Redemption

by Mel Odom

  “Depends, mate,” Wally said. “If she’s listening and not screaming at you, I’d say that’s romantic.”

  “It’s Romanian,” Angel said as he got to his feet. “That’s the fifth language. I’ll be back.”

  “Was that them?” Doyle asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Would you like some help?”

  “No.” Angel paused, thinking the answer might have been a little sudden. “Really. Enjoy the show, the time away from work. If I couldn’t handle this on my own, I’d be the first to say so.”

  They looked at him in silence, making him feel a little more uncomfortable.

  Angel felt awkward. The whole let’s-be-friends-and-do-good-as-investigators thing got a little close at times. Only Buffy had been closer, and maybe he hadn’t handled that as well as he could have. Of course, they hadn’t counted on the vampire-makes-love-to-love-of-life-and-goes-insane event.

  Angel pointed at the back door, aware that precious seconds were ticking away. “Lives to save.”

  Cordelia nodded, but she still didn’t look happy about the whole situation. “Go on. We don’t want to hold you up. Clock’s ticking.”

  “The hero thing,” Doyle said. “We understand.”

  “But if you need help,” Cordelia said, “just whistle.”

  “Whistle. Got it.” Angel followed his pointing finger through the back doors and into the alley. The three vampires had used their time well, quickly surrounding the couple and cutting off escape routes.

  The young couple looked as if they were slumming. Both were dressed in leather, GQ and Victoria’s Secret respectively, looking to get a buzz from traipsing through the dangerous underbelly of the city and take it to the condo.

  “Stay back!” the young brunette screamed as she dug frantically in her purse and came out with Mace. She held the tube threateningly.

  The vampires only laughed, genuinely amused. They dressed like skaters, buzz-cut hair stained neon colors — blue, orange, and green — and sported facial piercings.

  The woman’s husband or boyfriend struck a martial arts pose. He had the form right, but the movements were too stiff. He yelled, “Ki-yah!”

  The lead vampire stepped in suddenly, feinted, then kicked the man’s legs from under him, spilling him into the alley.

  “Lance!” the young woman screamed.

  “Stay back, Becca!” The young man tried to get to his feet.

  The lead vampire kicked his hands out from under him.

  Becca lunged forward, spraying the lead vampire full in the face. The Mace deluge was so thick it left droplets.

  “Not exactly Teen Spirit,” the vampire stated calmly. He morphed, revealing the monster that had claimed his soul, and bared his fangs. He licked the Mace from his upper lip. “Kind of tame.”

  Becca screamed, followed almost immediately by Lance as they realized the horror they faced was much worse than they’d believed. Becca grabbed Lance’s shoulder and almost jerked him to his feet. They retreated back into the rear of the building on the other side of the alley, and there was suddenly nowhere else to go. They screamed.

  The three vampires closed in.

  “Hey, guys,” Angel spoke softly.

  In less than a heartbeat all three vampires faced him.

  “Private party?” Angel showed them his empty hands. “Or can anybody play?”

  The vampire leader jerked his head at the green-haired vampire. “Take him, Boz.”

  Without a word, Boz hurled himself at Angel, drawing a sword from under his long coat.

  Moving with blinding speed, Angel flexed his wrist, shooting out the spring-loaded stake he’d hidden up his sleeve. The wooden stake thudded into the vampire’s chest with a meaty smack, carrying enough force to rock him back on his heels.

  Disbelief stained the vampire’s features, then he exploded into dust.

  Angel fell into a ready stance facing the remaining two vampires, who realized there was something different about their challenger. “I never come empty-handed,” Angel said. “I brought a party favor.” He pointed his other hand at the lead vampire and twisted his wrist. The stake leaped forward.

  The vampire leader grabbed a trashcan lid and blocked the stake, letting it embed in the galvanized metal with a loud whang! He spun, folding the trash can lid down like a Frisbee, and flinging it.

  Angel dodged and the spinning trash can lid missed him by less than an inch. It hit the alley wall and dug deeply into the concrete and mortar, quivering as over a third of it buried into the wall.

  The other vampire unwrapped a fine-linked Japanese-style chain and grappling hook from his waist. The chain was nearly ten feet long and the grappling hook was as big as Angel’s hand. The vampire whirled the hook around his head while the leader drew a pair of sais from his shirtsleeves. They looked like daggers, but instead of blades, they had long center spikes flanked by two other spikes.

  “Got some party favors of our own,” the vampire leader said, twirling the sais.

  The vampire whirling the grappling hook let fly at Angel’s head.

  A woman’s bloodcurdling scream echoed inside the bar. A few of the tavern’s patrons finished their drinks and headed out, but the rest of them pulled in closer together and ignored the scream.

  “Maybe I should go check on things,” Doyle suggested.

  “No,” Cordelia replied. “If Angel wanted us there, he’d tell us.” She cupped one ear. “No whistle.”

  A loud smash sounded through the back door, followed by the roar of animals.

  Doyle felt guilty about not going into the alley, but Cordelia was right. There’d been no whistle. Of course, it’s kind of hard to whistle when a vampire’s ripping your head off.

  “You’re probably right,” he said. After all, Angel was the warrior among them. Doyle only fought when he couldn’t talk or buy his way out of trouble. And that was only trouble he couldn’t duck or outrun.

  “We’d be in his way,” Cordelia said. “Three vampires. Small alley. They don’t stand a chance.”

  Something thumped loudly against the back door, warping it in the frame.

  “At least,” Cordelia went on, “not much of a chance. Maybe.”

  Doyle peeled the label from his empty bottle and tried not to think about the fight in the alley. Angel would call if he needed help.

  The television drew Doyle’s attention again. He studied Whitney Tyler and wished there were a way to check on the Lakers score. “You know, there may be something more here than meets the eye.”

  Cordelia wrote brief notes on the Variety trade magazine. “Like what?”

  “Well” — Doyle shifted in the booth — “granted that Angel wasn’t exactly in what one would call an ebullient mood, he seemed to turn even more dour after he’d seen the lady up there.”

  “He said she reminded him of someone.”

  “You gotta wonder who she was, her leaving an impression like that, I mean.” Doyle ignored the metallic clatter that rang along the bar’s back wall.

  Shrugging, Cordelia said, “A vampire hors d’oeuvre.”

  Doyle studied the actress as she scaled a building, trying to see in her what Angel had seen. Maybe Angel sees something else in her, but all I see is one fine-looking woman. He checked his watch, knowing the Lakers game should be close to finishing.

  Cordelia’s note-taking finally got the better of his curiosity, and pursuing that was a lot better than thinking about what was going on in the alley. “What are you doing there?” he asked.

  “Making notes.”

  Doyle nodded. “You see, I kinda had that figured. I was wondering what those notes were about.”

  “The television show.”

  Grinning, Doyle said, “You wouldn’t have to take notes if you just popped a blank videocassette in the VCR. That way you could watch it over again if you wanted.”

  Cordelia rolled her eyes. “Not this show. If I wanted to keep up with Dark Midnight, I’d just get a few copies of TV Guid
e or jump on a Web site.”

  “Then what show?”

  “The one I’m going to pitch. The Charlie’s Angels with vampire.”

  “Oh.” Doyle didn’t have anything to say to that. Since he’d gotten to meet Cordelia Chase, he’d had to admit she was the most fascinating creature he’d met since — well, in a long, long time. “You’re really going to pursue this?”

  “Duh,” Cordelia said sarcastically. “Do you know how much money you can make from a series idea that goes into syndication?”

  “No.”

  Cordelia considered that. “Okay, neither do I, but that doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, it’s a lot. Enough to get me out of that crummy —” She paused. “Enough to get me into an apartment I deserve. Maybe enough left over to get a good car. A few other things.”

  Something that groaned in pain bounced from the bar’s back doors. Roars rumbled from outside, growing in intensity.

  Wally the bartender picked up the phone and pulled a shotgun from under the bar. Evidently he’d become convinced the action outside was going to spill back into the bar.

  The migraine seized Doyle without warning, feeling as if it was going to split his head in two. He lost motor control and dropped forward heavily, his forehead thudding against the tabletop. He hadn’t become aware of his demon heritage till only a few years ago.

  Dealing with the fact that he could willingly change from human form to something a lot stronger and faster, something with blue-green skin and a spiky face, had been hard enough. But the Powers That Be went on to grant him — or curse him — with the ability to have visions of people in trouble. After that, he’d been given the directive to find Angel in L.A. and team up with him. Despite the dangerous work and sometimes thankless task, Doyle had gotten to enjoy the cases Angel Investigations took on.

  But the vision reception had never gotten any more fun.

  Sight of the bar’s interior went away, replaced by what looked like a television set. Whitney sat in the radio booth set from the series taking calls. This time it was very clear the radio station was a television set complete with camera and sound crews. Then the image changed again, shifting to an ocean scene at night. A young woman with a sword who looked just like Whitney Tyler stood on a pitching, rain-soaked ship’s deck. Her clothing looked as if it came from a movie set nearly three hundred years ago.

  Why would I see something like that? Doyle wondered. He surfaced from the vision for just an instant, the pain subsiding but not quite going away.

  A word formed in the back of his mind so strongly he had no choice but to speak it. “Atonement.”

  “What?”

  Doyle lifted his head carefully, hammered by the residual pain left over by the vision. Drool ran down to his chin, cold in the tavern’s air-conditioning. He glanced over at Wally, who was talking rapidly on the phone while brandishing the shotgun.

  “Did I say something?” Doyle asked.

  “It sounded like ‘a ton of mint,’” Cordelia said.

  “Atonement,” Doyle corrected.

  “Whatever.”

  “Why would I say that?”

  “It was your vision.”

  “Right. I need to speak to Angel.” Doyle put a palm firmly against his forehead between his eyes and rubbed. Sirens sounded in the distance, but he knew they’d get closer. Maybe Angel hadn’t needed their help earlier, but he was betting they wouldn’t be turned down with the police closing in. “And I’d say we’ve about worn out our welcome here.” He patted his pockets, but came up empty. He looked at Cordelia, totally embarrassed. “I don’t think Angel quite settled up our tab yet.”

  “You’re going to pay me back,” Cordelia insisted as she rummaged in her purse and brought out a few bills.

  Doyle nodded earnestly. “Of course. I wouldn’t dream of welching on a debt.”

  Cordelia put the money on the table. “After all, I know where you work.”

  “Hey,” Wally called from the bar, the phone held tight to one ear while he held the shotgun in the other, “wasn’t that your mate that just went out into the alley, Doyle? You gonna leave him in that world of hurt?”

  “If it was my friend,” Doyle replied, “he’d whistle.”

  “Whistle?”

  “He’d scream out for help,” Cordelia said. She pinched the inside of Doyle’s arm fiercely.

  “Ow!” Doyle pulled his arm away.

  “Don’t give away all our secret modus operandi,” Cordelia whispered. “You tell Wally about the whistle signal, Wally tells somebody else about the whistle signal, soon everybody knows and then what’s the use of having a signal?”

  Doyle rubbed the painful area on the inside of his arm. “Right. Got it. Maybe you could get my attention some other way next time.”

  “I didn’t have a two-by-four handy.”

  Doyle took Cordelia by the arm and headed for the back door. He wasn’t sure what the vision meant yet, but there was no doubt that he needed to tell Angel.

  * * *

  Angel spun away from the sai that flashed for his head, moving back into the strike set up by the man with the grappling hook and chain. The two vampires had obviously fought together for a long time. Their experience reflected in the way they moved together, with hardly a word spoken between them.

  The couple Angel had come to rescue stood frozen against the other side of the alley. At first he’d thought they were too terrified to move, then he’d noticed the rapt looks on their faces. At this point they were willing observers, evidently thinking their little slumming party was turning up more excitement than they’d anticipated. Unfortunately, they were also in the way.

  The grappling hook whipped through the air for Angel’s feet. He stabbed his arms out and leaped, turning a flip in the air and landing on his feet again. The vampire with the sais was already moving on him as the grappling hook struck sparks from the concrete wall behind where he’d stood.

  The approaching police sirens pierced the air and echoed in the alley, trapped between the buildings.

  Angel grabbed a shipping pallet from the ground and used it for defense. The sai snapped through the cheap pine ribs, nearly cutting the pallet in half with a series of firecracker pops.

  Dropping to the ground as the swordsman cut the air over his head, Angel lashed out with a foot, kicking his opponent’s feet out from under him. The vampire came up and went down, caught by surprise and taken off balance. He landed on his back and tried to recover.

  Angel lunged, ripping one of the broken boards from the shipping pallet. Still on his back, partially stunned and having no time to recover, the vampire swung his weapon at Angel. Straightening his arm, Angel blocked the sai stroke, then slammed the broken wood through the vampire’s heart.

  The vampire tried another sai blow but turned to dust before it could be completed. The sai clanged when it dropped and struck the ground.

  The chain rattled and hissed as it sliced through the air.

  Angel threw himself to the side and grabbed the first vampire’s fallen sword. He rolled and narrowly avoided the grappling hook. The sharp prong knocked chips from the pavement.

  “You’re going to die now,” the third vampire promised. “You killed Johann and Boz, but you aren’t going to take me.” His face was a mask of vampiric ferocity and hate. The slitted eyes glittered. He popped the grappling hook and chain back, then whirled it around his head again.

  Angel pushed himself to his feet. “I’m two for two,” he reminded in a soft, threatening voice.

  “You’re one of us.” The vampire started circling, using all the available space in the alley. “Why defend them?”

  Keeping the sword in front of him, set to block, Angel said, “If you have to ask, you wouldn’t understand.”

  The sirens sounded even closer, and the strobing blue and red lights flashed in the street outside the alley. At that instant Cordelia and Doyle stepped through the tavern door, obviously looking for him.

  “Time to die,” th
e vampire stated, letting the grappling hook fly.

  Moonlight glinted on the linked steel as it streaked for Angel’s chest. It had been thrown with enough force to punch through even vampire flesh and bone.

  Distracted by the arrival of Cordelia and Doyle, Angel reacted almost too slowly. He slapped the sword into the chain and caused the grappling hook and a section of the chain to wrap around the blade. He grabbed the trapped chain with his free hand, set himself, and yanked.

  The vampire flew through the air.

  “Bad time?” Doyle asked.

  “Get back to the office,” Angel instructed. “I’ve only got one more to go. I’ll talk to you there. And get those two out of here.” He nodded at the couple.

  Doyle nodded, took Cordelia by the arm, and hurried off. They pushed the couple ahead of them.

  Angel tried to slip the sword free of the chain and grappling hook but couldn’t because the decorative hilt was trapped in the links. He launched a spinning wheel kick. His heel connected with the vampire’s face just as the first police car rolled into the alley.

  The vampire rolled in the air and landed on his back. He sprang to his feet and bolted for the opposite end of the alley.

  Angel followed immediately, throwing himself into the hunt. It was the closest he’d allowed himself to get caught by the police in a long time, but nailing his quarry was important. The three vampires had been responsible for nearly a dozen deaths in the area that he knew of. He grabbed the remaining length of chain as he pursued the vampire.

  A chain-link fence divided the alley, standing ten feet tall and topped with strands of barbed wire. The vampire leaped up onto the fence and hooked his hands into it. He pushed hard, scampering up the fence and pulling himself up to the window ledge on the second floor. Bullets flared from the side of the building.

  Angel hit the fence next, intending to pull himself up.

  “Stay down!” one of the policemen from the car behind him yelled.

  Staying wasn’t an option. Angel knew if the vampire got away, the killing spree would continue. He gathered himself, tightening his grip on the sword in his fist. It was now or never.