by Various
She noticed that Fred was paying rapt attention, but her lips were moving, almost as if she were speaking silently. Or counting.
“It’s a mathematical formula,” Fred announced.
“I’ve heard of word problems,” Lorne said. “But bell problems? Fred, honey, have you been sipping from the eggnog on the right or the eggnog on the left? Because the right one is a little potent, if you know what I mean.”
“It is, though,” Fred insisted. “I think I understand what it’s saying. And I don’t think it’s good.”
Georgie may have been the son of the Grand High Wizard of whatever his dad’s doomsday cult was called, but at least he had told the truth about the Santa Claus. He led them around the corner, and less than a block away, a charity Santa stood outside a movie theater ringing his bell and ho-ho-ho-ing into the night. He was kind of scrawny, for Santa Claus, Angel thought, and he didn’t look all that jolly. He didn’t even acknowledge the people who tossed money into his bucket, but seemed to be focusing on something else. All he did was laugh his laugh and ring his bell.
“It’s the bells that do it,” Georgie explained. “By now, they’ve opened the rift wide enough. The World Devourer is coming through. He’ll eat this world whole, and in the next one those of us who brought him here will hold exalted stations.”
“Hate to break it to you, dog,” Gunn told him. “But this world gets eaten up, you get eaten too. All you’ll be after that is waste matter, if you get my drift.”
Angel ignored them and went straight to the Santa. A thin sheen of perspiration coated his face under the fake hair and beard, and his eyes were distant. “Hey, Santa,” Angel said. “Stop ringing that bell a second.”
Santa ignored him.
“I’m talking to you,” Angel said, more forcefully.
Santa continued to ignore him.
“Put down the bell,” Angel ordered.
“Can’t.”
People thought I was bad when I was Angelus, Angel thought. And even then, I never did anything like this.
He drew back his fist and, with everything he had, he slugged Santa Claus on the chin with a gigantic hay-maker. Santa’s head whipped back, his hat flew one way and his whiskers another, and he dropped to the ground, unconscious. His bell chimed as it rolled across the sidewalk, finally stopping up against Wesley’s shoe.
“You know, I kind of enjoyed that,” Angel said.
“Caroling time, cats and kittens,” the Host shouted when they went back inside. “We’re going to go outside and sing some old faithfuls. And we’re going to sing them loud. Top of your voices loud, understand? I’m not concerned about pitch, as much as I hate to say that. I’m looking for volume.”
Fred passed out pots and pans and spoons from the hotel’s kitchen. “Noisemakers,” she explained. “Everybody take something. This is going to be…well, it’s going to be loud and disruptive.”
“But…won’t the neighbors complain?” Anne Steel asked.
“They might,” Cordelia replied. “But they’ll still be here to complain, which is better than the alternative, if Fred’s right.”
“I still wish Angel was here,” Fred said as she passed out utensils.
“He’s probably working on some other angle,” Lorne assured her. “If you’re right about this—”
“I am.”
“—then I’m sure he’s on it too.”
“He’d better be, because this may not work.”
When everybody was properly equipped, Lorne led them outside into the street in front of the hotel. People who didn’t have pots or pans to bang on were positioned by cars, or light poles, or anything that would resonate and make a racket. “‘Jingle Bells,’” Lorne called out. “Sing like your life depends on it.”
The group started to sing. Lorne swept his hands into the air, urging them to sing louder, and louder still. The kitchenware came into play, and within minutes a horrible racket emanated from near the Hyperion Hotel—a cacophony that reached into the sky, that drowned out the faint chime of thirty bells, that broke the pattern Fred had identified in the bells’ ringing. They sang for several minutes more, and while they had started because Lorne and Fred and Cordelia had seemed agitated and insisted on it, as the minutes passed and their voices and makeshift instruments blended, they began to sing for the sheer pleasure of it, with exuberance and enthusiasm, glad to be spending this holiday evening with friends and loved ones. Voices raised, spirits high, the congregated guests turned a thunderous din into a joyful noise.
In the deep reaches of space, the pattern of the bells was broken and the rift slammed shut. The World Devourer was most of the way through, but when the chasm healed itself, the Devourer could not move fast enough, and the closing gap cut the Beast in two. One section dropped back into the distant nether regions from which it came, while the other, lifeless now, fell into the sky and burst into spectacular flame as it passed into Earth’s atmosphere.
“Man, what’s that noise?” Gunn asked.
“It sounds as if it’s coming from the hotel,” Wesley replied. They had put the Santa’s bell out of commission. Georgie insisted it was too late to make a difference, but they weren’t willing to believe him. They were coming back toward the hotel, though, intending to start there and work around in the circle Georgie had described, taking out the rest of the phony bell ringers as they went. “It sounds like singing.”
“In a way,” Angel said. “Not in the Aretha Franklin sense, but maybe in the sense of drunken cats on a fence.”
“It can’t be,” Georgie said, his face suddenly ashen. “It’s not possible.”
“What?” Gunn asked. Then he followed Georgie’s gaze into the clear, starry night sky. The others did the same.
And, high above the earth, a light streaked across the velvet expanse, bright and pure, a tail flaming out behind it. They watched it for a moment, until its glow began to dim. “That’s not the Star of Bethlehem,” Angel said.
Gunn glanced at him. “No, you ain’t that old. Are you?”
“I’m just guessing,” Angel said.
“From the look on poor Georgie’s face,” Wesley speculated, “I’d say that’s his World Devourer. Only it looks as if it’s become a toasty morsel, now.”
Gunn cocked a head toward the sound that issued from the hotel. “You know, that ain’t soundin’ half bad now.”
Angel had to agree, almost in spite of himself. It would be nice to listen to some carols before he had to go out and join the throngs of last-minute shoppers. “I think you’re right, Gunn. Let’s go check it out.” He smiled, glad to be here with two of his best friends, and glad that the world would still be here tomorrow and for all the tomorrows after that. “You know, maybe parties aren’t that bad after all.”
8 P.M.
I Still Believe
by Christopher Golden
Eyes wide and unblinking, Cordelia stared at Angel in abject horror. Then she sighed deeply, horror turning to frustration, and she stalked across the lobby of the former hotel where Angel Investigations based its operations to peer into the back room where Wesley kept his office. No activity back there—Wes had run out on an errand—nor up the stairs that led to Fred’s room. Also no sign of Gunn.
For the moment, they were alone.
Thank God for small favors, she thought. Which was appropriate, because they never seemed to get any big ones.
Now she spun on Angel and shot him a withering glance before hurrying back across the lobby to where he stood gazing expectantly at her. He tried on that little boy smile of his that was meant to be disarmingly charming, with the mischievous sparkle in his Irish eyes. She had never had the heart to tell him that, champion for the benevolent powers of the universe or not, a smile like that on a vampire who had once been as vicious as they came was more unsettling than it was charming.
“Tell me you’re kidding.” Cordelia stared at him to make it clear that this was not a rhetorical statement, but a command.
�
��I could,” Angel replied with a small shrug, “but that would be a lie.”
“I…I don’t believe you,” she muttered, spinning on her heel to pace a few steps away, shaking her head as she tried to make sense of it. Then she frowned, hurried back, and punched him lightly on the arm. “What’s the matter with you?”
His facial expression changed, apologetic now instead of disarming.
“Okay, just stop with the puppy dog look or I’ll really have to hit you,” she instructed. Her eyes rolled heavenward and she grumbled. “What were you thinking? I mean, it’s four days away. Four. Days.”
Angel scratched at the back of his head. “I know. But it isn’t like we haven’t been busy.”
Cordelia was speechless a moment. Then she scanned the lobby again to make sure none of the others were around and she stepped in closer to him, having to look up to glare directly into his eyes.
“Christmas is four days away and you haven’t gotten presents for any of us,” she reminded him. “That’s just…I don’t even know what to say…it’s just…I know you’re not exactly Zen about the whole shopping experience, but if you wanted help you could have asked for it before now.”
“That’s not exactly true,” Angel pointed out.
She narrowed her eyes. “What isn’t?”
“Well, I already got your present.”
Cordelia grinned, raising an eyebrow. “Really? So what’d you get me?”
It was Angel’s turn to frown. “I can’t tell you that. Christmas is only four days away. You can’t wait four days?”
She hit him again.
“Hey!” he protested.
Cordelia wagged a finger at him. “Don’t make me hurt you.”
He shrugged. “I’m not telling you. But I do need your help. I’ve got your gift taken care of, and I’ve ordered something for Wesley that I have to pick up. But for Gunn and Fred…I thought maybe something leather for him, a long jacket. Maybe some perfume for Fred, something classy yet delicate, maybe floral, but then I figured—”
“Stop,” she instructed, holding up a hand. “Just…just stop.” Cordelia lowered her head and closed her eyes a moment, one hand going to her forehead.
“Cordy, are you all right?” Angel asked, grabbing her arm. “Is it a vision?”
Eyes still closed she shook her head. “Not a vision.” Again she sighed as she finally looked up at him. “All right. Our motto at Angel Investigations is ‘We Help the Helpless.’ In this case, that’d be you. You cannot buy Gunn a long leather jacket because, number one,” she raised a finger, “they’re ridiculously expensive if you buy them off the rack and you don’t have time to do it right, and number two,” she raised a second finger, “he is not Shaft.”
Angel seemed to be considering her words. “But, the perfume, that’s okay?” he asked hopefully.
Once more she gazed up at the ceiling and the heavens beyond. “This is going to be a very long night.” Then she strode to the counter that had once been the hotel’s reception area, picked up her pocketbook and slung it over her shoulder.
Without waiting for Angel she marched toward the front door. “I may have a holiday party later, with that modeling agency? So we have to make this quick. Make up an excuse. Tell the others we’re going out.” She paused on the landing in front of the door and turned to give him one final stern glance. “And you owe me.”
“I do,” he agreed happily. “You’re the…the Queen of shopping and all other…shoppers…must bow down before you.”
Cordelia scowled. “Oh, give it a rest. I’ll be in the car. And whatever you got me? It better be good.”
She left him there to explain what errand was dragging the two of them away and went outside. There was a slight chill in the air now and she wished she had thought to grab a jacket. Cordelia knew a number of people who had grown up in climates where there were actually four seasons but she had lived in southern California her entire life. Christmastime wasn’t about winter and wishes for snow in L.A.—that stuff was for old movies and TV specials. But as she strode down to the street in front of the hotel where Angel had left his car, amongst buildings with bright holiday lights and wreaths, she thought the cool breeze somehow appropriate.
Before she had even reached the car she heard him hurrying after her. Cordelia turned and waited for him at the convertible. When he reached the car he offered her a quick, grateful flash of a smile.
“Thanks again. I really appreciate it.”
“So, what’d you get me?” she asked again.
Angel slipped behind the wheel and looked up at her. “Coming?”
Cordelia made a face but she climbed in beside him. Angel started the engine and pulled out and for several minutes he was busy navigating the streets of L.A. Cordelia was genuinely appalled that he had waited so late to do his Christmas shopping, but as she looked around at the multicolored lights of the city she had to confess to herself that she didn’t really mind going out on this little jaunt with him. Once upon a time her family had been wealthy and she really had been the Queen of shopping. The mall had been her playground. But since her father had lost his money and she had come to L.A. to try to make it as an actress…well, there wasn’t a lot of leisurely spending to be done on the salary Angel Investigations managed to pay her.
As he turned a corner, Angel gave her a sidelong glance. “You’re too quiet. It’s…sort of spooky.”
“I’m cogitating on your predicament.”
“Cogitating?”
“Yes,” she replied, raising her chin defiantly. “Or don’t you think I can cogitate?”
“Oh, no, absolutely. Feel free. So what’s wrong with perfume for Fred?”
Cordelia stared at him. “You’re not her boyfriend. Which pretty much guarantees you don’t pay enough attention to buy her perfume. See, women are particular about scents. Unless you really understand what she likes, you have no business buying her anything she’s supposed to splash or spray on her body.”
They had found their way into some serious early evening traffic and now were gridlocked into a sandwich between a silver Lexus and a white van whose exhaust fumes made Cordelia wish Angel didn’t drive a convertible. She wrinkled her nose and tried to breathe as little as possible, and through her mouth.
“So, what, a dress?” Angel asked, beginning to look worried now. “You can help me with that. Just tell me where to start. Hey, maybe I could get some nail polish to match the dress. Fred has nice hands, don’t you think? Polish that sets off the dress would really bring out her hands.”
The light changed ahead and they advanced all of three car lengths before being trapped once more. Cordelia leaned her head back on the seat and gazed up at the night sky.
“How can you call yourself an investigator when you’re so completely not observant?” she asked. “Look, here’s an idea. What does Fred like? I mean, what does she like to do?”
Angel looked pensive a moment before he glanced at her. “She reads a lot. She writes. Does research. Sometimes on the computer but not all the time. She’s pretty solitary, from all that cave time on Pylea.”
Cordelia smiled. “Now you’re thinking. Most of those things, the reading and researching and especially the writing, they’re hard to do without a surface to do them on. And our girl’s pretty solitary, but in her room, there isn’t really a nice workspace for her, is there?”
The traffic had begun to move again and Angel edged in front of the noxious white van. The convertible just slipped through the light before it turned red again.
As he started to weave his way through traffic, Angel glanced at her again. “You want me to buy Fred a desk for Christmas? We have desks. I could bring one up to her if she wanted one. That doesn’t make any sense.”
“That depends on how you look at it. A solitary, quiet, brainy girl might really love a delicate, antique writing desk, something French I think.”
Angel clicked on the left turn signal and as he rounded the corner he nodded slowly. “Y’k
now, that’s really…an amazing idea. But don’t you think that’s a little expensive? You know the problem with antiques? Once upon a time they weren’t. Antiques. They were new. And much, much less expensive.”
Cordelia raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh, and unless you have a time machine, Mr. Frugal, all those lovely old things are now antiques. Stop living in the past!”
“I’ll just sidestep the irony of that statement from the woman who’s suggesting the antique gift. Kind of surprises me, actually. I thought you’d relish the opportunity to shop for dresses. Still, it is the perfect gift for Fred.”
Cordelia had been proud of herself for the idea. Now her mood faltered. “Wait, don’t listen to me! A nice dress would be a perfectly good gift.”
“No, no, the desk is perfect. I’ll just have to find the right store.”
“I’m my own worst enemy,” Cordelia sighed. “Of course, it would have been torment anyway to walk around and drool over all the clothes I can’t afford. And…messy. With the drool.” She gave him her sweetest smile. “So…did you get me a dress?”
“It isn’t Christmas yet.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You didn’t buy me perfume, did you?”
“No,” Angel replied, eyes on the road. “I promise. Though I do like that vanilla-scented thing you wear sometimes. So, great idea for Fred. What about Gunn?”
Cordelia nodded slowly. “Yeah. He’s difficult.” Then she glanced around, realizing that she did not recognize the neighborhood they were in. It was lined with midlevel boutiques and an Epcot of world cuisine restaurants—she spotted Malaysian and Ethiopian and Brazilian on a single block—but she couldn’t tell if the area was on the rise from trash to trendy, or had already crested the trendy peak and was in the midst of crashing back down. Neighborhoods in L.A. went through that cycle constantly.
“Where are we, anyway?” she asked.
“Remember I said I just had to pick up what I got for Wesley?” Angel pulled the convertible to a stop at the curb in front of a place called Cobwebs Antiquarian & Used Books. “Here we are.”