Sanctuary Page 11

“Cinnamon,” Misty answered, tugging the hair from her mouth and tucking it up behind her ear. “It was the strangest thing. All those demons around, each with their own individual scent, and the fire burning across the way, and then suddenly I thought I caught a strong whiff of cinnamon. It was very noticeable until the smell of the gunsmoke or whatever drifted over us, and that covered it up. What do you think that means, anything?”

  Lorne couldn’t stifle a deep sigh. “Well, it could be a sign of a Kedigris demon. But then it could also be a sign that someone had stopped at a bakery, or that Luis had made himself a double capp, so by itself it’s not all that definitive.” Although he knew it wasn’t necessarily unsupported—Urf’dil had thought she’d smelled it too. So that was looking more and more promising, with only the minor exception that he hadn’t seen any Kedigris, and since they were shape-shifters he might well be surrounded by them without even knowing about it.

  “Sorry I don’t have any more information for you. The portal, the arm in a red sleeve or red robe, the cinnamon smell that went away. That’s pretty much everything I know.” The expression on her pretty face was sincere and a little sad. Lorne believed her—if she could help, she would. Or she’s a heck of an actress, he thought.

  “Listen, I appreciate as much as you have done. I’ll get these interviews wrapped up and cut everybody loose as soon as I can,” Lorne promised her. “But it’s going to take a bit more time. So if you haven’t, umm…hooked up yet, you still have a chance.”

  “You know, after everything that’s happened tonight, I think I just want some time alone,” Misty said. She reached across the table and put a hand over the back of Lorne’s. “But maybe another time I’ll come back. Do you ever get a night off?”

  If Lorne could have blushed, he would have, but fortunately his flush didn’t really show on his green skin. “Honey, I own the joint. If I need to take a night off, I just ask myself for permission. And I happen to be very permissive.”

  She squeezed his hand once and crinkled her nose in a happy grin. “That’s what I wanted to hear,” she said. “Until next time.”

  “I’ll be counting the hours,” Lorne said. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze in return and left her table. That interview hadn’t shed much more light, but so far it topped the night in fringe benefits. He wondered if the next one would be half as entertaining.

  Chapter Twelve

  The building that housed the offices of Wolfram & Hart was dark at this hour, with just scattered lights showing through the windows. After driving past it, Angel parked a couple of blocks over and went down into the sewers, from which he had a well-established path into the building’s interior. He emerged in an abandoned hallway, near the elevator. The building’s security system would, he knew, recognize that there was a vampire on the premises, and armed guards would be dispatched. He’d dodged them—or fought them off—before, and he was sure he could do it again.

  The elevator came quickly, since no one else was using it this late at night. A few moments later he was standing in front of Lilah Morgan’s office. Light spilled out beneath her door, and he could hear hushed voices inside. Angel smiled. She’s here, and she’s got a man in there with her, he thought. Undoubtedly the one who called me. He tried her office door and found that it was unlocked, so he walked in.

  “Who—oh, it’s you,” Lilah said, startled. She regained her composure quickly, though, and gave him an exasperated stare and added a layer of ice to her voice. “I’m a little busy right now, Angel. Is there something you need? Other than a stake in the heart?”

  Behind Lilah, a big window on the dark night sky reflected the office, except for Angel, who of course had no reflection. Lilah sat behind her desk, which had a mound of paperwork on it. She inclined her head toward the man sitting across from her in one of the visitor’s chairs. He was a round little man, with a big belly and a round, bald head, and a small white mustache under his big round nose. He looked at Angel with a mixture of curiosity and concern, his mouth falling open a little. The hairs on his mustache quivered.

  “I’m Angel,” Angel said to him. “Who are you?”

  “I’m…I’m Stanley,” he said. As soon as he spoke, Angel knew it wasn’t the voice on the phone. This guy’s voice was high-pitched, almost squeaky. There was no way he could have pulled off the deep, gravelly voice that Angel had heard before.

  “Stanley is a client,” Lilah explained. “And I’m on his clock right now. And his business, oddly enough, doesn’t involve you.”

  When Lilah wanted something from him—even when she just wants to dust me, Angel realized—she would put on flirtatious airs. Now, though, that tone was completely missing. He couldn’t tell if it was because she truly was busy, and distracted, or if she was hiding it because of Stanley’s presence. Either way, he had the distinct sensation that she was telling the truth—she wasn’t involved in the kidnapping of Fred or the plot against his life. Which doesn’t mean that the entire firm is equally innocent, he knew. “Let me just ask you a quick question, Lilah, and then I’ll get out of your hair.”

  “It had better be quick,” she said. Her firm jaw was set, her mouth a grim line. “Because the guards are certainly on their way up.”

  “Is anyone at Wolfram and Hart trying to kill me? I mean, currently. Or is there any ongoing plot involving the capture of one of my team?”

  Lilah drummed on her desk with her fingertips as she considered the questions. “Not that I know of, and not that I know of. How’s that?”

  “If there was such a plot, would you know about it?”

  Waiting for her answer, Angel glanced at Stanley. The little round man had reddened noticeably, and he seemed to be pressing himself into the chair as if he wished he could hide beneath it. Lilah saw where his gaze was, and she tapped her index finger against her forehead.

  “He’s not right,” she explained to Stanley. “Up here. Paranoid delusions. Every law firm has a few of ’em running around.” She looked back at Angel. “I would, and I don’t. Now if you’ll say good night, Angel, Stanley and I can get back to preparing his incorporation papers.”

  “Yeah, sorry for the intrusion,” he said. Before he left he bowed close to Stanley. “Read the fine print really carefully,” he warned. Then he backed out of the office and closed the door behind him. He ran down the hall, back to the elevators, and punched the button. He could hear cables and pneumatics working in the shaft. Both elevators reached his floor at the same time, but in one he spotted a brown shoe and a length of leg, wearing gray pants with a gold stripe down the middle. Angel slipped into the other elevator and punched the button for the ground floor, then the DOOR CLOSE button.

  The doors slid shut just as the guards emerged from the other elevator and started up the hall. Angel flattened himself against the control panel. The back of the elevator was mirrored, and in the glass Angel could see one of the guards toss an inquisitive glance inside, as if wondering why an empty elevator would be closing just now. But since he cast no reflection, and the guard didn’t actually come into the elevator, Angel remained unseen.

  • • •

  “Did you know that Wolfram and Hart takes on regular people as clients?” Angel asked after describing the scene in Lilah’s office to Wesley and Gunn. They’d met at a street corner, and Wesley sat beside him in the car now, with Gunn lounging in the backseat.

  “Stanley? Regular?” Gunn laughed. “Old Stanley is the consigliere for one of L.A.’s most prominent mobs. They keep him around because he has a good head for numbers and that innocent look that makes people believe he couldn’t possibly be up to anything crooked. Bankers and judges love Stanley, until they hear how many murders he’s been associated with.”

  Angel swiveled in his seat. “Are you kidding? Do you think I should go back there? Maybe he is the one I talked to.”

  “Angel, please watch the road or let someone else drive,” Wesley said quietly. Angel turned back to the front and swerved around a city bus that was pull
ing away from the curb with a huff of its air brakes and a growl from its engine. Wesley has a point, Angel thought. If I need to look at Gunn, that’s what the mirror’s for.

  “I never heard about Stanley being involved with anything supernatural,” Gunn said. “And I never heard about him changing his voice. Every Stanley story talks about that little mouse squeak he’s got. It just don’t fit that he’d be mixed up with demons.”

  “He’s mixed up with Wolfram and Hart,” Angel insisted.

  “Which only goes to prove,” Wesley added, “that they represent criminals of the human persuasion as well as of the monstrous. Nothing more.”

  “I guess,” Angel said.

  “Besides, you ain’t done anything to make the mob angry, have you? Why would they care about you?”

  “I guess you’re right,” Angel said again. He felt disappointment that his hunch hadn’t paid off, combined with a gripping fear because he still had no clue as to where Fred was, and the hour was growing later and later. “I was just so sure that Wolfram and Hart must be involved.”

  “They still might be,” Wesley suggested.

  “No, I think if they were, Lilah would know about it.”

  “But she wouldn’t necessarily tell you, would she?”

  “Usually, she would,” Angel said. “One way or another. She’s good at keeping secrets from her coworkers, I think, but when it comes to me, she seems to get some sort of satisfaction from taunting me. I think it makes her feel like she has power over me.”

  “And that’s what she’s all about,” Gunn said. “Power is that chick’s middle name. Why she fits in so well at the firm.”

  “That, and a complete lack of conscience,” Wesley suggested. “They must comb the law schools for signs of sociopathology before they recruit.” The ex-Watcher shook his head in disgust.

  “Nice to know they got standards, though,” Gunn said.

  Angel made a couple of right turns and headed for a market that a demonic informant had mentioned to Wesley and Gunn. He drove in silence for a few blocks, but then Wes broke the quiet. “Angel, we have to talk about it,” he said solemnly.

  Angel decided to play dumb. “About what?”

  But Wesley wouldn’t buy it. He almost never did. “Cordelia told us about the offer, the deal. You for Fred. You know you can’t do it.”

  “Nothing to it,” Angel insisted. “I go to the park. They free Fred.”

  “You really want to tell us that Fred is more important than you are?” Gunn asked. “Because that’s bogus, you know what I’m sayin’? I mean, I love Fred, she’s great. Kinda brings a breath of fresh air to the team and all. But long run? She’ll never be the demon killer you are.”

  Angel negotiated a left turn, then a right, before he answered with a question of his own. “What makes you think that’s the only consideration?”

  “What other consideration might there be?” Wesley wanted to know.

  “My word,” Angel said simply. When no one spoke, he elaborated. “I promised Fred that she’d be safe with me. When we wanted to bring her back to Earth from Pylea, I told her she’d be protected. I offered her the sanctuary of our team, of the hotel, of my abilities. And I did that even though I knew—I know—that anyone who is near me is in danger, all the time. You guys all know that. So does Cordelia. You accept it, anyway, and that’s your decision, but you knew the ground rules when you decided to play the game. Not Fred. She didn’t have that luxury. She was just brought in, and I told her she’d be okay, and now she’s not. She’s already been hurt.”

  “Hey, English,” Gunn called from the backseat. “Check and make sure that’s really Angel.”

  “What do you mean?” Wesley asked, confused.

  “I never heard him say so many words at once,” Gunn clarified. “I think maybe he’s been switched for an exact duplicate, except one with a bigger vocabulary.”

  Angel ignored the gag. Part of him was glad that Gunn could still crack wise, despite the circumstances, but another part thought it was inappropriate. Until Fred was safe, he didn’t want to see smiles and hear laughter.

  Fred had offered Angel sanctuary in her cave, on Pylea, even when he had turned into a full-fledged demon, an Angelbeast. She had not thought twice, had not turned him away no matter how gruesome he’d become. She had never once seemed to worry that he might be a danger to her, always trusted that his human side—even when she couldn’t see it—would overrule the bestial. When he had brought her back here, he had meant to offer her the same kind of unquestioning, unconditional acceptance and security. She had looked up to him—even, in a few of her less-guarded moments, made comments that made him think she had a pretty major crush on him. That made him responsible for her, no matter what. That meant he had to sacrifice himself, if necessary, to save her.

  “Gunn’s right,” Wesley said, matching Angel’s serious mood. “I love her, too, as we all do. But Fred can’t do for humankind what you can. If it weren’t for you, she’d still be in Pylea, living in a cave. You’ve done what you could for her, you returned her to her home dimension, you helped bring her out of her shell so she can function in the world. But you can’t give your life for her, Angel. Just think rationally about it. Compare the contribution you can make to the world, versus hers.”

  “Fred’s a physicist,” Angel said, leaning into a turn. He was driving too fast now, tires screeching as he rounded the corners. He knew he should slow down, but couldn’t seem to take his foot off the gas. “Probably a brilliant one, with life experience that no other scientist on Earth has ever had. Who’s to say she won’t make a contribution that way? She could be the next Einstein. Even better. She could open the way to the stars, she could bring about world peace. We just don’t know. But she’s young and smart and good, and I made a promise to her. I’ve lived plenty long enough and done so much damage, I can never hope to make it all right.”

  No one had an argument for that.

  On the next straight section of road, Angel gunned the engine and roared toward a market on a corner, three blocks up. As the car hurtled over the cross streets, he glanced at Wesley, who braced himself with a stiff arm against the dashboard, and realized that his driving was causing his friends to worry, for no reason. He lifted his foot off the gas and applied the brake, slowing to a smooth stop just down the block from the market. “Look,” he said as he turned off the ignition. “My plan is still to find Fred before morning. I want to avoid either of us dying, okay?”

  “Good to hear, dog,” Gunn said, climbing out of his seat. “We’re behind you on that idea.”

  “Absolutely,” Wesley confirmed.

  Angel stood on the sidewalk and looked at the little corner market, its windows almost totally obscured by hand-lettered signs advertising bargains on cigarettes, beer, steaks, soft drinks, and other staples of life. Neon signs indicated that the store was open, and the soft glow of fluorescent lighting spilled out into the street through double glass doors. “Tell me again what you heard about this place,” Angel said quietly.

  “Front’s a regular little food store,” Gunn explained. “In back, though, there’s a hidden second shop. Sells food items, if you wanna call it that, and other goods that a demon might need. Things your average human would flip out about if he ever saw ’em for sale in a store. Demon we talked to says he was in there shopping a few nights back, and heard the counter demon talking to another employee about some bad stuff comin’ your way.”

  “So we thought that perhaps the demons working in this store were part of the plot against you,” Wesley picked up. “Or aware of it, at any rate. At the very least, the timing is curious, wouldn’t you say?”

  “That may not be the word I’d use,” Angel said. “But okay. Let’s pay them a visit.”

  He went first, through the double doors and into the store. A bell tied to one of the door handles jingled to announce their entrance. To the left was a counter with racks of cigarettes above it and a cash register almost hidden behind coun
ter displays of lottery tickets, magazines and tabloids, and a jar of rubber squeeze balls designed to look like eyeballs. Sitting on a stool behind the counter was a man who looked human, a grizzled, unshaven guy with a Yankees cap over long, straight hair, and a haunted look in his eyes. Angel had heard that look referred to as a “thousand-yard stare,” and it seemed to fit in this case. The guy looked at them, or through them, with no change in his flat expression.

  “Don’t get up,” Angel said. “We’re just going in back.”

  The guy didn’t even acknowledge them, but he kept his seat. Angel led the way through the store, between aisles of shelving overflowing with products, and through another door into a back storage room. It was dark back here, but the dark didn’t slow Angel down. He was a creature of the dark; after all these centuries of vampirism he could see as well, or better, in the dark than in bright sunlight. Another door led out of the back room. The casual observer would think it opened onto a loading dock, but since it was the only door back here, Angel thought otherwise.

  He was right. He passed through that door and came into a second store at least as big as the first, if not a little larger. The shelves here were crowded, too, but with a different assortment of goods. One shelf, for instance, contained nothing but jars of eyeballs, real ones, this time, floating in liquid—the same type of jar, Angel noticed, as the one that held the rubber balls in the front store. The eyeballs were all different types and sizes: goat, rabbit, tiny pigeon eyes, great big camel ones. He didn’t look carefully, but he was pretty sure one of the jars contained human eyes.

  There were displays of weapons and armor, various foodstuffs—including, Angel noted with interest, different types of blood—magickal implements and accessories, and human-styled clothing in an astonishing variety of sizes and cuts. Angel crossed to the refrigerated section, where there were two shelves of blood, found a jar labeled PIG, and unscrewed the lid, sniffing it. Smells right, he thought. He carried it to the counter. A scrawny, bored-looking demon with aqua skin and four ear flaps, each pierced and dotted with a different type of stud or ring, watched them with curious eyes.