MERRY WARS AND SAD SONGS 
AUTHOR: Katta - full name Katarina Maria Hjärpe 
E-MAIL: head_overheels@hotmail.com 
SUMMARY: A powermad demon makes an army of slain 
warriors. He must be stopped, even though he’s actually 
doing Angel Investigations a favour. 
DESCRIPTION: From lightweight drama to dark action and 
vice versa. 
NOTE: I dedicate this story to GK Chesterton, because 
before he graced the scene, all I had for a title was a 
few half-bad options and a Shakespeare quote. 
SPOILER: Considering that ”Angel” hasn’t aired in Sweden 
yet and that most of my knowledge of the series is web-based 
- none. 
DISTRIBUTION: Ask first. 
FEEDBACK: As long as you’re civil, I love it. 
RATING: If you’re old enough to watch ”Angel” you’re old 
enough to read this. 
DISCLAIMER: The ones from the TV series ”Buffy…” and 
”Angel” belong to the people who made those TV series. 
Everyone else belongs to me. 




Doyle hesitated when he stood by the door, but after Angel's slight push in 
his back he knocked. Angel had said that the woman who lived here could help 
him, and he wanted that more than anything, but he was still a little 
afraid. Spells were like surgery - even a routine one will make you a bit 
nervous. And there was nothing routine about this. 

Wilma opened almost immediately. 

"Welcome!" she said with a friendly smile. "You are, of course, Angel's 
friend. I'm Wilma Romanoff." 

"Hi. Doyle." Doyle shook the woman's hand, and they visually examined each 
other. He knew what she saw and was slightly surprised at her utter calm. 
What he saw was a tall woman in her seventies, with blue eyes and almost 
white hair. She wasn't big enough to be called stout, but healthy-looking 
and bosomy. She could have been his grandmother, only his grandmother would 
never have kept stakes by the door. 

"Nice to meet you. Hello Angel, won't you come in?" 

"That's alright," Angel said, "I'll leave you two alone. I have some work to 
do." 

Doyle gave Angel a startled look, but Wilma seemed pleased with the answer. 

"Very well then. You know you're welcome to come over and visit me any 
time." 

Angel thanked her and prepared to leave when she called him back. She 
casually touched his head, his chest and his shoulders. 

"There," she said. "Didn't kill you, did it. Remember that." 

Angel looked down at his own body, then at her. There was nothing really to 
be said. He smiled at the two of them and left. The door closed behind him 
and Doyle was alone with the old woman. If this was his "surgeon," it could 
have been worse. 

"Don't just stand there!" the woman said, and he followed her inside. "This 
is the kitchen and a perfect starting point if we want to get to know each 
other. Do you want something to drink? A cup of coffee?" 

"No thank you," he said. 

What he really wanted must have been evident in his face, because she said: 
"How about a Yellow Submarine? Russian style, beer and vodka." 

He accepted the suggestion and watched as she filled a large glass with beer 
and a small one with vodka, before putting the small glass into the big one. 
She then poured some beer for herself, without the vodka, and sat down at 
the table. 

"Now, dear, tell me a little about yourself," she asked him. 


********** 


When he had told her everything he figured she needed to know and answered 
all her questions she seemed so cheery that it got him into a much better 
mood. 

"Your conditions are excellent, so I really don't think this will be very 
difficult," she explained to him. 

"Really?" He was incredibly relieved, and she nodded in an encouraging way. 

"Yes. Even considering possible obstacles, like if you're a slow learner, 
there's no way this would take more than a month." 

His spirits immediately sunk. "A *month*!? What kind of spell is this?" 

"Spell?" She stared at him. "Didn't Angel tell you how I work?" 

He shook his head, still shaken by her news. Another month of his life. 

"I'm not a wicca. I am a shape shifter. I can change my own shape into 
something different. That's what I will teach you to do. I don't use spells, 
I use faith." 

"Oh, so I just have to think that I'm human and I'll be human again?" He 
couldn't help being bitter. She viewed him with much compassion, but he had 
a feeling that none of this was new to her. Actually, since he had arrived, 
he hadn't felt that anything was new to her. 

"That's not what I said," she explained patiently. "If that was true, all 
lunatics who think they are Napoleon would actually *be* Napoleon, and how 
would that look? No. But the world is to a high degree what we assume it to 
be. If we believe we can change it, we can. What you have to do is 
acknowledge the shape you're already in, then get to know the shape you want 
to assume - that shouldn't be a problem in your case - and have faith that 
you can change one into the other." 

"Faith in God?" 

"If you want, but not necessarily. Have you heard of the placebo effect?" 
He nodded. 

"Well, that's an example. People get well because they believe that they 
will get well. And they're just the amateurs." She smiled at him, and he 
smiled back. Being human after a month was better than never. 

"If you have finished your drink, we can proceed into the living room," she 
said. "Oh, and by the way, drinking will not exactly help you get human 
faster." 

"I won't drink," he said quickly, so quickly that it made her smile. 

They sat down in her sofa. 

"So, I've told you about me," Doyle said. "What about you?" 

"What about me?" 

"Well, what about your name? Are you Russian?" 

She shook her head. "Dutch. My husbands family were exiled Russians living 
in America. And before you ask, my husband died in 1942. I have a daughter 
called Tineke, she was born after his death. I never remarried. Happy?" 

He was, but still curious. "You must have loved him a lot then?" When he saw 
her empty look he continued: "Since you never married again." 

"Oh. Well, there have been other men, I just never married them. I always 
liked being a widow, you can control your own life and at the same time be 
much more respected than an old maid. Of course, all that is very different 
nowadays. As for my husband… I don't know if I very much loved him at all. 
Is that a terrible thing to say?" she asked curiously. 

He shrugged. "No. But if you didn't love him, why did you marry him?" 

"Well that's a question…" She sighed. "When he proposed I wasn't sure. I 
mean, I liked him and all. He was an American soldier - my family had fled 
to England since the Netherlands were occupied - and a sweet, fairly 
intelligent, good-looking young man from a nice, wealthy family. I just 
didn't love him. I would tell people that, and they would say 'why not?'. 
There's no way of answering that, not for a girl of nineteen. He was dull, 
that is the sad truth. No imagination, no sense of humor, his mind as dry as 
chalk. God bless his soul." 

"Was he killed in the war?" 

She looked absent-minded. "No, vampires." 

"Really?" That didn't make much sense to Doyle. "But you're okay with Angel? 
I mean, I know since he's got a soul he's different from the other vampires, 
but still…" 

"You don't understand why I respect Angel?" 

"I do! I mean, he's my friend, of course I understand! Just… not… 
completely." 

She seemed very amused. "I'll let you in on a secret. He's not the only 
vampire I let into my house. I've spent quite a lot of time with my 
husband's killers." She laughed at his shocked expression. "It's a long 
story. Do you want to hear some?" 

"Absolutely." 


********** 


[FLASHBACK] 


Their dull little house in the outskirts of London had once belonged to some 
friends of Ivan, or so he said. Wilma didn't find it surprising that they 
had abandoned it. She would have wanted to abandon it even without the war. 
Ivan being home on leave ought to have made it brighter, but she was more 
bored than ever. 

This was only their second night together this time around. Wilma sat in an 
armchair pretending to read a book, but she couldn't concentrate, her eyes 
kept moving in Ivan's direction. She knew that he would want her this night 
as well, and God help her, but she wasn't in the mood at all. She hadn't 
even been yesterday, but she was too young and inexperienced to claim she 
had a headache. As far as she knew, there was no away around it. All she 
could do was stall it a bit. 

This was awful of her. The little time spent together, and all she could 
think of was how much she missed her privacy. If she didn't get out this 
instant she would go mad, she knew it. 

She slammed the book shut. "I think I'll go for a walk." 

He looked at her, surprised, with raised eyebrows. 

"It's past curfew." 

"Oh." She sank back into her chair, defeated. His face softened as he looked 
at her. 

"Tell you what, why don't we break curfew for once? We'll take a romantic 
walk together?" 

"We can't do that." 

"Well, we oughtn't, but what the heck. You're the one who always tells me to 
lighten up." 

It was tempting. She still wouldn't get any privacy, but at least she would 
get some fresh air, and a walk with Ivan was better than none at all. But 
the curfew was there for a reason. She was frightened to death of the bombs, 
and even though she knew they were far from safe in the house, it was much 
better than the outside. She stood up, slowly. 

"Alright, Vanja," she said. "I'd love that." 

It was raining outside, not much, but enough for Wilma to take her umbrella. 
She would have preferred for Ivan to take his as well, instead of both of 
them using hers, but that would have forced them further apart than a newly 
wed couple were supposed to be. They walked a few blocks, and after a few 
attempts to start a conversation, Ivan was as silent as she was. 

A woman's voice, rather childish, disturbed the silence. 

"What a pretty couple! Aren't they pretty?" 

The young woman who had spoken turned to the blonde young man who was with 
her. 

"Very, love," he assured her. The couple came closer to Ivan and Wilma, a 
little too close. Wilma, who was used to the English offishness, became 
uncomfortable, while Ivan was more confused. 

"Thank you," he said. "Now if you excuse us, we were on our way…" 

"You are such a pretty little thing," the woman said, standing in Ivan's 
way. "I think I would like to kiss you." He started to feel threatened and 
tried to move, but she grabbed him hard, with more strength than he had 
expected. "Don't you worry," she cooed. Then her face changed. 

Wilma was startled. In a second, the scary stories she had heard as a child 
entered her mind, and before the woman's fangs were fully buried into Ivan's 
neck, she had broken her umbrella. The blonde man had been coming at her, 
but had to take a step back. His face had changed, too, and she panicked at 
the thought of trying to keep this monster away with a stake made from a 
broken umbrella. She met his eyes, trying not to look at Ivan, who had 
stopped struggling the woman. 

"Aren't you a feisty little thing?" the man said. He gave her an utterly 
amused grin. 

She could have tried to stake him, or run away, or scream her lungs out. 
Those were the logical options, and had she tried any of them she would most 
likely have been dead in a second. Instead, she found herself grinning back. 

That caught him off-guard. Before he had time to get over his surprise and 
attack her, a voice was heard: "Hey! What are you up to?" 

It was a police officer. Poor man, Wilma thought as she sneaked into the 
nearest unlocked gateway. He didn't stand a chance. 


********** 


Spike had barely finished the policeman before he realized that the girl had 
gotten away. That put him in a bad mood that lasted all the way home. 
Drusilla, on the other hand, was perfectly happy. 

"That young man was an American," she said. 

"Yes." 

"I like Americans," she declared. "They aren't as dry as some people over 
here. Then again, I liked the policeman too. I thought he was very sweet." 

"I'm glad you enjoyed the meal, love." 

She looked up at him. 

"Are you still mad about the girl? It was a pity she escaped, but I did let 
you have half of the policeman." 

"Yes you did. That was very kind of you." He kissed her and sat silent for a 
while before he suddenly said: "I want to give it another try. It bothers me 
that she got away. That lousy little stake she had wasn't mush of a 
defense." 

Drusilla realized that Spike's pride was hurt, and she agreed. "Alright, I 
think you should. Do you think you can find her?" 

"There aren't all that many places she could have gone." He thought for a 
while. "You know, she did have a lot of spunk for such a little one. Maybe I 
should make her my childe instead." 

"Don't you dare!" Drusilla sat straight up, jealous. 

"It's been kind of empty around here since Angelus left. Don't you think you 
would enjoy some more company?" 

"No!" Drusilla sulked. She didn't want another woman that would take Spike's 
mind off her. Angelus had been one thing, a new vamp was entirely different. 

"Alright," Spike said and shrugged. "I'll just kill her, then. As long as I 
get her one way or the other." 


********** 


Wilma had knocked on the door to an apartment, and heard footsteps from 
inside. 

"Who is it?" a suspicious female voice asked. 

"Please, you have to let me in," she begged. "My husband and I were attacked 
by…," she couldn't say vampires, "…criminals. I ran away. Please let me in." 

The woman opened the door just a little. 

"Are you German?" 

"No!" Oh God, if the woman thought she was German she would send her right 
out to the vampires again. "I'm Dutch. My husband is an American soldier. 
Was. I think they killed him." Her eyes filled with tears. She hadn't been 
very fond of Ivan, but he was her husband. 

The woman hesitated for a moment, then opened the door fully. 
"Come on in then. You shouldn't be out at all, it's past curfew." 

"I know. We were taking a walk." This was all her fault! At this thought, 
the tears flowed vividly. 

"There, there," the woman said. "You don't look harmful, girl. Now you come 
on in, and have a cup of tea, and then I'll let you use the spare bed for 
tonight. We don't want you outside any more." She pushed Wilma inside with 
mild force. "What's your name?" 

"Wilma - Wilhelmina Romanoff." 

"Romanoff?" The woman looked uncertain. "But that's a Russian name, isn't 
it?" 

"Yes. My husband's family emigrated from Russia." 

"I see. Well, I'm Mabel Patton. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Romanoff." 

She had gratefully accepted the cup of tea, but before she had the chance to 
try the spare bed, there was an air-raid warning, and the following hour she 
spent in a crowded shelter. This caused her to fall asleep instantly when 
she finally got the chance. 

When she woke up, she found Mrs. Patton standing by her bed with a concerned 
expression on her face. 

"I've been talking to the police, dear," she said. "They think they have 
found your husband's body." She hesitated to tell the rest. "A bomb ruined 
half the block, so the body… might be hard to identify. They want you to 
give it a try, though." 

Wilma nodded and sat up. Fear suddenly struck her with full impact, and she 
turned to her new-found friend. 

"Mrs. Patton?" 

"Yes, dear?" 

"You have been so very kind to me, I'm ashamed to even ask, but there's 
something I'd like to borrow from you. If you have one." 

Mrs Patton did have one, and even though she didn't understand the first 
thing, she let the girl borrow it. 


********** 


Wilma walked down the street in a hasty pace. The identification process had 
been hard on her nerves, but it had an advantage: Ivan's body had been 
partly destroyed by the explosion, so there was no way of saying how he 
originally died. Officially he had died from the explosion, and she knew 
better than to bring up the vampires. 

She was so deep into her own thoughts that she didn't quite see the man 
standing in the shadowy street until he grabbed her and pulled her close to 
him. She looked up with a gasp into the face of the vampire of last night. 
This time he was going to kill her for sure. Knowing that she would die, she 
felt a strange calm, and before she knew what she was saying, she blurted 
out: "I thought your kind was only out at night." 

He raised an eyebrow at her remark. "Not at all. We just have to stay away 
from direct sunlight. A common mistake - but very fatal." 

He grinned and bent down his face over her neck, but quickly backed away 
again with a curse. Thank God, at least Mrs. Patton's silver cross had 
worked on him. She took the few steps back into the sun. This was the 
perfect time to run away, but she didn't. Instead, she stared at him 
thoroughly. When the pain from the burn had gone away, his eyes met hers for 
a moment. None of them knew exactly what to do. After a second, the vampire 
moved to sneak away. Her voice stopped him. 

"I have a bomb shelter in the garden." 

He turned and looked at her. It was clear that he had no idea why she said 
this. She had no idea herself, and much less why she continued: 

"In case you want to stay away from the sun." 

His astonishment didn't stop him from accepting the offer once he had 
decided she was honest. She had planned to go back to Mrs. Patton, but 
instead, she turned her steps to the place she for the moment called home, 
and he followed her. Him in the shadows, her in the sun. As they proceeded, 
she felt a strange sensation of ecstacy. To her, this was Death she was 
walking next to. She could do nothing about the war and the bombings, 
nothing about the evil made by men, but this soulless death that had killed 
her husband she could make a pact with. For the first time since she left 
Amsterdam, she felt she could control her own destiny. 

"Here we are," she said, entering the dull little garden. "This is the 
shelter." 

He had stayed on the outside, in the shadows. Obviously. 

"You can come at night or whenever you need it," she said. "I will be armed, 
and there is no one else around, now that you killed my husband, so shelter 
is all you will get." 

He spoke for the first time since they had started the walk. "You will have 
to get in there and invite me in before I can enter." 

"Oh." She thought for a while. "Alright, call on me when you need it and I 
will invite you in." 

"Can I bring someone else?" 

This startled her. "The woman? The one who…" 

"Yes." He looked at her to esteem her reaction. Finally, she nodded. 

"The woman then. But only her." 

As she went inside the house, into safety, she knew her life would never be 
the same. She had made a deal with Death - with the Devil, people would tell 
her later in her life. By then she didn't care. She never took any part of 
the hunt, but she would hide Spike, and with him Drusilla, from any Slayer 
or demon hunter around. There was no logic in her actions, and morally they 
were wrong, but she couldn't turn back on them, and wouldn't if she could 
have. 



[END FLASHBACK] 


********** 



"Quite a story," Doyle said. 

"It is, isn't it?" She giggled softly. "That's how I became interested in 
the otherworld. Finding out that old wives' tales are actually true will do 
that to you." 

"Hm." That wasn't what it had done to him, but then his story was different 
from hers. "And they have never tried to kill you?" 

"Actually… no. Occasionally I have had to protect my friends and family, but 
I was always safe myself. It really came down to two things. First of all, 
Spike for some reason finds me entertaining, not to mention useful. Second 
is that I have always stayed armed, in case his sense of humor would fail 
him." 

"What about Drusilla?" 

"Drusilla," she said distinctly, "and Spike's other friends who know what is 
best for them, leave me alone. I am Spike's plaything, and if anyone is to 
kill me it's him. That's the way he sees it." 

"Interesting form of protection." 

"You could say that again." She sat silent for a while. "And in spite of 
what you might think, it never had anything to do with sexual attraction. 
Even though I was… what is the term nowadays… a babe?" 

He laughed at her self-certainty. "You where?" 

"Oh yeah, most definitely. You want to see?" 

"Sure." 

He expected her to get an album or something. Instead, she took a deep 
breath, seemed to concentrate for a few seconds, and her face began to 
change. It didn't take much longer than one of his old human-to-demon 
changes for her to become a slim, blonde teenage girl once again. 

Doyle's jaw dropped, and Wilma grinned. 

"So you had to see it to believe it. Yes, sir, this is what faith can do." 

"Amazing." His eyes wandered over her body. Well, she was no Cordelia, but 
not half bad either. "You're right, you are a babe." 

"Thank you." She immediately turned back, and he frowned. 

"Can't you keep it on longer than that?" he asked. It wasn't so much that he 
liked her young body better, but if she couldn't stick to it, how could he 
possibly stick to his? 

"I can keep it on for as long as I want," she said. "But I don't. What's the 
point in looking like one of my own granddaughters? I actually find that 
shape a bit creepy." 

She didn't seem to be able to explain further, and as Doyle's mind wandered, 
he said: "Can I ask something? When I'm human again, will it be through and 
through, or just looking like it?" 

"Ah. Now we're entering philosophy. It's not an illusion, if that's what you 
mean. I usually shape shift into a horse or a turtle, and I assure you that 
if anyone was to kill and dissect me while I'm in that form, they would find 
nothing strange about those animals, nothing that showed that there had been 
a human mind in them. My own young self, however… I'm not in the habit of 
self-healing, even though it's entirely possible to do so. So what I just 
showed you was a young girl with heart and joints like an old woman. If you 
want to keep your demon powers when you shape shift, you can do that, but it 
will take some work. Normally, when you start shifting some parts, the rest 
just comes along." She smiled when she added: "Which is usually a good 
thing, since it means you don't have to believe in your own pancreas." 

"I see." He melted the information. "So - when are we going to get started?" 

"If you want to, we can start right now." 


********** 


"Found something," Buffy said and placed a finger in the book she was 
reading. 

The rest of the bunch looked up. "Anything on the altar thing?" Xander asked 
hopefully. 

"Uhm… no," Buffy had to admit. "Just a description of some spell that keeps 
these guys loyal. Apparently, they're not above ordinary methods like 
drilling, propaganda and brainwashing, but this spell makes sure the troops 
stay united. So it's not unless that stuff fails that they try the extreme 
methods, and even then they prefer torture to branding." 

She didn't realize at first why Cordelia stared at her, and when she did, 
she wished she had kept shut. 

"Doyle didn't say anything about being tortured," Cordelia said, wishing the 
reason he hadn't was because it hadn't happened. 

"You don't talk about things like that," Angel said silently. To keep 
himself from thinking any further down these lines he continued: "So, Buffy, 
do you think this information will be helpful?" 

"Well, by the look of it, it's not a very complicated spell. I'm sure we can 
counter it by a stronger spell to cause discord among them. On the other 
hand, in the long run it might only tick them off completely." 

"Worth a try," Angel said. 

"Okay." She moved for the phone. "I'll call Giles and ask him to find a 
spell we can use." 

"Or you could let me do it," Wesley said mildly. 

She stared at him in a way that clearly showed that the thought had never 
entered her mind. Finally, she shrugged. 

"Alright, give it a try." 

In spite of what Buffy might have believed, it didn't take Wesley long to 
work out a spell to divide the army. 

"This will be very handy in the defense department," Angel said. "I still 
have to do my job, and quite frankly, I don't like the way the demons have 
cluttered lately. So anytime any of you run into demons, I want you to do 
the spell on them. That's even more important than killing them right now." 

"Still just small potatoes," Cordelia said with a pout. With this demon 
uprising, all the extra work ought to mean a lot of extra money as well, but 
they were too busy to actually get any paying clients. What had started with 
Doyle's condition had moved on to another one of those tedious apocalypses. 
Cordelia trusted Angel, she knew he could stop the bad guys. She just wanted 
it to happen quickly. 

"Yeah, I know." He sighed. "That training camp Doyle was in might be worth a 
try, though. The demons there aren't full-fledged yet, our counter spell 
will most likely have the greatest effect there." 

"Most likely?" 

He shook his head. "Hey, no guarantees." 



********** 


"That ought to be the guys Harry knew," Angel said when the doorbell rang. 
They had decided that the best way to approach the camp was by infiltration, 
and to do that, they needed demons. When Angel called Doyle for directions 
and happened to hint something like that, Doyle had assumed they wanted him 
to come along, and sulked a bit when it turned out they didn't. 

"They know you by now," Angel had said. "Total strangers who have no 
connection to you or to us, that's what we need." Although he wouldn't admit 
it to Doyle, it wouldn't have mattered if the camp people had never seen 
Doyle before in their life. Angel still wouldn't have wanted him to come. 
This time around, he wanted to keep that little half-demon alive. 

Considering that they were demons, the Laexara weren't bad looking. Their 
statures were almost human, not counting the four arms and the short white 
fur. Their heads were shaped human, too, but the ears and faces looked more 
like goats' than anything else, if you could imagine a goat with fangs. Hair 
more like a horse's mane grew from the back of their heads. All this thrown 
into one, they most definitely looked weird, but not scary. Toy stores might 
actually be able to sell Laexara demons as stuffed animals. 

Veta immediately turned to Angel. 

"We are here to help you with your mission," she said solemnly. "We too have 
had trouble with this cult. There are always wars between the clans, but now 
even our own kind turn against us. If we can do anything to stop that, we 
will." Her eyes moved towards the Laexara, and she seemed hesitant. "These 
warriors have the same cause as we do, and have promised their help in every 
way." 

"I appreciate that," Angel said, and with a few short instructions he 
explained the plan. "And please remember," he concluded, "killing them will 
*not* help our case. If you must kill them, do so, but first choice is 
always to cast the spell. Is that clear?" 

"Very clear," Halvor muttered. "Not that I wouldn't prefer to rip their 
bloody heads off." 

"What's your problem?" Cordelia asked sourly. "Too much testosterone?" 

Halvor growled at her, and Angel drew her aside and mumbled: "You may not 
want to provoke him." 

"I thought Harry said the Laexara were benign," she breathed. The demon's 
attitude had frightened her a little. 

"Oh yes, they're benign. They have nothing against humans. However, they 
*are* warriors, and they are well known for their short temper. Okay?" He 
let go of her with a smile. 

Ord looked around and asked: "Are the humans coming, too?" 

"Not all of us," Buffy said. "However, since I'm the Slayer and Wesley here 
is the one who knows the spell best, you are going to hand us over as a 
present to the leaders. You know, just to show your appreciation that you're 
allowed to join them."