The Demon Detective

The Thaw

The pain was like nothing he had ever felt. It was not of the body. It was the pain of being unmade. The green chains pulled at the cold spot, trying to tear the heart-fragment—and the piece of his soul it was stuck to—right out of him.

*THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.* The big heart beat, a hungry drum.

Angel’s vision went green. He was going to lose. He was going to become an empty shell, and Wolfram & Hart would get their piece back, supercharged with a vampire’s soul.

Then, a new sound. Not a thump. A crackle. A shout.

“Angel!”

Through the green haze, he saw a shape at the hole in the wall. *Gunn.* He was throwing something. Small metal orbs. They hit the floor and exploded with bright, white light and a deafening BANG.

Flash-bangs.

The green chains flickered. The trap needed focus. The sudden light and sound broke that focus for a second.

It was all Angel needed.

With a roar that came from the very last of his strength, he grabbed the green chains of light in his hands. He didn’t try to pull them out. He pulled himself *along* them. He followed the pain straight to the source.

He lunged at the giant heart on the pedestal.

He didn’t have a weapon. He didn’t need one.

He sank his teeth into the heart.

Black, icy blood filled his mouth. It was the most horrible thing he had ever tasted. The heart shuddered. The green chains snapped and vanished.

Angel bit down harder. He ripped. He tore.

The heart spasmed. Its beat went crazy. *THUMP-THUMP-THUMPTHUMP!*

Gunn was at his side now, hacking at the heart with his ax. “Die, you ugly thing!”

Between Angel’s teeth and Gunn’s ax, the demon heart was destroyed. It didn’t shatter into energy this time. It burst like a rotten fruit. Black goo covered everything.

The *thumping* stopped.

The silence was sudden and total.

Angel fell back, gasping, covered in black slime. The cold spot on his chest… was gone. Not just quiet. Gone. The skin was warm. The terrible pull was over.

But he felt weak. Empty. Like part of him had been ripped out and was now lying in goo on the floor.

Gunn helped him up. “You okay? Talk to me.”

“The piece… is it out?” Angel asked, his voice shaky.

“I don’t know, man. But the big heart is dead. Let’s get out of here before the whole place comes down.”

They climbed back up the shaft. When they came out into the main bank, Wesley and Cordelia were there, looking scared.

“We followed you!” Cordelia said. “We were worried! Then Gunn just ran in!”

“The heart,” Angel panted. “It’s done.”

Wesley looked at the black slime on Angel. “The corruption… the cold?”

“Gone,” Angel said. He touched his chest. It was just skin. Warm skin. “It’s over.”

***

Back at the office, they cleaned up. Angel still felt strange. Tired in his soul. But the crushing cold, the bad dreams, the pull… all gone.

He told them everything. About Lilah. About the job. About the trap.

“You should have told us,” Cordelia said, but she didn’t sound angry. She sounded relieved.

“I couldn’t risk it,” Angel said. “And I… I’m ashamed. I did their work.”

“To survive,” Wesley said. “To fight another day. It was a tactical retreat.”

“It felt like a loss,” Angel said.

Later that night, Angel was alone in the office. He was looking at his chest in a mirror. The skin was smooth. No mark. He felt… clean.

Then, a tiny spark. A pinprick of cold, right in the center of where the mark had been. It was so small. But it was there.

He froze.

It wasn’t the heart’s cold. This was different. This was *his* cold. The cold of his own guilt. The cold of what he had done for Wolfram & Hart. He had let the celestial being go, but he had done it for the wrong reasons. To save himself. Not to do good.

The heart was gone. But the choice he made was still inside him. A new kind of cold.

The door opened. Detective Lockley walked in. She looked at him. “Heard you had a busy night. An abandoned bank blew a circuit. Lots of weird energy.”

“It’s handled,” Angel said, pulling his shirt on.

“Good.” She paused. “I have a new problem. Not a monster. A person. A girl. She’s… sick. But the hospitals can’t figure it out. She says shadows talk to her. I think it’s magic. I think she needs your kind of help.”

Angel looked at her. He thought of the tiny cold spot inside him. Helping someone… for the right reason. Maybe that would warm it up.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s go.”

***

The girl’s name was Chloe. She was seventeen. She lay in a bed in a quiet room her parents had made. She was pale, with dark circles under her eyes. She looked at Angel and flinched.

“You’re cold,” she whispered. “But also… warm. It’s confusing.”

“What do the shadows say, Chloe?” Angel asked, his voice gentle.

“They say they’re hungry. They say they want me to open the door.” She pointed a thin finger at her bedroom closet. “The door in there. It’s not really a closet.”

Wesley examined the closet door. He drew a symbol in the air with his finger. It glowed blue. “It’s a weak spot. A door to a shadow dimension. Her fear, her sadness… it’s making it bigger. Letting them through to talk to her.”

“How do we close it?” Lockley asked.

“We don’t,” Angel said, looking at Chloe. “She does.” He sat on the edge of her bed. “The shadows are lying. They’re not your friends. You have the power to shut the door. But you have to believe you’re strong enough.”

“I’m not,” Chloe cried. “I’m scared.”

“Being scared doesn’t mean you’re weak,” Angel said. He thought of his own fear in the vault. “It means you have something to fight for. Your life. Your light. Fight for it.”

He held out his hand. After a moment, Chloe took it. Her hand was small and cold.

“Together,” he said.

He walked with her to the closet door. Wesley chanted words to make the weak spot visible. The door faded, and behind it was a swirling, dark gray mist. Whispers came from it.

*“Come with us… be at peace…”*

“No,” Chloe said, her voice small. Then louder. “NO!” She let go of Angel’s hand and slammed her own hands against the air where the door was. “This is my room! My life! GET OUT!”

A wave of pure, golden light shot from Chloe. It wasn’t magic she learned. It was her own spirit, fighting back. The light hit the gray mist.

The whispers became screams. Then silence.

The closet was just a closet again.

Chloe fell back, tired, but smiling. Her eyes were clear. “They’re gone.”

Her parents rushed in, crying, hugging her.

Angel stood back with Lockley and his team. He felt that tiny cold spot inside him get a little warmer. This. This was why he fought.

On the drive back, Lockley looked at him. “You’re good at that. The talking.”

“I’ve had practice,” Angel said, looking out the window. The city was still dark. But there were lights in the windows. People to protect. A reason to fight.

The war with Wolfram & Hart wasn’t over. Lilah would be back. The Senior Partners were still there.

But for tonight, they had helped one girl. They had closed one door.

It was enough. It had to be.