by Various
Angel shoved his hands in his pockets. “The decadence of lawyers, I suppose.”
“Decadence this,” Cordy said, and brought out a box for him.
The vampire looked anything but pleased, but still accepted the box that was clearly a great match to his style. He hefted it with one hand and ran his fingertips over the top with the other. “Black jacquard,” he said. “Classy choice. And heavy.” A plain black satin ribbon was angled across it in a double diagonal design, as if Lilah had intentionally avoided anything that might resemble a cross.
“Hey, I’m starting to feel like the odd man out,” Gunn said. “I know Lilah and I aren’t close, but—”
Cordy held up the next one, the oddest shape of all of them. “Not gone, and not forgotten. This one’s for you.”
Gunn took it tentatively, turning it over a couple of times. “I don’t know whether to be happy or run like hell.”
“It certainly looks interesting,” Fred offered.
And indeed it did. It was just over a foot and a half long and nearly four inches deep, and while it was clearly in some kind of a box beneath a double layer of flocked, iridescent dark blue taffeta, the shape of it was skewed, bent into an elongated gentle crescent. Instead of a bow or ribbon, the upper edges of the box were trimmed in beaded fringe, reminiscent of intricate Oriental needlework.
“Well, I’ve never been much on appearances, but this is almost too pretty to open,” Gunn said.
“And last but never least,” Cordelia announced, “is mine.” She held out her own gift box for inspection. Definitely a clothing-sized box, its covering of shimmering, teal-colored organza was held in place with long, braided strands of tiny faux pearls. “This is a pretty amazing wrap-job. Honestly, I think Lilah must have stock in a high-class fabric company.”
No one said anything for a long moment as each of them contemplated their personal bundle of the unknown. “Well,” Fred said at last, “I suppose we should put these aside and wait for Christmas Day to open them…”
Cordy’s eyes widened. “Wait—for what? Permission? Christmas is four days away!” She looked down at the box in her hands, then back up at her friends. “Screw that.”
Without waiting to see what the others would do or say, Cordelia slipped her fingers beneath the cascading string of pearlized beads and tugged. There was hardly any resistance at all—the spot where they were tied together came apart in what almost seemed like a neatly orchestrated spill. The strand draped over Cordy’s palm and revealed itself to be a very nice little necklace. “Awesome,” Cordy said with satisfaction. “I love it when you can wear the wrapping, too.”
With Cordelia as their cue, the other four pushed aside their reservations and tore into their own packages, although with a little more reserve because of the exquisite coverings and the knowledge of who had sent them. Caution or not, it was only seconds before streamers of lovely ribbon and the blocks of high quality fabric littered the counter and floor. Every gift had an interior box that was every bit as beautiful as its wrapping—brocaded patterns, gilded swirls of gold, silver-and-red metal, imitation gemstones as accents.
“I don’t know why she bothered to wrap this stuff,” Gunn commented. “I wouldn’t have.”
“That’s because you’re a man,” Cordelia said offhandedly. “You don’t appreciate anticipation.”
“No, I just want to cut right to the good stuff,” Gunn retorted. “Why waste time?”
“They say that people who wait to open gifts have a higher IQ,” Fred said, peering at the square box in her hands. “It says something about their ability to—” She bit off her own words, her cheeks reddening. “Wait—that sure didn’t come out the way I wanted it to.”
A corner of Gunn’s mouth turned up. “Right.” But all the hurry seemed to have gone out of his movements.
Fred looked distressed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“Oh my God!” Cordelia suddenly squealed.
They all jerked and Angel nearly dropped his still unopened box. “What? What’s wrong?”
“Wrong?” Cordelia’s face was luminous. “What could possibly be wrong—look at this!” She’d opened her box and was now pawing through layers of sparkling interior tissue paper. In another second, she pulled something free and held it up for everyone to see. “Wow!”
They stared at it for a few moments. Then Gunn cleared his throat. “Uh…nice sweater.”
Cordelia’s eyes widened; then she laughed. “Sweater? This isn’t just any sweater—don’t you have any fashion sense at all?” She pulled the top back until it spread out against her torso. “This is a Missoni sweater set—never in a million years would I be able to afford something like this.”
Angel eyed it critically. “Well, it looks nice and everything, but it can’t be that expensive.”
“Try four hundred dollars plus,” Cordelia shot back. “Depending on which Rodeo Drive store you happen to frequent.”
Even Wesley looked impressed. “That’s quite a bit of change for something that only has sleeves on one of its two pieces.”
“It just looks like snakeskin to me,” Gunn said. “What’s so great about that?”
Cordelia smoothed out the fabric, flipping open the outer sweater to reveal the sleeveless one inside. The print on the fabric did look a bit like snakeskin, golds and browns that shifted with the folds of the material. A layered cowl neckline fell perfectly from the shoulders of the inside piece. “Oh, I just love it,” Cordy murmured. “And it feels incredible, like having a piece of cloud against your skin. Lilah may be evil queen of the legal field, but she sure has great taste.”
“Could be drafty,” Angel quipped. When Cordy ignored him, he rolled his eyes and glanced at the others. “One down, four to go. Okay, who’s next?”
They all hesitated, trying not to appear too anxious. Gunn, still smarting from Fred’s unintentional remark, looked like he might never open his at all. The moment stretched on—
“Fine,” Wesley said decisively. “I’ll go next.” The box inside his velvet-covered package was also red, rich and deep, and he turned it over in his hands and hesitated. “It feels…warm.”
“That’s probably just the power of suggestion,” Fred said helpfully. “Red is a very intense color and the mind automatically associates it with potency and eroticism.”
Wesley pressed his lips together. “I can do without adult toys, thank you very much.”
“Aw, open it,” Gunn said with a grin. “Might be fun.”
Wesley frowned at him but finally set the box on the counter and worked the top free. As he studied what was inside, his expression melted into astonishment. “I don’t believe it!”
“What?” Gunn and the others crowded around. “Is it hot?”
“You bet it’s hot!” Wesley pulled his gift from the box and held it up. “Unbelievable!”
“It’s a book,” Cordelia said. “Another one of your rare ancient textbooks, I supposed. More dry than hot.”
“Oh, no—not at all.” Wesley placed the book on the counter gingerly, as though it might break. “This is a very rare edition of Firestarter by Stephen King, lettered and signed. This cover—” he pointed to it “—is asbestos covered in aluminum cloth. There were only twenty-six of these made in 1980.” He looked completely awestruck. “This book is incredibly valuable—a collector’s dream.”
Cordelia squinted at it. “Can we sell it?”
“You don’t sell something like this.” Wesley glared at her. “Books like this one end up behind alarm-wired glass cases in contemporary museums.”
“It’s a wonderful gift,” Fred put in. The others nodded, and she gave Gunn a sidelong glance. “How about if I go next?” Beneath the white wrapping had been a palm-size box covered in more simple white, and without waiting for an answer she carefully pried the lid free. “Oh my,” she said softly. She turned the box over and yet another box, this one made of glittering crystal, slid onto her hand.
“It’s bea
utiful,” Cordelia said excitedly. “Open it—I’ll bet it’s jewelry.”
Fred paused and chewed at her lip, but nothing bad had happened to anyone else…yet. She inhaled and lifted the lid.
Inside, nestled on a soft bed of white velvet, was a crystal Rubik’s Cube. “It’s gorgeous!”
Wesley’s eyes darkened. “And just how would our acquaintances at Wolfram and Hart know that such a gift would interest Fred? I can’t recall if Lilah and Fred have ever actually met—”
Gunn’s mouth twisted. “Please. Like they haven’t gotten down and dirty on assembling a Fred dossier to go with the reams of paper already in the Angel Investigations files.”
“No doubt,” Angel agreed. “Those people don’t need a formal introduction to dig.”
Gunn peered at the cube over Fred’s shoulder. “How do you know when you’ve got the squares lined up?”
Fred lifted it to eye level so they could all see it. “There’s a pattern etched into the crystal. Possibly a snowflake.”
“That’s certainly in keeping with the season,” Cordelia said.
“Puzzles make me nervous,” Wesley said. “Every time we solve one something bad happens.”
“That’s not actually true,” Fred said. “Solving puzzles provides the answer to problematic situations, not the other way around.”
“Come on, Gunn,” Angel said. “Open it up.”
A corner of Gunn’s mouth curled, almost in distaste. “I suppose.” No more hesitation, no more stalling—he yanked the top of his odd-shaped box free and looked inside.
“Okay,” he said. “I take back everything bad I ever said about Lilah.”
“What is it?” Wesley crowded up next to him.
Gunn lifted the object so that everyone could see. “It’s a knife,” he told them. “A damned fine one, at that.”
“A kukri,” Wesley said, examining it as Gunn turned it in his hands. “Ancient Burmese, I believe. Made of silver, and look at the embossing on the scabbard—that’s genuine gold inlay.” His eyebrows shot up. “I believe that’s an ivory handle rimmed with real rubies.”
“Ivory?” Cordelia scowled. “Don’t they know it’s illegal to use elephant tusks? They’re endangered animals!”
“They weren’t endangered when this was made,” Wesley told her. “Normally kukris are made with yak bone as the handles, or, more commonly in the military, wood. They come in a multitude of sizes, including a huge ceremonial size that’s often used to cut off the heads of water buffalo with one swipe.”
“Ew,” Cordy said. She’d been about to touch the knife, but now she drew her hand back. “Like we don’t get enough blood with the demons—we have to add big dumb animals to it too?”
“Whatever,” Gunn said, clearly impressed. “You think it’s sharpened?”
“Without a doubt,” Wesley said dryly. “I’d be careful if I were you. Soldiers in the Nepalese army wear them at their waists, on the left side. Most of the time they’re drawn and resheathed right-handed without looking, and it’s quite common for new soldiers in training to cut off their fingers.” He nodded, apparently as pleased at the gift as Gunn was. “This will definitely be a fine addition to our weapons inventory.”
All eyes turned expectantly to Angel. Cordelia looked at the last package on the counter. “Your turn, Angel.”
He shuffled his feet a bit. “You know, I’m really not into this whole Christmas gift thing. I mean, it’s the vampire existence and crosses and all—”
“Don’t be a dud, Angel.” Cordelia reached over and picked up the package, then thrust it at him. “Wow—that’s heavy.”
“Nah.” Angel tried to look nonchalant. “I’m really just not into this,” he repeated. “I—”
“Angel,” Wesley said severely, “as I recall, it was you who insisted we couldn’t let Wolfram and Hart frighten us. And if my memory is correct, the words ‘slimeballs’ and ‘scare tactics’ were involved.” He folded his arms. “In all fairness, you offered quite the encouragement to the rest of us to open our packages. As they say, what goes around comes around. Now get on with it.”
Angel’s mouth worked and he looked around a little helplessly. “I…All right. Whatever.”
Cordelia’s expression turned mischievous. “I’m thinking our tall, dark, and vampire here is afraid his attempted onetime romp with Lilah might have gotten him a holiday gift on the less-than-pleasant side—a little tit for tat.”
Angel cleared his throat sharply, then pressed his lips together and worked at the lid to his box without much enthusiasm. “That wasn’t me, remember? It was that old guy who stole my body, and I was kind of hoping she’d just forget about that.”
Gunn snorted. “First of all, I don’t think Lilah cares about the details. Second, I’m thinking she’s most definitely the kind to hold a grudge.”
“But her note did say that this was a time for letting go of the past.” Fred sounded hopeful. “So far everything’s been really nice.”
As the last word left her mouth, the lid came free and fell to the side. Angel stared at what was inside, then scowled. “Great.”
“What is it?” Wesley and the others moved in close.
Angel sighed, pulled the object out, and held it up for everyone to see. “A mirror.”
“A mirror?” Cordelia repeated. The bewilderment on her face matched the expressions of her friends. “A mirror?”
“I don’t think repeating ourselves is going to make it any clearer.” He shoved the box aside with his elbow and set down his gift.
There was a long pause; then Wesley offered, “Well, it’s a very nice one, anyway.” He stepped in front of Angel and picked up the mirror, hefted it to test its weight, then studied the frame. The reflective surface was an elongated oval in a highly polished frame about four inches around with rounded edges. It was dense and dark, with a grain that was almost reptilian-looking, mostly black with a strange tan pattern that held occasional subtle hints of green. There was no denying it was exceptional—it seemed to demand that they look at it, pulling their gazes back when they let it wander elsewhere.
“Looks kind of creepy to me,” Gunn said. “Like it’s…watching us or something.”
“I think it’s very beautiful,” Fred put in.
“Yes.” Wesley agreed. He was clearly impressed. “I believe this is Coromandel ebony. It’s highly prized as a material for weapons because of its strength and density, although it’s rare enough so that most of the masters consider it wasteful if the weapon is actually used as anything but a gift for a very respected instructor.” He smiled and angled the mirror to better see the almost imperceptible grain. “Legend has it that the wood gets this burned black appearance because it first grew from a charred twig dropped on the ground by a couple who hid in a gourd during the great flood.”
“Marvelous,” Angel said sourly. “I’ll use it every day. Remind me to send Lilah a thank-you card for her insight.”
“Insight?” Fred asked.
“Yeah,” Angel ground out. “Lilah’s note said that each gift reflects what we are, remember?” He actually sounded bitter. “She pretty much hit it on the head with the other presents, and when I look into this thing, I see nothing. That about covers it all, doesn’t it?”
Standing there, looking at their own gifts, it was obvious no one knew what to say. Suddenly Angel looked chagrined. “Hey listen, don’t pay any attention to me. I told you—Christmas just really isn’t my holiday of choice. I’d much rather do St. Patrick’s Day and have a good glass of green beer. The whole caroling thing has nothing on a good Irish drinking song.”
“Angel, you have to keep in mind the source,” Wesley said. He looked pained on Angel’s behalf. “On the surface, Lilah is a beautiful, articulate woman, but the truth is she’s nasty and cunning, very underhanded. Pretty on the outside, but the inside’s rotten, indeed.”
No one else seemed able to think of anything to add, and after a few moments Fred picked up her crystal Rubik’s
Cube and settled on one of the lobby chairs. As if on cue, Gunn, Cordelia, and Wesley found their own spots to sit back and examine their gifts. Angel stayed at the counter, leaning forward on his elbows and staring at where the mirror lay off to the side, an ill-concealed grimace on his face.
“This isn’t so difficult,” Fred murmured. When Angel looked over at her, her fingers were working nimbly at the cube, turning it this way and that. Under her attention, the snowflake pattern was rapidly taking shape, and the whole thing was looking disgustingly silver and Christmasy.
A few feet away, Wesley was delicately paging through his asbestos-covered copy of Firestarter with an utterly enchanted expression on his face. “The man’s an incredible fiction writer,” he said to no one in particular. “Listen to this passage right here.” Holding the book carefully, he stood and began to read from the opened page, walking back and forth as he did so, a smile of admiration on his face.
“‘Fear made her heart pound and her knees weak. She dodged through the trees, moving like a black leopard through a jungle, hardly looking back at the men who tracked her. They were evil and deserved to die, and she began to chant beneath her breath as she picked her way through the moonlit forest. “Burn,” she whispered to herself. “Let them all burn, but do it slowly so they can appreciate the extent of my anger. I will kill each and every one of them with fire, very slowly, and I will enjoy listening to their screams….”’”
No one thought he’d been listening, but now Angel raised his head and stared at Wesley. “What was that?”
“Amazing writing, isn’t it?” Wesley nodded to reinforce his statement. “I really think no one else in the world has his touch for characterization and plot. The man will no doubt go down in history—”
“I read that book,” Angel interrupted. “Absolutely nowhere in it does the little girl—Charlie—say anything like ‘I will enjoy listening to their screams.’ In fact, that doesn’t even sound like Stephen King’s writing.”
Wesley looked from Angel to the book, then back at the vampire. “What are you talking about? That’s not what I said. The passage I read from—”
