Ziusudra put the brush aside and inspected his work. With the painting of Nergal on the second pot completed, he had only to inscribe the plea to Enki. If he could just figure out how to lure and entrap the demon without endangering his friends, he’d be finished and the terror gnawing at his stomach would subside. Wearily, he covered his eyes and tried to channel his energy.

"You’ve taken an enormous task upon yourself," a voice interrupted.

"I know, father," Ziusudra replied, lowering his hands to gaze up at the robed man standing before him. "But it must be done. She’s ravaging Siduri’s household. Once finished there, it will continue with the King’s family. It’s incumbent upon me, as a temple priest and Sargon’s spiritual servant, to end this before she gets that far."

"And you’re asking Enki to help you?"

"Shahmat’s obviously been denied the afterlife, so those gods are not willing to help. I hope he’ll heed my pleas."

The elder priest paced the small library. "You’ll need to entice him somehow." He paused and stood stoically – despite the fear hammering in his breast and causing his legs to tremble – hands clasped behind his back. "I shall have someone fetch water from the river. Put it in his vessel. That’s Enki’s jurisdiction so it should draw his attention. Enchanted, the water might also hold the demon there."

Ziusudra nodded, grateful for the advice. "I need to draw Shahmat away from that which she seeks."

"As an ekimmu, she craves revenge and warmth. Particularly the intense passion of Siduri’s heart. You must ensure that human contact does not warm her prison, because that would free her once more."

"Yes," the young priest acknowledged. "But I don’t know how to keep the vessel cold. Nor do I know what to inscribe on it."

"You will figure out the latter. As for the former, my son, I suggest depth and darkness."

"Yes, father." Ziusudra sighed, the burden still weighing heavily on his mind. "They’re due back in two days, and I have yet to fire the vessels. I don’t know that this will work, and if it doesn’t then I shall lose my oldest friend. And," he sighed again, "I shall disappoint you."

The senior priest stared at his eldest, bewildered by his sudden lack of confidence. "You have never, nor will you ever, disappoint me, Ziusudra. The only one you risk disappointing is yourself. Come to the house when this is ended. Now, I will leave you alone to finish your task undisturbed."

~~~*~~~

"Two down, one to go," Lydia announced with a satisfied smile. "What is with you and pacing lately? Do you have pent-up energy that needs redirecting?"

"I want this over with, Lyds." Wesley slumped onto the couch, and yanked off his glasses. "I can't seem to focus this pent-up energy, as you call it," he said, placing them on the end table. He groaned and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "And I'll need it if Angel calls."

"Oh, I see," Lydia teased, adding a grunt of disgust when she straddled his lap. "You‘d rather play with a vampire than translate ancient CrockPots with me."

"No," he started, then frowned. "Actually, yes and no. It’s what I do best, love."

"I know," she said, rubbing the lines between his brows, trying to erase the concern. "Are you unhappy about that?"

Wesley shook his head. "No, I rather like what I do. Aside from the portal jumping and ceaseless dry-cleaning." Lydia laughed quietly. "What?" he asked.

"You’re sounding more and more like Cordelia. Whinging about your laundry." She rested her forehead against his. "I shan’t be upset if we can’t translate it, Wesley." She kissed his nose, then cupped his face in her hands. "Honestly. You’re the only one who’ll be disappointed."

"Perhaps." He smiled at her skeptical pout. "Okay, you’re right, but things are niggling at my brain and I can’t seem to let them go. Why were they in a cave in the Arabian desert? The site is no where near Sumeria. Why is there a water line inside this one? Did water lead to the disintegration of whatever was inside? The other two do not have any imperfections that I can see, so it can’t be a problem with the potter."

"Rightee-o," she said with a grin. "Let us revise all that we’ve learned these past four days."

"We’ve learned nothing, which is exactly what I’m driving at."

"Oh, we’re driving? If you let me play with your stick, I’ll let you play with my gearbox."

"Don’t be lecherous and do stop writhing. What we’ve surmised thus far is that by granting long life, a harlot – let go of my belt – is protecting some young woman — stop that – for unknown reasons, from a danger which remains unclear but may be a vampire. Lydia, your behavior is not getting the vessel translated."

"Your point being?" Lydia giggled. "Oh, never mind. I found your point."

"You’re insatiable."

"Oh, no. I’m easily satiated. But I’m not waiting a millennium for you to decipher me. So, let’s release your pent-up energy. I get to play doctor, alright?"

~~~*~~~

"Well, this has been a momentous day," Wesley said, running his fingers through her hair. "Absolutely epic."

Lydia bolted upright, her hair catching in his watchband. "Ow, ow, ow, owww," she cried as she pulled herself free. "What did you say?"

"I said that was epic."

"That’s it! You’re a post-coital genius!" she exclaimed, grabbing his face in her hands. "The Gilgamesh Epic. What if they’re not descriptions, but actual names? The harlot didn’t protect the young woman with long life. What if it’s the other way around? Ziusudra wanted to protect Siduri from Shahmat? That’s why there are no case endings."

Wesley frowned then arched an eyebrow, smiling at the clarification. "With magic. He tried to ensnare the woman, Shahmat."

"And that other painting is –"

"Enki. They tried to trap a vampire in a magically protected bottle, Lydia. But I’ve never heard of such a situation. Would have proven interesting and quite beneficial."

"Put Angel in with Jeannie. That’d be fun for somebody. ‘I’m a genie in a bottle…’" She glanced at his blank stare. "Christina A– Oh, never mind. So, who are they, then?" she asked, snuggling next to him again.

"Well, if Ziusudra was protecting, he was a priest. No clue about the others."

"Then that Sargon, on the Nergal vessel, is not Sargon the Semite."

"I gather he’s not."

"What does an ekimmu do? Drink blood?"

"Not always. Suffocate, sometimes. The water must have been for Enki. Wonder what the bit about warmth is. Can’t get much warmer than Saudi Arabia. It’s so bloody obvious now." Lydia sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. "Where are you going?"

"Wesley, you haven’t time for self-flagellation. We’ve an inscription to translate. You owe me dinner and a movie. Moulin Rouge. I want to go tonight."

"How on earth can you stand to sit through that? Again? What is this, third time?"

Lydia pretended to count off her visits to the cinema. "Fourth and Ewan’s in it. Although, I must admit, he’s lost his appeal in the past few days."

"Truly?" Wesley asked with a smug smile.

"Yeah," Lydia said, turning her back to him. She smirked as she reached for her clothes. "And if you believe that I have a karaoke bar for sale in, where is that place? Pylea?" She turned around. "I’m kidding! Sheesh."

~~~4~~~

"Do you think they know?"

"I think, mon adorée, they suspect, but do not know for certain."

"So, why can’t I know where we’re going for tea?"

"All part of the adventure, Lyds."

"Just so long as I get to see Ewan," she mumbled.

Fresh from the shower, Lydia stretched out on the bed and watched in amusement while he systematically examined her wardrobe. Without hesitation, he draped her favourite black dress over the back of the chair and returned his attention to the closet. Their first dinner as a couple, she sighed to herself, without any friends tagging along to chaperone. Then she noticed the white silk scarf as it flowed from the drawer.

She bolted upright. "Oi! That was a gift from my grandmother!"

"Such exquisite taste," he said, joining her on the bed and dragging the scarf across her face.

"The demon hunter with a silly side," she giggled. Suddenly, he straddled her lap and grabbed her wrists, pulling them above her head. "Whatever are you doing?" she cried.

"Tying you to the bedpost. What does it look like?" He sat back and admired his handiwork. His blue eyes regarded her green before his hands opened her bathrobe and he bent down to kiss her collarbone.

"And why am I bound like pirate plunder?"

He kissed his way up her neck. "You got away from me before. I’m going to make sure it doesn’t happen again," he answered. With a sly grin, he gently lowered her head and fanned her hair across the pillow. "Ah-har, and what a fine captive ye be!"

"From Penzance to boot. Will ye be singing any ditties tonight, cap’n?" she asked before his mouth descended upon hers.

"Most certainly not," he finally replied, tugging on her lower lip. "Nor will you be just lying back and thinking of England."

They both started and stared when the telephone rang. She wiggled her bound hands and smirked. Reluctantly, he rolled off her and picked up the receiver.

"Good evening? Oh, I see. I know. Thank you. Ten minutes." He hung up the phone then turned to give her the bad news. "That was Gunn. Cordy’s had a vision. Something in Canoga Park. The dinner and movie will have to wait until tomorrow."

"That’s okay," she said with a dramatic pout. "Are they picking you up? Or do you–"

"They’re swinging by. I’ll pop round after we’re done and I take a shower, just in case."

Lydia arched her eyebrow. "In case Angel smells me on you?" She wiggled her fingers again while he buttoned his shirt. "Ahem, the scarf, matey."

Wesley smirked, then untied the knot. "Demon blood tends to be rather putrid. And while your bathtub was, ah, appropriately commodious last night, I do need to change my clothes eventually." He kissed her lightly. "I’ll wait outside, faster that way. In the meantime, you rest."

"Aye-aye, captain."

~~~*~~~

Ziusudra held the third vessel aloft and turned his back to the couple as they placed their vessels on the table. A gentle breeze blew the incense across the room.

"I beseech you, Enki, god of knowledge and magic, to hold the spirit of the deceased within your realm of sweet waters. Keep her within these cold confines so that she no longer plagues the living with her lust for vengeance."

The wind screeched as it raged through room. Ziusudra kept the vessel high above the small altar, not moving even though he felt the ekimmu in the room, swirling angrily around him. He maintained his chant while she screamed and sobbed for retribution. Only when the wind died and the vessel became heavier did he lower his arms and close the vessel with the tight fitting lid. Deftly, he sealed the container with wax.

His task done, Ziusudra turned around to face his friends, and collapsed onto the floor.

~~~*~~~

Lydia groaned and glanced at the clock. Almost dawn. The wind had shifted directions and was probably scattering their hard labors across the room.

"Erin, turn down the mint, please. It’s gagging me," she whined before she rose from the bed and grabbed her robe. As she yawned and tied the sash, Lydia heard the dull thud of something falling onto the carpet in one of the front rooms. Cautiously, she started down the hallway.

"Cap’n, you can turn on the lights," she announced, hoping to scare the intruder or, as she’d prefer, shock some sense into Wesley. She entered the living room, and flipped the switch.

No one could be seen, but the presence of someone else in the room was unmistakable.

"Wes?" she asked, peering into the dining room. The curtains were fluttering from side to side in an ever increasingly angry movement, but no other activity could be discerned. Lydia walked over to the window to close it, but it was already locked shut.

"Wesley?" she asked as the wind picked up speed and began to howl.

"Erin, you’re scaring me," she admitted, her voice quivering. The noise intensified until it became a deafening scream, surrounding Lydia in a whirlpool of confusion.

As the air cycloned around her, Lydia felt the tightness in her chest increase until she couldn’t breathe. She tried to calm her quickening pulse and panic, while fruitlessly attempting to exhale enough so that she could make room for more oxygen. Slowly, painfully, the vortex constricted her lungs further.

"Wes," Lydia cried out weakly, as she collapsed onto the floor.

~~~*~~~

"We kicked ass, yet again," Gunn said as he entered the foyer. "Y’all coming in or what?"

"We’re coming," Cordelia called out, then turned her attention back to Wesley. "So, these pots are blessings, and protection against some ancient ghost?"

"Actually, a vampire ghost, called an ekimmu. People who’ve died and couldn’t get into the afterlife for various reasons: suicide, violent death, unrequited love, death during pregnancy, and the like. They then take revenge on those believed to have caused their eternal wandering. Seems the priest was trying to trap it. To protect members of the royal family, Lydia thinks."

"Did it work?" Angel asked.

"Doubtful, or we would have heard about the success of such a snare. Even if modern understanding of Babylonia is less than two centuries old, I’m sure the Watcher’s Council would have known about it. Their resources are –" Wesley paused as Cordelia stopped in mid-stride and pressed her hand to her forehead.

"Cordelia?" Angel asked, grabbing her by the arm as she collapsed in pain.

~~~5~~~

"What’s that noise?" Cordelia asked. The elevator doors opened with a hushed whoosh; the screeching wind rushing through the hallway became a disconsolate wail.

Wesley, eyes wide in shock and disbelief, raced down the corridor. "Lydia!" he screamed, banging on the door.

"Move," Angel ordered before he kicked the door open, bending the deadbolt in half. Cordelia came to a halt next to him, frozen in shock at the disarray inside the apartment.

Wesley dropped to his knees and began CPR. "Call an ambulance!" he said between counts.

"Wesley," Angel said in a hushed voice.

"Just do it!" Wesley screamed. He bent Lydia’s head back and pinched her nostrils shut. His mind barely registered Cordelia providing the information to the operator. "I’ve got a pulse. Faint but there. Damn it, Lyds, don’t you leave me."

"They’re on their way," Cordelia assured him. "I’ll get a blanket."

Angel watched from the sidelines, keenly aware of Erin’s now silent presence. "The ambulance just turned the corner," he said as soon as he could distinguish the wail of the siren from the howl of the demon. At his nod, Cordelia left to direct the paramedics and weave a plausible story. They entered with a whirlwind of activity: wheeling in a gurney, barking numbers to an invisible doctor, inserting the IV line.

"I don’t get it," Wesley said after the ambulance crew pushed him aside. "She’s not pregnant, not related to anything remotely Babylonian."

"No, but those aren’t the only reasons an ekimmu would try to claim her, is it?" Angel replied.

Wesley kept his eyes focused on the emergency team’s ministrations. "What are you talking about?"

"You," Angel started then sighed. "Wesley, we know." He looked to Cordelia for support.

"What do you know?" Wesley asked. He watched the paramedics raise the gurney.

Cordelia turned him to face her. "You and Lydia. Even Fred can tell. Everyone saw it, the way you two act," she said while Lydia was wheeled toward the elevator. "Go with her to the hospital. We’ll get Gunn and Fred and meet you there."

~~~*~~~

The young priest bundled the three small, clay vessels in cloth, placed them in a sack, and hurried from the scene. The servants’ cries of anguish would immediately alert the Court and, knowing them as well as he did, Ziusudra was certain someone would arrive within minutes to find the evidence that would incriminate him as the sole survivor and perpetrator of an experiment gone horrifically wrong. The ekimmu was trapped inside the cold clay vessel, but only after she had claimed her last two victims, strangling the life out of their lungs in a storm of unquenchable vengeance.

He fled south and west, seven days out of the city, away from the great waters, toward the mountains. Followed only by the wind, he continued until he reached the limits of his endurance. Under the blaze of the desert sun, he scanned the area until he found the object of his search in a nearby escarpment. There, above an overhang to his right, he saw the telltale shadow. With his remaining strength, he carefully ascended the ledge and peered into the narrow, but seemingly deep, cave. Confident that the vessels would be safe from the warmth of human hands, he wedged the bundle inside the mountain’s cavity.

Secure in the knowledge that he had finished everything, Ziusudra stood to his full height, looked up toward An, and threw himself over the ledge.

~~~*~~~

"I told her. It is me," Wesley said, towering over the bed, his shoulders slumped with guilt and fatigue. He held her limp hand in his, his thumb gently rubbing the back of her hand. "I’m sorry, Lyds. You deserve something safer. Something … more."

Cordelia walked up behind Wesley and put her arm around his waist. "Come on, enough of that," she whispered. "Let’s take you back to the hotel. Angel and Gunn’re waiting to do whatever you tell them, now that her brother Mike’s here with the water."

"It was my path that led to this. Almost –"

"Bloody hell, Wesley," erupted a voice from a dark corner of the room. "Cut this nonsense out. There is no way you can think clearly if you’re wallowing in unjustified self-flagellation. And we do need you to think clearly." Mike emerged from the shadows and looked down at his unconscious sister. "Lydia told the family what the bean sidhe said, and if Niall hadn’t invited her and me to the dig, she wouldn’t have had the vessels."

"She brought them for me to look at."

"She had them because she owes Smuts a favor. Before you even ask, no, she never told me what it is. But I do know that he knew she was in touch with you, and he was none too pleased. Tough luck, right? Look, you’re the smartest bloke we know, Wesley. No one else would have figured it out. Sure as shite not in less than a week."

"I should’ve realized. This ekimmu targets those who –" His voice broke.

"Are in love?" Cordelia finished for him.

"We didn’t say anything. To anyone. I never got the chance–"

"Then you’ll just have to take our word, won’t you? She loves you. Has for the longest while, but you two were too busy playing at idiots. I’m sure she knows her love is returned. It’s as plain as the nose on your face." Mike put his hand on Wesley’s shoulder and drew him close. "Trust me, this fatal path was not yours, but Niall’s. You averted it. So, to get down to the reason I have a bottle of the Euphrates in my carry-on. Which, by the way, was a bitch to get through customs. You all know how to get rid of this ekimmu thing?"

"Wesley does," Cordelia answered.

"Of course! How could I think otherwise? Now," Mike said with a nod and a nudge toward the door. "Let’s get on with it. Like Lydia would expect us to, eh?"

"I’ll dust her, Lydia," Wesley whispered, then lay her hand gently on the bed. Straightening to his full height, he turned to the other two. "Mike, go back to the Hyperion with Cordelia. There’s a guestroom set up for you. In the meanwhile, I’ll get the equipment I need. Cordelia, give Angel the keys to Lydia’s flat, and have him meet me in the garage with the vessels. No one alive goes onto that floor. One neighbor dead and two hospitalized is enough."

"You have three," Mike stated flatly. He opened his backpack and handed Wesley a hermetically sealed container of murky water. "Who’s going to hold the third?"

"I will," Cordelia whispered.

"No," Wesley snapped at her. "You most certainly will not."

"But you need a woman, right?"

"I need," he stretched out the last word for emphasis, "someone a little colder. Without warmth."

"Okay, that’s –"

"I can’t possibly risk you, too, Cordelia," Wesley said. "A bean sidhe has no body heat."

"Oh. Erin."

Wesley gave her an apologetic smile. "Perhaps you could take Mike to Caritas. If we run into trouble, Lorne will know what to do. I’ll head off now." He nodded to Mike then left.

Mike turned to Cordelia. "And Caritas is?"

She gave him one of her brightest grins and took his arm, leading him out the door toward the elevator. "It’s one of our best kept secrets here in Hell-Ay. A demon karaoke bar and all-around, inter-dimensional hotspot."

"Okay. I thought my friends were bizarre. You people are feckin’ loons."

~~~*~~~

"You have them?" Wesley asked. He set a large metal container, marked with a HazChem label on the ground next to a large concrete beam.

"Of course," Angel answered. "You’re sure this will work?"

Wesley watched quietly while Erin slowly materialized, then shook his head. "I fear it’s as good as any other possibility. Ekimmu are different than vampires such as yourself."

"What would you have me do for Lydia?" Erin asked.

Wesley handed her the vessel with the Sumerian goddesses. "I need you to play the part of Siduri. Hold this and do not let it drop. Everything necessary is already inside. Angel, you do the same with this one." Wesley held the warrior’s vessel at arm’s length. "No matter what happens, you cannot drop them. When she’s returned, I’ll place the third vessel in the liquid nitrogen."

"I’ll do that."

"No, I’ll do it, Angel. I need to do it myself."

Angel took the container. "Understood," he said with a curt nod.

Once he was sure they were ready, Wesley began reciting the blessings he and Lydia had translated. A low, indistinct moan swept through the garage, winding its way around the concrete poles toward the three figures in the middle. Wesley acknowledged Erin’s unspoken question and turned his back to them, lifting the third vessel above his head.

"Enki, god of knowledge and magic, I ask you to hold the ekimmu, Shamat, within your realm of sweet waters. Keep her in this cold vessel so that she no longer plagues Sargon and Siduri with her need for vengeance."

The wind screeched as it raged toward him. Wesley closed his eyes and braced himself, but kept the vessel aloft, not moving although he sensed the ekimmu swirling angrily around him. He felt the dull pressure in his chest increase as his ability to exhale painfully disappeared. Despite the fear that threatened to overwhelm him, he repeated the chant while the ekimmu screamed and sobbed for retribution. Only when the air around him became still and the vessel heavier, did Wesley lower his arms and open his eyes.

Wordlessly, he closed the clay receptacle with a plastic stopper and turned to faced Angel and Erin. He smiled grimly at Erin, who placed her vessel on the ground, then opened the container of liquid nitrogen. After he handed the ekimmu to Angel, Wesley put a pair of safety gloves and picked up the rubber-coated tongs he had hung from the handle of the container. He grabbed the sealed vessel and lowered it into the frosty mist, releasing it once he calculated it’d reached the liquid. The dull thud as it sank to the bottom gave him an eerie sense of satisfaction. Only then did he take a deep breath.

"Done?" Erin asked.

"I believe so," Wesley said, watching as Angel replaced the tank’s lid. He removed the gloves and glanced over at Erin. "Thank you for your assistance."

"It’s my obligation," she replied, then frowned. "No, that’s not entirely true. I do it because I love her. Much the same as you do," she smiled, "but not quite the same."

"Yes," Wesley agreed, looking away. "We need to get rid of this, Angel."

"Right." Angel lifted the tank and placed it in a storage crate in the trunk of his car. "I know the ideal spot, nearby, with a handsome view of a raw sewage treatment plant. How’s that?"

"Fitting, somehow." Wesley waited by the passenger’s door while Angel slammed the trunk closed and climbed into the car. "Thank you."

Angel stared at him, then shrugged. "You’re welcome. Oh, and I have a surprise for you." He returned Wesley’s mystified stare with a smirk. "Actually, it was Fred’s idea."

"That’s a relief," Wesley said as he sat down and closed the door. "I was worried you were going to get maudlin."

"Me?" Angel asked with a snort. "Doesn’t go with the coat."

~~~*~~~

"Hey guys!" Cordelia said when they entered the room. "Look who’s awake!"

Both men smiled softly at the drowsy patient. Wesley came to her side and kissed her forehead.

"Hey," she said with a croak. "Cordy says you handled the ekimmu."

"Yes," Wesley answered. He pulled up a chair and sat beside the bed. "We trapped her, using the inscription, then put her in liquid nitrogen."

"Liquid nitrogen. Brill," Mike said. "That should keep her on ice for awhile." Lydia shot her brother a look of disgust. "What? Who taught you to have an appropriately appalling sense of humor? Certainly not Brandon or Saint Tomas."

Lydia returned her attention to Wesley. "So, where are they now?"

"Two containers have been packed and Mike will take them to Niall, along with the diskette of the translations, as soon as you’re out of here." Lydia tried to say something else, but couldn’t manage to get out more than a raspy squeak. Wesley leaned forward to hear what she was whispering, then grinned at Mike. "Yes. He has been a right royal mother, ah, hen."

"What happened to the third pot?" Cordelia asked.

"Fred came up with a therapeutic solution," Angel said.

"Angel drove to a sewage treatment plant. Positively foul stench. He took the vessel out of the liquid nitrogen, handed me a sledgehammer and I pulverized her."

"Repeatedly," Angel added, a broad grin on his face. "There is nothing substantial left of the vessel or the ekimmu. They’re both dust."

Wesley shrugged and cocked an eyebrow. "A lot of pent-up energy, I suppose," he said.

~~ Der sof ~~