The Wheel
Book One: The Hanged One
by Cynamin

Cordelia was right. Though exhausted, she'd barely slept the last three nights. The mystery of Angel's condition consumed her thoughts every waking moment. She was spending more time in the office than she had in the last month. At least, so it seemed. When it wasn't her turn to keep an eye on Angel for any change she was doing her best to help on the research end of things. It was enough to make her wish that she'd been more studious back in high school.

When she arrived at the apartment that morning Wesley was sitting in a chair he'd dragged into Angel's bedroom. A book was open in his lap but his eyes were closed and he was snoring softly. Not that it mattered. He'd slept even less than she had, and Angel wasn't going anywhere.

The vampire in question was lying on his bed, of course. He laid on his back now, his eyes open and staring at the ceiling. The first time he had laid such Cordelia had thought he was actually coming out of whatever this was. Then she had seen that vacant look in his eyes. He was awake, but he saw nothing. For a man who'd been dead for over 200 years, he had never seemed so much like a corpse. Cordelia liked it much better when his eyes were closed.

She entered the room quietly and laid a gentle hand on Wesley's shoulder. He jumped as he was startled awake. Seeing who was there he calmed and smiled guiltily. "I'm sorry," he began to stammer.

Cordelia shrugged, too tired to do anything else. "No change?" she asked.

"No change," Wesley agreed. He glanced over at the bed and sighed. "If this is anything like a human coma," he began to explain softly, "I fear that the longer he's like this the less likely he is to wake up."

"In other words, you have no clue," Cordelia clarified.

Wesley hesitated, then nodded slightly. "No clue," he agreed.

Cordelia spun on her heel suddenly and began looking through Angel's shelves. She discarded the books and weapons and searched with almost an angry energy. Wesley followed her in confusion.

"What are you doing?" Wesley asked after a moment.

Cordelia's voice was harsh when she spoke. "I'm sick of this," she said, continuing to throw things around. "I'm sick of having no clue, of staring at Angel…." Her voice trailed off and she continued in a calmer tone. "I'm sick of feeling helpless." She reached onto a shelf then, and smiled slightly. She held up a bag of powder or something from the pile of ritual supplies with triumph shining in her eyes.

"I'm going to get answers."

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