Last Rest Denied for Moray

by Trynia Merin

AU MacbethxOC. Sequel to Past, Present, Future! MacBeth and his love must train a force to stop the Quarrymen and face Canmore's vengeance!

2. Alternate Demona

Disclaimer: Buena Vista and Disney own the characters of Gargoyles, which are being used here without their knowledge or consent. The character of Mona, the alternate Demona, Aunt Maya Florez, are the ideas of Malkavien. Lucia Dominguez, Cesar Ramirez, Keith Polaski, Sharon Lewis, and Rachel Vitreum are my characters, as are the other minor ones not part of gargoyles. Lyrics taken from the song Gallows Pole written and composed by Jon Schaeffler and Hansi K?rsh performed by Demons & Wizards. Ricky Martin's Living the Vie de Loca, and Jennifer Lopez song If I gave you me also appear. This story rated PG-13 for strong language, violence, and some sexual content of a mild nature.

Last Rest Denied

Part 2:

Written by Trynia Merin

Synopsis by malkavien@lft.be

***

9PM, Medical Suite:

Later, her sobs dissipated. It was all so still, blessedly quiet in the castle. Strange to think that a half century from now it would be crammed with computers and nonliving cybots. She resented and welcomed the silence, feeling alone. In this new place and time.

A song came to mind, voicing her angst and strange sense of peace:

"And when I laugh, it's tears I hide

And when I cry, it's joy inside

A foul disease has stained the land

The Bitter harvest of a dying bloom

And When I cry, it's joy inside

A wicked smile for all the tears I hide

It hurts to hold all the pain I feel

The Bitter harvest of a dying bloom"

Her voice rang melodiously in the hospital room, as she thought of her friends all dead. Rachel had believed her, thank god. But would she find the others even remotely alive? Would they accept her?

Slowly the door opened, and a silver face peered in. Demona continued to sing, her voice like rich chocolate, sonorous and sad. She only stopped when she saw she had a silent audience.

"Oh, little one. I didn't see you there..."

Silence backed away, a bit frightened.

"I won't hurt you..." she said, extending a claw. "Please... come back..."

Such was the sincerity in the tone of the alto voice that Silence tentatively waddled back. She was small, her copper wing membranes tucked under that silver skin, red eyes fixing inquisitively on Demona. Claws spanned wide, making signs.

"You like my singing?" Demona nodded, "yes, I am a friend. I want to be yours."

Silence extended a claw, and Demona touched hers to it. Slowly she stroked her cheek against Demona's hand. It was a soft sensation, which melted her heart. Demona began to sing again, her sense of purpose suddenly renewed. Dare she think she could start over again?

"Come here," Demona said, and carefully positioned her hands as she spoke. Silence watched intently. Again Demona repeated the sign, and the words. Silence struggled to copy it.

"That's right."

Suddenly Silence formed tentative words with her claws, and Demona narrowed her eyes to try and discern them. "you want to know where I'm from, is that it?"

A nod came as her answer.

"It is a time very long after this..." Demona sighed as she spoke. Then nodded as Silence formed the word, future.

Her mind merged into that space between past and present, as she remembered the last time she had seen the Manhattan Clan together in 2040 AD:

In the depths of sleep she screamed, waking up as she had sworn she heard fire. "Mother! Wake up!" someone nudged her. "It's time..."

"Time..." she asked. Already the process had begun, and she was Gargoyle again. A million times of transformation had not dulled the pain.

"The plan, remember?"

"Dee... yes... of course," Demona whispered, turning to the cinnamon shape. Platinum blonde hair shone like moonstone waterfalls in the night. "Are the others..."

"Brooklyn wanted you to sleep as long as possible," Dee whispered. "But it's not long before Bluestone and Findleagh's team sets off..."

"Where's my gun?"

"Right here, mother," Delilah whispered, pressing the familiar rifle into Demona's hand. Slowly she wrestled her way into the gold armor, following the other gargress down the stairs. Refugees slowly ate a thick beef broth, content just to sit on the Persian carpet then move very far. Both gargress alighted on the bottom floor, not wasting precious minutes as they dropped over the banister.

"Lasses, guid t' see ye can join us," Macbeth nodded, as he stood before the assembly of people. At his side stood his wife, her dark eyes flickering over who was present. What few members of the Resistance remained had gathered here. Brooklyn joined their hosts before the fireplace, pacing back and forth. A fire burned in the antique place, and those that could huddled on the antique sofas for warmth.

"All right people. This is it. I just got the dirt from Bluestone..."

"Is he..."

"The Labyrinth was almost hit last night. We had long suspected there was a turncoat in the midst of the Resistance..."

A low murmur went through the Resistance fighters, and Brooklyn held up a claw for silence.

"But last night, we got incontrovertible proof who it was! The System crashed...."

"How... what..." Demona asked.

"Don't ask. IT went back online, but the data we pulled out could mean the difference between success and failure. I had this plan in mind for the longest time, and this download will turn the tide..."

"What is it?"

"Defense Specs for the Eerie Pyramid. And... the identity of the one whom helped Xanatos start all this crap..." Brooklyn announced tensely. Eyes glanced wildly about the room in accusation.

"Who?" Macbeth asked, standing with arms folded across his armored chest. Strange how he did not look a day older, trapped in that age like Demona nearby, forever in the twilight years. He had retained the black armor, but it was even more advanced then before.

"Lexington..." Brooklyn's eyes flared.

"Impossible!" Dee shouted. Demona gripped her daughter's shoulders, before she could leap upon him in anger.

"I wanted to think so too," Brooklyn said. "But this data contained his personal codes. Codes that he devised long ago. I'm sorry Dee..."

"Not Lex! Is not possible!" Delilah howled, pulling against Demona.

"Lass," Macbeth whispered. "No one knows more then I do how painful this is..."

"Da, let me," Findleagh whispered, and moved over to her, grasping her close in his arms as Demona relinquished her hold. He took her whimpering over to Mute and Claw, softly soothing her. Midnight moved over to her other side, stroking her sister's white hair.

"So what the hell do we do now?" Midnight asked, striding out of the shadows. Her flame colored hair hung much like Demona's, her red eyes fixing onto Brooklyn. Silver battle armor sheathed her onyx form. She fingered her gun nervously, eyes raised to Demona's.

"We go on," Brooklyn snarled. "And make sure those of us who are not here didn't die in vain. So here it is. Matt, you take team Beta, and attack the struts of the Pyramid. While Findleagh, you take the main offensive, with the Hovercraft, and fly defense against the cannons. Rachel, you take Houston and Shennandoah, and knock out what remains of the Clones..."

Grimly Rachel nodded, eyes sad as she regarded him. "WE won't let you down, Mum," Houston whispered, his blue hand slipping into hers. She nodded again, letting Shennandoah stand there proudly, her cinnamon skin radiant in the firelight. How like their father they were!

"And what wuild ye have me do lad?" Macbeth asked.

"You and Lucia stay here, with Art and Gwen, Dee and Broadway. Protect those of us too young to fight. Samson... you are in charge till I return..."

The lavender gargoyle flared his wings before caping them, nodding as he rumbled, "You can count on me... Mentor."

"Right. Demona, you and I, and the Twins go after the main nerve center once the struts are blow, and Rachel's team gives us the all clear. You all know what to do! No matter what, it ends tonight."

A rousing grunt and roar came from the Resistance. At last it seemed within their grasp.

Findleagh turned to Midnight, as she grasped his talon. A low growl escaped her throat, "You better come back, dammit..."

"Don't I always," he lifted a brow to her. Savagely she threw claws around his neck, and he clutched her close. Blood red lips met his, pressing in a passionate kiss. Her wings wrapped around him, cocooning him in her warm scent. His olive fingers tunneled through her scarlet tresses so like her mother's. The warmth of the bond shared in spirit moved betwixt them.

"Demona..." Lucia gripped her friend's hand. "I want you to have something... for luck..."

"You have already given me the shelter of your home, and your own bed..." Demona protested.

"Not enough..." Lucia reached around her neck, and pulled out a silver crucifix. She fastened it around her friend's neck before she could stop her.

"I can't take this..." Demona protested.

"No my friend, God be with you," Lucia kissed Demona's forehead.

Macbeth walked over to them , his hand extended to her. "Lass... Godspeed..."

"Take care of my daughters," she said.

"I shall," Macbeth whispered, and enveloped Demona in a fierce embrace. Her wings wrapped around the immortal king, black coat and all. For a minute they drew strength from their mutual bond that fueled their centuries of shared pain and joy.

Demona pressed a kiss to his bearded cheeks, her voice choked in her throat. Macbeth felt the odd double sensation of his own lips kissing his own face, and their arms entwined. For a brief moment their lips met in a spirited kiss that sent them back centuries. Till they both withdrew, their minds very much in the present.

"Take care of the future... the rookery..." she choked out.

"Forever and always, one," he nodded gravely to her. "As I live, ye live. As ye die, I die..."

---

Next Morning, Macbeth's Mansion 8 AM:

"Wake up, Lennox!" the black haired lass giggled, nudging the silver haired gent beside her. Gently her kiss traced over the curve of his ear.

"Rise and shine! We've got a busy day ahead of us... remember? Picnic in the park... followed by a little bit of frolicking about..."

"Och, ma head," Macbeth moaned, stirring under the monogrammed sheets. He rubbed his brow, and glanced over at the woman nestled beside him. Her smile faded to concern when she noticed the glazed look in his eyes. Both sat up, regarding each other in the dimness of early morning.

"Are you all right?" she asked. "You look like crap... not that you aren't handsome normally... but you look... well, like something a cat dragged in. Didn't you get any sleep?"

"I feel fair enau like it," Macbeth muttered, struggling to a sitting position. Come the rising of the sun, a sharp pain had shot through his body. He had gritted his teeth as he struggled to keep his groans from waking the sleeping beauty beside him. Reluctantly he'd slipped out of her arms and into the bathroom, muffling his cries of pain that shot through his entire form. He could swear that he should have stopped them long ago.

Now that dull ache subsided from his forehead, and he felt the effects of a concussion. Slowly that had faded in a hauntingly familiar manner. By the time Lucia had nudged him gently awake, he was still suffering from a strange shock and tingling. His mind struggled with the revelation, small pieces falling into a disturbing puzzle. Was Puck right? Desperately he sat there with sheets pulled up to his waist, wanting more then anything to deny the inevitable conclusion.

"Macbeth," she whispered, stroking his silver beard. Normally the sound of his real name on her lips brought him joy, but he seemed indifferent to anything save the jolt of fear in his heart. "Is there something wrong?"

"Nothing for ye to worry about, m'love," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her worried forehead. Again he rubbed his brow, feeling her gentle fingers rubbing into his powerful shoulders.

"That does it, you need a massage, senior!"

"Och, that is right guid enau..." he inhaled, while she worked her magic spell on his back. Just where had she learned to give such a soothing massage? He had her ex boyfriend Caesar to thank for that, one of the few useful things out of that disastrous relationship. Macbeth made a mental note to look this Caesar up one of these days, and inquire just what this fellow thought of the present situation. A few dozen ways of slowly torturing a cocky young maclarty came to mind in the immortal king's head. Some of them involved a few of the devices he kept in his dungeon floors below.

"You're so tense, you could fool me," she shook her head. She slipped up behind him, sitting on the bed pillows as she pressed her bare front to his back. Macbeth looked down at the caramel legs bracketing his hips, feeling the softness of her breasts on his aching spine. Gently she pressed a kiss to the nape of his neck, her manicured fingernails dancing lightly over his chest. Her chin rested in the groove between neck and shoulder as she breathed softly into his ear. That pain was so damned familiar. He had not felt it in months, but he could swear that....

"No," he whispered, throat choking as he pulled out of her grasp. Slowly he climbed out of bed. He reached for his robe automatically, face towards the morning sun.

"Did I do something wrong?" she asked, looking a bit hurt.

Macbeth snapped out of his brown study, and turned to face her. She hugged the sheets around her bare chest, her dark eyes questioning and vulnerable. It was not her fault this pain. Nor did they imbibe in any fine wines the night before. Simply rich chocolate mocha and hazelnut coffee.

"I'm sorry Lass," he whispered, joining her on the bed again. Slowly he kissed her hand, working his way up to her bare shoulder. "It's nothing. Just an old injury..."

"I thought you said your injuries healed..." she murmured, swooning at the tiny shivers erupting from each kiss.

"So did I, but since the spell ended... I'm not altogether sure..."

"Lennox... what is going on?" she grabbed his bearded chin, forcing him to stare her in the face.

"Look, I may not know you all that long, and I might be new to all of this... but don't I have a right to know? I mean... I might not understand..."

Macbeth let loose a sigh, "Of course ye are right, m'dear. I was in pain... but I wasn't sure of the source. Normally any injury heals. But this pain... it was as if my whole body was being broken apart and reformed."

"A curse?" Lucia asked, as he straddled her on the bed. Nothing but the sheet was between them, but the feel of his weight was just as sensual as if their nude bodies would have been touching skin to skin.

"Aye, an ancient one that I thought was forever behind me," he said, settling on his knees over her hips. "Remember I told you of the bargain with the Weird sisters?"

"Each the other's pain resound, forever and eternal bound? Yes, but you said that you weren't bonded to that gargoyle anymore... right? So why are you in pain?"

"I dinna like to think of the answer, but somehow the spell has been renewed..." Macbeth sighed.

"Are you sure?"

"Lass, I know the pain," he said slowly. "Every morning and every evening I feel its effects..."

"What pain?"

"Demona's transformation," he shook his head.

"Oh god," Lucia looked up at him, eyes full of concern. It melted him inside as she pressed a fevered kiss to his face. "I'm sorry!"

"As am I," he returned her kiss. "Once again fate has ensnared me."

"But when did you first..."

"Only today..." Macbeth muttered, stopping as she stroked her hands through his scalp. "But when I fought Canmore... my back was broken, and I should have been paralyzed. Yet the healing set in quickly. That had not happened for a while..."

"But you said you still healed quickly..."

"Yes... at first I thought it was a residual affect. But this means I am bonded to Demona... and that spell... I am immortal!"

A look of anguish came over his face as he sat to one side of her. Lucia's heart rose into her throat as she saw him hunched over in despair. He buried his head in his hands, drawing his knees up into his chest on the bed. At first Lucia wasn't sure whether to let him alone or comfort him. Suddenly her life seemed very insignificant and small compared to the depth of sorrow she saw written on that face.

"Lennox," she whispered, running a hand over his shoulder, tentatively. He did not respond, slipping further into his own despair.

"Macbeth," she tried again, and encircled his body with her young arms. "Look at me..."

Blue gray eyes fixed into hers, and there were tears misting them over. "Lass... we can never live a normal life... when I thought..."

"Like what is normal," she seized his bearded face. "you tell me, senior! I love you, and I hate seeing you so upset! Isn't there anything I can do. I'm not a witch, or a sorceress, or genetic engineer, but there must be something..."

"There is," he said, gripping her hand. "Tell me... does the thought of..."

"If you're scared that I'm going to run screaming in fear from you because I'm going to grow old and die while you don't, you're nuts!" she snapped. "Don't even go there!"

"Are ye sure," he said, glancing at her.

"Have I ever been dishonest with you?" she parroted his words back. Lucia pressed a kiss to his lips, slipping her leg over his robed one. Her arms encircled his neck, fingers digging into his silvery hair. His resistance and anger melted away for a short sweet moment. Fingers gripped at his robe, her hands slipping under it to finger the gray hairs on his chest.

He broke the kiss, "Lucia, are ye quite sure..."

"Mm hmm," she answered, her hands slipping lower. A gasp cut off his next words as he felt electric shocks jolting through his body. She leaned into him, balancing on top of him as she pulled the cord of his robe open. Any last protests in his mind faded as he pulled her into his arms, slipping the sheets over them. He drank in her kiss, relishing the feel of her hot warm breath in his mouth. Gently his tongue caressed against hers, and she shivered spasmodically there.

"I just have one question," Lucia pulled away, to catch a breath.

"Which is?" he raised a eyebrow, slipping his leg over her as his weight pressed her deliciously into the mattress.

"You said you can feel pain through this bond. But couldn't you also well... feel pleasure?"

"Hmm," he muttered.

"I mean... it's a logical guess. I mean if Demona's out there making love... haven't you ever had well..." she asked, then blushed.

"I have had rather erotic dreams on occasion, yes... but I never thought..."

"Well then, let's give her something to dream about," Lucia looked wickedly up at him with a mischievous grin.

"Mm hmm," Macbeth shared her smile, and pulled her under the covers. Her giggled shriek muffled under the assault of his hungry lips.

---

Central Park, 10 AM:

That day they wandered lazily through central park, his arm in hers, with a picnic basket hanging over his other. Blue skies overhead seemed so peaceful compared to the turbulence of the past few weeks. They threaded their way through the maze of trees, towards the huge open field at the center of the park.

If Lucia did not see the spires of Central Park west through the gaps in the trees, she might believe they were in the midst of a forest. Only the presence of a few soccer players, and other picnickers under the bright sun betrayed the fact there was civilization.

"Here's a good spot," she pointed to a pleasant spot under the shade of a red leaf maple, and he tossed down the blanket. Lucia and he perched on the sides of the tartan stretch and began to sort through what they had brought from his kitchen. It was a fun time between the two of them deciding what to take, and how to prepare it. She should not have been surprised that he could cook himself, even though he had a part time chef and a housekeeper on his staff.

The sturdy basket was one of those European styles, complete with racks that held real china plates, and silverware. No plastic fare here.

A breeze sang chilled her scalp, rustling leaves overhead. There was fruit salad, fresh sandwiches of several varieties, and even a bottle of Perrier. For the first half-hour they did not talk, only glanced at each other with silent smiles as they watched the world go on around them.

"Hard to believe those Quarrymen were chasing through here," she commented through a mouthful of ambrosia. She leaned on one side, her ambrosia before her as she held up her head on one folded arm. Across the food from her he lay in a much similar position, head similarly propped on an upright hand. Horizontally the differences in height vanished.

"I quite agree," he nodded, washing away the remainders of sandwich with a few sips of sparkling Perrier. Like many in Europe he regularly consumed the sparkling mineral water. Normally he would have brought wine, but there were a few limits to the situation. A few crumbs had fallen onto his partly unbuttoned shirt, pale heather against tanned skin. The outfit was casual academic, dress trousers of a dark brown, and the hound's tooth jacket overtop the collarless shirt. Sturdy leather walking shoes completed the ensemble, freshly polished. Across from him she had on her spaghetti strap sundress with light blue flowers over navy blue. Her cardigan was only buttoned at the top, her long dark hair pulled back into an updo with a spring clip. As always the platform sandals decked her feet.

"Used to come here a lot with my aunt," she shook her head, finishing the last bite of her chicken salad sandwich. "One of those places you could come without spending anything. Had to get really good at it too..."

"How fortunate you had lived here of all places," he nodded.

Neither noticed the frail Latino woman who happened to wander by, her face half concealed by the scarf she wrapped around her neck. That simple floral print dress and the low-heeled shoes indicated a simple yet feminine style. Around her neck she fingered the silver crucifix beneath a string of pearls.

She stopped momentarily, leaning on her cane as she beheld the picnickers. Something seemed very familiar about that one couple. Slowly she made her way onto the green to investigate.

Macbeth leaned under the tree, his stomach well full of homemade sandwiches by now. Times of such peace seemed few and far between anymore. Lucia pillowed her head on his chest, her body at a perpendicular angle to his. He shifted one arm under his neck, pulling his other hand to push the stray locks of hair out of her face.

She could almost fall asleep then and there, her own belly full of lunch, and know that she was safe. Smiling, she turned over to press her ear against his chest. Something felt cold and hard in the breast pocket of his jacket, and she sat up a bit. "Prof., cant ya leave the pens and calculator behind?" she joked as she pawed through it's contents. Several gold plated pens, a pocket watch, tumbled into her hand.

"Academics does have a way of creeping up upon one unexpectedly," he chuckled. "But I digress... there is something else here," he sat up, and she moved opposite him. He reached for something in the inner pocket, and she was a bit nervous as he extracted what appeared to be a small cloth envelope. Gently he lay it on her palm.

"What on earth..." she asked, and took his nonverbal cue. Onto her hand tumbled a length of gold chain, delicate but strong, with what appeared to be a crest or coat of arms as a pendant. Small, perhaps thumbnail sized, but intricately worked in shimmering gold.

"I've seen this on the banners at your home," she said. "Beautiful!"

"The crest of clan Moray," he nodded. "Care t' try it on?"

"I couldn't wear this..." she stammered, realizing the implication.

He took it from her shaking hand, twisting free the clasp. It was not your simple hook and latch, but the high quality cylinder screw clasp that stopped many a necklace from disappearing. Her aunt's pearl string had such a latch. Both hands deftly draped it over her neck, meeting in the back as the two halves twisted into place at the nape.

"Oh no," she shook her head, then fingered the workings on it with disbelief. He pressed a kiss to her forehead softly, retreating with that questioning glance.

"Never looked bonnier," he nodded.

"Lennox you... you didn't have to..." she stammered, before his fingers upon her lips stopped her protests. It hung just above the crucifix around her neck. With shaking hands she unlatched the small gold cross, and held it up to his. "Please take this... I know it's not much... but..."

Amused, he leaned over graciously and let her fasten the petite chain around his neck. It hung at his throat, a light sweet weight.

"Yer confirmation present..." he said, grasping her hand. "Ye didna ha t..."

"I do," she nodded. "Please... I want you to have it..."

Such a simple thing, a cross like he'd seen at the breast of many a young girl over the centuries. Perhaps one of the few pieces of gold she had retained from childhood. Yet there was so much it was as if she'd given him her heart. His own, centuries old, seemed to melt as it had not in so long.

From behind the shade of the trees, the matron watched carefully as the two embraced. She would have to have a word with her niece about this little revelation.

---

Macbeth had his arm around Lucia's waist as they walked along the small creek. They were approaching the exit of the park when Lucia noticed a familiar figure.

"Uh... I didn't think she would be here..."

"Who, m'love?" he asked, as she stopped.

"My aunt," Lucia half rolled her eyes.

"And why have I not been introduced?" Macbeth asked a bit teasingly.

"Well... I was waiting for the right time and place..." she explained.

"Hmm, fair enau," Macbeth sighed as again his words were parroted back to him.

Lucia pulled him by the hand, over to where the small boned woman stood. Dark eyes fixed into his, and he could swear they looked somehow familiar. Could it be?

"And who is this gentleman, Chia?" she asked, a hand on her hip.

"Auntie..." she cringed. "I know what you're going to say..."

"Pleasure to meet you... Seniora..."

"Seniora Flores," she nodded, as he extended his hand.

"Lennox MacDuff, at yer service. I was just... escorting yer niece t..."

"You sir, what are your intentions to my niece?" she asked, lowering her glasses to glance at him. Macbeth could swear he saw a hint of recognition in those sharp eyes that missed no detail. Even the crest of Moray pendant upon her niece's chest.

"Purely honorable," Macbeth assured her, a bit put off by that sharp gaze.

"Hmm, we'll see. How would you like to bring your gentleman friend to coffee?"

"Auntie..."

"I would be delighted to join you, Seniora," Macbeth inclined his head. Gallantly he offered her his arm. "If you'll but tell me where... I'd be happy t' call a cab..."

"Hmm, if you insist," Aunt Maya nodded, and slipped her other arm into his as he walked both ladies out of the park. He was good to his word, hailing a cab as she spoke the destination. West New York. A good ten dollars. Macbeth did not think twice about paying the fair.

Before long they were sitting in her apartment, a small clean neat one bedroom place in East New York. The sofa was one of those second hand antiques, with lace doilies draped over the back and arms.

"Am I not mistaken in asking if you are already married, a gentleman of your... ahem... station in life?"

"I once was..." Macbeth said levelly. "Till a separation occurred.... Due to irreconcilable differences..."

---

Canmore Hall, Freshman Dorm, 1PM:

"Okay, spill it! Where have ye been dissaperin off t'?" the red headed roomie demanded, hands on her hips.

"That's for me to know and you to find out," Lucia grinned, tossing her schoolbag onto the lower of the two bunk beds. "Heh," Molly O'Keefe laughed, flicking a wisp of red hair from her face. "I betcha I know what it tis!"

"Really?" Lucia asked, turning to face her friend.

"Ye've a boyfriend, right? Ye've meet a boy, and y' don' want yer roomie t' whisk him away, right?"

"Well," Lucia blushed.

"I guessed it! Congrat's gel! So... what's he like, yer fella?"

"He's very... nice," she grinned smugly.

"Details, gal pal I want details mind ya!" Molly slipped in front of her, with a saucy wink. That red hair seemed to defy gravity, stuck straight up and spiky with the assistance of half a container of hair gel.

"Molly," she pretended to be horrified. "I'm a proper girl right? A good little catholic girl. I don't kiss and tell!"

"Tosh!" Molly laughed, nudging her with one fist. "A right proper gel ya are! And I'm the Queen of France..."

"Pleased to meet you your royal highness," Lucia giggled nervously.

"I know you. I didn' corrupt ya for my own guid, but yers. Now out w' it! What's he like, and where's he living..."

Just then the phone rang. Molly and Lucia dove for it, the latter girl mouthing a silent thank you to the Lady. Her roommate was a fraction faster, and chirped, "Talk t' me!" as Lucia cringed. "No I'm her roomie... yes... she's here... ye what... oh nothing..."

"Who is it?" Lucia hissed, but Molly playfully held up her hand as she chattered for a near minute.

"It's for ya..." she said, passing it on to her. "Some guy who says he knows ya from a while back..."

"Who?"

"Didn't say his name..."

"You could have..."

"Don't keep the gentleman waiting," Molly grinned, and passed her the phone.

"Hello?" Lucia asked. Suddenly her smile melted away, and continued to form into a frown with each passing word.

"No... I don't want to see you. Cesar... it's been six months... no... I don't... I don't... look, it's over... why..."

Molly's pencilled eyebrows narrowed in concern for her friend. Lucia looked increasingly more uncomfortable. "But you didn't have to... you're what? Oh... all right but... hello? Hello?"

"What was that all about I might ask?" Molly asked. "He sounded cheerful enau..."

"It's Caesar," she groaned. "And he's just transferred in from Columbia, and he wants to meet me... for coffee..."

"And I take it yer not exactly thrilled, eh?"

"No."

"Ex boyfriend?" Molly asked.

"Yes..."

"Why didn't you tell me, gal?" she asked, pulling Lucia's sleeve. "I would've even let him talk t' ya otherwise..."

"He wants to apologize," she shook her head. "I... well..."

"That's something. Ya could meet him fer coffee, make him squirm, and then see what happens..."

"But he's transferring here! And he'll be around," Lucia flushed hot. "It's kind of like... awkward having your ex around when you're dating..."

"Heh, leave him t' me..."

"No, the last time you dated one of my ex boyfriends... all hell broke loose..."

"Like I said..." Molly grinned. "Is he handsome?"

"Gorgeous," she sighed. "That's the problem. We didn't part really well... and I still am confused... he sounded so nice and kind... but... he wants to be friends and all..."

"Hmm... that's the story, eh," Molly twisted a lock of hair around her finger.

---

NYU Campus, 1 PM:

Professor MacDuff was far from his usual self when Keith and Sharon happened to pass him on the path. "Hey Prof., what gives? Lu said you looked like crap!"

"Och, does nothing get past yer ears?" MacDuff muttered, rubbing his head.

"You don't look too well..."

"Prof., what's going on?" Keith asked.

"I dinna think ye'd understand..."

"Oh bullshit! I only kicked Castaway's ass with you and two guys from a magic mirror world..."

"Verra well," Macbeth held up his hand, and gestured to Keith and Sharon to follow him as he made his way to the faculty's parking garage.

"Now what's this all about..."

"Ye recall the story about my immortality... that just so happened to slip from our guid friend's lips last time?" Macbeth asked.

"yeah..."

"Well, it would seem that I am now immortal. The ancient curse has been reinstated.... And I must find the source..."

"What curse?" asked Sharon. "What the hell are you..."

"Later Shar!" Keith snapped, and waved her off.

"Hell no! You tell me what the fuck is going on or..."

"Young lady, I thank ye not t' use such language!" Macbeth snapped at her irritably. "It's most unbecoming of a lass..."

"Lucia said you were in pain this morning," Sharon drew in her breath, trying to regain her self control. "Care to explain?"

"I thought your body handled any injury..."

"Part of this bargain is that I feel pain... to who I am bonded to..." Macbeth remarked.

"Soo you're searching for some sort of magic version of Maalox?" Keith quipped.

---

Castle Wyvern, 11 AM:

The clothes were loose, but comfortable. IT was far better then wearing that hospital gown. Fox's clothing would be a bit snug, but more "stylish". Yet not quite as well worn and comfortable as Rachel's. Generously the geologist had sifted through some of the duffel bags and handed her a blouse, hiking pants, and boots with sturdy socks. The black boots she recalled Rachel say were "Doc Martins". Apparently they had the same shoe size at least.

Through the high windows, the morning sun shone golden beams into the library. Strange to think of how clear the air was, even though it was New York. In the future a brown haze hovered over Manhattan, thick and choking.

Everywhere in this castle was a reminder of what might yet happen. No corner, no stone could she pass without it screaming a lifetime of memories.

Strange to think of how she had ridiculed the human men, when she was flipping channels one night. A special had been on about Vietnam Vets. Demona remembered sitting comfortably in her mansion as she remembered following the war most carefully. For years she had secretly holed up in her Mansion, watching, waiting, for any sign of technology that could culminate her secret plans. At the turn of the century she had purchased the place, moving her treasures massed over the centuries.

Human wars fascinated her. The only works of human hands she admired were the deadly weapons they created to kill themselves. Also, she had an eye for the artworks they created. Not because she particularly cared for human art, but for its monetary value, in obtaining more weapons. Eventually she had a grudging appreciation for human artwork as the Renaissance happened, then the Impressionists. She began to keep some art, instead of hoarding it for the auctioneer's block where it would be liquidated to cash for buying more weapons.

Now she had little desire to even glance at the armory in the castle. Xanatos had many shields and suits of armor here and there. It almost sickened her to look at swords and spears any more. If only she could be back at Macbeth's house among the things of beauty. He always kept lovely works of art, refusing to sell his most precious pieces unless it was to achieve funds for the Resistance. When Art ceased to be something anyone dared spend money for, his home was one of the last places that cared to preserve it.

When a society valued works of war over works of art, it was doomed to mass destruction. Leaving the soldiers in the aftermath. Now safely away from that century, she felt the odd numbness. Her waking moments were filled with the eerie emptiness of a thousand lives. She could see the faces of everyone she had known floating behind her eyelids as she closed her eyes to rest. It got difficult to lay down and want to sleep for fear she would hear the cries and screams.

Those Vietnam vets must feel much the same. How foolish was she to ridicule them!

The shouts faded into smoke and fire. She snapped out of a waking dream to find herself near the playroom. Owen Burnett scooted a stuffed gargoyle bear with wings away from Alex. The little guy was perhaps six now, and scooted on his indoor push wagon after the major domo. It was funny to see Alex pounce on Owen, grabbing the man's shoulders as he decided Owen would make a more amusing mount then the rocking horse in one corner.

"Giddiyap!" he cried, and Owen obligingly made stirrups with his feet. This was the only time she saw the stiff fellow loosen up. "Faster, faster!"

"Oh baby, if only you know what you had to face later," she sighed, gripping the door. Her face dropped as she felt the memories flooding again: Running scared, that's all that they ever seemed to do any more. Even with the last battles that were mere triumphs, the hell never seemed to end.

Demona gritted down the pain, fangs biting into her teeth as she set the last of the charges. In one last desperate hope the Resistance decided to strike its final, fatal blow. Brooklyn's master plan had moved quickly, fiercely in its first stages. Attack the supports of the Erie Pyramid, hit Thailog shock troops, and wipe out the Mainframe with a computer virus. She could recall that fateful night when they all gathered in Macbeth's mansion, struggling to think of a last plot which could save them all.

It had come about after the last fevered attempt, to liberate Broadway and Lexington from the Pyramid. Brooklyn's party had managed to sneak in, to rescue their two friends, only to find themselves staring down the bores of a dozen laser weapons.

The victims lined the halls of his manor. Among the priceless art treasures Mute and Claw spread out more and more palates. Every day they seemed to add more to this shelter, where dozens had fled. There were even more in the Labyrinth, but the worst of the cases were sent here. A veritable fortress, its armaments were trained on those distant spires of Manhattan.

"Madre de Dios, more?" the silver haired woman asked, when Brooklyn and Demona landed, carrying a huddled shape between them.

"Unfortunately," Demona shook her head. "The last attempt... to retrieve Alex Fox... failed..."

"How did you escape?" Mrs. MacDuff asked, glancing at her old friends. They lowered Broadway between them, his sightless eyes unable to see the fading splendor around him.

"It was the weirdest thing," Demona said. "The shock troops were right upon us, but somehow they were cut down... almost as if by another force. We rushed away in the skirmish, and managed to pull Broadway out..."

"Damn good thing too," a dark haired lad cut in, rushing to his mother's side. Barely out of adolescence, he gripped her hands tight. "Or else the bloody bastards would have scrapped us fer sure..."

"Must you use such language, young man?" she reproved him.

"Mamma, please!" he groaned. "Now's not the time for that..."

"Thank God you're all right," she gripped her son close, embracing him through sleek black armor and all. The blue trenchcoat concealed the various weaponry slung about his muscled thighs. Hands stroked through thick brown hair, and over a beard just coming into existence on his tanned cheeks.

"But Lexington," Brooklyn lowered his eyes. "He... he..."

"He didn't make it," Findleagh MacDuff shook his head, looking down into his mother's dark eyes with a pair that were a steely gray. Demona's own eyes filled with tears that she pushed away.

"The Steel Clan was all over him... before when knew what the hell hit..." Brooklyn gritted, his red talons knotting into fists.

"We'd better break the news to the others..." Demona said to her mate, going to his side. Gently she lay her flamed haired head on his shoulders.

"Best tell Da," Findleagh looked down at his mother. "There will be more coming t' the mansion.

They tagged along. There's no enau room in the Labyrinth to hide them anymore..."

"You tell him, my child. I want to have a word with Demona..." she kissed his cheek. Nodding gravely, the young warrior strode down the armory hall.

"How many more will die," Demona looked to Brooklyn. He gritted his fangs, unable to answer.

"You saved lives today," Mrs. MacDuff held up her hands. The tattered gown she wore seemed ancient on her sturdy shoulders. Strangely contrasted by the creme colored battle armor worn overtop. It was a similar style to her son's, except accommodating for her shapely figure. Well into her forties, she was still a pillar of silent strength.

"I gotta call Bluestone and Fox at Team Beta... make sure everything's all right..." Brooklyn remarked. "My guess it they'll hit the Labyrinth once they know what the hell just happened..."

The two friends sadly moved side by side up the stairs. Demona glanced about the mansion, remembering other times that had driven her here, against her will. They trod carefully, so as not to step on people laying on their palates upstairs.

"You seem so morose, is there anything I can do?" she asked.

"I'm so tired," Demona shook her head. "So tired..."

"You could lay down upstairs. The main bedroom..."

"No, my friend. Not that sort of tired. More like the centuries of weariness..."

"You sound like Lennox," she shook her head, the curly hair pulled up into a loose knot by an silver Celtic barrette. Around her neck Demona saw a flash of gold, which was the crest of Moray.

"But did you not strike a blow for victory today?"

"Only because of a freak accident..." Demona sighed, stopping as she glanced at the paintings. Such an island of beauty in a world which knew little of it anymore.

"But does that matter? Fortune is on our side... I can feel it. If you loose hope then the Clan..."

"I've tried so hard," Demona gripped her friend's hand in her three fingered one. "To be brave. But there is only so much I have left to give... First Hudson, then Fox..."

"Fox..." She repeated, glancing down at her feet. Sadness filled her face.

"It was not two months ago before he disappeared into the Erie Pyramid. Broadway said that they thought he had seen a Trace of him... but we couldn't get to him in time."

"At least you rescued Broadway... Angela would be pleased..."

"Yes, she would, wouldn't she," Demona sighed deeply. Gripping hands they shared a moment of silence. At last they reached the bedroom, and Demona felt the characteristic changes beginning over her as she felt muscles and bones reknitting in her body.

---

Castle Wyvern, 1 PM:

"Ma'am, Rachel Vitreum is not available right now..." Owen Burnett patiently explained to Captain Chavez.

"Well, where is she?"

"You are aware that..."

"Oh stupid me! She's in stone, right?"

"I must apologize...."

"No problem. I'll wait around..."

"If you wish..." Owen nodded. "The lounge and guest area is this way..."

"Things must be really hectic around here right now, with all the recent happenings?"

"Indeed. I also surmise you yourself have hectic times being a Police Captain..."

"Thanks. By the way... I don't see a wedding ring. You married Mr. Burnett?"

"No ma'am. My duties do not permit me time for such activity. Nor have they for a very long time, Ma'am."

"More's the pity," Chavez clicked her tongue.

"Excuse me?" Owen raised an eyebrow.

"Well, I find that sometimes the best sounding board is my husband... or was when he was alive..." she said. "Shame you don't have that to turn to..."

"I trust you have not benefited from such an arrangement lately..."

"Jose's been dead some ten years now. Caught it right in the chest from a drug raid, when he was undercover..."

"I am sorry..."

"Thanks..." she smiled, and then waved her hand. "But that's the past. A piece of advice. Don't wear your tie so tight. It cuts off the flow of blood to the rest of your body. And also, don't be afraid to take time off... for friends..."

"I will take that under advisement. Now If you'll excuse me..."

"Whoo, what a stiff," Chavez muttered to herself. She found herself watching his ass moving under those starched pants. "Not a bad rear view. If only he'd loose the glasses once in a while..."

Out of the corner of her eye as she sat, she noticed the redhead. Wandering in what looked like Rachel's spare capris and blouse.

"Hey, don't be a stranger..."

"Maria Chavez?" she asked.

"Hey, you know me? Don't believe I've met you..."

"Mona...." she said.

"You know my name. Do you work for Xanatos..."

"No," "Mona" laughed.

"You look a hell of a lot like Dominique Destine, CEO of Nightstone..." said Chavez.

"You police always have an eye for detail..."

"So you her twin or something?" Chavez asked. "Mona" sat down beside her, feeling at east with this no nonsense policewoman.

"yes... you could say so..." "Mona" sighed sadly.

"Say, do you know Rachel?"

"Yes..."

"Good friend of mine. That's the pair of pants she almost ripped to shreds teaching me last summer... the Catskills..."

"You... are her friend too?"

"We go back a ways," Chavez nodded. "Say, you must know about..."

"Yes. I do. And in some way I feel responsible..."

"How do you figure that?"

"I suppose I should tell someone else. It's rather unbelievable..."

The story spilled out of her. Chavez listened, unflappable. If she didn't believe she gave a damn good act that she did.

"So let me get this straight. You're the alternate double of some Dominique... who happens to change into a gargoyle at night?"

"Yes. Pretty much..."

"Whoa. Serious shit here. So why are you here anyway?"

"My universe is no more..."

"That really bites."

"You believe me?"

"Honey, I've seen serious shit in the past five years. Don't let Bluestone it, but I've had my suspicious for years. And the way I see it there are two things you can do..."

"What?"

"One, get a new look. Two, come shopping with me..."

"Shopping... with you?"

"Today's my day off. I was gonna spend it with Ray. But you're a good candidate for a day out."

---

4 PM, Little Cuba, West New York:

"I don't know about this, Maria," "Mona" said to her a bit pensively. They walked along a lively neighborhood, Latino music pulsing from a tinny speaker. Shop fronts blared their messages in Spanish on pink and orange signs. Salon, Ristaurante, and many other small stores bustled with people.

"Don't tell me, you've always done your own hair?"

"Well, when I was Dominique... I had a stylist come in and do it for me..."

"That's a waste of time and Money," Chavez clicked her tongue. "Today's a special. I've known this guy for years. He might even give us a two for one deal..."

Mona sipped the soda, washing away the tangy spices of the bean burrito and fried ice cream they'd sampled for lunch. Her stomach was full of rich spicy food, which burned so wonderfully going down.

"After this we'll get you some new threads," Chavez nodded. "There's a boutique up the street..."

"You're being so nice to me..."

"Hey, why not?" Chavez asked. "Now come in..."

A portly Cuban gentleman laughed a greeting to Maria, as he kissed her on both cheeks. She fired a quick line of Spanish back to him, and laughed. "Jose, aki... Mona..."

"Buenos dias," Mona smiled.

"Give us the works..."

"But I don't know what style..." Demona protested.

"Heh, have a coffee while I work on Ria, then you choose..." he smiled, escorting her to a velvet lined chair. A book was thrust into her hand, and she gaped at all the hairstyles. Maria giggled, settling next to her. "That one looks nice..."

"But..." she clawed through her hair.

"Come on, you gotta loose some of that length. It'll be fun..." Maria chided.

Soon Jose was lathering shampoo onto Maria's short mane, and his wife Morezlacis was slathering cool gel over Demona's. The feel of human hands caressing her scalp, mingled with warm water was soporific.

Her ears drifted through the sound of water, and distant music. Jennifer Lopez sang out:

"If you had my love

and I gave you all my trust

Would you comfort me, baby?"

Demona found herself humming along. Maria wondered at the rich sound of her voice blending in seamlessly so it was hard to see where Lopez ended and Mona began.

"Nice voice, Chiquita... you ever thought about singing for the records?"

"Well... I only sang for my Clan... I mean... my family," she said sheepishly.

"This way Senorita. Now what do you want? Short, sweet, daring?"

"Ohh... I don't know. Chop it off," she moaned, thinking about the endless possibilities.

"Highlights may look nice," said Jose, fingering her hair. "Your hair is fabulous. Never treated, was it?"

"No..."

"We'll make you look nice. Trust me!"

Demona shot Maria a tentative look. "Give her the works," she nodded.

"Oh what did I get myself into?" Demona inwardly muttered as he began to clip her hair up with the claws. All over her hair the scissors clacked, as he pinched off locks of burgundy and scarlet between his short dexterous fingers. He fell into a steady tempo, and Demona found herself singing:

"Her lips are devil red, her skin the color moca... she will wear you out... living the vie de loca...

Woke up in New York City, in a Funky Cheap motel

She stole my heart, she stole my money,

Must have slipped me a sleeping spell...

She never orders water, always orders French champagne..."

"Ricky Martin, you know that?" Maria laughed with a stern look.

"Hey, we didn't know the latest hits," Demona laughed, then realized how silly that sounded.

Chavez began to wince when Morezlacis began to hum a few bars from West Side Story. "Oh god, don't' start that..."

"You always loved that as a girl, Ria," Jose laughed.

"Not a thousand times over!" she clicked her tongue.

Demona suddenly burst into a fit of laughter. It felt good to laugh again after so long. Mischievously she began to sing I wanna be in America. Maria almost lost it when she heard the first few bars.

"Your friend's a live one," Jose grinned.

"You said it, not me," Demona shrugged. Maria grinned. That smile went to Demona's heart. At last she was beginning to feel some measure of peace.

---

Javastop coffee house, NYU campus, 5 PM:

Lucia continued to count change. It was close to the end of her shift, and she was looking forwards to her next rendezvous with the gentleman she had come to love in just two short weeks. That would happen around six, when he'd see his last student, and take a taxi to Central Park, and she would grab one ten minutes of six to meet him. They had become more clandestine about their meetings, so as not to arouse suspicion by anyone on campus. Then she'd climb into either his private driver car, or a black Jaguar if he had driven himself that particular day. It was but a thirty to forty five-minute ride to his place depending on traffic.

Despite the age difference it had never felt so right. Certainly he was far from the average man, but it seemed so natural. Which was why she was nervous about this rendezvous. First, she had to go through with meeting someone who represented her past life, a loose end that was never quite tied off. She wasn't looking forwards to it, and she was afraid to tell him about it, for fear he would somehow be overprotective.

Molly had offered to come, and Lucia asked her to show up fifteen minutes after four, when Cesar would come here for his coffee. She didn't want to seem too overly scared of him, for the first thing the man she now loved had taught her was never to let the opposition know your defensive plan. Don't show your hand till you scope out your opponent.

Actually she didn't know what to expect, when she closed her line, and let the next gal bring her drawer to replace hers. It didn't help when she saw several guys in black jackets walk into the shop, with three Greek letters QMU pinned to their lapels. Still the group was allowed to exist on campus, despite the recent explosive rally. Even though they were a legitimate fraternity, everyone knew nonverbal that they were really quarrymen. Balling her hands into fists, she struggled to breathe easily. In and out, in and out. As she found her center, her eyes opened again, and fell upon the tall dark youth that breezily stopped by her table.

His slick hair was greased into place with gel, his face clean-shaven. The complexion was free of blemishes, smooth and almost a light tan. Brown eyes laughed at her, as he said, "Lucia, is that you? You look beautiful as ever..."

"Good afternoon, Caesar," she glanced up at him. He had put on muscle, which gently stretched the crisp, button-up, creme shirt he wore under that Armani jacket he wore unbuttoned. Long casual Dockers completed the sporty yet dressy outfit, complete with a thick gold chain and Santa Maria medallion just under his shirt.

"Been a long time, sweetness," he held his arms out to her. She simply shook his hand, giving only a polite smile.

"A semester..." she said.

"I wanted to see you again. Missed you a lot, babe. I know we didn't exactly part friends... but I want to try again..."

"Cesar, that was half a year ago," she shook her head. "I don't think..."

"Babe, give me a chance, please?"

"Cesar," she shook her head. "You were the one that left, remember..."

"I was only joking. I was young, stupid... foolish. I never realized till I lost you what a jerk I was..."

"What did you want, then?" Lucia asked him, and her eyes fixed firmly into his. He was a bit taken aback at that steely staring in her eyes.

"I wanted... to apologize. Can't we be friends? Hombres? After all we've known each other since middle school... those dances with Our Lady of Perpetual light and St. Sebastian's Boy's academy... for old times sake..."

"You were a jerk..." she shook her head.

"I've changed. I'm here, and I wanted to apologize. Please babe... I am sorry..." he lowered his voice.

"I want to believe you... really..." she said. "But I just don't think..."

"I want what we had," he whispered, and pulled out a single red rose wrapped in plastic with baby's breath. Oh this wasn't fair!

"I love you... and I never should have let you go..."

"I've changed... things have changed," she turned from him. That pleading look in his eyes stirred up memories of their first date. Phantom of the Opera. He had taken her on a carriage ride in Central Park, and at midnight he had snapped his fingers, when the driver produced a bouquet of red roses and baby's breath. Then a sumptuous dinner at the Ritz Hotel. They had cuddled and talked till dawn. Each time was like this... till the high school prom...

And then freshmen year, first semester. The first semiformal, he had come to visit, bringing her perfume and a strangely wrapped gift. She recalled the feel of the black silk as he lifted it out. And bade her wear it. How much of his father's money had he spent on this?

Her throat choked, her memories flashing down in quick succession. That rose felt like a hot skewer in her hands as she took it from him. The red wine, then chicken cordon bleu. One thing led to another, and she was pulling that silk teddy off with garters and stockings. Soft sheets, and soft sighs. Her first time of intimate pleasure with him.

Slowly she felt her cheek, feeling the burning of what had happened next. That one fateful day when he'd come, in a huff. Shouts and cries, and a loud sickening crack as the next thing she saw was...

Instinctively her hand went to where her cross was, and closed around gold. A small shield crest, intricately carved moved through her fingers.

"I can't," she said, firmly, pushing the rose back into his hands.

"Why?"

"You always had a temper..."

"I've seen a shrink... trust me..." he whispered. "And I'm on medication... I've stopped the drinking... I swear on my mother's good name..."

"Cesar..."

"Please baby..." he pleaded, and for a second the good spilled overtop the bad. "Can't we be friends?"

"I don't think... that's such a good idea," she shook her head. "There's too much stuff... that's happened."

"Where's your cross, Hon?" he asked, clearly noticing the absence of it as he peered at her scoop necked shirt.

"I... gave it away... to the man I'm seeing," she said.

"I'm... seeing someone..." she said, fingering the crest of Clan Moray.

"Oh? Well... that's great..." he said. "Who is he... I'd like to meet him... tell him how fortunate he is..."

"No Cesar. He's... well..." she stammered, and wondered why she was losing her nerve. Something in his eyes held her captive, and made her insides squirm. She had not said a to him before, except that one time...

Then her eyes noticed the silver pendant just under his shirt. A silver hammer. She cringed... and at that moment wished herself a million miles away.

"The answer is no..." she said. "I... have to go study now..."

"Please..."

"I need... to go..." she said. He stepped before her, and she lightly collided with his solid body. He pressed a kiss to her cheek, and she lightly pushed away.

"No..." she said.

"I'm sorry..." he said. "Look, I want to at least be friends... can't you even give me a chance?"

"Please... don't," she breathed, and slipped away from him as she rushed out to the street.

---

Flashback, NY 2005.

"Come on, honey... I know it looks scary..." Fox gripped her son's hand in her gauntleted one.

"No way Mom. It's neat... just like the tunnels in that book..." he shook his head, and glanced with the wonder that only a nine year old could have at the sewer tunnels.

"Which one?"

"The Time Machine, Mom!" Alex rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me you haven't ever read that one! Its' a classic..."

"Sorry honey it's been a long time since I've even sat still, let alone read a book for fun..." Fox muttered. Deeper and deeper underground they trudged, Fox in her sleek enhanced Pack armor. Alex wore a similar version, splendid in the same red and gold. It was a miracle they had made it this far. Considering how the Steel Clan had come between them and freedom.

It had been the last straw. Xanatos' corporate takeover and buyout of Cyberbiotics. That company was left solely to Alex, not her, but Xanatos had somehow changed the terms of the agreement. Just how she wasn't sure. She was damned if her husband was going that far. The last nail in a coffin full of affairs, double crossings, and dirty dealings.

"Too bad Uncle Owen isn't here to see it..."

"I know..."

"Is he... going to make it?" asked Alex, looking very vulnerable. Fox choked back the images of Owen, calmly pushing them out of the way towards the spare elevator. Urging them to run while he cut off the safety interlocks. Alex and she recalled his grim face as he opened fire on the advancing Steel Clan. Not even giving them the benefit of a cry of terror as he gave his life so that Alex and she might run free. She glanced back, to see a bullet whiz into his chest, felling him as she covered their retreat with laserfire.

It was a desperate run, grabbing her son and running sometimes, pulling him along at other times. Bravely he kept pace with his enhanced armor. Thank God Owen still had the suits constructed behind David's back for just such an emergency.

"Not far now..."

Floodlights burned into the eyes of the mother and her son. She shielded her face from the glare, and the words of harsh challenge that hung in her ears:

"Ware there!" echoed Talon's voice. "If you bring weapons, they'd better be for Freedom!"

"I'm looking for Thailog!" she called out.

"Fox?" asked a voice, coming out of the shadows. A red mane swirled around her head as the twilight blue figure exited the shadows.

"Demona!" Fox hissed, grabbing her son and thrusting him behind her.

"No... wait. It's all right..." she said.

Thailog's ebony shape emerged next, followed by Brooklyn. Demona wore an odd armor, overtop her usual white halter-top. "It's okay. She's with us," Brooklyn muttered.

"What..." Fox asked, still holding her son close. The nine-year-old glanced at Demona with inquisitive eyes as her warm smile hit him.

"It would seem... that Demona has found a use for humans after all," said Thailog with wry amusement.

"Keith and Sharon..." Brooklyn added. "They brought her here after she saved Angela...."

"All right..." Fox sighed. "If you say so. But if you so much as look at me cross-eyed..."

"Are you an angel?" Alex walked up to Demona, and glanced at her golden armor.

"Alex," Fox groaned.

"She's got a gold crown... and she's pretty," Alex shook his head.

"That's Demona!" Thailog laughed. "Oh this is rich."

"Maybe, but she's on our side now..." Brooklyn nodded. Was that a look of affection in his eyes?

"Little one, you have nothing to fear from me," Demona leaned over, as Alex looked up to her. "I swear you will be safe here..."

---

Present day, Castle Wyvern, 5 PM:

Demona had wandered into the library, clad in a form fitting pair of blue jeans and a sun top that fastened behind her neck. It did not get in the way of her wings, and exposed her shapely abs.

She heard the sounds of Fox reading "One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish... Blue Fish..."

Alex squealed in delight. "My turn, mamma!"

Demona smiled, slowly creeping into the library. "Fox..." she said. "Alex..."

"You..." Fox suddenly dropped the book. Alex looked at Demona with wide eyes. "What are you doing in here..."

"Didn't the others tell you..."

"I still have yet to believe them," Fox muttered, moving before Alex as a mother fox comes to protect her cubs.

"Fox," Demona whispered. "What must I do to convince you I mean no harm?"

"David once had you as a business partner. But you have deceived us before..."

"I know I can't expect you to accept me this time," Demona glanced at her. "But for what it's worth... I am sorry for all the pain that my self in this time has caused you... if only..."

"Demona, I more then anyone want to believe you have changed this time... I was a criminal myself once too."

"I know all about you," she said. "You and I are best friends, since 2005... we fought evil together, and protected your son. I swore to protect him then and that holds true now. You are one of my best friends, Fox..."

"You mean you finally... made peace with humans?"

Fox saw the look of genuine sorrow mingled with pleasure. She desperately wanted to believe Demona in that moment. Yet something still held her back.

"You were one of the first humans I trusted... Fox. You and your son..."

"And what about your... double, in this reality?"

"I want to do what I can to help stop her..."

"And how would you accomplish that?" Fox backed asked, backing away with her son, wary.

"This time line moves somewhat parallel to the other. I might be able to predict where I... Demona would most likely strike your Clan... and stop her. After all, I am she... or was..."

"This time travel is very confusing..." said Fox, shaking her head.

"What's worse is, that Brooklyn and me... were mates. And he hates me now..."

"Yeah. Lex hated me after we first met. I was young, and thrill seeking. Bored to tears. The Pack show was a good outlet for adventure. Till that night Lexington showed up and I really saw the devotion in his eyes. He really looked up to us. And we let him down. It took forever to start over..."

"I take it you two have... made up."

"Yeah. But it was Alex that helped. Maybe..."

"I cannot stand to have Brooklyn hate me. I still love him so much. For years he hated me, mistrusted me. Yet then when I saved Angela from the Steel clan, he saw me in a different light. We soon grew to love each other."

"I thought you and Thailog..."

"Well, let's just say he was more interested in money and the gathering of power then romance. To him... mating was just to breed, and scratch an itch..."

Fox laughed, setting Alex into his playpen. "Typical man!" she laughed. "Sounds like my old man and Thailog should have gone bowling!"

Demona and Fox exchanged a laugh. Slowly the tension melted between them. "By the way, love the new hairstyle..."

"Oh, Got Maria to thank for that," she smiled as Fox admired the new cut, which hung in an attractive bob about her cheeks.

"Maria? As in Maria Chavez, Elisa's boss?" Fox chuckled.

"Yes. We went to this little salon in Little Cuba. The owner gave us the best espresso. Rinse, cut, and highlights for under 34 dollars..."

"Ohh, and I pay 200 bucks for my job!" Fox lamented.

"I could take you there," she offered.

"It's a date!" Fox laughed. "But you and Chavez. Wow!"

"She's really not so bad once you get to know her. And I feel... well... happy. She heard my whole story, and didn't even blink."

"That's something... I guess it's the cop thing," Fox shook her head.

"Yeah," she smiled, and then her expression went dour again. "I just wish I could get through to Brooklyn..."

Fox sighed. "Yeah. It does stink. But what are you going to do about it now?"

"What do you mean?"

"If you were mates... wherever you were from... then what's to stop you from trying over again here?" Fox asked, with a mischievous grin.

"You might want to take her up on that, Mother," said Angela, with a knowing wink.

"Did I hear that right?" Fox asked, and Alex walked over to Angela.

Angela shook her head again, "You look... so much like..."

"Your mother?" Demona asked, holding her arms out to Angela. "I so hope so... my little one..."

Tentatively they embraced, but Angela still flinched. "I... I'm sorry this is so... weird..."

"A parallel continuum," Demona grinned.

Just then Alex laughed as he ran over to Lexington, who had set a pile of books down. Immediately in Angela's arms, Mona began to quake spasmodically.

"Uncle Lex!" he cried, as Lexington scooped him up.

"Alex, give me four!" he laughed, whirling him around and then setting him down. They slapped talon to hand.

Still Demona flinched a bit, backing away from Angela as she beheld Lex. But he was so good with Alex... perhaps...

"Hey, are you okay?" Fox asked.

"I... Lex and I..." she stammered.

"Mom... he's not the same," Angela gripped Mona's waist. "This isn't your universe..."

"Demona... so I see you've met her..." Lex said, taking Alex's hand and walking him back tot he small group.

"Yes, it's still a shock though..."

"Rachel said that she can sense the differences in the temporal vibrations..."

"Like Sliders," Alex grinned up at his mother.

"What's wrong with you?" asked Lex, with concern. Mona gripped to her daughter's waist as if she were one of the few anchors in this reality.

"I... I..." she stammered.

"Look, let's clear this up," Fox sighed. "Lex, She was just telling us that she wants to help us stop her twin."

"In my reality... you... were... very different," Demona stammered out to Lex. "I... we... all thought you were destroyed..."

"Destroyed, me?" Lex asked, Alex looking up at both of them with concern.

"Angela, it was the Lex of the dream your Father had... that was based on the reality... I came from!!!"

"You mean Lex was that cyborg villain that..." Angela shook her head.

"I want to help you to prevent a disaster," she said. "That the Lex from my time helped to create..."

"Me... create a disaster, no way!" Lex protested, voice beginning to raise. "Sooo you're the gargress version of Trunks and I'm the big bad C-17 cyborg, he! Thank you very much!"

"Lexington!" Angela cried.

"Look, the fact that she's hear means that this reality... won't be anywhere near the same as hers," Fox put in. "So don't' take what she has to say personally..."

"All right, with your help in weapons... we can kick tail!" Lex laughed.

"No. I won't fight any more...."

"but you said..." Fox protested.

"I will not lift a hand to fight again. I will however give any information, and help you plan whatever moves you must make to counter Demona's plots..." Demona clarified. "I'm tired of fighting..."

"Well That's a start," Lex muttered.

"Since you are really the Demona... from Father's dream... then what horrible things you must have seen..." Angela muttered.

"Everyone I know is dead," Demona looked to her with weariness in her eyes. Fox moved to her side, extending a hand. Demona felt her embrace of support.

---

NYU, Canmore Hall, Freshman Dorm, 5:30 PM:

Lucia rushed into her dorm room, and slammed the door. Her heart pounded a million miles a second. She could still see his eyes looking at her, hungrily. Anxiously she glanced at her watch. Molly would have just missed them there at the coffee shop. Still a hour to go before her meeting with Macbeth.

There came a click, and she jumped. She whirled, seeing someone coming out of the bathroom that interconnected her room and the next.

"What the hell..." she gasped.

"I had to see you. Why did you run away..."

"What are you doing... in my room!" she demanded. Anxiously her mind thought of what she could possibly do. Where could she run.

"I only wanted to talk to you! Is this how you treat your friends..."

"Get out of here this minute, or I'll scream..."

"Oh, and make a fool of yourself? Really, Lu, I didn't think you'd be so dramatic. I only want to talk!"

"And I want you to leave, now!" she shouted back, and grabbed for the mace in her purse.

"What are you doing? Don't be like this..." he advanced on her, silver hammer gleaming as it slipped out of her shirt. He seized her shoulders, struggling to kiss her.

Lucia shot up her knee, planning to slam into his groin, but he twisted, curse him, so she only connected with his stomach. She backed into the closet door, and flung it in his face. Instantly the poster behind the door was revealed:

Goliath offered his hand beneath the words, GARGOYLES ARE OUR FRIENDS, and the PIT Crew logo.

"You... what the hell is this shit?" he asked, his eyes on the poster.

"Truth, Cesar! Something you'll never see... with your bigotry!" she spat, and he grabbed her wrist roughly.

"You... a PIT Crew member?"

"Yes!" she cried.

"That wasn't nice... little girl!" he snapped, as she broke away. Her hand found the mace, bringing it to bear. But he smacked it out of her hand, and she rubbed where it had stung.

"I'll have to teach you some manners! Don't you know how the Gargoyle Lovers corrupt you?"

"Get out of here, you Quarryman bastard, or I'll scream!" she threatened, but he put a hand over her mouth, moving lightening fast. His hand gripped her wrist. Suddenly she jerked her hand, pulling out of his grasp as she smacked his face. Desperately she dove for the door, but he slammed it shut, jumping before her.

"You didn't need to do That..." he said.

Lucia glared, bringing her hands up as she backed away, then shot forth as she rammed him with her shoulder, her fist slamming towards his chest. He grabbed her, and she felt a sickening crack against her jaw. The floor hit hard against her.

"Gargoyle-loving bitch! Is this how you treat me? So you like it rough, eh?"

Just then the door clicked open, Molly standing there. "I missed you at the Javastop... What the hell..."

"Molly..." she gasped.

"What are you doing..." she gasped, seeing him reaching for his belt, doubling it over as he raised it to lash her friend.

"This isn't your business..."

A sharp burst of sound slammed into him with the force of a brick wall. Cesar hardly knew what hit him. Followed by a swift smack that sent him reeling. He countered, pushing her out of the way as he rushed out of the room.

Lucia whimpered, huddled on the floor. Nose bleeding, she sobbed. Molly staggered over to her friend, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"I'm gonna call security..."

"No... please don't..." she whimpered.

"The hell I won't!" Molly spat out blood. "He had no right..."

"But... he's a quarryman... I'm already in trouble... if it gets out..."

"Wait here... I'll call the RA, and we'll let them know this happened..."

---

Macbeth's Mansion, 7PM:

Later, she smirched the makeup on over the ugly bruise, and hoped he wouldn't notice. No, she would rather not think of the dirty feelings that squirmed inside her. Thus prepared she climbed out of the cab and moved up to the house. Salt air drifted to her nostrils, the smell of the sea not far from his Long Island home. Her feet couldn't carry her fast enough up the winding path to his place.

The lights had just winked oh, golden against the impending night. Wind quickened, and she raised her knuckles to knock. Yet he was already there, pulling open the door for her. She held in a breath as she saw the velvet smoking jacket and black dress pants he wore. A crisp white shirt, freshly ironed was underneath the burgundy velvet. "Welcome M' love," he extended an arm to her.

Choking she threw herself into his arms, pressing close to him. Her arms latched around the back of his neck, her lips pressing closely to his. It was all she could do to keep from crying as he leaned over to meet her heated kiss, pulling her off her feet as his powerful arms closed around her. How she struggled to drown her sorrows in his firm lip press.

"Mmmm! Verra nice," Macbeth hummed with delight as she withdrew. "What be that for, I wonder?"

"I'm just so glad to be away from that school," she shuddered. "And in your arms again..."

"Ahem," Mrs. Jones coughed discreetly. Both of them looked to her as she watched with a knowing twinkle in her eyes. "Dinner's ready. If you'll come this way..."

"Dinner first, or afterwards?" he asked invitingly. "Will get cold otherwise..."

"Wouldn't want to disappoint her," said Lucia, shivering slightly.

His arm around her waist, he guided her into the lobby. Her long hair was slicked back into a French braid with hair gel, and Molly's ministrations. The blue cardigan was buttoned overtop of a long sundress with a catchy paisley pattern on it. Around her neck hung the pendant with the crest of Moray he'd given her earlier.

They both were seated, he first pulling out a chair for her as she smoothed her skirt under, and he too, the place opposite. It was more formal then some of their dinners, but as lovely as last week at this time when he surprised her with a seven-course meal and she was stuffed!

The server poured wine for Macbeth, and Perrier for Lucia. Fresh salads were put before them, smelling of fresh seasoning. Fine Lennox china, silver, and now soft candlelight. It was all so... perfect. She found herself suddenly thinking about the night she and Cesar...

Somehow her appetite had fled, and all she could do was poke at the salad with her silver fork.

"Ye havenae touched a bite, is everything all right, m'love?" he asked, rich accent music to her ears. Already he was more then ready for the next course, the soup.

"I'm... not very hungry I guess," she was unable to look him in the face, her stomach swimming. "I'm sorry..."

Macbeth's look darkened with concern. This was quite unlike the gentle Lucia he'd come to know. Why was she looking away, as if she was ashamed of something. Even in her short existence of 18 years compared to his one thousand, there were many secrets she must hide. Macbeth did not take any thing for granted. Not even a seemingly normal Hispanic girl with what appeared to be a catholic school upbringing.

It was those normal, safe environments that harbored the most unusual tendencies.

Immediately he rose from his chair, walking the length of the table to stand by her. His hand rested on her shoulder, gently stroking it. She breathed heavily, as he tilted her chin up to look at him. "Something is wrong, lass," he said, bending over so his face was level with hers. "And I'll be damned if ye dinna tell me what..."

"I'm sorry, I'm ruining your evening!" she stammered, and looked away. "I know you planned this especially for me and I can't eat it and it will all go to waste..."

"Never ye mind about That," he took her hand. "Something's fair near disturbing ye, and I want t' know what it is..."

"We all have our secrets," she responded, unable to find the words to express the tangle of confusion mingled with fear.

"Come wi me," he said, seeing the fear in her eyes. It tensed her whole frame, making her shake.

They adjourned to the sitting room, where a fire had been made up. Taking the wine in one hand, and her drink in the other, he set them down. He indicated the love seat near the fire, and took his place beside her. "What's going on, lass... yer no acting yourself. As if you're terrified of something..."

"I saw... someone today. Someone I haven't seen for a long time..."

"An auld friend or acquaintance..."

"Yes," she stammered. "And he... he... he actually had the nerve to ask me..."

"Who was it?" he asked, gripping her hand.

"An... old boyfriend," she stammered, and a sudden fear came in her face as his eyes momentarily met hers.

"But nothing happened... honest..."

"Whist ye yer shaking," he took her hand between his, gently stroking it. "I'm the last one t' be jealous. But That's not it, is it? Something yer no telling me, and seeing that gentleman has brought out some fear in ye. Now out wi it..."

"He wanted to be friends. He wanted to be friends after what he did..." she choked out. "And I almost believed him. But then I remembered... I remembered..."

Visibly she flinched, her hand going cold in his.

"Did he hurt ye?" Macbeth's voice rose in pitch. "Answer me, lass... what did he do t' ye..."

"What makes you think..."

"Lass, when ye've lived as long as I have... ye ken the looks of fear. The look of some silent terror moving just beneath the surface. This Cesar hurt you, and yer afraid and ashamed."

"He said he'd changed..."

"I'd believe that when I see it," Macbeth snorted. "But what did he do That's put the fear of God himself into ye? Was he the one that said..."

"Yes... and that was the night he... well... he was coming to visit, and he was a bit angry. We started to yell, and he was telling me I was his girl, and no other man should be near me, and that he heard stories... That I was not true... and he... he... raised his hand, and I told him I was faithful, but he said... and then he... hit me..."

"He lay his hands on a lass," Macbeth's gray eyes flushed with anger.

"He called me a bitch... and said that I was like all the other women. Especially the good little girls. And then he asked if I had liked it... and I screamed and told him to get out. And then next day... he sent me roses, and apologized..."

"He had nae right t' treat ye in such a manner," Macbeth ranted. It was a low tone, filled with anger and outrage.

"But I had many friends who were boys..."

"That didna give him the right t' lay a hand on ye..." he shook his head, and gripped her shoulders firmly, to glance right into his face. "You deserve far better than That..."

"I know... That... but when I saw him I almost had forgotten. And I thought I had gotten over it... but then I saw that look in his eyes... and I panicked..."

"What is this on yer face," he asked, noticing the oddly discolored patch of makeup on her cheek.

Lucia shuddered, and realized the makeup doesn't hide the bruise. Macbeth seized her chin and peered at her cheek.

"Who dared lay a hand on ye?" Macbeth snapped, his eyes flashing. "This ... Cesar?"

"I... I..." she stammered out. "He... he did... he came into my room, and I told him to leave... and he pleaded, and I pushed him away, and he hit me! If it wasn't for Molly coming in... and screaming at him..."

Her voice trailed off as she fought back angry tears. Low sobs started, and she buried her face in her hands. Strong arms enfolded her, rocking her close as she cried against his shoulder.

"Hush now... let it out m' love," he soothed her, making soft noises while her tears dripped onto his jacket. Gently he pressed a kiss to her forehead, stroking her soft thick hair. For a time he held her, giving her what strength he could. That look of fear and hurt sent him tumbling back several centuries to one he had come to love.

When his beloved Gruoch had been in his arms once more, after the death of Gillcomgain. He had pledged to marry her, a widow, and the ceremony had been a personal triumph.

Yet when he took her up to their wedding chamber, and covered her with soft kisses she flinched, as if she expected him to hit her. Fear filled her eyes, and he suddenly knew the enormity of what Gillcomgain had done. Granted, Lucia's situation was different, but that look of fear and terror did not impact him any less.

It took hours of holding her close, gently kissing her and stroking her to calm Gruoch down. The damage had been done, but Macbeth was a patient man. It was a week before they finally consummated their marriage, and she at last awakened in his arms, tasting the sweetness of his love that was long denied.

Anger burned, centuries old. This blow was personal, and he was damned if he would let the inflictor get away with it. Gently Macbeth pressed lips to the bruise; half-wishing he could kiss it out of existence.

Lucia winced, rubbing her sore chin. Tears slipped from behind dark lashes, and he kissed each one away lightly.

"I wish ye had told me," he rocked her gently.

"I... didn't know what to think..."

"Ye know that I wuild understand... or did ye presume I wouldna..."

"I don't know what to think..." she found herself sobbing into his shoulder.

"Yes ye do lass," he said. "And That's the problem that Sassenach had wi ye. He didn't respect ye fer being a lass wi a mind and heart of yer own..."

"You're too good to me," she stammered out.

"Nau dinna go and say That," he shushed her. "Ye deserve t' be treated wi respect..."

"Why did I let him treat me so... for six months I dated him..."

"That is a question I cannae answer. But we all make mistakes. Trust me I have made plenty in nine hundred years. Even that much experience doesnae always prepare an individual to solve the world's problems..."

---

Castle Wyvern, 7 PM:

Rachel Vitreum came down to see Maria Chavez patiently waiting in the library. The two friends embraced heartily. "So good to see you, Ria," Rachel smiled.

"Likewise, Ray. I totally forgot about the stone sleep." Maria Chavez grinned sheepishly.

"Not a problem. Say, if I didn't know any better... I'd say you had that look on your face..."

"I met Mona, if That's what you mean..."

"Mona?" Rachel suddenly raised her brow ridges. You did... I mean you talked to her?"

"Rachel, she told me everything..." Maria Chavez took her hand. "That girl... I hate to think of the horrors she has seen..."

"Then... you know..."

"Yeah. I'm worried about her..."

"So am I, but Ria, you never cease to amaze me! I never though you and she..."

"Hey, I met up with you, right, and you're an alien from another planet?" she laughed. "No, I like Mona. She's like a frightened child, even though she's over 1000 years old!"

Rachel's jaw dropped. "How did you know that I was…"

"Come on! Considering the history you and I have. I mean double pulse, low body temperature… long five minute French kisses… especially when we…"

Mortified, Rachel changed the subject at once, "The problem is convincing Elisa Maza... she didn't have a chance to meet with Mona Yet... and somehow she conveniently excused herself last night long before Mona woke up... But where is she now?"

"Talking to her daughter, she said. She wanted me and you to meet her somewhere tonight... some place called the Labyrinth... does that ring a bell?"

"Yes it does..." Rachel said, suddenly getting an odd feeling. "Ria, do me a big favor and bring Elisa. Tell her that you know about Mona, and insist that she come to meet us all at 53rd and Madison. There's a manhole there... and That's where the Labyrinth is..."

"You mean where Elisa's brother..."

"Yes... And Ria, you're one in a million..."

"You always seemed to think so before," Ria grinned as she set off to the Precinct.

---

23rd Precinct House, 8 PM:

Elisa yawned and stretched, before flopping down on the office chair before her computer. "What weirdness happened today," she asked.

Captain Chavez wandered in, and all eyes fell on the efficient police captain as she regarded her detectives.

"I thought you had the day off, Captain," Elisa looked up at her.

"Well, I did. But I'm putting in some extra hours tonight. And Maza, don't forget to check in on your friends to make sure they cleaned up the clock tower before they left!"

"Sorry Captain..." she grinned.

"By the way, something very interesting has gone down with your "friends" at the castle..." Chavez leaned close.

"What do you mean?" Elisa asked.

"Come see me in my office," Chavez instructed.

"Captain..." she wondered as Chavez brought her into the office. Both women found their places on either side of the wooden desk.

"Now, are you aware of the fact that Dominique Destine... has a niece?" Chavez asked.

"What?" Elisa wondered, and felt herself squirming internally. Now that Chavez had met the Gargoyles, it seemed as if anything was possible.

"I just met a very interesting young woman today, when I went to visit Rachel..."

"You were there... during the day?"

"Yes, and estupido! I forgot they were in stone sleep. But I met a young woman called Mona. And she had a most interesting story..."

"Mona... you mean you met... oh God..." Elisa gasped.

"I thought you would think so. Do you have any idea about this Maza?"

"Yes but I didn't get the chance to... you mean you spoke to her?"

"Spent the whole day with her, Elisa," Chavez folded her arms and rested her head on them. "That is one distraught young woman. The horrors she described..."

"She would say anything," Elisa breathed. "We still didn't know..."

"I believe her, Maza," Chavez looked very seriously at Elisa with those green eyes.

"How can you... I mean Goliath said to let her prove herself, but you don't know what she's capable of! It's Demona... the same gargoyle who changed Rachel into one..."

"I know about That too," Chavez snorted. "Elisa, I'm your Captain, your commanding officer. Your family and mine have known each other for years. You could have trusted me with this!"

"Captain... please..." Elisa protested. "The Gargoyles were in danger I... Look, Captain, you have to admit Gargoyles weren't exactly on everyone's hit list last year!"

"I know That Maza, but we are to protect and serve. Everyone is innocent till proven guilty. And Mona desperately wants to make her peace with everyone. Which is why I want you to come with me... to meet her yourself..."

"I can't..."

"Yes, you can," Maria Chavez said firmly. "And that's an order!"

---

Somewhere over Manhattan, 9PM:

"Catch me if you can!" Angela shouted to Mona, who winged after her.

"This was a wonderful idea!" Mona called to Rachel. "It feels wonderful to get out into the air again..."

"Are you sure it's okay?" Angela called back to Rachel, who was tethered to Mona by a climbing rope.

"I see no reason to keep her cooped up at the Castle when there is a whole world for her to see," Rachel said. "And you only had a small taste of it with Maria..."

"I should have told you she came..." said Mona.

"Yes, but she and I did have a good talk afterwards. She's bringing Elisa to meet us..."

"Elisa Maza?" Mona said, hopeful. "Good!"

Just then Angela tensed, pointing below. "Gals, I think we have a problem..."

"Quarryman!" Rachel hissed, her eyes growing narrow.

"We gotta stop them before they hurt that young woman!" Angela cried, and brought her wings close to her body.

"Angela, Daughter, wait!" Mona cried, but Angela had already pitched into a power dive. Snarling, she threw herself on the nearest quarryman.

Rachel and Mona landed on the next, cuffing their hammers aside. With interest Rachel noticed Mona's fighting style was very passive, almost Tai Chi. She did not hit, but mercilessly pinched the nerve clusters in the backs of two of the Quarrymen's necks. They gurgled to unconsciousness.

The two cloaked figures looked at them thankfully. Angela walked up to the smaller of the two.

"Are you okay?"

"Angela, good thing you showed up," Maggie's yellow eyes shone.

"What are you two doing up here?" Rachel asked. "The Quarrymen... your baby..."

"Talon's with him. Someone needed to get milk for the children, and pick up the antibiotics..."

"Why not send one of your Helpers?" Rachel asked. Maggie suddenly lay eyes on Mona, and gasped.

"What is... she doing here?"

"It's okay!" Angela said. "That's Mona. She's good. I swear..."

"Are you sure..." Maggie backed away, her fur bristling. Electricity crackled through her claws.

"Yes, I swear," Rachel nodded.

"But you shouldn't be out here... it's not safe," Mona put in, going up to Maggie. "Your son..."

"How did you know I had..."

"Why were you up here along?" asked Angela.

"A sickness has come over the human refugees. They are too ill to help themselves. We were immune... but weren't sure where to go for help..."

"You should have had Talon tell Elisa..." Angela chided.

"He had to stay to help. Ohh and Maria and Elisa are about to come to join us!"

"Someone should tell Xanatos," Rachel said.

"I know something about medicine," Mona said. "I might be able to help. There were many diseases I have encountered over the years... and there were few doctors to help a gargress. So I had to learn to treat myself many years... as well as humans That I knew..."

"Come this way," she said. Angela took Mona's hand as Rachel leapt onto the nearest building and climbed to find a thermal. Hooking her rope, she fired a shot at the nearest building. Her dark shape swung to the next, and the next. Rachel had that odd tingling feeling in her scalp again, as if she felt the time lines converging and shifting. That look of familiarity in Mona's face mirrored her own sometimes. Whenever there was an event in history with which she was intimately connected, and knew she had a special role to play to hold up the threads of fate. Just how much should she let Mona help and change? If these two realities were parallel, how much would benefit from Mona's changes, and how much would be harmed?

They came to a manhole, and Angela lifted it aside. All three dropped, one after the other. Into utter darkness they walked for a time. Mona shivered, remembering the first time she had come here. Granted there were some improvements, but That same stench and damp hung in the subterranean passage.

Till they came upon a distant radiance. Maggie gave a yowling noise, and they were bathed in bright floodlights. A loud panther snarl sounded, as gold eyes flickered in the dark.

"Maggie! Glad you came back... who is..."

"Talon, this is not what you think," Angela put herself between Talon and Mona. "This is Mona... my mother... and a friend..."

"Friend?" Talon asked, a bit taken aback.

"It's a long story. But I want to help...."

"Angela?" Talon glanced at her. This would be a long story indeed.

"You are under threat of a disease, caused by Dr. Sevarious!" Mona blurted out. "If you don't act soon, your friends will die!"

"Dr. Sevarious?" Talon asked.

---

To Be Continued: