The Wand
By Shea Akers
All rights reserved.
you wanna archive this? email me!
sign_of_Dragon@email.com
all Angel characters belong to joss and his crew.
PG: mild violence, blood


	She wasn't at her desk. That was a bit strange. Cordelia had 
recovered it seemed. She cried a bit that night, so he was told, but
otherwise, she was unharmed. Why did Doyle still curse himself at every 
chance? Now he could never show her about his past. Now he could never 
tell her of how his heart seemed to lift every time he heard a sound 
from her beautiful lips. Doyle shook himself out of his daze. He looked 
at his watch. He had been daydreaming at her desk for five minutes. He 
opened the door to the outside when he heard a small sound. He turned 
back to the office. There it was again. Doyle dropped his coat on the 
floor and walked towards the sound. He followed it behind the desk, to a 
heating vent. It sounded like whimpering. Doyle looked up the wall and 
blanched. Cordelia's room was right above.  Doyle quietly went up the 
stairs. He approached her room. The small sounds were muffled sobs. He 
gently tapped on the door. He heard a small gasp and mad rushing. He 
opened the door to see Cordelia rushing to her bed, throwing the covers
over her, as if she were asleep. Doyle raised an eyebrow. "Too late, I 
saw and heard you already."
	Cordelia didn't bother to turn over. She merely muttered, "Go away 
Doyle."
	"Can't do that, Sweets. I'm involved now."
	Cordelia sighed and hugged her teddy bear closer. "now, Doyle."
	Doyle shook his head and walked in. He quickly decided to stand, 
rather then sit on her bed. He asked innocently, hoping his voice held 
the sarcasm. "have you a cold, my dear?"
	"yes. A cold… that's it." Cordelia said, sniffing for affect.
	Doyle paced the room. "I don't think so. If you need someone… I'm 
here for you… now."
	Cordelia curled her knees into herself, still refusing to face 
Doyle. "Doyle... I just... I don't want to talk right now. I have to 
study for my role. I cry. In the role… a lot."
	"I'll help you practice for your role than. What are?" Doyle 
asked. He moved across the room to her dresser. He lifted up a pill box. 
His eyes widened in surprise. He looked at the mirror. There were 
pictures cut from magazines with different parts circled. The room was 
also miraculously clean. Doyle clamped his mouth shut. He shook the 
pills, the sound harsh, the bottle almost empty.  Cordelia's eyes shut 
as new tears formed. She tensed her lips as she heard the toilet flush. 
Doyle walked to her and wiped his hands clean. "All gone, Cordelia. Now, 
it is mandatory for you to talk."
	"How about you talk?! How about you telling me about the three 
days you were missing? How about telling me about your demon side? The 
visions? how about your wife?" Cordelia countered in anger. She sat up 
in bed, turning to glare at Doyle through tear soaked eyes.
	Doyle was looking at his feet. When he looked up to match 
Cordelia's eyes, she saw the wetness in his own. She never saw Doyle
like this. He seemed to cringe on the inside, while maintaining a solid 
exterior. Doyle shook his head. "No…"
	"No what Doyle? No you won't talk about it, but you expect me too? 
That's totally unfair!"
	Doyle cracked his knuckles in a nervous gesture. "My problems are 
unimportant… I just flushed your diet pills! DIET PILLS! Why would you 
of all people need those?! They're dangerous!"
	"So's my line of work." Cordelia countered again. She was now 
ready for an all out war.
	Doyle laughed nervously. "No, I'm not going to let you. I know 
what you're doing!"
	Cordelia shifted her legs, so they hanged down from the bed. 
"Doing what?"
	"You're trying to make me angry. It's easier for you. You can 
handle angry." Doyle said, pointing a finger at the girl.
	Cordelia laughed and stood up. She pointed her finger at Doyle's 
chest. "You want angry? I haven't even begun to show you angry. You will 
cringe in your cheap vintage clothing if I ever get angry! AND why would 
I have a reason to be angry? You only broke into MY room, searched 
through my things!"
	"I didn't search! The pills were lying on your dresser!" Doyle 
defended.
	"AND you ran away for three days! No one knew where you were! I 
was worried sick! You could have died or something! And you lost that 
stupid Wand thingy that made you so happy! Happier than you've ever 
been!"
	Doyle's face crumbled a bit. His frown fell deeper. He physically 
backed down. "The Wand made me happy but not the happiest. I almost got 
you killed."
	"Killed? I was attacked! I can handle that! It just scared me!"
	"I was easily disabled." Doyle mumbled as he took a step back. 
Cordelia sighed. 
	"No. If I can't get angry, you can't get mopey! I have enough of 
this brooding from the carcass in the batcave!" Cordelia yelled. She 
paused and sat back on her bed, visibly controlling her anger. "Leave."
	"No! I think you need to talk." Doyle pointed out.
	"Talk? I need to talk to a nice rich, handsome young man who has 
no family history of mental illness and male pattern baldness. I need to 
talk to a man who needs a wife. I need to talk to someone NOT NAMED Doyle."
	Doyle crossed his arms. Cordelia set her jaw and glared. Suddenly 
Doyle's face broke and he chuckled. Cordelia's face bent slightly into a 
grin. She quickly covered it up and glared again. Doyle's shoulder's 
shook in laughter as Cordelia growled and put a pillow over her head, 
for the soul purpose of Doyle not seeing her laugh. Doyle walked over 
and sighed. He sat down next to Cordelia on her bed and said quietly, 
barely over a whisper. "Promise me, no more pills."
	Cordelia brought the pillow from her face and tucked it beneath 
her head. "Well, I can't buy anymore. Angel isn't paying me this week."
	"I'm serious." Doyle said, his eyes filled with concern. 
	Cordelia sighed. "Doyle. I know you're concerned. But I gotta live 
my own life. I'm barely doing that right… I haven't always had to deal 
with things on my own. Please?"
	Doyle frowned and nodded in resignation. Cordelia smiled and poked 
him quickly with a long finger, into his side. "I win." She hissed.

	Doyle squirmed out of the way, a smile widening on his face. 
Cordelia laughed. "Oh, my leprechaun is ticklish?"
	"No.." Doyle said quickly, squirming farther away from Cordelia. 
"not at all. Irishmen aren't ticklish."
	"Yeah," Cordelia laughed, adding sarcastically, "And you don't 
have a drinking problem."
	"I don't have a drinkin' problem!" Doyle protested. 
	Cordelia's face took on a look of Predator after prey. She crawled 
onto her knees and smiled, the intent almost like honey on her lips. 
Doyle's face blanched. He grabbed his sides and backed away. Cordelia 
grabbed his sides, her fingers providing no mercy for the ticklish 
Whistler. Angel sat downstairs in his basement. The lights were off and 
his eyes rolled as he heard Doyle yell, "Stop tickling me!"
	 
	The Manor windows were shut tightly. A middle aged man sat, pacing 
the room. The room was richly lavished. The floor rugs were Persian. The 
lamps were Tiffany Lamps, obvious antiques. The walls were covered in 
what looked like medieval tapestries. The room was a mix of cultures, 
probably thrown together to impress dinner guests. There was a long oak 
table with a small stick in the middle. It resembled a Chinese 
chopstick, yet the end formed a snake's head and was slightly bent. 
There were deep carvings in it, with an ivory handle. The ivory had 
turned a slight yellow from age. The man paced around the table, glaring 
at the Wand, as if it were a person being interrogated. The wand seemed 
too simple for the room. Even the Chandeliers that hung over the table, 
were antique and coated in small intricate designs, hand made no doubt. 
The man sighed and leaned against the table. The smoothly polished table 
reflected his gold rings.  He snarled and pulled slightly at his small 
van dyke. He sighed again. He raised an arm and pointed at the stick. 
"Listen here," He yelled in a deep brusk voice. It had a rich eminence 
to it. It possessed presence and could practically be felt. "Listen 
here," he continued, "I stole you fair and square!"
	He crossed his arms and began to circle the table again. "Do you 
know who I am?! I am the Jefferson McCaffrey The Third! THE THIRD!"
	His face began to deepen in red tones. His eyes enlarged in rage. 
He gritted his teeth for his next line of words, "Why won't you give me 
your power?! The stories tell of what you did for your King. I know 
about how you made that Irish thing have powers! I could feel it as I 
walked past him! My hairs stood on end! AND NOW you won't let me take 
that power!!?"
	Jefferson cracked his knuckles and grinned. "I can chop you into 
toothpicks if I wanted too! I could-"
	"Sir?" Said a small measly voice from behind.
	Jefferson flung around and faced his stout servant. "yes?" He said 
impatiently.
	"Sir, we have tracked down the previous owner. Shall we fetch 
him?"
	Jefferson looked at the Wand, lying in the middle of the table, 
seemingly taunting the rich and ignorant man. Jefferson smiled. "Yes, 
retrieve him. I want this.. thing to work. Dismissed!"
	"but sir.. what about the girl?"
	"What girl?" roared Jefferson in anger.
	"The.." Stuttered the servant, "The one who can control things."
	"She can't control things, you raving peasant! She's a pyrotechnic 
of some sorts.. I'm almost positive. She just has remarkable tricks and 
powers." Jefferson scolded. The servant looked down. Jeffereson sighed 
and continued, "Keep her in the lower rooms. I want her watched. Make 
sure nothing flammable comes near her, including yourself. If she wants 
this Wand as badly as I do, then she'll have to fight for it."
	"yessir. Anything else?"
	Jefferson smiled. "whiskey. Please. I have a headache from this 
evil Wand. Remember to bring that Irish man here. I need this to work. 
How else can I kill that fire girl?!"
	The servant nodded and left. Jefferson stormed over to a mirror. 
He looked in it and cursed underneath his breath. "you want the wand? 
Come and get it. I'll laugh when I have you dead. You deserve to die!"
	Jefferson's face began to grow in anger again. "You deserve to die 
for killing my son during your last visit!"
	Jefferson turned and stormed from the room, his anger leaving 
wisps of anger floating throughout the room.
	Lyn sat in a chair. She brushed her hair, softly counting to 
herself. "305." She said and placed the brush down. She opened 
the windows and her hands fell over the thick metal bars. She walked 
around the small room. It had a dresser, A closet and a Queen size bed. 
It was like an elaborate Dorm room. Lyn laughed bitterly to herself. She 
knew that her agent exploiting her would get her in trouble. Lyn was 
supposed to be the next phenomenon. She could cause fires to 
spontaneously by the wave of her hand. Three weeks ago she had found 
this beautiful work of art in a garage sale. It was 1.00. it was a 
pointer, it seemed. It had the most beautiful handle, a snake and ivory. 
She thought it was wonderful and bought it immediately. Through the next 
two days, she was incredibly happy. Her fires didn't just start. She 
could control them better. Every now and then, if she wasn't 
concentrating on her task at hand, her mind would cause a small fire to 
spontaneously start. It was a plague. The wand stopped it. She met The 
Man at the track. She was a college student with no money, yet she kept 
spending what little she did. One day, she over bet. The man came to 
collect. He was a looker. He looked like the scene. He looked as if this 
wasn't his first time. She had to explain to him that she had nothing. 
He smiled and accepted the Wand. She felt a momentary loss. Jefferson 
caught her one day, thinking she had the wand. He locked her up. For 
a while, the withdrawal from the Wand came in the form of a 
strengthening of her powers. She couldn't control the flames at all and
Jefferson had to place sedatives into her food. She had been a prisoner 
since. She heard he got the Wand back somehow. She didn't know how or 
who. He tried to get her to make the Wand work a few times, but to no 
avail. She wouldn't move. Jefferson threatened her with death. He came 
to her one night and stabbed her with a fencing sword. Lyn gasped at 
first, but then pulled the sword from her chest and threw it down. Her 
fingers melting the thin metal. Jefferson gasped and backed up, locking 
her up again.  "You learn something new each day."
	Lyn turned to her mirror and looked at her reflection. Her blonde 
hair fell over her shoulders and her eyes had a slightly less sparkle to 
them. She rubbed her eyes. They were red and had bags beneath them. She 
talked to the mirror. "Why… Why didn't pa tell you that we were not 
human?"
	She sighed a shaky breath. "Why couldn't he have told me that I 
was a… I was a…"
	Lyn looked up at the mirror and whispered, "Demon…"
	Lyn shrieked and threw her brush at the mirror. She leapt for her 
bed, tears rushing her eyes again. She screamed in rage.
 "NO! I can't be a demon! I'm human… dammit… I'm human… Damn you 
father!! DAMN YOU! How could you keep something like this from me?! 
WHY!!"
	She nuzzled her face deeper into her pillow as it muffled her 
sobs. 

	Doyle picked up a business card. Cordelia had asked him to cover, 
while she had an audition.  He flipped the card between his fingers, 
smiling lightly. "It does look like an owl…"
	Angel walked up and knocked Doyle's feet off the desk. "Doyle, 
what if a customer comes in?"
	"Then I'd put my foot down. What's up your as-"
	"Nothing." Angel said, interrupting Doyle's sarcastic comment. 
"um.. Doyle…?"
	Doyle sat up in his chair and looked at the stuttering vampire. 
"yes, Angel?"
	"Have you heard more about Lyn?" Angel said, stuffing his hands 
into his pockets.
	"I thought we covered the fact that these visions are 
involuntary!" Doyle retorted.
	"I know.. I was just hoping. I can't find anything in the news. 
There's no one around town. Are you sure you didn't have one?"
	"Actually, Angel, you know how easy it is to miss a vision. I 
mean, the convulsions and mind blasting migraines are almost
unnoticeable and undetectable!"
	"All right, all right, forget I asked, OK?"
	Doyle sighed and leaned over, his elbows resting on his thighs, 
his hands wringing themselves. Doyle looked down. "Actually, I've been 
having some pretty bad ideas lately."
	"Ideas?"
	"I know it sounds crazy, but My… I guess… gift is a bit stronger. 
I just don't have a good feeling about the next few days." Doyle said, 
his voice gradually growing softer.
	"Doyle…"
	Doyle was looking off in a daze when Angel's hand gently nudged 
him back to reality. Doyle looked up in surprise. "What? Oh.. sorry… 
yeah.. bad ideas… a real negative feelin'."
	"What aren't you telling me?"
	Doyle's face blanched. "I.. I told you everything."
	"Doyle." Angel said, this time a little more sternly. 
	"All right, man, you got it out of me! In the next few days, I'm 
going to be in some trouble and I'm going to put someone that I care a 
lot about in trouble." Doyle said. He rubbed his face in his hands. "I 
wanted to keep this to myself. But what if they go after Harry, or You, 
or my good ole brothers back home, or…" Doyle gulped, "Or Cordelia 
again."
	"Doyle, You just have to wait. No use guessing."
	"I won't live with myself anymore if Cordelia gets hurt again 
because of me. She already is stressed enough from her job… and then 
there was that night."
	"Which, Doyle, wasn't your fault."
	"Yeah sure, keep tellin' yourself but the truth is if it weren't 
for me losin' that stupid Wand, then Cordelia wouldn't be hurt and nor 
would the person in the future. Maybe I should leave for a while."
	Angel sat down and shook his head no. "What are you saying? These 
are just ideas in your head. What if its… imagination?"
	"yeah, that's right, I'm imagining these deaths!"
	"Deaths?"
	Doyle's face blanched again. "Yeah… someone dies. It's just a 
feeling without the migraine… yet it's not like when I had the Wand. I 
was practically psychic with that thing!"
	 "Don't you think you're going far?"
	Doyle stood up and grabbed his coat jacket. "I've gotta go."
	Angel stood up, raising his hand in protest. Doyle smiled and 
scratched his head. "Well, not to be a rude lad, but you can't stop me 
because I'm walking out into daylight. See you later, Angel."
	"Doyle, don't leave like you did last time."
	"I'm not leaving. I'm just going for a drink. A DRINK! I'm not 
going to bloody leave you guys again…" Doyle smiled, "Not until I 
get my bar tab back at the Tavern."
	With that, Doyle flung his leather jacket over his shoulder and 
walked into the light of day. Angel walked to the phone and picked it 
up. He quickly dialed a number.
	
"He what?!" hissed an angry Cordelia. "Again?!"
	Cordelia waited a moment while Angel explained the situation. 
Cordelia smiled, despite herself, "He was worried about me?" Cordelia 
paused. She impatiently looked at her watch. "OK, I'll be there in five. 
He better be half dead because I am missing my audition! I am an 
actress! I have to make it big! He better recognize the sacrifices I 
make for him because… hello? Hello? Angel?"
	Cordelia looked at the receiver in disgust. She shut it off and 
shoved it into her purse, and said, "Jerk."
	Cordelia walked out of the bathroom and into the auditorium. She 
sighed as she saw the long row of beautiful models attempting to sing 
and give a good show. She calmed herself and said, "You are better then 
them. You have friends and values. They have makeup and plastic surgery. 
You are not superficial. You are special. Who am I?" Cordelia opened her 
eyes and looked at the row of models again. She straightened her 
shoulders and ignored the disgusted looks and harsh snickers. She rose 
her head and said outloud. "I am Cordelia Chase." She paused a bit. "And 
I have to find Doyle."
	She walked out of the audition, head held high, in perfect stride. 
She muttered quietly beneath her breath. "Doyle, you better not be in 
any trouble!"


END PART TWO: FINIS!