Angel - City of Fear

City of: Book 1. Doyle didn't have much with him, even after death. If he even decided to make something else as a neat reminder of him it probably would have been gone in a night. An Irish, half-bred demon who received visions from The Powers That Be. Angel and Cordelia had made a private investigation agency thanks to him; "Angel Investigations: We help the helpless". But one night, one night is what changes his fate and his path to redemption. It began with a chase. And ended in the way Doyle didn't expect...nor did Angel. (Second Angel Fanfiction on Wattpad, posted 3.2.2014) (Completed 6.4.2014) (Cover by EKShortstories)


11. I'm a;big idiot,directionless, fraud,pink, fluffy,cute-looking puppy--

 Merry sits down in a seat across from them; and then she pours some tea into a tea cup.

 "Qurden may not like half-breeds." Merry notes of her husband’s flaws.  She hands tea to Doyle, who shook his hand.  She hands the tea to Wesley instead.  "And can be a cranky medical examiner, but…” Merry closes her eyes, her left hand grabs tightly on the arm of living room chair.

 Wesley takes a sip from the tea.

 “He's got a golden heart underneath it all.”  Merry finally said. “And a big, fuzzy,bear."

Wesley shaky hand puts down the tea cup on the dinning coffee table.

 "Never...heard of him described this way." Wesley said, his hands are slightly trembling.

Doyle leans forward from the couch with a smile on his face.

 "Ya should have heard him when I hooked up his assistant Ralph ta this cat demon." Doyle explains, putting his hands together.  “Why are ya off work so early?”

 Merry taps her fingers on her legs, smiling brightly enough she could have been made into a Christmas tree.

 “We...had a…”  Her right hand twirls some hair into knots. “A bit of an argument…over who gets to do the mass autopsy’s today. There was an explosion at the bar.”

    Doyle shyly laughs as Wesley looks at him.

 “It was the liquor.” Doyle said, in self-defense his hands raise up. 

Merry raises an eyebrow at Doyle's odd reaction.

  "Don't look at me," The Irish half demon said, waving his hands back and forth. "I was there;but it is not my fault."

   Merry’s eyes light up, his voice sounded familiar. Doyle’s voice rang a bell in her memory. It sounds just a dead call I got last month. The rolling ‘R’. Maybe that number is Doyle’s. The way he pronounced liquor convinced her that he could be one.

    She knew Doyle's  name by his reputation (That also failed to mention him being half-demon) that's shaky at best.

 “Doyle, Is your phone number 213-555-6189?” Merry asks.

Doyle does a fake cough.

 “Some-one probably used my phone ta prank ya,” Doyle said, followed by a fake cough. He picked this act up from Cordelia.  “Never called ya phone.”

  Wesley leans back into the couch, clearing his throat.

 “So are your arguments typical?” Wesley asks her.

 Merry snorts. 

“No, we just argue who uses the telly at night and who gets to walk our dog Spot;  I love The Chew.” Merry goes off topic, making hand movements in different directions. It seems strange to know this a demon who acts like a British lady. “Qurden says he wants the old British, garbage cans shrieking a really rude phrase again on the old telly.”

   Doyle and Wesley both nod, pretending to be going on with what she is saying.

  “Do you boys know what that is?”  Merry asks, all wide-eyed. If she wore old fashioned glasses and a muletiple colored dress, with white bumpy hair, and perhaps was older than Wesley...Merry would have fit the old Grandma quizzical look. “Those high pitched garbage cans.”

 Doyle and Wesley  exchange a glance.

“No.”   Doyle and Wesley shook their heads.

 A few hours go by. Waiting for things to cool down outside apparently wasn’t Doyle’s thing. He didn’t like being cooped up in a building waiting (Which ironically is what he does at Angel Investigations) and wanted to be out there in on the action; Helping  The Helpless. Or getting help from The Helpless instead of him helping them.  But, that didn’t mean Doyle couldn’t do a little searching around the house.

As in any part of the house that didn’t have objects that hurt his half-demon side.

 “Have you found Spot?” Merry hollers out.

  Doyle bumps his head on some wood.

 “Spot isn’t hiding here,” Doyle then adds, out of earshot. “Nor would it bother.”

 Doyle catches a pretty good smell from Wesley.

“Wesley, woah, ya smell good!” Doyle exclaims, but  he…on the other hand…had got a bad stench on him.

 “The Magic of showering in a demon’s bathroom.. ” Wesley waves a hand; he did not wear the peach jacket and white shirt that matched his pants (That he wore hours ago). But instead he wore a blue shirt that didn’t match his black jeans.

  It is dark outside, pretty much 6:45 PM as indicated by a grandfather clock.

 “What’s the story behind the dinner table?” Wesley asks, holding the delicate tea cup.

  Merry rubs her small and thorny hands together.

   The table is odd, not formal or familiar to tables from human reality. The middle has a overall arch raised up high that a small creature can sleep underneath it. There’s a dog treat beside a chair corner.

 “Spot sleeps under the table, that’s why we have two structures to support it.” Merry chews on a M&M cookies. She swallows the bite from an M&M cookie. “Instead of having a middle support wooden stake supporting it.”

  Doyle comes out the dark room with soot all over him.

 “Where’s the shower?” Doyle asks, as Wesley covers his nose.

 “Down the hallway, turn left at the tree at the end, and close the door behind you.” Merry  tells him. “Just make sure you don’t turn it on too hot. The Dryer has recently finished your clothes.”   Merry gestures to the chair at the corner of the kitchen’s doorway.

On the chair is; A brown jacket, black pants, red buttoned up shirt that has a white line, and a gray sleeveless shirt. Underneath the gray sleeveless shirt are boxers.

  Doyle picks up his really, good smelling clothes.

 “I can’t wait to take a shower.” Doyle said, after he smelled his fresh and clean clothes.

 Doyle goes into the bathroom.

 …Thirty-four minutes later…

      Doyle sat on the couch, and sighs in content. His hair is shiny and wet looking.   Merry is in the other room looking for Spot. There is a different tea set on the coffee table that’s white with pink leaf designs all around it and a pink tea top lid. The handles are a light gray but some bits of the handles are chipped off.

 “Sounds like someone is ready to tell why a certain killanobi demon is bent on getting them.” Wesley suggests, wiggling his right eyebrow.

 “Ya a buzz kill.” Doyle comment, slightly waving his left hand. “No offense.”

 “None taken.” Wesley said, shrugging his shoulders.

“One; There’s a bounty on me.” Doyle puts his hands together. “Second….

Doyle tells him why Dean Dexter hates him this much.

“Oh.” Wesley said, putting his back further into the couch. His eyebrows settle down together above his worried eyes. “…Wait…” It then clicked his head thinking about this. “You illegally slipped them into witness protection!”

“There’s some flaws in dah system.” Doyle gloats, rubbing his fist. The usual smile that a certain woman with dark hair would see on the Irish half-demon sprouted on his face. It is one of his best friendly, love-able qualities.  He pats on the arm of the couch.  “Best trick in dah book.”

Wesley’s eyes have the uncanny signal of ‘Really?’ without requiring to be spoken.

Doyle nods.

There’s a rush of loud knocking heard from the front door (Which is quite far).

Merry comes out the other room, with a frown of disapproval.

 “These men are rude.” Merry turns her head towards the two men. “Men are the only ones who knock harder than women.” Even in her young age, Merry had experience with fighting and knocking. Wesley takes a drink from a tea cup.  “I don’t need to be an elf in order to know who or what they are.”

  Wesley nearly snorts out the tea he is drinking.

 “Ya read Lord of  Dah Rings?” Doyle asks, understanding this reference to elves.

 Merry’s bright, wide smile came on.

 “Legolass is the Captain  of ‘I know’.” Merry then adds, after her smile went away. She starts walking out the room. “I do like red, it’s shiny and symbolic. I’ll be right back---Don’t dip cookies into the tea. That does not come out well.”

 Wesley holds a cookie above his tea.

 Merry walks down the hallway

   Doyle’s luggage levitates from under the table and scoots right beside his pant leg. Is that a travel-demon bag?, Wesley thought gaping at the object, It’s been missing for centuries; Last documented to be in the hands of a slayer. How could Doyle get his hands on it—and own it? It made a lot of questions stir in Wesley’s head.

 “How did you get a Flying Bag?” Wesley asks.

 “I did a favour.”   Doyle said.

  Wesley tilts his head.

 “A—what?” Wesley puts the cookie on a plate on the coffee table.

 “Favour.” Doyle repeats, looking down to the unusually purring luggage. Luggage’s are probably the number one things that can scare a person if it can alive. “And this poor, exhausted demon bag was given ta me.” He pats on the purring big, stuffed bag.  He puts his dirty clothes in to the bag.

 The bag  burps.

 “Missy, what have I said about burping?” Doyle scolds the bag, shaking his  index finger back and forth.

 The top edges of the bag folded together like a sad puppy.

  “She loves ta carry dah stuff. “ Doyle rubs the side of the bag.

 “She?” Wesley repeats, confused.  “How can you know it’s gender?”

 “Well..It’s almost magical.” Doyle flips over his left hand.  “I stuff it in. I come back later, it’s all folded.”

Wesley takes a sip from the tea, and then he looks down to the bag.

 Missy had changed into a hard, dark suitcase.

 “What’s her name again?”


 “Wasn’t Missy just a Mary Poppins bag? They aren’t supposed to be capable of doing it.”

  “Ya’ar wrong on dat.” Doyle corrects Wesley, as the bag scoots behind his legs. He is giving Wesley the ‘Did-you-learn-from-an outdated-book?’ eye.  “They are really good at hiding.”

Doyle shook his head, as Merry opens the door.

 “For example; Missy prefers being in suitcase form,” Doyle lifts a hand up, upwards. It’s one of Doyle’s ‘explaining styles’ (or so Cordelia calls it) that most wouldn’t take note on. “And there are times I can’t figure out which suitcase is her at dah airport!”

“When we came in, you didn’t have  the bag.”

  “She’s a tracker,” Doyle rolls an eye. “Didn’t ya learn about dat in Watcher school?”

  “…No.” Wesley meekly said, tapping his fingers awkwardly.

There is commotion from the doorway.

 “Take your boots off,”  Merry growls at a demons dirty shoes. “And learn some manners before storming into my home!”

 “Shut up,you prick!” A demon (In a biohazard suit) pulls her aside.

Merry hit the rack of coats to the corner of the door.

“Get out of here!” Merry yells, as the other demons storm into the house. “They are here…”

Another Demon just carelessly knocks out Merry using a large bat.

 “We’re cooooommiiing!”


Doyle and Wesley heard (From the other side of the house) with enough time to spare.  Thanks to Doyle’s little ‘Search for dog’ that had been only two hours it was enough time that he found an exit through the house. Staying in Los Demonio made it reasonable to return home. Home as in Los Angeles.

“Did you  leave last time because of something like this?” Wesley asks, as they go into a room that’s part of a hallway all together.

 Doyle shook his head.

 “Different reasons.” Doyle claims. “I only came into Los Demonio ta getsomething back.”

The demons speed past the door.

“Maybe this is the exit.” Wesley opens a door, and puts forward his right foot.

 “Wesley, don—“

Wesley see’s the daunting height from the floor to the grass.

“…Look down.” Doyle finishes.

Wesley pulls himself back inside and closed the door behind him.

"I'm a;big idiot,directionless, fraud,..”

Doyle looks down to see a demon puppy with a tail that's similar to a poodle's running down the hall towards them.

 "Pink,fluffy, cute-looking puppy."

 “I'm a big idiot,directionless, fraud,pink, fluffy,cute-looking puppy—“ Wesley caught himself in mid-sentence.  He looks at Doyle in disbelief. "I am....a what?"

 "Hold up a second;" Doyle picks up the  small dog wearing a pink sweatshirt. "This is Spot."

Doyle hands Spot to Wesley.

 “Hold him” Doyle said.

Wesley held the whimpering dog.

 “Why me?”

 “It goes well with ya insult.” Doyle goes forward, then turns right, and takes a big painting off the wall. “I must know, did ya learn about secret passageways  in the house?”

 Wesley is being licked by Spot.

 “No, I don’t see why there would be.” Wesley said, and he laughs as Spot licks his cheek.

Doyle opens the wall up—it’s a sliding door—and there is a staircase leading down.

“Searching for Dogs is…has so many opportunities.” Doyle said. “Now let’s get outta here. “

“What about the dog?” Wesley is hugging the cute, adorable looking beagle-like-poodle-dog. He is more worried about the pet than himself.  “We can’t just leave him!”

Doyle rubs his forehead.

“Fine, but give him ta Qurden when we see him,”

 _______________________________________ ____________________________________



Doyle and Wesley took the next step possible; Go to where Qurden works in.  Nobody actually did notice them sneak out the house through the basement’s doors outside. There isn’t a soul out there driving at this time. At six this is when anything can go on from gang’s patrolling their turf to demons acting out on their plans. Six is also the time when some demons are proven wrong in their complex plan foiled by everyday demon citizens.

 Qurden turns on the nightlight to the night-time waiting room.


 The entire room becomes a faint blue and the ceiling shows a puddle sized circle of mentioned color standing out from the darkness.

 “Spot!” Qurden grabs the Dog from Wesley. He inspects the dog from head to toe making sure it hadn’t been hurt.  His eyes are changed from the calm, arrogant MDE to a startled and worried man.   He looks up from the dog towards the men.

Qurden’s sturdy, dark eyebrows hunched together.

 “You better tell me what happened and why you brought the dog.” Qurden said.  There’s something rotten up here. His senses are alert.

“Ya house got attacked,”  Doyle said, feeling a bit uneasy as the light makes it seem that Qurden has a vampire face when he does not.   “And….Uh ya’ar grass might be really dead dis time.” Doyle adds, waving his right hand slightly.

   Qurden hands Doyle the phone.

 “I will take you to the doorway;” Qurden said, as Doyle took it. “But first. You must hide in the Staff room over there.”

  Qurden points to the door with the words ‘Staff Lounge’ that is illuminated by the light.

 “Staff lounge, good to know corrupted Demons still have a sense of  inbetween breaks.” Wesley jokes, going into the room first.

Doyle goes into the room after Wesley, closing the door behind him.

 “Don’t worry, Spot.”  Qurden places Spot on the counter.

Spot tilts his head.

 “It will be all right…Just hide under the desk.”

Spot fell off the counter and hid under it.

Qurden takes a stake out from behind the computer that would normally be used in the day. Hyle and a bunch of other Demons storm into the room but take a halt when they see Qurden standing there. The tension in the room is unbelievable. However, his death-defying face creeped only a few.

  “I know one of you hurt my wife.”

 Hyle’s rebellious eyes and his fidgeting hands could be the best ‘what’ moment (In a way).

 “Wondearing if you’ve bean on cocaine.” Hyle said, in his most awful and english butchered voice.

Qurden’s eyes flash, infuriated.

 “Don’t you dare butcher English in front of me!” Qurden shouts, as the Demons behind Qurden stand still.

 “What are yah gonna do?” Hyle asks. “Show me a dead body? We want tea Irish Half-Demon. And you can’t do a single ‘ting about it. “

     Hyle is not Irish. There is no one in his life or from his family tree that come from Ireland nor has some relatives from there. Hyle is butchering English and Irish. Qurden knew some friends who are really Irish on both sides of their family. What Hyle spoke in his own words makes Qurden want to scream. But that is not how a man treats a situation like this.

“Butcher English on me,” Qurden’s voice raises.  “And see where that gets you.”








    From The staff lounge room; Doyle and Wesley were drinking from what was left in the fridgerator. Or eating what was left in it. They decided to use this time by having dinner. There was left over pizza and Spaghetti inside wrapped in plastic.  They knew something was going on outside. However, Wesley didn’t want to know yet he worried over Spot.

  “I do worry.” Wesley admits, rolling the spaghetti with the fork. “A lot.”

 Doyle has a short laugh.

 “Dis is entertaining.” Doyle takes the last bite from the left over pizza. He chews it then swallows. He finishes off the orange juice that had been in there, If there was an award for worrying…I believe Wesley would win it, without a doubt.

 “At least this is better than eating tea and cookies.” Wesley acknowledges.  “Cookies can’t satisfy the stomach for the night.”

Doyle nods, in agreement.

Ring ring ring.


Doyle hears Cordelia’s voice on the other end.

“Hey Princess, what’s up?”

Cordelia is speaking too fast

“Cordelia, ya are speaking too fast for me,” Doyle said. He is surprised to hear her talk this fast, from the recent months they had been sharing as team-mates. “Slow down.”  Cordelia’s  voice virtually lets him picture her trembling , scared for him. Slowly her words registered in his brain.

Dean has Demonic.

“Dis can’t be happening..” Doyle said, brushing aside the plate.

Wesley holds his fork up wrapped in Spegetti.

“Eating Dinner while Qurden’s out there doing what-god-knows-what to them, this is the most…unkind highlight of my day.”  Wesley holds the spaghetti right before his open mouth. His classes are right beside the green bowl. Steaming heat from the noodle could make anyone (Who hasn’t eaten) to be hungry.

Davis is dead.

“But Angel has-ha-hahasn’t been back,” Cordelia stutters, the fear in her voice is not debatable. She is scared. “He swore there will be a cold day in hell that’ll happen.”

  Doyle shot Wesley a glare as  Cordelia explains what’s made her frightened.

 “He’s out searching for your ‘little oopsy’, to kill him first before he kills you.”

   “What?” Wesley  asks, defensiviely.

  “It’s been hours since Angel left. He hasn’t been back.”

“Angel, went out, ta kill him?” Doyle  repeats what he just heard.

   Doyle could picture Cordelia nodding.

    “Pl-l-please tell me you have a plan.” 

 Wesley was in the m idle of chewing when Doyle had said ‘Angel went out to kill him’ who he assumed to be Dean. There is one case going on at the moment that would require Angel’s attention. If anyone wanted to guess what Wesley is thinking that it would be easy. The lighting on his face easily showed  that: Oh no. He couldn’t have done that. Wesley thought over the predicament. Angel’s not ready for a demon twice his…

 “I got a plan.” It wasn’t a necessary a plan, but getting Demonic to his dad is the 1st priority and not getting killed was the second priority.

 Emotions and reactions are the tools people use to identify what someone else may be thinking.

“Is that Cordelia on the phone?’ Wesley said after he had swallowed his bite.

Doyle lowers the phone.

“And scared.” Doyle adds. “Care ta explain how ya know her?”

Wesley  barely just smiles at his comment.


 Qurden came into the room, closing the door behind himself.

 “You two!” Qurden said, immeatedly with his hair wild and had some wounds on him. He has  two black eyes, his horn is sort of cut off at the tip, and his voice sounds to be very grouchy. His eyes could be the only thing to tell he wants these two outta here.

 Wesley drops the fork.

 “One,”  Qurden’s finger is shaking. “That phone was off the hook for the past 2 hours. That doorway is in the basement. Now help me move the fridge! Do you have someone who can give you a ride over there? Good. This person will need to drive really fast.”

So Doyle hands the phone to Qurden.

Doyle and Wesley push the fridge out from the wall.

 “Kick your foot in to the wall.” Qurden said, with the phone away from his ear. “Boots up faster!”  Qurden spoke in his fluent and heavy accent indicating that he did grow up somewhere around the Victorian Gardens.  “Stop crying; because when I am done. You need to drive. That dog isn’t cute for looks, little-miss-crybaby!”

There’s a shriek from Cordelia snapping at Qurden.

 “Did he just?...” Wesley asks.

 “Yes,” Doyle said. “He called Cordy here a ‘Crybaby’.”

  Doyle kicks in the wall.


A great blinding flash erupted from the wall. There weren’t heavy wind gusts. It’s similar to how it seemed to Angel (In the doorway formation) before going in to meet the Powers That Be. Qurden got through Cordelia, quickly saying ‘That’s right. Be there in twenty-four minutes. That’s how long it usually takes.’ Wesley takes a step back from the doorway.

Qurden ended the call, abruptly after giving her the directions.

 “Get through that doorway!” Qurden orders them. “And you call me whenever you get the kid back. I will get him to his father, as a favor, Doyle.” Qurden hands a card to Doyle. This has his phone number. “ Do me a Favor,Doyle.”

It’s better than getting nothing, Doyle thought,  Maybe this will be an easy favour.

 “What?” Doyle asks after he took the card, standing halfway close to the door.

 “Kill that Dean Dexter, whenever you meet him again.” Qurden shook his finger at him. His eyes are burning the emotion that can tear a living man apart.“He tortured my little sister—she was a child -- to death . Guess what she was? A Half-breed. He claimed he was asked to do this by the Scourge.”

   …Dean…..did..what? Doyle takes in the information. I saved that family from losing a child. They were humans all right. They had a demon ancestor but that didn’t mean they were part demon.  Wesley lost all control of his jaw. No wonder he evades capture.

“I can’t take justice into my hands.” Qurden adds. He looks down towards the floor; his hands roll up into fists.  “I’m in the law.”

  This won’t be an easy favor to do, Doyle thought about it, But I’ll do it somehow.

  “I’ll find a way.” Doyle assures him. “…With some help.”

 “Then go, You Irish Half-demon!” Qurden orders him, as the banging on the door is getting louder.

Doyle goes  through the doorway.

 “…I hope this isn’t going to make me free fall through white last like time.” Wesley is shaking, taking small steps towards the door.

Qurden pushes Wesley in.


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