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Part 2

"And that's all well and good, but..." Wesley said intently into the phone of the room next to Angel's. Cordelia had chased him, Gunn, and the souled-one out when she'd realized that not only was the redhead naked, but that she would have to remain that way until they figured out whether it was safe to move her from her circle. She'd basically *ordered* them to leave, unwilling to let her friend be gawked at. Not that they *would* have, he told himself, but... A pretty girl like that, laying naked on the floorboards...? Maybe, he admitted, Cordelia had a point. "Yes, I *know* that, Mister Giles," he said impatiently, pulling his mind back to the matter at hand, "But the fact is that she *did* do it, and casting aspersions on her good sense won't do *any* of us any good at this point-- *especially* not Miss Rosenberg. Now, I need to know what kind of spell she was doing." He listened to his former mentor, nodding emphatically from time to time. He completely ignored the increasingly demanding gestures Angel was making, turning his back on the vampire. "Fine," he finally said, interrupting the voice on the other end of the line, "Then what was the book you sent... Yes, I *do* think she used it! Why else would she have wanted it so badly?" His eyes widened when the other Watcher told him the tome in question, but he restricted his reaction to a muttered "Oh, good *Lord*..." He listened to the other man for a few minutes longer, rolling his eyes when Giles began to repeat himself. "Yes, well," he interrupted again, "We'll keep you apprised of the situation, but... No, Mister Giles, I think... Damn it! The longer we wait, the worse things could be getting! I don't have time for this nonsense. We'll let you know what we find out." He hung up the phone, inwardly agreeing with whoever it was who'd said that Watchers tended towards being incredibly long-winded.

"Well?" Angel demanded, his whole body tense, "What's the story?"

Wesley sighed, closing his eyes for a moment as he turned back towards the souled vampire. "Apparently she was worried about you. About the way you reacted to the news of Buffy's death. She did a spell of some kind, which apparently worked, but... we don't know which one."

"So how do we find out, English?" Gunn said, stepping forward. "You said something about a *book*," he reminded his friend, "*What* book, and where do we find it?" Spells, Angel's descent into apathy... those were things he hadn't been able to do anything about, but *this*? This he could *do*. And he'd do whatever he could for the redhead who'd somehow managed to pull his vampire friend back from whichever pit he'd been wallowing in. "Give me a name, and let me loose," he said seriously, "I'll find your book for you!"

Had the situation been any less serious, Wesley might have smiled at the tall black man. He completely understood how much Gunn hated feeling helpless; mostly because he hated that same feeling, himself. But now wasn't the time for smiles or high spirits, he told himself. There'd be time for that later, after Willow was awake. "There's no title," he told both his friends, "But it's unmistakable. It's about yay big," he continued, outlining an area of approximately nine inches by six, and three inches thick, "Its cover is black leather, with silver ornamentation, and in the center is an icon of an open eye. The iris of the eye is a very thin layer of garnets, cut and faceted." He closed his eyes for a moment. "It's probably in whichever room she took as her own, or it might be in Angel's, seeing as that's where she performed the spell."

"Right." the vampire said, itching to get started, "You guys check all the rooms on this floor. I'll look around in my room." He sighed then, still worried, even though he was relieved to have something to do. He'd hated just sitting around. "I don't know why she did this, you know. I mean..."

Gunn rolled his eyes, annoyed. "Angel, man, you were out of it for six days! She probably wanted to see if you were still *in* there!" He emphasized the comment by tapping one finger hard against the vampire's forehead.

"*Six* *days*?" Angel echoed, eyes wide, "I mean, I knew it was a little while, but... *six* *days*?" He glanced again at his now-normal-- for him-- looking hand, suddenly grasping why his friends had been so glad to see him mobile. Finding out that Buffy was dead had been a shock to his system; there was no denying *that*, but... "Six days..." he said again, mostly to himself. He owed the redhead more than he'd thought. If she hadn't done whatever it was she'd done, odds were he'd *never* have come out of it. "Okay," he finally said, determined to do whatever he could to help *her*, now that she needed it. "Find her room. Find that book. We'll meet back here." He stood still as a statue while they walked away, his mind racing. They'd find that damned book, and figure out what spell she'd been doing, and... They'd worry about the demon's blood once she was awake.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Cordelia groaned and wiped the sweat from her brow again. It had to be at *least* eighty-five degrees in Angel's room now. Of course, she reminded herself, glancing at the motionless redhead on the floor, it had been *necessary* to turn on the heat, even in the midst of an LA summer. Willow was *naked*, after all, and she hadn't been willing to take the chance that covering the girl wouldn't make things worse. Hell, for all *she* knew, that circle thing was the only thing keeping her alive! She groaned again and stood, pulling her top over her head. "Sorry, Fred," she said unrepentantly, "But it's like a thousand degrees in here." She pushed her skirt down her legs, and resumed her seat in the chair near the unconscious witch. Her bra and panties covered plenty, anyway, she told herself; even more than that shell-covered bikini she'd had to wear for that oh-so-humiliating commercial.

Fred's brows drew together for a moment, then she shrugged, following suit. She remembered sitting around in her underwear with her friends when she was younger, although usually they were talking about boys, not watching over witches. Her eyes moved to the door, and she smiled when she heard the soft knock.

Cordelia frowned. "What?" she said, standing and crossing the room. She rolled her eyes when Angel asked to be let in. "Oh, *no*, Mister. You are *not* getting into this room! Willow's still naked, in case you forgot!"

Angel sighed and leaned his head against the door. "Oh, come on, Cordelia!" he said, "It's not like I want to look at her! I just want to see if the book she used is in there!"

The Seer snorted. "Hah! So you *say*, but I'll just bet the minute I let you in, you'd find yourself looking for this 'book' of yours right in the middle of the floor-- you know, in the spot where there happens to be a very naked girl...? No way, Angel. Uh-uh. Forget it."

"Cordelia!" he exclaimed, not sure of whether to be amused or scandalized, "It's *Willow*! You know... gay, has a girlfriend...?"

She rolled her eyes again. "Like that has anything to do with the fact that she's pretty, and naked, and you're a man. Well, vampire. But still *male*, when all's said and done. Nope. You're not getting in. Forget it." She grinned slightly when she heard the soft banging on the wood, at just about the height of his head. "Look, just tell us what this book looks like, and *we'll* look for it."

He sighed again, realizing she meant it. "Okay," he said, and began to repeat the description Wesley had given him. "You, ah... you don't know which room she was staying in... do you?" he asked hopefully, once he was finished.

"I think she was on the fourth floor somewhere," she said, eyes already darting about the room. "Why don't you go check?" She smiled slightly when he grumbled and started moving away. She didn't really think he'd have acted like the typical guy if she'd let him in, but it was *way* to hot to put her blouse and skirt back on, and regardless of the fact that he'd seen her in that shell bikini, and her Princess outfit from Pylea, she wouldn't want to give him the wrong idea... especially after he'd brought up the fact of Willow's sexuality. "Okay," she said, turning her attention to Fred, "We have a *book* to look for. Let's get cracking!"

Fred nodded swiftly, completely at ease in her semi-clothed state. The redhead had helped the vampire, so *she* would help the redhead. Angel was, after all, a good man... even with a demon inside him, he was better than most.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It had taken only a matter of minutes for him to climb the stairs to four, and mere moments longer before he realized he could smell her. Not that he'd ever bothered to commit her scent to memory, but he knew the scents of his friends and co-workers, so it wasn't difficult to single out the *un*-familiar smell and trace it to the room Willow'd been using.

Somehow it didn't surprise him that she'd taken the smallest of the rooms on the floor, what with how unassuming he remembered her as being. What *did* surprise him, however, was the obvious care she'd taken in cleaning and straightening up the place. Of course, he reminded himself, she'd had six days to do it in. The amount of time still shocked him. It hadn't felt like that long... but it had also felt like much longer. He shook his head, banishing the thought for the moment as he began his search.

Still, he couldn't help but dwell on the fact that Willow-- who had no *reason* to care so much about him-- had gone out of her way to help him. And she *had* helped, probably more than she knew. Somehow, whatever she'd done had... distanced him, he supposed... from the earth-shattering grief he'd known when he'd heard the news. Oh, he still *felt* it, but it was much less immediate... almost as though it hadn't happened six *years* ago, instead of six days. She'd made him able to function, and he owed her for that-- almost as much as he owed her for restoring his soul back in Sunnydale. She'd done that because she thought of him as a friend, he knew, and he frowned. He hadn't *acted* like much of a friend, though... not even before he'd left for LA.

His frown grew deeper, and he vowed to himself that once they found a way to wake her, he'd remedy that little error on his part. He'd cast aside his guilt at the way she'd been hurt-- twice now-- by helping him, and he'd be the best friend he could to her. He glanced around the small room again, eyes finally lighting on the almost invisible edge of something black poking from beneath her pillow, and his eyes lit up when he pulled it into full view and discovered the book he'd been looking for. "Finally," he said out loud. Now they just had to figure out which spell she'd used.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Look," Wesley said firmly, interrupting the vampire's angry tirade, "I *know* you want to get this taken care of, Angel, but we can't go off half-cocked, as it were! We need to know *exactly* which spell she used, *and* what type of demon that was! If we rush ahead without the correct information, it could have *very* serious repercussions, and not just for Miss Rosenberg!" He glared at Angel, daring him to disagree. "I suggest you go back to searching the demon data base with Cordelia. That's got to be our best hope for identifying that... creature... *and* the effects of its blood on the girl."

Angel sighed, well aware of the fact that that was becoming a habit for him. Hell, it had *been* a habit for more years than he cared to remember; it was just becoming more prevalent the longer this... situation... went on. "Sorry, Wes," he said, after a moment, "It's just I feel so..." he shrugged, "Responsible, I guess..."

The former watcher nodded slightly. "I quite understand, but putting her in more danger isn't likely to alleviate that feeling. Now go help Cordelia." He watched the dejected looking vampire leave the room, silently wishing him luck before turning his attention back to the book on his desk. "Oh, good Lord," he muttered, turning the page. The diagrams looked like... He reached out, quickly flipping through the polaroids Cordy and Fred had taken of the circle, with Willow's form carefully blacked out with magic marker. "Dear God," he whispered, comparing the photographs with the drawings in the book, "What was that girl *thinking*?" He'd have to tell the others, of course, but first... He glanced at his desk calendar, just to be sure, and groaned when his certainty was borne out. "This is only to be performed during the *waxing* moon! Oh, Willow... what have you *done*...!?" His eyes closed in sorrow as he realized... there might not be any way to save the girl, but that didn't mean they couldn't *try*.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"This is it, Wes; I'm *sure*," Angel insisted, gesturing again at the monitor screen. "That's the thing that attacked me upstairs."

Wesley read quickly through the available documentation on the demon in question and shuddered. "That's not good," he said quietly, wishing there was more information. "We need to know more. For instance," he continued, not missing the vampire's impatience, "This says nothing about any effect its blood might have on humans, so..."

Angel groaned, knowing where the Englishman was headed. "Research...?" he said, hoping he was wrong.

"Research," the former watcher confirmed. "Fortunately, now that we know what it *was*, I know just where to look." He stood, moving quickly into 'his' office, and made a bee-line for the bookcase on its back wall. "Here we are," he declared triumphantly, pulling the appropriate volume from its shelf. He ignored the vampire peering over his shoulder as he sat and leafed through the pages. "Yes," he said, after a moment, "Demonicum Traforitis, also known as Traffies..." he fell silent as he read, only to sit back, stunned after he'd finished the passage.

The vampire's eyes were glued to the page as he read and re-read the last paragraph. "Tell me that doesn't mean what I *think* it means," he almost begged, "Tell me it doesn't mean..."

"I'm afraid it does, Angel," he replied when the vampire's voice trailed off, "Because she's a witch, and was involved in casting a spell when its blood touched her..."

"She's locked in a world of her own nightmares..." Angel finished, "And there's no way to get her out." He straightened up, eyes hardening with anger. "I don't accept that." he stated harshly. "I don't accept that, and I *won't* accept it."

"The book makes it perfectly clear," Wesley tried, only to find himself cut off immediately.

"*Damn* the *book*," Angel growled, glaring at the man, "Just because it hasn't been done *before* doesn't mean it can't be done *now*! I don't care if it takes all day and all night, we're gonna find a way to *help* her!" His eyes flashed yellow, and he growled again. "I *owe* her, Wesley," he said, forcing himself to sound more reasonable when all he *really* wanted to do was howl, "I owe her more than I could possibly explain. So we're gonna find a way to get Willow *back*. Anything else isn't even an option." He waited until the former watcher nodded his stunned agreement. "Can we move her?" he demanded, starting towards the door, "Or will that do more damage?"

He knew his eyes were wide, but he honestly couldn't help it. Still, "No... moving her shouldn't matter at all now, and... she might be more comfortable if we put her in bed..."

The vampire nodded emphatically. "Right. I'll tell the girls. *You* get started on looking for something that'll work."

He watched his friend leave the room, afraid that there was nothing *to* find. Still, he had to try, didn't he. He sighed softly, and turned his attention back to the book before him, reading the passages on the Traffies over and over again, hoping for a sudden bolt of inspiration that he feared would be a long time in coming, if at all.
 

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