Chapter 2: Girl Talk with Cordelia

Waking up found Dawn thoroughly disoriented. It took her several minutes to remember where she was, and why, and who might be moving about the sitting room.

"Cordelia?" she mumbled.

The Seer appeared at the bedroom door. "Hey, Dawn. Breakfast is on, if you’re hungry. Angel made pancakes."

Dawn blinked at her. "Angel cooks?"

"Yep. He’s pretty good at it, for a dead guy. Get some clothes on, and I’ll show you where the breakfast nook is in this mausoleum."

Cordelia went back to the sitting room, and Dawn dug into her bag for some blue jeans and a shirt. She didn’t really know why she was bothering; Angel had, after all, seen her in her pajamas last night for quite some time. Dawn blushed at the memory. It was always embarrassing to face someone you’d cried all over, but when that person was your big sister’s ex-boyfriend, and you were in your jammies at the time, a whole new level of humiliation could be attained.

When she got downstairs, however, Angel was nowhere to be found. She helped herself to some pancakes and milk and sat down with Cordelia. "Where’s Angel?"

"Napping, probably," said Cordelia with a shrug. "Even vampires need to sleep sometimes. Scream and he’ll come running."

Although Cordelia spoke casually enough of Angel, Dawn had a strange feeling that all was not quite right there. It occurred to her that she’d barely seen them interact at all, though Buffy had mentioned the two of them had grown close. She filed it away under "What’s with that?" in her brain and concentrated on breakfast. Cordelia was right; Angel could cook. He could cook very well, in fact.

"Like I said last night, you can have the first shower," Cordelia went on. "I need to touch up my highlights, anyway. Looks like I’ll have some time today."

Dawn noted Cordelia’s blond-streaked hair with some envy. She’d wanted to do something daring with her own hair for quite some time, but never quite had the nerve—or the money.

Cordelia made an off-hand gesture. "Heck, I could probably do yours, with the time we’ve got." She touched her fork to her lips as if considering. "Want me to? Just a bit around your face?"

***

". . . so Kirstie thinks she’s *so* hot just because her father owns Sunnydale First National now. I swear, she wears her labels out just so you can see all her clothes are designer. And she’s always talking like she knows everything. Like, if someone comes to school with a sprained ankle, she starts telling stories about how they got it in a gang fight, and it’s totally not true, but she’s not going to admit she doesn’t know everything."

Dawn talked from her perch on the bathroom counter as Cordelia separated out another lock of her hair and painted it with color. Both of them had foil-wrapped hair sticking out in all directions from their faces, which were covered in turquoise mud masks. Had they but known it, they looked remarkably like a pair of young Korvah demons.

"You know," opined Cordelia, "teen queens aren’t really that tough. Want the 411?" Dawn nodded eagerly. "This Kirstie of yours knows her position’s precarious. One slip, and the next-highest-ranking girl, who would be . . ?"

"Allison," supplied Dawn with a roll of her eyes.

"Allison will stage a royal coup, and Kirstie will suddenly be at the bottom of the social heap. Happened to me, you know, and all on account of Xander. So anyway, Kirstie knows that her friends? They aren’t real friends. They’re hanging around her because she’s the big fish in the pond, and they want to be popular. She runs the school, she makes them popular, and they make her popular. It’s not real. They’re about as interested in her as . . ." Cordelia thought about it a moment before coming up with her next analogy. "As vampires. They’re just using her."

"That doesn’t sound fun." Dawn wrinkled her nose, cracking her mud mask. "So why would she want them around?"

"Because it’s better than nothing." Cordelia’s voice was quiet. "Teen queens are very lonely people. Why else do you think she’s so mean?" She finished with Dawn’s hair. "It won’t last past high school, of course. For example, she could end up with no money, no boyfriend, and working with a souled vampire in Los Angeles."

Dawn laughed at that. "So what do I do when she’s being a total bee-otch?"

Cordelia thought it over. "You know, I went out of my way to be mean to a lot of people in high school. Some gave it back, some just curled up and took it, but there were a few who just didn’t take it. Never gave it back or anything, they just acted like whatever I thought of them didn’t matter. They were secure, I wasn’t, and they knew exactly what the score was. After awhile, I just avoided them."

Dawn nodded. "That makes sense. My friend Lisa’s kind of like that. Things don’t get to her like they do with me. I guess—I just want to be, you know, the girl people notice. Like you."

"Dawn, you’re beautiful," Cordelia told her very seriously. "You’ve got gorgeous skin and the kind of blue eyes I always wanted. We’re just going to bring out the hottie with a little makeover. You ready?"

"Oh, yeah!"

***

"I’m afraid I’m drawing a blank," sighed Wesley. He’d come over to the Hyperion to look through Angel’s books after his own came up dry.

Angel shook his head. "The Verana Codex is empty, too. There’s nothing about a Key anyplace I’ve looked."

Wesley shut the book he was perusing. "I’ve come across exactly two references. One is in a book about the Knights of Byzantium and involves talk of destroying the Key because ‘this is the will of God.’ Not exactly what we want to tell Dawn. The other was more obscure—a nun named Siobhan, a contemporary of Saint Patrick, mentioned a Key in her writings in connection to battles between spiritual forces, but the reference was so vague I can’t tell if she was speaking literally or figuratively. At least she was more positive than the Knights—but then, they always were a hot-headed bunch." He shook his head. "I suppose it was rather arrogant of me to believe I could come up with something the Watchers Council missed."

Things had gotten a little easier between Angel and Wesley. About the third time Wesley had demanded coffee service, Angel had put his foot down, saying that while he was ready to help out any way he could and willing to atone as long as he had to, he drew the line at being the office’s "man-bitch." The strange thing was, Wesley had actually seemed pleased at that. Still, his English reserve was a little hard to read, even for Angel. Only time would tell if healing had taken place.

"Wait, what’s this? This man." Angel indicated a passage in the Codex for Wesley, who looked it over. The ex-Watcher shook his head.

"No, that man was a Hook. We know what they are."

"A Hook?"

"A person who’s a magnet for spiritual forces. Hooks can become quite powerful, given time and experience."

Angel’s brow crinkled. "Sort of a human Hellmouth?"

"No, Hooks can be good. In fact, there’s speculation that some of the great Saints have been Hooks. There’s a story about . . ." Wesley was cut off as Angel sat bolt upright. "What is it?"

"I hear . . ."

A moment later, Wesley heard it, too. Screaming. They looked up, where the sound was coming from. Suddenly, Dawn’s small figure was running across the balcony, heading for the stairs.

"Angel Angel Angel ANGEL!!!!!"

Two leaps, and Angel met her on the stairs. The girl was babbling hysterically, throwing herself at him.

"Cordelia, there’s something wrong, she fell, she fell and grabbed her head, there’s something wrong with her, Angel, there’s something wrong, she screamed and fell . . ."

Wesley had joined them on the stairs. He traded a look with Angel. "Vision."

Angel had Dawn by the shoulders. "Dawn, listen, Dawn, there’s nothing wrong with her—breathe!"

That word cut through Dawn’s hysteria. She gasped in a breath. Angel could hear her heart racing, smell the panic pouring off her. He took her face in his hands again.

"I’d best check on Cordelia. Take care of Dawn," ordered Wesley, and he headed up the stairs.

Angel turned his attention firmly to Dawn. He helped her sit down on the stairs. "Dawn, nothing’s wrong with Cordelia. That’s the way she gets her visions. Are you hearing me?"

The girl gasped in another breath, her panic starting to ebb. "There isn’t anything wrong—in her brain?"

"No, no. Nothing wrong . . . oh, Dawn." Angel pulled her against his shoulder, realizing. "There’s nothing wrong in Cordelia’s brain. It’s just a vision. I know it looks scary, but she’s fine. I promise."

Dawn pulled away, flushing deeply as hysteria gave way to embarrassment. "I-I’m sorry."

"No need." The smell of fear was fading in favor of the smell of peroxide and shampoo, evidence of Cordelia’s ministrations. Angel brushed a blond-streaked lock of hair back from Dawn’s face. "Come on. Let’s see how she is."

He helped her up, and the two headed for the bathroom where Cordelia had been hit by the vision. The Seer’s hair was still wet, and she was sitting on the floor, taking a couple of pills Wesley had brought her. Dawn, shaking, went to her side and knelt down.

"Are you okay?" the teen asked, voice thick.

Cordelia blinked and shook her head to clear it. "Uh-huh. Just a few sparks left."

Wesley turned to Angel. "It sounds like a Razoth Beast is loose in the sewers."

"What’s that?"

"Something big and spiky with way too many teeth," answered Cordelia. "You’ll need backup for this one."

"Its spines are venomous, and the antidote is nearly as unpleasant as the poison," Wesley added. "Try not to get stabbed. I think I’ll stay here with Cordelia and Dawn—you should call Gunn."

Angel nodded. "Will do. Anyplace I should look for this thing?"

"It’s actually about where our old office was set up, but it’ll be headed toward us."

Pulling out his cell phone, Angel turned and made for the weapons. Cordelia took a deep breath. "Welcome to my world. You okay, Dawn? I’m sorry I scared you."

Dawn had gone into a mope. "Great. Angel’s gonna think I’m a total freak-out."

Wesley hunched down, gray eyes serious. "Dawn, I assure you Angel only thinks what we do: that you’re a young person dealing with things that would send most adults over the edge, and you’re doing a remarkable job of it."

"Do you really think so?" Dawn asked, looking at him pleadingly.

"Oh, totally," said Cordelia. "If it was me at your age, I’d have gone mental."

"Checked out, leaving no forwarding address," agreed Wesley.

That got a small grin out of Dawn, but it faded quickly. "I was just worried—when you fell down like that, that something had happened in your brain, just like . . ." She trailed off.

It took a moment for that to register with Cordelia. Her eyes grew wide with sympathy. "Oh, Dawn," she breathed, and drew the teen into a gentle embrace. "I promise you, there is nothing wrong with my brain."

Wesley couldn’t resist. "Now, that may be a slight exaggeration . . ."

"Oh! You!" Cordelia grabbed the first weapon at hand, which happened to be her half-full glass of water. Wesley got splashed. Dawn laughed. "Get out of here. Dawn’s makeover got interrupted by the Powers That Be."

"The male of the species, finding himself in hostile territory, withdrew," intoned Wesley, and he left, shutting the door behind him.

Dawn giggled as she perched back on the counter, then sobered. "Do you think Angel and Gunn will be all right?"

"Fighting some beast? That’s everyday stuff around here. Now, I’ve got some foundation that’s too light for me, even when I don’t have a tan, and I bet it’d be just about perfect for you . . ."