Phantasmagorical
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Author: Dark Star DISCLAIMER: Joss Whedon owns all TIMELINE: Late in Angel’s Season 1 B/A * The light from the full moon cast an eerie glow as Buffy made her way
cautiously through the trees. She could hear the sound of chanting coming
from ahead of her; she used the sound to guide her to a small clearing. The
Latin incantation was loud in the still night air, and Buffy saw five hooded
figures arranged into a circle. A sixth figure stood silently in the centre
of the group, illuminated by the moon’s gift. Transfixed, Buffy studied the scene, her skin tingling from the
energy flowing all around her. The figure in the centre began to shimmer,
slowly beginning to morph and change, until Angel stood in the centre,
instead. He looked confused and disorientated; slowly he turned and surveyed
the group. He saw her then, and his mouth opened but there was no sound. His
hand rose slowly toward her, the plea in his eyes unmistakable. ‘Help me.’ She tried to go to him but she couldn’t move, couldn’t cry out. She
could only watch as he covered his ears with his hands, trying to block out
the relentless chant. Then he began to scream. Buffy woke from her dream with a start, fear flooding her senses.
This wasn’t good at all. * * * Cordelia cautiously opened the office door and peered inside. “Is he up, yet?” “Not yet,” Wesley confirmed, and Cordelia came in. “Good. Let’s hope he’s not Mr Grouchy this morning.” “Mr Who?” Angel’s voice was gruff, almost a growl as he strode into
the room. “Oops.” Cordelia made a wry face. “Just saying that you’ve been a
little…well, preoccupied lately.” “So?” Angel’s expression was surly and uncommunicative as he got his
coffee. “What’s your problem, anyway?” she blurted out. “My problem,” he said slowly, his voice dropping dangerously low, “Is
having staff that turn up when they feel like it and spend their time
chatting, when they should be working.” Cordelia opened her mouth to reply but thought better of it. As Angel
passed her on his way into his office, he gave her a look that would have
withered a lesser mortal. Cordelia, however, just shrugged it off with a
small smile. Definitely not amused, the vampire slammed the office door behind
him, leaving Cordelia and Wesley to quietly go about their business. After a while, they heard him go back downstairs. “I’m worried about him, Wesley.” Cordelia murmured. “Perhaps he has something on his mind,” Wesley offered. “Maybe he’s ill.” Cordelia suggested. “Can vampires get the flu?” * * * Angel moved slowly through the darkness, fear twisting at his insides
like a knife. He saw a shifting sea of faces, victims from his past that he
had horrifically killed or injured. Demons and vampires loomed at every turn;
his instinct told him to fight, but he felt weak, and frightened, and he
couldn’t seam to remember how. Somewhere deep down, he knew he was dreaming, but that didn’t make
the experience any less frightening, or the darkness any less cloying as it
closed in around him and he felt suffocated. The darkness should be his
friend, the only place he felt truly safe. But here it was the enemy, an evil
thing wrapping its tendrils menacingly around him, making him feel trapped
and vulnerable. He looked around frantically, trying to find a way out. The churning
mass of faces swam before him, and among the multitude of anonymous humans,
there passed many that he recognised. He saw Jenny, and Daniel; Drusilla and
her family were there, as was his own parents among the melee. Little Kathy,
too; Angel turned away from her, unable to stand her pain, He could almost
hear her sweet voice, again asking him if he were an angel, if he’d come back
for her. A howl ripped from Angel’s throat, and he fled the appalling
carnage; the Hell of his own making. A light shone up ahead and he instinctively stumbled toward it. He
was dimly aware that he should be afraid of the light, that it would burn
him, but he didn’t care. A figure stood in the light, a girl, and even before the face formed,
he knew it was Buffy. She looked at him with sad eyes, and silently shook her head. The
light, and Buffy, suddenly winked out and he was plunged back into darkness. “No!” He screamed after her. “No.” * * * Wesley stood over Angel’s sleeping form, worry etched on his face.
The vampire was obviously in a great deal of distress, writhing restlessly and
giving the odd cry of fear or pain. “I can’t wake him, Cordelia.” “I gathered that,” she came to stand next to him. “He’d probably have
had your head off if you had.” “This isn’t funny,” he said sharply. “Something is very wrong.” “So what do we do?” “I’m going to phone Giles. He did a lot of research last year when
Angel was poisoned, perhaps he’ll be able to help.” * * * Buffy arrived at Angel Investigations and found Wesley and Cordelia
in Angel’s bedroom. “Hello, Buffy,” Wesley said. “Giles said you were on your way.” “How is he?” Buffy asked, without preamble. As if in answer, Angel, already restless, screamed. Buffy went
instantly to his side. Holding onto his arms, she had to use all her strength
to hold him down. “Angel!” She called to him as she struggled to hold him, to calm him.
Slowly, he stopped struggling, stopped moaning and gradually grew quiet.
After a while, his body seemed to relax and grow calmer. “Will you look at that,” Cordelia murmured in awe. “He knows she’s
there.” When Angel was resting quietly, Buffy looked up at Wesley. “I’ve been dreaming of him. I think someone’s working the mojo on
him” “Do you know who?” “Well, I’ve been getting something, I think it was Wolf’s Heart.” “Wolf’s Heart?” Wesley repeated frowning. “Could it have been Wolfram
and Hart?” “Yeah, that’s it. Demons?” “Close, lawyers.” “So what’s the deal?” “Wolfram and Hart specialise in representing demons; Angel’s been
causing them a lot of bother.” “I sort of guessed that, for them to go to all this trouble.” Buffy
pulled a glass phial from her pocket. “Willow’s given me a potion to try and
determine if he’s under a spell; maybe try and reverse it.” Buffy spread a small amount of the white potion on Angel’s forearm,
and they watched as the colour changed to blue. “Definitely a spell, then,” Buffy confirmed. She phoned Willow with
the results of the test, and answered specific questions on Angel’s general
condition. Willow went into research mode, and phoned back shortly with her
recommendations. “Willow says that it sounds as though Angel’s caught in a dream state
where he can’t wake up. In effect, he’s trapped in his own mind.” “Euw,” Cordelia muttered. “Trapped in his mind? I wouldn’t want to be
in there.” Buffy glanced at Cordelia, surprised, then carried on, “Willow said
it would have to be powerful magic to hold anyone-let alone a vampire-
prisoner like that. She suggests that if you and Giles read the Reversal
Spell together, she’ll try to guide him out. If I can keep him calm, that
would also help.” “What can I do?” Cordelia asked, eagerly. “Co-ordinate our efforts by phone,” Buffy told her. “It’s important
that the spells all work at exactly the same time.” “Well then,” said Wesley in his best official tone. “Let’s get the
show on the road.” * * * Pain and fear became Angel’s world. He raced through the darkness,
not knowing or caring where he was going. No longer capable of rational
thought, he ran blindly; his body running on pure instinct. A voice, soft at first, slowly began filtering through the fire that
seared his mind. “Angel.” The voice repeated itself, over and over, a woman’s soft
chant in the darkness. Angel was vaguely aware that the voice sounded like
Willow. Part of him acknowledged that she had never hurt him but she couldn’t
really be here…it must be some kind of trick. But the chant was insistent and he was drawn to it in spite of
himself. The voice began to recede, and he stumbled after it, afraid to let
go of the only human voice he’d heard since he’d been here. Unseen hands clawed at him in the darkness, unwilling to let him
escape, and they ripped at his clothes and skin with their nails and claws.
He tried to tear himself away from the unwanted invasion, but the contact
just grew stronger. He cried out, and warm hands instantly grabbed him. He turned and saw
Buffy looking at him. A lifeline. He grabbed at her roughly, like a drowning
man. Before he could stop himself, he kissed her, fiercely, passionately;
trying to regain his sanity through her. He held her tightly, savouring the
taste of her; she smelt wonderful, and he marvelled at how real she felt in
his arms. He released her abruptly, opened his eyes and looked up into Buffy’s
smiling face. “This isn’t a dream, is it?” he asked sheepishly. “No.” She smiled down at him. “Nice greeting, though.” Buffy’s smile grew wider at Angel’s embarrassment and she leant
forward and kissed his forehead. “Welcome back.” Angel was aware that he still had his arm round Buffy’s waist. He
knew he should release her, move back into the polite restraints that they’d
imposed on themselves. But he couldn’t, not yet. He needed to feel her close. He looked past Buffy and saw Cordelia and Wesley standing just behind
her. Cordelia was smiling and crying at the same time, and Wesley’s stiff
upper lip was… quivering. Angel’s face suddenly split into a huge grin, and for once he didn’t
care. He looked at his friends, the three people who meant the most to him,
and he sighed. It was good to be back. THE END
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