Title: The Mirror Crack’d
Author: Lysa
Posted: 10/17
Email
Rating: R
Category: Drama/Suspense/Romance
Content: C/A
Summary: The team experiences unusual aberrations. Is the Hyperion haunted or have Cordelia, Angel and Wesley discovered something else?
Spoilers: AtS Season Three.
Disclaimer: The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.
Distribution: Angel’s Archive (AO), Go Team and Darkness & Daylight..
Notes: Written for AO’s Fall Fic Festival. Title borrowed from Agatha Christie. A/N:I posted part of this yesterday 10/16 planning to make it a 2-parter, but I think it reads better as a standalone. Hopefully, I can transfer your comments to the new thread.
Thanks/Dedication: Thanks to those of you who voted in my little poll.
Feedback:Yes, please. I adore it. *smoochies*
Lost in the pages of a first-edition favorite, Angel soaked in every word. Reading not only gave him a way to pass the time, but provided a soothing method of relaxation. It was structured, civilized. A temporary escape from the constant reality of keeping his darkest instincts in check by letting his imagination explore what was denied him.
Sitting in his office, feet propped on the desk and leaning comfortably back, he was not so preoccupied that the activity around him went unnoticed. Wesley and Cordelia were arguing again; something about the differences between beige and buff. He let the words fade from his notice to focus again on the novel.
Just when the story pulled him back in Cordelia barged through his open office door. Calling to Wes over her shoulder, “I should’ve known better than to ask for help from someone who thinks Blahniks and Choos are types of demon epidemics.”
“They’re not?”
Angel tucked a finger between the pages as he closed the cover of his book holding his place. He hoped this was going to be a brief interruption, but considering that it was Cordelia he was glad that holding his breath wasn’t an issue. Wesley hadn’t been able to tell him where she’d gone today, only that she’d left word that she would be back this afternoon.
He’d noted her arrival thirty minutes ago, a distraction from his reading. Wesley’s presence was hardly noticeable as he quietly sifted through various resources and filled legal pads of notes. The occasional grind of a pencil sharpener was about the only irritation, unlike Cordelia.
“Gah! Don’t even get me started.”
There was the constant chatter. Angel found it strangely invigorating, especially the times when she came up with odd-ball ideas. Arguing was futile. He had no idea why Wes bothered. Both of them ended up following right along. Like when she’d bought non-ground coffee by accident and insisted he crush the beans with his hands.
Even when Cordelia managed to work quietly, the office was filled by her presence in a way that often left a void when she went home at night. They had become friends. Doyle’s death had brought them closer. He cared for her in ways that were surprising to him.
There was nothing Angel wouldn’t do to keep Cordelia safe. Keeping her happy was something he felt was out of his control. She’d had so much pain and responsibility thrust upon her. He ached with guilt every time her body contorted from the effects of a vision. So if he occasionally let Cordy have her way or get away with something he wouldn’t normally back down from, then he considered it a little compensation.
Besides, Angel was growing addicted to her smile. The damn thing was contagious. He often found himself smiling back, feeling the warmth of affection rooted deep within him.
If his thoughts and feelings ended with concern for Cordelia’s health and happiness, he might not be so distracted from his reading. His concentrated efforts to focus on his book failed again. It was just as well that she’d come to him instead of forcing him to find an excuse to intervene in her spat with Wesley.
Their argument had left her skin flushed, her heart racing a little faster than normal. He could hear her efforts to slow down her breathing, but the soft panting that came from her parted lips just drew his attention. When her tongue peeked out to sweep moisture along the full curves, Angel hastily moved along, dropping his gaze down to the armful of colored paper swatches clutched close to her chest.
Unceremoniously, Cordelia dropped them onto the surface of his tidy desk scattering them haphazardly. “The man has no taste,” she muttered while sifting through the mess. “To think I used to believe Wes was suave and debonair. That he had style. Now look at him. How could he possibly help me with this?”
A closer look at the pile revealed paint and wallpaper samples. Angel had suspicions, but waited patiently for her to reveal her latest scheme. Cordelia placed her palms flat on the desk and leaned casually toward him, her face suddenly calm and serene. A little too serene, Angel realized, as soon as that sweet smile appeared; the one that he’d seen the first day in the old office when Cordelia convinced him to let her stay.
This had to be serious if she wanted it badly enough to turn on the charm. Cordelia’s delectable cleavage was at eye level and quite charming indeed drawing his gaze like a beacon. Hell, he might technically be dead, but he was still a guy.
Somewhere above his head, Cordelia announced, “I’ve been doing some research,” snapping him out of his momentary haze.
The combination of Cordelia and research seemed oxymoronic. This was definitely serious, Angel decided, brow furrowing. He lowered his feet to the floor scooting his chair closer to the edge of the desk. Since they weren’t working on any active cases at the moment, Cordelia doing voluntary research was startling.
“Was it a vision?” Concerned, he scrutinized her appearance again. No sign of strain. No obvious scrapes or bruises. He hated not being there when she had a vision since they seemed to be far more violent than anything Doyle ever experienced.
“A vis— no, nothing like that.” Rolling her eyes, Cordelia blew off his concerns with a wave of her hand. “Why? Do I look like crap or something?” Bristling, she stepped back from the desk to check out her clothes. “Please don’t tell me I’m wearing my lunch.”
Angel hastened to tell her that her clothes were fine. “No, you look—fine.”
“You say that like I picked this outfit out of the laundry basket,” Cordelia’s voice dropped dangerously. “I’ll have you know I spent an hour getting dressed this morning trying to look perfect just for you.”
His brows shot up in surprise.
Before he could say anything, Cordelia clarified, “Our clients want to see someone who’s friendly and nicely dressed. Since I don’t get a clothing budget, I have to do my best to make do.”
For a moment, Angel didn’t know whether to be relieved that he’d misunderstood her or disappointed. Honestly, he didn’t pay much attention to what she wore around the office. Just having her there made the difference.
It wasn’t unless Cordy was dressed up to go out that he tended to take notice of the clothes themselves. There were less of them, for one thing. He was just concerned, that’s all, wanting her safe.
Wondering why he seemed to have forgotten how to pay a woman a compliment without tripping over his tongue, Angel growled, “Our clients would just as soon see you in sackcloth—or nothing.” He muttered the last, but was overheard anyway.
Cordelia’s expression turned from annoyance to amusement. “That would cut down on my dry cleaning bill.”
Deciding that it was a good time to change the subject, “You were saying something about research.”
A soft sigh escaped. Lashes dropped low to hide the sparkle in those hazel eyes. She resumed sifting through the pile of colored swatches.
“Did you know that the working environment can affect productivity?” Cordelia asked him completely throwing Angel off. Considering the swatches, he’d been expecting a question about redecorating her apartment, or, more specifically, convincing him to help her.
Angel sat back again tapping the edge of his book on his thigh. It took three seconds to figure out where Cordelia planned to take this conversation. He listened quietly to her ‘research’ findings and how they applied to their new offices at the Hyperion. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe the information had merit. Redecorating simply seemed unnecessary.
Furthermore, “It sounds expensive.”
“I can be thrifty,” Cordelia assured him. “This place has so much potential, but it’s old, worn down and I swear still has demon vibes.”
Wryly, Angel commented, “Like me.”
The expression on Cordelia’s face was priceless, a mix of shock, amusement and a hint of guilt. “You are a little fogeyish,” she teased, then nibbled at her lower lip for a moment before getting back to her ideas.
It wasn’t just the lobby that Cordelia wanted to redecorate. That was nothing that a fresh coat of paint and a few plants couldn’t fix. They could wait for new carpeting since there hadn’t been much traffic over the years. It just needed a good cleaning.
The main problem was everything else. “You’ve got seventy rooms, but nowhere to put guests.”
“That’s not exactly an issue.”
Cordelia wasn’t about to give up. “But it could be. We might need to give a client a room for a while. Or Wes might need a place to stay if his research keeps him up too late. He should definitely have a room here.”
It made sense.
“What about you?” Angel tried to sound casual about asking. The thought of having Cordelia here under his roof where he could keep an eye on her was tempting.
She’d never leave that Silverlake apartment as long as Dennis was there. Cordelia liked her independence too much to make a permanent place here at the Hyperion.
But something temporary, a space to call her own might be enough of a temptation to keep her from trekking across town when it wasn’t convenient. “Don’t you want one?”
As if the idea was completely new to her, Cordelia paused to think about it. “It might be a good idea to keep some clothes here. Or have my own bed for my after-vision naps.”
Until now Cordelia had just slept it off in his bed. Lately, he’d put her there himself. Her scent lingered on his pillows in ways that were disturbingly tantalizing, strangely comforting and completely familiar. Surprisingly, the thought that she would have her own room wasn’t entirely welcome.
Before he stopped to consider what he was saying, Angel offered, “You can use my closet.”
She stared at him for a second while Angel mentally kicked himself for opening his mouth. What the hell was he saying? Cordelia obviously thought he’d gone insane for suggesting what boiled down to her staying in his room. He had no idea where that had come from.
“Right,” Cordy scoffed dripping with sarcasm. “I’m sure Buffy will love that when she comes to visit.”
Angel hadn’t even thought of Buffy, which only made him feel ten times worse. He’d just been thinking of his need to keep Cordelia safe and protected. Since when had that included keeping her close to him? As for Buffy, “She hasn’t been back since—”
Cutting him off, Cordelia’s enthusiasm over having her own space here at the hotel suddenly gave her plans focus. “I could start there,” she beamed. “First, I’d need to pick a room. There are so many to choose from. We haven’t done much exploring in the other wings.”
The fact that Angel could feel himself scowling over the idea did not make him feel any better about it. Lucky that Cordelia was too busy concocting her plans to notice. The more he thought about why this bothered him, the less Angel understood it.
“Where are you planning to get the money for this?” he asked when she noticed that she’d moved beyond wallpaper swatches to furnishings. “I don’t pay you that much.”
Pausing mid-sentence, Cordelia gave him direct look. “Pfft! You’re telling me? Trust me, I know. Having a place to recover from my visions is a business expense. So I figured we could put it on the company card.”
Just how Cordelia had arranged for Angel Investigations to have a Corporate Gold Card was still something of a mystery to him. He didn’t like the idea of racking up debt and was still getting used to the concept of having people like Cordelia and Wesley dependent upon him for their livelihood.
“It’ll be fun,” Cordelia encouraged him with that smile again. “There’s a weekend flea market coming up. I bet I can find some antique furniture if I haggle a bit.”
Angel could feel himself giving in to the idea since she was so enthusiastic, but he did not like the idea of her going on her own. Laughing at him, Cordelia suggested, “If we go after dark, you could always come along and growl them into submission.”
If only that worked on Cordelia, he mused, thinking that the idea had appeal. “You should look around the hotel first. There’s probably plenty of good furniture around.”
“Meaning it’s free.”
“So it is.”
For a moment, Angel thought she was going to argue, but having won every other point Cordelia apparently decided to let him have one. “Fine. I’ll get started today.”
Angel set his book down on the desk as he rose to his feet. “Maybe I should go with you. Some parts of the hotel are unstable. You shouldn’t go poking around on your own.”
Cordelia shrugged, “Okay with me. Just remember you volunteered.”
They filed out of the office to find Wes bent over an open tome at the front counter. “Ah, the inquisition has ended,” he sent Angel a nod of sympathy.
Catching Cordelia sticking out her tongue at Wesley as she walked past him toward the stairs, Angel’s mouth twisted in amusement. Wes glowered at her. “And might I ask where you two are going?”
“Duh.”
Angel pointed upstairs, “Cordy wants to try out some beds.” Ten heartbeats later, Wes’ screeched response carried to his ears.
****
Searching room to room, Cordelia turned up her nose at everything she’d seen so far. “These boxy little rooms aren’t like yours.”
“I combined two rooms to make my suite,” Angel reminded her.
Cordelia poked her head into yet another room finding it small, dusty and totally unappealing. “Why’d you do that instead of finding something better? You’ve got like seventy rooms to choose from.”
Sixty-eight, actually, but who was counting. After a thoughtful pause, Angel gave her a short answer. “I stayed there before.”
“Back in the 50’s,” she recalled.
“Yes.”
Cordelia rolled her eyes. Trust Angel to cling to the past hanging onto his old room like it was a comfortable old shoe instead of trying something new. The same might be said of his relationships, she mused, the thought causing her to snort softly.
With an eager sparkle in her eye, she glanced up at the ceiling imagining what she would find on the top floor. “I guess that leaves the penthouse for me.”
“There is no penthouse,” warned Angel knowing she wasn’t about to find anything like a luxury suite in this wing of the Hyperion. Though he remembered that one had existed, it was located on the other side of the hotel that remained boarded up.
“Urgh! Just my crappy luck.”
However, he knew of some small suites on the upper floor that would probably be ideal. For some reason Angel was hesitant to take her up there. “Cordy, there are plenty of rooms on this level. You wouldn’t have so many stairs to climb.”
“I wouldn’t have to climb any if someone would pay to have the elevator repaired,” Cordelia countered with a smirk. Gotcha there, buddy.
Trying another tactic, Angel pointed out that she wasn’t actually moving in, just in need of an overnight respite and a place to keep some extra clothes. “Unless you’re thinking of giving up the apartment,” his voice dropped low trailing off.
The seemingly casual comment startled her. “Leave Dennis? No way.”
Angel grunted. Just as expected.
“What was that?” Hands on her hips, Cordelia frowned at him. “You know I wouldn’t do that to Dennis. He’d be alone. Or have some clueless nutcase move in who’d have him exorcised.”
“Like I said,” Angel shrugged, “a smaller room down here would be more suitable.”
Cordelia had already looked at the choices down here. They were either across the hall from Angel’s suite or had some gory tale connected with them. Angel had been telling her the history of the rooms and the people he’d observed who’d lived, and occasionally died, there. Maybe rooms like that would be fine for visitors once she spruced them up a bit, but her own room needed something more going for it than being in close proximity to Angel.
She reached out, palm flat against his chest, the cool material of his shirt rasping along her skin with the gentle urging of her hand. “C’mon, Angel, let’s try upstairs.”
Angel didn’t move a muscle waiting for her to move away. Through the barrier of his shirt her touch felt like a branding iron. Every time she laid a hand on him served as an unwelcome reminder of what he couldn’t have. No matter its innocence or casual nature, Cordelia’s touch stirred cravings, desires that needed to stay buried.
He’d convinced himself that it was just the fact that he missed human contact. That the beast inside him was simply responding as it was wont to do by imagining it to be more than it was: enjoying the pleasure of her warmth, her smile, her scent so close to him; resisting urges so instinctive that it was sometimes painful to control them; wanting.
These things could be repressed. They had to be. The curse wasn’t something he fully understood. He hadn’t come close to discovering the truth. Nor had he really thought it necessary to try. When Angel walked away from Sunnydale, he thought he’d left all hope of happiness behind him letting himself drift into a dark and lonely place.
Doyle and Cordelia dragged him back, pointed him toward this path of redemption. They gave him far more than just a purpose. Genuine friendship was something he valued because it was so rare. He’d never taken that for granted and felt the impact of Doyle’s death because of it.
Angel had never mourned the death of a friend before. He’d brooded about his past deeds, the atrocities he’d committed without his soul, and those deaths he’d caused with it. Never before Doyle’s passing had he actually felt such loss with someone else by his side, mourning the same loss, seeking and giving comfort at the same time.
In death, Doyle had done far more than pass the legacy of his visions to Cordelia. He deepened their commitment to their mission, to their friendship and to each other albeit in a very platonic way. Just when that dynamic had switched in his mind was hardly a mystery. Angel could pinpoint it to the exact moment.
That didn’t mean he would ever let Cordelia discover that he felt more for her than friendship. It did, however, give her an advantage He was a sucker for that smile. “Upstairs,” he nodded in that direction. “There’s one place you might be interested in. Back in 1952, there was a woman who stayed there. She had some big—”
Cordelia snatched her hand away from his chest. “I’m not interested in hearing about any big-boobed blonde you ogled back then.”
“Actually,” Angel followed along as she headed toward the staircase, “she wasn’t a blonde and her…figure was svelte compared to yours.”
Snorting, “Trust you to remember the important details,” Cordelia tried to ignore the sudden flash of burning jealousy that swept through her. It was beyond ridiculous to feel possessive about Angel. Especially about some stranger who was probably old enough to be her grandmother by now. But she did, anyway.
Stupid feelings didn’t know or care about Angel being a cursed vampire. They just existed to torment her. It was embarrassing and she hoped in no way detectible by super-senses. It was transference, that’s all, that made Angel pop up in her dreams instead of Keanu or Brad. He looked available even though he wasn’t.
Someone needed to get a message to the part of her brain in charge of daydreams and lusty fantasies to remind it that Angel was just a friend—and a eunuch. Even if he wasn’t in the no-bone category, which he most definitely at the top of the list, Cordelia felt confident that she knew Angel’s type and she wasn’t it. Although she might argue that Cordelia Chase was anybody’s type.
Svelte? Pfft.
It probably wasn’t the smartest thing in the world to wind him up a little, but sensing Angel’s eyes on her every step of the way made her spine tingle. “That better not be your way of saying my ass is too big.”
The sound of Angel stumbling as he caught the toe of his boot on the stairs brought a grin to her face. Without turning around, she laughed, “Dork.”
****
A chained doorway prevented further exploration beyond this wing of the hotel. The topmost level of the hotel contained a series of small suites, which Angel assured her were of equal size. The closest one bore a small bronze sign that hung haphazardly on a single remaining peg.
“Eos,” read Cordelia craning her neck to the side. Straightening up, she shrugged, “I wonder what that means,” and reached for the door handle.
Angel’s hand darted out to stop her, his fingers closing over her wrist. “The windows in that room have an Eastern exposure.” She stared at him blankly for a moment before it sunk in that it would get the morning light. “Eos was the Greek goddess of the dawn.”
“Not all of us are allergic to sunlight,” Cordelia reminded him with a sigh. Some days it seemed like she didn’t see much of it. But the early light might actually disturb her sleep now that she thought about it. “Um, okay. We can look at the other two.”
Loosening his grip, Angel released her feeling strangely relieved that she had chosen not to go inside. It wasn’t much different from the others except for extra sunshine. The direct light in that particular suite would probably be good for Cordy. Over time she had become something of a night owl, her hours shifting to accommodate him, or, more precisely, their mission.
Now that summer was over, Cordelia no longer made it a point to spend time sun-bathing in the courtyard. It was usually during the hours when he slept. Sometimes when he awakened early he’d find her dozing on one of the lawn chairs she’d found in storage in the basement. There was enough indirect light to let him linger, to catch a glimpse of golden skin if he found the right position. The chair was always turned in the direction of the sun beaming down into the courtyard, hiding Cordelia from his view.
He never lingered there for long. Sometimes Wesley would show up forcing him to slip back into the hotel undetected. The last thing he needed was a lecture about his curse. Angel was hard enough on himself for his lack of control. He didn’t need any reminders about what he couldn’t have.
On the rare occasion that Angel was in the lobby when Cordelia emerged from her sunbathing, she would be swathed in the fluffy white robe that now had a permanent home next to his. “Oh, good, you’re up,” she’d say not knowing just how true that might be if those words were applied a little differently. Then she’d commandeer his bathroom to shower and change clothes.
They’d argued about the amount of stuff she left around. Dammit, Cordelia needed someone trailing after her just to put everything away. He wouldn’t miss the wet towels she left on his bathroom floor when she claimed a space of her own. But the aroma of her shampoo, body wash, and the unique mix of scents that were purely Cordelia lingered in the air long after she left.
Angel knew he’d miss that. Though he suspected there would be fewer cold showers taken because of it.
“That suite is called the Helios,” Angel pointed down the hall toward the entrance of the center of the three suites. “It’s the one I told you about.”
“Yeah,” her mouth curled at the reminder. She headed toward the door marked with the brass Apollo Suite sign, “The woman with the big—”
“Emeralds.”
Pausing, Cordelia turned back on her heel to face him. “Did you say emeralds?”
“They were in a necklace,” Angel told her. “I guess I noticed.”
“So you were either staring at her boobs or her neck.” Rolling her eyes, Cordelia took a guess that it was probably both. Typical. Angel might be a eunuch now, but he was definitely all male and a vampire one at that.
Gruffly, he answered, “Maybe.”
Cordelia snorted. She followed Angel down the hall to the Helios Suite. “So what was her sad story. Everybody that stayed here back then had something horrible happen to them. Or did something they regretted. Maybe she robbed a jewelry store and stashed her loot in the hotel.”
“I doubt it,” Angel explained that the woman acted like she had money. He opened up the door to the suite, its hinges creaking, cobwebs stretching in front of them. He cleared them away so Cordelia could step inside. “It wasn’t that unusual for people to live at the hotel for weeks or months at a time. They’d come there to get away from something only to fall prey to the Thesulac demon, though I didn’t know why at first.”
Stepping into the small anteroom, Cordelia saw that time had taken its toll on the wallpaper and furnishings. Dust and grime had built up in the material of the settee, carpet and curtains. Layers of dust and cobwebs seemed thicker here than in any of the other rooms they’d searched. Unlike the rooms on the lower floor, this suite had furniture and wallpaper that looked much older than the rest.
It was as if parts of the hotel had been renovated some time in the past only this room had been left untouched. “Are you sure that something weird didn’t happen here?”
Angel wasn’t sure about anything except that the woman was amongst the members of the mob who’d attempted to hang him. And she’d been alive when he left them all to their fate at the hands of the Thesulac. “I don’t know.”
The floorboards creaked under their weight, but Cordelia insisted on poking around to see if any of the drawers or closets might contain some forgotten treasure. Angel stopped just inside the door, surveying the suite with a grim expression. This place felt different than the rest of the hotel, oppressing, and the air thick and stale. He didn’t like it, and knew by instinct alone that they needed to get out.
Unfortunately, Cordelia had already wandered into the adjoining bedroom. Angel went in after her, determined to get her to head back to one of the lower floors. He found her standing in front of a gilded mirror that hung on the back wall. Like the rest of the furnishings, it was unique to this room. No sooner had he started to move forward than Cordy let out an ear-piercing shriek.
Angel was across the room in an instant pulling her close, staring down helplessly at the look of panic on her beautiful, though smudged face. He could hear the staccato beat of her heart hammering in her chest, and the shaky gasping breaths. His name was muttered against his chest as Cordelia wrapped her arms around him holding on for dear life.
“What is it?” The question was half-growled as he looked around the room for any sign of trouble. He rubbed his hand down her back in a soothing motion then up to join the other in cupping her face, turning it so he could look into her eyes.
The hazel depths were marked with fear, darkened by confusion. “I saw something,” Cordelia trembled beneath his touch. Clutching at his shirt as if it anchored her to Angel, she chanced a glimpse over her shoulder back at the mirror.
Its splintered surface was quiet again reflecting the room, the broken shards across its lower right corner still visible. What she’d seen before was back again. Angel was too busy looking at her to notice that the mirror’s image showed the room in pristine form. There was no dust, dirt or cobwebs anywhere. The colors weren’t faded at all.
That wasn’t what had made her scream.
“In the mirror,” Cordelia stumbled over the words, her head spinning as she tried to make sense of it, and finally realizing why it didn’t, “I saw—you, Angel.”
****
“Vampires don’t have reflections,” Angel pointed out needlessly. “Whatever you saw couldn’t have been me.”
Cordelia moved her hands to his chest and pushed herself out of his arms. Standing back, she tucked her hair behind her ears, licked her dry lips and tried to calm down. “I know what I saw. You walked up behind me and…”
Turning ten shades of red wasn’t the norm for Cordelia, but he could feel the heat of her blush. She captured her bottom lip between her teeth, tugging nervously at the plump flesh. Whatever it was Angel was supposed to have done, she seemed to find it disturbing.
“That—that mirror isn’t normal.”
Maybe he was a little too curious about the cause of the blushes, but Angel was no longer in a hurry to leave. He stepped closer to the mirror, planning to inspect it and fully expecting to see nothing but the reflection of the room in its silvery surface. Cordelia grasped his arm and moved along beside him inching closer despite her fear of what she might see.
There was a man in the mirror standing next to Cordelia, one dressed like him. Angel could only presume that it was him and tried to recall the details of the sepia-toned daguerreotypes that were taken so long ago.
“See,” Cordelia poked him with a finger. “Told you.”
Angel leaned in, raising a hand to his head. “Does my hair really look like that?”
“Hello, that’s not important right now,” he received another poke of his ribs. “Pay attention, Angel. You can worry about your gel issues later.”
Staring at the reflection, Angel couldn’t help but marvel at the fact that he could see himself. Damn, he looked good. Really good. He looked better than he remembered. When Cordelia’s words finally registered, he met her gaze in the mirror. “Gel issues?”
“Are the least of our problems,” Cordelia huffed as he turned to face her. “We’ve got a magic mirror on our hands.”
He’d have thought she’d be more enthusiastic about it. But, truthfully, anything that could produce the reflection of a vampire had to have a pretty powerful spell cast upon it. Chances were that its purpose had nothing to do with vampires at all. “What exactly did you see?”
Cordelia let out a deep sigh. “It’s stupid. We should just forget we found this thing.”
“Maybe I’ll keep it in my room.”
“What? No!”
Grabbing hold of his wrist, Cordelia tried to drag him toward the exit. When he didn’t budge, she let him go, calling him a stubborn, narcissistic doofus. The name calling didn’t bother him so much as her avoidance of telling him what she’d seen. This time he demanded answers, “Cordy, tell me what you saw.”
She glared at him for a few seconds, refusing to speak. “Fine. You want to know? I’ll show you. Look at me.”
Angel was already facing her. He let his gaze drop down from those angry hazel eyes to the soft curve of her lips, the creamy golden skin of her throat down to the swell of her breasts and the little glimpse of cleavage his height afforded him. The sudden smack of her hand against his arm caught his attention. Annoyed at the distraction, he flicked his gaze back to hers.
“You asked me to look.”
“I meant my reflection.”
Turning slowly, Angel was glad that vampires didn’t blush. He focused on Cordelia’s image in the mirror. Slowly, it hit him. It wasn’t just the room that looked perfect. So did their clothes. There was no sign of the traces of dust they’d picked up during their room to room search. And Cordy’s hair wasn’t quite the tangled mess she’d just made by running her hands through it.
The sight distracted him from other observations as he thought about the fact that he liked Cordelia’s long hair. It looked so soft, touchable. He wondered how it would feel if he let his fingers comb through it, if it trailed across his skin as they—
“See!” Cordelia pointed frantically at the mirror. “You’re touching me.”
Angel’s hands were clenched closed at his sides. He was certainly not touching her, but his mirror image was doing just that by lifting his hand to the silky strands of Cordelia’s hair, running his fingertips through it, lifting it to his lips.
“We’re leaving,” Angel swiftly guided Cordelia out of the room without looking back at the mirror. The floor boards creaked beneath them as they scurried back into the hall. They shut the door to the suite leaning back against it as they looked anywhere but at each other.
Breathily, Cordelia muttered, “Well that was weird.”
“We should probably get an expert to check that mirror out,” Angel certainly wasn’t going back in there with Cordy anytime soon.
“An expert,” Cordy nodded. “Right.”
****
Down in the lobby, Wesley had steeped his tea to perfection having finally decided to take a break from research when his name echoed down from above. The tea cup crashed against the floor in tiny porcelain shards. He nearly slipped on the spilt tea as he rushed toward the weapons cabinet for a crossbow.
Charging into battle, he took the stairs two by two.
Wes was gasping for air by the time he reached the top of the fourth flight of stairs. He held onto his crossbow with one hand and the banister with the other. The rush of blood pounded in his ears as he looked down the hall to his left and then swept his gaze to the right only to see Cordelia and Angel strolling casually toward him.
“What’s with the crossbow?” Cordelia stepped in front of Angel just in case Wesley had a twitchy trigger finger. He wasn’t likely to do something he’d regret if she was standing in the way.
Still holding the weapon toward them, Wes cautioned her to step away from Angel. “I heard you call out for help.”
“That’s because I did.” Looking rather furious that he would come up here armed and ready to fight, Cordelia stood akimbo between the two of them. “Were you really planning to use that thing?”
Tilting his chin a degree higher, Wes confirmed it, “Only if necessary.”
Angel looked hurt. “What did I do?”
“Earlier, you made reference to trying out beds together. At the time, I thought you were making a poor attempt at humor.” Wesley lowered the crossbow to his side. “However, upon hearing Cordelia’s muffled scream, to which I originally attributed to the discovery of a rat’s nest or another roach infestation, followed by the bellowing of my name, I was naturally concerned.”
“Naturally,” Angel gritted his teeth biting back the fury he felt, not at Wes, but over the fact that his suspicion was necessary in the first place.
Wesley sensed that Angel wasn’t very pleased with his assumptions. “Ah, I apologize for the confusion. What is the problem?”
“Angel keeps touching me,” blurted Cordelia.
“What?” Wes raised the crossbow again. Ordering her to, “Move aside, Cordy. One of you had better start explaining.”
Cordelia only demanded that he drop the crossbow. “Tell him what you did, Angel.” She reached back to smack his shoulder.
Taking a step away from her, Angel held his hands up in the air in hands-off mode. “It wasn’t me. Not exactly,” he corrected considering that it would probably be better if he left out the part where he’d been thinking about touching her. “Well, it was, but it wasn’t.”
“Cordy, perhaps you could clarify what the hell is going on here,” Wesley crossed his arms still holding his bow at the ready.
“Fine,” she rolled her eyes. “Let me do the talking. Angel keeps screwing it up.” It was easy enough to explain their task. She’d been talking to him about her scheme to redecorate when they’d gotten into the argument about whether Angel would even allow it. “We were checking out rooms for me to fix up. I wanted one to keep my stuff in.”
Wesley glanced over at Angel, saying nothing about the fact that he knew Cordelia sometimes slept in his room after she’d had a vision. It was understood that the room was hers as long as she was in there. Or so he believed.
Though he’d noticed that the two of them appreciated each other’s looks, it seemed superficial, nothing more than a basic attraction and the mutual understanding that friendship was the most important thing between them. At least, that had been Wes’ spin on the little looks they sometimes sent each other’s way when the other wasn’t watching. Most days he thought he was imagining it.
After all, Cordelia seemed convinced that Angel’s undying love belonged to Buffy Summers. And that was hardly a subject Wesley was going to bring up around Angel. It sometimes popped up during conversations with Cordelia, usually when they were reminiscing about their Sunnydale days. It was clear that Cordy hated the lingering effect of Angel’s love affair with Buffy. He took that simply as friendly concern for the broody vampire’s emotional and social wellbeing.
Perhaps that’s all it ever was, Wes hoped, considering that Cordelia wasn’t keen on the fact that Angel had touched her. “Perhaps you should skip ahead to the crucial part,” Wes suggested when Cordelia started to describe their explorations in greater detail than was necessary.
Sighing, Cordelia explained that they’d gone into the Helios Suite. Wesley found it interesting to learn that the hotel named its suites in that manner. He cut in saying, “Hyperion is actually a variant form of Helios, the god whose chariot carried the orb of the sun across the heavens.”
“Thanks, but I’ve had enough history lessons today,” Cordelia stopped him.
Wes got in one more point before letting her continue. “It’s rather ironic, don’t you think, that a vampire lives in a place with such a focus on the sun.”
Angel found a dark corner to skulk in while Cordelia continued on with the story of their run-in with the magic mirror. He was certain that the mirror picked up on his thoughts. It was a good thing he’d gotten them out of there before it revealed the naked part.
“So I was standing there,” Cordy was saying, “when I saw Angel in the mirror.”
This was intriguing, decided Wes, breaking in long enough to clarify, “You saw his reflection?”
Cordelia nodded. “Yes. At first I didn’t think about it. He was just standing there behind me and he looked really good. Not like that,” she waved carelessly in Angel’s direction which made the vampire scowl. “I mean really hot.”
“You’re certain that it was him?” He needlessly reminded her that vampires had no reflections. “Was Angel in the room at the time?”
Another nod. “I heard the floor boards creak. That room isn’t very stable. Even if it didn’t have a freaky mirror in it, I don’t think I’d stay there.”
Concluding that they were dealing with some form of enchantment or curse, Wesley encouraged Cordelia to tell him everything. The more details he had, the more likely it would be to discover the mirror’s true purpose.
“One minute I was just looking at his reflection and the next thing I saw was Angel macking on my neck,” Cordelia complained, her gaze sliding toward Angel. “He was really into it, too. I thought I was going to end up with a gigantic hickey at the very least.”
“That never happened,” Angel stepped out of the shadows to defend himself.
Cordelia rubbed her neck noticing that her skin still tingled at that spot. She could almost feel Angel’s lips against her pulse point making her tremble at the delicious sensation. “No, of course not, but I saw it just the same.”
“You screamed because I—my mirror image was kissing you—yours?” Angel tripped over the words. She’d been so scared.
“Duh! Vampire at my throat.”
“Cordy, I would never hurt you,” Angel tucked a finger under her chin forcing her wandering gaze to settle on him. “You know that.”
Her hand found a home on his chest again. “I know.”
Wesley suddenly felt like he was intruding which only made him more uncomfortable about his earlier suspicions. Clearing his throat, he commented, “That was quite a complex aberration. Most mirrors are used for scrying spells or to enhance images. The latter may be at play here, but there is obviously more to it.”
“You don’t suppose that creepy tentacle demon has a cousin who’s playing tricks on us?” Cordelia suggested, dropping her hand, but still standing close to Angel.
“No,” Angel assured her that wasn’t the case. He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze and told himself that it was accidental that his fingertips trailed down the length of her hair as he released her. “I don’t think we’re dealing with a demon, but a magic mirror.”
Cordelia let out a soft pfft, “Magic schmagic. It’s perv-o-vision.”
“Ah, perhaps these supernatural effects have a purpose.” The image had certainly shaken Cordy up, but it was quite impossible to come up with a hypothesis until he had witnessed the effects for himself. “Let’s have a look, then.”
“Don’t bother,” Cordelia suggested it was a waste of time. “It’s broken. We’ve got enough bad luck around here without messing with it.”
“Broken? That could be significant,” Wesley told them, censuring Cordelia for leaving out that important detail.
“Sorry, I was too busy worrying about Fangs-R-Us nibbling on my neck to notice.”
Wesley chuckled inwardly at their priceless expressions. “Perhaps it would be best if I examine this mirror alone.”
He got no arguments from either of them.
****
Leaving his crossbow in Cordelia’s hands, Wesley entered the Apollo Suite retracing their steps toward the bedroom. The ornate mirror was easy to find on the far wall. It was rectangular, approximately 5’x3’ in size. From this distance, he could clearly see the fractured shards of glass along its surface, a circular impact point centering in the lower right corner.
As described to him, the reflection of the room was bright and clean in comparison to the reality laid out before him. Several possibilities raced through his head. Common spells known to be used by those with a passing knowledge of magic.
This sounded like something else. The manifestations in the mirror had taken a life of their own, their actions different than their real counterparts. It wasn’t until Angel had entered the room that Cordelia noticed anything significant. He theorized that the mirror’s interactive magic might require two participants.
There was only one way to gather more information and that meant experiencing the effects for himself. Angel was only a shout away in case of trouble, but Wes expected none. These type of things were usually little more than illusion.
The floorboards creaked woefully with each step he took. He’d noticed this in other parts of the hotel, but put it down to the fact that the Hyperion had been around for nearly eighty years. It was bound to have dry rot and termites in places. Doubtless having a demon squatting here the entire time did not help the matter.
He felt a wisp of something tickling his cheek and brushed at his skin to rid himself of it. A cobweb, he presumed. The room was full of them.
Wesley approached the mirror at a slow pace watching intently as his image grew more and more succinct. The man reflected there was well kempt, rather rugged in his masculinity, and exuded self-assuredness. Seeing that it was him, Wes stood up a little straighter to match the confident pose of his reflection.
Examining the image, Wes decided he liked what he saw there. “Not bad if I do say so.”
Getting on with his task, he moved his attention to the details of the room reflected in the mirror. There were subtle differences to be seen beyond cleanliness. Personal objects were scattered across the dressing table. The bedcover was turned down in preparation for bedtime, a chocolate laid out upon the pillow.
From the corner of his eye, Wes caught a flash of movement. It was a subtle shift in the mirror’s visual field. As if a fine mist had rolled into the room it covered every surface he could see. He was no longer alone. She was there, behind him walking slowly, steadily toward him, her penoir softly flowing around her feet, reaching out for him.
Wes turned around, a sudden shriek escaping as he held up his hands to ward off an attack. There was no one there. Angel and Cordelia burst into the room only seconds later, but the image was once again the still reflection of the room.
“There was a woman,” Wesley gulped, wide-eyed with equal parts wonder and fear. “For a moment, I thought she was behind me, but she was only in the mirror.”
As Angel silently pondered Wesley’s discovery, Cordelia was faster to guess what he’d seen. “This woman wouldn’t be a skanky blonde with big—emeralds, would she?”
“No,” Wes gave her an odd look. “As a matter of fact, she was a redhead, quite slim, rather tall, wearing a blue nightgown.”
Angel looked at the mirror and then back at the two of them. He asked Wes, “This redhead didn’t have a little mole right there, did she?” pointing at the base of his throat.
“Well, I—,” Wes thought about it. “Yes, I believe she did now that you mention it. She was also wearing a rather unusual necklace. Emeralds, I believe.”
“Hah.” Cordelia muttered something about chippies that went over Wesley’s head. Angel seemed to get it, his scowl returning.
Surmising, “I take it that you two know this woman,” Wesley asked for details. “Did you see her when you were in here before?”
“Way, way before,” Cordelia returned rather grouchily. “And it was just him.”
“The woman you’re describing sounds like someone I saw when I was here back in 1952,” Angel explained causing a memory to flicker to life in Wes’ head.
He snapped his fingers. “Of course! That is why she looked familiar. Cordelia, you’ve seen her, too.”
Denying it, Cordelia walked back toward the sitting room. “Have not.”
“I can’t recall the details, but we’ve seen her face before,” Wes assured her. “In one of the newspaper articles we pulled while doing research on the Hyperion.”
They were deep in the midst of rebounding ‘have too’ and ‘have not’ when Angel barked at them to shut up. “Will you two stop arguing and look at the mirror.”
Cordelia and Wes turned simultaneously to stare at their reflections aligned perfectly in the mirror. They’d been reduced to cute five year olds each holding the opposite ends of a tug-of-war rope. “How degrading,” Wes muttered as he straightened his tie.
Snorting at the sight, Cordelia leaned in to tell him, “I so would’ve won.”
As they watched, the mirror’s image swirled filling with a misty haze that fell away to reveal the redheaded woman. There was no mischief in her deep green eyes. Only sadness, loneliness and fear. She spoke to them. No voice emanated from within the mirror, only shadowed whispers almost like a half-remembered dream.
Help me.
The plea was clear as a bell. Her hand reached out to them. To Wesley, it seemed like she was speaking directly to him, begging for his help. He lifted his hand toward the mirror’s smooth surface, closer to the feminine hand searching for his.
A hard vice closed over his wrist jerking Wes’ hand away from the mirror. “Don’t touch it,” Angel knocked him back a step. “Who knows what that might do.”
Wesley realized that he hadn’t been fully aware of his actions. “Thank you. I believe you are right in that regard. The mirror itself might be dangerous, but I believe that it would be safe enough to handle its frame.”
“We could put it in my office,” Angel suggested. It would be safe enough down there.
“A haunted mirror,” Cordelia thought they were nuts to suggest keeping it. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
Wesley shrugged, “At least he didn’t suggest his bedroom.”
Cordelia’s eyes got big and round. She was about to let him have it for putting the idea into Angel’s head when she realized the vampire was watching for her response. With a casual shrug, she told Wes it didn’t matter. Smirking, “I’ve already got my ghost. Dennis isn’t creepy and knows just how to make me relax after a hard day.”
It took all of Angel’s restraint not to growl. He’d stayed at Cordy’s place long enough to know there wasn’t anywhere Phantom Dennis didn’t go. Good thing Dennis was already non-corporeal.
“I’m fairly certain this isn’t a haunting,” Wesley told them. He decided to steer clear of asking about ghostly relaxation techniques. “More like a curse, it seems that the woman is trapped within the mirror.”
“A curse? Like Angel needs another one.” She really hated the idea of having that mirror around. Considering what happened earlier, it wasn’t safe to be around it if Angel was in close proximity. Not unless she could learn to control her imagination, that is.
Hello, Cordelia wasn’t about to admit that she’d fantasized about Angel pressing his lips against her neck. It wasn’t her fault that the mirror made him look so hot. He wasn’t even there. That made it comparable to imagining Jude Law. Why couldn’t it have been Jude in that mirror instead of Angel?
She could only guess that the second incident was a continuation of the first. The only time Angel was ever seductive like that was when he was drugged or evil—or in one or two really hot dreams that left her sweaty, aroused and tangled in her sheets. The first time she’d called in sick, because obviously it had to be delirium. When it happened again not too long ago, Cordelia had put it down to the fact that they’d been working out down in the basement earlier that night and attributed it to hormones.
Angel reminded her that the woman was one of the ones he’d left behind presumably to be devoured by the Thesulac demon. “I have a responsibility to save her if I can, Cordy. If I’d stayed—”
“Don’t brood about it now.” Cordelia didn’t want him to blame himself for this. “You can’t control everything. If you want to help, we can help. Wes can do research.”
After much discussion, it was decided to hang the mirror in the hotel lobby. Being on the ground floor, it was the most stable area of the hotel. And it offered them the comfort of being roomy enough to avoid falling into the mirror’s effective range. And Cordelia was happy about keeping it out of Angel’s bedroom. No telling what it would show if she was lying in Angel’s bed post-vision and that thing turned the whammy on again.
Continue... Leave a comment
View comments
(used for general site comments/queries also) |