The Longest Night Vol. 1

by Various

  Fred and Wesley exchanged a glance.

  “What?” Gunn demanded.

  “Most of the other demons,” Fred said gently. “Including vampires, usually. But—” she looked at Wesley, who came to the rescue.

  “They key in on beings with souls,” he said. “The craters in their skin aren’t from poor adolescent hygiene, they’re sensory organs. So even though Angel is a vampire, and would otherwise be of no interest to the Drannoth…”

  “They’ll know he has a soul,” Gunn said flatly.

  Cordelia jerked at the cold trickle down her chest, realized she’d forgotten to keep the Evian bottle upright, and set it beside her on the round seat, brushing futilely at herself. “Wonderful. So he’s out there, and we should have heard from him, and these Drannoth demons will consider him good building material.”

  “You keep saying he can take care of himself,” Fred offered tentatively.

  “Yes, but he’s used to being the exception when it comes to this sort of thing,” Cordelia said. She let her head drop, resting it in her hands and trying to think beyond the sudden concern and her equally sudden irritation that Angel had insisted on going out there alone—even if she did know this season could be hard on him. Too many conflicting memories, too much not-quite-belonging.

  She thought back to her vision, trying to dredge more information from it. Anything to cut down their search time. Some better clues than between accessories and women’s wear.

  “Cordelia?” Wesley’s voice came from a distance; Fred’s light-as-a-bird touch landed on her arm.

  “What?” she said, lifting her head to find them all looking at her.

  “You were humming,” Gunn said. “An old-sounding tune. I mean like not-this-century old.”

  “‘Bring a Torch, Jeannette, Isabella,’” said Wesley, who had pinned her with the oddest look of all. “It’s a sixteenth-century French song. And I rather doubt it’s any coincidence that it came to mind.”

  “Considering I’ve never even heard of it, I’d say that’s a good guess.” Were these visions sneaking into her head in a seriously spooky way, or what? Then again, just having visions in the first place was spooky enough. She told Wesley, “I’m not even going to ask how you know.”

  “I’m eclectic,” Wesley said.

  “You spend too much time at home alone,” Cordelia countered.

  Wesley said stiffly, “Just because I choose to—”

  “We knew this was about the carolers,” Gunn interrupted. “And we know the Drannoth convert their people before the night ends, right? I say we don’t waste any more time. Let’s start where Angel started.”

  “I don’t see where we have much alternative,” Wesley agreed. “We’ll all go.”

  “All of us?” Fred asked uncertainly, voicing the thought before Cordelia could get to it on her own behalf.

  “All of us.” He said it with that taking-charge tone.

  “And now.”

  They went.

  Angel came to awareness with a humming in his ear. He would have given his head a shake to clear it—except his head didn’t move when he tried. The realization served to clear his thoughts. The hallway, the demon, the falling mist…

  And the humming didn’t come from his ears at all. It merely reached them, a sweet and sad voice that nonetheless offered some comfort.

  It stopped. Kath said, “You’re awake.”

  He didn’t answer immediately, instead caught up in the astounding realization that he was gently but securely webbed up against a hard block wall.

  “You are, aren’t you? I thought I heard…” Her voice faded into uncertainty.

  Angel gave her a belated reassurance. “All wrapped up and nowhere to go, but I’m awake.”

  “We’re the only two,” she said sadly. “The others…they’re sedated or something.”

  “Others…” he repeated. He opened his eyes, found them covered with filmy webbing, and immediately tried to bring his hands up and rip it away.

  “No!” Kath said. “Don’t! I think this stuff reacts when you move—puts you out again or something. This is the third time I thought you were coming around, but you keep moving, and then you go away again. I’ve been very still and I’ve been awake for…I guess a couple of minutes. It seems longer.”

  He froze, waiting to see if the world would fade out again. After a moment he said, “It was pretty. The humming, I mean.”

  “An old Christian song,” she said. “We use the melody.”

  Ah. Holiday stuff again. For once his state of body reflected his state of mind during the holidays. Trapped.

  Something on the other side of the webbing moved, something big and bulky and…annoyed. “You two mind?” it said in a gurgly voice similar to the laugh from the hallway. “I’m trying to prepare myself for the replenishment. Prayers and rituals and important thoughts. It’s bad enough I’ve got chrysalis-sitting duty…I don’t need you interfering with my preparations.”

  “Chrysalis-sitting duty?” Angel said, wishing he didn’t think chrysalis implied what he thought it probably did.

  The indistinct bulk shifted. “Chrysalis,” the demon said in irritation. “That would be you. Latecomers, but still plenty of time for the transformation.”

  Transformation. Yeah, it definitely meant what he thought it did. “Actually,” Angel said, “I’m feeling a little chatty. How about you, Kath?”

  She hesitated, but then responded in kind. “Really chatty,” she said. “And sing-y, too. Which seems only fair, since you seem to have half our choral group here.” She began to hum again.

  “Ooh, singing,” Angel said. He turned back to the demon, what little bit he could turn at all. “It’s only fair to warn you—you probably don’t want to be here if I start to sing.”

  “Gotta love you people,” the demon said. “It’s your own fault that you’re here. Won’t let go of Solstice…just keep coming out to sing. Easy pickings. Between you and the late night party-hearty contingent, we kicked butt this year.” Then he gave a tsk of disapproval and annoyance. “Not an appropriate thought for the replenishment. You’re going to ruin my holiday if you don’t shut up.”

  “I feel your pain,” Angel said. “Just let me out of here and you can feel your pain, too.”

  “Holiday?” Kath said. “Just what is this replenishment?”

  The demon gestured broadly enough to be seen through the webbing; his voice turned enthusiastic. “The night of the year we take our winter harvest and replenish the clan by transforming you into—”

  “Demons,” Angel said flatly. “Got news for you, pal…”

  “Yeah, yeah, so you’re a vampire. We know that. You’ve got a soul, that’s all we care about.”

  “I bet I can find some way to make that a mistake,” Angel told him.

  Kath said, “You’re a vampire?” in a shocked little voice.

  “With a soul,” the demon said defensively. “We’re really very fussy about who we transform.”

  Angel muttered, “That certainly makes being cocooned in here all worthwhile.”

  The indistinct shape hesitated, as if uncertain how to take dry sarcasm. Then he shook his head. “You’re just ruining my holiday spirit,” he said, and came up to Angel’s confining chrysalis, giving it a mighty kick.

  “Oh yeah, that’s fair,” Angel said. “Kick the vampire when he can’t kick back.” But the demon only watched with his arms crossed, looking satisfied even through the webbing and in the dim light. Within moments, Angel understood why, for the webbing responded to the insulting blow and the world drifted away again.

  The cold night air revived Cordelia—though not quite enough for her to forget it was so far into the middle of the night that it was almost morning. She’d gotten used to working the after-dark hours, but this time of year there were just so many of them…

  “Los Angeles and Eleventh,” Wesley announced. “I believe this is where you suggested he start.”

  “This is it,” Cordelia
said, emoting all the patently false cheer she could dredge up. She offered a gloved gesture that encompassed the endless landscape of warehouses surrounding them. “He should be here. Somewhere.”

  Block after block of garment warehouses, and not a single one of them with a neon sign that said Demons Be Here. They’d have to do this the hard way.

  “Time’s a wastin’,” Fred said, with a more earnest kind of false cheer than Cordelia had offered up.

  Gunn didn’t waste time with any cheer at all. He hefted a gleaming battle-ax and said, “Let’s go.”

  Just head down Los Angeles Street, Cordelia had told Angel.

  So they did.

  O Holy Night, the darkened sky enfolds us.

  ’Tis the night we sing praise to rebirth.

  Angel woke to singing. “How long?” he asked immediately.

  Kath stopped singing. “Not long,” she told him. “Just long enough for me to ask a few more questions of our annoyed demon baby-sitter. Chrysalis-sitter. He’s gone off to do some deep breathing, I think. He said the others hadn’t been awake nearly since they came in, they all struggled so much, and he’s put out that we didn’t do the same.” She hummed a few measures of “The First Noel” and picked up with lyrics that didn’t quite fit what Angel remembered. “All celebrate the eternal light…”

  More than anything, she sounded like a young woman trying to pretend she wasn’t terrified. But she broke off rather abruptly and said, “Within the hour, the rest of the clan will come in and soak us all with demon goo. Then the chrysalis webbing molds to our bodies and begins the transformation. By morning we’re Drannoth demons.”

  “Demon goo?” Angel repeated. “He said that?”

  “Well. Not exactly. But close enough.” She was silent a long moment. Then she said rather distantly, “Even the demons know this is a special time of year. Ironic, in a way.” After another thoughtful pause, she added, “He said that our souls would provide the spark for the transformation. That they’d be consumed.”

  Just when he thought he’d gotten Wolfram & Hart off his back for a while, here was someone else who wanted his soul…

  She said, “How does a vampire with a soul celebrate the season?”

  “I don’t remember saying that I did.” But he winced inside, drawn inexorably back to his memories again. Family. Laughing and feasting and family and friends, and even strangers.

  “Everyone has something this time of year,” she said, sounding quite sensible. “Solstice is the yoke of the year…it’s renewal for everyone. Christmas, Hanukkah, Yule, Ramadan, Kwanza…surely there’s room for you there somewhere.”

  “I think you underestimate the complications of the situation,” Angel said.

  “And I think you overestimate them,” she said. “Look. Even the darkest part of this longest night contains the promise of lengthening days. No matter whose religion you look at, that’s what it’s all about—rebirth, re-examination of self. If you exist, you have reason to celebrate. If you exist, you have the right to renewal. No one can take that away from you.”

  He gave her a sideways look—or at least, gave the direction of her voice a sideways look. “The Drannoth are giving it a good try—and using their own renewal. Irony, eh?”

  “That’s not spiritual renewal,” she said with some asperity. “It’s just weird demon sex.”

  The cocoon webbing seemed to tighten around him, sticky and encompassing and totally offensive. “When you put it that way,” he said, “it so makes me not want to be here.”

  She’d gone back to humming, but broke it off to say in a troubled voice, “I’m afraid to try anything. I’m afraid if this stuff puts me back to sleep again, the next time I wake up, I’ll be a demon and my soul will be gone. I’m…I’m really afraid.”

  She had a point. The Drannoth would be back any time, and then they’d both be without souls. What would he be then? A double demon? A Drannoth vampire? But his next struggle could be his last. He thought about those moments he hadn’t used to call the gang, wondered if they were still waiting for him at the hotel, wondered how long they’d wait before they realized how wrong the night had gone. “Sing,” he told her. “I’ll think of something.”

  But he didn’t think he would.

  They found no sign of Angel.

  “This is no good,” Gunn said as they met on the corner of Los Angeles and Pico, looking back over the territory they’d covered. “Are we even sure he came here? I don’t even see his car.”

  “If he followed Cordelia’s vision he did,” Fred said, rubbing her mittened hands together. “Though it certainly does look deserted.”

  “It does,” Wesley agreed. “But we’ve got to go back up this way to get to Gunn’s truck, so we might as well be alert for signs as we go.”

  “Signs of what?” Fred wanted to know.

  “‘There be demons,’” Gunn suggested. “Or ‘Do you know the way to San José.’” Hastily he added, “Not that I’ve even heard a sissy song like that—”

  “We know, we know,” Cordelia told him, breaking the huddle to head back up the street, entirely uneasy about the whole situation. “Only rough nasty music for you.”

  “Right,” Gunn assured her. “Nasty music.”

  “Now that that’s settled, shall we take another look around?” Wesley came up beside Cordelia in his best Rogue Demon Hunter mode, checking every layered shadow, peering into all the nooks and crannies. Fred and Gunn fell into step behind them, and they made slow progress back up the street. Although Cordelia wouldn’t exactly have called it progress, because they weren’t actually achieving—

  “You’re humming,” Wes said abruptly. Accusingly.

  “It happens,” she told him. “Look, I really just want to get back to the hotel. Maybe Angel left a message there. And my feet are killing me already!” Then she took in the expression on his face, the way the other two looked at her, and realized the accusation hadn’t been accusation at all, but startled realization. Cautiously, she said, “And what was I humming?”

  “That song,” Fred said. “The one you said you didn’t know.”

  As one, they looked around. Standing on the street midblock between Eleventh and Twelfth streets, enclosed in a canyon with walls made of warehouses, they looked for any faint sign of recent activity.

  Nothing. They turned back to Cordelia.

  She waved them off. “Don’t look at me. I’ve just got some kind of subliminal vision memory-thing going on. I’m not your dowsing rod. I can’t even think of that tune if I try to do it on purpose.” She pointed at herself. “See? No humming.”

  Not looking entirely convinced, Wes said, “Let’s just check the doors on this block, shall we? Not the front doors. We need to find the back doors. Delivery doors. Old-looking doors.”

  “Back doors it is,” said Gunn.

  Cordelia followed them to the first building, humming random notes in an off-key way.

  Just in case.

  Angel tried moving slowly. Ever so slowly. Testing the limits of the webbing, and testing its response.

  It didn’t put him to sleep, but it didn’t give way before him either. It gently stretched to accommodate him.

  Kath had been silent for some moments, but eventually she said sadly, “I don’t think we have much more time. I hope my sister…my uncle…my friends…I hope none of them ever found out what their fate was to be. They’re all gentle people. They don’t deserve this.”

  “And you do?” Angel said. “Okay, I probably do, but I don’t want it.”

  Not that it stopped them from coming. Because coming they were, capturing his attention as his keen hearing picked up the first scuff of a footstep, then faint gurgling laughter. He said quickly to Kath, “I’m going to try something. If it doesn’t work—”

  “Make it work,” she said, a desperate edge in her voice as she, too, heard the approaching demons.

  If it doesn’t work…

  He’d be asleep in moments, never to wake up with a
soul again.

  Angel went fang-face. As the demons filed into the room, he released himself to the kind of violent fury he normally kept under excruciating control.

  He tore through the webbing and left it in shreds behind him. It oozed a sticky substance, trying to subdue a victim it no longer held, an empty cocoon in a long row of cocoons sitting snugly side by side and stacked several deep in the big square underground room. He could see Kath’s cocoon—like his own, the webbing still retained some translucency, and her bright blond hair shone through.

  The assembling demons—festively attired in bright orange to offset their bluish skin and mulch-colored hair, carrying various bowls and implements and scrolls—stopped short, blocking the only exit. Beside the small and wizened leader stood a demon of just the right size and shape to be their chrysalis-sitter.

  Angel smiled at him, an expression meant solely to expose his fangs. “Vampire,” he said. “I found a way to make that a mistake after all. Your mistake.”

  Of course they rushed him. Not all of them, but enough to keep him busy while the others shouted at each other, clamoring to know who’d brought the mist…when apparently none of them had.

  He understood immediately. Even as he ducked a wild blow, popped up to grab the off-balance demon and swing him first into the block wall and then back into the attacking throng, he realized they couldn’t simply put him back to sleep.

  But they could still kill him. Kill him and go on with their ceremony, shy by one insignificant soul. He threw a duck-pivot-kick and looked desperately for a weapon. The room held nothing but a massive, elaborately decorated table totally not to his taste, and the cocoons. Big heavy thing, squishy things. Not that he wanted to get near that webbing again…

  “Yo! Angel!” Gunn’s voice but no sign of anything but blue pocked gurgling demons, pouring into the room with one goal in mind.