Angel - Shakedown Part 6

Angelus just stood back and watched. After all, she deserved to have some fun, too. . . .

A monster with skin like jagged obsidian stalked through the maze of sewers beneath L.A.

Only the bravest Tremblors were chosen to make the journey to the Upper World, with its searing rays of light and chaotic buzz of activity. Baasalt was one of these, a warrior-priest of the deepest level. As he trudged through the tunnel closer and closer to his objective, his thoughts were devout; in order to attune himself to what he sought, he had to be in a meditative, almost trancelike state. It wasn't easy to do while wading through filth, the stench of offal in his nostrils, but Baasalt knew how to keep himself centered.

His tribe's history was an oral one, though they spoke mind-to-mind rather than aloud, and he ran through the Sacred Scripts in his mind to help him concentrate.

The Script he recalled now was the oldest of them all: The First Story.

And before Everything, there was the Blood that boiled in the Heart of the World. And the Blood pulsed and surged and forced its way out of the Heart and into the Body of the World, which was frozen and lifeless. The Blood flowed through the Body, seeking to bring it to Life. The cold of the Body mingled with the fire of the Blood, and it slowed and hardened and took new form. This was the Ig, the First Tribe, and they had dominion throughout the Body of the World.

The Ig were not satisfied, and they sent forthwarriors to explore the very Skin of the World. And behold, they found that the Skin was a wretched place. Its surface crawled with all manner of vermin, and the blessed Dark was burned away by horrid Light. Unseen forces howled their way through a vast Emptiness, and all the Ig who ventured there were destroyed. And the Ig turned away from the Skin of the World, and were content to live within.

Baasalt nodded to himself. The First Story was easy; all Tremblors knew it, though not all could remember it as perfectly as a warrior-priest. He stopped before a particular storm drain and extended his tail up as high as it would go; a slit opened on the underside and a pale white tuber unfurled itself from within. It thrust itself between the rusted iron bars of the grate above Baasalt's head and swayed slightly back and forth like the questing head of a worm.

Yes. He could taste the mark that had been put on this place; this was where she lived. The second one, the one that traveled through the Void that Screamed. She was not here now, but Baasalt could wait. His was a patient people.

As he waited, he thought of the Skin-Dweller that he had fought. It had foolishly tried to hunthim, no doubt seeking to-what was the term? "Eat" him. A vile concept, one that had something to do with the reek all around. It had fought harder than he expected, but once it had buried itself in its desperate attempt to survive he had continued on his way and given the matter little thought. In truth, he'd felt a little guilty; slaughtering innocent beasts that were only following their instincts was nothing to be proud of.

As he settled down to wait, he recalled The Second Story.

After many Ages, a new tribe appeared in the Body of the World. They called themselves the Sedim; they were the ghosts of the Ig who had died on the Skin of the World, and they were made of their crushed bones. They were vengeful ghosts, for they blamed the Ig for their deaths, and for abandoning their bones on the Skin of the World.

And so the Ig and the Sedim went to War, and great Convulsions shook the Body of the World.

The battle went on for many Ages, and the Body of the World was consumed by War. The dead were so numerous that they clogged the tunnels, and the caves, and the Great Dark s.p.a.ces; and all about was death. TheBody of the World was now the Corpse of the World.

But the Soul of the World still lived, and its breath was life and magic. It flowed through the bodies of the fallen, and transformed the dead with its mysterious power. They rose up as a new tribe, and they called themselves the Metamor. And the Metamor went to the Ig, and to the Sedim, and talked to them of the End of War; for the Metamor were Peace-makers.

The Ig and the Sedim saw the wisdom of the Metamor's words, and decided to battle each other no more.

That was the end of the Second Story. Baasalt began the Third.

The Ig, the Sedim, and the Metamor lived in harmony as the Three Tribes. But there came a time when they realized that their numbers were shrinking, for they had no way to reproduce. The Sedim had been born from the bones of the Ig, and the Metamor from the bones of the Ig and the Sedim. Only through Death could there be new Life, and the Three Tribes had forsworn War.

Perplexed, they sent a Warrior-Priest to the Heart of the World to ask for advice.

"Great Heart of the World," intoned the Warrior-Priest, "give us your Wisdom. We wish to live, and yet only Death seems to bring forth new Life. What can we do?"

"In the Belly of the World, only Death can bring forth Life, it is true," said the Heart of the World. "But on the Skin of the World, Life grows in a different way. I can show you this way, but it will require a great Sacrifice of all your people."

"We will do anything," the Warrior-Priest replied.

"Very well. Your tribes must leave their home, and travel throughout the Body of the World. They must not travel together; each must be alone, as one lost. When they have traveled as long and far as they can, when they are far from their tribe and their home, they must lay down in the Earth and sleep."

And the Warrior-Priest returned to the Three Tribes, and told them the Words of the Heart of the World, and they went forth to do as they had been bidden.

And when all members of the Three Tribes had wandered long and far, they lay themselves down in the Earth; and their hearts were sick with loneliness and want. As they slept, their bodies swelled with longing, and grew until they filled all the Body of theWorld; and their dreams reached out to the Heart of the World, crying out with their desire.

"Be still, my children," said the Heart of the World, "for I will give you what you long for."

And the dreams of the Three Tribes flowed together and became as one, and from this dream was born the Fourth Tribe. And the body of the Fourth Tribe was made of Ig and Sedim and Metamor, and given power over the Body of the World. And the Heart of the World named them, calling them the Tremblor.

"Thank you, Great Heart of the World, for letting us be born," were the first words of the Tremblor. "But where are our parents?"

"Your parents are now Giants, sleeping within the Body of the World," was the answer. "Indeed, they have become the Body of the World, and you will dwell inside them. They will sleep until they are needed, and on that day they will not waken-but they will dance.

"And the Skin of the World will be laid to waste, and the Tremblor race will grow."

Baasalt smiled to himself with teeth like stalact.i.tes. The Third Story had always been his favorite-and now, The Dance of the Sleeping Giants was nearly upon them . . .

The Skin-Dwellers were soft and wet things and they disgusted him, but they were necessary for the ritual. The blood of four specific creatures from the Skin of the World must be mingled with the Blood of the Heart of the World. So it had always been; so it always would be.

And who was Baasalt to question tradition?

"Kate," Angel said. "Got a minute?"

LAPD detective Kate Lockley looked up from the paperwork she'd been going over. "Angel. Sure, if it's a minute free of forms in triplicate." She brushed a strand of blond hair away from her eyes, and leaned back in her office chair. "What's up?"

Angel sat down in the chair in front of her desk. "I wondered if I could get some help with a case I'm working on."

"Depends. What do you need?"

"Information on missing persons." "I can probably do that. Who are you looking for?"

Angel hesitated. "It's not a specific person-more likely someone in a particular occupation."

"s.e.x trade?"

"No, something a little more . . . elemental. Fire, to be exact."

"You're looking for a missing arsonist?"

"Not necessarily. Just someone connected to the field."

Kate frowned and tapped a few keys on her computer. "Well, wecansearch the files by occupation.

How about a firefighter?"

"That could be it. When did he disappear?"

"She, Sherlock. And she vanished two weeks ago, right after her s.h.i.+ft. Left her car in the parking lot. No leads, no suspects, no known reasons for her to disappear."

"Can I get a name and address?" Angel asked.

"I shouldn't, but-okay. You didn't hear it from me." Kate scrawled the facts down on a piece of paper and handed it over. "Anything else?"

"Water."

"There's a cooler at the end of the hall-"

"No, I mean, have there been any disappearances of people connected with water?"

She gave him a skeptical look. "Connected with water? That could be anyone from a plumber to a surfboard salesman. I mean, I punch in 'fire' and my little search engine does just fine; I punch in 'water,'

there's a whole bunch of categories it'll miss. I'd have to go over them personally."

"I'd, uh, really appreciate it if you could. And while you're at it-"

"Let me guess. Missing people connected with air or earth, right?"

"Right. However I can repay you-"

"I want dinner. And wine."

"Dinner is good. Wine is good."

"It'll take me a while to go through the data. I'll call you when I'm done." She looked at him calmly. "Is that it?"

"Well, there was something else I was going to ask you." Angel rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Do you-do you belong to any groups?"

Kate looked at him for a second and arched an eyebrow. "What, you mean like Scientology or EST?

Or were you thinking more along the lines of the Supremes?"

"I mean-anything. Church groups, fan clubs, fraternal organizations. Places where you get together with people you have something in common with."

"Well, let me see. There's the Female Detective Appreciation Society that meets Wednesdays, the Police Sewing Circle on the weekends, and of course the Glee Club."

"You belong to a Glee Club?"

She shook her head and sighed. "Angel, I'm kidding. About the only club I belong to is the Police Officers' a.s.sociation, and I haven't been to a meetingsince I joined. Being a detectiveanda woman puts me in a strange sort of limbo; I don't really belong in either locker room, if you know what I mean."

"Yes," Angel said. "I think I do."

Darla killed them all.

When she was done, Angelus applauded. "Bravo!" he said. "Encore!"

Darla gave a little mock bow. "I'm glad you approve. But now that the fires have finally burned themselves out, men like this will become more common; I fear your own little drama will soon have to close."

Angelus sighed. "Ah, you're right, of course. At least they did most of the work before you sent them to their great reward."

The trapdoor had almost been cleared. Angelus threw aside the last few chunks of rubble, leaving only a single oak beam blocking the way. "Maria!" he called down. "Are you still there?"

Silence.

"Dead?" Darla said. "Wouldn't that be a shame . . ."

"I think not," Angelus said. "I fear my dear Maria has figured out my little game, and she doesn't want to play anymore. Not that she has a choice . . .

"Maria! I know you can hear me, darlin'. And in a moment, you'll see my face. Isn't thatgrand?"

". . . go away . . ."

Angelus laughed. "Oh, have we had a change of heart? Six days down in the dark, and suddenly I'm not good enough for you. Whatever broughtthison?"

". . . Where's Ernesto? I want to talk to Ernesto."

Angelus glanced down at the body of the man whose neck he'd snapped. "Ernesto, is it? He's . . .

taking a break."

"You killed him." She sounded detached.

"Actually, it's worse than that," Angelus said. "He was never real. It was just me, pretending, the whole time. Just like you were pretending about Francesco and Estrellita, weren't you? They were dead from the beginning. You just thought I might work a little harder for three survivors than one."

"You're the Devil." She might have been talking about the weather for all the emotion in her voice.

"No, but I've played cards with him once or twice," Angelus said cheerfully. "He's not as good at it as you might think. Me, though-when I play, I never lose."

"Go away. You'll never have my soul."

"Your soul? Dear me, I'm not interested in such apaltry little item as that. Really, I just want you for your mind."

He grabbed hold of the oaken beam and heaved it aside. "Ready or not, here I come," he said with a grin.

He pulled the trapdoor open.

CHAPTER FOUR.

"Sohere's what I'm thinkin'," Doyle said. He and Angel were driving through East L.A. "These Tremblor guys-they can't be the brightest bulbs on the Christmas tree, intellectually speakin'."

"How's that?"

"Well, they're made outta rock, right? So, theirbrainsare made outta rock."

"I'm not following."

"Do I gotta draw you a picture? Rocks in the head. That's like, universally known as a metaphor for being simple."