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Chapter 11 – Los Angeles, 1 June 2004
I was up early this morning, and went straight into the
Council office to check out our packaging-and-food thief. I got onto the
database, and after some searching, found what I was looking for. Judging from
what I saw, and what little I know about its habits, I reckon
it’s a Vidazul demon. They’re completely non-aggressive, and, in fact, normally
avoid all contact with humans. They prefer to live in remote areas – preferably
deserts – and their normal food consists of reptiles and insects, although if
Angel’s report of them stealing food is right, then they can manage on
human-type food too. In fact, they’re normally just about invisible. There are
reports of them being visible on occasion, and someone suggested that might be
during their mating season, but, due to their reputation lacking anything
remotely worrying, information on this species is pretty limited. I don’t know
what it’s doing in LA, but I can only assume that it’s looking for nesting
supplies – assuming that it nests.
Once that’s done, I call Giles. It’s late in the day for
him, but I’m not surprised to find him still at his desk. I give him my
thoughts on the past few days and tell him about the problems Mary’s had as a
result of her ‘gift’.
“It’s not the first time I’ve heard that,” he admits.
“And you didn’t tell me because?”
“Because it’s a minor consideration. To be honest, it’s only
come up twice before, and we are working on putting it right.”
“Only twice?” I ask. “But surely it must be more common than
that.”
“Of course, many of those we contact don’t really believe
what we say. Others are afraid and don’t want to get involved with us at all.
Many of them might feel the same way but be reluctant to actually contact us.”
“Great. You mean I managed to wreck countless lives with my
bright idea?”
“Hardly countless lives. The Slayers we’ve discovered so far
are strictly numbered. And you had no alternative to what you did.”
“I know, but …”
“No buts. I’m just relieved that the power only manifests
fully after puberty. I did have nightmares in the first few months of infants
injuring their parents.”
“That could have happened?”
“It was a possibility. Certainly, under the traditional
system, only young women were called, but there was no guarantee that younger
children wouldn’t be affected when we were forced to change the rules.”
“So, how’s the research going?” I ask. “You know, taking the
power from those who don’t want it.”
“Slowly,” he admits. “We could remove it from all the new
Slayers – that would just be a reversal of what we did before. Choosing which
Slayers to revert? That’s much more complicated, and we’re no further forward.”
After that call, I sit for a while, just thinking. So far,
there’s been no sign of retribution from the Senior Partners, and, in fact,
things in LA have been very quiet – eerily quiet, I suspect. Neville’s in his
office, and I stop by to pass a few minutes with him – just filling him in on
what I found last night, then I leave to keep my promise to Angel to return his
car.
When I arrive at the hotel, the main door’s locked which is
surprising since that’s the entrance I’d expect customers to use. While it’s
normally locked at night, it’s always been opened when I’ve been before.
I go round to the back entrance, and find that it’s open, so
I go in, calling for Angel as I go. That way takes me through the kitchen,
where dirty dishes from last night are still lying in a pile just inside. I
continue in, through the dining room and out to the foyer and still there’s
neither sight nor sound of Angel. His office door’s open, so I take a look
inside. I’m not expecting to find him since he hasn’t answered me, but it
occurs to me that he said he had a doctor’s appointment this morning, and I’m
hoping to find a time for that on his calendar.
What I find is rather different. Angel’s there, passed out
on the floor. If it wasn’t for the presence of several empty wine bottles and
an open whiskey bottle, I’d suspect he’d been attacked, but when I get close
enough, the olfactory clues are enough to confirm that he’s drunk.
I shake him while calling his name, but he’s so far gone he
doesn’t even seem to notice. I give up on him for a moment, and go to his desk
to check the time of his appointment. That’s for eleven
thirty, which means he’s got an hour and a half. There’s a water
jug and a glass on the side, and I decide to go for the cliché. I pour a
glassful and throw it over his face. He splutters but comes to, arms flailing
and trying to get at his assailant. Of course, with the benefit of my superior
speed, he misses by a mile.
When he finally focuses on me, his first response is to
growl at me.
“What d’ya do that for?”
“I tried shaking you, but it didn’t work.”
“Didn’t try very hard, then,” he complains, trying to sit
up.
“And why‘m I here? And what’re you doing here so early?”
“It’s not early, and I came to return your car,” I respond,
as evenly as I can. I’ve never seen Angel drunk before, and to be honest, it’s
not pretty.
He shakes his head again, looking for a second like a dog after
a bath, but quickly changes his mind as he winces in pain.
“What happened?”
“I wasn’t here, so I can only go by the evidence,” I
explain, lowering the volume of my voice when he winces again. “But I’d say you
drank yourself into a stupor last night and passed out.”
He seems to consider that for a moment before shaking his
head.
“Doesn’t seem likely,” he mutters, finally managing to sit
up properly.
I shrug. Right now, I really don’t care how likely he thinks
it is. “You’ve got an appointment in,” I check my watch, “a little over an
hour. I think I’m going to go and put on some coffee, and you should probably
have a shower.”
“Shower,” he repeats. “Yes, good idea.”
“You want some breakfast?” I ask as he lurches towards the
door.
The face that turns towards me to reply has taken on a
slightly green tone, and he just whispers a negative before going on upstairs.
I go into the kitchen and quickly find the makings for
coffee. Then I turn to clearing up last night’s debris. There isn’t a lot
really – I’d guess the food was delivered in disposable packaging, so it’s just
the plates and silverware which don’t take a long. The surprise comes when I go
to dump the trash – it looks like Angel’s been living on delivered food, and
there’s evidence that last night’s drinking spree wasn’t his first, although it
may have been the heaviest.
I get that being human after a couple of hundred years of
being a vamp is going to take some getting used to, I really do, but I don’t see that alcohol’s going to help when
he’s already down in the strength, speed and coordination departments. I just
wish there was someone else here who could talk to him, but the others are
either dead or gone off on vacation for an indeterminate time.
I take the coffee pot back to his office, then change my
mind – the smell in there isn’t noticeably better for Angel’s having left the
room. I take it back out to the main desk. I’m half way through my first cup
when Angel appears. He does look a lot better, but his eyes obviously belong to
someone in pain.
“You got some aspirin around here?” I ask.
He shakes his head, then thinks again. “The doc gave me
something after I got hit on the head. Haven’t used them all – they’re probably
in the top drawer of my desk.”
It’s an inexplicit request that I get them, and judging by
the way he fell into that chair, getting up again isn’t something he’s going to
be doing in a hurry. I pour him some coffee, then go back to the office. There
are two top drawers – one on the left and one on the right. I pick the left one
first, and don’t find any pain-killers, but I do find a photo of someone I
don’t recognise – blonde and smiling and very attractive. I put the photo back,
feeling guilty that I’ve somehow been snooping, and open the other drawer.
There I find a foil pack of pain-killers which I take back to him.
He’s pouring himself another cup of coffee when I get back,
and I hand the pills to him. He swallows a couple and sits back down again. I
check my watch, and mentally estimate how long it’s going to take to get to the
doctor’s office.
“You need to leave soon,” I offer.
“No problem,” he answers. “Where’s the car?”
“Angel, you can’t drive.”
“Buffy, I’m feeling fine, honestly. Well, I’ve got a
headache, but that’s no reason not to drive.”
“When did you have your last drink, Angel? Because I’d guess
if they tested you now, you’d still be over the limit.”
He looks at me as if I’m stupid.
“Seriously, Angel, you’re not driving.”
“Just give me the damn keys,” he growls at me.
“I’ll drive,” I offer. “I’ll leave the keys when we get
back.”
“Buffy,” he says warningly. “Just give me the keys. Or …”
“Or what? I’ll call a cab if you like, but I’m not giving
you the keys.”
He looks for just a moment as if he’s going to argue some
more, but his shoulders slump, and I know I’ve got him.
“Just don’t make a habit of this,” he warns.
“What? Looking after my friends? News flash – it’s already a
habit.”
“No, I mean trying to mould me to what you want.”
“There is no moulding going on here. I just don’t want you
killing some poor joe out there and then having a guilt trip about it.”
He shakes his head, obviously still thinking I’m
over-reacting, but right now, I don’t care.
“You ready?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer, just gets up and walks towards the door.
As he locks the back entrance, it occurs to me that I should
talk to him about leaving it open last night, but I get the distinct impression
that’s not going to go down too well, so I leave it. One battle at a time, and
with any luck, once he’s recovered from the shock of last night, he’ll realise
that he’s not going to be able to repeat last night too often or he’s really
going to feel the effects.
The drive is uncomfortable. Whatever else he is, when he’s
not distracted by a near-death experience, Angel’s not a good passenger. If he
pushes any harder on the floor beneath his feet, he’s going to go straight
through.
We finally get to the doctor’s office with just five minutes
to spare. Angel checks in with the receptionist who announces, “The doctor will
be with you soon. Your wife is welcome to help herself to coffee while she’s
waiting.”
Angel looks bemused for a moment, but I just shake my head.
I don’t want to get into a discussion about Angel and me, and I don’t want
another coffee anyway.
The exam takes longer than I’d expected, and when he finally
emerges, Angel’s looking even worse than when he went in. I try to make small
talk on the way back, but he just mutters something about test results in a
week and then goes back to wincing when I overtake a truck. When we finally get
back to the hotel, I make a point of handing him the car keys, then go to walk
back to the Council office.
“Not coming in, then?” he asks, apparently surprised.
“I was going to go and check in with Neville,” I answer.
“Oh, Neville,” he parrots, his tone distinctly unfriendly.
“Yes, Neville. I work with him. Ergo I need to communicate
with him. And that’s where I’m going now.”
“What if there’s a job? Something urgent?”
“Then you can call me,” I answer, keeping my tone even.
“Oh,” I remember. “That demon last night? Harmless. Probably looking for
nesting material. Vidazul demon from what I found. Tell your client to block up
the hole, and suggest he leave any spare packaging material outside somewhere
it’s not going to get wet if it rains. Give it a couple of weeks, it’ll
probably leave anyway – LA’s not really a good place for it.”
I turn and walk away then, wondering if I should stay and talk
to him. Seems to me that he’s still hungover, and now he’s been prodded and
whatever by the doctor, it’s not the best time. But it’ll have to be soon.
Something tells me that if I don’t sort things out with Angel quickly then
it’ll get unpleasant. I thought I’d made it clear that I wasn’t ready to jump
into a romantic relationship with him again. If I haven’t, then I need to,
because the way he’s acting just now even being his friend is proving more
difficult than I’d thought it would be.
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