Close to Home....So Far Away

By Gabrielle Lawson

Chapter Four

 

Buffy opened the door, ready to compare notes on the events of the night. But she and Doyle were met with silence. It wasn't that no one was there. Everyone was there, sitting quietly and watching her with wide eyes. Well, not Anya. She just looked bored. Even Harry had returned. She closed the door behind her back and still no one spoke. She smiled, a bit unsure of the situation. She looked at her blouse. No, not covered in blood or gore. “Okay, what's going--”

Doyle, just to her right, tapped her shoulder. When she looked at him, he was wearing nearly the same expression as the others. But he wasn't looking at her so much as past her. He pointed to her left.

She turned quickly and found a chest blocking her view. A big chest, covered in tight-fitting leather. She looked up, found shoulders. Up farther and she found a face. Red, narrowed eyes glared at her from within a frame of blue-gray spikes. "Someone you know?" Buffy asked Doyle behind her.

"Danarim do fara?!" the demon snarled fiercely.

Buffy stepped back. "What did he say?" she asked Doyle, who hadn't bothered to answer her last question.

"How should I know?" he whispered back.

"He's Brachen, isn't he?" she shot back.

"He asked where Francis is," Harry said, standing. "This is Gherosha, of the Clan Narok."

So he was a friend of hers. "Nice to meet--" Buffy tried.

"Darak fim caram!" Gherosha spat back at Harry. Maybe friend was going too far.

"Where is he?" Harry translated, almost matching his snarl, but leaving out the angry arrogance.

Buffy assumed they meant Doyle. Buffy pointed a thumb over her shoulder. The Brachen immediately pushed her out of the way. From the look on Doyle's face, she thought he might bolt right through the wall.

"It's alright, Francis," Harry said.

"Darak fim caram!" Gherosha repeated far more emphatically. Harry dipped her head in resignation, and Buffy wondered if she shouldn't just stake the guy simply for being rude. But Doyle was still there, not backing into the wall, so she guessed she'd go along with it if he did.

The Brachen was taking stuff out of a pouch he was wearing. He threw some of the books off the table and started setting out several talismans and bowls. He chanted something that Harry didn't bother to translate. Finally, he threw some powder into one of the bowls causing a green burst of flame. He then picked up the bowl and threw the contents at the door, where she and Doyle were still standing.

Buffy jumped, expecting hot liquid, but it was just powder, though it did stick to her clothes.

It also stuck to Doyle, who now was glowing slightly. He held up his hands, looking at them. He stepped back just a bit and hit the door. He actually hit the door.

"Hey!" Spike exclaimed. "We can s--"

Harry had stepped up behind him, clamping both hands down over his mouth, just as Gherosha turned on him. But it was too late. The Brachen removed Harry's hands and grabbed Spike by the throat, lifting him straight out of his chair.

Spike's eyes narrowed and his hands gripped the demon's big arm, but he couldn't free himself.

"Dnesh ta narim!" Harry said quickly, touching the Brachen's arm as well. "Dnesh ta narim. Narim do Francis."

Gherosha emitted a low growl, but he dropped Spike. He returned his attention to Doyle who was distracted by his ability to touch the wall. "I could really go for a sandwich right now," he whispered to Buffy.

Buffy didn't want to speak since it was rather obvious the demon wanted the floor, but she did motion to Willow with her hands as she moved slowly back into the room. Whatever the powder had done to Doyle, it had given him some measure of solidity. Maybe he'd get a chance to eat something before it wore off. Willow nodded, but didn't get up right away. Buffy understood that. Now was probably not the best time.

Gherosha stood in front of Doyle, who was now paying close attention. "Birank guhor dekina?" the demon asked. Doyle shook his head, not understanding.

"You are ashamed of your people?"

Doyle met the Brachen's gaze which was difficult considering how much taller Gherosha was. "The Brachen are not my people," he said.

The Brachen just stared at him, waiting for a translation.

"Ti Bracha neonim gahor," Harry said, and the Brachen growled again.

"Tuesh tir birank," Gherosha spat. Harry hesitated to translate. "Darak!" he snapped at her.

"It is you who shame us," Harry said softly.

Gherosha growled, but seemed satisfied. He turned back to Doyle and roughly grabbed the back of his head with one hand. Buffy felt the hair on the back of her neck and arms stand up. Her instincts told her this wasn't going to be good.

Gherosha placed his other hand on Doyle's forehead, pressing hard. His muscles strained with the effort, and Buffy felt her stomach tighten. Doyle's own hands came up to try and push the demon away. She couldn't see his face, though, to see if he was in pain. Then he screamed and she knew he was. She stepped forward, stake in hand, as Doyle crumpled to the floor with Gherosha's hands still on him. Or in him. She could see his face now and Gherosha's wrist where it disappeared into Doyle's forehead.

Buffy sensed everyone else standing behind her and decided to end this. "That's enough!" she declared, advancing on him. "Your little demonstration of family loyalty is over. Let him go!" She punctuated her request with a kick to the knee that would have shattered human bone.

Gherosha roared and released Doyle by throwing him into the corner against the hall tree, which shook against the impact. While she was distracted by Doyle, who remained on the floor, clutching his face and gasping for breath, Gherosha swung one of his large arms, connecting with her face and sending her flying right into Harry. They both fell, knocking over a lamp.

"Dar tefim. Lo'oran mekit ko renorin. Ad so fir taril so benin. Lo'oran ma graya."

Harry was too busy trying to extricate herself, but Buffy didn't feel like waiting for a translation. She stood up, facing the beast. He glared down at her with his fiery red eyes. "So you are the warrior?" he asked, in clear, if guttural, English. He didn't sound impressed.

"I'm the Slayer," she told him, keeping one eye on Doyle as he struggled to sit up behind the demon.

"And how will you slay Lo'oran?" he asked, his voice mocking her. "Will you stake the wind?" He reached behind his back and unsheathed a long, heavy sword, its black blade decorated with faint ghoulish faces. "Can you cut a cloud with a sword?"

The mist, she realized. He was talking about killing the demon in the Nether. And she had no idea how to answer. She didn't know how to kill a mist.

He held the sword in strike position, and Buffy wished she were closer to Giles' weapons chest. "What if the wind were to become a tree?" the demon posed.

What was with demons and riddles anyway? Why not just come out and say it? Still, she could answer that last one. "I'd cut it down," she told him.

He lowered the sword. "Not without this." Then he turned and, narrowly missing Doyle's legs, stormed out the front door.

Harry was up behind her. "Take it from him!" she urged, lightly pushing Buffy toward the door. Buffy glanced back once, and Giles was already there, looking through the weapons. Trusting him to get what she needed, she charged out, hoping to keep the demon from getting away.


Doyle still felt something from the demon's hand, a remnant of the agony he'd felt full-force only a few minutes before. His back, too, still hurt from its contact with the hall tree beside the door.

He sat up, using the wall and floor for support, while still holding one hand to his face. He had no idea what the Brachen had done to him, but it left him shaky and somewhat self-conscious. Had the demon destroyed his face? Beneath his hand, it felt alright, and since the beast was busy with Buffy, he chanced removing his hand.

And he saw the demon stomping towards him, seemingly even taller now that Doyle's perspective was lower. He pulled his legs back just in time to avoid being stepped on as Gherosha rushed out the door.

Harry was behind Buffy, pushing her towards the door. "Take it from him!" she said, and Buffy, too, brushed past him, tackling the demon in the courtyard. Harry was right behind her. Angel was next with a sword in his hands.

No one, as yet, was shrieking at Doyle's appearance, so he figured his face was still intact, which was at least something. He tried to stand, reaching for the hall tree, but his legs felt like rubber bands beneath him. Then someone's arms were around him, and he turned to see Cordelia's hair. He stopped trying to get up and brushed her hair back until he could see her face. He could touch her, just like in the light place the last time they'd dreamed together. He touched her cheek and decided he could stay just like this forever.

If he weren't so hungry, and if she weren't so intent on getting outside with everyone else.

"You're going to be alright," she told him. She was smiling, but he could see, by the tears glistening in her eyes, that she was trying to convince herself. She started to lift him, and Doyle decided he should help her. Nearly everyone else was already outside.

The movement hurt and each step jarred some bruised or aching joint. But it was only a few steps and the others made room for them at the door. The demon had backed Buffy into the fountain. Angel tossed his sword to Buffy, who caught it by the hilt and immediately brought it down to parry the demon's thrust. Now she was driving him back.

Someone tapped on his shoulder. Doyle found Willow there and she was holding a perfect white bread sandwich out to him. He grabbed for it, forgetting decorum in his months-long desire for food. But all he caught was Willow's hand. "Dammit!" he muttered, feeling the last vestiges of endurance leave him. The sandwich was still there, but his fingers had gone through it. Frustration won out over all else, and his knees buckled, putting all his weight on Cordelia. Frustration, anger, helplessness, hunger, exhaustion, hopelessness, pain, all piled on top of each other until he couldn’t see straight. After all he'd gone through, all he'd suffered and was still suffering, this was just too much.


“You sadistic bastard!” Buffy yelled, delivering a swift kick to the demon’s face. Harry was amazed at her agility, and she secretly hoped Buffy broke an important bone or two before the contest was over. She could see Francis, on the ground, falling apart. She hadn’t seen that since the day he’d found out about his demon half. And then he’d been able to smother it in a bottle. Now he couldn’t even do that.

“He is a demon,” the dark-haired girl, Anya, snorted.

There was a loud crack and Harry turned back to the fight. The demon howled, clutching his arm, but Buffy was still there, pounding him. She swung her sword high overhead and brought it down on the demon’s injured arm. He dropped the sword, Lo’oran’s own sword, and gripped his arm tighter. Buffy dropped her sword and kicked her left leg out, hooking the demon’s ankle, pulling him down. She slipped a toe under the hilt of the big sword and lifted it from the ground to her waiting hand. She moved forward to straddle him at the waist and lifted the sword high, blade down, with both hands. She brought it down with such force, Harry gasped and stepped forward to stop her. But she needn’t have bothered. The blade stopped just as it began to cut into Gherosha’s neck.

“What’s to keep me from killing you right now?” Buffy asked him, pushing the sword down just a little.

“How will the wind become a tree?” he asked in return.

“Talk fast,” Buffy told him. “This sword is getting heavy.”

“It is for you to kill the beast,” Gherosha argued, anger showing in his eyes. He pushed Buffy off of him, and she let him do it. But she kept the sword ready as he walked over to Francis. Francis backed away from him, but Gherosha got down on one knee and dipped his head in deference to him. He took Doyle’s hand and Doyle tried to pull it back, but the demon was stronger. He held on and placed a scroll in it. When he removed his hand, the scroll promptly fell to the ground. “Kae oran def init. Miselte pai sa.” Harry decided to wait on that one. A translation would be disruptive at this point.

Gherosha stood and started to walk away, but Buffy met him, sword in hand and pointed once again at his throat. “What’s to stop me now?”

Harry did step forward this time. “Karlina and Hherom,” she answered for Gherosha. “They staked their lives to convince him to come here and see if Francis is the Promised One.” Harry stepped between the blade and the demon, for their sake. “If he doesn’t return, they’ll die.”

Buffy frowned but lowered the sword. “Go,” she waved Gherosha off. “Quickly.”

Gherosha turned and started up the stairs. But Harry had one other question for him. “Lo’oran na sta oronad?

He stopped on the last step but didn’t bother to face her. “Po yesht.” Then he was gone.

Po yesht, she repeated silently. Not yet.

"I can't read it," Giles said from somewhere near the door. "It's probably Brachen."

Harry faced him and noted that Doyle was already fading again, as if Gherosha's presence had contributed to the spell that had made him visible. Cordelia and Angel, while they still could, were helping him into the house. They were his family now, she realized. "I'll take a look at it," she told Giles.

"You're bleeding," he replied, indicating her hand.

"What?" Harry looked down and saw the blood between her thumb and forefinger. "Oh," she said, "must be from the lamp."

"Well, we should take care of it." He rolled up the scroll again and took her hand, leading her into the house. He took her past the kitchen to the bathroom and sat her down on the side of the bathtub while he rummaged through the medicine cabinet. "So are you going to tell us what just happened out there?" he asked as he took a bottle and some gauze from the cabinet.

To the point. That was a good trait. "He was evaluating Francis, to see if he was the Promised of Moren," Harry replied. She sucked in a breath as he swabbed her cut with iodine. "You don't have to torture me," she teased. "I'll talk."

He raised his eyebrows. "You should have talked to us before you left. We might have known what to expect." He finished dabbing and cut off a piece of gauze. "Especially Doyle."

Harry did feel bad about that. She could still hear Francis' scream. "I had no idea what the evaluation entailed."

Giles finished with the gauze and started taping the bandage to her hand. "What did you ask Gherosha before he left?"

He forgot to let go of her hand, and Harry wasn't in any hurry to remind him. "I asked if Lo'oran--that's the demon that has Francis--I asked if it devoured humans."

"And his answer?"

Harry bit her bottom lip. This part gave her a stomachache. "Not yet," she replied. "Just after this happened," she nodded toward her hand, "he spoke to me. He said, 'Lo'oran will devour Francis and then it will devour the one who holds him here. And then Lo'oran will be free.'"

Giles looked up, staring at nothing as he pondered what she had told him. "The doorway," he realized. "First Doyle, then Cordelia."

"Then humanity," Harry finished, "in all of its forms."

Giles met her gaze and handed her the scroll. "And this?"

Harry unrolled it and started reading. She could make out the syllables though she could understand only a fraction of the words. It was Brachen but it was a dialect she didn't recognize. Still, she could pick up the gist of the scroll.

"It's a spell," she realized, "or an incantation. I think it's just what Gherosha said it was."

"To make the wind into a tree?" Giles was skeptical. He started packing things back into the medicine cabinet.

"Lo'oran’s present form is insubstantial," Harry explained. "To kill it with a sword, it would have to be physical. That's what this spell will do."

"And what did he say to Doyle as he gave it to him?"

"He said he was divided," Harry explained, "and that he must be one."

Giles sat down on the closed toilet and faced her. "Angel was right. We do have to go in and get him."


Doyle tried to keep a hold on her hand, Cordelia's hand, as if it was hope he were holding on to. But he was falling again, his hand through hers, and his hope into despair. It was too much.

The Powers That Be, or the forces of darkness or whoever, were sure having a great laugh at his expense. They stole death from him, leaving him in purgatory, neither ghost nor a flesh and blood person. Then after months of slow torment and loneliness, just when he thought he'd finally move on to whatever end they saw fit for him, they instead dangled salvation before his eyes. They gave him a chance to be seen and heard and a reason to believe he could see this through and maybe even survive. Then they gave him his hands, flesh enough to touch a wall or to hold her hand, but not enough to take a simple sandwich. Yeah, they were probably falling all over themselves with that one.

How much was one man reasonably assumed to be able to take? He'd promised Cordelia he'd find a way, but the hunger was eclipsing even her. He'd thought he could ignore it, distract himself with other things. But the other things had turned out just as bad. His nightmares were real and he'd been sharing them with Cordelia. The Scourge had come to Sunnydale, and he’d watched a mother and child die at their hands. And tonight, if he could last that long, he'd watch many more die when they tried to fight the Scourge.

He was glad now that he was fading into transparency again. Everyone was looking at him, eyes filled with pity. And what could pity do? It couldn't feed him or free him from the dark place. It couldn't erase the last months or return him to his life. It only made him feel worse. A freak, as if he wasn't enough of one before. Half-demon, unworthy of his wife, his dreams, his job. Nor worthy of Cordelia. Why had he even tried? Now not even worthy of a simple death, a sacrifice for a handful of others. Or life. Phantom Dennis had it better off.

Buffy, now the only one that could see him without the mirror, sat down beside him. "I'm sorry about the sandwich," she said, touching his leg.

Doyle didn't bother looking at her. He didn't want to speak either. His voice was now an intrusion. "It doesn't matter," he whispered. "What's one sandwich, one day? I'll eat tomorrow."

To her credit, she didn't try spouting any cheerful encouragements. But that also meant she knew he was lying. Doyle brushed off her hand and backed away. Buffy frowned but didn't try to stop him.

"So how did it go with the vampires?" she asked Angel. She'd changed the subject, and Doyle realized she was being thoughtful again, allowing him to disappear again, by removing the attention from him.

"As well as can be expected," Angel reported. "I wouldn't trust them with my life, but I’m banking that they’ll be too worried about dealing with the Scourge to give us any real problems. And you?"

"Riley got his man," she replied. "It just didn't go as smoothly as we planned."

Doyle stood and backed toward the door. He didn't want to hear about the family. He didn't want to remember the little girl and the sound she made when her head hit the pavement. Memories were painful. The bad ones because they were bad and the good ones because they reminded him what was missing.

The wall--paint, plaster, wood, wiring, wood, plaster, and paint--passed his sight as he stepped through it to the courtyard. The sun was just beginning to color the sky with dawn's hues of gold and red. It would probably be a beautiful day. His last day.


Buffy stopped mid-sentence as soon as she realized Doyle was gone. She walked over to the little window that faced the courtyard and found him sitting on the steps looking at the sky.

Angel and Cordelia came up beside her, but she turned them back toward the room. "I think he just wants some time alone. I'll keep an eye on him." But she headed toward the bathroom instead. "I'm going to see what's taking Giles."

The door was ajar, but she knocked anyway.

"We're coming out," Giles answered, and a moment later he was opening the door.

"Actually, I was hoping you might stay for a bit," Buffy said, pushing him back in. Harry nodded and passed her though, and Buffy noticed both the bandage and the scroll. She drew Giles farther inside and shut the door. "He looks so much worse now," she whispered, afraid the others might still hear. "He was tired and sickly-looking before, even just yesterday, but now. . . ."

Giles took her shoulders and sat her down on the side of the bathtub. "Yesterday," he told her, "he had hope. He had enough reason to look past everything he's feeling and keep going.”

Buffy could think of a few things that could have done that. The little girl, Gherosha, and . . . "The sandwich?"

Giles nodded. "It may seem like a small thing to you or I, but to a man who hasn't eaten in months. . . . A dying man."

Buffy felt a stab of pain in her chest. "But he's not going to die," she held, hoping Giles wouldn't be able to argue.

"He is dying, Buffy," he said. "He'll be dead before tomorrow morning, if we do nothing. He may still. The point is, that sandwich threw him off balance and he can't see past the hurt and the hunger. There's a word for that feeling."

"Hopelessness?" Buffy wasn't happy with that word.

"Overwhelmed," Giles corrected. "And he'll have to find a way past it before nightfall or Lo’oran will destroy us all."


Angel listened to what Harry was saying, and marveled at prophecy and how sometimes little things one did prescribed one's place in it. When it came down to it, Doyle had made himself the Promised One. Harry didn't say exactly that. She was telling them what Gherosha had said about Lo'oran, the demon that was killing Doyle, that it would devour Doyle and then the one who held him here--Cordelia. Cordelia hadn't liked either part of that. None were happy with what came after it. Once it got Cordelia, Lo'oran would be able to devour all other humans.

Angel heard all that, and was concerned, but he'd focused on the part about Cordelia holding Doyle here. That was what made him different from all the others. Doyle had kissed Cordelia before jumping to the Beacon and passed his visions on to her. Had he not kissed her, he'd have been gone in an instant. Because he did, he was split in two and Lo'oran was having to struggle for months to finish him. Amazing really.

"So we know how to kill this guy, right?" Xander asked.

Harry was about to answer, but Giles, emerging from the hallway with Buffy, beat her to it. "Yes, we have the sword. Doyle must read an incantation that will bind the demon in physical form so that Buffy can destroy him."

Xander was a bit surprised. "That's it? All the fuss about prophecies and promised ones and all he has to do is read? I could have done that when I was six." He paused and gave a guilty smile. “Okay, eight, but that wasn’t my fault. I mean people weren’t even using Ritalin back then.”

"We should get him," Angel suggested. "With Willow's spell, he can read it out loud."

"It's not that simple," Giles argued, "but we will get him. He has to be one for the incantation to work."

"One?" Willow asked.

"His corporeal self and his non-corporeal self need to be united. From what Cordelia's told us, he can't make it out on his own. And we can't send him there looking for himself. Lo'oran would have him the instant he's . . . reconstituted."

Angel stood. Doyle had died for him, or so even Doyle had thought at the time. Angel was willing to do the same. He had been that night, too. "I'll go," he stated.

"Me, too," Cordelia added, standing beside him.

But Giles shook his head. "Neither of you can go. Angel, you wouldn't last thirty seconds. Only humans are invulnerable to the mist."

"I'm human," Cordelia argued.

"Let me explain," Giles said. "Doyle is like a chain linking this world and the Nether. You're the anchor on this side. We can't even predict what would happen to him if you went over to the Nether. You and Doyle are the doorway the Scourge spoke of. Through you, Lo'oran can cross over onto this world."

"With all the fun and happy times that entails," Xander threw in. “We’ll bite the big one faster than Euro-Disney.”

"Buffy and I will go," Giles said. "One will distract the beast while the other releases Doyle."

"So who's doing the distracting," Xander asked, "and who's doing the releasing?"

"I'll be the one waving the red cape," Buffy answered. "Lo'oran may not be dining on humans yet, but he still might be dangerous."

"Well, it seems to me that this particular stick has two short ends. You’re going to need some help." Xander went on, "If Doyle's in as bad a shape as he sounds, someone'll have to carry him out. Of the remaining fully-human people in the room, I’d have to say I’m your best bet."

"This is going to be a very dangerous undertaking, Xander," Giles cautioned, finding a seat on the couch. “Not something to be considered lightly.”

“Hey, I’d like to stay out of the line of fire as much as the next guy,” Xander admitted, “but, like I already said, your choices are about as slim as Alley McBeal’s waistband.” He folded his hands under his chin and looked up at the former Watcher with exaggerated hopefulness, “Come on, let me play with the big kids, Giles? Pleeaasee?”

“Alright,” the older man allowed with a tired sigh. He waved his hand distastefully in Xander’s direction. “Just stop . . . that.”

Xander complied and leaned back against Anya’s waist with a victorious grin, “I can’t believe this. I just argued to get myself killed.”

"You're so brave," Anya remarked proudly, running her fingers through his hair.

"How do we put the mick back together so he can read the scroll?" Spike posed.

"We think simply having both pieces of him in the same space will unite him," Harry answered. "He’ll probably be in poor condition. He'll have to stand. Someone will have to support him."

"Once he's out," Angel offered, "he's my responsibility."

"Good," Giles replied. "We have every reason to believe the demon will follow him. Buffy's job, at first, will be to buy time for Doyle. Once the demon has exposed itself, Doyle reads the spell."

Buffy lifted the sword from the coffee table. "Then I kill the demon."

"That's great and all," Spike commented, "but you seem to be forgetting something. How do you plan to get there in the first place? It’s not like some little fairy is going to fly through the window, sprinkle you all with pixie dust and fly you into Nether-netherland."

"The demons used some sort of portal," Cordelia reported. "I could see it when I was there."

Angel remembered that. She'd even seen Doyle standing on the other side. "Yes, but Doyle didn't mention seeing a portal when he saw the vampire killed."

"And I didn't see anything when they killed that family last night," Buffy added.

"We’ll find a way," Giles decided. "Somehow. When are your classes?"

He was looking to Buffy, but it was Willow who answered. "Oh we knew better than to register for morning classes."

"Yes, but I should think you'll need some rest before then," Giles argued.

"And we'll need our books," Willow added.

Giles nodded, “Good, the rest of us will keep researching.”

Buffy walked to the little window near the door. "What about Doyle?"

"We'll look after him," Giles assured her.

Spike smirked. "Some of us, at least. I’d rather find something more interesting to do. Like watch paint dry." Angel felt a stab of anger, but pushed it down inside himself. Spike may be helping, but he was still evil. Whatever had been done to him hadn't given him a soul. He couldn't sympathize with Doyle at all.

"You don't have to stay," Giles reminded Spike curtly. "Research isn't exactly your forte."

"The sun's up, I can't bloody well leave now, can I?" the vampire complained. “My jacket’s got a hole in it.”

Xander picked up one of the books Gherosha had thrown to the floor. "Then make yourself useful, Deadbeat," he ordered, dropping the book in Spike's lap.

Buffy's reflection frowned at the window, but she let Willow walk her out. Angel took her place at the window and saw her stop and talk to the steps for a few minutes while Willow waited nearby. She touched what must have been Doyle's shoulder, given the height at which her hand was held. Then she and Willow were gone.


Cordelia gave the books a half an hour. She gave Doyle just as long, checking the window with her hand-held mirror every ten minutes. The books turned up nothing, and Doyle never moved from his spot on the steps. Sometimes he was staring at the ground, other times he was looking up at the sky. He looked so tired and frail, like the slightest breeze could knock him over.

She knew what it was like to go hungry. Not that hungry, but that wasn't the point. She'd been hungry enough to go to parties just so she could fill her purse with finger sandwiches. It gets really hard to see the bright side of things when you're that hungry. She imagined it was hard for Doyle to see any side of things as hungry as he was.

She thought of that place, between this world and the Nether, where they'd met for those few perfect moments. It was like that kiss, only longer and he wasn't about to be disintegrated by a genocidal disco ball. She didn't know where that place was exactly, or if it was just a dream they'd shared. But it was a good dream, and he was in need of a good dream.

"Giles," she decided, surprising everyone in the room, "I want you to hypnotize me again."

Giles looked up at her over the rims of his glasses. "Whatever for?"

Cordelia had told Angel about the white place, but he was family. It was special to her, and sharing it with the others would make it less so. "I want to talk to Doyle."

"So what’s stopping you?" Spike snorted. "He's invisible, not deaf."

Cordelia shot him her worst annoyed-but-better-than-you glare then ignored him. "Please, Giles."

Angel addressed her as if they were alone. "How is he going to get there?"

Cordelia didn't know, but she felt she had to try. Maybe this link she and Doyle had wasn't only one way. "I'll find a way."

Angel watched her silently for a moment, and she knew he would understand. They had a link, too, because of Doyle.

Angel turned to Giles. "You should let her try."

Giles raised his eyebrows and gave a slight shrug. "Catch her," he said, and then snapped his fingers twice.

Cordelia had the vaguest sensation of falling. She heard Giles say something about post-hypnotic suggestion, and she tried to remember to be angry about it later. He spoke to her and told her she could go where she needed to go.

She turned around and found herself surrounded by white. She was still in Giles' apartment, but it was bathed in light until all color was drowned out. She moved toward the door and tried to open it, but her hand passed through the knob. Like Doyle. Doyle would walk through the door, so she stepped forward into the wood. She felt it pass through her, tingling every inch of her body from front to back. She saw the inside of wood. And then she saw Doyle and she called his name.


"Doyle."

Doyle looked up and over at the door, but no one was there. It had sounded like Cordelia, but also not like her. She sounded distant and near at the same time. Then he saw her, or rather he saw something move in front of door. "Cordelia?"

She smiled and he could see her smile. He could see her, like a ghost walking toward him across the courtyard. She became a little clearer with each step. "You never said how cool this is," she noted.

"Wait a few months," he told her. “The novelty wears off real quick.” But he didn't understand how she was doing it. "What happened to you?"

"I had Giles hypnotize me again," she said. "I just walked through a door! I saw the inside of a door."

Doyle remembered getting a kick out of such things at first. "Wait’ll you’re looking at the inside of a sandwich and tell me how great it is," he remarked. "But that doesn't explain how I'm seeing you. He didn't hypnotize me." She'd reached him now, and he moved over so she could sit down beside him.

"We've got some sort of brain-link going on," she explained. "Did you ever walk through a person?"

He had and it wasn't a pleasant experience. "I'd avoid the vampires," he advised. "It’s like walking into a meat locker.” He frowned. “Brain-link?"

"That's how we dream the same dreams," she told him. "Or how I dream your nightmares. I think it's only fair that you should share one of my dreams for a change."

Doyle regarded her closely. She was still smiling, but it was wider now, more sincere. She was excited about something. "Did you have something specific in mind?"

"Close your eyes."

Doyle felt his non-corporeal heart beat quicker in his chest. Closing his eyes was dangerous. He might fall asleep. "I can't," he said, knowing what was waiting for him on the other side of sleep.

"Not the dark place," she told him. She covered his hand with hers and he felt a tingle as if she were really there. "This is my dream, remember?"

He had to admit there was something going on between them. She was only a figment of the real Cordelia's hypnosis and yet he could see and hear her. And she could see him. She had sung his corporeal self to sleep last time, and, for a few minutes, they had met in a bright, peaceful place where she had even touched him.

Forgetting himself, he closed his eyes, reaching for the memory of that place. When he opened them again, he was surrounded by white and her hand was touching his. She pulled gently, turning him around to face her. She looked so real, standing there. They were both standing. He lifted a hand, fully-restored, and touched her face, tracing the line of her chin with his thumb. He felt his own lips turn up into a smile. "I like this place," he said.

She touched him back. "So do I. You look better here."

"Not a big accomplishment from what I’m told.” Now that he thought about it, he felt better here. "I don't know how we did this but I'm not hungry anymore."

She smiled and released his hand so she could wrap her arms around him. "Maybe we can stay here until it’s time to go. We've almost got it all planned out. We just need a doorway to the dark place, and then Giles and Xander are going to bring you out."

Doyle held her away from him until he could see her face. "They can't do that," he warned. "They'll be killed."

Cordelia was still smiling, still optimistic. She shook her head. "It can't take humans," she assured him. "They'll get you back together and then you can read the spell on that Brachen scroll so Buffy can kill the demon."

"Just like that?" Doyle asked. Besides the 'kill the demon' part, it almost sounded anticlimactic.

Her smile broadened and she hugged him again. "Just like that. And then you can come home again. We missed you. I missed you. I'm sorry for all the mean things I said to you before."

"None of those things matter now," he told her, hugging her back. Her long hair tickled the backs of his hands. It felt good and it had been a very long time since he'd felt good. If he was going to finally die, it was nice that he could have at least this time of peace beforehand, even if it was just a dream. "Still, it's nice to know that they didn’t forget me. That you . . . didn’t forget."

"Nothing's been right since you--" she said, her head still buried in his shoulder. She didn't bother finishing the sentence; they both knew what she meant. "It was like a part of me was gone. I'm still not sure how it happened. You're so not my type. I mean, you’re not even in the same tax bracket as the guys I date. But I love you."

Doyle had been stroking her hair, but he stopped. He knew she'd missed him. She'd grieved for him; she'd remembered him. He knew she cared about him. But love? It certainly sounded good, but it didn't sound entirely true under the circumstances--or maybe because of them. "Are you sure?"

She pulled away quickly, and her eyes flashed in anger and surprise. "What?!"

She was still quite young despite all that she'd seen. "Are you sure you're not just in love with the idea of me? The one that died for you? I mean, who can top that? I'm sure I couldn't live up to it. I'm a flawed man, Cordelia. That's easy to overlook when I'm dead and you miss me. So you need to be sure before you say it."

She stepped closer again, touching his arms. The anger was gone. "Let’s get you home. Then we'll have plenty of time to find out."

The words were nice but the circumstances were heavier. "I'm not as sure about that as you are," he told her. He may not have felt the hunger or the pain, but he could still sense his death was close by. He was running out of time.

"You're not going to die," she commanded, "not this time. No ‘kiss-the-girl-jump-to-your-death’ heroics this time, Buster. I mean it. You’re coming back to LA with us. For good."

"But we’re not in the clear yet, remember?" he held. “There’s still a long way to go.” He shook off her hands and turned away. "And I'm not feeling very heroic right about now. I'm scared. No, scratch that, I'm terrified. Maybe I don't feel it here but I know what's happening to me." He turned back, but now he was another step away from her, out of her reach. "I don't want to die, Princess. I didn't then either. But this is different. Then, it was supposed to be over in a flash. It was just the better option. The world has more use for Angel than me. Now, I might just fade away."

She crossed her arms over her chest, but he didn't see anger in her eyes. "Fat chance, Promised One." She cocked a finely kept eyebrow. “Seems like the world has big plans for you.”

Doyle shrugged, throwing up a hand. "Well, I didn't go lookin’ for any of this Promised One stuff either."

"Some people just get lucky sometimes."

He smirked at that. "Maybe from your point of view. Instead of a somewhat quick and anything-but-painless death, I get months of starvation in one dimension and unspeakable agony in another. Fortunate is all in the eye of the beholder." He sighed and turned away again, not that there was anything to face. It was just easier than facing her. "Maybe it’s better this way anyway. It wouldn't work out. I'd only disappoint you. Just ask Harry."

Her voice was quick and adamant behind him. "I'm not Harry."

"No," Doyle admitted, "you're not." He spun around. "And I'm not the hero you wanna make me out to be. I wish I was. I really do. But I'm the same Doyle ya used to laugh at back at the office. I dress bad and drink too much. And I know I fall on the down side of pretty. Not to mention that I'm probably poorer’n dirt now. And I can't survive just because you want me to."

Her eyes glistened and her bottom lip quivered, but she didn't give in to tears. "Before you and Angel found me," she said, dropping her eyes, "I couldn't buy a loaf of bread. I stashed finger sandwiches in my purse from parties just so I could eat something. Having money isn’t what makes you a good person." She looked up and some of the fire was back in her eyes. “Lord knows I'm aware of your fashion sense, or lack thereof. And you are a little too familiar with every type of beer and whiskey in the northern hemisphere, but I don’t care. I can't type and I make terrible coffee. But you saw something special in me anyway. Didn't you?"

No fire in that last bit. It was said with the same vulnerability as when she'd 'asked' if she could work for Angel. And his heart ached just to hear it. He stepped toward her again. "You got me there, Princess." He smiled softly, holding her eyes with his own. "I was hooked the second I set eyes on you."

The fire was back in a flash. "So what? I don't get that? I don't get the chance to overlook some of the really stupid things you do and think you’re special, too? Well, that's just not fair!"

Doyle was shocked, to say the least, but a little thrilled, too. That was the Cordelia he'd fallen for, after all. But he'd never looked at it as being unfair. She was a princess, and he was a frog who'd fallen in love with her. And, unlike the fairy tale, he wasn’t going to change from a kiss. Why would a princess fall in love with a frog?

Since he hadn't found anything to say in response, she went on as if she'd won the point, which, he supposed, she had. Her voice was soft but firm enough to curb an urge to argue. "I know that any time we have is a gift I never thought I'd have again whether it's one day, one month, or seventy years. Let's not waste this fighting. Let's just get through today--through tonight--and then see what happens."

That sounded like a new Cordelia, appreciative rather than demanding. He liked her. He liked them both. "You've grown up," he said. But he still saw himself as the frog.

"Losing someone does that," she answered, stepping close to him again.

The frog wanted the princess, no matter how doomed such a relationship was. He couldn't fight that any more than he could fight the demon in the Nether. "And what does finding someone do?" he asked, feeling just as vulnerable as she had appeared to be only moments before.

She smiled softly and wrapped her arms around him again. She laid her head on his shoulder and held him. "Only good things," she replied, and she sounded very certain.

He smiled. Maybe a kiss had done more for him than he had thought.


"You said you'd watch out for him," Buffy accused as soon as she and Willow stepped through the door.

Giles simply put a finger to his lips and pointed toward the sofa. "Don't wake Cordelia." Then he went back to his book.

Buffy, apparently, wasn’t content with that. She dropped her voice but not her tone. "He is asleep."

Spike slammed a particularly large tome closed in frustration. "It's not like we can wake him up." He growled when Anya handed him yet another book. Fortunately, Cordelia didn’t seem to hear either the slam or the growl.

Xander gave him a patronizing smile. "We can't kill--"

Spike grumbled, interrupting him, "Can't kill. Can't kill. Gettin' bloody sick of those two words."

Xander took a breath then repeated, "We can't kill the demon until he comes out of his little hole."

"No luck with a portal, huh?" Willow asked.

Spike ignored her, narrowing his eyes at Xander menacingly. But he flipped open the book, taking no care to see that its cover wouldn't tear.

Giles sighed. That was a risk when working with vampires, he thought. He looked over at Angel, who was delicately turning a brittle page. Soulless vampires, anyway. "Let's not give Spike the old books," he suggested.

"They're all old books," Anya argued. She dropped her voice, "Relatively speaking, anyway."

Willow immediately sat down to help with the increasingly frustrating research. Giles had found at least a dozen references to the Nether, but none told how to get there or even how Lo'oran had got there. There wasn't even a mention of Moren, the Brachen believed responsible for his banishment, according to Harry.

"You know what happens to him when he sleeps," Buffy tried, and Giles could tell she was frustrated as well.

He sympathized, but what Spike had tactlessly said was true. They couldn't wake Doyle. Besides, "It's always happening," Giles pointed out, "whether he's asleep or not."

"But he doesn't feel it."

Angel closed his book. "He's not feeling it now," he assured her. "You saw him?"

Buffy nodded, but she was frowning. She hadn't worked all the pieces out. "He's still there, but his eyes are closed and he wouldn't wake up."

"He's with Cordelia," Angel explained, if that could be called an explanation. He'd vaguely described the 'white place' to them earlier. "She's under hypnosis. He's alright."

"Relatively speaking, anyway,"' Anya repeated.

Giles watched as Buffy looked into Angel's eyes. He believed that Doyle was alright, and Buffy accepted it coming from him.

“They’ve really got something there, huh?” she asked.

Angel sighed. “I want them to have the chance to find out.”

Harry closed her book and reached for another. "I should have asked Gherosha while he was here."

"As I recall," Giles offered, "he wasn't entirely forthcoming with what he did tell us."

"But he knew the prophecies," she held, "and the legend of Moren. He even had the sword."

"I don’t understand," Xander said, standing. "Where did he get the sword? This demon wasn’t a California resident in his glory days, was he? Somehow, I’m having trouble picturing him cruising down the strip with the top down and the wind blowing through his hair, you know? I need a snack. Anyone else want a soda?"

Willow and Anya both raised hands. Harry did, too, but she also answered his question. "Prophecy, I suppose. They must have known we'd need it here."

Giles decided he was thirsty, too. "Perhaps some tea," he called to Xander, "while you're in there."

"So we need to find that prophecy?" Buffy asked.

"Actually, we need the history," Giles corrected. "This fellow Moren banished Lo'oran to the Nether. It would help to know how he did it."

"But that wasn't a two-way street," Willow argued, "otherwise he would have gotten out. We'll need both directions."

The phone rang and Giles thought to answer it, but Xander was already up. Besides, he had Cordelia to deal with as apparently the ringing had woken her up.


They'd talked for a few hours, and Doyle had started to feel alive again for the first time since . . . since the Beacon. Even though he knew this wasn't real. He felt real. And Cordelia felt real as he held her. They had run out of things to say, or at least he had. Now he just listened happily as she prattled on about everything that had happened since that day.

And then she was gone. One moment she was in his arms and time was standing still. The next moment, his arms were empty, Cordelia was gone, and the white around him felt like it was closing in.

He heard a roar building, vibrating in his own chest. His heart pounded against his ribcage, and the sound of it, the pressure of it, filled the space between his ears until it became a familiar howl behind him. He turned to see an impenetrable darkness moving toward him. Two ferocious red eyes glared at him as the roaring mist approached, a cyclone of fury. Instinctually, he backed away. But now, the whiteness behind him had become a wall of black and red. Dizziness flooded his head as the white turned red, and he could no longer tell whether or not he was standing at all. He found himself lying on his back, chained to the ground and at the mercy of the demonic mist. It was on him, searing away the flesh of his face and body.

"Cordelia!" he screamed, wondering where she'd gone, why she'd left him here.

The mist tore into him, laughing, taunting him. Doyle tried to close his eyes against the tortured faces that appeared within it, telling himself that, if he could sleep, he'd wake up on Earth. But the pain was too much, the roaring laughter too loud. It was winning, and they both knew it.


Xander picked up the phone, waving to the others to continue the discussion. It was late afternoon already and the battle was set for that night. "Mister Belvedere’s" he announced.

"Xander?" a familiar, rather nasal, British voice asked.

"Wesley?" Xander asked in return.

"Yes, I need to speak to Giles," Wesley answered. He did sound rather worked up about something, but then, he often had.

"You calling from England?" It was a really clear connection, considering the distance.

"No, I'm in L.A. May I please speak to Giles?"

"Angel and Cordelia are in L.A.," Xander said, wondering if they'd run into each other.

"Not at the moment, no," Wesley answered, sounding a bit annoyed.

Well, turnabout being fair play, and all. . . . "That's because they're here."

"There!? In Sunnydale?" There was a pause. "Following one of Cordelia’s visions, perhaps?"

Xander was only half-listening. Buffy was talking about her meeting with Riley. "Not that I'm aware of," he replied, catching the part about a vision. Cordelia was quite upset about waking up. She went straight to the window, but, of course, there was nothing to see. "Look, Wesley, we're kind of in the middle of something. Can you call back tomorrow?"

"I daresay tomorrow will be too late," Wesley said. "I have reason to believe that Buffy is in grave danger from a N'thirae demon. The last of his kind."

"What's a Nitheria demon?" Xander asked. Buffy was relaying the Initiative's plans. It seemed to be going well. The Initiative had orders to capture and/or kill the uniformed demons tonight. Vamps were safe enough.

"N'thirae," Wesley corrected. "It’s a very dangerous creature. According to prophecy it will emerge tonight, after vanquishing the Promised One, and set about devouring all traces of humanity on Earth."

Now, Xander was paying attention. "This guy wouldn't happen to be a black mist with red eyes, goes by the name Low Orange or some such?"

"Lo'oran." Surprise again. "You're already aware." And was there a twinge of disappointment in his usually smug voice, too?

"Yep," Xander replied. "We got a whole party going on. Demons, vampires, ghosts, you know, your typical Sunnydale shindig. Sorry you didn’t get an invite, but it was kind of a last-minute thing, you know? Anyway, the guest of honor’s going to get stabbed to death with a sword tonight, so it’ll all be over before tomorrow morning."

"You can't kill it with a sword," Wesley argued. "Not in mist form anyway. You'll need a spell to change it--"

"From the wind into a tree?" Xander returned, going with the Brachen demon's phraseology. "Got that, too."

"Oh." Definitely disappointment. "Well, then, I suppose you don't need my help."

Wait. Wesley wasn't good for much, Xander thought, except research. "Maybe you can help, Wesley," he said. "We need a way in to where Misty the Demon is. And back out again," he added, remembering what Willow had said. "We haven't had any luck yet."

"Why on Earth would you want to go there?"

Then again, maybe not so great at the research. "You're slipping in the prophecy department," he told the Watcher. "The Promised One is split in two?" he tried. "Corporeal and non? You know, gotta get the creamy filling back together with the cookie crunch.”

"Dear God!" He actually sounded worried. "I hadn't realized. You didn't sound like-- Of course. I'll see what I can find." Then he was gone.

Xander hung up the phone, wondering what it was he didn't sound like. He picked up the tray he'd prepared and joined the others again.

"Who was it?" Giles asked.

Xander addressed Cordelia instead. "You guys been hanging out with Wesley?"

"Wesley?" Giles sounded surprised. "I thought he'd gone back to England."

"The Watchers Council kicked him out," Angel explained.

"He works with us now," Cordelia added, sounding neither pleased nor displeased with the concept. She was sitting in the corner next to Angel.

Everyone was staring at Angel though, even Spike.

Angel looked up. "He has his moments."

"Occasionally," Cordelia offered in support. She kept glancing toward the window. "Very occasionally."

"What did he have to say?" Giles asked

Xander passed out the sodas and handed Giles his tea. "He wanted to warn us about Doyle's demon."

Angel's already prominent brow dropped further over his eyes. "He knew?"

"Not about the ghost impersonation bit," Xander answered, "but he did know about the Promised One and the demon's coming out party."

"Gotta admit he's good with the books," Buffy offered.


This time when the phone rang, Giles was the one to answer it. Cordelia had convinced Buffy--without too much trouble--to go out and check on Doyle, but Buffy had a feeling she already knew where he was. He was still sitting there on the steps, but now he was slumped over, the railing going through his torso. And he was translucent, more so now than before. She could barely see him at all. He was back in the dark place, and he was dying.

"You've got it!" Giles exclaimed, which was about as excited as he ever got. And it had been less than two hours since Wesley called the first time. Apparently, Angel was right. Wesley did have his moments.

Giles grabbed a pad of paper and a pen and started scribbling quickly. Everyone else just waited, quietly watching. Well, everyone but Willow who went to look over his shoulder, grinning with interest.

"Right," Giles said. "Thank you, Wesley, and yes, I'll tell them."

"Tell us what," Angel asked, clearly worried.

"Wesley says he's holding down the fort and that you needn't worry. He's even solved a case while you're away. Something about a missing dog. Sounded quite pleased with himself."

"Two hours ago, he was sure the world was going to end," Xander commented with a smirk.

"I hope he remembered to invoice," Cordelia spoke up. She was sitting next to Angel, and Buffy tried to stifle whatever it was she was feeling when Cordelia leaned close to him or touched his arm. It wasn't right and she knew it. A) She couldn't be with Angel without him losing his soul and going on a killing spree. B) She had Riley now and she really cared about him. And C) Cordelia was clearly hung up on Doyle, and it was probably grief over his apparent death that had made her and Angel closer friends. It was all very logical, but hearts and heads didn't always see eye to eye.

Giles went on describing the spell and assigning parts. Willow volunteered to get supplies from the magic shop. She and Anya would perform the spell together when the time came. All the pieces were in place. Even Doyle, since Cordelia had filled him in during her hypnosis.

"He's going to need some things, I would imagine," Giles said. "Food, for one, but we'll have to be careful and watch what he eats."

"He'll need clothes," Cordelia added, standing up. She wasn't exactly speaking to Giles. She was talking to Angel. "His are all . . .," she hesitated, motioning with her hands, ". . . bloody and he doesn't have anything to change into." Her eyes widened and Angel stood up beside her, clearly worried. "He doesn't have any place to live," Cordelia realized. "He doesn't have any clothes or books or knickknacks. He doesn't have anything!"

Angel stood in front of her, close so she had to look up at him. "He has us," he told her and Buffy's feelings of anger left her. "We'll manage. We always do."

Cordelia's face contorted a bit as she bit back tears. "He said that. Just like that. On the day. . . ."

Angel grabbed her shoulders with both hands. "This isn't that day," he pronounced. "It's a completely different day. It's the day we get him back."

Her anger had left her, but Buffy found herself more jealous than before. Cordelia was closer than she could ever be with Angel.

"You sound awfully determined."

Buffy spun around to see Doyle standing in the doorway. He was pale and he swayed on his feet. He looked as if he'd fall over. Buffy hurried over to him to offer him support.

"You put on a good act," Angel said, "but I can hear you smiling."

And he was right, though Buffy was the only one who could see it. It was a soft smile, weak like he was, and a little sad. "I should start out," he said, opting not to confirm Angel's suspicions. "It's a long way and I don't think I'm up to hurryin' anymore. Besides, it'll give Harry time to teach me that Brachen spell."

Cordelia was smiling again. "I'll go with you."

"I'm sorry, Cordelia," Giles broke in. "But we need you to meet with Rieff. Let him know the strategy."

Cordelia looked crestfallen. "We'll meet you there, Princess," Doyle assured her. Cordelia nodded. Harry picked up the scroll.

Buffy turned to Giles. "You'll bring my bag?" She'd packed a bag after class. Good running shoes, Mr. Pointy--because she always took Mr. Pointy--that sort of thing.

"Of course," he replied, still scribbling out notes on the paper. Buffy caught Angel's gaze just before she turned to leave with Doyle and Harry. His eyes told her to be careful. She wished the same for him. Then she took Doyle's arm and started out the door.


Giles felt a bit like a general, assigning his troops and planning strategy. Xander off to the supermarket, Willow to the magic shop, she and Anya on the portal spell. Spike and Angel would rendezvous with the vampires, Cordelia and himself with the half-demon recruits. To be fair, Riley's group had already planned the battle strategy, conveniently leaving room for the latter two allies in such a way that only half-demons who could pass for humans should be seen by the soldiers. All would converge at the rendezvous point just after sunset.

While he felt a certain amount of satisfaction in being useful once again, he also felt a sense of trepidation he'd been putting off until now. He'd found it ironic that he felt more comfortable around Spike, the soulless but harmless evil vampire, than Angel, who was cursed with a soul and a guilty conscience. One simply doesn't shake off torture--or the murder of a loved one--like one shakes off sleep after an afternoon nap. And now he had to trust a rather large share of the fate of the world to several dozen soulless and wholly harmful evil vampires, not to mention the dubious--at best--Initiative. Giles started to wonder if he shouldn't prefer the boredom.

Cordelia didn't speak for at least ten minutes after they had set out, and Giles found that quite uncharacteristic for her. "So," he started, hoping to get some conversation out of her as they walked, "how is it that you came to work for Angel?"

"He saved me from a vampire," she said. "I needed work--in between auditions, of course--and he needed someone with business sense. Can you believe he wasn't even charging?"

Giles smiled. That sounded like Cordelia. "And Doyle?"

"He’s the previous owner of these wonderful visions I keep having," she answered. "He used to dig up information on the streets, too. You know, seedy people with weird nicknames like Frankie Tripod and Manny the Pig. And he knows every pub in L.A."

He certainly didn't sound like Cordelia's type. But then, she had gone out with Xander.

"He wasn't always all wrong-side-of-the-tracks," she continued. "He used to be a teacher and volunteer at a food bank. You see that in him sometimes. It's like he tries to hide it, but it's there."

"It's not an easy thing to wake up one day and find out you're a demon," Giles told her, remembering his day as a Fyarl demon thanks to Ethan Rayne.

"I think he didn't think he deserved what he had," she said, surprising Giles with her insight, "so he sabotaged his life. Here it is." She stopped in front of a particularly dilapidated building.

Giles followed her up the steps, noting that she didn't appear apprehensive or put out. She seemed not to mind the dusty floors and cobwebs hanging from the corners. "Hello?" she called out. "It's Cordelia. Is Rieff there?"

A young man with prominent ridges, particularly around his eyes, bounded down the steps. "Hey, Cordy," he offered in greeting. Giles didn't think he could be older than sixteen. "Who's your friend?"


Cordelia gave him a smile. "This is Giles, ex-Watcher and expert on all things demonic."

Giles frowned, not agreeing totally with the introduction. "I'm a librarian," he offered instead. "Or, at least I used to be. Nice to meet you." He held out a hand and Rieff took it.

"We're all set," he said. "Just tell us where you need us."

 

On to Chapter 5

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The MIDI file is
Enya's Exile courtesy of Enya: the lost souls midi archive

 

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