but Savannah danced aside.  
   
"Not if I shove it in your gut, all that soft flesh. Run you right through," Savannah said. She rocked forward, forcing Cordy back. But in doing so, it opened a clear path to the door.  
   
If she could just make it upstairs.... Behind her, she heard a real fight break out between the men. Someone grunted, there was the crack of bone against bone, and the shattering of glass.  
   
A hail of green shards rained down, and when Savannah looked to see what had caused it, Cordy ran. She clattered down the hall, cursing the high heels and the tight pants, and grabbed a bottle on the way. If she made it out of this alive, she was going to drink every drop.  
   
The stairs flew beneath her feet and she stumbled, nearly falling. She grabbed the doorknob, turning it desperately, but her hands were slicked with sweat. Behind her, the fight raged, moving closer and closer to the stairs.  
   
She wiped her hands frantically on her shirt then grabbed the doorknob again. This time it turned.  
   
She crashed into the island, waiting for the vamps to explode out the hallway behind her. Knives on the counter, not good. But wooden spoons were. She set the bottle down with a clatter, grabbed a handful of spoons out of the utensil crock, and turned just as Savannah came screaming up the stairs.  
   
Angel and Jean-Pierre roared out behind her, Angel's coat flapping like a cape.  
   
"Where's Zhou?" she asked, brandishing a spoon at Savannah .  
   
"I locked 'em all in the bathroom," Angel said, dodging Jean-Pierre's fist.  
   
"Oh, that's great," Cordy said snidely. "You're so good at locking people in."  
   
"Yeah, well," he said, delivering a smooth roundhouse kick to the other man's gut. "At least all the vamps are out here this time."  
   
>From down the hall she could hear raised voices. She thought about letting them out, then realized it would only be more meat for the vamps. Which they would be, anyway, if she and Angel didn't dust them first.  
   
"Come and get me," she said to Savannah , running down the hall and into the dining room. The vamp followed, laughing wildly.  
   
"Cordy, no!"  
   
Angel and Jean-Pierre continued fighting in the kitchen, the Frenchman never allowing Angel to break away and go after Cordy. They slowly worked their way down the hall and into the dining room. Tables tumbled. Chairs broke. Food flew.  
   
Angel grabbed the Ming Dynasty horse off the mantel and crashed it over Jean-Pierre's head. He went down howling.  
   
"Cordelia!" It was Mr. Zhou. She glanced down the hall and almost got punched while she wasn't looking.  
   
"Crap," she said, grabbing a chair and swinging it, hard. It crashed into Savannah 's side, knocking her through the doors someone had left open in their haste, and out onto the deck.  
   
Cordy ran down the hall to the bathroom. "Mr. Zhou! I'm here!" she said breathlessly.  
   
"Let us out, Cordelia," he said.  
   
"Can't. Too dangerous," she panted, looking over her shoulder. "Why didn't you tell me they were your friends."  
   
"I didn't want to believe it would come to this."  
   
"What? Come to what?" she asked desperately.  
   
"They're testing us."  
   
"The vamps?"  
   
"No, the Powers. It's a test, to see how well you've learned. It's customary."  
   
"You knew this was gonna happen?" Cordy asked furiously.  
   
"I just summoned the test, as I always do. I did not believe they would pit my old friends against my new ones." His voice broke. "It seems they are testing me, as well."  
   
"I have to go," Cordy said.  
   
"Open the door, Cordelia," Mr. Zhou commanded. "I'll make sure these people get home safely."  
   
Cordy hesitated, and because she desperately needed to talk with him, she unlocked the door. The crowd filed out, disappearing into the living room to watch the fight.  
   
She faced her teacher. "He betrayed me," she said, combing her hair out of her eyes. "You both did. It's all I can think about."  
   
Mr. Zhou nodded. In the living room, the crowd gasped and muttered. Cordy glanced over her shoulder, unable to see anything.  
   
"In order for the link to work at its fullest capacity, you must forgive him. Both of you must learn to live with his past, in order to make your future."  
   
"Right. He risked my life and the lives of my family," she spat. "He was a brutal, ruthless murderer for generations. I read the books. I got the t-shirt."  
   
"Angel and Angelus. They are two sides of the same coin. To live with one is to live with the other. Cordelia, it's the same with everyone. Shadow and light, they exist in us all. Even you."  
   
Outside, someone howled in pain. Cordy couldn't tell who it was, but the sound raised the hair on the back of her neck.  
   
"You have to decide, is the risk worth it? Is loving someone worth the risk?"  
   
"Do you think so?" She looked into his ancient, black gaze and read there only acceptance and understanding.  
   
"Would I be in here, while my friends are fighting to the death, otherwise?"  
   
Cordy closed her eyes. She saw Angel firing her; threatening her; lying to her. Pounding Darla into the mattress. Breaking Jenny Calendar's neck.  
   
The pictures from the books she'd read flashed against her eyelids like a movie reel: bodies strewn carelessly--or laid out with breathtaking care. Blood spattered, throats ripped, and all of it done with an unholy glee. By an evil that would never cease to exist.  
   
Then she remembered what it was like to have a vision when he wasn't there to catch her. She saw his face, young and hopeful, when she opened the boxes of clothes he bought for her. Felt his arms settle around her as he sobbed in grief after Buffy died. Saw him watching her as she fed Connor, his he art in his eyes.  
   
Felt herself slipping into a world of pain greater than he'd ever dreamed of creating.  
   
"Oh, my God," she said, realization dawning.

"The link," Mr. Zhou called. "Don't forget the link!"  
   
She ran through the dining room and onto the porch. Outside, the vamps fought viciously on the cleared path. But Savannah and Jean-Pierre were backing Angel into the woods, where he could easily lose his footing. God, she needed to be out there. Now.  
   
She grabbed a bottle of Perrier, unscrewing the top as she leapt off the deck. Yanking her cross off, she dropped it into the bottle, trying desperately not to trip or to slosh the water out. Her heels sank into the wet path, but she didn't have time to stop and rip them off.  
   
By the time she made it to the fight, Angel was on his back, and Jean-Pierre and Savannah were pounding him against the dirty snow.  
   
"Lost your weapons, didn't you boy?" Jean-Pierre gloated.  
   
"Hey!" Cordy cried. Both vamps turned.  
   
"Oooh, Angel, call off your kitten," Savannah smirked.  
   
She plugged the bottle with her thumb and shook it, building the fizzy water's pressure to an explosive level. With her free hand, she yanked Savannah 's shirt. "Thirsty?" she asked, aiming the bottle and pulling her thumb away.  
   
The water geysered, shooting spray across Savannah 's face and chest. She cried out in surprise, then in agony, as the water scorched her fair skin, turning it a mottled, blistered red.  
   
Cordy shook the bottle again and aimed it at Jean-Pierre. "Get off of him," she said.  
   
He looked at the bottle, then at Cordy, and got to his feet. Angel rolled, coughing, and sat up, his coat caked with mud. Cordy went to him, keeping a watch on Jean-Pierre and the writhing Savannah. Her blood was pumping so hard she barely registered the cold.  
   
"Angel," she said, careful not to get him wet. "Come on. Get up."  
   
"Get out of here, Cordy. This is old business. Not your fight."  
   
She grabbed his upper arm and pulled him to his feet.  
   
Jean-Pierre lunged and Cordy shook the bottle and squirted the rest of the water menacingly in his direction. He danced aside, hissing when it hit his arm.  
   
"You're wrong," she said gently, tossing the bottle aside. "It's *our* fight. Now, let's finish it."  
   
She turned to face the vamps, keeping Angel behind her. She reached back and grabbed his hand. "The Lord is my shepherd," she said, her voice clear and firm. "I shall not want."  
   
"Cordelia, we don't have time for..." Angel's voice died away as the link flared open, shooting a spear of heat down Cordy's arm.  
   
She chanted the verse, building the heat and power of the link, feeling it throb through her, lighting her up from the inside out.  
   
Angel held her hand tightly as he followed her lead. She advanced at her own pace, working Jean-Pierre and Savannah down a line of her making.  
   
Savannah stumbled back, a look of pure hatred on her face. "I'll kill you for that," she said, all traces of humanity wiped away.  
   
Jean-Pierre mouth was a taut line, his eyes flat, silver discs. "And when she's finished with you, I will rip you into bite-sized chunks and feed you to my dogs," he intoned.  
   
Cordy ignored them, paying attention, instead, to the words flowing through her. "He restores my soul!" she said, dropping Angel's hand and moving into the first position of the tai chi form. Again, Angel seemed to understand, as he assumed his own fighting stance.  
   
They moved in tandem, like dancers. Angel's routine was a study in masculine power: fierce punches; roundhouse kicks; thrust and parry, retreat and advance. Cordy was like breath or water, flowing gracefully through her form.  
   
Grasping Sparrow's Tail blocked Savannah's kick and sent her rolling across the yard. Touching Heaven, Touching E art h took care of the high punch thrown by Jean-Pierre. As her lips formed the words of the psalm, the power flowed like a downhill river, gaining speed and force.  
   
The vamps were panting now, their eyes glazed and their bodies laboring. Angel fought as he always did, with seemingly endless energy, hopping up each time he fell, and meeting blow for blow.  
   
Then Savannah pulled a knife. Why she hadn't drawn it earlier, Cordy couldn't say. All she knew was, one minute she was dancing with the devil, and the next the devil was dancing with her. The blade flew expertly, sharp and swift and fueled by a dangerous cocktail of anger, pain and pride.  
   
She finished the psalm and st art ed again, hoping it would put them over the top. She muttered the words, slipping in and out of the nighttime shadows.  
   
"Prayers never were a match for steel," Savannah said, and she sent the knife arcing toward Cordy's throat.  
   
Cordy turned, but not fast enough, and the blade sliced, leaving a long trail of fire from shoulder to throat. The copper scent of blood hit the cold air like an angry fist and all three vamps stopped, mid-fight, and turned toward her.  
   
Savannah laughed, high on the blood and the adrenaline. She lunged, taking Cordy down in a rolling tackle. They landed hard against a tree trunk, and Cordy felt the bark tear her clothes and skin.  
   
She twisted, avoiding the knife, and found her hands full of snow and twigs. "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil," she whispered. She kicked, catching Savannah's arm, and sending the knife flying into the snow.  
   
Savannah rolled after it and Cordy went the opposite direction. She closed her eyes. "A stake. I need a stake," she said, letting the link be her guide. Her fingers landed on a sturdy branch, half-hidden by the snow.  
   
"You're mine," Savannah said. Cordy looked up at her, silhouetted in the moonlight, and smiled.  
   
"Not tonight," she said, holding the improvised stake and kicking Savannah's legs out from under her. She fell with a grunt, and Cordy felt her weight, the press of her breasts, and then nothing. Savannah screamed and exploded into dust.  
   
Cordy coughed and spat, rolling to her feet. In the shadows at the edge of the woods she could see Angel and Jean-Pierre still going at it. She picked up Savannah's knife and ran.  
   
"Too bad about your girlfriend," she taunted. Jean-Pierre whirled, leaving himself unprotected. Angel crashed his fist into the man's jaw and watched as he tumbled to the ground. He came up howling.  
   
"No fuss, no muss," Cordy said, wiping dust off her wet clothes. "I'm moving into Slayer territory here." She winked at Jean-Pierre, who rushed her, just as she'd intended. As he made his move, she flipped the knife to Angel.  
   
"Wooden handle," she said, as Jean-Pierre took her down in a flying tackle. God, he was heavy, she thought, seeing stars as she crashed into the path.  
   
"You killed her? You killed Savannah?" Jean-Pierre said, wrapping his hands around her throat.  
   
"Yeah," she gritted, bucking her hips. She couldn't resist one last dig. "Pretty easy, too, considering she was an Elder, and all."  
   
Her eyes widened as she saw the point of the knife appear through his chest, then jerk upward. Angel twisted it, burying the wooden handle to the hilt.  
   
Jean-Pierre screamed, a long, shrill, death-cry, and exploded. Dust rained down on Cordy and she choked, rolling to her side, retching.  
   
"Cordy," Angel said, falling next to her.  
   
She pushed him away, getting to her knees. "Just need to catch my breath," she said, panting and shaking her head.  
   
Adrenaline fueled her as she staggered to her feet. "If I never do that again, it will be too soon." She stumbled toward the house.  
   
"Hey," Angel said, appearing in front of her. He put his hands on her shoulders. "Stop for a minute. We're done."  
   
"We're done?" Cordy asked, looking around dazedly. "Oh, God." She leaned over, putting her hands on her knees. As her he art slowed, she began to feel the pain, not just from the cuts and bruises. But from the betrayal.  
   
"Hey," Angel said, squatting in front of her. "It's all right. You're okay. Cordy, you were amazing," he said, his voice full of awe.  
   
"Don't, Angel. Just...don't," she said, standing. She looked into his face, haloed by what was left of the moonlight, and saw Angelus.  
   
"You killed them," she said.  
   
"I...what?"  
   
"Thousands of people. But mostly women. You liked the women, didn't you?"  
   
He looked at her, his confusion and hurt a mirror of her own. "Cordy, please."  
   
"I saw them all, Angel. Every book the Watchers published on you, and let me just say, you're one of their favorite subjects."  
   
"Oh, God," he whispered.  
   
"And to make it worse, you slept with her," she said, her voice sad and broken.  
   
"What?" he asked, from down on his knees.

"Darla. You screwed Darla." She pushed her hair out of her eyes with a trembling hand.  
   
"Yes," he admitted fiercely. "Yes I did. Just like I committed all those other sins I can never atone for."  
   
She waved the old sins away. "That was then. This is now," she growled. "You risked our lives! Because *you* felt empty."  
   
He looked down, unable to meet her eyes.  
   
"So it's true. It wasn't just a dream."  
   
He shook his head. "No, it was a nightmare."  
   
"Don't play for my sympathy," she said harshly.  
   
He looked at her, then. "I wasn't. It was true. It was pure despair."  
   
"But you didn't know that, Angel. It might have.... You might have.... And he would have come after me. First."  
   
He swallowed. "Yeah."  
   
She crossed her arms over her breasts, suddenly aware of the cold on her exposed skin. "You don't live in a vacuum, Angel. What you do affects all of us now. Especially me."  
   
"I know," he whispered. "I know. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me."  
   
She ran her hand through his spiky hair. "Angel, I couldn't have linked with you that way if I hadn't already forgiven you," she said. "Just promise me something."  
   
"Anything," he said.  
   
"If you find yourself in that dark place again, call me. I have a flashlight."  
   
He laughed and let her help him to his feet. "Let's get you inside," he said, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.  
   
She stumbled against the adrenaline crash. "Oh, God," she said, sagging against him.  
   
He picked her up, cradling her against his chest.  
   
"I hurt all over," she whispered. "And it's *freezing* out here."  
   
"Bath first, then bandages."  
   
Cordy nodded. "I have to tell Mr. Zhou. They were his friends." Her voice broke as she realized the magnitude of what had just happened.  
   
Angel's footsteps echoed on the porch, then the door opened.  
   
"Is she all right?" Mr. Zhou asked quietly.  
   
"Angel likes to play the romantic lead," Cordy replied.  
   
The old man looked at her, his eyes sad and soft. "They died honorably."  
   
Cordy nodded. "Very much so."  
   
"That is all one can ask for." He stood silently with his eyes closed for a moment. "Angel," he finally said, "take her to her room. I'll run a bath and you can see that she takes it."  
   
Angel nodded and followed him down the hall. Cordy's head lolled against his shoulder. "You okay?" she asked quietly.  
   
"Not too bad, considering," he said, easing her down on the bed. He settled her against the pillows, then sat at her feet and slid off her sandals. Her toes felt like blocks of ice.  
   
"You fought in these things?" he asked, a look of amazement on his face.  
   
"The shoes weren't as bad as the pants," she said, slapping her hand against her thigh. The snakeskin crackled.  
   
He laughed, then bent over to inspect the cut on her shoulder. "That looks pretty bad," he said, fingering the edges gently.  
   
Cordy flinched. "I've seen worse on you. Once I get a bath, it'll look a ton better."  
   
Mr. Zhou came into the room. "Okay," he said, nodding to Angel.  
   
"You gonna be all right undressing on your own?"  
   
"I think so," Cordy replied. She hauled herself off the bed and padded to the bathroom, st art ing to shiver as the chill caught up with her. "Why don't you let M art in clean you up?" she asked before closing the door behind her.  
   
She pulled the top off, dismayed at the way it had been ripped during the fight. Not wanting see the bruises yet, she turned away from the mirror and unzipped her pants. They slithered down her legs, leaving her bare, except for her panties, which also joined the pile.  
   
The bath was steamy and filled with some sort of fragrant oil. It felt like fire against her feet, and she stood, panting, as she adjusted to the temperature. Finally, she was able to sit, then rest against the back of the tub.  
   
She moaned as she slid under, gasping when the hot water hit the scrapes, and hissing when it covered her shoulder. Her eyes closed and she floated, letting her mind turn off and the heat chase away the bone-deep chill.  
   
There was a knock on the door. "Cordy? You okay?"  
   
"Yeah. Why?"  
   
"It's been nearly an hour. You wanna come out?"  
   
She shifted, and the now-cool water sloshed against the side of the tub. "Yeah. I'll be right out." It was difficult to stand, and she had to use the soap dish to lever herself up. She let the water out, then wrapped herself in a towel and opened the door.  
   
Angel sat on the bed, clean and bandaged, and wearing fresh clothes.  
   
"You look better," she said.

"You don't," he countered.  
   
She laughed. "Thanks. You got any aspirin?"  
   
He held up a bottle. "And water, and disinfectant, and bandages. Sit down."  
   
She collapsed onto the side of the bed, leaning her head against his shoulder.  
   
"Don't go to sleep," he said. "We'll never get you taken care of." He handed her the aspirin and the glass. She took them gratefully and swallowed almost half the glass of water.  
   
"Better?"  
   
"Much," she rasped.  
   
He turned, sitting sideways on the bed. "Let's take care of this one first," he said, spreading ointment on the gash on her chest. His fingers were gentle and cool, but she still flinched.  
   
"That's gotta hurt," he said.  
   
She nodded. "Not too comfy."  
   
He taped a bandage over it, pressing the tape against her skin. "There. Now let me see your arms." He picked up one hand, examining her entire arm for abrasions, and applying ointment when he found one. "Legs okay?" he asked, glancing down.  
   
Cordy nodded. "Those pants are like armor. But I think my feet..."  
   
He knelt and picked up her foot. "Yeah, these need some work." He was quiet while he doctored her feet, and he rubbed the arches soothingly as he finished.  
   
Her head was nodding against her chest when he slid back up on the bed. "Cordy, turn around," he whispered.  
   
She presented her back and felt his fingers pull the towel aside. He hissed. "What did he do to you?" he asked, running his fingers across the long, horizontal scratches.  
   
"That must be from the shelves. Or maybe it was one of the tackles." She shrugged.  
   
Angel sighed and cleaned the cuts. "You'll have to get the rest," he said, capping the tube of ointment and setting it on the bedside table. "They can wait till tomorrow, though."  
   
He patted her shoulder and handed her a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt. "Put those on." He turned his back and Cordy slid the clothes over her stinging skin.  
   
"Okay," she said, pulling the covers back and climbing into the bed. Her eyelids drooped and Angel turned out the light.  
   
Her breathing evened out and Angel stood. Cordy reached for him. "No," she breathed.  
   
He took her hand. "No?"  
   
"Stay," she said.  
   
Angel looked around for a chair, but there wasn't one in reach. "Cordy," he whispered. "I've got to go find a chair. I'll be back."  
   
She opened her eyes, blinking owlishly. "Why? It's a big bed." She scooted over. "Come on, Angel, don't be a wuss."  
   
He laughed and climbed in next to her. "I don't think anyone's ever called me that," he said.  
   
She turned on her side and pulled him against her. "I don't know why not," she said. And then she was asleep.  
   
She slept for nearly 24 hours, waking to find it night again.  

on to part three