And here's chapter eight.
Note: the wording of the spell at the end of the chapter is taken from the Gargoyles Wiki, as are certain details of the timeline and the name of the man who fell to his death at Notre Dame.
Demona glowered at the great metal-bound chest, sitting frustratingly intact on the table in front of her. For two weeks now, she'd starred at that damned box, as Owen and Xanatos tried to figure out how to break the spells that protected it. She had tried her own methods, more than two dozen charms and chants and potions she'd learned over the centuries, all to no avail. It sat there, a solid sealed block of metal and wood, the only thing keeping her from the hope she had believed lost a thousand years ago, mocking her efforts. Worse, she hadn't been able to get at it alone- as at the church, Xanatos was always with her whenever the chest was out of storage, and her patience with the human was rapidly wearing thin.
"Have you made any progress on modifying the scanners", Xanatos asked. Owen replied with his usual infuriating calm.
"R&D is working on a prototype that should be able to scan through lead, but it will take time. Another few days, at least."
"I am TIRED of waiting", Demona snarled, swiping at the chest with one clawed hand. Xanatos leapt forward, alarmed.
"Careful, you'll damage the contents-"
The lock snapped with a sharp crack, then fell to the metal table with a clang, the metal shorn through by a swipe from her claws. She felt a momentary tingle, a small surge of power, and then it was gone.
"You see, I am not entirely incapable of precision", she said smugly. Xanatos wasn't satisfied.
"You could have triggered the protective charms. You might have been destroyed, or the box itself might have been."
"You, perhaps. I, on the other hand, am not so fragile." She scoffed, but though she would never admit it to Xanatos, she knew that she had, indeed, acted rashly. She did not fear death, but any number of charms might have been activated, she might have lost everything- but it seemed that she had not.
Perhaps I was meant to find it? Yes. It is my heritage, my right. The thought gave her a glow of satisfaction. This box was her legacy, the key to restoring her home. And to correcting her greatest mistake. She shook her head. It was the humans' fault. And now I hold the key to its undoing.
She leaned forward, eagerly, and carefully opened the lid. To her surprise, no dust or mold wafted out of the chest. She leaned forward, her heart beating painfully fast as she saw the oh-so-familiar, leather-bound book, sitting perfectly preserved in the ancient chest, presumably by whatever magic had sealed it, and kept the rust and rot away from the box that held it. She reached out a single claw to gently brush the cover.
Could it truly be? After all these centuries? Even now, she did not dare to let herself fully believe...
"Demona?"
She froze, suddenly reminded that Xanatos was watching. She quickly sought to cover her momentary distraction.
"The preservation is remarkable", she said. "The other scrolls were half-rotted, but this book is perfectly intact." She carefully lifted it out of the box, and set it on the table. She could see the faded words etched on the cover, and a sudden wave of memories and feeling nearly overwhelmed her.
"Grimorum Arcanorum", Xanatos read softly. "Book of Magic?" His knowledge of Latin is coming along. It would be harder to filter the contents of the documents she translated in the future, and it would make him less reliant on her. Something to keep in mind. "That's rather on the nose."
"Its descriptive", she said, gingerly turning one of the pages, gazing in something almost like reverence at the words she'd never imagined she'd see again. "This book is the definitive source on magic itself. This book is power." She suddenly realized what she was saying and stopped, casting a suspicious glare at Xanatos. His eyes gleamed with an almost manic light, and he seemed to almost vibrate with barely-concealed excitement.
Humans. In the end, they were all the same. All they ever cared about was their own wealth and power.
"Can you read it", Xanatos asked. "Can you use the spells?" The words were to her, but his eyes, she noted, were on Owen.
"Perhaps", she quickly lied. "The text is... archaic, but I do recognize some of the phrases. I'll get to work on translating it immediately." With any luck, she could convince Xanatos to leave her alone with the book, at least for a few minutes. If she could find what she was looking for... well, she would have no need for Xanatos any more.
A Church In France
Father Gerard looked up as a hand rapped lightly on the door of his study. He felt exhausted, the events of the last few weeks had left him worn and weary. The church had been robbed-robbed-and a box of unknown origin and value had been taken from the crypts. He'd been interviewed by police, as had several of his staff, and another blow had come when his assistant was arrested on suspicion of being an accomplice to the theft. He shook his head. He had lived a long life, and he had seen wonderous and terrible things, but few things tested a man's faith like a betrayal by one of his own. And then there were the rumours, the stories, started by that fool down in the village- rumours of a winged monster, a demon with horns and wings and a tail, first seen flying over the market square on the night of the theft. He shook his head, a cold chill running through him. He wanted to dismiss, to not believe, but surely it was not a coincidence. A church plundered, a demon in the night... The knocking came again and he sighed, chastising himself for indulging in such fruitless fretting while he kept a man waiting at his door.
"Come in", he said tiredly in French, sitting up straighter and trying to collect himself. The door opened, and two men walked in.
The first was of average height, brown hair and a pinched, pale face. He looked older, his face lined, though a closer look showed that he could not be much more than thirty. He appeared rather unwell, but he walked with a confident stride, and extended his hand with a friendly, if strained, smile.
"Father ?" He nodded. English, then. "My name is Remus Lupin, and this is my friend Mr. Black."
"Father Gerard St. Claire", he replied in English, rising and taking the other man's hand. "It is a pleasure to meet you. I apologize for keeping you waiting." Father Gerard shook his hand, noting his firm grip, as his eyes studied the man behind him. Mr. Black was tall and thin, almost gaunt, with a handsome but hard face beneath long black hair, and a sense of constrained energy about his every movement. His instincts told him that Black was a dangerous man, but he extended his hand regardless, and the other man briefly shook it. "I am afraid I have been very busy, but I can spare a few moments. Now, how can I help you gentlemen?"
The two exchanged quick glances, before Lupin replied.
"I am a private investigator working on behalf of a client in England", he said, reaching into his jacket and taking out a liscence, which he held up for the Father's examination. "We believe that the recent burglary of your church may be related to an unsolved missing persons case in Britain."
Whatever he had imagined, Gerard had not expected that. He felt his eyebrows rise, then he quickly rounded the desk and pulled out a pair of chairs against the wall.
"Please, gentlemen, sit down", he said, gesturing to the chairs. They did so, and he resumed his seat behind the desk. "Now, about this case..."
Lupin sighed, looking even older and tireder than he had a moment before.
"Almost eight years ago, a family was... killed, under suspicious circumstances, in the town of Godric's Hollow, in England. The authorities ruled the death accidental"-Black snorted derisively, but Lupin continued unperturbed-"the result of a gas explosioso the police said, but our clients remain unconvinced. One reason for this being the disappearance of the family's only child, a son only one year old." Something flitted across Lupin's face then, an old weariness and sorrow that passed in a moment, but remained, lurking, behind his eyes. Somehow, Gerard sensed, this was more than simply a job for him. "A search was conducted, but no trace of the child was ever found. We traced a... suspect to Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris. We believe this suspect to be related to the death of a man, Charles Canmore, who fell from rooftop of the Cathedral in September of 1980. But we could prove nothing, and there, our trail went cold. We have had nothing but rumours, and few enough of those, in the years since."
"Until now", Black growled. "Tell him about the church."
Lupin nodded, then turned back to the appalled yet fascinated priest.
"The night after the attack in Godric's Hollow, the graveyard of the village's only church was broken into. A witness reported seeing an intruder skulking in the shadows, but they disappeared before an alarm could be raised."
"It", Gerard asked sharply. A cold chill was running up his spine and pooling in his gut, and dread fingers seemed to reach out to clutch his heart. He gripped his crucifix in one hand and murmured a prayer for protection to the Almighty.
"The witness claimed that the intruder had the appearance of a creature with wings and a tail, what one might call "demonic". Now", he quickly held up a hand, "You must understand that I am not implying the work of any supernatural or Satantic agent in these crimes. Our suspect may be nothing more than a particularly dangerous criminal with a clever and somewhat macabre disguise." Black snorted again. "Yet, such descriptions have appeared in other places as well- in Godric's Hollow, at Notre Dame, and now, in this village, on the night of your burglary."
"I.. see", Gerard said faintly, though in truth he was not certain that he did. He was an old man, he had dealt with people for many years, many of them parishners who's darkest selves had been revealed to him in Confession, and he believed, in all modesty, that he was better than most men at knowing when he was being lied to. He could tell that Lupin was holding some details back from him- perhaps out of obligation to his client's confidentiality, or at the request of law enforcement? Black's demeanor, though, was troubling. Black appeared to have little consideration for the official story in their case. Did he, then, believe that these crimes were supernatural, while his... partner? Employee? Friend? While Mr. Lupin disagreed? Or was this simply a matter of their distinct personalities? Lupin and Black were close, he could see that much, but they were clearly very different men.
"And how may I help you in your investigation", he asked finally. "I assume that is why you are here?"
"It is", Lupin replied. "Primarily, I wish to simply open a line of communication, so that you can contact us if further information should come to your attention which might aid in our investigation." He passed over his card, and Gerard took it reluctantly.
"You must understand, gentlemen, that there are some details which I may not be at liberty to discuss due to the ongoing nature of the investigation, and my vows as a Priest. Still, if I can in good conscience assist you in your investigation, I shall."
"Thank you", Lupin said softly. "That is all we can ask. That, and if it might be possible for you to tell us what it was that the thief took from your church?"
"I wish I knew myself", Father Gerard said tiredly. It was maddeningly frustrating, knowing that something had been taken from his church that he had not even been aware that it possessed. "A door to a back room behind the crypts was forced, a box or chest appears to have been taken. Beyond that, I know not." Something occurred to him and he hesitated, then decided to press ahead. Despite their dissembling, his instincts told him that he could trust these men. Perhaps they could shed some light upon this darkness. "It is most puzzling, for the thieves must have passed many other articles of value, yet left them untouched. It is as though they had a specific object in mind, not simply the acquisition of unearned wealth. Yet how could they have known what it was they sought, or that they had found it, when even I who have been priest here over twenty years knew not what it was?"
Lupin and Black traded looks again. Then Lupin rose, followed by Black, and extended his hand.
"My thanks, Father. You have been most helpful." He shook their hands, and they left as they had come, with a promise that he would call them with any further information. The door closed behind them and he replaced the chairs, his mind awhirl with what he had heard.
Murders. A missing child. A thief, or thieves, in the costume of a demon, who seemed to specialize in robbing churches. It was all even darker than he had known, though not as dark as he had feared.
The costume of a demon. But what if it was... he shook his head. He knew nothing, and this was no time for flights of fancy. But he clutched his crucifix, and said a prayer for those two men, pursuing an adversary that perhaps neither he nor they could fully comprehend.
Remus Lupin stepped out of the Priest's office and into the warm afternoon Sunlight. He leaned against the fence that ran around the edge of the church's cemetary. Sirius joined him a moment later.
"Bloody useless", Sirius growled. "How are Muggles going to tell us anything? What could he possibly know?"
"We know that the creature was here", Remus said softly. "And now, thanks to the good Father, we know that an article of unknown origin was taken, by a thief that could find it unerringly."
"If its not just stories of superstitious villagers, or even a coincidence", Sirius growled. Remus sighed. He shared his friend's impatience, but Sirius's temper could sometimes be tiring.
"It is still the best lead we have had in years."
"And if she was here? She is already long gone, most likely, and we will never here of her again."
"Or perhaps not", Remus said. "She seems to have lingered at Notre Dame and Tintagel for years, if the stories were true."
Sirius shrugged.
"So, what, we wait and see if she pokes her ugly snout out again? Our spells detected no trace of her."
Remus considered.
"She may have moved on, or she may not. If she has, then we must follow quickly, before the trail grows cold. If she has not, then we must remain here and wait for her to show herself again."
"We split up", Sirius said. Remus nodded.
"I'll stay here and watch for the creature, and let Dumbledore know what we've found. See if his contacts in the French Ministry can turn anything up. You shall search for her trail- I suspect that if she has flown, she will head towards the mountains, or back to Paris." Sirius nodded, eyes burning with a fierce intensity that made Remus feel obliged to add a word of caution. "Just please, Sirius, be careful. If not for yourself, then for Harry. If you find her, call me and Dumbledore before you act." Sirius glowered, but then grudgingly nodded. "Good." Remus clapped him on the shoulder, then met his friend's eyes. "We're close, Sirius, closer than we've been in years." Sirius looked doubtful, but nodded again. "We'll find him. No matter what, no matter how long it takes, we'll bring Harry home. For James and Lily."
"For James and Lily", Sirius said softly, smiling, and for a moment he looked almost like the boy Remus remembered from their years at Hogwarts. Then the smile hardened as Sirius met his eyes, and he saw the fury that had driven his friend since that night almost eight years ago. "And then, we'll settle our score with the thing that took him."
Remus nodded, as Sirius pulled out his wand.
"Good hunting, Sirius."
"And you, Remus."
They clasped hands for a moment. Then Sirius stepped back, raised his wand, turned on the spot, and with a crack he was gone.
Demona sighed, listening to Xanatos prattle on about some new magical creature that the book had referred to in passing, trying to persuade her to accompany him on a hunt for the beast. When it came to magic, despite his relative intelligence (for a human), Xanatos, she had realized, was little more than a boy with a new toy- always running after the latest new discovery with little thought for the danger or the greater plan. At times his enthusiasm was useful, when it could be directed, but right now, when all she craved was ten minutes alone with this priceless book, it was exhausting. No doubt he regards me as merely one more fantastic beast to add to his collection of magical trophies, and discard when I am no longer useful or interesting. She smiled grimly. Xanatos would be in for a rude awakening, the day that he finally decided to betray her.
"-and we'll need thermal cameras to track them from the air. Owen, I'll need you to pilot."
"With respect, Mr. Xanatos, I cannot protect you and pilot the helicopter at the same time. Perhaps Ms. Fox could handle that part of the assignment?" Xanatos deflated, then brightened immediately.
"Yes, excellent. I've been meaning to get Fox more involved in our explorations of the supernatural. Her talents as a pilot could prove most useful. You'll accompany us, Demona?"
She looked up, glowered at him for a moment, then nodded. Patience, Demona. No matter how much she wanted to tear this idiot's throat out right now.
"Fine." At least with Xanatos otherwise occupied, she might be able to find what she was looking for without being observed. She'd skimmed through more than half the book so far, but she had yet to find more than passing allusions to what she was seeking. While she might disdain many aspects of the modern world, she was forced to admit that the organization of books by index and tables of contents were considerably superior to the disorganized manner in which this seemingly random collection of spells was written.
"Excellent. Collect the necessary equipment, Owen, and prepare the jet. I'll talk to Fox." She paused as Owen and Xanatos exited the room, talking rapidly. At last...
She skimmed through a few more pages, noting with disinterest spells for silencing voices, turning invisible, vanishing warts, turning someone to stone-
She froze, her heart pounding painfully in her breast, her eyes rereading the words scrawled in faded ink on the worn page before her.
Dormiatis dum castellum super nubes ascendat.
Sleep until the castle above the clouds rises.
She knew those words. She remembered those words. She knew what they meant, the power that they contained. She felt her claws, her whole body trembling, and she released the page for fear of tearing it.
"Demona?" Xanatos, she thought distantly. "Have you found something?"
She took a deep breath, forcing herself to relax.
"Nothing of import", she said, turning away with a growl. "Just more petty spells of little use."
"I'll have Owen copy them regardless", Xanatos said blandly, but he was eyeing her sharply. "Sometimes unexpected uses can be found for the most ordinary things."
She ignored the human, squashing the urge to crush the life from this man who thought he was so much cleverer than he really was.
"Do as you will. It is nearly dawn, and I must speak to Gervais before I sleep." She swept past Xanatos and Owen and down the hall, but she did not seek out her child. No, not her child, she reminded herself. The human tool she had taken in, to serve her until he was no longer useful. She stalked down the hall toward the lift to the roof, her mind lost in memories of far off and long ago.
She had found it. After all this time, she had found it. And yet, the knowledge contained within was of little use to her, no more than a spell to remove warts or turn her hair green. "Sleep until the castle above the clouds rises." It was nothing more than a cruel taunt. What could make a castle rise above the clouds? She stepped out of the lift and onto the roof, pacing back and forth in the darkness before she stopped, gazing out of the glittering expanse of Manhatten.
It was some time later that she heard footsteps approach, then Gervais sat down beside her, swinging his feet over the edge of the building on which she perched, more than a thousand feet above the ground.
"Are you alright", he asked softly.
"Fine", she snapped, and he shrank back a little. She sighed, feeling a twinge of irrational guilt at having snapped at the child. "I am simply... tired."
There was a moment's silence. Then Gervais spoke.
"Are we leaving soon?" He sounded... disappointed. Yes, he was growing entirely too close to the humans here.
"Yes, I think it is almost time to move on." Xanatos had given her enough gold in payment that she could set up secure hideouts anywhere in the world, with far more comfort than the makeshift nests in old ruins she had had to make do with before. She would regret losing access to his resources and laboratories, but it was time to move on. Still, perhaps it might be wise not to sever communications completely...
Gervais sighed.
"Will we go back to Paris? Or maybe England?"
"We'll see", she said. "I think it would be best to avoid France for a time." She had spent little time in America thus far, but perhaps it was time to expand her knowledge of the New World. "Now, go inside and go to bed. It is almost Dawn."
"Yes Mum." He stood up, turned to go. "Sleep well."
And then he was gone, and she sat alone, gazing out over the grey city-scape in the pre-dawn light. It looked almost empty from up here, free of the human pestilence that constantly swarmed throughout its towers and streets. An endless empty world of towers and clouds, her's and her's alone. Forever.
A little puff of cloud drifted by below.
Sleep until the castle above the clouds rises.
She went very, very still.
until the castle above the clouds rises.
Then the Sun broke the distant horizon, and as its golden shafts struck her, and she felt stone crawl across her flesh.
I suppose I'll need Xanatos a little longer. And then sleep took her, and she dreamed of a castle in the clouds, a castle full of Gargoyles, and a sky that belonged to them, forever.
