Wesley stared down at the table
the gleaming pile of coins that lay there on the hotel counter, challenging him
to pick it up. He shifted and looked to his left, Angel had his hands firmly
tucked into the pockets of his coat as he leant again the counter. The Hyperion
was abandoned, except for the two of them Cordelia and Gunn still not arrived
for the day.
“Well?” Wesley gestured to the pile. “Aren’t you going to pick it up?”
“What? Me? That would be a big no way.” Angel stepped back from the table.
“Oh for goodness stake it’s only some coins.” Wesley pushed his glasses up
his nose and tried to refrain from childishly rolling his eyes at his former
employer. Their roles had shifted in the last week, ever since Angel had
returned to them after his meltdown over Darla and allowing the two female
members of the Scourge of Europe to run riot over Los Angeles, culminating in a
wine tasting of a very different nature. Wesley shivered at the thought of the
damned souls being locked into Holland Manners wine cellar, by a so-called
Champion, left to their fate on the edge of two pairs of fangs.
“Seriously the guy who left them said they was cursed, don’t you think I
have enough already with cursing and souls?”
Wesley frowned slightly at Angel’s odd comment; there was an ambiguity to it
that made him pause for a moment.
Did Angel regret the curse that returned his soul to him? Did he want to be
free? Recent events could lead to an interpretation of this being fact. A cold
chill ran through the Ex-Watcher, he felt his newly healed bullet wound twinge
painfully, as his stomach roiled in worry. “Actually he said enchanted, not
cursed. Look we need to ascertain whether or not touch leads to anything
manifesting – pick one up!”
“Enchanted enshamanted! Wes, no way! There something about them that is making
my fangs itch.” Angel turned and stalked out of the foyer without a backward
glance. Leaving the tired Englishman standing there staring at the coins that
had been left as a gift, payment for retrieving his sister from a demonic
slaver. Why would the man give them something tainted in payment after they had
rescued his only sibling? Surely something good could come from it. He glanced
down at the book he had been researching, to find anything on mystical coins.
The best references he had been able to find had been in the Tarot book he was
flicking through. “Pentacles,” he muttered under his breath as he ran his
finger down the page skimming the descriptions, material and financial gain –
business development, the suit also signified deep sensitivity and involvement.
Not a great help in ascertaining if the gold coins would be the end of them all.
“Wesley sighed and closed the book, “there’s nothing for it. I’ll have
to do a casting to check for malevolence and danger.” With that he gather up
some spell components and began to arrange them around the glittering pile of
coins. The intent Englishman lit the four candles he’d dug out of Cordelia’s
desk and placed them at the four points of the compass and then scattered the
herbs and runes he needed for the casting.
As Wesley began to chant quietly under his breath, waving a bundle of
smouldering sage over the coins to purify the air, they shifted and slithered,
falling into a loose pile but remaining within the containment of the spell,
gradually they began to glow.
‘Right this is it; if it’s a pure white then they’re safe.’
Gradually a shimmering light began to emanate from the coins, but before the
colour could solidify into on coherent hue a tanned feminine hand reached over
and snatched one up with a squeal, breaking the spell.
“Ohhh, shiny coinage!” Cordelia flipped it in the air with a triumphant
shout. “We’ll be able to pay the aircon bills, no more sweaty Betty for
me!”
Wesley’s shoulders slumped,
he
looked over at the greedy gleam in the tall brunette's eyes. ‘Oh well, too
late now, if we’re all doomed then.
It’s a done deal thanks to Cordelia.
