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. 





"This is not usually how people join us," the camp leader said, but he 
viewed the five applicants in a rather appreciative way, and setting his 
eyes on the two human gifts, he almost folded. 

"How did you say you got here?" he asked. 

"I have learned a lot from a demon called Elil," the vampire said. The camp 
leader nodded, he knew the name. "Since Elil is dead and can no longer help 
me, I had to search further. I found information that lead me from his place 
to yours." 

That was a plausible explanation. The camp leader nodded pensively. 

"Alright then. Welcome, and thank you very much for your gifts. We will take 
proper care of them before you start your education." 

A bunch of demons grabbed Buffy and Wesley and dragged them off into 
different directions. Buffy let herself be dragged through damp corridors 
until she decided that she had waited long enough. Quickly and rather 
quietly she repeated the spell that Wesley had taught her. 

"What did you say?" one of her guards asked her and shook her a bit. 

"I said, you're a bunch of fine morons," Buffy said. This was it. If the 
spell didn't work she was dead meat. "I mean, why even bother to give me 
away as some sacrifice or whatever you guys are doing? You could just eat me 
yourself, here and now." 

"Hey, that's not a bad idea," a demon said. 

"Shut up, Gard, you know our orders," another snapped. 

"Orders?" A third one entered the conversation. "Only idiots like you let 
yourself be ordered around. I do as I like." 

The spell had worked perfectly, and Buffy could easily run off into the 
corridor once her guards started to really hit it off with the fighting. The 
first one she ran into was Wesley. 

"I see it worked for you too," she said. 

The Englishman smiled a little. 

"Yes. I told them they had to take me back, but since some of them thought 
it was a good idea and others thought it was a bad one, I offered to go 
myself. They were still arguing on whether or not they should let me do that 
when I took off." 

Buffy laughed at this. Wesley usually wasn't much to hold onto in a 
thunderstorm, but any company felt good at the moment, and the fact that 
their defense actually worked felt even better. 

A big lumber door led to a yard were hundreds of demons were working on 
drills. Or that's what they were supposed to be doing. There were already 
uneasy voices, and the humans could spot Haren in the middle of the group. 
He had sat down on the ground and refused to move. 

"I'm tired," he declared, "and I'm not in the mood for this." 

Several of the other demons yelled their agreement and sat down as well. The 
leader grabbed a whip of the kind called "nine-tailed cat". This made Haren 
rise and growl at the leader. When he stood up, his eyes met Buffy's, and he 
grinned at her. None of the other demons noticed the humans, they were far 
to upset. 

"Come on, you ninny!" Haren said to the leader. "What sort of a coward are 
you? Can't you get into a proper fight, demon to demon?" 

"Alright!" the leader yelled. He was as affected by the spell as anyone 
else, and he longed to show this snotty Laexara who was in charge. The fight 
didn't last long. Within seconds, Haren had ripped his head off. 

"No!" Buffy cried. This caught the other demons' attention, and they turned 
disbelievingly towards the humans. "Haren, we *told* you not to kill if you 
could avoid it." 

"Oh. Right." The demon looked a bit guilty. Then he noticed the looks the 
other demons gave the humans, and he held up the leader's head. "Anybody 
want some?" 

A massive roar of "I do!" answer his request, and he casually threw them the 
head. 

"That will keep them busy for a while," he said to the humans. "I'm sorry 
about the killing, I forgot. Shall we find the others?" 

When all seven of them had found their way back to each other, they shared a 
few laughs retelling their stories. However, they all had a feeling this was 
only helping marginally. 

"We were thinking," Ord said. "It will take the cult some time to get this 
mess sorted out, but not very long." 

"I know," Angel said. "There's just nothing more we can do right now." 
"Yes there is," Halvor said, and he sounded very grave. "The four of us 
could stay here and keep using the spell on everyone who comes here. With 
the mess around here, nobody will notice that we don't belong here, and we 
will be able to cause quite a lot of trouble before anyone finds out." 
It wasn't a bad idea, but good Lord, how dangerous! Angel hesitated. 

"They'll find out sooner or later," he warned them. 

"Hopefully, we will be able to escape. And in any case, it might buy you 
enough time to do something about the altar." 

Angel looked at the four demons. "Are you all sure about this?" 

They nodded, and after a moment's thought he agreed. 

"Alright then. Good luck, and thank you for your help." 

The goodbyes were somber, they all knew they might never meet again. When 
Ord took Angel's hand, he squeezed it hard and said: "Speaking for all of 
us, it has been an honor to work with you." 

"You too," Angel replied. "Try to stay alive, will you?" 



********** 


After the first day of practice, Doyle had been shown into a bedroom that 
contained quite a few bookshelves but no other personal things, unless you 
counted a model of a bird skeleton. He was surprised at his own tiredness. 
Most of the work that hadn't been pure discussions could mostly be described 
as meditation techniques, and that sort of stuff was supposed to be 
relaxing, wasn't it? Instead, the welcoming softness of his bed made Doyle 
drift away. 

Before he had fallen asleep completely, he heard a low, strange sound. It 
was a lot like a little motor, but Doyle drowsingly knew that it wasn't, and 
that he ought to know what it was. Something carefully trodded over him, and 
a pair of yellow eyes showed up by his face. He couldn't help but give a 
startled cry before he realized that it was only an ugly old tomcat. 

"Hiya, mate," he said, "this your bed? How about we just share it for the 
night, okay?" 

The cat walked around in a circle and finally lay down next to Doyle, who 
quickly fell asleep. 

When he woke up the next morning and moved his hand about on the pillow, he 
felt something wet and sticky. He opened his eyes and realized that it was 
blood. Rushing out of bed, he went into the kitchen and informed Wilma, who 
was making coffee, that there was a dead bird on his pillow. 

"Well, you had better thank Fluffy then," she said. "He must really like 
you." 

Doyle stared at the cat, who purred and stroke his head along Doyle's legs. 
It was apparently an old fighter, because his fur was leathery and scarred. 

"Fluffy?" he asked, and Wilma smiled a little. 

"Old women are supposed to call their cats Fluffy, whether they are fluffy 
or not." She poured him a cup of coffee. "My youngest granddaughter Janie 
might be coming this afternoon, if you don't mind having a giggly teenager 
in the house." 

"Of course not," he answered. "But what about… well, does she know that I'm 
here?" 

Wilma shook her head, and then, catching Doyle's glance, added: "She *has* 
met demons before." 

Doyle didn't push the issue, although he didn't like the thought of showing 
himself like this. Still, since the faith stuff was so demanding, he forgot 
all about it until later that day when the doorbell rang. Doyle winced, and 
as Wilma went to answer it, he sank deep into the sofa, cursing the thought 
of some kid rushing in and staring at him. 

Wilma opened the front door and took in the sight of the two girls outside. 
The fact that there was one more grandchild than expected outside didn't 
bother her, she was lucky all five of them didn't decide to come. 

"Hi Granny!" Kitty said. She slurred a little, not sounding drunk, but as if 
there was hot food in her mouth. "I thought I'd go with Janie." 

"Well, you're very welcome," Wilma replied, and then asked, with a frown: 
"Why are you talking so strange?" 

Kitty proudly extracted her tongue, and Wilma gave a disgusted cry. 

"Good Lord! Is there any part of your body you're *not* going to shove metal 
through?" 

"Not really…" Kitty said dreamily, which made her sister laugh. 

"She's insane," Janie explained and proceeded towards the livingroom. "We 
thought we might watch some videos, is that okay?" 

"Well, I have a client, but I guess we can be in the kitchen." 

"Yes Alf, go into the kitchen," Kitty said. 

Janie had already discovered Doyle. 

"Hi!" she said, a little surprised maybe to find a demon in her 
grandmother's livingroom, but not very much so. 

"Hi," Doyle said and extracted his hand, trying to act casual. "I'm Doyle." 

She took it. "Janie Kincaid." Her clothes were nice but discreet in grey and 
black, and with the rye blonde hair and grey eyes, she seemed a little 
colorless. 

Yet she looked a lot better than her sister, who had also entered the room. 
Kitty's checked man's shirt and worn blue jeans were average for a certain 
style, but her hairdo was most definitely not: her head was shaved at the 
sides and the hair that was left was dyed black and made into tiny braids. 
Doyle looked at the chain that went from her nose to her ear and wondered 
why any girl would want to do that to herself. Rebellion? But she didn't 
seem like that kind of girl. Mislead ideas of beauty, probably. 

"Centerfold demon," Janie said to her sister. 

Kitty blushed. "Brachen. Yeah." She shook Doyle's hand and said her name, 
then added: "I have a picture of a Brachen in my room, but it's *not* a 
centerfold, it's an old drawing." 

"Oh yes," Janie said and flung herself into the sofa. "I didn't mean to 
imply that you're a sex object or anything," she told Doyle. "The only guys 
she likes are Cary Grant and a muppet-lookalike." 

"Oh. Oh," Kitty said, pretending to be upset. "Well, at least *my* boyfriend 
doesn't wear a dress." 

Janie took a cushion and threw at her. Doyle's eyes met Wilma's, and the old 
lady just shook her head and said: 
"Two giggly teenagers. Why don't we just move into the kitchen and let them 
watch their videos. Although why you can't do that at home is more than I 
understand." 

"Mom won't let us," Janie said. "Not since last week, when Mrs. Carter came 
while we were watching Star Trek: Voyager." 

"Episode Blood Fever," Kitty said. "We were a little… loud." 

"Oh, right," Wilma said. "Tineke told me about that. Shouting indecent 
things, weren't you?" 

"We just said 'bonk her'," Janie mumbled with a smile. 

"Hm. What are you watching today?" 

"Press Gang. No sex whatsoever. And don't worry, we're meeting Clifford and 
the bunch tonight, so we'll only stay until supper." 

"Alright," Wilma said. "I'll give you some soda to play drinking games with, 
but I'd appreciate it if you keep your voices down." 

"Thanks, Granny. And for what it's worth, the L word." 

Wilma stopped in the doorway to the kitchen, then shook her head and went 
inside. 

"Do they do this a lot?" Doyle asked her. 

"My house is a complete hallway for every relative around," Wilma said. 

"That I don't mind. But I don't like the tendency those two have of speaking 
in quotes." 



********** 


Doyle sat down by the kitchen table and waited for Wilma to get started. He 
was a little surprised at the girls' behavior. For most of the time they had 
ignored him completely, and funny enough, that felt good. He wasn't weird 
enough for them to cause any attention. 

Wilma looked thoroughly at him. 

"I think we have a bit of a problem," she said. 

He felt a bit of panic rising. "What?" 

"Do you remember what I said about shape shifting? That first you have to 
acknowledge the shape you're in, then change it. We have been working on 
part two, but maybe we shouldn't have. By the look of it, I would say you 
haven't gotten past the acknowledgment part yet." 

"Well, if I liked being a demon I wouldn't be here, would I?" he snapped. 

"Quite a few demons who liked themselves have come here for practical 
reasons," she said calmly. "Listen, I'm not saying you have to prefer this 
shape, but you can't be ashamed of it. Then you will block yourself 
completely." 

Doyle felt tears burning in his eyes. "What am I supposed to do then?" he 
asked bitterly. 

She took his hand, smiling. "Don't you worry, there are methods for this as 
well. I'll turn into a sappy therapist for a while, though." 

He nodded his consent. 

"Okay. Now, which part of yourself do you like the least?" 

"I don't know," he said. "I don't much like any part." 

"Fine, then we'll start with the face. That's a part that gets a lot of 
attention, let's give it some more." She walked to a cupboard and brought 
forward a mirror, a notebook and a pencil, all of which she handed to Doyle. 

"Look into the mirror carefully," she said, "and make a drawing of 
yourself. Not a caricature, a detailed drawing, and if you make something 
uglier or prettier than it is, don't think I won't make you change it. Is 
that clear?" 

"Yeah." 

It wasn't a very pleasant task, and it took forever with Wilma on his back 
making him change the picture over and over again, but finally they came to 
a point where Wilma's comments were fewer and nicer. Doyle actually started 
enjoying what he was doing, and his wish to do a good job made him glance 
into the mirror without much emotion. 

The phone rang and Wilma took it. 

"Romanoff. Oh, hello Tineke! What?" Her face darkened as she listened. "She 
did what!? No, I didn't teach her to do that! I would never… Alright, so 
that part I might have encouraged, but I never told her she could do it in 
public… This isn't a game, I'm as upset as you are… Well, of course I will 
punish her… Sounds good. Bye." 

Wilma hung up and went inside the living room, shouting: 
"Jane Brittany Kincaid, you're in deep trouble!" 

The girls looked up from the TV, and by the look on Janie's face, she knew 
exactly what the problem was. 

"That was your mother calling, informing me that you had put on a rather 
remarkable act in school today. Not only were you levitating, but producing 
stigmata as well. Can you deny that?" 

"No, granny," the girl admitted. 

"Well, I am disappointed in you. I thought you were aware of your 
responsibilities, but it appears I was wrong. First, you are not to use 
magic where people can see you, you know that. Second, and more importantly, 
stigmata are *not* acceptable, ever. Saints got stigmata when they felt 
close to their suffering Lord, and by producing them for fun you are making 
fun of other people's beliefs. I will have none of it!" 

"Okay granny," Janie said reluctantly. Wilma thought for a while, then took 
a book from a shelf. 

"Now, to make you realize that religious suffering isn't funny, I want you 
to read this." 

Janie looked at the title. "Perpetua's martyrdom? Granny, you can't be 
serious!" 

"Go into my bedroom, read it, and when you're finished I will question you 
of its contents. Also, you are grounded for the rest of the day, which means 
you'll be sleeping in the vamp room tonight. Is that clear?" 

Janie tried to meet her grandmother's eyes, but failed. 
"Yes granny." 



********** 


When it was time for Janie to be questioned, Wilma told Doyle he could have 
the rest of the evening off. He was entirely grateful, and sank into the 
sofa next to Kitty, who was still watching videos. 

"Driver, check the mirror,"the boy in the TV set said, but Doyle was more 
concerned with the sounds of interrogation coming from the next room. "I 
think my girlfriend is laughing." 

"Is your sister in trouble?" he asked Kitty cautiously. 

"Why would I be laughing? You haven't even *tried* to kiss me yet." 

Kitty reached for the remote. "She should be," she said and turned the TV 
off. "She has been an extreme little idiot." 

"Yeah, I guess. I'm sorry if I disturbed you," Doyle said, making a grimace 
in the TV's direction. "Seems like they were about to kiss." 

"That's okay. I've seen this ep lots of times, and it still has the same 
ending." 

"Which is?" 

"They break up." She grinned at him. "As for Janie, she knows better than to 
show off like that. How will she ever be able to explain this to her 
teacher?" 

"I take it you've never done anything like this?" 

"No." She glanced at him and sighed. "Okay, obvious reason, I can't. She's a 
lot better at the arts of faith than I am." 

"But you're the older, aren't you?" 

"Yes." She looked at him curiously. "How did you know? She looks older than 
she is." 

He shrugged. "Just the way you talk about her." 

"Hm." She sat silent for a few seconds, then rose. "Are you hungry? I am." 
He hadn't realized it before, but he *was* hungry, so he nodded and followed 
her into the kitchen. Her eyes went to the phone, and she hesitated. 

"I ought to call Clifford. Can you check the fridge?" 

"Sure," he agreed, and she sat down on the kitchen table, dialing the 
number. 

"Hello, Mrs. Jamison, this is Kitty, can I speak to Derrick, please?" She 
waited a few seconds. "Hi Clifford, it's Kermit. Listen, we won't be coming 
tonight, Janie is grounded and I want to keep her company… She made a 
spectacular saint impersonation, I'm sure you'll get the details from the 
local newspaper… I know, she's a little moron…" 

Doyle listened with half an ear while trying to find something eatable in 
fridge and cupboards. 

"Can we eat this?" he asked Kitty, showing her some potatoes that had 
started to sprout. 

She gave them a quick glance and replied: "I don't know, maybe we ought to 
plant them instead." She turned her attention back to the phone. "Yes, 
Clifford, there is a *man* in here. Gorgeous one, too." She grinned at 
Doyle. "Actually, he's not a man, he's a Brachen demon… Oh, don't flatter 
yourself, I'd prefer him to you any day of the week." 

Doyle felt a bit strange. She was teasing her boyfriend with him. Even 
though she was joking when she claimed he was gorgeous, you didn't say that 
sort of things about someone you saw as a pitiful monster and nothing else. 
Again, Doyle got the feeling that being a demon around here wasn't at all 
the same thing as being a demon somewhere else. Meanwhile, Kitty had moved 
to another subject. 

"Yes, I had it done… What? Well, I'm sorry, but that's one 'freakish 
sensation' you'll have to wait with. Besides, I'm still sore, definitely not 
up to any kissing." She laughed at something the guy said. "Are you a muppet 
of good character where women are concerned?" 

Wilma and Janie had entered the room, and Kitty said: "I have to get off the 
phone. Talk to you tomorrow, okay?" 

She hung up and turned to Wilma. "Do you have *any* food around here? I 
mean, look at these potatoes, they're practically mutants. Your ability to 
not notice the perfectly obvious never fails, does it?" 

The girl's voice had gone nasty at the last comment, and Wilma stared at her 
for a second, but instead of replying, she calmly said: "Why don't you order 
some takeout, dear." 


********** 


Unlike most of his childhood friends, Doyle had been an only child, and he 
had been fascinated of the behavior between family members. Watching 
families wasn't a hobby he had pursued much lately, but with the girls 
staying overnight, he once again had an opportunity to do so, and he enjoyed 
it so much he almost forgot about his own condition. It had been years since 
he last dared to think about having a family of his own, but now he 
momentarily juggled with the idea, pushing aside the thought that any family 
of his hardly would be a model of normality. 

Late at night some sound woke him, and listening for a while, he realized it 
was the phone. He also realized that he needed to use the bathroom, and he 
quietly left his bedroom, walking barefoot though the house. Wilma must have 
been in human shape, because she had already picked up the phone. Doyle 
stopped when he heard his own name be mentioned. 

"Do you want to talk to Doyle?" Wilma said, and then listened to the person 
in the other end of the line. "No dear, you shouldn't feel guilty, this 
isn't your fault." She noticed Doyle standing there and turned to him: 

"False alarm." 

He drowsily accepted this and proceeded to the bathroom, wondering who could 
have the nerve to call at this hour. When he returned, Wilma was still on 
the phone. He couldn't hear what the other person was saying, but it seemed 
to be a woman, and she was rather upset. There was also something familiar 
about the voice. Wilma, in her turn, seemed mostly to be listening. 

"Well, of course this is hard on you too," Wilma told the caller. "That 
doesn't mean you care any less." The caller seemed to get tangled up in a 
long explanation, and Wilma patiently listened until she was finished. 

"Darling, determinism is *not* a healthy philosophy. Just because things 
haven't turned out well so far, that doesn't mean they never will. You don't 
strike me as the kind of girl who would take no for an answer or easily give 
up on your love." 

That was the last thing Doyle heard before closing the door to his bedroom. 
He smiled in sympathy with Wilma. Poor woman, was it always like this for 
her? People calling in the middle of the night forcing her to play 
therapist, something that most definitely wasn't her job. 

Doyle pulled the blankets over his body and relaxed, but before he fell 
asleep he realized why the voice had seemed familiar. It was Cordelia.