Close to the Ground

by Jeff Mariotte

  For dinner he chose a simple black ensemble offset by one of his only white shirts and a black Italian silk tie. When he dressed and came out of his bedroom, Cordelia applauded.

  “Now, you know which fork to use when, right?” she asked. “Because sometimes at these fancy society dinners they have, like, eight of them or something. And they’ll be eating, you know, people chow, which I know is not your favorite dish.”

  “I’ll be fine, Cordy.”

  “I wouldn’t want you to make a fool of yourself or anything,” she continued. As she spoke, she circled him, eyeing him from all angles for anything that might be out of place. “After all, this is a big break for Angel Investigations. And for me, too, I guess, but of course I put others first. At all times.”

  “Of course you do.”

  “So just be very careful about what you say and how you pass food and don’t drink too much — well, I guess if you started drinking anything that you might overdo, it’d be blood, and that would pretty much kill the whole deal right there.”

  “Pretty much. But I promise not to overindulge.”

  “In fact, maybe you just shouldn’t say anything. Do you think you can get through the whole night by just smiling and nodding?”

  “Cordelia, I’m older than this country. I’ve eaten with nobility. I think I can handle myself.”

  “Well, I thought so, too, but you can never be too careful about these things.”

  “They’re just people, Cord.”

  “No, they’re not. They’re rich people. Entirely different species. With occasional cross-pollination.”

  “I won’t embarrass you.”

  “Oh, it’s not me I’m worried about,” she said, adjusting his collar for the tenth time. “I used to be one of the rich people, remember? We know how these things work. But sometimes we get a little embarrassed for those who are beneath us.”

  She tossed him a smile that almost, but not quite, made him think she was kidding.

  Finally he got out of the apartment and made the drive back up to Bel Air. He was waved through by the guard, and parked in the Willits family’s parklike driveway a few minutes before eight. By eight-fifteen they were seated in a formal dining room. The table was set with fine china and crystal, and dinner was served by a staff of quietly efficient Scandinavians.

  Marjorie Willits, Jack’s wife, joined the group just as they sat down. This was the first time Angel had met her, and when he shook her hand, it was tiny and light and quaking like a bird fluttering against its cage. She was very lean, with prominent bones and blue veins that showed through her milk-white skin. Makes me look tan, Angel thought when he saw her. When they sat, he watched her nervously touch her hair, her lips, her chin. She looked more fragile than the crystal, as if a loud noise would reduce her to a quivering mass. He found himself speaking softly to her.

  But Karinna seemed to have no such qualms.

  “This is the guy daddy wants to have watch me,” she told her mother. “He kicked the crap —”

  “Karinna,” Jack warned.

  “Sorry, the bejesus out of Harvey last night. You should have seen him run. I thought he was gonna cry like a little girl when Angel tore into him.”

  Angel smiled at Marjorie. “She’s exaggerating,” he said.

  “She does that,” Marjorie said. Her face twitched, as if she were trying to smile but was not very practiced at it.

  “So I gather.”

  “Hopefully, physical violence will not be a part of your daily duties, Angel,” Jack said. “But if it should come to that, I’m glad that you’re capable of kicking the ‘bejesus’ out of trained bodyguards.”

  “I’ll try to avoid it,” Angel promised. “And if it becomes necessary, I’ll try to make sure they’re not on your payroll before I start kicking.”

  Jack and Karinna both roared with laughter at that. Marjorie made a small sound in the back of her throat that sounded more like a whimper than a laugh. Angel couldn’t help wondering what her story was — she seemed so out of place in this family.

  As they ate, Angel picking at his food and trying to look like he was enjoying it, he found his gaze drawn to Karinna more and more. He watched her laugh with her father, watched her eyes narrow with concentration as she cut her filet or tried to spear a green bean with her fork. He wasn’t watching her because she was lovely. It was because she still reminded him of someone, and though he couldn’t quite place who, it was coming closer to the surface of his consciousness.

  Then she looked up and away, as if hearing a distant sound, and at the same time her left hand came to her cheek to brush away a loose curl of copper hair that hung there, and he knew.

  He remembered.

  He had never known her name, or anything really about her. She lived in Tirgu Bals, a small town in Rumania, in the year 1898. He was there, too, although he still went by the name of Angelus then. He was there with Darla, his love, the beautiful blond vampire who had turned him into one as well. They lived with Heinrich Joseph Nest, the Master, roaming the wooded countryside, feeding when they were hungry. In that year the American Century had not yet begun. Europe was still the focal point of the arts and sciences, and vampire culture was the same as the rest of the culture in that respect. The next century the Master would move to the United States, as would the attention of the world. He would make the mistake of moving to Sunnydale, and Buffy Summers would slay him.

  But for now, he was in Rumania, which many considered the homeland of vampires. Angelus and Darla and many others stayed there with him. The hunting was good.

  Angelus saw the woman one night, hurrying along a cobbled street. She carried a basket in one hand, hiked up her flowing skirts with the other, and she looked back over her shoulder with every few steps. Probably, he thought, someone had told her that it wasn’t safe to be out after dark, but she’d had some errand and had risked it anyway. And now she regretted it.

  Angelus liked the curve of her throat and the way her form flowed under her cloak. But he had just fed, moments before he saw her — blood still ran down his chin. As he watched the girl, he dabbed at the blood with his thumb, licked it clean. If he’d been a little hungrier . . .

  But he wasn’t, and he let her go.

  The next night his life was changed forever. Darla brought him a beautiful Gypsy girl. He was immediately enchanted by her, and the kill, when he finally took her, was like no other he could remember.

  But he was observed, and he was cursed by her tribe’s elders. As a result of the curse, his soul was restored to him, and with it, an immense load of guilt for all the crimes he had committed as a vampire — and not a small amount for his roguish ways before being turned, for that matter. He determined to make up for his past crimes by trying to help people.

  So the next time he was in Tirgu Bals, and he saw the same lovely redheaded woman, he felt a momentary swelling of joy that he had not killed her before. She was just locking a bakery’s door, after a long day’s work. The scent of fresh bread had wafted into the road as she came out. From a doorway across the street, he could see the weariness in her, in the slump of her shoulders and the set of her mouth. But there was something else, and as she started to walk home through the gathering night, he could see that, too, a spring in her step and a tilt of her head that indicated a strong, confident woman making her way in a hard world. Angelus watched her, pleased that she still lived in the world, that there was something wonderful in the world that he had not destroyed.

  But as he watched, he saw another form, also keeping an eye on her. And more than that, moving toward her. Angelus recognized the form as it passed the shadowed doorway where he stood — Tirbol, another of the Master’s acolytes. Tirbol had been a vampire for almost two hundred years by that point; he was powerful and respected.

  Angelus knew that Tirbol was planing to feed. Only a few days had passed since the curse had taken effect, restoring his soul and all the pain that came with it, and the idea that he could perhaps atone
for his sins was not fully formed yet. But he knew he couldn’t just stand here and watch as Tirbol corrupted the one thing of beauty he’d seen recently.

  He ran. Tirbol was faster, though, and caught up with the woman before Angelus could reach them. She had turned down a narrow lane. Angelus saw Tirbol make the same turn, and a moment later a shrill scream echoed down the street. Angelus pushed himself, running even faster than he had before. He had to remind himself that, even though he now had a soul, he was still a vampire with a vampire’s strength and speed.

  He came around the corner and saw them. Tirbol had the terrified woman bent in his arms, and his mouth was lowering to her exposed neck.

  “Stop!” Angelus called.

  Tirbol looked at him. A thin smile played across his lips.

  “Angelus,” he said. “We haven’t seen much of you lately.”

  “I’ve been busy,” Angelus said, fighting to maintain his composure. This was all new ground for him, and seeing Tirbol about to feed turned his stomach.

  “Too busy for family?”

  “I don’t have any family,” Angelus replied.

  Tirbol nodded his head toward the woman in his arms. “Hungry?” he asked. “I can share.”

  “Leave her alone.”

  Tirbol laughed. “Unlikely,” he said. “She’s mine.”

  “You’ll have to kill me first,” Angelus said, advancing on them.

  “As you wish.” Tirbol slammed the woman up against the stone wall of a nearby house. She fell to the ground, sobbing, petrified with fright. “You stay there,” he told her. “I’ll be right with you.” Then he turned to face Angelus.

  Angelus made the first move, charging Tirbol with his arms outstretched. Tirbol caught one wrist in his powerful grip and turned with it, using Angelus’s own momentum to hurl him to the lane. Before Angelus could rise, Tirbol had spun again and unleashed a series of kicks.

  Angelus swallowed the new, and yet familiar sensation of pain and rose to his feet. He lunged at Tirbol again, this time getting the older vampire’s right arm in his grasp. He climbed the arm, finally finding a hold on Tirbol’s throat. Tirbol punched and clawed at him, but Angelus ignored the pain. His plan was to snap Tirbol’s neck and then find something to stake him with.

  He felt Tirbol’s head turning in his grip. This would work, he suddenly realized. He would beat one of the most powerful vampires he’d ever encountered, and in so doing, he’d save the life of a beautiful young woman with everything to live for. It was a small thing, he knew, but it was one step on the road he wanted to travel for the rest of his life.

  And then Tirbol’s clutching hand found his eyes. The pain was indescribable, and Angelus’s grip loosened. Tirbol lurched backward, driving Angelus into the stone wall. Then he turned and slammed Angelus in the chin with both fists locked together. Angelus’s head snapped back, and he slumped to the ground. Tirbol kicked him in the head and ribs a dozen times.

  Angelus’s eyes closed as he writhed on the ground, unable to rise. When he was able to open them again, he saw Tirbol, bent over his prey. She had ceased her crying. Blood trickled from two puncture wounds in her milky throat and smeared Tirbol’s chin.

  The older vampire dropped her still form, gave Angelus a small salute, and disappeared into the night.

  He had tried to save her, but he had failed. His first rescue attempt was a disaster. He dragged himself over to her, looked at her, felt for a pulse. He was too late.

  He hadn’t been able to help her, but he decided he’d spend the rest of his time on Earth trying to rid the planet of vampires, of those who would prey upon the weak. He’d help those in need.

  He wouldn’t fail again.

  “Angel?”

  It was Jack Willits. Angel realized the man had been talking, but he’d been lost in thought — and probably staring at Jack’s teenage daughter. Karinna was looking at him quizzically.

  “Sorry,” Angel said. “I was just . . . thinking.”

  “I was asking if you were ready to start tonight,” Jack said. “With Karinna, I mean.”

  “Sure,” Angel said quickly. “I was expecting to.”

  “Good, that’s good. We should cover some ground rules, then.”

  “Oh, this is the part where we talk about me like I’m not here,” Karinna said. “My favorite.”

  “She likes to go dancing,” Jack said, ignoring her. “But I don’t want her to go places where alcohol is served, fake ID or no.”

  “I understand.”

  “She needs to be home by three on weekends. If it’s a school night, I want her in by eleven.”

  “Daddeeee,” Karinna whined.

  “Twelve. No later.”

  “Twelve on school nights. Got it.”

  “No smoking, no drugs, no unchaperoned time with boys.”

  “Makes sense to me,” Angel said, thinking, am I a bodyguard or a baby-sitter? And shouldn’t she be making some of these decisions on her own at this point? Not that he was in favor of the things Jack wanted her kept away from — Angel just thought these were values that should have been instilled at an early age, instead of activities for her to be prevented from doing by a hired employee.

  Not for the first time he had the sense that as a family, the Willitses left something to be desired. Angel’s own personal experience with families was pretty minimal — he had killed his own, early in his vampiric days. But he’d seen a lot of them over the centuries, and they generally seemed to relate better than these people did. They interacted almost like three strangers: Jack laying down rules as if by memory, as if he’d done this with a hundred other bodyguards over the seventeen years of Karinna’s life; Karinna ignoring the whole list, determined to do whatever she wanted to do, no matter what; Marjorie, eyes downcast, staring at her plate as she cut each bite into ever tinier pieces, which she then forked into her mouth and chewed a certain number of times, like a food ritual, before swallowing.

  Whatever it was that brought people together as families — and he didn’t think it was blood, he’d seen it with Buffy and Giles and Willow and Xander, even been part of the clan, for a while — was missing here.

  If it had been replaced by anything else, he couldn’t see what. Some kind of mutual distrust, maybe.

  “Is there any particular danger you think she might be in?” Angel asked. “Anyone with a grudge against you, any threats?”

  “No, nothing that I can think of,” Jack said. “Of course, when you’re in my position in this town — a certain amount of money, some notoriety, our names in the papers, and so on — you can never be too careful. There are some crazy people out there, and some desperate ones. I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to my baby.”

  Angel seemed to remember him saying something similar the morning he’d brought her back after Doyle’s vision. It sounded almost rehearsed, as if he was protesting too much.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. He tried to put on a reassuring smile. “I won’t let anything happen to her.”

  “I’m trusting you, Angel,” Jack said. “I wouldn’t want that trust to be misplaced.”

  Before Angel could answer, Marjorie Willits scraped her chair back from the table. She looked away from the others, as if watching the path of something only she could see. When she turned to walk out of the room, Angel thought he could see tears glistening on her cheek.

  “Excuse me,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

  She hurried out the door. When she was gone, Jack said, “You’ll have to forgive Marjorie. She’s not been well recently.”

  “Not a problem,” Angel said. “I hope she feels better.”

  “I’m sure she will,” Jack assured him.

  “Angel, can we get going?” Karinna asked. “There’s a new DJ at Hi-Gloss tonight and I want to be there.”

  Angel nodded. “Sure, I’m ready when you are,” he said. “That sound okay, Jack?”

  “As long as you’re on the job, Angel, I’m happy.”

  “Is C
onsuela on tonight, Dad?” Karinna asked.

  “I believe she is, yes.”

  “Good.” Karinna left the table, followed her mother out of the room. Angel looked at Jack.

  “Consuela does her hair and makeup,” Jack explained. “Worked at Monument for decades, and now she’s on staff here. I take care of my people, and no one can say I don’t.”

  “I’m sure that’s true.”

  “She’ll be twenty or thirty minutes,” Jack told him. “I have some paperwork to attend to in my office, I’m afraid. But you’re welcome to wait here, or there in the entryway, or in the parlor. Make yourself at home.”

  “I’ll fend for myself,” Angel said. “Go ahead, I’ll be fine.”

  Jack put his hand out one more time. “I’m glad you’re on the job, Angel. Makes me feel a whole lot better.”

  “I won’t let you down,” Angel said. But for a moment he wasn’t sure who he was talking to, Jack Willits or a red-haired woman whose name he never knew, who lived and died in a faraway land more than a hundred years before.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Angel turned down an offered cup of coffee and went to wait for Karinna while the kitchen staff cleared the dinner table.

  He’d once lived in a home with a roof made of grass and a floor of dirt. Even now he lived in a building in a seedy neighborhood. But he liked where he was. As Cordy said, what it lacked in comfort and style, it made up for in dampness and lack of amenities. It had easy access to the sewers, and that was important when one couldn’t go out-side in the daytime without experiencing spontaneous combustion. Besides, now he had an established business, and while walk-in traffic wasn’t a big part of the clientele, there were a few people who knew where to look for him when they needed help.

  Anyway, he hoped the job wouldn’t last that long. There were plenty of other people in Los Angeles who’d be needing his help. Doyle wasn’t going to stop getting visions from the Powers That Be just because Angel was currently occupied.