Sanctuary

by Jeff Mariotte

  “I didn’t like you when you looked like a regular guy,” Fred replied, continuing to put distance between herself and them. “If you think I’m just going to go quietly with you looking like a reject from some evil squid movie, you’re just crazy. Not that there’s anything wrong with that—I guess I’ve been a little bit crazy myself, from time to time. But not stupid crazy, not the kind that would look at you and say, ‘Oh, sure, you look trustworthy, let’s go back downstairs so you can lock me up again.’”

  She felt something across the back of her ankle as she stepped backward, and glanced down to see that it was a guywire extending from a tall vent. She stepped gingerly over it, knowing that the demons needed only the slightest advantage and they’d be on her. As it was, they kept coming toward her as she retreated.

  “I was just trying to save a little effort,” Moe said calmly. “You can’t blame me for that, can you? I don’t really like heights, if you want to know the truth. I’d be much happier if we all just went back inside and talked about this like civilized beings.”

  “Don’t count on it,” Fred snapped, not believing a word of his entreaty. She whirled around and ran, high-stepping over low-lying cables and pipes, dodging the big A/C boxes. She could hear the scuffling footsteps that meant her pursuers were running too, and she already knew there was nowhere to go, that the fire escapes from up here were gone or sabotaged in some way. But she couldn’t just let them take her. She couldn’t let them use her against Angel again.

  She reached a stone rise that marked the end of the building she had started out in, and even though the next building adjoined it, there was a moment of psychological terror at going from the familiar to the unknown. She stepped over the low wall and onto the next building. Hazarding a glance behind her, she saw that the demons were making steady progress toward her, even closing the gap a little.

  Still, she kept running, thankful for the clear night that illuminated her way so well. The moon was low on the horizon, almost set, but she could still see the various obstacles, limned against the grayish backdrop of the tarpaper.

  She passed onto the roof of yet another building, running a similar obstacle course here. But when she reached the low wall at the edge of this one, there was nowhere else to go.

  Except down.

  Eight stories. She looked down, felt a wave of vertigo, and clutched the edge of the low wall. Behind her, the demons came nearer. I’m good at math, she thought. And the math here all points to only one option. If they take me back, they’ll use me to get Angel to commit suicide. Or they’ll kill me. Maybe both.

  But if I die before Angel can commit suicide, then he won’t have to worry about giving up his life for mine. He’ll never even have to answer the question. He’ll be free to go on doing what he does best, helping people. And I…I can’t even help myself, not really.

  Angel has to live. Well, not live, but…continue.

  Which means I have to go over the side.

  She hesitated there, looking back at Moe, Larry, and Curly. They had stopped, about a dozen feet from her. They had, she guessed, figured out what she had in mind.

  “Don’t do it,” Moe said. “Why bother? It won’t save Angel. My way, at least you save yourself.”

  “Maybe Angel doesn’t need saving,” a voice said from behind the demons.

  Angel had made his way to the roof after finding the empty suite H, redolent of human blood, and encountering no more Kedigris resistance on his climb up. Emerging from the door, he had spotted the demons chasing a bloodied Fred across the rooftops. He’d suspected they wanted to take her alive, so he’d hung back, not wanting to advertise his own presence until he absolutely had to. Alerting them to his proximity might have made them panic and kill Fred, and he didn’t want that.

  But when she stood at the edge of the roof ready to throw herself over to save him—he guessed—he knew he had to speak out. He’d closed the distance as much as he was able, and then he announced himself.

  Fred let out a loud gasp, and the three Kedigris spun around as if they were mounted on the same lazy Susan. Angel didn’t even give them a moment to react before he lunged toward them, machete out. He slammed into the nearest one, slashing with the sword’s keen edge. Vampire and demon both went down in a pile, but he managed to sever the thing’s tentacle near the shoulder. A fine mist of Kedigris blood, cinnamon-scented and hot, sprayed into his face as the demon writhed and screamed below him. He raised the blade and drove it into the demon’s chest, and the Kedigris fell still.

  A tentacle lashed out toward him from one of the remaining two demons, and Angel twisted his body, letting it land on his already paralyzed left arm. As soon as the sucker clamped down, Angel sliced with the sword. The demon wailed and drew back what was left of its tentacle.

  Angel glanced over at Fred, still standing by the wall. “Get away from the edge, Fred,” he warned.

  She looked as paralyzed as he was beginning to feel, but when she saw the third Kedigris start toward her, she obeyed. And keep away from the demon, Angel wanted to add, but it looked as if she had already figured that part out. She made a roundabout loop, away from the building’s edge and away from the demon. When he made a grab for her, she threw herself down flat against the roof and wrapped her arms tightly around a pipe.

  Angel knew he had to wrap this fight up before the poison spread any further, or before the Kedigris decided to poison her. Totally paralyzed, he’d be no good to Fred, himself, or anybody else. They’d be able to simply leave him on the rooftop until the sun finished him off. The Kedigris was keeping its distance now, though, wary of the machete Angel wielded.

  So Angel didn’t bother trying to close with it. Instead, he hurled the machete straight for the creature’s breast. It flew end over end but straightened out and sailed true, driving itself deep into the Kedigris’s heart. Its tentacles flailed for a moment as it collapsed, and then stopped.

  The last Kedigris was almost to Fred. “Come to me, Fred,” the creature pleaded. “I’ll take care of you.”

  “Don’t do it, Fred,” Angel warned her.

  “I have…no intention of…doing it,” Fred managed, still clutching the pipe with what appeared to be every ounce of strength she had. Even if the demon got its tentacles around her, Angel felt certain it would have a hard time prying her loose from her anchor. “He…cut me! I think he’s the boss one,” she continued. “He talks like it, anyway.”

  “Face it, Kedigris, your plan’s a bust,” Angel said.

  “His name’s…Moe,” Fred announced.

  “No, it—Moe?” the Kedigris said, sounding surprised.

  “Where you’re going, names don’t matter,” Angel assured the demon. He closed on it. Its tentacles bobbed as if it stood in heavy surf, and its eyes rotated swiftly on their stalks, like it expected attacks from every side. Or reinforcements, Angel realized. It’s not getting either one, though. Just me.

  The vampire made his move.

  “You’re walking funny, Angel,” Fred said as they descended the staircase inside the building. “Did you get hurt?”

  “Paralyzing agent in their tentacles,” Angel explained. “Took some in my left arm, and my chest. It’s spreading.”

  “Oh, no!” Worry clouded her pretty face. “Is there an antidote?”

  Angel tossed her a smile he hoped was carefree, but he wasn’t sure that the left side of his face was still working, so it might have been more like scary. “I sure hope so.”

  “I’ll figure one out if I have to,” she said. “It’s the least I can do. Thank you, Angel. I mean, I knew you’d come for me, but I didn’t want to just sit around and expect to be rescued, you know? I figured if there was something I could do for myself, then I should go for it.”

  “You did the right thing,” Angel assured her.

  “You were perfect.”

  She looked at him, face beaming now. She was small, he understood, but her bravery was without limits. I thought I had to keep her safe. I wa
s stupid. All I have to do for Fred is what I’ve been doing—let her know she’s in a place where she’s appreciated and accepted. I got her out of her cave, I brought her here, now she just needs to know that here is a good place to be. She can do the rest.

  “I hope you’re not sorry you came out with us,” he said.

  “I am, a little. Okay, a lot. I mean, I feel safe in the hotel, you know? But the world’s full of not very nice creatures, just like Pylea was.”

  “There are good ones too,” Angel said, trying to find persuasive words. He knew it would be hard to prove it to her, after what she’d been through tonight. “We should try it again, soon. I promise a more relaxing evening than this one turned out to be.”

  She shared a tiny glimmer of a smile. “Okay, if you promise.”

  By the time they’d reached the ground floor, Fred had put an arm around Angel’s ribs and was helping him walk. Outside, a group waited for them—Cordelia, Wesley and Gunn, Lorne, a bunch of those fuzzy blue Roshon demons, and some of the audience he remembered seeing in the club. That had just been earlier tonight—last night, now, he realized, since the sun was almost up—but it seemed like months ago.

  “Angel’s been poisoned by one of those things!” Fred shouted. “He needs an antidote!”

  “Kedigris goop?” one of the Roshons asked. “Hang on.” The demon walked toward a blue car parked nearby.

  “A few more Kedigris came around,” Lorne told Angel. “The Roshons sure seem to enjoy whaling on them.”

  “It’s an acquired taste,” Angel replied, attempting another smile. “I’m getting to be fond of it myself.”

  “They’re disappointed, actually, that there weren’t more,” Wesley added. “I don’t imagine you left them any in there?”

  Angel shook his head.

  “He was like a one-man demon-whomping machine,” Fred said enthusiastically. “You should have seen him! He killed all three Stooges!” She let go of Angel to demonstrate his Kedigris-whomping technique, and Angel stumbled as his left leg gave out beneath him.

  “Don’t let go,” he said weakly. Fred gave a little squeak and grabbed him again, exerting all the strength she had to hold him up. Wes and Gunn dashed forward and helped support him.

  “Sorry,” she said, her voice tiny.

  The Roshon returned with a capped flask. He unscrewed the lid and handed it to Angel, putting it carefully in his right hand. “You drink,” the demon said. “All.”

  Angel took a whiff. It smelled like rotgut, but worse—much worse, since the Roshon who had given it to him was kind of on the pungent side himself, and this stuff completely masked the smell of him. But Angel knew he needed to counteract the poison—and then get inside someplace, quickly, before the sun rose. Not a lot of options, he thought. He tilted his head back and poured the stuff down his throat, trying not to taste it. When some splashed against his tongue, he almost gagged on it, but he kept it down. “Man,” he said, handing back the empty flask. “I’ve had some bad drinks in my time, but nothing like that.”

  “Angel, you live on pig’s blood,” Cordelia pointed out. “How bad can it be?”

  “You don’t want to know,” he wheezed. He felt a warm flush, though, spreading from his throat and belly. He hoped that meant it was working, and not just that he was going to die drunk, victim of a Roshon’s practical joke. He tried to lift his left arm and to his surprise was able to elevate it a couple of inches. He closed the fingers of his left hand slowly and with great effort. “Stuff works fast,” he said.

  “Good thing,” Cordelia told him. “Because that half-paralyzed face thing? Doesn’t work on you. Mona Lisa you’re not.”

  As the crowd in front of Caritas dispersed—customers heading home to get some needed rest, Roshon demons to go plot the next night’s action against their Kedigris foes—Lorne ushered Angel and crew inside. The sun’s first rays were just lightening the eastern sky, and Caritas was dark and inviting.

  Which is really kind of the whole point of the place, Angel realized. It’s the safe place.

  Not the only one. Not by a long shot. Safety can be wherever friends and family are.

  Just one of the best.

  Jeff Mariotte

  Jeff Mariotte is the author of several Angel novels, including Haunted and Stranger to the Sun, as well as, with Nancy Holder, the Buffy/Angel crossover trilogy Unseen and the Angel novel Endangered Species. He’s published several other books, and more comic books than he has time to count, including the multiple-award-nominated horror/Western series Desperados. With his wife, Maryelizabeth Hart, and partner, Terry Gilman, he co-owns Mysterious Galaxy, a bookstore specializing in science fiction, fantasy, mystery, and horror. He lives in San Diego, California, with his family and pets, in a home filled with books, music, toys, and other examples of American pop culture. More about him can be gleaned from www.jeffmariotte.com.