Chapter Three

Cordelia found herself standing on what appeared to be an ordinary street in Los Angeles, on an ordinary night. Only the distant roar at the back of her mind reminded her that none of this was real, and that she was really somewhere else. If she allowed herself to feel it, the pain was still there, waiting for her.

She could still hear Drusilla laughing, although she could no longer see her.

"It's gonna be sooooo much fun. We'll see how you do, we will . . . Once you get in, there's no getting out, no turning back . . . must finish the game. No turning back, no turning back, no turning back . . ." Drusilla's voice got softer with each chant, until it faded out altogether.

In front of Cordelia was a building that looked way too old to belong in Los Angeles. An ugly neon sign, garish and completely out of place on the wall, was blinking erratically, spelling out "Welcome to Ereshkigal's," with a flashing arrow pointing straight down.

"Go for subtle around here much? Who in hell is Ereshkigal?" Cordelia muttered.

In the back of her mind she heard Drusilla's whispered answer. "In hell, I am queen."

The arrow was pointing toward a narrow staircase that seemed to lead, not into the building, but into the ground below it. The flashing light was the only illumination, and as she glanced around her, she noticed that there were no other people on the street.

At the periphery of her mind, she could hear voices from both her vision world and the real one. Voices of all those in pain, voices of doctors and nurses trying to help her, and above them all, Angel's voice . . . calling to her, begging her to hear him, to come back. She could not let his voice lure her back to the real world, or to the part of her brain where the visions came so painfully fast and furious, they collided against each other.

That way would lead only to madness, and death. And this way?

Well, this way might lead to madness and death too. But on the other hand, it might lead to Doyle.

What other choice did she have?

"Well, as one queen to another, your invitation could use a little more class, but, bring it on. I'll bet you could use some good decorating advice, too."

She began walking down the stairs.

The staircase was narrow and winding. There was almost no light, and she had to step carefully, feeling her way. The walls grew closer together and the steps even steeper, and the stairs seemed to curve sharply in a spiral pattern, so that she had to run her hands along the walls on either side to keep her balance. After a few steps, she realized that the high-heeled shoes that she was wearing were totally impractical for this, and with a sigh, she took them off.

The steps were cold, and felt wet and slimy. Carrying her shoes in one hand, it was even more difficult to avoid falling. Her nylon hose made her feet slip and slide. After a few more steps, feeling silly and embarrassed, she stopped again.

No one was around. It was dark and completely quiet. Even more than that, she knew perfectly well that this whole scene was an illusion, some figment of Drusilla's imagination. Still, the idea of taking off her pantyhose made her skin crawl. Who knew what she might be stepping in, or what might start climbing up her legs?

"It's not real," she reminded herself. "Even the ick part isn't real."

She hesitated, reluctant, for a long moment. Then she remembered seeing Doyle behind the transparent barrier, his lips moving, telling her, "I'm still here."

Whatever else was or wasn't real, that much felt real to her. She sighed, and leaning awkwardly against the wall, began to pull off her pantyhose. She wadded them up in a ball, and then realized that she had no pocket or purse to put them in. Carrying the shoes was tough enough; carrying the shoes and the pantyhose both would make it impossible to use her hands effectively for balance. She thought about trying to wish a purse into existence, the way she had with the stake, but decided that she really didn't need to carry anything else.

Oh, well, she could always wish herself more shoes and hosiery another time... if the rules didn't change again. Accepting the inevitable, she put the shoes and pantyhose down on the step behind her, and kept walking downward, bare-legged.

It was cold, and getting colder. She shivered as she kept walking, and as she kept her hands on the walls on either side, grimacing at the slippery feeling, she could feel the chilly, damp stone scraping her fingers.

"Ouch!" There went a fingernail. She scowled in annoyance, but kept walking down through the darkness, keeping her hands on the walls at either side.

Another fingernail broke as she went around the next turn. Then she suddenly stopped, as she bumped into something. Hard. Face-first.

"Oww!" She rubbed her nose, and felt cold wall-slime from her fingers smearing across her face. "Yuck!"

She put out a hand, groping in the dark, and felt what was directly ahead of her. It felt like it might be a door, but as far as she could feel, there was no handle. She ran both hands tentatively over it, but could find no way to open it.

Great. She had heard Drusilla laughing about not being able to turn back, and now she couldn't even go forward?

Abruptly furious, she began pounding on the door with her fists. "Drusilla! Let me in! You know who I am. Open this door! Let me in! And I mean now!"

A mocking voice came from the other side of the door, a familiar voice, but not Drusilla's. "Who's there?" someone asked in a sing-song tone. She vaguely recognized the voice, but couldn't place it right away.

"This is no time for knock-knock jokes. This is Cordelia Chase. You've been expecting me. Open the door, right now."

The door in front of her opened slightly, just enough for her to see the outline of a figure standing there, but not enough for her to get in. The light behind the figure at the door was reddish and dim, but it was enough to show her long, fair hair, and an unnaturally pale face.

"Hey, look who's decided to drop by," said Harmony, looking critically at Cordelia's slime-smeared face, broken fingernails, and bare legs and feet. "Hmm, let me guess. I don't see the cat who dragged you in, so you saw yourself in a mirror and dropped dead, right?"

"Harmony. Well, I wouldn't talk if I were you, since I would guess you haven't been seeing yourself in too many mirrors lately. What are you doing here?"

"Well, who did you expect in the land of the dead?"

"Actually, I was hoping for John F. Kennedy Jr., but his wife probably wouldn't go for it. Move out of my way, Harmony, I'm coming through."

"Not so fast. You're not in charge here."

"And who is? Loony Drusilla? If you're taking orders from her now, you should have just stayed all the way dead."

"How very nice, considering that you didn't even show up at my funeral. Did you even notice that I died? I never even got my diploma, you know."

"I can't do anything about it now, Harmony. Just let me through."

"Why should I? I'll bet you didn't even cry for me. Why should I listen to you? What makes you think you deserved to survive graduation when other people didn't?"

"This isn't about me any more. This is about Doyle, that's all that matters."

"'That's all that matters?' That doesn't sound like the Cordy Chase I used to know . . . like this barefoot look, it's so . . . not you."

"Well, this hanging around by the dungeon door bit, it's so not you, either. Don't they have any parties down here? Go find one, and just leave this door open when you leave."

"The way you look right now, I don't think even a party in hell would invite you."

"Newsflash - I've already been invited. Places to go, things to steal, so step aside, Harmony."

"I hear you're coming after the water of life. You'll never get it, you know. What's got you so bent? Just some guy? Are you that desperate now?"

Cordelia sighed. They could easily keep up a senseless, bantering, insult-throwing match for hours and that wasn't what she wanted to do. She had no idea how long she would stay here, how long she could stay here. There was no time for foolish schoolgirl games.

"Actually I've been having a real life, Harmony. Fighting the bad guys, meeting Rebecca Lowell - I never got to tell you about that, did I? Anyway, I'm not in high school any more. I know this is a concept way beyond your understanding, but I've actually been doing something good for a change."

"Whoa," said Harmony. "That doesn't sound like you either. Where's the real Cordelia Chase? Did somebody kidnap her and put Cinderella in her place?" Harmony paused. "That rhymes. Cool. Oh, that's right, you're poor now, aren't you? Maybe 'desperate' is your new look after all."

Cordelia refused to be baited. "Why are you still standing here, Harmony?"

"I've been waiting for you . . . cause Drusilla wants me to. It's her world, you know. Her world, her rules," Harmony paused, looked at Cordelia curiously, "You sure must like Drusilla's pet demon a lot, to come down here."

"Don't call him that," Cordelia snapped. "He doesn't belong to her, and he's not a demon, at least not all."

"You must really want him. Do you Cordelia? Do you want him?" She smiled when Cordelia didn't answer. "I can tell you do, I really can. And for the right price, I can help you, 'cause you see," and she moved closer to Cordelia to whisper in her ear, "I'm the gatekeeper, and I'm the keeper of the key." She giggled as she realized she'd made another rhyme.

And as she spoke, she slowly drew a glittery, silver key from her pocket and held it up so Cordelia could see it. It sparkled as if it were encrusted in jewels.

"Give that to me!" Cordelia cried, grabbing for it, but her hand grasped only air, as Harmony quickly pulled the key away.

"Oh, no, no, no," Harmony scolded, "it doesn't work that way, We're not at Sunnydale High anymore, you don't have a say. And I'm not your cordette . . . in fact, I'm just the opposite . . ." still rhyming.

As she spoke, her pretty but vapid features changed, and morphed into her vampire face. Cordelia stared at Harmony's transformed face a moment, then said with a gentleness that surprised both of them, "Well, that's a new look for you, now isn't it?"

Harmony stared back at Cordelia. She had obviously been expecting shock or horror from her former friend. Getting neither, she said, lapsing out of rhyme. "Yes, well, it's not so bad. Except for the no reflection thing . . . that does get on my nerves . . . I mean, how are you supposed to tell if your make-up is right? And sometimes Spike is a pain, especially since he got that chip in his head."

"Spike?" Cordelia said, with disgust, "Well, I see your taste in men hasn't changed."

"No, but yours has, hasn't it Cordy? Hasn't it? 'Rich and handsome' just doesn't do it any more does it? Now you want 'brave and interesting.' Just like Drusilla's pet demon."

"I told you not to call him that."

Harmony smiled slyly at Cordelia. "How much do you want him, Cordelia, how much? How much does he matter? What would you give up for him? What would you sacrifice? You want the key to open the gate, you want to get to him before it's too late? Well, it comes with a price. It comes with a price. It comes with a really big sacrifice." She was back to the rhyming. Cordelia shuddered, remembering when they used to play that silly rhyming game, it seemed so long ago.

She chose to ignore it. "What do you mean, a sacrifice? What kind of sacrifice?"

"Well, let's see," Harmony said, sliding back into human form. "What do you have? What could you give up? Your beauty? Right now you don't look like much. You're going to have a big old black eye in the morning from bumping into that door, if you're still alive, that is. But I don't know. Would you give up your looks forever? Because then, even if you do get Doyle, he might not even want to look at you."

"You don't know anything about him, Harmony."

"So, you think he'll still want you, even if you're not beautiful? What else, then? You don't have money . . . you don't have fame . . ." she stopped, again gave Cordelia that sly smile, then said, "but someday soon, you'd get into the game."

"What do you mean, get into the game?"

"That's what you went to LA for, right?" Harmony asked. "To have instant fame, to get into the light. But it hasn't happened, and you're getting all sad. You figure it's never going to happen and that's too bad. But what if I told you you'll come out of this breach? What if I told you that fame and fortune . . . is in your future, is within your reach?"

"There's no way you can see my future."

"Oh, but I can. Here in Drusilla's world, we can see a lot of things." Down to business now, Harmony once again lapsed out of rhyme. " And I see it, Cordy. . . I see all your wishes and dreams coming true. But they come with a price too, and these dreams, they come without Doyle. You can't have both . . . you can't have all," Harmony giggled. "So, you have to decide, Cordy, what matters more? Your dreams or Doyle? How much does he matter? Would you give up your dreams before you even get a chance to taste them? Would you sacrifice these dreams you want so badly, so that maybe you can have him back? It's your choice."

Cordelia closed her eyes. She thought of her dreams, finally coming true. The fame and money she'd always wanted . . . the applause, the awards, the accolades. She thought of the rich, handsome, adoring men she could have on her arm . . .

And then she thought of Doyle. She thought of the first time she ever saw him, outside Russell Winters' house, wearing that silly hat, stammering out excuses for Angel's smoking car. She thought of him helping her apartment hunt . . . remembered that it had been he who had suggested that they try to cleanse the place after they had discovered it was haunted. She thought about how he had noticed her new shoes. She remembered how he had saved her from that vampire after Mr. rich-and-handsome Pierce in his Armani suit had run off and left her, remembered how, after a severe beating, his first thoughts and words had been for her. And, of course, she thought of the 'Quintessa,' their first (and last) kiss (and what a kiss), her numb shock when she saw his demon face for the first time and she began to understand what he was about to do, his jumping onto the beacon . . . making the ultimate sacrifice, for those half-Lister demons, for Angel, for her. She thought of how empty her life--and Angel's life too--had been without him. And he was her dream too . . .

There had to be a reason why they met. There had to be some meaning to it.

Still, it was hard . . . she had nurtured those dreams for so long. But what did she want more? What mattered more?

Cordelia took a deep breath, opened her eyes, looked directly into Harmony's. "All right," she said, in a rather shaky voice, "take it . . . the fame, the money--all of it. Take it. Just give me the key and get out of my way."

Harmony nodded, "It's done. This price has been paid, this sacrifice made." She handed Cordelia the silver key, and backed away from the opening in the door as she did. She waved and, with a self-satisfied little giggle, disappeared.

Cordelia did feel empty, as if she'd lost a piece of herself, but it would be worth it, if she was one step closer to Doyle.

Key in hand, she touched the door.

It swung open before her.