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)


1. City of Fear

Doyle knew deep down inside; He wouldn’t be able to tell his good, vampire friend Angel his life-story. Something from his past really didn’t need to be told. As Cordelia told him, “You can’t always run.” Without knowing he is half demon.  Cordelia could have found out when she hit him with a pan in his demon form. Surprisingly it seemed to him Cordelia is a little naive. Now, here he was walking down a street carrying a bottle of wine in a bag at night.

     “No visions for tonight.”  Doyle said, with a cheerful laugh.  He is an Irish fellow who isn’t ordinary; A half-bred demon that’s in love with a human and befriended a vampire (with a soul) unlike many. His vampire friend is Angel, who helps the helpless. “Aw, dis is dah life!”

  It seemed just a little too perfect.

  “Allen Francis Doyle.” An all too familiar voice came from behind him.

  Doyle couldn’t stop but look over his shoulder, to see an ugly demon.

 “There is a bounty on you.” The Demon,  Dean Dexter, adds as his fists have wooden stakes.

 I am not going to stand down. I am not going to be a coward. You saved Cordelia.

“Dats what  dah other Demon said.” Doyle mocks Dean, taking out a bow and a stake.  “And he’s dead!”

Doyle shoots his bow and stake. The stake hit Dean’S left arm by mistake. He didn’t disintegrate.

 “Nice try, punk.” Dean grunts, taking out the stake.

 Doyle rushes off, making a note to self that he should get spare stakes.

 “You cannot run from me!”  Dean runs after Doyle, carrying his wooden stakes, His eye are different from most people (A soulless, light gray) who would say it belongs to some kind of different person. He has a jacket on, black jeans torn at the knees, and heavy army boots aligned with knives or either stakes.

  “Ya can’t get in through steel doors,” Doyle argues back, running towards the building where the agency is.  Please let it work. Please let this bluff work. I should make a suggestion for steel doors. Doyle skid through a door to wherever and crashed into a cabinet.

 Dean runs past the door.

 “…Ow.” Doyle gets up, rubbing his neck.  “I should probably run in my Demon form.”

 Doyle dusts off his jacket, then he hears a child.

“Mommy?” The voice of a boy nearly broke his heart into pieces. “Daddy? Is that really you?”

 Doyle’s hands and face is dotted in spikes, changing from Caucasian to green.

“Go ta bed.” Doyle tells the boy, standing in the hall.

 The boy is staring at Doyle with his jaw dropped.

  "..You...ou have.." The boy starts to say, stuttering.

“And don’t stare at me.” Doyle explains to the boy. “It’s quite rude. Your mommy must have surely taught ya dis….” He lowers himself down to the level of this boy. He puts the bag aside. “Don’t be scared of me.  I am a good guy; not all Irish people have orange hair. Do ya have a name?”

 The boy nods.

 “Christopher Columbus.”

Doyle laughs.

 “No.” Doyle taps his knee. “Ya real name.”

The boy puckers.

 “Not until you tell me what’s wrong with mommy!”  The boy tells Doyle.

Doyle sniffs, smelling blood in the apartment. It’s stale blood.   Oh god. Doyle thought, looking back to the boy, His mother is dead. Doyle stands completely up.

The boy takes Doyle’s porcupine-like hand.

 “I’m scared.” The boy said. “Mommy said my first name is a longer version of Demon..." He looks up to Doyle. The eyes that a frightened child would usually have when wanting to know something came up. "Do you know what that word is?”

 Doyle didn’t get surprised. But The half Irish demon smiles, as they walk to The boy’s room.

“Demonic.”  Doyle said, slightly laughing at the boy’s name. “I have heard worse.”

Demonic’s eyes look strange, almost keen for a moment.

 “What are you?”

Doyle’s left hand relaxes.

“Half human, half bred demon.”   Doyle said in a low, rest-assured voice. “One of dah good ones...dat is."

 Demonic looks at him curiously.

 "There's bad demons in this world?"

 Doyle shook his head.

 "Some do dah possessing dat ya see on Television." Doyle said, then he adds. "I know a vampire with a soul.”

 Demonic stops at the third door with Doyle.

 “Cool—urroouu!”  Demonic howls, he lets go of Doyle’s hand. He covers his mouth.  “Sorry! Mommy doesn’t want me to howl…”

  Half human, half werewolf, Doyle could see a connection between him and the boy except he knew what he is and his parents had taken the time to warn him not howl. Lucky kid.Doyle signals Demonic to step aside (Which he complies). Then Doyle refreshes himself, expecting to see a grizzly scene in the room. He opens the door.

  A couple vampires were feasting off Demonic’s mom’s dying body on her bed.

 “OH.” One of them, being the third Vampire, shouts. “It’s Angelus friend!”

Doyle grabs a part of a chair splitting it in half to make a sharp stake.

 “It’s Angel.”  Doyle throws a stake right at the third vampire.  The third Vampire becomes dust. “Get ya facts right. If you are goin' ta kill a parent, ten at least leave dag child in a locked room.” He shook his finger at the two vampires, scolding them like children. “Ya have bitten a werewolf.”

 The two vampires were more than pale then they had been before.

“If I see ya two again,” Doyle aims his arrow at them.  “I won’t be hesitatin'.”

The two vampires jump through the window and leave behind a dead body.

“Is Mommy okay?” Demonic asks, more than worried for his mother.

Doyle turns himself around, and then lowers himself down to Demonic.

 “Do ya have a dad?”

Demonic plays with his claw-like fingers.

 “I..I..I…Mommy didn’t tell me.” Demonic said, in a small and innocent-child like voice.

 Doyle ruffles Demonic's hair.

“Go ta dah kitchen, call dah police,” Doyle said. “And turn dah lights on. Ya might as well be stayin' at my place until they find ya dad.”

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