The Longest Night Vol. 1

by Various

  “Don’t worry,” he said at length. “I won’t spoil her night.”

  “Not just her night,” Gunn corrected him. “Big night for Fred, too.” Angel saw his gaze go to where the young lady was coming down the stairs, her last-minute decorating finally complete. Her long brown locks were swept up in back, except for a few strands that framed her face. She wore a simple white peasant blouse with red embroidery at the neckline and sleeves, and an ankle-length skirt in a rich green velvet. Her smile was tentative at first, but then, as if sensing the impact she had on the gathered crowd—or at least, Angel thought, sensing the way Gunn looked at her—the hesitation disappeared and she beamed. Her last few steps were taken with a confidence Angel had rarely seen her display.

  When she reached the bottom, Wesley was there, bowing deeply. “You look magnificent, Fred,” he told her. He took her right hand and kissed it. “Happy Solstice.”

  Gunn looked away then, and the motion caught Angel’s attention. “I know,” he said. “It is a big night for Fred. I’m sure she’ll pull it off, and everything will be fine.”

  “Better be,” Gunn said. He flashed Angel a smile.

  “I’m gonna see if she needs a drink or somethin’.”

  The next Santa looked to be more of a problem.

  He was in front of a popular music and video store. While much of L.A. emptied out at night, this part of Hollywood was just coming alive. Even tonight, so close to Christmas, when holiday parties were in full force across the city, people streamed in and out of the shop, picking up late presents or just treating themselves to the latest CDs and movies. The Santa was ringing his fool head off, and people chucked coins and a few bills into his pot with regularity.

  Sitting in the car in the store’s busy, narrow parking lot, Ash fretted.

  “Do we really need this one?” Georgie asked from the back seat.

  “We need all of them within the boundaries we’ve set,” Ash reminded him. “By the fall of the hour, every bell needs to be ringing in just the right way.”Kid knows that, Ash thought. Or he did. He just doesn’t seem to retain well. Wants everything to come the easy way, instead of being willing to put out some effort to make things happen.

  But summoning a World Devourer was no simple process. The timing had to be right, and it was; the Winter Solstice was a night of great power. The ritual had to be right, and they were working on that part. The bells had to be prepared in the correct fashion, with the proper symbols drawn in the blood of their most recent wielder. Then—and this part was trickiest of all, and most sensitive to error—they all had to be rung in precisely the right pattern. It had all been worked out mathematically—or mathemagickally, Ash thought. The ringing of the bells in the prescribed fashion would actually put into play a rigorously designed mathematical formula that would open a rift in space, through which the World Devourer would come.

  Or so the Grand High Wizard had decreed. And he seemed to know his stuff. Ash glanced at R. C., who was sitting in the seat next to his, fully tattooed with the image of the World Devourer, as Ash himself was. On his chest was the World Devourer’s midsection, with hundreds of eyes on stalks emanating from a bulbous cranium. Snaking out from his chest in every direction—up the acolyte’s arms and down his legs, covering his neck to end on his shaved head, were the Devourer’s many tentacles, bristling with suckers and barbed hooks. The scale, of course, could not be shown—Ash couldn’t even imagine how big the World Devourer must be. But he knew it was out there, and hungry, and waiting to get in.

  They had to take down this Santa.

  “Great party, Angel.”

  Angel turned to see a tall, lean man with light brown hair and a huge smile, carrying a luminous blue drink in one hand. Pietro, one of Lorne’s bartenders at Caritas, was serving tonight and he specialized in the unusual and obscure. “Thanks, Mars,” Angel said in reply, speaking loudly to be heard over Springsteen’s “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town,” which boomed from the sound system Cordelia and Fred had rented for the evening. “What’s new in the spa biz?”

  “Oh, heavens,” Mars said. “Botox, Botox, Botox. Everybody thinks those little critters can save their lives. If you ask me, the whole thing’s just a little repulsive, don’t you think? But I have to provide what the customers want. That’s the name of the game, right?”

  Mars owned the Palm Ridge Spa just outside of Los Angeles and—like everyone invited tonight—knew more than the average local about the hidden side of the city and her residents (and occasional visitors, like the Oden Tal females he had tried to hide from the Vigories who hunted them).

  “Botox is botulism, right?” Angel asked.

  “A purified form of the same bacteria,” Mars explained. He sipped from his glowing blue beverage. “Paralysis and death on one hand, wrinkle-free skin on the other. I wonder what it’d do to your forehead when you’re vamped out. Might be spectacular. Want to give it a whirl?”

  “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

  “Suit yourself,” Mars said. “Honestly, I don’t blame you. What are a few deep furrows—ditches, really—between friends?”

  “That’s what I say too,” Angel agreed.

  “Well, I’ll let you mingle,” Mars said. “Besides, I hear Steve’s coming, have you seen him yet?”

  “Steve?”

  “Guess not. Toodles.” Mars drifted off into the crowd, leaving Angel, for the moment, mercifully alone.

  “Y’all sure have a lot of interesting friends,” Fred whispered. Wesley followed her gaze to see a trio of Mostark demons, statuesque and proud, with thick masses of hairlike tendrils that trailed from their heads down to the floor behind them, making their way between the guests.

  “Well, in our line of work, you know, we meet quite a wide variety of people, and…well, not-people. Demons and the like.”

  “Those are some of the demons,” Fred stated, pointing out the obvious.

  “Mostarks,” Wesley explained to her. He was happy just to be in Fred’s presence. She was a sight to behold tonight; her pale skin gleamed like the finest Italian marble, and the evident pleasure she took in the tableaux that surrounded them was contagious. He had never before realized just how attractive she was. But then, she rarely came so far out of the shadows. “Quite noble, actually, in their way. They’re warrior demons, but they do what they can to protect humanity from some of the more vicious varieties out there.”

  “That’s a nice thing to do,” Fred said.

  “Very,” Wesley concurred. “Not so different from what we do. But it’s nice not to be alone in the doing of it.”

  “I used to love alone,” Fred said. “In Pylea, alone was always better than not-alone. Here, I’m not so sure anymore. Here I think not-alone might be good.”

  Wesley drank in the smell of her, fresh with the slightest hint of peaches, as she crowded him to let the demons pass. “Not-alone is definitely good.” He was about to say more when a familiar voice interrupted him.

  “Wesley, there you are.”

  “Virginia?”This is a surprise, he thought. I hadn’t expected Virginia Bryce to be anywhere near this place…ever again. Certainly not tonight. He glanced at Fred, who looked on with a questioning expression, then back at Virginia. She looked as beautiful as she ever had, which was considerably, Wesley believed. Her dress was floor-length and fitted, high-necked in front but cut away in the back, in an eggplant-colored material that reminded Wesley of a frosted glass Christmas ornament.

  “Cordelia invited me,” she said. “I wasn’t sure it would be a good idea, but…well, I wanted to wish you happy holidays. And she said it would be okay. Is this your new…?” She left the question unfinished, but Wesley understood it.

  Fred, her cheeks crimsoning, seemed to as well.

  “No,” Wesley said quickly. “No, this is Fred, the newest member of our team. And a friend, of course. But not…well, you know.”

  Fred smiled radiantly and put her hand out. Virginia took it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,
Fred,” she said. “I’m Virginia Bryce. Wesley and I used to…go out.”

  “I’ve heard about you,” Fred told her. “You’re the one who thought he was Angel, right?”

  “I’m the one who was led to believe that he was Angel, for a while, yes.”

  “That’s what I meant.” Fred was nothing if not gracious. “It’s very nice to meet you too.”

  “I hope I didn’t offend you,” Virginia said. “About you and Wesley being a couple, you know. It’s just that you’re so pretty, and the way you two were walking so closely together, you know…anyway, a girl could do worse than Mr. Wyndam-Price.”

  “I’m sure she could,” Fred answered brightly.

  This whole conversation was making Wesley very uncomfortable. “I’m still, you know, standing here,” he said. “Invisible, perhaps, but far from absent.”

  “I guess he means we shouldn’t be talking about him as if he weren’t here,” Virginia stage-whispered to Fred. “So we’ll have to get together and talk about him sometime when he really isn’t here.”

  “I’d like that,” Fred agreed. “He says wonderful things about you.”

  “He does?” Virginia sounded genuinely surprised.

  “Why wouldn’t I?” Wesley asked, not really wanting to prolong the discussion but curious about her response.

  “Well…it’s just, you know. Sometimes when two people break up—and it was definitely my doing, I freely admit that—there’s bad blood.”

  “I bear you no ill will, Virginia,” Wesley said. “Not at all.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.”

  “I can vouch for that,” Fred told her.

  Wesley started to say something else but suddenly Gunn loomed behind Fred. “Excuse me,” he said, his voice deep but quiet. “Can I see you for a minute, Fred? Got someone I want you to meet.”

  Fred looked at Wesley, as if for permission. He nodded, and she followed Gunn away, through the crowd.

  “She’s a lovely young lady,” Virginia said.

  “Indeed.”

  “You could do a lot worse.”

  “That’s what you told her about me.”

  “Maybe it’s true both ways.”

  Wesley hesitated a moment, then spoke. “I’m not sure I’m ready to take relationship advice from you, Virginia. Not that you might not be correct, but still.”

  “I understand, Wesley.” Her lovely face looked sad, though, as if he’d hurt her feelings. Not what he’d intended, to be sure. “Anyway, I mostly just came to see you and say happy holidays. I’m glad you seem to be doing well.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “And likewise to you.”

  She leaned into him and they shared an awkward hug. “You look lovely,” he whispered to her. “Thank you for coming tonight.”

  “Thank you,” she replied, “for not throwing me out the door when I did.”

  “Can you help me catch my puppy, Santa?” Georgie asked the man. Ash watched from the corner of the building, away from Sunset. They’d picked Georgie to approach the Santa because he could do pathetic like nobody’s business, as if he’d been born to the role. “I got him for my girlfriend for Christmas but he jumped out of the car when I got out.”

  “Where’d he go?” Santa asked, his forced jolliness forgotten for the moment.

  Georgie pointed to the corner and Ash ducked back so Santa wouldn’t see him. “I think he went around the building there. I figure if we team up we can, you know, kind of herd him and catch him.”

  “He’s not, like, a pit bull or anything, is he?”

  “No, no, he’s a, you know, a terrier. A little white thing. I was gonna call him Snowball.”

  Nice improv, Ash thought. How could Santa Claus refuse to help find a pup named Snowball? He and R. C. waited for Georgie to bring Santa back, at which time they’d kill him and prepare the bell. Another car idled in the parking lot with the replacement Claus inside.

  “Sure, for a minute, I guess,” Santa reluctantly agreed. “I mean, I shouldn’t let the pot out of my sight, but I guess I could go as far as the corner. If you can kind of drive him my way then I can grab him.”

  “That’s great, I appreciate it,” Georgie told him. “I mean, it wouldn’t be a very merry Christmas if poor Snowball got flattened on the Sunset Strip, would it?”

  Ash heard footsteps approaching the corner, and then Georgie’s low whistle. “Here, Snowball! Here boy!” Georgie laughed softly. “Guess he don’t know his name’s Snowball yet, so that probably won’t help, huh?”

  “Probably not,” Santa replied. “But I think it’s tone of voice that matters more than the words, anyway.”

  “That’s probably right.” Georgie came around the corner. Ash and R. C. hugged the wall, waiting for Santa to appear. Ash felt his heart thudding in his chest in anticipation. Like a kid on Christmas Eve, he thought morbidly. A moment later, Santa did so, calling, “Snowball, where are you?”

  Ash lunged at him, catching him by his full white beard—real, this time—and neck, and hauling him into the darkness behind the building. “Hey—,” Santa started to protest, but R. C. clamped a hand over his mouth and shut him up. Ash drew the ceremonial dagger. Within minutes, a new Santa was at his post outside the store’s busy front door, ringing his specially treated bell.

  Miles and miles above the planet, the rift in space lengthened, and at one end of the opening the tip of a tentacle slipped through, wriggling and twitching like a worm coming into the light after years underground.

  “I just met Steve,” Melissa Burns said. “What a nice man.”

  “Steve who?” Angel asked.

  Melissa was radiant in a jade green holiday gown, looking more poised and vibrant than Angel had ever seen her. For the first time he really understood what it was Dr. Meltzer had seen in her—okay, not to the point of wanting to stalk her, as the doctor had, or wanting to send individual body parts after her by themselves, as the doctor also had. But where before Angel had seen only a frightened young woman, there was now a powerful and self-confident beauty.

  “Steve Paymer, silly,” she explained with some amusement.

  “David’s brother? He’s here?”

  “Didn’t you get to see the guest list?”

  “I pretty much left that up to Cordelia,” Angel said.

  “Probably a good thing,” Melissa told him. “Not that I’m not eternally grateful to you and everything, but I have to believe that Cordelia throws a better bash. You just don’t seem like the ‘get down, get funky’ type, you know?”

  Angel felt wounded, though he knew she was right. “I can get down,” he attempted feebly.

  “Anyway,” she went on, as if trying to spare him any further humiliation, “life is great, thanks to you guys. I quit Pardell Paper Products and went into business for myself, and it’s working out perfectly.”

  “That’s terrific,” Angel said. “Doing what?”

  “You know those charts butchers have, showing all the different cuts of meat you get if you cut up a cow into all its different parts? I draw those.”

  Angel didn’t quite know what to say to that. He tried to make sure he was smiling but his face felt frozen, unresponsive to his mental commands. Maybe Mars had Botoxed him without his knowledge.

  “I’m kidding,” Melissa assured him. “Don’t look so stricken. I’m still in papers, providing specialty paper products for boutique stationers and the like. I’m my own boss and I actually have five employees. And I owe it all to you.” She touched his arm and leaned toward him, lowering her voice. “And,” she added, “I have a boyfriend. He’s a doctor.”

  “That’s…congratulations,” Angel managed.

  “Kidding again,” Melissa said, and laughed brightly. “Actually, he’s a police detective. We met when he was investigating the disappearance of Ronald Meltzer. A disappearance that’s still officially unsolved, by the way. And staying that way.”

  “For the best,” Angel said.

  “That’s what I think too. I
t’s my only secret from him, though.”

  Angel was surprised to hear that. “Is he…here, then?”

  Melissa shook her head vigorously. “No, he’s on duty. This—you guys—you’re all part of the same secret, you know? I don’t think he’d really get you.”

  The image of Detective Kate Lockley flashed briefly through Angel’s mind—Kate, who knew all about him and his kind, and couldn’t let it go, and whose career had been ended by that knowledge. “You’re probably right. A lot of people don’t quite get us. You’re doing the right thing.”

  “Thanks,” Melissa said sincerely. “I mean that, Angel. For everything.”

  Angel didn’t quite know what to say to that—small talk being not really his thing, and he felt like he’d already exhausted his supply of small talk for one party anyway. Besides, there was that whole element of naked emotion that made him just a bit uncomfortable. But before he had to reply, Cordelia was there with a hand on Melissa’s arm.

  “Melissa,” she said cheerfully. “You’ve got to meet Fred!”

  “Is he one of your new associates?”

  “He’s a she,” Cordy said. Her gaze met Angel’s. “But yes, exactly. And I’m sure Angel has a million people to schmooze. Party guy, you know.”

  As he watched them fade into the crowd, Angel thought, I may have the name, but sometimes I think Cordelia’s the real angel around here. He turned away from the celebrants for a moment, rubbing his cheeks and wondering if his face would ache later from all the smiling he felt was expected of him tonight.

  The job went faster than Ash had expected. The Santas fell one by one, interspersed with a few other charity workers in different costumes—some military-like, some looking like nurses or priests. It didn’t much matter to Ash as long as they had a bell and were in approximately the right location. Each bell, at its loudest, had to be just audible from the next spot. Together, they’d weave a web of sound that reached into the heavens and opened the way for the World Devourer.