Molly Alice Destine
2222 N. Haverbrook Ave.
Upstate, NY  00572-62019
 

        Dearest Molly,
                I know at this young age you must have many questions, all of which no one can answer or will answer.  Your mother loves you, or at least, I hope she does. I can tell you I love you from what I know of you. It was an awful night and I'm sorry I got drunk, but the rose colored champagne they served, they had sworn was apple in taste. It was, but everything got bubbly and dizzy and Dominique looked exquiste that night, simply wonderful.  How we ever ended up back in my bedroom I don't think I will ever know. 
        Of course, the morning I woke up was no better. I had a splitting headache and then after spotting your mother next to me, Avalon! Medusa looked better on her wedding night! And then there was the yelling and screaming, and the throwing of things. Of course doors slammed and everyone was trying to figure out what happened. I tell you this Mollie-Ollie, sleeping with your mother did nothing in the way of my reputation!
        Of course, nine months later I get this phone call screaming curses that would make a sailor blush (I apologise for the trashy cliche, I couldn't think of anything better) and telling me everything is my fault. And what do you know, I haven't a clue as to what the mad woman is talking about until she threatens me to come to the hospital. So I go.
        You were very pink. That was my first impression of you. And I thought it was funny that the top of your head barely had any hair. Of course it was blonde or black, I can never remember such details as that, but I remember your eyes were so blue. About as blue as my own and the nurses swore up and down you'd have those blue eyes forever.
        Ugh, I'm getting sentimental now, aren't I? Forgive your dear old dad. 
        Mollykins, someday when the world is right and you're old enough to properly understand the world at large, I may be able to show up on a doorstep and whisk you away to a heritage and land that you never knew exsisted, but until then, I am afraid that all we have that is connecting us is my blood in you and this letter which will probably annoy you to the core.
        I love you Molly and when I get your mother sober and realizing she made a grave mistake in humanity, she'll love you too.
                        Until then my Mollicious,
                                Your Father

        Officer Morgan just could not wait before coming home and going to sleep. It was late, his shift just ended, and he was tired. Too tired, in fact. Maybe it was because he was old, and no longer could do for hours without sleep. No, he still could do that. What he couldn’t do was not to be able to awake from by a first emergency call at home. No, he still could do that as well. It was just that he was edging near his retirement date – after all, not even the members of the police could work forever – or until it was too late for them to be concerned about it. Morgan shook his head. He just wanted to go home. 
       SMASH!
       Somewhere, some distance upwards on the street away from Morgan, glass crashed. A show-window of a shop. That meant anyone, from some young punks having fun, to an organized robbery by some heavy-duty burglars. Officer Morgan paused. It was late, he was tired, alone. He could just ignore the noise and go home and no one would know, and—
       No, he couldn’t do that. He was a policeman of the old school, not one of those new arrivals, the officials with epaulets. “Hey, you!” hee said loudly, walking forward. “Freeze!”
       The vandal stopped, his hand holding onto something. From the distance he was standing at, Morgan could see that the impromptu burglar had a clear-shaven head, and dressed in denim cowboy-style pants, worn and battered kersey boots and a matching denim coat and some sort of a vest. “Come forward,” Morgan commanded, his hand grasping his gun and the other – his handcuffs. “I need to see your face.”
       The burglar made no move. “You’re tired,” she suddenly said, her hands behind her. 
       “Now why does a girl would to break into… a hardware store?” Morgan said glancing upwards, momentarily breaking the eye-contact with his opponent. This proved to be fatal, as the burglar’s hands shot out, and a heavy sledgehammer slammed into his chest, splintering half of his ribs. The elderly police-man fell down onto his back, his weapon clattering downward into a street gutter. 
       Slowly, leisurely even, the burglar made her way to the fallen man, picking up the heavy tool with ease. “You’re old and tired,” she told the man, and Morgan, with blood racketing in his ears, heard the weird inflexions in her voice. “However, no one – except for the select few – should know that I’m back in town. Therefore…” the burglar leaned over Morgan, and the policeman gurgled up a semblance of a scream, for the face that leaned over him was inhuman, with dark blue skin and eyes pupils glowing yolk-yellow. “Bye,” the creature said simply, opening her mouth, and emanating an organ that was no human or animal tongue, Morgan knew. 
       Quicker than the eye could follow, the organ struck Morgan straight into the ruined chest, there was a electric-like jolt of pain, and then—
       Nothing.

**

       The next morning, when Captain Chavez came to her district’s building, a woman was waiting at the front door. “Hello Mrs. Morgan,” the policewoman said. “What’s up.”
       “My husband. Officer Morgan. He hadn’t come home last night from his shift, and he didn’t leave a message on the answering machine, either. I'm worried. What if he is in trouble?”
       The woman’s fear passed on to Chavez. “Don't worry,” she told the older woman gently. “We’ll find him, don’t you worry about a thing!”
       “Ahem,” another voice spoke from the right and behind the two women. “Officer? I have something to tell you: I’ve been robbed.”
       “And you are-?” Chavez couldn’t think of anything better to add. 
       “I'm an owner of a hardware store,” the man said, “I’ve been robbed last night. The thieves or thief broke in and took away my prize sledgehammer.”
       “Any clues?” captain Chavez asked.
       “Oh yes! Come inside, and I’ll show you,” the man said, shouldering a heavy black plastic bag.
       The two women complied, curious as well as worried now. 
       Once insight, the store’s owner showed the two women an unpleasant surprise: a full kit of a policeman’s tools, containing a gun, handcuffs, and a badge. The badge’s number was identical to Morgan’s. The two women gaped, but their unpleasant surprise intensified a thousandfold, as the man continued his display with ruined policeman’s uniform. The uniform was burnt away in some places, and untouched in others. The especially large hole in the upper half of the chest. “Well, what do you say to that?” the man indignantly said. “I ask you, what can you say about that?”
       Captain Chavez exhaled. “Look, sir,” she said. “The police will do its’ best to find out the robber of your store, and may I ask, what was stolen?”
       “A very large hammer, almost a sledgehammer,” the man re-plied. “Don't know who would want that, it’s not humanly possible to use this thing for anything – I just kept it for a show-piece, to tell the truth. You're keeping the evidence?”
       “Yes, thank you,” Chavez nodded. “Just fill up this form… and could please take this lady home? I'm afraid… it’s her husband’s uniform you brought back.”
       “Oh. Sorry,” the robbery’s victim turned to the policeman’s wife. “No problem,” he added, turning back to Chavez. “Just keep in mind – I don’t exactly have the best handwriting.”
       “Don't worry, we’ve had a lot of practice with such things,” the policewoman replied.

**

       Several hours later, the full cast of the police of the 23rd District was gathered, listening to captain Chavez’s morning report. “So what we have here, from my point of view,” the senior policewoman was saying, “is a bust-up robbery, and one of our senior men, possibly in trouble, possibly dead. I want you, who are not on a serious case, start working on this one immediately. Is this clear?”
       “Yes ma’am!” the entire police staff replied in a chorus.
       “Good. Assembly dismissed.” The policemen left, thoughtful, except for Detective Maza, who already had a plan figuring out…

**

       “Good evening, Elisa,” Broadway said, as the rest of the Manhattan clan awoke. “How do things proceed at the district?”
       “Sadly and terrible,” Elisa replied. “A hardware store was robbed and Officer Morgan, who was a witness to it, disappeared, leaving nothing behind, but his police clothes, which were strangely damaged.”
       “How strangely?” Owen Burnett suddenly spoke behind the policewoman.
       “Owen!!” the policewoman almost jumped into the air. “You startled me!”
       “Excuse me,” Owen said, not really meaning it, as all could see, “but how strangely are his clothes damaged?”
       “Pretty strange,” Elisa said. “They were like eaten away in some places by acid or something like that, and completely untouched in others.”
       “Any renegade relatives of yours?” Goliath asked, noticing how Owen changed in his face.
       “Not quite; hold Alex please; I need to make a call,” the blond man replied.

**

       A short time later, a phone rang in Destine Mansion. “Who is it?” Demona asked, as she picked up the receiver.
       “It’s me. Puck.”
       “You!” Demona bellowed. “What do you want from me?”
       “To tell you something.”
       “What?”
       “That it looks like our girl has come to Manhattan, and may’ve made her first public kill here already.”
       Demona’s facial features froze, one could not tell what she was thinking. “Our… daughter?” she slowly asked.
       “Yes, you remember, France, 1520s, Blue?”
       “Blue,” Demona whispered the name of her daughter that Puck, out of a pique of curiosity about birds and bees had gotten onto her. Half-Fay, half-gargoyle, the child had proven to be wholly deadly. A life-eater. And now she was in Manhattan, searching for Demona herself and Puck. “You sure it was her?” she asked the Fay sprite on the other end of the line.
       “Yes!”
       “It wasn’t Detective Maza who got killed, was it?”
       “No, it was a police friend of hers, Morgan or something.”
       “Well, good luck telling the tale,” Demona said.
       “I think not.”
       As soon as these words were said, Demona got magically teleported over to Puck, to the genuine surprise of the others. “What are you doing here?” Angela asked.
       “To explain,” Demona said curtly.
       “We should’ve guessed that you’re behind this,” Brooklyn spat.
       “Completely; and half-way,” Demona admitted. “I should warn you not to try to tackle her though; you’ll only get eliminated.”
       “How’d you know that?” Angela frowned. “Who’s she anyway?”
       “The one who did that to this policeman,” Demona said, mis-understanding the question on purpose. 
       “More specifically?” Angela refused to be taken astray. 
       Demona sighed and looked almost petulant. “Your 480-year-old half-sister, Angela, that’s who.”
       There was a general silence. “My what?” Angela slowly asked. 
       “Your 480-year-old half-sister,” Demona explained, helpfully. “Her name is Blue.”
       “A strange name for a gargoyle,” Xanatos said.
       “She’s not a gargoyle, she’s a Fay halfling, like your own spouse,” Demona replied.
       “A Fay halfling? By whom? What idiot-”
       “Him,” Demona said helpfully, indicating the Fay tutor of Alexander’s, Puck.
       “Puck? How could you?” Goliath asked, surprised.
       The sprite looked miserable. “I’m sorry, but what could I do? I was just so carefree back then, I thought I’d give it a try. Other Fay already done it, so I thought, why shouldn’t I do it as well?” He looked around the assembly of human and gargoyle faces, sighed sadly, and continued his tale of woe. “Only my idea had backfired – substantially! Even by then,” he turned to Goliath, “your ex had a lot of bitterness and rage and other negative emotions bottled inside of her, and the Fay-sired halflings are very sensitive to that kind of thing. So-“
       “-when the child was born, Puck quickly left the problem of caring for it onto my shoulders, and left in an unknown direction,” Demona interrupted the Fay. 
       “How does she look like?” Elisa asked, in morbid fascination.
       “Blue of skin, as strong as a Fay, can breathe fire and toxic smoke, and, of course, she sucks away the life of mortals and immortals to receive their longevity and any powers included,” Demona helpfully said. “You go against her and you’ll never be.”
       “Never be?”
       “Yes. Just like your friend. He once was, but he’ll be no more: all that had been left for him to live was eaten away by Blue now.”
       “Gee, how did you manage raising her up?” Xanatos said. 
       “Oh that was easy for her to do, due to the Oedipal complex of Blue,” Puck said. “Our misbegotten daughter would do anything that her mother told her too; in fact, their personalities were very similar, only Demona was smarter.
       “Gee, what broke up such a perfect pair?” Brooklyn sarcasti-cally said. 
       “The Seelie court had,” Puck replied. “Blue was proven to be too much of an Unseelie Fay to be left in the nurturing hands of her misanthropic gargoyle mother.”
       “Didn't she object?” Xanatos asked.
       “Sure. But a simple – okay, a very powerful one – knock-out spell, and the rest was a piece of cake. Blue, fortunately, wasn’t yet strong enough to take down three professional Fay who specialized in things like that. And now she has come to Manhattan.” 
       “So how are we to find her?” Elisa asked.
       “It’s not necessary,” Demona said. “Blue’s attuned to me; if she’s in the vicinity of Manhattan, she’ll find me, no matter what.”
       “Yeah right,” Broadway snorted.
       “Hello, mother!” somebody suddenly said. 
       Everybody turned in that direction. Blue had appeared all of a sudden in the doorway to the conference room in which all now were. She really was blue, at least all the visible parts of her skin were. Except for her eyes. They were as yellow as egg yolks. Her facial features were similar to Demona’s, only… rougher. 
       Then Blue smiled. Her teeth resembled the piranha’s. “Father,” she hissed, looking at Puck. Then the sprite threw a white ball lightning at her. Only his daughter was a fraction of a second faster, and her heavy sledgehammer had hit Puck in the stomach the same fraction of a second faster than Puck could take a good aim. Now, instead, the missile streaked upwards and struck the chandelier on the ceiling.
       BOOM! ZAP!
       Heat, light, sparks, and fire flew down throughout the room like a meteor shower for a moment, and then all was pitch-dark.
       But not for long: the emergency lights on the walls got acti-vated, making the room as bright as it was before. Everything was at it were, only Blue and Demona were standing next to each other, wearing identical smirks on their faces. 
       “Now see here,” Xanatos began, deciding to stop this before it got too out of hand. “I understand that you and Puck have a lot of unresolved issues up ahead. But please don’t destroy my home or kill him.”
       “And who are you?” Blue asked, looking at Xanatos first time… and with genuine curiosity.
       “I'm David Xanatos, owner of this building. Also, the employer of Puck.”
       “What do you need him for?” Blue asked.
       “To tutor our son,” Fox said, as she and Alex got into the foreground. 
       “Hah,” Blue didn’t appear to be swayed by those arguments, when Demona grasped her by the shoulder. 
       “I have another reason why you shouldn’t kill him, daughter,” she said. 
       “Why, mother? What he did to us-“
       “He’s indebted to you now, daughter,” Demona said softly. “As one Fay to another.”
       “But I-“
       “If you were Fay enough not to be remained in my care, then you’re certainly Fay enough for him to be indebted to you,” Demona said.
       “What’s she’s talking about?” Fox asked.
       “I don’t know,” Hudson replied.
       The only one who remained blissfully unaware of this exchange had been Puck himself, who only now got rid of twittering birds and polka dots before his eyes and in his ears. 
       “Ahem!” Blue said, turning to her father. “Father, are you awakened yet?”
       “What?” asked Puck, preparing for another exchange of blows.
       “Is it true that I’m Fay enough by the Seelie standards for you to be indebted to me? If so, there’s going to be no more fighting.”
       “Will you leave?” Puck said, hopefully. 
       “Maybe,” Blue drawled. “As a repayment to your debt to me, will you grant me a wish?”
       “All right, but it can’t be selfish,” Puck said.
       Blue’s piranha-like smile grew wider. “Don't worry about that,” she said. She leaned over to Puck’s ear and whispered something into it.
       Puck’s face distorted with horror. “No,” he said in a hoarse voice. “Not that! I can’t do that!”
       “You can! You must! You will! It’s in the rules – it’s allowed by the rules, and you must obey the rules, Puck,” Demona said to that. “Do it!”
       “NOOOO!” Puck howled, even as his clenched fists unclenched, releasing two spear-pointed sprays of white foam, which hit Demona right in the chest.
       BOOM! For an infinite amount of time, the whole room looked like it was in a sandstorm. Then it stopped.
       “Yes, I’m back and in charge,” Demona said. Only she wasn’t really Demona anymore. Instead, she was now some new Fay, dressed in a black robe with embroidered peacock “eyes” on it. 
       “Who’re you?” Lex managed to say.
       “I'm Izanami or Hera, the 1st wife of king Oberon, and now the queen of the Unseelie court,” the Fay helpfully said. Then she turned in another direction. “How are you feeling, Blue?”
       “Fine,” the cross-breed (or not?) Fay managed. “This new strength fills weird, though. Pleasantly weird, but still…” 
       “Don't worry, you’re quickly going to get used to it,” Izanami said, forming an ebony chair to sit upon out of thin air.
       “First wife? What about my mother?” Fox said.
       “Her? Uzume? Or, sorry, Titania? She married my husband after the, ahem, divorce.”
       “So where does Demona appeared from?” Elisa asked.
       “After me and Oberon divorced, the Faerie host got split in two, of course, led by me and him. Then there was a war, and my side lost. As a punishment, I was ‘encased’ in a gargoyle’s body – Demona – until I earned forgiveness.” Izanami paused. “However, because of Archmage’s ambitions and Weird Sisters manipulations, I’ve managed to get a semblance of immortality back, and the rest was just a matter of time, and, one could say, good fortune.” She looked at everyone for one last time. “Blue, you ready to go?”
       “Yes, mother,” Izanami’s second daughter still looked the same, but Fox suspected that that was only superficial. 
       “Good. Well, good-bye, but not farewell, for you may meet me or Blue some time later!”
       BOOM! In a flash of black smoke, Izanami, Blue, and the chair vanished.
       “Why do I have a feeling,” Elisa turned to Goliath, “that our life just got worse?”

**
The End