Immortal Songs, Insistent Echoes
by Lara

SUMMARY: “The verdict, as Gunn would have said not so long ago, was not good. The hordes had taken over the city with a vengeance.”

RATING: FRAO [ESS] [GV] [ML] [FF]

PAIRING: Wes/Illyria

SPOILERS: Through Angel’s series finale “Not Fade Away”.

DISCLAIMER: I only wish I were as successful as Joss Whedon. He and Mutant Enemy own this; I just write fanfic for fun while waiting for my own big break.

DISTRIBUTION: Permission granted to the usual haunts – WNW, Blue Moon Rising, Drawn to You, and No Angel. If anyone else wants to archive it, please let me know.

FEEDBACK: Very much appreciated. Please e-mail lara@darling-moon.com. Flames, however, will be used to fuel the fire in Wesley’s next spell casting session.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Written for the fresliriafic ficathon for Louise, who wanted the following:

• Two Other Characters - Spike and Lorne
• Two Requirements - Sometime after "Time Bomb", Wesley mentions that Fred talked to plants. Also, Illyria remembers Pylea.
• One Restriction - No Gunn or Angel (Well, I mention them.)

Oh, and Lou? I think you’re getting yourself a series out of this one. Again, thanks to Tracey and Ann for their help and general encouragement with this one, even when I surprised the hell out of Tracey with one of the scenes.

Chaotic clashes of color lit up the sky outside the window, illuminating the bedroom with each burst before everything plunged back into darkness again. On the bed, a still figure lay with his hands folded over his chest, the wound in his stomach having long since stopped bleeding. A sense of death hung heavy in the room – as it had for many months – though there was no scent of it, only that of faded lavender incense.

Another flash filled the room, painting the red walls an even brighter hue. However, when the room darkened again, a light still remained, shimmering purplish-blue in the coat pocket of the man on the bed. The glow grew steadily more intense until it seemed it might burst into blue fire. A moment later, the light seemed to flare out briefly then died again, the room returning to darkness.

Suddenly, the figure on the bed let out a loud gasp for breath, his lungs filling with air as his heart began beating again. Bolting upright, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce looked around in a panic, uncertain as to where he was. The world resolved itself into Fred’s bedroom, but he hadn’t been there before. His hands went down to his stomach where his shirt was cut open and covered in blood; however, there was no sign of the stab wound Vail had inflicted on him.

What had happened? He remembered the confrontation quite clearly – how he had used his mostly dormant magic abilities to cast fireballs without a word needed, how Vail with his superior knowledge had managed to overpower him, how the sorcerer had called for the knife and shoved it right into his gut.

And Illyria. He remembered Illyria arriving and holding him. Then Fred...

No, that had been a lie. It had been Illyria the whole time. She had stayed with him, in the form of Fred, while he died, telling him everything would be okay. She must have brought him back here before...

Jumping up from the bed, he hurried over to the window just as another burst of light flamed over the city. Outside, rain poured down, but the lightening was certainly not normal. As far as Wesley could see, things were in chaos. Buildings were burning. People were running. Creatures of every shape and size were attacking anything they could. Screams and sounds of unimaginable horror filled the air, blocking all other noises out.

The Senior Partners had unleashed Hell on Earth, he realized.

That meant his friends – including Illyria – were out there, fighting. Spinning around, Wes began running for the door but stopped when he passed the mirror and caught sight of his reflection. He stared at himself in disbelief.

While most of his appearance remained unchanged, the very tips of his spiky mussed hair were tinged blue. And his eyes now looked exactly like Illyria’s.

*****

Illyria was no longer certain how much time had gone by since this conflict had begun. She knew she had taken part in battles that had lingered on for hundreds of cycles, but this...this seemed as though it might continue throughout eternity. Gunn had already fallen, taking a Sacro demon with him when the end came. Angel had disappeared when the dragon had flown off, the vampire holding on and letting it take him along for the ride.

Now only she and the other half-breed Spike remained. They continued battling in the pouring rain the only way they knew how. Several dozen spines littered the ground in Illyria’s wake along with shells and other manner of exoskeletons. She would have preferred to have her Belelah’Tenns – her battle scythes – but she made due with weapons ripped from the grasp of her slain opponents.

Whipping her drenched hair out of her face, she pulled her appropriated broad sword from another Sacro, watching as the demon fell to the ground, its claws reaching out for her. She was easily able to evade them, but as she spun out of the way, she caught sight of undulating opal-colored skin. Thrusting forward, she drove the sword into the Rorschach demon, the poisoned blood of the Sacro still clinging to the blade burning it from the inside.

“Blue!” Spike’s voice called to her from the other side of the alley.

She stepped over the bodies of the Sacro and Rorschach and strode over to where Spike was leaning up against the building. He was cradling his left arm against his side, and his torso was covered with cuts and abrasions.

“Buggers keep trying to dust me,” he told her, looking up toward clouds that were beginning to take on a green tinge in the approaching dawn. Several flying creatures – some dragons, some other species – could be seen swooping above the skyscrapers in the distance. “I don’t think we’re going to stop them this time, your highness.”

“You are surrendering?” she asked in disbelief.

“Just facing facts. We’re not going to stop them. Look out there – they’ve attacked most of the L.A. and Angel is M.I.A.”

Illyria stood back and glared at him. “You are surrendering.”

“I am not surrendering, you blue bit—.”

She did not hear the rest of what he said she tilted her head slightly and looked away, her eyes reflecting a sudden uncertainty. Spike trailed off and watched her for a moment. Walking a few feet away into the middle of the alley, she raised her hand to her head in a very human gesture.

“Blue? Hey, Blue, you all right?” When she didn’t answer, he jogged up next to her. “Earth to Your Highness, come in.” Finally, he decided to risk it. “Illyria?”

The sound of her name finally got her attention. “I...I thought I heard something. A voice.”

“Just you and me, Blue,” Spike told her while he glanced over their shoulders. “Just you and me and a shitload of uglies coming this way.”

At this, Illyria whirled around, her weapon raised. A veritable army was bearing down on them, and soon they were in the midst of another confrontation. Illyria lost track of Spike in the melee as she focused on ripping apart as many of them as possible. The crunch of bones and metallic taste of death in the air allowed her to forget what she had thought she had heard. What couldn’t have even been possible.

Then, suddenly, she realized that she had heard what she thought she had when she caught sight of Wesley – blue eyes blazing – in the midst of the fighting, taking out demons with a sword and fire balls. She hesitated in surprise for a moment before forcing herself to remember where they were. The throng of attackers forced them down the alley, out onto the street in front of the Hyperion where people were running for cover.

With one final volley of orbs, Wesley grabbed Illyria’s hand and pulled her away from the battle.

“What are you doing?” she demanded. “We cannot—.”

“We have to! There’s too many of them!” He put a hand up to stop her from protesting more. “We aren’t surrendering, Illyria. We’re falling back to regroup. As a warrior, surely you know it’s sometimes necessary.”

Acquiescing, she followed Wesley through the Hyperion and down to the basement where the entrance to the sewers was located. She knew exactly where he was going, but the idea of going down there was abhorrent. She was not an under-earth dweller.

Just as he reached the bottom of the steps, he turned on her. “We don’t have a choice about this! It’s either the streets where we have absolutely no chance or down there.” He pointed to the sewer tunnel entrance with his blade. “I don’t care that you think it abhorrent. We—.” At that moment, he paused, his changed eyes glowing slightly in the darkness – like hers. “How did...? What the hell has happened to me, Illyria? Why am I still alive, and how did I know what you were thinking? And why...do I look like this?”

A crashing sound filtered down to them from above, telling them that some of the Senior Partners underlings were tracking them. Without another word, they scurried into the sewers, any protests from Illyria ignored. As they navigated the dark tunnels, Wesley threw up a few spells to distract or mislead those following them. The noises coming from behind them got further and further away until all they could hear were the screams and howls coming from street level.

Finally, they came up out of the sewers into the sub-basement of a building. The door blocking their route at the top of a set of stairs was easily dealt with by Illyria, and they found themselves in a room full of book stacks. They had reached the Los Angeles public library.

As Wes sealed the door up with a spell, Illyria ran a hand along one of the shelves. “I know this place,” she murmured softly. “I worked here.”

“Illyria,” he said, collapsing his blade back into its wrist holder and turning around once he had finished with the door. She looked up at him in the dim light that filtered through the casement windows.

“You wish an answer to your earlier questions.”

“An answer? I’d prefer an explanation. What did you do to me?” He stalked over to stand next to her, gazing down at her.

Straightening up, she stared straight into his eyes. “Something that shouldn’t have even been possible.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I told you that I could not help you while you lay dying, I spoke the truth. I did not believe I could because this should not have happened. It requires the Qwa’Temora, and last I saw of that, Angel had it and used it against me.”

Wesley reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the purple crystal he had removed from the sarcophagus. “This?”

Illyria reached up to cup his hand while she examined the gem in astonishment. “You had it with you.”

“I’ve carried it with me for awhile now. Got it back from Angel after...our visit to Vahla Ha’Nesh.”

“Why?”

He shrugged, looking away from the curiosity that burned in her eyes. “I don’t know. I just felt I needed to keep it with me.”

“This is the seal my Qwa’Ha Xahn would wear in service to me.”

“You...you said you needed it for what happened to me?” His eyes grew darker as he gazed at her. “What happened, Illyria?”

“The Qwa’Xa Mihz.”

“Qwa’Xa...Mihz...” Wesley rolled this around on his tongue, the linguist in him analyzing the etymological pattern. Like the gem he held, it was obviously connected to the Qwa’Ha Xahn. “’The high priest is mine’?”

“If you insist on assigning imprecise human terms to it,” she replied.

“You made me your high priest?”

She shook her head. “It’s more than that. The Qwa’Xa Mihz was the highest honor any of my priests could have ever desired. When I...kissed you, I passed on a piece of myself to you.”

Wesley realized what she meant, his chest tightening. “Like how you entered Fred when she breathed you in...”

“Yes. The imparting of myself and the presence of the gem at the time of your demise initiated the Qwa’Ha Mihz. We bonded in that moment.”

“You mean...like a marriage?” he asked.

Illyria’s gentle laugh – something he had never heard from her before – echoed through the silence of the library stacks, reverberating off the stone walls and ceiling and into Wesley’s very soul. “You could call it that, but it is so much more. A piece of the God-King resides in you now, Wesley. I have given you immortality.”

“Immortality? You mean I’m going to spend the rest of eternity like this?”

His tone made the question a bit harsher than he meant, but he was still trying to process the magnitude of what had happened. Illyria stared at him for a moment, then suddenly turned around and hurried away through the stacks, leaving him standing there in confusion. He ran after her, following the sound of her footsteps up one of the back stairwells to the main levels. By the time he caught up with her, she was standing on the mezzanine overlooking the library’s main entrance. She stiffened slightly as he moved to stand behind her. He didn’t say anything for a moment, though, instead letting her take the lead in explaining this.

“Wesley,” she finally said. “We are one.” Apparently sensing his still baffled state, she reached back and took his hand, wrapping it around her to rest on the chestplate of her body armor, directly over where Fred’s heart had once been. “Listen.”

He did, not sure what he was supposed to be hearing for a moment. Then, in the middle of the silent library, he became aware of a presence inside his head, the rush of thoughts and tones that created the song of Illyria’s mind, winding around his own. She was in his mind and he was in hers; the bonding had created a telepathic connection, he realized. That was how he had known what she had been thinking in the Hyperion basement, when he had turned on her without fully knowing why.

Entranced, he continued to listen, the sound flowing through him. He had never imagined anything like this. Memories of a world long gone, of beauty indescribable mixed with memories of a farm in Texas, of events he had known from a different perspective. And then, suddenly, he understood. Her “voice” consisted of two tones – one low like an oboe, one higher like a flute – intertwined into one to create the thoughts he sensed, duel yet not, alien yet familiar, Illyria yet Fred. Sparrowe had been wrong.

Without having to say it, he knew she had picked up on what he had just figured out. His dreams suddenly made sense.

We are one. The bond reinforced the multiple layers of meaning behind those words. Both tones hummed together as one within Wesley, warming him with what felt like a gentle caress. If there had ever been a way to actually experience how love felt for another, this was it. And it echoed from both parts of her – the human and the demon. He now knew that Fred had loved him for far longer than he had thought but had been uncertain and a bit afraid about acting on her feelings until she finally couldn’t ignore them anymore. And Illyria... Illyria had tried to deny what had been developing until the moment he died when the emotions had bubbled like a volcano, leading her in her thirst for vengeance to take out Vail and every demon sent by the Senior Partners that she could get her hands on.

“You would have...” he started to say after he relived what it been like for her when he had died in her arms. “You would have wanted this anyway? Even if it hadn’t happened accidentally?”

Nodding, she glanced back at him, her blue eyes a storm of emotions, and once again she was the vulnerable woman he had tended to in Spike’s bedroom. She had wanted to tell him then, but pride had stopped her. Now, there was no denying. He knew everything now, all her thoughts and feelings that were no longer demon, no longer human. Just hers. And it scared her. Scared her and delighted her. His bewildered reaction in the basement stacks had seemed too much like a rejection, and given that as God-King, she had never experienced such a thing, she hadn’t known how to face it. Especially since...

“You’ve never performed the Qwa’Xa Mihz with any of your Qwa’Ha Xahns,” he realized.

“None of them were worthy of the honor.”

Yet he who had never held the station of Qwa’Ha Xahn was so in her eyes, despite the unintentional creation of the bond.

Trailing his hand up from where it had been resting on her chest, Wesley cupped her cheek against his palm. She leaned into his touch, her eyes drifting closed for a moment until she felt the unexpected – and yet not – pressure of his lips on hers. Pressing back against him, she tilted her head up to his.

As the kiss deepened, he wrapped his other arm around her, holding her close. His hand pressed over her abdomen before sliding down to her thigh. Unable to feel his caress through the armor, sensing how he wanted to actually touch her, Illyria murmured a few unintelligible words into his mouth, and her body suit began to ripple. Within moments, it had transformed, the leather-like armor plates disappearing and leaving her clad in the black leggings and black cropped-top from the suit. Wesley’s fingers slid up again to her stomach and traced the veins of blue that swirled across her now bare skin. The hand still cupping her face trailed down her neck to her top, stroking her breasts through the stretchy material. Illyria arched and rubbed against him, exciting him to such an extent that he forgot where they were and what was happening outside. Pushing up her top, he began fondling each of her nipples in turn while his other hand dipped inside the waistband of her leggings. When his fingers crept between her thighs, she gasped and reached back to grab hold of him, pulling him closer.

Wesley groaned while she writhed against him, breaking the kiss and burying his face in her hair at the nape of her neck. The touch of her mind while in a state of arousal was almost overwhelming; it made his own thoughts swim as all he could concentrate on was being even closer to her. Removing his hand from her breasts, he quickly pushed down his jeans as well as his boxers underneath. Then once he had done the same to her leggings, he bent her over slightly while still embracing her close. She instinctively grabbed the railing in front of her as he slid into her from behind, both of them moaning together in unison. It was dizzying and intense, each able to sense what the other felt while he thrust within her.

The rhythm building, sensations coiled and knotted in the core of their beings. He clasped her tighter in his arms and quickened his movements, driving them headlong to the moment where their connection sang and passion raged through every part of them. Illyria let out an unearthly cry as spasms overtook her, followed a moment later by Wesley, who climaxed deep inside her while groaning hoarsely into her ear.

They stood there, wrapped together for several moments once their shuddering subsided, neither one of them moving to separate from the other. Illyria leaned her head back to rest against Wesley’s shoulder while he remained within her. Neither said a word of what had just happened between them. They didn’t have to. She could no longer deny the feelings echoed through every part of her whereas the unshakable adoration he had for Fred and the abiding affection he had been developing for Illyria had combined into one in that moment.

Uncertainty had given way to acceptance.

*****

A loud booming sound jolted Wes awake. He and Illyria had chosen to remain hidden in the relative safety of the library for awhile before attempting to venture out. Sometime a few hours before, he had dozed off on one of the couches in the children’s reading room – immortal evidently didn’t mean impervious to human needs.

He had just noticed that Illyria was nowhere to be seen when another boom reverberated through the building. Jumping up, he ran out to the mezzanine. There was no sign of anyone else – human or demon. A moment later, yet another boom shook him. Whatever it was, it was coming from outside, not within the library.

He still couldn’t see where Illyria had gone, so standing silent for a moment, he listened. Her thoughts touched his, and immediately, he was able to follow their echo up to the next floor. In one of the corners, he found her, still in her cropped top and leggings, with her back to him, crouching low to the ground, examining the space around her.

“Illyria?” he asked softly.

She twisted towards him slightly, her eyes bright in the dimness as she gazed up toward the top of the bookshelf that towered over her. “This is where it happened. This is where the portal to that loathsome...world opened.”

“Pylea.”

“Yes.”

Fred’s memories flooded over in that moment, going back to that day when she was working alone in the stacks, reshelving books. Discovering a strange book in the pile that didn’t belong. Opening it up and having her interest piqued upon seeing the strange words that looked as though they had been handwritten, not printed. Reading them out loud in an attempt to make sense of them. Finding herself landing in the middle of a field, not knowing where she was, only to be captured not long after and forced into life as a “cow”.

Wesley knelt down next to her on the floor and brushed her hair from her face. Except for when she had broken down in front of her parents, Fred had never talked about what had happened to her. And from what he now knew, he understood why. They stared at each other, memories passing between them. He saw what she dealt with – the abuse, the fear, the loneliness. Her fortitude and tenacity had allowed her to survive five years in a nightmare would have overcome others, just as they had kept her from being destroyed by Illyria, instead leading to their merging.

Another boom – this one so close that books fell off the shelves – caused them to pull apart. Wesley rose and crossed over to one of the windows, looking out for the first time since they had gone to ground during the fight.

“Shælaoh vismijka,” he breathed.

Upon hearing him swear in her ancient tongue, Illyria joined him, gazing out from behind his shoulder. Before them, Los Angeles burned. Smoke – thick and every color imaginable – rose into a sky darkened by the pollutants. Several buildings were in ruins, their partial skeletons just barely managing to keep from toppling over though Wesley was sure they wouldn’t last long. Dragons and other creatures flew through the sky, every so often swooping down into the streets below before rising again with humans or sometimes animals grasped in their talons.

Craning his neck, he found the source of the booming. About a block away, several demons – what species, he couldn’t be sure – had what looked to be a mortar, which they were aiming at assorted targets. Buildings, street signs, cars. They rolled it to a stop a half block down and fired at an abandoned flower shop. No projectile emerged, but a moment later, the shop windows blew, scattering the remains of plants everywhere. Behind Wesley, Illyria let out a strangled cry upon seeing petals and leaves flying.

“What is that?” he asked.

“A Concussive Field Cannon,” Illyria told him, her voice tinged with bitterness.

Twisting his head, he locked eyes with her. “Something from the Wolfram and Hart Science Department? Knox’s creation, no doubt.” She nodded before casting her gaze back out to the destruction on the street below. “Why wasn’t it locked up?”

“It was. It has obviously been unlocked.”

In the street, the gang of demons began moving the cannon again, heading closer to the library.

“We should probably get out of here,” Wesley said as he backed away from the window and turned around. Agreeing, Illyria was about to reform her body armor when he stopped her. “We’ll need to keep a low profile when we go back out there. Your suit is distinctive, especially the red – it’ll call attention to us. They’ll be more likely to notice clothing than hair and eyes.”

Without a word, she concentrated for a moment, and instead of her armor, a black leather coat styled much like Wesley’s appeared over what she was already wearing. “Is this acceptable?”

“Yes. Let’s go.”

“There’s a route out through there.” Pointing to a door at the far end of the aisle, she made no attempt to argue that they should stay and fight as she had the previous night.

The door opened into another stairwell that led down to a fire exit at the back of the building. Just as they reached the last flight, the entire structure shook with the force of an earthquake. Illyria was flung off balance into Wesley, both of them crashing down to the bottom steps. Wes instinctively wrapped his arms around her head to protect her when she landed on top of him while pieces of debris rained down from above.

“The demons of this time have no honor,” she huffed.

“Not if they’re working for the Senior Partners.”

“In many respects, they are inferior to humans.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Scrambling to their feet, they burst out into the deserted alley just as another blast shook the building. Concrete, bricks and glass crashed down onto the pavement around them. Hopping over a large chunk, Illyria scanned the passageway for any possible attackers. With none in sight, they ran for it, keeping to the shadows.

*****

It was early evening when they finally stopped to rest after spending the day on the move, observing when they could to find out exactly what the situation now was in Los Angeles. The verdict, as Gunn would have said not so long ago, was not good. The hordes had taken over the city with a vengeance. Humans were being taken prisoners – for what and taken where, they didn’t know. They had just managed to escape detection a couple of times; with only two of them, there was no way they would have been able to fight a large group unprepared.

When Wesley saw the broken sign hanging off the fire-gutted building, he knew this was probably the safest place they were likely to find at the moment. Caritas was long gone, but with a bit of luck, some of the club’s security remained. They made their way down the steps, keeping a look out anyway. Just in case.

The stage had been obliterated by the fire bomb Holtz had used, the proscenium charred black and crumbled. The bar still partially stood though pretty much all the glass was broken. Bits of tables and chairs scattered everywhere. Illyria had just picked up a table leg, which she was weighing as weapon, when they heard the distinctive click of a gun being cocked.

“I...told Angel...” a voice slurred from behind them, “told him to leave me alone.”

Wesley slowly turned around to find Lorne sitting on the ground in front of the far end of the bar, a gun in one hand and a bottle of something that looked absolutely vile in the other. The anagogic squinted at him then stared down at the liquor bottle.

“Been too long since I drank this stuff. Making me think you look like Illyria’s brother.”

Crossing over to him, Wesley crouched down on his haunches next to him. “You’re not seeing things.”

Grunting in disgust, Lorne tossed away the bottle, which hit the remains of the mirror behind the bar and shattered, thick brown liquid dripping down onto the half-destroyed countertop. “Should’ve known that Pylean swill wouldn’t get me drunk enough.”

“Lorne, what are you doing here?”

“After Operation Piss Off the Senior Partners, was going to get the hell out of dodge, disappear, go to Paris. Wasn’t able to get out. Too many demons. Santa Monica Freeway... turned back...came here.” He stared at Wesley for a moment, his red eyes even redder from the effects of the moonshine he had been drinking. “Why the hell you look like Blue Bird’s brother anyway?”

Wesley glanced over his shoulder at Illyria, who was standing in the middle of the rubble, holding the table leg by her side. “It’s a long story.”

“Short version? Brain can’t take long now.” As if to demonstrate his meaning, he attempted to get up off the floor, only to stumble and fall into Wesley, who grabbed his shoulders to steady him. The gun fell to the floor, and they both stood up, Lorne leaning a bit heavily on the other man.

“Short version – Vail stabbed me during our confrontation, and I died. When Illyria brought me back, I looked like this.”

“Uhhhh...brain doesn’t like short either.”

From the looks of things, Lorne wasn’t going to be able to stay upright for much longer. Wesley frowned over at the dripping remains of the Pylean liquor, wondering what was in that stuff. He had never seen alcohol have such an effect on the demon before. “I think you should lie down.”

Lorne made a limp-armed wave toward the back of the club where his living quarters had been located. “Bedroom still...bedroom still...” He mumbled the words over and over to himself as if trying to remember what the next word should be.

Wesley got the gist, though. “Come on.”

Heading into the back, they found that Lorne’s old rooms were fire-scarred but still somewhat livable. The walls were burnt, wallpaper pulling away, and wood and other objects were scattered everywhere; however, the bed was still in decent shape though ash and cinder had pockmarked the comforter. Wes helped Lorne over and lay him down. As soon as the demon curled up, he was asleep, mumbling in Pylean.

Turning around, Wesley saw that Illyria had followed them in. She now had Lorne’s discarded gun and was standing next to a withered fichus, hesitantly touching the few dead brown leaves still attached to the drooping stem. He could hear her mumbling softly, a sound that was echoed by the two tones in her mind. It was a trait both Illyria and Fred shared – an affinity for plants and an apparent ability to understand them, to hear them. Seeing the flowers destroyed earlier in that plant shop had horrified her, and now she was searching, despite having claimed to no longer be capable, for any remnants of the fichus’ song, of its life.

When he walked over to her, she dropped her hand and looked up to him with barely held-back tears in her eyes. “Even if I could hear the Song, I would not hear it from this one.”

He shook his head, slipping an arm around her and holding her close. “No. It’s been dead for a long time now.”

“As this place has been.” She glanced over at the bed where Lorne slept. “He said no one would ever find him again, yet he came back here. We found him.”

“He didn’t intend to be found. The Senior Partners’ takeover of Los Angeles forced him back to the only place he knew.” Sighing, Wesley looked up toward the scorched ceiling as though just waiting for a group of demons to come crashing through to attack them. “Which makes me wonder...”

“Have the Wolf, Ram and Hart conquered this entire world or just this part of it?” she finished for him.

“Yes,” he confirmed with a nod. “If we can find out, perhaps we can also find help.”

She picked up who he had in mind. “The Watchers and the Slayers? The same cowards who refused to assist before?”

“They aren’t cowards. They simply didn’t agree with our...decision to take over the firm.” He shook his head. “I would say they were right.”

*****

When Lorne woke up several hours later, he sat up with a groan, his head pounding. Rolling off the bed, he started for the bathroom to find some of his hangover remedy then stopped, remembering where he was. He rubbed his head and turned around in the remains of his old room, his eyes focusing in the darkness on the two figures on the other side of the room. Illyria was sitting in the less damaged of the two chairs in the corner with Wesley next to her on the floor, his head resting on her knee and his eyes closed. Humming a tune that sounded as old as she, she ran her fingers gently through his blue-tipped hair. After watching for a moment, Lorne understood everything that had happened – the merging and the bonding.

“You love him,” he finally said.

Illyria raised her head to gaze at him and nodded slowly.

“Why didn’t you tell him...us...before about that fact that you...that Illyria and Fred...?” He wasn’t even sure how to phrase what he was trying to say and the headache wasn’t making it any easier to think.

“It was too confusing,” she admitted. “I did not even understand what had happened. All I knew was it seemed there were two within me fighting for control. After Wesley...after he died and then returned to me because of the Qwa’Xa Mihz, it was as though the fighting stopped, and I finally became...myself.”

Lorne nodded and crossed over to the other chair, practically flopping down into it. “Everything came together,” he remarked then paused. “He loves you, you know.”

“I know.” She hesitated for a moment before shifting a bit and resting her hand on Wes’ back. “He wishes to discover whether the Wolf, Ram and Hart have visited destruction on the rest of the world, not just Los Angeles.”

“How?”

“He intends for us to journey to the Mount Wilson Observatory.”

“We should be able to see how far the damage extends from up there,” Wesley said, slowly opening his eyes. The change in hue still unnerved Lorne. “Then we can decide what to do.”

He caught the meaning implicit in the “we” and shook his head. Carefully. “No. Wes. You’re my friend, but I’m done. I can’t do this anymore. I’ve lost too much.” He looked down at his hands. “Angel asked for one thing too many. He asked for the one thing he should never have asked me to do. But he did, and I did.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Stay here, I guess,” he shrugged.

“But what if they come? They’ll find you.”

“Then they find me. This place was my dream – the one real thing that was mine and no one else’s. And someone took it away from me. You guys became my family, but look what happened to that too. Both things I loved destroyed by what’s out there. If they’re going to get me...destroy me, I want it to be here.”

Gazing at his friend, Wes nodded in understanding. “I’m glad we became friends.”

Lorne gave him a wan smile. “Me too, Wesley. Even with everything that happened.”

*****

Fires were still burning all over the Los Angeles area, lighting up the night with an array of colors and reflecting off the water just ahead of them. Wes and Illyria barely gave it all a notice, though, as they crept toward the bridge over Devils Gate Reservoir. Given the circumstances, the flames were anything but beautiful and only served as a distraction.

They had been making their way east to the Pasadena area for a few days now and were now heading for the San Gabriel Mountains where the observatory was located. So far, they had managed to avoid trouble since leaving Caritas and Lorne behind. However, looking ahead to the reservoir overpass, Wesley knew that their luck was about to run out. A gang of vampires were guarding the bridge, obviously collecting tolls in the form of blood if the bodies piled up on the bank were any indication. Illyria and Wes looked at each other. They needed to get across, and swimming the reservoir was dangerous even in the best of circumstances.

Suddenly, a scream pierced the air, causing one of the vamps to look over the railing. “Fido caught himself another toll hopper!”

They definitely didn’t have a choice – they needed to use the bridge. Wesley checked his hidden stake shooter and blade to make sure they were working properly. Illyria hefted the axe she had picked up the previous day at an abandoned firehouse and nodded.

A few moments later, they were approaching the bridge. The six vampires noticed them and stood up, laughing upon getting a better look.

“What have we here? They look human...’cept for the blue hair and eyes,” remarked the male vampire in the middle. He sniffed the air. “Don’t smell human. Well, maybe a little. Who are you?”

“None of your concern,” Wesley answered.

“We wish to cross,” Illyria then told them.

“Well, now...you see...we’re charging a toll for that very privilege. Problem is you don’t reach the other side once you pay.”

The vamps had begun to circle them. Raising his arm perpendicular to himself, Wesley quickly shot off a stake at the vampire moving to his left then swung around as Illyria sensed what he was doing and ducked down out of the way. Another stake went flying and embedded itself in the one that had been coming up on her right. The four remaining gaped in disbelief at the sight of their kin turning to dust, having not expected the sudden attack from their anticipated victims. The hesitation allowed Illyria to lop off the head of one of the others while Wes flicked his right wrist to extend his blade. The last three vampires tried to dive out of the way, but they weren’t fast enough. Moving in almost mirror images of each other, Wesley and Illyria stepped out and swung their weapons, taking off the heads of two more and leaving the lead vampire alone without his gang to back him up. He stared at the two not-quite humans for a moment before spinning around and making a run for it.

Right over the edge of the bridge. A moment later, there was a scream and a roar.

“Looks like Fido got the midnight snack instead,” Wes remarked dryly.

*****

Dawn had broken by the time they passed through Altadena though the sky stayed a dim, almost greenish, color like a bad thunderstorm was on the way. They were just heading up Mount Wilson when Wesley stopped and stared ahead before glancing back over his shoulder.

“Do you sense that?” he asked.

Illyria’s eyes fixed on a spot several meters up the incline. “There’s something there.”

“Magic.”

Holding his hands out, his palms flat, Wes walked forward and met with resistance. Pressing harder against the invisible barrier only succeeded in causing a slight ripple to appear in the air before him.

“They’ve erected a bubble around Los Angeles.”

“That would require a powerful sorcerer. And the one who...the one called Vail is dead.”

Wesley caught the hesitation in her voice at the mention of Vail and glanced over at her. “They must have other sorcerers available. Or they could have done this themselves. They just prefer to have others like Vail and Sebassis do their dirty work for them.”

Placing his hands against the blockade, he recited a spell to try to punch a hole through it. The space in front of him began to glow, first yellow, then orange, then red, as though the air was heating up. The barrier, however, remained stubbornly in place, giving way only slightly. Illyria moved up behind him and, placing her hands on his shoulders as her eyes closed, echoed his chant. The red glow turned white and grew brighter until a crystalline wall appeared, cracks splintering through it. Once they finished the chant a second time, they stepped back and watched as the barrier split open, the edges glimmering white, red, orange and yellow.

On the other side, Wesley and Illyria blinked in the bright sunlight that washed over them and the mountainside. The sky was a brilliant blue without a cloud in sight, so different from how it had been a few feet away.

Behind them came a whooshing sound. Turning, they found the barrier closing back up again – leaving no sign of Los Angeles. All they could see before them was an empty expanse of land, as though the metropolitan area had never existed at all.

“We interfered with the Senior Partners’ worldwide plans by moving against the Circle when we did,” Wesley stated.

Illyria remembered what often had happened in battle when strategies had been disrupted. “So they seized what they were able.”

“Scorched Earth. Only I would bet that no one outside of Los Angeles save for the other firm branches even knows what happened.”

“You believe the world has been made to forget? As everyone’s memories of Angel’s son were changed?”

He nodded. “They still want what they’ve been working centuries for, but if others knew about Los Angeles, they’d have an even more difficult time getting things set in motion again than they have now.”

“So what do we do now?”

“I don’t know.”

As Wes stared down over the apparently blank expanse of land, Illyria walked up the hill a few feet to one of the trees. Reaching out to the trunk, she placed a hand against the rough bark and gazed up at the branches, where leaves rustled in the wind. Slowly, her eyes drifted closed, and her face tilted up in the sunshine.

“Wesley,” she said softly. “I can hear it. The Song of the Green.”

Surprised, he turned around. “But I thought...you said that you couldn’t after...”

“None of them would speak. I thought it was because of my power loss, but I can hear these.” Holding her hand out to him, she beckoned him to join her by the tree. He climbed up to her and took her hand. “Close your eyes. Listen.”

He moved closer to her and did so, letting her guide him. First, all he could hear was the song of her mind, the two tones winding together and drawing him in. Then, he became aware of a reedy sound, like an ancient pan pipe, whistling around him, filling him up. This was soon joined by a strumming lute, creating a folksy yet ancient resonance. The Song seemed to form words that he could comprehend, speaking of the subjugation and loss of their brethren by powers greater than themselves.

Illyria and Wesley opened their eyes and looked at each other, understanding what they had just been told. Her inability to hear the Song of the Green had been because of the Senior Partners, not because of the draining of her powers.

Without a word, they looked over their shoulders to where Los Angeles was now invisible.

*****

As the sun slowly disappeared beyond the horizon of the Pacific Ocean, Wesley sat on the ground with his back resting against the tree and Illyria lying alongside him, her head pillowed in the crook of his shoulder. The Song of the surrounding trees and plant-life continued, heard only by them on the otherwise silent mountainside. Their coats lay on the ground next to them, cast off in the earlier warmth of the sun.

Wes ran his hand up her arm to her neck, where he began caressing her jawline with his thumb. Illyria leaned into his touch and then raised her head to gaze at him. They didn’t say anything to each other, instead bringing their lips together for a kiss. Tangling his other hand in her hair, he moved the hand on her neck down to her back and gathered her closer to him as she pressed a hand against his chest before smoothing it down over his shirt.

Her hair fell across their faces, brushing and tickling against his collarbone. While he ran his tongue across her lips and then deepened the kiss, Illyria stroked down over the front of his jeans to the inside seam and up his thigh. A groan rumbled deep in his chest, and he thrust up instinctively into her hand when it passed up over him again. It didn’t matter that they were out in the open – no one was around except for the trees, whose Song suddenly seemed to become a serenade for them.

Wesley reached up to brush her hair back, his fingers trailing over the curve of her ears and down her neck. When he got to the strap of her top, he pushed it off her shoulder, baring one of her small breasts. Breaking the kiss, he dipped his head down to take the nipple in his mouth, nipping it gently and causing her to moan into his ear. She shuddered as a tingle ran down her spine and spread across her lower torso. Resting her leg over his, she rubbed her thigh against his while her fingers unsnapped his jeans and crept inside, cupping and rubbing him through his boxers. Wesley let out a growl at this and pulled her over so that she was straddling him. He tugged down the remaining strap of her top and nuzzled the other nipple, his tongue tracing over the swirls of blue that trailed down to her belly button.

Rising up off him slightly, Illyria pulled down his jeans and boxers, freeing him of their confines. She caressed him with feathery touches and smiled faintly at the way he strained toward her, the lust-filled echo of his mind in hers begging for more. When his hands moved to her hips, she bent forward a bit to allow him to push down her leggings. Once she had kicked them off, she positioned herself over him before settling onto him, guiding him into her. Tilting her head back, she savored the feeling for a few moments, so familiar yet still rather new all at the same time.

Slowly, she began moving against him, Wesley thrusting up with each of her downward strokes. As her hands came to rest on his shoulders and hold him tightly, he cupped the back of her head with his own to pull her closer and captured her lips with his. The kiss soon grew as frenzied and out of control as their movements, each of them gasping into the other’s mouth.

Jolts rushed through both of them as their bodies and minds entwined. Beneath her, Wesley continued rising up to meet her until he stiffened for a moment and let out a strangled cry before his head fell back against the tree behind him. While his warmth flooded her, Illyria felt everything contract around her, inside and out, until it all exploded a rush of sensations. Quivering, she collapsed against him, her eyes closing as she listened to the rapid beating of his heart and the low thrumming of his mind.

They stayed like that for several minutes, Wesley bringing his hand up to run his fingers through her hair. The wind on the mountainside whistled a low tune to match the Song of the Green that still echoed within.

“We have to go back,” he finally said softly.

“I know.” Raising her head, she looked into his eyes, mirrors of her own. They couldn’t stay out here – not with everything that had happened, not with all the innocents who were suffering because of the Wolf, Ram and Hart.

With one last kiss, they separated, Illyria pulling her leggings back on before slipping on her jacket. Wesley picked his own up but didn’t put it on and looked down the incline at the dim land that sat so wrongly quiet. They walked down to the invisible barrier, and with Illyria adding her strength to his, Wesley once again cracked the barrier, his magic lighting up their surroundings.

Once the opening had appeared, its edges again glowing with white, red, orange and yellow, they took hold of each other’s hand tightly and walked back through together, not looking back. A moment later, the bubble closed again, and the area returned to darkness, Los Angeles hidden from and forgotten by the rest of the world.

© August 2004

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