A Paler Shade of Green

A/N: Thank you so much to the following people who read and reviewed.

Purr - Heh, Lorne and Fred won't be the only ones who think Kylar is a girl. It's fun having such a pretty demon show up and cause sexual confusion amongst the humans! I like doing stuff like that. :)

Anon - Thanks a lot! I'm so glad you're liking the idea of a Lorne-fic and that you don't hate Kylar. I know original characters are a gamble but I hope mine has paid off.

Luminita - You're too kind! Thank you for reading. I hope you like this chapter as well and in it you will learn more about Kylar's past. It's kind of awful, though, and may make you sad... Just a friendly warning!


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Part 2.

“Who’s Connor?” Kylar asks, slipping on the robe and tying the sash around his waist.

“The kid who lives here I was hoping you wouldn’t see much of.” Lorne sighs, tensely rubbing the area between his horns. “Guess we have to introduce you sometime.”

He and Fred lead Kylar down the corridor to the teenage slayer’s bedroom. Though he knows they need to obtain clothing, Lorne’s more than a little worried that Connor might automatically jump to the wrong conclusion once he sees Kylar and holds a knife to the younger Pylean’s throat simply because he’s a strange demon in the hotel. That’s the last thing Kylar needs – more scaring - but hopefully Connor has already done enough violence for tonight and doesn’t go all vicious killer on them before Lorne can explain the situation. Connor has a really bad habit of jumping to conclusions and it usually ends up with somebody’s blood spilt. It’s best if Lorne and Fred talk to Connor and keep Kylar way back out of harm’s way so he gently moves the red-eyed boy behind him. If Connor wants to attack, he’s gonna have to go through Lorne first and if the punk tries something stupid like that, Lorne will pull out his one defensive card – the high-pitched, glass-shattering vocal note that will make even a vampire hunter drop to the ground and writhe in agony.

Looking to Lorne, who nods his okay, Fred knocks on the door.

“What?” comes the slightly annoyed response from inside.

“Connor, can Lorne and I talk to you for a second? We need your help with something.”

There’s a pause and then the door opens a crack. Two wary, bright blue eyes peer out from beneath auburn bangs. Connor starts to bristle when he looks at Lorne but when he sees Kylar peeking around Lorne’s shoulder, the sneer turns to curiosity and the pale-skinned teenager opens the door wider, his deceivingly petite frame clad in jeans and a dark brown top.

“Who’s that?”

Relieved that Connor isn’t showing signs of aggression, Lorne brings his guest around to his side and replies, “This is Kylarkmar. From my home dimension of Pylea.” After he says that last part he realises it was probably unnecessary. Anyone with half a brain can tell he and Kylar belong to the same race.

“Kylar is going to stay with us for a while so I want you to be nice, okay?”

“Sure. Okay,” Connor murmurs, eyeing Kylar up and down, thinking that she’s actually pretty cute. For a chick with horns. And she smells like roses. Being nice to her? Not gonna be a problem.

“Don’t go getting too excited, hotshot,” Lorne drawls to Connor, feeling the attraction starting to rise within the young demon tracker. “You’re not looking at a lady.”

Connor does a double take, staring hard at Kylar, who self-consciously pulls the robe tighter around himself, revealing the thin but unmistakably male shape of his body.

“That’s why we’re here. We need clothes. Boys’ clothes. Kylar doesn’t have any,” Fred explains. “Can you lend us some? Please?”

Connor swallows and blinks at the same time, colour draining from his cheeks. He soundlessly turns, rummaging in a drawer. He returns, shoves the requested items into Fred’s hands and then slams the door in their faces, clearly mortified.

“Thank you, Connor,” Fred says gratefully to the door. There’s no answer. Fidgeting with the belt of the robe he’s wearing, Kylar isn’t sure what to make of this Connor boy. There were a lot of conflicting emotions emanating from him in a very small space of time and they all left Kylar confused. He thinks that will most likely happen a lot in this world. It’s a very confusing place.

As they walk down the hall towards Fred’s room, Lorne chuckles. “Did you see the look on his face? Oh, priceless. That almost makes up for the time the little prick called me a filthy demon.”

“He doesn’t like demons?” Kylar inquires anxiously.

“Don’t worry about him,” Lorne assures. “He was kidnapped by a loony and raised in a hell dimension. Hasn’t quite gotten over it yet.”

“Go screw yourself,” Connor shouts out in a pissed voice, able to hear Lorne talking ten doors down the hall with his super-hearing.

“Same to you, schnookums,” the older demon calls back sweetly. He gives Kylar a dry smile. “As you can see he’s quite fond of his Uncle Lorne.”

“You are his uncle?”

“Well, not really. But I did change his diapers when he was a sweet, innocent baby. Gee, it only seems like months ago.” Lorne’s tone grows more sarcastic. “Hold on, that’s because it WAS.”

“Time is different on Qor’toth. Where he grew up,” Fred clarifies. She looks at Kylar quizzically. “Oh. Connor is Angel’s son. Did we mention that? I don’t think we did.”

“Truly?” Kylar’s face shows surprise at this news. “Is he a Van-tal too?”

“No, Connor’s not a vampire.” Lorne shakes his head. “However, he does have supernatural in his blood somewhere. He ain’t all human that’s for sure. I’ve seen him punch into a demon’s chest with his bare hand and rip its still-beating heart out.”

Kylar’s crimson eyes turn big and afraid.

“But he’ll be nice to you, cherry pie,” Lorne hurriedly tells him. “I’ll make sure of it. Otherwise he’s getting Elton John’s greatest hits played outside his room at three in the morning for two weeks straight. At full volume. Hear that, sunshine?”

He’s metres away from Connor’s room but Lorne can clearly detect the kid’s growl through the walls.

Fred puts one hand over her mouth to stifle the giggles. She doesn’t want to encourage Lorne and Connor’s little feud but gosh darn it, they’re just so amusing. It’s like living with two teenage brothers. It’s as though they LIKE antagonising each other.

“Since you’re not a girl, you wanna get changed in my bathroom?” Lorne offers when they get close to his doorway. “At least until we find you a room of your own.”

Kylar nods, quite agreeable to whatever Lorne suggests and lets himself get steered in the right direction, closing the door behind him and gazing around at this much more masculine tiled room. It’s all decorated in black and gold with not a hint of pink or anything flowery. He can’t help sneaking a sniff of the contents in a few small glass bottles on the counter top, some of the scents stinging his sensitive nose. He finds one bottle that smells just like Lorne – sultry and spicy, an intoxicating combination of aromas that make his head swim - and the teen demon deduces that this is his idol’s favoured man-perfume. Males don’t wear perfume on Pylea, preferring the pungent smell of sweat, body odour and pig-fat, which, needless to say, turns Kylar’s stomach and makes him want to regurgitate. Lorne’s scent does not have that ill effect on him. Lorne’s scent makes his belly flip over but in a good way. An excited way. He can’t believe he’s standing in Krevlornswath’s bathing room, touching his personal items. He’d love to spend all day doing that, opening drawers and cupboards and learning more about the singing demon who has fascinated him since childhood, but he reluctantly puts the bottles down and turns to the pile of clothes that Fred gave him.

He touches the fabrics, feeling how incredibly soft they are, materials like these generally not available in his home world. Clothing is usually constructed of coarse, rough textiles that itch the skin but these will not prickle or chafe. He brings the dark blue top up to his face and breathes in the smell of it. It contains the slight fragrance of the boy it previously belonged to but overpowering that is the soapy scent of laundry powder. It’s a fresh, clean scent and Kylar takes the robe off and slips the shirt on, pulling it over his head and delighting in the delicious softness against his back and arms as he pokes his hands out of the sleeve-holes. There is also a pair of short undergarments – Fred called them boxers – and a faded pair of trousers known as denim jeans which apparently are the most common items of attire in this world to wear. They are lovely and soft too, as if they have been washed many times over river rocks and spread out in the sun to dry so he steps into them, marvelling at the magnificent things of luxury this LA has to offer.

While Kylar is getting dressed, Lorne busies himself making another drink, not just to replace the one he spilled all over his pants but to help him get over the rude shock of finding out his empathic abilities aren’t always one hundred percent accurate. Maybe if Kylar had sung for him, he would have known in two seconds flat that the kid was a boy but Lorne wouldn’t have dreamt of asking the frightened creature to do such a thing. Oh, you’ve just escaped from a living hell? How about a few bars of ‘Candle in the Wind’? Yeah. Like Kylar even knows any songs. Music doesn’t exist on Pylea, not in any way, shape or form. One of the numerous things Lorne despises about the place.

“Hey. Here he comes,” Fred whispers, nudging Lorne so he turns around to witness Kylar’s entrance. Lorne stops and stares, his cocktail momentarily forgotten at the captivating sight emerging from his bathroom. In jeans and a long-sleeved navy t-shirt, Kylar definitely looks more like a young man. Still stunningly beautiful, though, especially now that he’s bathed and hygienic again; his wavy, waist-length hair possessing a silken sheen that wasn’t there before and his pale-green skin clear and flawless.

“Look at you, cutie-boy. You’re even more adorable than before,” Fred teases, causing Kylar’s cheeks to turn a little greener.

“These are too large for me,” he confides in bashfulness, lifting the front of his top and pulling the loose band of the jeans away from his hollow belly. “I fear they will fall down and I will trip.”

Finding his tongue again, Lorne replies, “I’ll get you a belt.” Walking across to his dresser drawers he adds, “Can’t have you falling over, kiddo. Your brittle bones will snap like pencils.”

“They won’t be brittle for long,” Fred promises, helping Kylar to slide the tan leather strip Lorne handed over through the loops in the too-baggy jeans and fastening the buckle. “Not once we introduce you to some good old fashioned pizza and burritos. Any excuse for a pig-out is fine by me! Lord knows, I could stand to gain some weight too.”

Kylar is not sure what the strange items are that Fred just mentioned but he assumes they are types of food and his gut gives a sharp pang, reminding him that he hasn’t eaten in days.

Sensing the pang Lorne exclaims, “Where are my manners? You must be absolutely starving.” He ruefully scans Kylar’s skinny limbs. “Want something to eat, little guy?”

Nodding, Kylar returns politely, “Please. It has been a long time since I had a full stomach.”

“One full stomach coming right up,” Lorne promises, ushering Kylar out the door and towards the stairs, intending to hit the kitchen and start beefing this wafer-thin creature back up to normal size again before he blows away in the next strong breeze. As they reach the bottom of the stairs, the sound of laughter and clomping feet begins to enter the building as the rest of the hotel’s inhabitants come back from their Thai food excursion.

“Ooo, let’s go introduce you to the gang first,” Lorne says excitedly, tugging on Kylar’s arm. “Cordy is going to die!”

The naïve demon boy looks startled.

“Well, not literally,” Lorne hastily amends. “It’s just a figure of speech, okay? C’mon. It’s meet and greet time.”

Standing in the lobby, Kylar timidly clings to Lorne’s side, not sure how everyone is going to take him just showing up in their home uninvited. Angel senses Kylar first, turning from the chattering group and gazing at him in curiosity. The others slowly catch on and turn to see what Angel is looking at. Kylar is half-hiding behind Lorne’s bigger figure so all they can really see is a curtain of lustrous mulberry hair surrounding a softly patterned olive face, a pair of perfect little horns, spectacular charcoal-rimmed crimson eyes peeking through lengthy lashes and full wine-stained lips being chewed on in nervous tension. Wesley raises his brows in astonishment, Gunn utters, “Whoa. Hot demon alert,” and Cordelia remarks, “Oh my God! Lorne, who IS this?” She makes a perplexed face at the more mature Pylean. “Are your cousins portal-jumping again?”

“Not my cousin. Also, to make it very clear - Gunn - not a girl.” Here Lorne arches the stunned black dude an amused glance, coaxing Kylar out from behind his coat tails so everyone can see the boy’s lack of womanly curves. Lifting his chin and squaring his shoulders, Kylar bravely stands there as he’s openly stared at by strangers, like a cow on the market. He’s not sensing any hostility, though. They’re just curious about him.

“Guys, this handsome young man here is Kylarkmar of the Muthwok Clan. Kylar for short.”

Lorne turns to the younger demon, gesturing with drink in hand to each of his friends as they come up for a closer look. “You remember Angel, and that’s Wesley, Gunn and Cordelia.”

“Hello there,” Wesley greets in a friendly English manner.

“He knows me?” Angel repeats in a flattered voice. “Well, I guess I DID battle the fearsome Groosalugg.” He looks around smugly. “Kinda famous for that.”

“Wow,” Cordy comments, eyeing Kylar with a mix of envy and awe. “I hate to say this, Lorne, but he’s even prettier than me.”

“Yeah, except those lunkheads on Pylea didn’t see him that way,” Lorne says indignantly. “They called him unattractive. Can you believe that crap?”

“Well, if they said that they’re just plain stupid,” Cordelia declares to Kylar, hand on one hip. “I mean, look at your hair. It’s a-mazing.”

Kylar bashfully twists a maroon dreadlock between his slim fingers. “You were the princess,” he says in a reverential voice.

Giving Wesley a triumphant glare, Cordy remarks haughtily, “At least /someone/ remembers my high and mighty reign.”

Ignoring her, Wesley goes up to Kylar and Lorne, asking, “How did he get here?”

“Portal,” Lorne fills him in. “He saw us using it and decided to give it a go. Kid’s been working on it for a year and a half. How’s that for determined, huh?”

“Well done, Kylar,” Wes returns, impressed by his success and tenacity. “I’d like to talk to you more about that. Are you staying long?”

“I am not sure,” the boy-demon hesitantly replies, glancing at Angel. “It depends how long I am permitted to stay. The master of the house must grant me lodgings.”

“Hey, my home is your home,” Angel offers with a sweeping gesture at their surroundings. “Old hotel. Plenty of rooms. You can pick any one you like.”

“I can choose my own room?”

“Sure.” Angel smiles.

“I am most grateful. I was made to sleep in a stable on Pylea,” Kylar admits.

“With those demony horses?” Cordelia wrinkles her nose. “Ick. They stink. I should know. I had to shovel their poo.”

For the first time Kylar gives a smile. It’s a small, tentative one but a smile nonetheless. “After a while you don’t notice it.”

“Well, there are no stinky stables here, alfalfa sprout,” Lorne breezily informs him. “We have real beds and carpeted floors. We even have a kitchen and you can go get something from the fridge whenever you’re hungry.”

“Uh, just don’t drink the red stuff in the jars,” Angel uncomfortably advises, rubbing the back of his neck.

Gunn finally comes over, having recovered from the humiliation of being caught ogling a boy. “Why you demons gotta be so ambiguous?” he grumbles. “Can’t tell what da hell you are sometimes. And yeah, Lorne. I’m talkin’ bout you when I say that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Looking at Lorne standing there in his flamboyantly bright hot-pink shirt, Gunn drawls, “Like I really hafta explain.”

Lorne starts to frown, not sure what Gunn is getting at but nobody pays any attention to him, instead crowding around Kylar and asking the baffled boy loads of questions.

Wesley: “How did you get the portal to work without the book? Did it open in the same spot or somewhere else?”

Angel: “Suns still shining on Pylea? I miss those suns. Remember how I used to stand in the light and not burst into flames?”

Gunn: “What about the evil priesty dudes – are they back? Cause I could kick their asses all over again if need be.”

Cordelia: “Is Groo still doing a good job of leading the townsfolk? He hasn’t com-shukked anyone else has he?”

Kylar does his best to answer the many queries, explaining how he opened the portal in the woods at the exact same location and saying yes, the two suns are still in the sky and no, the priests have not returned and well, since he’s been in the forest for a long time he’s not sure what the almighty Groosalugg has been up to lately. Eventually he leans into Lorne and whispers, “All these people…There are too many emotions. It overwhelms me.”

“They sometimes overwhelm me too, sugar,” Lorne whispers back. To everyone else he says authoritatively, “Okay, people. Interrogation is over. Give Kylar some breathing space, all right? You’re suffocating his senses, practically standing on top of him like this.”

“Oh, right. He’s an Empath demon, like you,” Wesley says in understanding, taking a few steps backward.

“Exactamundo,” Lorne confirms with a nod, putting a shielding arm around his sensitively-attuned friend. “Your thoughts and feelings are flying around all him like bats in a belfry. He’s not used to this crazy world like I am. At least, not yet.”

“Come on, guys. Let’s leave him alone,” Fred suggests, taking Cordelia’s arm with one hand and Gunn’s with the other. “I’m sure he’s had enough excitement for one night.”

“Whatever. Don’t wanna mess up nobody’s aura,” Gunn retorts, stomping off in his jackboots and muttering something about weird-ass hippie demons.

“Night, Kylar,” Cordy calls out over her shoulder. “We’ll swap hair tips in the morning, okay?”

Shaking his head as they depart, Lorne comments, “Wild bunch. But they’re good folk, Kylar. They will be the best friends you ever had.”

“Friends?” Kylar creases his brow as if thinking. “I don’t know what it’s like to have those.”

“You will soon. In fact, you got one right now.”

“Who?”

Lorne smiles at him, brushing back a lock of Kylar’s hair. “Me, silly.”

Getting that overwhelmed expression again, Kylar questions tremulously, “You...you are my friend?”

“You better believe it,” Lorne insists. “And as your friend it’s my first duty to provide you with some much-needed food. By the way, this is called a refrigerator.” He takes Kylar over to the tall white humming cabinet in the kitchen, opening the door and searching through the range of chilled perishable goods for something not out of date or containing animal products.

“What would you like? I know you’re a vegetarian but what about cheese? You eat cheese?”

“Yes,” Kylar replies, spying over Lorne’s shoulder at all the colourful packages and tubs on the shelves. “I eat cheese.”

Thinking of the hard, mouldy-smelling rounds available back on Pylea, Lorne anticipates, “You’re gonna love Brie, then.” He collects the circle of foil-wrapped dairy goodness, pulling a bottle of sparkling white wine from the door shelf and tucking it under his arm.

Spotting the jars of red fluid semi-hidden at the back, Kylar points and asks, “Is that…?”

Lorne makes a face at the canisters of blood Angel has put there, the vampire’s weekly food rations, supplied through the friendly local butchers. “Don’t ask. Don’t touch. It’s not human though,” he reassures Kylar, shutting the door. From the pantry, he grabs a box of sesame seed crackers and a bag of cashew nuts, adding those to his stockpile along with a cheese knife, wooden cutting board and two wine goblets, stacking the lot onto a serving platter for ease of carrying.

Kylar spies the fruit bowl on the bench, drawn to the bizarre and appealing shapes, the tropical fragrances making his mouth water. He goes to pick one up but squints suspiciously at the bright colours.

“Are these fruits poisonous?”

“No, of course not. That’s an apple and that’s rather inventively called an orange,” Lorne spells out, indicating to the various types. “Take the whole bowl back to my room. You can eat and talk at the same time, right? I’m dying to know what your story is.”

With their hands full Lorne and Kylar return to Lorne’s room. The older one tells Kylar to have a seat and the boy chooses to sit cross-legged on the floor, leaning against the front of the lounge. Lorne sits down with him too, opening the cheese, nuts and crackers, arranging it all artistically on the platter. Wine in hand, Lorne tells Kylar to dig in, instructing the teenager how to peel a banana and take the skin off an orange. Hungrier than he’s ever been before, Kylar attacks the food with gusto, astounded at how succulent the fruit is and how creamy the cheese is, even the crispiness of the sesame seed crackers a sensation he hasn’t experienced before. When he samples sweet white wine for the first time – instead of poorly-made Pylean ale - and feels the bubbles bursting on his tongue Lorne swears the kid looks like he’s having a taste orgasm.

“Good, huh?”

“Very good,” Kylar eagerly concurs, tipping his head back and gulping down the rest of the wine like it’s water.

Pouring Kylar a second glass, Lorne pronounces, “Another great thing about this world - you can drink all the alcohol you want and it won’t affect you. Not the way it does humans. They’ll be falling all over the place and passing out under the table and we’ll still be completely clear-headed. A little happy, maybe, but that’s it.”

“Is that why you drink?” Kylar glances at Lorne’s half-empty goblet. “To be happy?”

Oh, I’m always happy. I love this place,” Lorne enthuses with a wave of his hand. “Wine and cocktails are just like the icing on a thick, gooey mudcake to me.” He grins at Kylar.

“And so is having you here, honeybunch.”

Kylar is not exactly sure what that statement means, or even what a honeybunch is, but the warmth coming towards him from Lorne means it is some kind of compliment and the boy drops his eyes with a shy smile, picking up a fruit that is bulbous and yellow in colour, inspecting it to see how it unwraps.

“That’s a pear. You don’t need to peel it,” Lorne helpfully explains.

“Pear,” Kylar repeats, smelling its ripe sweetness.

“So, tell me your tale, ruby lips,” Lorne urges as the boy bites into the crisp white flesh. “Tell me what happened to make you want to leave Pylea so much. I mean, apart from the senseless violence, mind-numbing stupidity and total lack of anything pleasant or cultured.”

Around mouthfuls of fruit, Kylar begins, “As I said, I was different. A boy-child of my age should have been trained as a warrior, a hunter, a champion. I could be none of those things, even if I wanted to be. I was too small, too soft. I lacked the savagery and bloodthirstiness that a warrior is required to have. I possess empathic powers, as we all do, but unlike my brethren who use it for tracking and killing, mine enables me to talk to creatures, to sense what they are feeling. When the warriors hunted, I could feel the animal’s fear and agony, if I was close enough.”

Kylar pauses and puts the half-eaten pear back in the fruit bowl, a furrow appearing in his brow. “It distressed me. So, I stayed away, took no part in the rituals. I wouldn’t eat of the meat they would bring back. The smell alone made me sick. This made me the subject of much ridicule and calling of names. I even had bones and fresh entrails thrown at me, sometimes by my own brothers and sisters. For being an herbivore, I brought shame on my clan and was considered useless as well as ugly.”

Lorne makes a displeased scowl, thinking about going back to Kylar’s village and belting out a very shrill high note, popping all their narrow-minded eardrums for treating this gorgeous, darling boy like a piece of dung. He drains the last of his wine in an impatient swallow, wanting to hear what else Kylar has to say but knowing he’s not going to like it one bit.

“Shortly after my fifteenth birthday, I was sold to a farmer. As a slave. This was years before the princess decreed slavery illegal, although I don’t believe that would have made a difference. It hasn’t prevented our people from doing it to this very day, only instead of humans they have been selling their children. Pretending they are there to work and earn money when all the money goes to the clan, not the child.”

“They sell kids now?” Lorne’s face is the picture of outraged repugnance. “Doesn’t Groo stop this from happening?”

“The mighty Groosalugg does try to halt this spawn-trafficking but the villagers are cunning and conceal it well from him. Even if he had been the all-powerful ruler of Pylea back when I was sold, he would not have been informed about it. My sale took place at midnight, when there were no moons in the sky and no witnesses but the field-rats.”

Kylar is twisting one of his dreadlocks as he speaks, gazing dully at the carpet in remembrance. “As she handed me over to the farmer, my life-giver said that was all I was good for, shovelling manure, like a cow.”

“Great parenting,” Lorne mutters, wondering how someone extraordinary like Kylar could have come out of the dried-up loins of a cold she-bitch such as that.

“I thought perhaps I would have a better life, away from my mother’s cutting tongue and my father’s callous hand,” Kylar continues in a quiet tone. “I soon learned that my new master was a hard man. He made me work until I would drop with exhaustion. And then he would flog me until I got up again.”

Lorne stiffens, getting angrier and angrier by the second.

“If I refused to work, he would take away my food, my water. I was chained in the stable every night so I couldn’t leave.” Kylar unconsciously rubs his left wrist, Lorne appalled to see it bearing white scars from his captivity.

“He threatened that if I ever tried to escape, his Hell Beasts would find me. Then he would rip my horns out, let me bleed to death on the ground and feed my worthless carcass to the pigs.”

Lorne curses furiously, using swear words Kylar has never heard before, the fire in the older demon’s red eyes hot enough to burn, gripping his empty glass that tightly that it cracks in his hand. His vehemence scares Kylar slightly but the younger male knows all that fury is aimed directly at the farmer, not him.

When he stops swearing and snarling, Lorne takes a breath and closes his eyes, forcing himself to settle. “Sorry, apple cake,” he mumbles to Kylar, carefully putting the cracked glass on the coffee table before he slices his palm with it.

“I promise I won’t interrupt again. Please go on.”

“I had a lot of different chores to do on the farm: planting crops, picking the produce, chopping wood, fixing fences and of course, shovelling manure. I used to feed the animals and assist with the birthing of new litters. I would perform daily health checks and collect any unfertilized eggs for the clan’s breakfast,” Kylar says. “I also used to milk the viper. I was the only one who could do it without getting bitten.”

Viper milk is not actually milk; it’s venom which is highly prized on Pylea for medicinal and hallucinogenic purposes, once it has been properly processed. Collecting it is a dangerous job. Pure venom straight from the snake is lethal and its strike is lightning-fast. One bite and you’re dead within two minutes or sooner. Usually sooner. There is an antidote to the poison but there is generally not enough time to administer it before the heart stops. Kylar’s ability to charm animals and lull them into calming ensured he never felt the sting of twin fangs in his flesh.

“I always felt awful doing it, forcing a living creature to release venom on demand. Most of all, I felt awful because I could sense the viper’s feelings of frustration and entrapment whenever I put him back in the cage. That viper was just as imprisoned and alone as I was. He wanted out and so did I. So, we made a deal. I told the viper I would help set him free but in return he had to help me first. He agreed.”

“You made a deal with a snake?” Lorne interjects incredulously. Kylar just nods, as if this is something completely normal, conversing with reptiles.

“Snakes are very intelligent creatures. He understood my plan and what I wanted him to do. The next time he was due for milking I slipped him into my robe. He had promised not to bite me and I trusted him. He stayed there all day, wrapped around my waist, waiting for my instructions. He could have slipped out and escaped at any time but he didn’t. Snakes are also creatures of honour and he intended to keep up his side of the bargain. After all, I had never harmed him in the past.”

Lorne shakes his head with wide eyes, finding the concept of smart, honourable snakes hard to accept.

“Our chance came when the farmer arrived to chain me in the stable for the evening. He was a big man and I was not strong enough to fight him so I usually offered my wrist with no resistance. This time I didn’t. I refused to let him snap on the handcuff. When he reached for his whip to beat me into submission I reached into my robe and took out the viper. I flung it at him and the viper latched straight onto his neck, injecting all the venom I was supposed to collect earlier right into his major artery.”

Kylar swallows hard; the food he’s just eaten threatening to come back up as his stomach roils. He is not a violent person and can't stand causing any living thing pain or death – even a simple insect or bug - but in this case the violence against a fellow member of demonkind was justified and necessary. Kylar’s owner hurt him and so Kylar hurt him back. It was the only way to get out the nightmarish, hopeless situation he had been stuck in for two years.

“His part of the deal done, the viper slithered away to freedom while I watched my master die. The poison went quickly to his heart and he was dead in seconds. Unfortunately, he fell backwards when he died, knocking over a pile of metal buckets and the noise made the rest of his family come charging out to the stables. I ran into the woods but they realised what I had done and came after me. They had torches and pitchforks and Hell Beasts snapping at my ankles.”

“Holy shit,” Lorne breathes, imagining how terrified Kylar must have been with an angry mob of demons and snarling dogs chasing him into the forest.

“I just kept running and somehow managed to evade them. The day I got away from my master was the day I saw you leave with your friends through the portal.” Kylar glances up at Lorne. “Ever since then I have been trying to join you.”

“And here you are.” Lorne shakes his head again, stunned by this gutsy kid’s dramatic tale of captivity and escape. “You’re a very brave young man, Kylarkmar.”

“I don’t believe so,” Kylar replies quietly. “I believe I just had fortune on my side.”

“Fortune, schmortune,” Lorne disagrees. “You did all that, darlin’. You got out of there yourself.”

Kylar gives an elegant shrug. “The viper helped. I am glad we gained our freedom that same day. I think we both earned it.”

The eighteen year old demon is sitting there composed and collected, looking on the outside like’s perfectly okay with what’s happened to him, like he’s accepted it and dealt with it but Lorne knows that under that cool green skin it’s a completely different scenario. All the negative effects, all the noxious remnants of living in a horrible place like Pylea, all the shame, the terror, the pain, everything that’s been done to him; it’s all locked up in his head and heart, slowly poisoning him like arsenic. He’s not making a sound but on the inside he’s screaming, he’s begging for help. The silent shriek of suffering pierces into Lorne’s mind, acute and agonized, making him flinch and grab at his forehead.

Kylar looks to him in unease. “Krevlornswath? What is wrong?”

“Oh nothing. Just the excruciating stabbing in my brain, which, by the way, is coming from YOU, Kylar.”

“I am sorry.” Kylar’s gaze shifts down to his hands, ashamed for not holding onto his emotions better. “These burdens...they are mine to bear.”

“Oh, turtledove. Nobody should have to bear those,” Lorne says in sympathy, squeezing Kylar’s thin arm. “We need to do something about this right away.” He gets up, turning to glance back at Kylar who is looking at him in bewilderment.

“Wait here, okay? Don’t you dare go anywhere.”

Exiting the room, Lorne hurries down the hall to Cordelia’s door, knocking softly, hoping she’s not asleep yet. As she welcomes him in, the brunette woman is blowing on her fingernails, making sure her recently applied polish is dry. She’s in her pyjamas.

“Thank goodness you’re still up,” Lorne says gratefully. “Hate to bother you, doll, but I need to ask a massive favour.”

“Anything, my good green buddy,” Cordelia replies with a white-toothed smile, blowing on her nails again. “What can I do you for? Oh! Does Kylar need some hair products? I got tons right-”

Interrupting her, Lorne says, “No. No hair dramas. Just another, more important drama. You know that thing you did with Connor - how you sucked all the toxicity out of him when he first came here? Can you do that with Kylar? Little fella is being so courageous but he’s been though some truly horrific stuff on Pylea and he’s really hurting.”

Finally forgetting about her coral-coloured fingernails, Cordelia tilts her head and asks, “You want me to go all glowy on him?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.” Lorne sounds apologetic. “I’d do it myself but soul colonics...not really a speciality of mine.”

The young woman’s eyes soften. “He’s a sweetie pie. Of course I won’t mind.”

“It might not be very pleasant,” Lorne warns her.

Shrugging, she replies, “Can’t be any worse than those ear-bleeding visions I used to have before I got myself demonized. Have I mentioned lately how much I /don’t/ miss those?”

“Oh, you’re a life saver, Cordy,” Lorne gushes, giving her a quick hug. “If Kylar doesn’t get this done...Who knows what’ll happen to him. Nothing good, I can predict that much.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll suck him clean in no time.” Cordelia’s confident smile wilts. “Uh...Can we pretend I didn’t just say that?”

When Cordelia enters the room with Lorne, Kylar immediately gets to his feet, bowing his head respectfully as if in the presence of royalty. As nice as that is, Cordelia puts her hand under his chin and makes the demon boy look up.

“Kylar, you don’t need to do that,” she says gently. “In this dimension I’m not a princess, okay? I’m just me.”

Stepping up to a bemused Kylar, Lorne tells him, “Cordy’s not here to be worshipped. She’s here to help you.”

Kylar’s scarlet gaze flicks from Lorne to Cordelia. “Help me? How?”

“Everything you’ve got in here,” Lorne puts his palm over Kylar’s chest, “all the bad stuff...Give it to her. Let her take it from you.”

Kylar’s eyes get bigger. “She can do that?”

“Hey, I’m the Cursed One, remember? 3D visions - not the only power I was lumped with.” She takes Kylar’s hand in her own, saying in a reassuring voice, “It’s okay, sweetie. It won’t hurt. Whatever happens, whatever you see, just keep looking at me.”

Kylar stares into her liquid brown eyes, wondering what the former princess of Pylea is going to do to help him. He can sense that she that she has special powers – great powers - but he’s not sure exactly what type they are or how they work. The first thing he notices is that the deep colour of her eyes changes, lightens, her irises turning white and glowing as if taken over or possessed by a higher being. Shocked by this unexpected event, Kylar nonetheless does what Cordelia told him to and keeps his gaze trustingly on hers, Lorne standing right by his side for support. The glow in Cordelia’s eyes enlarges, crowning her head like an aura and spreading down over her whole body. It moves down her arm and into her fingers, then into Kylar’s hand, the white light flooding up his arm and quickly enveloping him from head to foot. It feels warm and soothing and not at all frightening.

He senses Cordelia and himself becoming one, becoming linked and connected. He can feel her in his mind, seeing all the horrors he suffered back on his home world; all the degradation and humiliation, all the loneliness and isolation, the dark-haired woman silently urging him to let go of it, to give it to her. Kylar allows her to start taking it, lets her remove it from his psyche because he doesn’t want it anymore. He doesn’t need it anymore. He begins to feel lighter and dizzier as the heavy weight of negativity starts being drawn out of his chest and head, travelling down his arm and into Cordelia’s receiving hand. It doesn’t hurt in a physical sense but as all that inner torment passes through him and into someone else it’s overpowering, the strange pulling sensation sapping his strength and weakening him so he begins to fold to the floor, unsteady legs giving out underneath him. As he crumples, Lorne swoops down in alarm, catching him around the chest, supporting him, letting the younger male sink to his knees. With both his arms around the kid’s frail form, Lorne gets a shock feeling how fragile and bony he really is, like he could be snapped in half if Lorne squeezed too tightly.

Not yet finished, Cordelia follows Kylar, kneeling with him, still holding his hand and steadily gazing into the teenager’s awe-struck face. The mystic radiance surrounding her and Kylar attaches itself to Lorne, the white light creeping into the arms he has wrapped around the long-haired boy-demon and suddenly Lorne is there, part of it, feeling what Kylar is feeling, what he has felt in the past, experiencing the misery and torture for himself. Flashes of the eighteen year old’s life fill Lorne’s head, just like when someone is singing, when he does a reading of them. These flashes come with smell, with sound, with actual bodily sensations; the prickling of hay used for a bed, earthy animal scent of horses, the roar of rushing water, the thick sweetness of wild honey.

Taunting voices and spiteful laughter, small blows from thrown rocks. The critical chastisement of a mother, words dripping with scorn and disappointment. A father shouting angrily, a backhanded slap across the face.

Metal chain chafing painfully at bound wrists, the revolting stench of fresh offal. Hard floor under cold flesh.

Pitch black darkness, stomach-gnawing hunger and parching thirst. Isolation, loneliness, imprisonment.

Stinging lashes from a whip, the thud of booted feet connecting with flesh, skin bruising and splitting, bones breaking, the taste of blood and fear and tears.

“Dear God,” Lorne breathes in horror, unable to believe someone could carry so much pain inside themselves and still survive.

Kylar gasps, jerking in Lorne’s embrace as the last of the anguish is forcefully sucked out of him through his fingertips.

And then abruptly it is over, all of it gone. The glow around the three beings fades, disappears. Cordelia pulls back her hand, letting out a slow breath, blinking as her eyes turn brown again.

Lorne leans forward, peering anxiously at Kylar’s face. The young Pylean appears stunned and shaken, green complexion a little paler than usual. “You okay, darlin’?” he asks in a soft tone. “You all right?”

Kylar slowly turns to look at Lorne, seeing the concern in the older demon’s eyes. The compassion. The caring. And then he starts to cry, exactly the way Connor did when Cordelia healed him. Tears pour down his cheeks as he impulsively reaches for Lorne, pressing into his neck, the boy’s whole body shuddering with sobs. Whispering reassurances, Lorne holds him tight with both arms, letting Kylar release his relief at finally being free of his tormented past.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Cordelia says quietly, getting to her feet. Lorne looks up at his friend, his face full of gratitude.

“Thank you,” he mouths in silence, comfortingly stroking Kylar’s long, glossy hair.

The brunette woman smiles, leaving the room and the pair of demons hugging on the floor.

***

To be continued...