AVALON MISTS: A momentary escape from reality. Issue #12 First Released: Thursday, April 25th, 1996 Editor's Note: *Whew* Another special issue. And now we can go back to our regularly scheduled every-Wednesday Mists issues! I guess an explanation is in order: I wanted to get Tara's "Games" and my "Sunrising on the Angel of the Night" out before "The Gathering", plus I've been deluged with poetry. Second Editor's Note: When you submit a piece, PLEASE please please tell me how you want your name to appear! (A pen name, your _real_ name, whatever -- I don't care how you want to be credited, but I do need a name!) Otherwise, I'll hold the piece until I find out from you. Many thanks! ****Poetry**** "Dreams" --IndyKat (knell@indiana.edu) How do you stop a nightmare when you're bound in stone? Humans, count yourselves lucky to wake when you want. For a thousand years I have seen images - of brothers, sisters mothers, fathers my love's warm smile replaced by cold cold stone. Just pieces of a life shattered, and repeating... over and again. Woken, spell broken, yet here I stand frozen watching my love's warm smile turn to cold cold stone. I must be dreaming but this time I just don't understand what weapon could break her heart and soul; just pieces of a life, shattered, but the flesh standing still... How do you stop a nightmare when you're bound in stone? ****Top Ten List**** "The Top 10 Movies We¹d Love to See the Gargoyles Characters In" --Heather Woodruff (hwoodruff@rollins.edu) 10. Lexington in Home Alone II: Lost in New York (we all know as who) ³ AAAAHHHHHHHH!!² 9. The Pack in Terminator II Jackal: "Hey Hyena, we got jipped! Look what THAT guy can do!" Hyena: "Oooohh, but he is kinda cute in a liquidy, sadistic, destructive sort of way..." 8. Demona in Clueless ³Like I have time to worry about human extermination when I have a *date* tonight? Ugh, what-EVER!² 7. Goliath and Elisa in Speed Goliath :"You know, I've head that relationships based on extreme circumstances never last." Elisa: "Ok then we'll have to base it on....uh..er...haha, nevermind (Think G-rated, Elisa, think G-rated)." *Oooh, am I going to catch some rap on THAT one ;-) I make no apologies. 6. Macbeth in Braveheart ³Ahvry man dies, nuh ahvry man really lives....well, except me of course, I¹m immortal, but that's besiydes tha point...² 5. Broadway in Robin Hood: Men in Tights (First off, let's envision Broadway IN *tights*) "My friends call me Little John. But don't be fooled, in real life, I'm very big." 4. Hudson in Crocodile Dundee I ³Aye, that¹s nae a knife, THIS is a knife!² 3. Brooklyn in Ferris Beuller¹s Day Off ³ Brooklyn....Brooklyn....Brooklyn....² -picture it: his talons laced behind his head, leaning back in his chair, a slow grin spreads over his face...er...beak- ³Oooohhhhh yeaaaaah, chk chk-ih-ch-kahhhh² 2. Xanatos, Owen and Dracon in Three Men and a Baby (Xanatos is going to need the practice anyway) "I've built the tallest skyscraper in New York, transported a castle clear across the ocean and designed a race of super-mechanical mythological beings - I can certainly change a diaper!" And the number one movie we'd LOVE to see a Gargoyle character in: 1. Bronx in Babe (a sheep-gargoyle??? I see Oscars!) ****Fanfiction**** "Games" --Tara O'Shea (TaraLJC@aol.com) Conclusion As the sun slipped behind the horizon, and the gargoyles yawned, shrugged off the last vestiges of sleep and bits of stone skin, and prepared for another night of waiting, hoping, and protecting. In that order, but it was better than nothing. However, Brooklyn seemed lost, and just a bit down. Actually, Hamlet would have looked like Bozo the Clown next to Brooklyn. He hadn't said much of anything since they'd gotten back from upstate, and Lex had managed to pry an abbreviated version of the story out of Matt, but all it did was raised more questions than it answered. Brooklyn slipped into the closet and stood before the cracked mirror than leaned against one wall, inspecting his reflection closely. He saw what he'd always seen: a young, relatively attractive (for his species, anyway) gargoyle. Then he looked closer, and tried to see a leader, maybe a hero, and lastly, a lover. But he couldn't find them, not in this particular reflection. He wondered what Goliath saw in himself. Then he wondered if Goliath ever felt the need to search, or did he simply accept what he was or wasn't, and then move on from there, despite what the rest of them saw in him. "What the hell is the matter with me?" he asked the glass, but it didn't answer. He must have waited for a full minute, and then shook his head, wrapping his wings around himself though he wasn't cold. The mirror went opaque, but Brooklyn had already turned his face from it and was a pace or two away when an arm shot out, grabbed his elbow, and before he could say "Wait a minute!" (he did, in fact, get the "Wa--!" sound out, but his clan didn't hear him) he was pulled through the mirror. It was really dark on the other side of the mirror, at least until his eyes adjusted. Brooklyn took in his surroundings, noting the fact that he seemed to be on a spiral staircase, in the dark. He could just make out Fionnuala, or rather, the human he'd known as a gargoyle he'd called Fionnuala, in front of him, and was blinded as she opened a door and white, artificial light flooded the stair. "Where are we?" They stepped out onto a curved balcony--no, he realised, not balcony, but a tower of some kind. The air tasted of salt, seaweed, and fish. It was a clean kind of smell, even so. Different from the briny smell of the docks. It reminded him of Castle Wyvern, in the days before the massacre. He looked out, and realised he could see literally for miles. "My lighthouse." Rowan leaned against the wooden railing (it had actually been wrought iron when she had brought the place. Some nice lads from the village had taken it out, and installed the wooden one even though they insisted the wood would warp and crack and it would be dangerous, and the iron was safer. She had smiled and nodded, and promised not to fall off the bloody thing, and that had been three generations earlier, and she hadn't yet. Fallen, that is.) and looked out over the black sea, the moon obscured by the thick clouds. The wind tugged at her hair, blowing it in her face, but she didn't pull it back. She enjoyed it, wanted to spread her wings and glide out over the sea, except she didn't have wings to glide on any longer. It wasn't that she couldn't suddenly have them again. It was that she wouldn't, not now. And not in front of Brooklyn. That wouldn't be fair to him, and she wanted to be fair. "Not everything I told you was a lie. I just couldn't tell you the whole truth." "All I want to know is why." He crossed his arms, and watched the waves in the light from the lighthouse. He didn't look at her. She purposely scooted over so that her elbow touched his, and her hair brushed his wing. He'd expected her eyes to be black, but they weren't. He'd never get used to those pupil-less grey eyes. "I told you, I was curious. Ten centuries in the world, and I had never once tried on a gargoyle's skin. I wanted to, before I was denied the opportunity forever. Gargoyles protect. I have no protectorate, save my secrets. I wanted more, even for only a few days. And I was lonely too." She could hear the calls of the gulls, and the rumble of distant thunder. "Do you hate me?" He met her eyes, and shrugged. "A little." Her face fell, and there was a silence. Then she spoke again. "Do you still like me?" "A little." Brooklyn cracked a smile, and she laughed. "Oh good, you had me scared for a minute there." "What are you?" he blurted out, realising that she was most likely, after pulling him through a mirror, not a human after all, or at the very least some kind of sorcerer. "Don't you know?" She cocked her head, and raised a brow. "Oh, jalapena." Brooklyn slapped his forehead. "I'm an idiot." "You're not an idiot." Rowan shook her head. Brooklyn suddenly looked wary. "You're not going to start talking in iambic pentameter, or turn to stone and crumble right before my eyes, or anything like that, are you?" "No. Why? Did someone do that?" Her eyes were wide, and he chuckled. "Yeah." "Oh." She nodded, in sudden understanding. "You met the Sisters, didn't you. I think you should know that up front that Luna, Phoebe and Selene are most definitely *not* representative of my race as a whole." She sounded almost apologetic. "Is that what they're called?" "No, they're called all kinds of things. Those are their names." From her tone, apparently in her mind there was a distinct difference. "But if anyone asks, you didn't hear it from me." Brooklyn laughed, and shook his head. "You don't make much sense, you know that?" "Don't I?" "What about your name, Fionnuala-Jackie-Rowan?" "Those are all my names." "But not what you're called?" "Ah, see, now you're catching on." "Still doesn't make much sense." "Give it time." They sat down on the observation deck, their backs against the flaking white painted curved wall, and Brooklyn wrapped his wings around his shoulders as the wind kicked up, and the first few drops of rain began to fall. "Fionnuala?" "Yes?" "If you're so powerful, why did you let Marlowe catch you? I mean, why not just . . ." "*Poof*, disappear? Well, I didn't want to blow my cover with you, and then once he had me, well . . . He had me bound. As long as he thought I was just a genetically engineered hybrid, humans and gargoyles were both pretty safe. But imagine someone more intelligent than Demona--which isn't all that difficult, really--with less honour than Xanatos, having at their beck and call someone only slightly less powerful than the puck." "Seeing as how I don't really consider Xanatos to be all that honourable, that would have been a really bad scene." "You're telling me." "So what am I doing here?" "You may well have saved my life. Beyond my thanks, I owe you," she said simply. "You didn't have to tell me that." "Certainly I did. If I didn't tell you, you'd live your whole life through never knowing I owed you something." "Precisely." "Oh. I see your point." She tucked her hair behind her ears. "No, really, I will grant you a gift." "Like Puck's gift to Demona? Excuse me if I'm wary." "Ah, but what the puck gave Demona was no less than she deserved. You deserve better." He hesitated, and then finally said "Can I think about it?" "Certainly. I'm practically immortal, and as such, have plenty of time." "Why aren't you pitching this deal to Matt too?" "Because I didn't wrong him to the degree I wronged you. For Detective Bluestone, I have something special planned. Don't worry," she patted his hand. "I won't leave him out." "Now you're scaring me. What's the deal with you and Burnett?" "Ah, that's not my secret to share." The sky opened up above them, and Rowan laughed as sheets of rain began to fall. Brooklyn raised his wings to hood him, and watched as she tipped her head back and let the rain run down her cheeks and into her hair. "I can't figure Burnett. How was he supposed to know we was there? I mean, for all he knew, he was alone out there." Matt laid down on the couch with his cellphone, trying to massage his headache awaywith his free hand. Logic told him Gregory Marlowe would never have gotten what he'd deserved if he'd brought him in, and yet he wondered if what he'd deserved as to have been turned over to a society that would surely kill him just for having a reach that overcame his grasp. Tell that to the empty bottle of aspirin on his kitchen counter, and the clock, which marked the thirty sixth-hour of his perpetual state of wakefulness. Even if it was his night off, he hadn't been able to close his eyes without replaying scenes over and over, trying to make them fit. "Are you kidding? Who do you think tipped us off to Marlowe in the first place? And who do you think suggested you for the job?" "You mean you don't have Xanatos' phones tapped?" Matt sat up. "Oh no. We have his phones tapped, trust me." He could almost picture Hacker's patient smile, and sank back down against the throw pillows his very ex-girlfriend had insisted he buy, and then left him when she'd walked out. "Burnett doesn't know me from Adam, and I thought you said Xanatos was lower echelon--" "He is. I never said anything about Burnett." "Man, this just gets weirder and weirder." "It gets better: You know the human-gargoyle hybrid, or whatever she was?" "Yeah?" Matt hoped Martin was far, far away and couldn't see the way his cheeks flushed and he loosened his collar, trying to sound nonchalant. "Turns out she's the real mystery. Marlowe thought she was one of Xanatos' little experiments, and Burnett let him. But Xanatos denies any knowledge of such a project. And before you cast any aspersions on Mr. Xanatos' good word, trust me, we had it checked out. So if someone created her, it wasn't in a XE funded lab. All of Marlowe's data was destroyed in the fire, and she's disappeared, so it looks like we'll never knew." "Just as well, then," Matt shrugged, hoping he was a much better liar than he felt right then. "Like you said, why waste resources on damage control?" The doorbell rang. "Hold on, there's someone at my door." Matt padded to the door, and peered through the peephole this time. He didn't see anything until the little black girl who had knocked on his door stepped back to set down a box half as big as she was, and scratch her head before reaching up to knock again. "Just a sec," Matt undid the chain, and opened the door. "Can I help you?" "Lady said she'd gimmie fi'dollars if I brung this here." The kid wiped her nose with her sleeve, and Matt's eyes drifted down to the child's feet, which were encased in a suspiciously new pair of cheap canvas tennis shoes. He chuckled, and opened his wallet, producing a ten-spot. "Here you go kid. Spend it on candy. Chocolate, cookies, whatever. No cigarettes, no funny stuff, you got it?" "Man, the guy in the castle gave me twenty." "I'm a poor cop, scraping to get by." "Mister, you a cop?" Her eyes got really big. "I didn't do nothin'." "It's awful late for you to be out." "It ain't late." "Did the lady buy you those shoes?" "Yeah, she did. And took me to MacDonald's too." "Well, the next time you see the lady, you tell her not to be stuffing kids full of fried foods. Think you can do that?" The child nodded, wiped her nose again, and then was off down the hallway, dreads bobbing as she went. Setting the box down on his computer desk, he lifted the lid and chuckled. Nestled in a bed of tissue paper a pair of boots. Not just any boots, but the kind of handmade leather cowboy boots that cost about three times his monthly salary. There was a folded piece of creamy white stationary with his name across the front, and he smiled as he read the message. One good turn deserves another. "Hacker, what would you say if I told you I believed in faeries?" Bluestone said into the cellphone, and was met by a wry chuckle. "I'd clap my hands. Gargoyles, I can understand. We have proof. But fairies? That's a bit of a stretch even for you, Matthew." "Yeah, I guess you're right." Matt tugged on the boots, not at all surprised that they were a perfect fit. Watching the rain, Owen had almost given up waiting up for her to return when she was illuminated by a flash of lightning, standing out beyond the French doors, in the middle of the lawn, just looking up at the sky. Her hair was plastered to her face and neck in swirling black tendrils. Thunder boomed in the sudden stillness. Clicking on a single light by the couch, Owen turned to the bar, and poured two finger's width of clear amber liquid into a cut crystal tumbler. "Would you like one?" He asked as she closed the glass door behind her with a *snick*. "I never became accustomed to the taste of peat." She wrinkled her nose. "There's plum wine in the kitchen." "You're so domestic," she shook her head, sending a spray of droplets in his direction. Her legs were streaked with mud to the knees. He wondered just what she had been doing out there in the rain. He also wondered how he was going to get mud out of the white carpet, but that thought was fleeting as she stripped off her sodden clothes. He swallowed the scotch and set the glass on the bar. She shrugged on the green silk chemise that had appeared out of thin air at her feet, and knelt before the fireplace. The firelight painted her cheek gold as she spread her hair out to dry over her shoulders and down her back. She looked up at him as she combed her fingers through the mass of damp curls, and. The silence stretched out between them, until she held out her hand, and he took it. "So, do you think you are ready to kneel at the feet of that pompous ass like a good little Child of Oberon, or will you stay here and change Xanatos Jr.'s nappies?" She asked sweetly as she loosened his tie. Owen laughed, he didn't know what else to do. Even after all that had happened, she was like a dog with a bone, unwilling or unable to simply let go and have done. He traced her smile with a fingertip. "You are a study in contrasts. On the one hand, you would defend the soil of our birth with your life's blood, yet on the other, you spit upon our lord and master. Tell me, are you afraid that I will not return to Avalon? Or are you afraid that a millennium in the lands of mortals has seduced you into staying?" She began braiding the now dry mass of hair,. "I am afraid of being alone, it is true." She sighed, snuggling back against his chest. "And I do love this mortal world, you know I always have. Yes, I would know what you will do, and yet I also know that you do not even know what you will do until you have done it! I had hoped to goad you, one way or the other, that I might know where I should make my stand." He sighed. So that was it. "Rowan, I do not know yet what I will do, and that is the truth of it." "Ah." Her lips twitched, as if unable to decide whether to settle into a smile or frown. "Perhaps I should stay this time, then?" "And do what?" "Perhaps the child will need a nanny?" She suggested, all innocence. Then she laughed. "Perhaps not. Ah, but there are so many fine games yet to play--" "No more games, Rowan." Owen said against her hair. "Indeed. No more games." Her arms crept around his neck, and she drew him to her, brushing his lips with hers. "Did you say plum wine?" she pulled back, a gleam in her eyes and suddenly she was up and dashing across the room. "Rowan--" Owen made a grab for her, and missed. Her laughter echoed down the hallway, and shaking his head, he draped his jacket over the back of the chair, carefully removed his shoes, and then ran after her in the general direction of the kitchens. "What's the chopper doing here?" Fox asked as she and David pulled up the driveway. Fox was still running on Australian time, and if anyone asked her what day it was, her answer wouldn't have been at all reliable. They had had a wonderful week in Milan, but there was no rest for the wicked. On the flight home, inbetween naps and other diversions, David had outlined his next plan, which called for his being in New York to set the ball rolling. When the company jet had been diverted from JFK by the storm, Xanadu had seemed the perfect solution. "I have no idea." Xanatos slipped out from behind the wheel, removing his cellular. "There's no answer on Owen's line." His eyebrows vanished into his bangs. "I don't think that's ever happened before." "There's bloodstains on the back seat," Fox peered into the chopper. "This can't be good." "I went into an ale-house I used to frequent and I told the landlady all me money was spent. I asked her for credit, she answered me 'nay.'" "She said 'custom as yours I can get any day '. . ." A woman's soprano warbled from the living room. David and Fox froze in mid-stalk, eyes wide, until it was joined by a surprisingly good tenor. "Wild Rover give over, wild rover give o'er, and I never shall play wild rover no more." Peeking into the living room, Xanatos was greeted by two sights he never thought he'd live to see. Owen Burnett, hammered, and Owen Burnett, singing. His major-domo was sitting on the floor, back against the couch, with no socks and shoes, and a half empty bottle of scotch--no, Irish whiskey--next to him. At his side, resting her head on his shoulder and gesturing with a wine glass was Fionnuala Rowan. From the state of the bottle of plum wine sitting on the flagstones, he had a feeling it had been some night. Fox put a finger to her lips, and they slipped out in silence. Manhattan was only a few hours away, sleep could wait. "Something tells me this is a very long story." David chuckled as they got back into the car, and started the engine. --The End "Sunrising on the Angel of the Night" --Leva Mevis (levamevis@aol.com) Author's Note: I *swear* I wrote this before seeing "Future Tense"! Also, for the purpose of clarity, I'm referring to the "real" Demona as Dominique. (It got confusing with two Demonas.) * * * * * She was very glad to be home. Dominique Destine, also known as Demona, yawned, set her bags down inside her door, and decided to unpack *after* she slept. It was two o' clock and she'd been on that stupid airplane since a few minutes after dawn, and she hadn't slept in almost twenty-four hours and she was exhausted. Oh, she was so tired. But she and Thailog had been victorious in their attempt to take over a small company that had a big cash surplus -- Thailog believed that he could squeeze quite a lot of money out of the company before it went bankrupt. And they could screw a few humans out of their jobs and wealth while they were at it! After such a triumph -- it wasn't often that they managed to stick it to the humans and make money at the same time -- she was in a remarkably good mood, tired or not. However, it would feel so *good* to fall into bed. This human form had a few advantages. Dominique Destine padded upstairs, changed into something comfortable to *sleep* in, and fell backwards into her new bed. Flop. The bouncy, soft mattress cradled her and the fuzzy blanket was soft against her skin. The comforter over the blanket was soothingly heavy and warm -- it almost hugged her. Sleeping was one of those human advantages. Turning to stone had *nothing* on the sheer sensory bliss of curling up under warm covers and falling into the embrace of sleep. There were some added benefits to human sleep, of course. Humans slept eight hours; gargoyles averaged twelve. She had control. She could sleep when she chose and was never forced by dawn to turn to stone. She could wake *up* if there was a noise; if her burglar alarm went off, for example, or if someone entered the room. But, on the whole, she simply liked curling up in a warm bed, perhaps with a book of sorcery and a cup of extra- chocolate hot cocoa before going to sleep. (Contrary to popular rumor, she *did* have interests outside of murder and mayhem. Sometimes. A thousand years was a terribly long time to just focus on one topic. She liked Animaniacs, for example.) Not, of course, that she would *admit* liking to sleep to anyone, particularly to her mate Thailog. Thailog would tell her how stupid she was. But she did. And she was so very tired... * * * * * Dreaming was an unpleasant side effect, unfortunately, of sleeping. And after a thousand years of a living hell, she had some pretty interesting nightmares. But this did not seem to be a bad dream... She stood in the shadows. She did not know how she knew the date, but it was three days in the future. She did not recognise the rooftop or the city, but she certainly recognised the two figures who appeared. One was Goliath. Her heart twisted when she saw him. Goliath...her love, who had promised to be with her always...anger flared. He had not kept that promise! No one kept their promises! And then a second figure landed. Dominique had a bad case of deja vu. It was herself; her gargoyle self. Dominique watched as Demona landed soundlessly behind Goliath. Goliath turned, at the rustle of folding wings. "You!" he shouted, "What are *you* doing here!" She tried to move, tried to leap angrily at the male who she had loved so deeply and who now spoke to her...her other self...so angrily. She could not move. She was stuck in the shadows and she realised now that she was dreaming. The other Demona, the one out in the open, folded her arms, hugged her ribs, and looked away from him. "Goliath, I thought you would be happy to see me." Goliath opened his mouth, shut it, and looked away. A muscle in his jaw worked. Finally, he faced her, "I do not trust you, Demona. You have proven, time and again, that you are not worthy of trust. I do not wish you here." "You still love me." Demona stated, with a tone of utter exhaustion in her voice. Goliath's eyes were startled. Then he scowled, "Any love I feel for you died a thousand years ago." "Goliath..." "Go." He turned his back on her. Demona did not leave. She padded forward, wrapped her arms around Goliath's waist, and leaned her head against his back. "I could make you love me again." He stood perfectly still, tense, rigid. He made no noise; he might as have been a stone statue for all he moved. "I believe you have already tried that." He growled at last. "I'm sorry." "I'm touched, Demona." He finally responded, "What do you want?" "You again." "You have a mate. You have two, if you want to be technical about it. You rather did MacBeth a wrong, I think." Goliath snarled at her. She spun away and padded to the edge of the roof. She rested her hands on the railing and stared out over the city. When she turned back to face Goliath, her face was twisted with rage, "He left me! Everyone betrays me! I have no one, no one! Not even another gargoyle! I have no one, Goliath, because they have *all* betrayed me! The captain! MacBeth! You! Everyone! And now Thailog!" Her eyes glittered red. "You have earned your fate." Goliath said, unimpressed by her display. His voice shook with barely suppressed rage; his patience with Demona had run out a long time ago. "It is your own doing, Demona. Can you not learn that?" The glitter abruptly faded from her eyes. Her mouth opened in sudden, slow, awful realisation. Terrible realisation. Goliath no longer loved her. And it wasn't because of the *humans*. It was because of *her*. *She* was the problem. It had taken her a thousand years... Her life, quite literally, flashed before her eyes. It had not been a pretty life, but much of the grief had been her very own doing. And she had taken many people down with her. "If only...if only I had told them..." Demona sank to her knees, face in her hands, shoulders quivering. Goliath paused, taken aback. Softly, Demona began to cry. She stumbled back to her feet, turned away from Goliath, and, face still in her hands, headed for the edge of the roof. She sobbed brokenly, griefstricken. She wanted only to fly and fly and fly... Goliath took two swift steps forward and planted himself squarely in her path. "Who's at fault?" He demanded, harshly. "Leave me!" She snarled at him. She wanted no more of him...she wanted no more of anyone! "Demona! You must say it!" He persisted. "You *know* what I have done! Now I know why you hate me so much!" He grabbed her arms, "Demona, speak the truth." She looked up at him, eyes gone dark with grief. "Goliath..." "Speak, Demona." "Everything that's happened is because of ME!" She screamed at him. "You have learned something tonight." He said, softly. He released her and walked across the roof. "Demona, I do not hate you." "You don't?" She sounded shocked. "Hate is neither an answer nor a cure. You should know that better than any of us. Hate only begets more hatred and more violence and more bloodshed." He did not look at her. "Could you ... could you forgive me?" She whispered. Begged. She reached out a hand towards him, then let it fall to her side. The muscle in his jaw worked. After a moment, he looked at her. "Perhaps." It wasn't much of an invitation, but she stumbled forward. She half fell, half threw herself at him. He caught her, more by reflex than anything else. She cried, bitterly, into his chest. He tightened his arms around her back, wrapped his wings around her, and pressed her head against his shoulder with one hand. "Cry, Demona." He said, softly, compassion in his voice. There was no anger left in her; there was only great sorrow and regret and a deep self-loathing that could be heard her bitter sobs. Oh, she hated herself. Perhaps more than she had ever hated the humans. Or perhaps her hatred of humans had been an outer reflection of her inner self-hatred. He stroked her hair; he could not help it. It was as he had said once, long ago: she would always be with him. "My angel of the night, we are one." He whispered softly, into her hair. "We are one, now and forever. Whatever may come, whatever may pass, we are one." Her head came up swiftly. "Goliath?" "Do you think I could ever forget you?" He said, a bit chidingly. "Demona... you are always in my heart." In the shadows, Dominique was crying also. * * * * * It was three weeks later. Dominique knew this, though how, she was not sure. She stood now inside a great stone room which she could not identify, which had no recognisable features, but which reminded her of a place she had seen before. She'd been here before. She knew that. But she could not remember... "Goliath, you can't be serious!" It was Elisa Maza's voice and she sounded furious. Goliath answered, in a patient rumble, "Elisa, she has changed. She has *learned*, finally, after all these centuries alone, that vengeance is not the answer. I have seen it in her eyes." He paused and added candidly, "And frankly, Elisa, I am more than a little glad that she's immortal. Her grief is very deep -- she carries more grief than any one should have in their heart." "This is *Demona* we're talking about!" Elisa's voice rose several octaves. Goliath padded through a door, followed by Elisa. Elisa was animated with outrage. "I know." Goliath answered. "You can't seriously be concidering letting her return to the clan!" Goliath held a finger up, "I am giving her one more chance. I have told her as much." "You're mad! She's immortal, but you're not, and she's tried to kill you more times than I'd care to count!" Elisa ran a hand through her hair. "Goliath, I know you loved her, but Demona's a murderer, a betrayer, a criminal. Of the worst kind. She kills for joy -- she's a sociopath in the truest sense; she has the soul of a terrorist! You can not be serious!" "Elisa," Goliath said patiently, "I am giving her a chance." He paused and said, softly and patiently, "As I once took a chance on you." Elisa opened her mouth, started to protest that *she* had never betrayed the clan, never would, never could, then closed it, and sighed. "I hope we all don't regret this. Goliath." She didn't sound happy. Goliath nodded, "I don't ask that you welcome her with open arms, Elisa, but ... would you give her a chance too?" "She's tried to kill me. A few times. And you." Elisa pointed out. Goliath chuckled, "And you have her tried to kill her, as I recall. Do not worry, Elisa, I shall not leave you alone together until *I* am sure." * * * * * Again, she dreamed of the future -- it was three months after she had gone to sleep. Dominique stood in a place she knew to be the clan's home; not the castle but a place of sanctuary. The dream Demona sat alone on a beat-up red chair, arms around her legs and wings folded around her head. She was sobbing softly. "Hi guys!" An insanely cheerful voice shouted from the stairwell. "I... oh." Elisa stopped. "Uhh..." "They went to a movie." Demona sniffed without looking up. "Didn't they... uhh... invite you?" Elisa stood nervously in the middle of the room. "Yes. I said I'd stay behind to watch the tower." Elisa stood uncertainly in the middle of the floor. "Goliath go with them?" "Yes." "Demona..." "Just go away, human." Elisa shifted uncertainly. "Look, Demona, which movie house did they say they were going to?" Something in Elisa's voice made Demona look up. "What's wrong?" "There's a jumper on Castle Wyvern." "A what?" Demona blinked. "A jumper... some nutcase who wants to commit suicide. Dunno how he got up there, but the Xanatoses are having kittens and Owen looks remarkably dour; the guy got past his security." Elisa shrugged. "We clean up street pizza at least once a week, if you know what I mean... but I was rather hoping the guys would play catch in case the psych squad..." "I will help." Demona said, abruptly. "You?" Elisa was openly flabbergasted. The dream Demona stood up, wiped at her eyes, and managed a shaky smile. "I know what grief is." * * * * * It was four hours later. "Thank you." Elisa said, in front of the clock tower. "You scared that poor guy right back inside." Demona favored her with an evil grin. "He thought I was a demon from hell, come to claim him, and started screaming that I could not have him. I told him I'd just wait until he jumped." Elisa cracked up, shaking with mirth. "Demona, that's terrible!" Demona shrugged. "It worked." "You have a vile sense of humor." "Thank you, Elisa, I'll take that as a compliment." Demona's eyes laughed suddenly; she looked at Elisa as if she'd never quite seen her before. Elisa sighed, not noticing the look on Demona's face. "Did you see Xanatos' face when he saw us together? I'm not sure if he thought I'd gone over to the darkside, you'd come over to the light, or if he was seeing things." "No, but Owen was not amused. I don't think he likes me much." They both laughed at that; tired half-hysterical laughter. "Do you blame him?" Elisa asked. Demona abruptly sobered. "Elisa, can I ask you a question?" "Shoot." "You and Goliath... I..." Elisa sighed. "Demona, I do love him. He's the best friend I've ever had. But... you are his angel, not I." She shrugged. "We're friends. Nothing more." Emotions flickered from the dream Demona's eyes. Relief, grief, self-hatred, embarassment. "I... see." * * * * * The dreamscape changed, and Dominique knew instinctively it was eight months later. The dream Demona stood on the rooftop. Goliath stood behind her; he rested one hand on her hip and the other on her opposite shoulder in a gesture that was both intimate and more-or-less socially acceptable. The others stood there too. The trio. Hudson. Elisa Maza... ...and a dark-haired young female gargoyle that was achingly familiar. In the shadows, Dominique finally recognised the young one as the girl who had been with Goliath months ago in Paris. And now she was sure of what she thought she had seen then... The girl was clan. And not just clan, but she had Demona's hands, eyes and feet and Goliath's big bones, coloring and hair. Impossible! How was it possible? The clan was dead! Elisa was grinning, "You wanted us?" "Umm..." Goliath flushed eggplant purple. "We need a rookery." Demona poked him in the ribs, and grinned at them. It was a smug grin. "*What*?" Elisa gaped. "Oh, congratulations!" And she *hugged* the dream Demona. Eight months had evidently done a great deal to mend old rivalries. Dominique, in the shadows, bared her teeth in a reflexive snarl; that was *too* much ... but something choked in her throat. The cameraderie between all of them was so obvious that it was painful. To have friends like that again seemed impossible, yet she was looking at herself laugh and tease and be teased. And be loved. They knew her for what she was, and they had forgiven her. She *hated* Elisa. Elisa had stolen Goliath from her! But in this dream, apparently, she had regained Goliath -- and Elisa was just a friend. *Her* friend, apparently. That was a concept so alien as to be outrageous. Even if she could forgive Elisa, which was unlikely, Elisa, she was certain, would *never* forgive her. The dream Elisa said something to Goliath that made him turn interesting shades of lavender; the dream Demona picked up on it and Goliath quickly verged on the eggplant color again. "So how long?" Elisa changed the subject before Goliath went from mortified to outraged. "Three months." The dream Demona said, laying her hands over her stomach. "More-or-less." "So *that's* why you two have been staying out so long on patrol..." Hudson chuckled knowingly. Now that it had been pointed out, Demona's state was rather obvious. Her figure was normally a bit on the hourglass shaped side. Now, even at three months, her waist was looking just a bit... thick. Dominique sighed at the distant memory. By the end of her last pregnancy, she'd resembled an olive with two skinny arms and legs. She just wasn't built to carry an egg the size of a small watermelon. Fortunately, Goliath had been *very* understanding during the whole pregnancy, because she'd been a royal grouch. To have another child... "I'm going to have a sister?" Angela, who was a bit slower on the subject yet than the others, finally figured out what the excitement was all about. "Or a brother." Demona said, smiling a very happy smile. "Either way," Goliath said, resting his other hand on her other hip, "This is a day for celebration." * * * * * Dominique left that dream with a smile. Now, she stood at the back of a room...and she knew it was eight years in the future. It was a large room. An auditorium. Full of humans. Her skin crawled, in instinctive terror, before she realised that they didn't see her. It was a graduation ceremony. For the police academy. It was all very boring; she stood there for thirty minutes, unable to move, while the ceremonies went on. And on. And on. She had an itch between her wings, her nose was threatening to run, and a lock of red hair kept tickling her eyes. She couldn't so much as sneeze. The ceremony was endless. Finally, they got to the good part, the swearing in of all of the new cadets. The cadets stood up... ...And Broadway was among them. When they said his name, the entire auditorium screamed. Above all the other voices, her own rang out from a distant seat across the room, "VICTORY!" The dream Demona screamed, wings unfurling, face contorted in a scream of joy, "VICTORY!" The room picked up the chant. The humans screamed, "Victory! Victory!" For five minutes. Dominique, in the shadows, was flat-out astounded. And then, compelled against her will, she found herself walking out the auditorium doors and into the night. The explanation was outside. A reporter spoke into a camera. ".. few minutes ago, the gargoyle known as Broadway was sworn in as the first non-human police cadet in United States history, to a standing ovation. This historic occasion was made possible by a decision by the Supreme Court granting victory to the gargoyles in their centuries-long quest for equality..." * * * * * Fifty years had passed. The city hadn't changed, much. The skyline was a little differant; the smog was gone. Manhattan appeared bigger, as if they had built out over the ocean. But it looked the same, more or less. A warm summer breeze ruffled Dominique's hair. Below her, in the courtyard of Castle Wyvern, children and adults played, Angela's dark hair was streaked through with gray; she and the trio, still as close as ever, were playing penny poker on the grass. Derek, his dark coat faded to white, played video games with a tyke with features that were a blend of mutate and human - - evidently, no cure had ever been found for the mutates. And the gargoyle children... There was a tall young female with silken red hair past her shoulders and wings like Goliath's. She was playing tag with a handful of brats ranging in age from toddler to ten or eleven human years; she played under the pretense of minding them. One of the children had a beak like Brooklyn's; a second strongly resembled Lexington. They tumbled across the grass, leaping and chasing and yelling. Demona knew that the red-haired youth was hers; her second daughter. In addition, there was a young boy gargoyle who was also hers. He was so like the Goliath she remembered from her own childhood that the memories hurt. He watched the game of tag from the sidelines. A book was in his lap, and as the game of tag turned into a game of soccer, he moved back, out of the way. The child's dark eyes were serious and thoughtful; after watching them play for a moment he returned to his book. "Malcolm!" A human child's voice shouted. The child looked up. A grin split his face. "Dee!" He rolled to his feet and ran across the grass. "It's good to see you!" The human girl was perhaps thirteen or fourteen; her resemblance to Elisa Maza was unmistakable. Possibly, a daughter -- or far more likely, a granddaughter. She hugged the young gargoyle, "Where's your dad? Gramma says if he doesn't come see the new exhibit on 'The History of Avalon' at the museum, she's going to personally have him moved there during the day." The boy, Malcolm, bared his sharp teeth in a grin. "I believe she would, too. Do you need to *ask* where he is?" "Library." Dee tossed her hair back. "Failing that, playing chess with Broadway." "Am I that predictable, Dee?" Goliath rumbled behind them. "Terribly so." The kid held her ground, arms folded and chin raised. Goliath favored her with one of his rare smiles. "Is it not close to your bedtime?" "Mom said I could spend the night here. It's a Friday." "Very well. But if you're not asleep by midnight, I shall have to tell your mother about the incident with the fireflies in the library." "How do you know ..." He chuckled softly and padded on to Demona; he enfolded her in his wings and watched the children play beyond her. Her hair, still as red as it had been a thousand years ago, blew together with his own hair, which had gone snowy over the decades that had passed. Together, they watched the children play for many minutes. * * * * * Dominique was falling backwards, pulled backwards, back through time. A chaotic blend of images hurled at her. At forty years, Elisa's daughter handed three year old Dee to an adolescent Malcolm and instructed him on the rudiments of daycare. At thirty years, young Malcolm perched in terror on the castle walls. Demona's red-haired daughter hovered on an updraft ten feet away and held his arms wide. "I'll always be there to catch you!" She shouted at him. He leaped, with a tiny scream, wings thrown wide and suddenly only air beneath himself... The child caught her brother, and spun him around, then dove towards the park below. At twenty years, Xanatos sighed, and faced Goliath. "You still mad about Sevarius?" Xanatos asked. Goliath rumbled a neutral response. "Ach, such a tenth century attitude. Well, Goliath, it's been good. See you around, I suppose." Xanatos held a set of keys out. Goliath folded his hand around the keys. "Thank you, Xanatos. We do owe you... for the castle." "Yes. For the castle." Xanatos agreed. Goliath rumbled. Once again, Dominique looked at a new scene. It was merely ten years after she had gone to sleep. She was at... A rookery? There were *dozens* of eggs -- the children she had seen before? She knew that most of them were young...a few years old, most no more than ten. It took ten long years for a gargoyle eggs to hatch. There appeared to be at least fifty eggs! The gargoyles, it seemed from her dreams, had regained Castle Wyvern. She knew somehow that the castle was actually, legally, and totally, in Goliath's name, and by human law, would revert to her ... someday. The castle was a gift and an apology, given to them by an old enemy. Xanatos had gotten out of big business and he and Fox were focusing on raising their several children. And somehow she knew that it was not just her clan, but several clans, that had joined together at the castle. Nature, along with a bit of fey magic and modern science, had created a baby boom. It was sheer irony that now, after all this time, her clan had Castle Wyvern to themselves. The first egg, her egg and Goliath's, was about to hatch. They waited, in the rookery. There were a dozen people present -- some Dominique recognised; some she did not. Dominique, who found herself wishing desperately that this bright future could come true, watched, unable to keep both the tears from her eyes. The dream Demona hovered jealously close to the egg. A natural leader, she had fallen back into her old role as Goliath's second a long time ago. As a ranking clan member, she was doubly responsible for this egg, this child of the clan. *No* harm was going to befall it -- she'd die a hundred times over to protect it. Goliath, almost as worried as she was, had his hands on her shoulders and his chin rested on the top of her head. Elisa stood across the room; she was now now in her early forties. Elisa's hair had a trace of gray in it. She didn't look old so much as dignified. She had a dark-haired child in her arms; a man that Demona did not know stood behind her, his arms around her. The man had pointed ears and high cheekbones and amber eyes. The child, too, had amber eyes. The others were there as well -- the trio and Hudson; Hudson was now quite old but still looked the part of a warrior. Maturity had given Lexington a little height -- and he had one of the young females from the Japanese clan with him. They stood hand in hand, whispering softly. MacBeth was there. "Aye, Demona," He said, to the dream Demona, "D'ye think t'will be a lassy or a laddy?" "Either will be loved." Goliath responded for Demona. "And cherished and raised entirely in a world where gargoyles for the first time are entirely free. This child will be the first of a new generation." Demona's shoulders lifted at his words. She smiled sadly, "They are, are they not? Perhaps our kind shall never again know the fear of the rising sun." It was then that the egg rocked twice and cracked. Tiny clawed hands tore at the eggshell. The gargoyle infant kicked and snarled a tiny cry and struggled for five minutes before tumbling out into the world. Tenderly, Demona lifted the squalling baby up. "A girl..." She breathed, wiping at her face with a soft cloth. "She has your hair, Demona." MacBeth, across the room, sounded amused. Demona cradled the infant for a long moment. Tears ran down her face. "My love," She had words only for Goliath, "She has your face and your wings." "But your coloring." Goliath whispered. Demona turned and handed the child up to him, "She is the first to be born into this new world." "What will you name her?" Elisa asked. Goliath and Demona exchanged glances. "She is a gargoyle. We need no..." Goliath started to say. "Gruoch." Demona said, softly, "She will be Gruoch." MacBeth's eyes widened. Tears began to run down his face, "Old friend..." He whispered. Demona gave him a brief nod; her eyes had warning in them. She wanted no sentimental displays! A look of understanding passed between them. MacBeth nodded, "Aye, Lady, a good name it is." * * * * * The noise of a garbage truck on the street below jolted Dominique out of her dreams. She sat up slowly, blinking sleep from her eyes. Tears came as she remembered the joy... Why could it not be that way? *Why*? Because the humans stood in the way! "Victory." Three voices said in unison. Demona buried her face in her hands. "Go away." She whispered. "Stop tormenting me." The Weird Sisters stood before at the foot of her bed. "The torment is yours." "It will never go away." "Until you live your dreams." --The End