VVVVV
Consequences Part Three: Cat and Cradle (1/3)
a Gargoyles story
by Merlin Missy
Copyright 1998, 2005
PG-13
VVVVV
Characters and situations are the property of Disney/Buena Vista. No
infringement on their work is implied or should be inferred. Special
thanks to Nicole, who told me in the kindest terms possible which bits
needed to be left on the cutting room floor.
VVVVV
They called it "New Year's," and the humans celebrated it just as much
as they had the nights that Ruth called Hanukkah and Maggie
Christmas and the real gargoyles Yule. Talon didn't call it anything at
all, but he seemed to enjoy watching the rest of them have fun.
Tonight's celebration wasn't quite so much fun as the last party; there
had been toys then, wrapped in paper and boxes. "Presents," said
Maggie and Elisa.
In the boxes with her name on them, Delilah had found a faceless rag
doll with floppy wings and a blue dress, a checkerboard with checkers,
some books about a vampire bunny rabbit, and a puzzle. Her brothers
had also made out well: Brent had spent almost every waking moment
with his new coloring books and his train, while Boo had gone to sleep
each morning for the past week holding his favorite little car.
Delilah and her brothers liked presents.
There were no presents at this celebration, although a lot of
the same people had come from outside: Elisa and Peter and Diane
and Hudson and Goliath were in the big room with the rest. Delilah
didn't like being around Goliath. He was nice to her, but he
looked at her funny or didn't look at her at all. All the real
gargoyles did, but he did especially. She knew why: she was ugly
and fat.
She looked down at her belly. Try as she did, she was getting
fatter every day. Maggie was too, but that was different. Maggie
was going to have a baby. Maggie and Ruth said Delilah was going
to lay an egg. 'Lilah thought a baby sounded like lots more fun.
Thailog had told her that he didn't want her to get fat. He would
be very disappointed in her.
She frowned. She didn't like the thought of making Thailog
unhappy. It made her unhappy, too.
It didn't matter anyway. Thailog was dead, after fighting with Demona,
and he was the only male who would have her because she was so ugly.
So she could get as fat as she pleased.
'Lilah moved her hand over her face, feeling her features. None of the
others in the room noticed as she pushed her lips into a pout and then
let go.
She knew from the few times she'd seen her own reflection that
she looked very much like Elisa. Elisa was pretty, for a human,
and the way that Goliath looked at her suggested she might also be
pretty for a real gargoyle. 'Lilah thought that should make her own face
pretty. But it wasn't. Her ears were gargoyle ears, and she had ridges
like a gargoyle, and her hair was blue-white like Thailog's had been.
She was a bad copy of Elisa. She could see that in the eyes of the real
gargoyles when they looked at her, except for Angela, and Angela had
gone far away. She missed Angela. They had fought once, but that had
been a long time ago; Angela was her friend now, like Maggie.
Elisa and Goliath had taken up a small corner of the room to
themselves, just talking. Goliath was looking at Elisa that way
again, the same way Thailog used to look at her. 'Lilah tried not
to feel sad and half succeeded.
"Hello lass," said a voice near her and she jumped a little
until she saw Hudson.
"Oh, hello," she said in a small voice. She was still afraid
around the real gargoyles sometimes.
"Are ye enjoyin' the festivities?" He didn't much look like
he was having fun. Maybe it was because the others weren't there
and he missed them. Maybe he missed Angela too.
"It's okay."
"Well, perhaps ye'll like the next gatherin' a mite better."
"More parties?" They were kind of fun, but there certainly
were an awful lot of them lately.
"Not a party. A celebration. When ya kindle." That appeared
to explain everything to him.
"What!" In her mind, she saw fire all around her.
"When yer egg comes, child. It'll be the first egg in our clan in over a
thousand years." He smiled at her, a rare thing from any of the real
gargoyles. "It's a happy time, a day more sacred even than the Winter
Solstice, and you'll be the center of attention."
"I don't want to be the center." She poked at the bulge at her stomach.
"I don't want to have an egg."
"Ya haven't much choice now," he replied gently, and under his
breath, she heard him add, "An ya ever did."
"'Lilah! C'mere!" Boo's yell cut through the noises of the other people
in the big room. Hudson bowed his head to her and then held out his
arm. 'Lilah looked at it.
"Let's go hear the humans sing. Even if they're doin' it
eleven nights late."
"Okay." Singing? All these parties involved singing. When
they held the fire party, they'd probably sing again. Hudson picked up
her hand and put it in his. He started walking, and 'Lilah walked with
him.
The group of them gathered around the radio, except for Goliath and
Elisa, who were still in the corner not paying attention. Malibu looked
at her and put on a funny face, very much like a real gargoyle. She
didn't like that. It was one thing for the real gargoyles to stare at her
because she was ugly; it was another for one of her rookery brothers to
do the same.
Hudson patted her on the shoulder and moved to stand nearer Peter and
Diane. 'Lilah nestled in the comfort of her brothers' presence, as
Malibu lost interest in staring at her. The humans were gearing up for
something. They were counting, though they were doing it funny.
Banky had been very proud of himself when he'd counted all the way to
fifty by himself, but he'd never done it backwards.
"Nineteen ... eighteen ... seventeen ... " 'Lilah tried to keep up, but the
numbers were going in a direction she didn't know at all. She contented
herself with nodding in time with the counts, noticed her brothers doing
the same.
" ... two ... one ... Happy New Year!" The humans shouted and
clapped, so 'Lilah patted her hands together. She saw Talon reach
his arms around Maggie and kiss her on the neck, and turned away
blushing. Most of the humans were cheerful, a few singing in their
happiness. She edged closer to her brothers and looked for Elisa.
Elisa was still in the corner with Goliath. Unable to help herself, she
watched as he took Elisa into a winged embrace, ducking his head to
press his mouth against hers.
'Lilah's wings were already draped around her body. She pulled them
closer to her, remembering the feel of strong arms holding her, the taste
of lips, the moist growls in her ear, the knowledge that she was where
she belonged, that she was doing what she was meant to do.
In a room filled with celebration, Delilah felt terribly alone.
VVVVV
"Should auld acquaintance be forgot ... "
The rankling sounds of humans caterwauling from the television
shook her from her half-doze, and before she was quite awake, she
thought to herself, "But Batya still hasn't posted that yet ... "
Then she was completely alert, if not entirely sober, and in the
fraction of time between the two states, she wondered who this
Batya person was.
The humans' wretched singing continued, and she growled,
forgetting her semi-dream completely. She sat up from where she'd
been hunching on her couch, and regretted the motion instantly as
she reeled. Her tail lashed for support and found it, righting her
before she fell. Her mood worsened with the throbbing of her head.
Demona didn't drink often. She'd had her fill of quaffing
mead and ale when she'd been young and happy. Wine was for
celebration; again, something she hadn't enjoyed much in recent
years. She'd discovered centuries back that too much alcohol
brought unpleasant thoughts to the forefront of her mind, needling
reminders of how much her fate had been as a direct result of her
own doing. She couldn't drink to forget.
On the other hand, this was a special occasion. Not only did
the solstice mark her first meeting with Thailog, it also marked
the end of the year in which she'd met her daughter, both surely
milestone events in her life. The one had used her and dropped her
for his genetically-engineered whore. The other despised her, and
that was worse, much worse than her last lover's betrayal, worse
even than Goliath's betrayal of their clan's trust. Angela had met
her, and found her wanting, and so Demona drank.
Solstice. Hmm ... It had been solstice when she'd started
this little binge, hadn't it? And the humans were singing their
New Year's songs. Stupid humans, celebrating eleven days after the
year began. Her head was still very fuzzy as she redid the math.
Eleven days. She hadn't been that drunk that long in at least
three centuries.
Hell with it. She had a business to run again. She'd planned
on going somewhere for the holidays, hadn't she? She couldn't
remember, only recalled telling her latest secretary that she'd be
back after a while. It was time to return.
Return to what? asked a small voice.
"My life," she said out loud.
You don't have a life. You have a shadow that you cling to
and call it existence. If you had any sense of honor left, you'd
go find Macbeth and ask him to end both your lives.
"Who the hell are you!"
I'm you. I'm the part you've been trying to drown in bourbon
this past week.
"You sound like that fay wretch." An image of Puck swam
before her vision, but she knew this Puck was in her mind and only
half-swatted him away.
I sound however you want me to sound. You know I'm right.
"I am not going to kill myself," she enunciated. "I want to
live. I want to build a world for my daughter, where she can be
safe from those blasted humans."
Then do something about it.
"I've tried!" She noticed that she was shouting at herself
and didn't give a damn. "Every time I've tried, something goes
wrong."
Quitter.
"Am not," she slurred.
Prove it. And thankfully, the voice shut up, leaving her
alone again. As she was always alone.
Angela ... She remembered her first sight of her child, as Demona had
recovered from yet another death. Her face had been so open, so
innocent, and even then, before she'd known for certain, part of her had
already known and felt and rejoiced. The miracle of miracles had
occurred: her egg, her only egg, had hatched in safety and grown into a
remarkable young woman.
And Goliath had found her first, had poisoned her mind against
her mother.
She'd tried, hard, to get the girl to see reason. She'd gone so far as to
willingly spend months in a cage just to have her ear. Nothing had
worked. Angela wouldn't listen.
She should have dropped the vial, ended it for them all.
No, where there was life, there was hope. Angela lived, and
could be made to see. She was so young, so beautiful, and just
slightly confused as to the way of the world.
Demona was immortal. She could spend the time. She would
spend the time.
Suddenly, everything was clear to her. She knew what she had
to do, and how to go about doing it. The plan crystallized in her
mind like a sudden snowstorm, covering her inner terrain with a
crisp white blanket of logic: kill Goliath, frame his human pet,
and Angela would know the truth about humans.
Demona remembered why she did drink sometimes. It made her
world a simpler place.
VVVVV
The party ended late, for those who went by a daylit schedule.
For the night-dwellers, it was the equivalent to some time after
lunch and before dinner. Elisa had counted herself among the
latter for the past few years, and found herself amused when the
rest of the group started nodding at only 2 am.
She had a rare night off, and didn't care to waste it sleeping. She'd
barely tasted the champagne, unlike many of the other revelers. As
people wandered, or staggered, off in their pairs and families, with
many solitary party-goers also returning to their dark homes, she
noticed several people eying her in curiosity and only now did she
remember why. She had been utterly at ease down here in Goliath's
presence, hadn't even thought to hide her feelings towards him in front
of everyone else.
Ease. She smiled. She felt easy around him, and not in the sense her
siblings would automatically take it, either. With Goliath, she didn't
have to be always in charge, always strong, always right. Yet, when she
was with him, she set the pace their relationship was taking, and she
was strong, and her life felt more right than it ever had before.
She'd noticed the same effect in him. Around the rest of the
clan he was the leader, the decision-maker, the rock on whom the
others leaned, if one pardoned the pun. When they were together,
he could relax. They would sit for hours and discuss books, or
watch rented movies and then debate theme, metaphor and mood.
She'd reintroduced him to Shakespeare via Jacoby and Brannagh and
Thompson. He pressed books into her hands she hadn't read. In her
free moments, she'd found there new friends in John Irving and
Walter Mosely, then had to explain to him why the protagonist in
the latter's works was treated so poorly by the other characters.
He found it peculiar that humans would waste so much time hating
other humans for no better reason than the birthplaces of each
other's great-grandparents. This had led to a long discussion of
the 1960's, as filtered through her own memories and stories her
parents had told.
As he questioned, and learned, and challenged her, he was not
the same person who ordered nightly patrols of the city, and who
met with Xanatos to discuss appropriate boundaries for all the
castle's residents. With her, and only with her, he was a dreamer
apt to become lost within the world of Byron's gloomy visions. He
was also the first person who'd held out his hand and offered to
take her with him when he did.
"Elisa ... " She recoiled back to reality with a snap. In her reverie, she
had once again disregarded the rest of the world, and blushed slightly as
she noted the room was much emptier than it had been minutes ago,
and was growing cooler for the lack of body heat. Her mother stood
beside her. Her father was a few feet away, still in conversation with
Derek, but the smirk almost hidden on his lips let her know he'd seen
her distraction.
"Your father and I are going home in a few minutes. Would you
like a ride?"
"No thanks. I think we're walking back."
"All right." Her mother hugged her, and only then did Elisa
notice something was not all right. She heard the restrained
emotion as her mother said softly, "Happy New Year, Elisa."
"Mom?" She pulled away, read the strain on her mother's face.
"What is it?"
"Nothing." Her hands lingered at Elisa's shoulders, played
idly with Elisa's hair behind her. "Do you remember the first time
we let you stay up to watch the ball at Times Square?"
"No, because I fell asleep at eleven anyway." She smiled, and
Mom smiled back. That was it. She was just feeling maudlin about
all her chicks being out of the nest, and her first grandchild on
the way. "Happy New Year, Mom," she said.
Her mother blinked quickly, and her mascara smeared. Her
father, sensing his wife's distress, or just ready to go, appeared
at her side.
"Are you riding with us?" he asked her. Behind him, she saw
Claw gathering the clones. She shook her head while Maggie and
Claw led the garish group away, probably to the chamber that was
their schoolroom and playroom. "Okay." He gave her a kiss on the
forehead. "Give us a call now and then. I don't want to have to
come down here to pump Derek for details about you all the time."
"I heard that," said her brother, picking an errant cup from
the ground disdainfully. Derek had never been a big fan of washing
dishes.
"I'll call," she promised.
"Good-night, Goliath," said her mother, her eyes going from
him to Elisa and back again quickly.
He bowed his head gracefully. "Diane. Peter."
"Which way are ye headed out?" asked Hudson, who'd walked up
behind them. "I'm goin' back to the castle," he added to Goliath.
He appeared sober, and Elisa reminded herself: bigger body mass,
bigger tolerance. Mathematical fact.
"I'll be in later," said Goliath. Hudson nodded his acknowledgment,
and escorted her parents out. She worried for a
moment, then decided the three of them could handle any trouble
they encountered on the way to her parents' car.
"I'm sure you two would like to hang out here all night," said
Derek, "but some of us would like to get some rest." He took her
into a hug. "Happy New Year, Sis."
"Happy New Year, little brother," she replied, and for a
moment saw the same vague sadness she'd seen in their mother's
eyes. "What is it?"
"Did Beth tell you why she went back to school so soon?"
Goliath suddenly found something interesting to look at on the
floor.
"She wanted to make some headway on her honors thesis." She
paused. "Didn't she?" Beth hadn't been exactly communicative with
the family since Thanksgiving; she'd spent only four days at home
for Christmas. She'd been going through a rebellious period.
Elisa's view on it was to let her sort things out on her own terms.
She'd watched Derek's radical rebel phase, all three weeks of
it, with somewhat less detachment. He'd told her she was selling
out to the system by applying for the Academy. She'd told him to
drop the victim mentality and grow up. Eventually, they had met in
the middle, like they always did. He'd reduced his involvement
with the Panthers in favor of other activities, while she began
examining, then challenging, minority hiring practices on the
force. It hadn't made her many friends in those first days, but it
had won respect among the people who were now her coworkers.
"I don't know why she did it," admitted Derek. "It's probably
just schoolwork, like you said, but it's bothering Mom."
"I noticed."
"Anyway," he said, "you two get going." He glanced up at
Goliath. "Make sure she gets home okay?"
"Of course."
"Excuse me," she said sweetly, "but who ends up saving whose
neck most of the time?"
Derek didn't laugh, but he did smile toothily, and she hugged
him again. The missing happiness returned to his face. A moment
later, she saw Maggie back from the darkness, and understood that
Claw would be clone-sitting this evening.
She placed her hand in Goliath's arm, and walked with him.
They took the most direct route from the Labyrinth to the
Park. It was bitterly cold outside, too cold to stroll despite the
thick coat she'd brought out for this week. They found the rock
promontory near the Museum. He wrapped her in his arms as they
took flight.
As the gargoyle flew, her apartment wasn't far. Within a few
minutes, they'd reached her rooftop, and as it was really too cold
for her to stand outside and talk, he came inside without quarrel
or hesitation. She hung her coat on the rack, beside her
temporarily-abandoned jacket. She brushed it once to smooth it,
felt warm spots lingering from where it had been pressed against
him, and shivered.
"Do you want some coffee or tea?" she asked quickly.
"Tea." He stood in her living room, awkward for all his years.
"You can sit down, you know." She ran the tap until it was
cold, then filled the teapot and set it on the stove. "Any tea
preference? I've got a few."
Her Secret Santa this year had given her a huge sampler of
teas, then a super-sized coffee mug with her name, and finally, a
year's paid subscription to the Precinct Coffee Club. The fourth,
and Santa-revealing, gift had been a little figurine of the station
house, with the clock tower intact. The city had been selling them
as a fundraiser to get the place fixed. "Santa Bluestone" had
glued seven pebbles to the top. She'd been so happy that she'd
actually pulled him under the mistletoe and kissed his cheek, and
oh but that had given the rumor mill a holiday present of its own.
"Do you have any ... darjeeling?" He said the word uneasily,
like a boy on his first date asking for a Coke.
She checked. "Yes." She took out a darjeeling and a raspberry.
As she walked into the living room, she glanced at the figurine on the
coffee table. Matt, Morgan, and some of the other singles on the force
had thrown a party of their own this evening. She was just as happy to
bow out; the only one who knew she was seeing someone was Matt,
and everyone else thought she was seeing him.
Goliath had left a perfect Elisa-sized spot open for her on
the sofa. She placed herself there happily, and rested her head
against his arm.
No, she wasn't seeing Matt.
He made a noise in his throat as she settled more comfortably
into him: a gargoyle purr, if there was such a thing, or perhaps
just a heavier sigh than a human made. She'd never been sure, knew
only that it was a noise she felt in the pit of her stomach, to be
followed by the quick hot firing of her nerves. Whatever he was
doing, it always managed to make her feel warm. The kettle chugged
on the stove, making sharp noises of its own.
Goliath's hand rested on her shoulder, one talon playing
unconsciously with a dark lock of her hair. That one touch was all
he gave her. Had she not moved against him, he would not have
dared even that. She wondered sometimes if he was afraid she might
break.
Instead of asking him, she took his hand from her shoulder,
held it at her cheek, and slipped out from under his arm to catch
the kettle before it squealed. His craggy features moved through
bewilderment and disappointment in less than a moment and he
covered both as she poured the tea. Once upon a time, she wouldn't
have known his face well enough to have even noticed. Tonight, she
couldn't imagine not knowing every detail, every expression, from
a long series of sunny days spent snoozing in his shadow, watching
him as he rested in stone slumber.
"One darjeeling, no sugar," she said brightly, and handed him
the steaming mug. His hands surrounded hers, burning her more with
that warmth than the cup itself did. She gasped, and he withdrew
like a shot.
"Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," she lied. What was wrong with her? She hurried
back into the kitchen, turned her face from his for long enough to
catch her breath, and then brought her own tea into the living
room. "Be careful, it's hot."
He sipped at his tea with perfect delicacy, enough to shame
the most proper Brit. Then she remembered he was British. Her
mind, completely without reason, provided her with the sound of his
lovely deep voice doing a Sean Connery imitation. The grin on her
face wouldn't leave.
She set the tea carefully on the coffee table and returned to
her previous position. He had shifted a little, and the warm spot
had moved. She settled in anyway.
"I wonder what the rest of the clan is doing," Goliath mused,
and again his voice sent shudders inside her.
"They did Times Square at midnight, right? They're probably
out enjoying themselves right now." More like Lex and Brooklyn
were trying to get Broadway to enjoy himself. He'd been moody and
sulky since Angela had returned to Avalon. She couldn't blame him.
If she had to face losing Goliath for months, maybe years, she
would probably be in a lousy mood, too. Heck, she hated being away
from him during the day.
Maybe he had learned telepathy and was reading her thoughts,
for he tentatively moved his arm down and curled it around her,
drawing her closer to him. When she neither objected nor
shattered, he smiled a little. He was so handsome when he smiled.
I love you, she thought at him as a test. He didn't respond,
and she sighed. It seemed there would be no mind reading tonight.
But somehow, she didn't mind.
VVVVV
A hand slapped down in front of his face, rattling the desk, scattering
papers like crisp autumn leaves. Anton opened one eye, saw the
deceivingly delicate fingers splayed before him, followed the curve of
the hand to where it was swallowed in a richly-tailored red sleeve. He
closed his eye again.
"Wake up," she hissed impatiently.
"I'm awake." He recalled looking at his watch around four am,
thinking to himself that he'd somehow missed the birth of 1997,
then returning to the calculations he'd been poring over for the
previous nine hours. He'd prefer using a computer, but this
particular sequence involved matrix functions he hadn't encountered
since his days at MIT, and while software was available that could
probably handle the load, he trusted his own thought processes
better. Besides, he could check them later. He'd grown too
excited at his latest project to allow even the delay of inputting
the mess into the mainframe to separate him from the answer. He'd
gotten close, too. He hadn't just found the replication rate of
this thin strand of proteins, he'd almost, almost found out why.
What could be understood could be controlled. He curved his mouth.
Not cloning, not splicing, but soon, the creation of life itself in
any form he desired would be within his grasp. Then they would
see. His mind formed a pleasant image of Meikle, who'd gotten him
thrown out of the university, his face a mask of terror as Anton's
baby walked towards him with deliberate, slurping steps ...
Hands grasped his collar, pulled him up and against the back
of his chair. Sleep was so much more restful in his bed than on
his desk; one would think he could learn to go home. He opened his
eyes again.
"Oh, it's you. I'd hoped you left."
"I need something from you." He let his gaze wander from her face,
felt satisfaction as she dropped him and glared at him in disgust.
"Watch your place, Sevarius."
"Yes, Demona. I'd like to help, really I would, but as you can see," he
indicated his work, now strewn about the desk and floor, with a sweep
of his hand, "I'm quite busy."
"You'd best not be too busy for me. It would be a pity if you
outlived your usefulness."
He considered reminding her who was the scientist and who the
half-gargoyle metamorph, then decided she would be more easily
controlled when she was calm. "What do you want?" he asked in fake
resignation.
"You cloned Elisa Maza," funny how much venom she could put in
the mention of the woman's name, "and made that ... thing." The
venom doubled.
Anton couldn't resist. "You mean Delilah."
The darkness on her face made him regret saying the name, as
she shoved him back with such force he lost balance. The chair
legs tilted out from beneath him, and he tumbled to the floor.
"Bad enough that he stole my very genes, but then put her
face on his toy." She growled, and he remembered again that the
red-haired woman was merely the guise, and the blue demon beneath
the reality. She would just as easily break his neck as sign his
paycheck, and only his brain and charm kept her from doing it.
When his charm wore thin, he still had a sizeable bargaining chip.
He hoped it would be enough.
"You used her blood."
"Yes." The mosquitoes had been a stroke of genius, even for
him.
"I need a sample of it."
Questions fired in his mind: "What for?" "Are you mad?" "Do
you honestly think I'd give it to you?" His self-preservation
instincts kicked in, leading him to instead ask, "You do?"
"I do."
"I don't have any left."
"What? You had enough to make a clone."
"That was months ago. The little I had degraded, and even
then I had only a few drops." Which he had cryogenically frozen as
soon as he'd been able, but she didn't need to know that. His
other project needed base materials; he hadn't yet given up hope of
using Maza directly rather than the pale reflection he'd created.
The other reflections, and he had a little something from everyone
he could, remained sleeping in cold storage, and would until their
own times had come. He reminded himself to check his assets in
Switzerland. He'd have to make a large transfer soon, if all went
according to plan.
"Get more."
"I have her DNA code on file. If you want to clone her, I can
do it without more samples."
"I don't want another Elisa Maza!" she snapped. "I don't want
the one we have now. She and her kind are a blight on the planet."
Anton frowned but did not disagree. For the most part, he had to
admit his own race was worthless. Given a little time, he was
certain he could improve it. Why not? Wasn't he a shining example
of what could be done given the right tools? He barely considered
himself in the same species with the things he'd dragged from the
streets for his experiments back in the good old days. Humans?
Them? Hardly. They'd been more like rats, scrounging bitterly on
the edges of society for food and heat. Anything he'd done had
only raised them up from the decay that had been their only
existence.
"Then what do you want?" He attempted to sound impatient
without being rude. Rudeness could get him killed.
"I want her blood. Drops will suffice. Obtain it for me."
"I told you, I'm busy."
"Yes. You are."
He considered arguing, pointing to his work again, playing up
its benefits to her. Then he saw the look in her green eyes, and
stifled a shudder. Demona, Dominique, whatever she wanted to call
herself, had always been one shade within the happy side of
insanity. He'd seen her drift to the opposite end once or twice,
and he felt grateful for being permitted to live through those
experiences. In many ways, she was like a rabid dog. He'd
eventually have to put her down, though he hadn't the faintest clue
as to how.
He'd learned of her immortality from Thailog, who'd wondered
if it would also apply to Delilah. It didn't appear to, and the
clone had been too fond of the plaything he'd created to test her
limits. The thought was intriguing to Anton's mind. Could he
isolate what made Demona immortal, use it for himself? Xanatos
would sell what remained of his soul for that secret, and Anton
would be more than happy to be the one collecting.
She waited before him, expecting an answer. If it was the
wrong one, he'd probably die before he finished his project, his
reason for working. That would be a pity.
"I'll see what I can do." Mosquitoes in January? No one was
going to buy that one. He'd have to figure out a better means of
gathering blood, short of vampirism. He sighed and started
thinking about his new problem.
VVVVV
Because it was New Year's Day, and because his employers were
both suffering mild hangovers from the client party the night
before, Owen had the day free. Had it been any other holiday, he
probably would have spent it in his office or his quarters,
immersed in work. He was still behind from his forced
convalescence of October and November.
The part of him that had seen over three thousand years was
amused by the significance humans placed on their passage. One
year, after all, was really much like any other. One more year
around the sun, eh, and a tip of the champagne bottle, and watch
them not even celebrate it at the proper time. Two months late
they were this time. One might as well choose the fourteenth of
July and call it New Year.
The part of him that wore the body of a thirty-two year old
mortal had taken up a certain tradition on this day. When he'd
first come to New York to live, the woman known to the world as
Anastasia Renard had already been performing it for years. He had
joined her in the ritual, and eventually taken over for her, as she
traveled further and further from this place.
The cream-coloured jacket he wore was a bit light for the
weather. He adjusted the parcel he carried, then zipped the jacket
to his neck. He had forgone his typical business suit for more
comfortable apparel; mostly unworn, the material chafed at him as
if it were new. His legs itched from walking.
Central Park was never deserted. He saw joggers, trying to
make the most of the dying afternoon light, puffing small clouds of
steam as they made their determined way on their accustomed trails.
A few brave pet owners walked their dogs, staring at them in the
hopes of convincing them that here was as good a spot as any, and
swearing when Fido or Fifi only sniffed and moved onwards.
Mortals.
He found the place for which he'd been looking. The landscape
rolled up and over, showing a gaping mouth of a steam tunnel.
Glancing around to be certain of no special attention being paid
him, he strolled inside.
Ten minutes later, he was climbing down a vast staircase that
headed beneath the bowels of the city. He had no idea who had once
carved it, or why it had been abandoned. Strange things existed
here in the netherworld beneath the city streets, and this was not
the strangest. Several blocks over, Talon and the other Mutates
had taken up residence with some homeless folk, a fact which amused
his master and worried him. They were dangerously close to
another community very much like their own, and the time wasn't
yet right for the two to meet.
He flashed his Maglite down the stairwell. It highlighted
nothing but more darkness. He shivered involuntarily, although it
was warmer in here than outside. The last time he'd come, he'd
been informed that the great blind white Alligator King had been
slain by a woman who called herself Hunter, and he was fairly
certain it had not been Robyn Canmore. He did not fear this
Hunter. He feared the things that had remained hidden in the
darkness dreading the King's wrath.
Something caught in the beam of his light. Yes, there it was!
The marker!
A few more steps, and he was on the correct level. The winds
blew at him, whispering voices from the city beyond. Some called
to him, Come dance with us, pretty fairy! Some tempted him with
mortal pleasures, some with the forbidden but more savory
enticement of a return to grace.
He blocked his ears, and the insincere promises of the wind
faded. They sang old songs of forgotten dreams, and had only the
power he granted them. Her chamber was just past here.
The brown old woman bent over a cauldron, muttering to herself. She
wore a concoction of gaily-colored rags, making her almost
indistinguishable from any other homeless person on the street. If one
knew where to look, and how, one might have seen a pattern to her
crazy-quilt clothing, a style of courtly garb centuries out of date.
She did not turn around, but said in a light Jamaican accent, "So.
You've been banished."
"Bad news travels quickly. Who told you?"
"I do have a brain." Her accent vanished. "All the magic has
gone from this place, save a sprinkling on you that is not even
your own. Oberon has finally discovered his lapdog's teeth, and
has sent him into the streets with the rest of the curs."
"I prefer to think of it as being on extended holiday in the
mortal world."
She turned around, scowling. "Trickster."
"Witch."
"Lackey."
"Traitor."
"Perhaps I'm not the only one. Why did he cast you out?"
"I refused his summons. He's called for the Gathering."
"Don't you think I know that!" She tapped her forehead. "I
can hear him, calling me. Another part of my punishment, to feel
the overpowering urge to return with the rest of our kind, knowing
that to do so means my death." She peered at him. "But it seems
you understand that, too."
"Yes." She went back to her stirring. He found a nearly-
clear space to set the bundle he'd brought her. "How are the
children?"
"Vincent's second child was born late in the summer. A girl."
"I sensed." For being utterly ignorant of his origins and
completely untrained, Vincent had a surprisingly strong presence,
a trait he appeared to have passed on to his children.
"His brother has taken up with a young woman. I expect
they'll wed soon." She smiled vaguely. "He builds things, you
know, out of iron. He's another Hephaestus." She went back to her
stirring. She had told him the same thing a year ago. The boy
might be married now, or dead. The woman's mind was not what it
had once been.
He considered her, thoughtfully. Before Oberon's ascension to
the throne, all of their kind had been created by the first Queen
or else born of other Children. Oberon was bound to prove he could
create a child from pure magic as She had done with him, and to
outdo Her work. His first attempt had been to create the
impossible: a Child with no fear of iron. He succeeded, and
brought forth Hephaestus. It was true the new Child could bend
iron to his will, something no other of their kind dared even
consider, but in return he had very little magic, and could not
change the hideously ugly form he wore. Oberon, always too
enamored of beauty, was repulsed by his creation, and never
attempted another Child with the iron gift.
As time went by, others dabbled in the formation of life from
raw magics. Narcissa and her husband created between them a
simulacrum of Aphrodite, and named her Galatea. The jealous
goddess, seeing her own beauty rivaled, bade her son Eros to put
love for the ugly Hephaestus into the girl, hoping to make her a
laughingstock among the others. The final jest had been on
Aphrodite, for the couple became the closest of lovers and friends.
When the rebellion had come, and Hephaestus and Narcissa were
banished forever for their roles in the battle, Galatea had
accepted banishment with them. The lovers had died in exile. He
himself had attended Hephaestus' funeral at Titania's side.
"The Queen sends her regards," he said, finally.
The stirring stopped. "How does she fare?"
"Well. She remarried Oberon and has returned to the Island."
He hesitated. "She has become a grandmother."
"Not from the Three."
"No. The halfling. Fox."
"Indeed." She looked out into nothingness. When she began to
speak again, he knew she was Seeing. He had the gift of prophecy,
could make out images of what might be. Narcissa, like poor
Cassandra, was cursed with True Sight. What she Saw would be.
"I have a secret to tell you, Trickster. We are never far
from those we love." She stared at him with sightless eyes.
"Vincent's girl-child will know the babe whose cradle you rock.
She will be his Titania." Fear trickled down his spine.
"I have to go," he said quickly. "There's food and clothing
in the bundle." He moved to the doorway of the chamber.
"When you next see the Queen, send her my love."
"I will." She turned back to her cauldron. She pulled out
her spoon and tasted the mixture, then smiled. "Needs salt," he
heard her say, and then the mad voices of the wind stole away
whatever else she might have said.
VVVVV
Delilah shivered in the crisp night air. The Labyrinth was
always damp and chilly, but this was true cold, something her foggy
memory associated with being up top. She'd been programmed with
the knowledge of summer, knew what the sun looked like for the same
reason, but the former had already ended when she'd stepped out of
the vat, and the latter had no more meaning than a fairy tale.
The world glittered.
Snow lay dusted over everything in the Park, like frosting on
a cookie. She'd never seen snow before, not really, and she
scooped a few flakes into her hand. Not sweet, not salty, they
melted on her tongue and were gone.
She reminded herself that she was up top on a very important
mission. Some of the Labyrinth's other children had come up to
play not long before, and they'd asked if Brentwood could join
them. The human children had never wanted to play with them
before, but he'd always wanted to play with them, even more than
the rest of her brothers. Maybe it was because he was smaller than
them. Maggie wanted to see him, now, though, and she'd sent 'Lilah
to fetch him.
Brent had wanted to play with the other kids for a long time. 'Lilah had
wanted to go outside for a long time. Since those were
two long times, she didn't hurry to find him. Things up here were
so pretty! She had dared other, more secret trips to the Park, as
her heart had hammered in her chest that she was going to be
caught, by a human or by a Mutate, and she would be in trouble
either way. She had never stayed more than a few minutes. Now she
had permission to be out here, and she wanted to enjoy every
minute.
In the unchanging light of the Labyrinth, time passed in two
ways: when she was stone and when she wasn't. Several nights had
passed since the last party. Her fears of the party to come, the
kindling, as Hudson called it, were fading. Maybe if she didn't
think about it, it would never happen. Her tummy twisted and
released. She gasped and grabbed her belly, then glared at the
bulge.
"You be good!" she whispered. Her voice was muffled by the
powdery snow.
"Lookit, Dad!" A child's voice, unfamiliar, came from very
near. Terrified, 'Lilah fled into a shadow, and stayed there,
panting. "Aw," said the child. "They melted."
She heard a laugh, low and rumbling. "They do that." A
pause. "There, do you see?" His voice was deep and comforting,
like Talon's.
"Those two look kinda alike."
"But not exactly." She guessed the voices to be far enough
away to be safe. She peeked out of her hiding place, wings drawn
in so tight that she was almost choking.
Not far from where she hid, another two figures walked in the
spidery shadows cast by streetlights and the naked trees on the
snow. The larger, the father she guessed, was cloaked in deep
brown. The child wore layers of clothes like the humans in the
Labyrinth, and had a warm-looking knitted cap on his head. They
were both watching snowflakes on the boy's mitten. Neither of them
looked her way.
"Look!" said the boy, breath puffing in the cold. "See?
Toldja there could be twins."
His father peered. "Close, but not quite." His cloak moved
aside, revealing for a moment ... She wasn't sure what she thought
she saw, but compared to some of what she'd seen during her short
life, it wasn't high on the list of weird things. She turned and
took a different path towards where the kids said they'd be.
She heard the kids a good space away. They were louder than
they ought to be. Someone might hear them and come looking and
find Brent. That would be bad.
The playground came into view, and she froze. The kids had
taken the swings down from over the tops, and two were swinging,
laughing loudly. The rest were gathered around a spinning thing
with bars to hold onto; she'd seen one like it once in a picture
book. Brent was in the center of the thing, holding on for dear
life as it spun faster and faster. He had white splotches all over
him; as she watched open-mouthed, one of the kids threw another
snowball at him. He ducked, but it hit him anyway.
"Stop it!" she shouted, not caring who heard her. Her eyes
blazed white. With satisfaction, she watched the kids scurry away
from the spinning thing. Without their influence, it started
slowing down. 'Lilah ran to it and slowed it with one hand.
Brent, red eyes wide and scared, crept off it, legs shaky. As
he took a step, he fell into the muddy slush made by the kids'
feet. From a safe distance, some of them snickered. Others held
hands over their mouths to stop the laughs. She growled at them.
A thud hit the back of her head, and cold wetness slid down
her back. "Freak!" shouted the pitcher. Brent got to his feet and
wiped himself off with his hands. She judged the distance between
them and the kid, knew she wouldn't reach him before he'd dashed
out of sight, not as fat as she was.
"C'mon, Brent," she said, tears stinging her eyes and throat.
"Maggie wants to see you."
"But ... "
"They're just stupid kids," she said loudly, and grabbed his
hand. "You okay?"
"Yeah." Then he looked at the children. She'd known him all
her life, and only once had she ever seen such pain on his face.
Another snowball whizzed by her ear. She spun and roared,
noting the fear on the faces of their tormentors. Brent's eyes
went bright red, and before she could stop him, he went after the
kid who'd thrown the snowball. Just as she'd thought, the kid and
his friends were far enough away to be gone by the time Brent
reached the place they'd been.
Brent stood there, shaking in anger.
"C'mon," she called to him again. The snow melted in her
hair, making her cold. "We oughta go."
He took her hand. They made their silent way back to the
opening, back to the Labyrinth. The snow which had been so cheery
now just froze her feet and tail. Neither spoke during their long
way back to the chamber where Maggie waited.
Her bright face turned to one of concern when they arrived.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing," said 'Lilah, before Brent could say a word.
VVVVV
With the rare gift she had for these things, Elisa honed in on
a parking spot a block from the Amsterdam Caf‚, and slipped the
Fairlane into it before anyone else. She shut off the ignition,
listened worriedly as it muttered for a few more seconds before
dying, and reminded herself to take it to the shop for a tuneup.
As she got out, she rested her hand on the roof, feeling the
still-sleek metal. Restoring the old car had been a months-long
restoration project about ten years back for her father and
brother. The thing had resided under a blue tarp in the backyard,
and every weekend, the two Maza males had gone out to tinker with
the engine, the body, and the rest. She'd spent some time helping
them, but there had been an underlying current of father-son
bonding being interrupted, so those times had not been often. On
her eighteenth birthday, she'd gone outside and found the car
completely refinished, with a large red bow stuck to the top. All
those months, and she'd never even realized.
The restaurant was already getting crowded. She spotted her
mother sitting outside and waved, then made her way to the table.
"Hi Mom," she said, placing a comfortable kiss on the woman's
cheek. "You're early."
"The meeting let out early. I can't wait until classes begin
again. Faculty meetings are duller than dirt."
Elisa opened her menu, already knowing what she would probably
order. She'd been here once or twice before to meet Mom. The caf‚
was close enough to the university for her mother to walk, but she
always had to fight midtown traffic. She considered the night she
had ahead of her, then ordered the chicken sandwich platter. Diane
ordered a salad.
"Have to keep my girlish figure, you know," she said, and Elisa made
an exaggerated look up and down of her.
"You know, when I mention you to my friends, the word 'girlish' is
always the first one to pop into mind."
"Just wait until you have three children. Then we'll see who's teasing
whom."
Elisa bit her lip. "Yeah, just wait."
Mom's face flooded with concern. "Elisa, I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I'm happy. I'm lucky, too. Angela's already one
of my best friends, and I didn't need to go through those awkward
teenage years with her." She played with her napkin, thinking
uncomfortably of her other quasi-daughter.
Was there a way to explain to her mother the unease she'd been
feeling around Delilah more and more? She knew why, hated herself
a little for it, but the fact was that the clone had her face and
her voice, and was going to have a baby any day. Elisa knew the
circumstances too well, knew how old 'Lilah was mentally, knew
there was no way in several hells that she'd been mature enough to
consent to anything, knew there was more than a good chance that
the egg, if egg it was, would never hatch because of 'Lilah's
genetic makeup. She knew all this, and still she found herself
watching the girl with envy, and that wasn't healthy for either of
them.
"Have you heard anything from her?"
No, because I've been avoiding ... Oh, Angela. She shook her
head. "Not since she left. It's only been six weeks. Where she
is, that's," she did the math, "not even two days."
"How long will she be gone, do you think?"
"No idea. Owen said Katharine is dying. That could mean
weeks, or even months. Angela's going to want to stay until she
does." She took a sip from her water glass. "Demona can wish, and
I can pretend, but Katharine is her Mom." She reached over the
table, took her mother's hand. Diane placed her other hand on top.
"Talk to me, Mom. Why did you want to have dinner here? We could
have done this at home."
"I like it here. Besides, I wanted a chance to talk with you.
We don't do this often enough."
"And I'm the only one you can talk with here," she said.
"There's that." The waitress brought their food. Elisa dug
into her sandwich with vigor, discovering to her surprise that she
was ravenous. Her mother went at her salad with less gusto,
picking at the lettuce with her fork before finally taking a bite.
"Elisa ... " She paused, stared at her for a long moment, then
changed her tone. "How's Goliath?"
Wonderful, she thought. Amazing, incredible, warm, exciting,
perfect, she thought. "Fine," she said. "I guess. He misses
Angela. We all do. Why?"
"It's been a while since I've seen him."
"Two weeks."
"That's long enough. I mean, he is family now, and while I
understand he can't exactly drop by for Sunday dinner, he's
certainly welcome." The words came out in a flood; Elisa washed
along with them, then paddled back madly.
Family? "Mom ... "
Diane suddenly found her salad very interesting, and attacked
it voraciously. Elisa sighed.
"What is it, Mom?" she asked as her mother took a bite of
tomato.
"Elisa," she began hesitantly, "I don't know how to put this
right. I know how important it is to you, and how satisfied you've
been, but ... " Elisa felt a blush creeping to her ears. Was it
that obvious? It wasn't like they'd ... She missed her mother's
next words, was certain she'd misheard.
"Huh?" she managed.
Diane looked away, down, anywhere but her face. "I knew you
wouldn't consider it. The force is too important to you."
An image of Alec Guinness popped into her head.
"Mom, I'm really confused right now." Mom patted her hand.
"I know, dear. I was confused, too, when I was your age.
Should I go into teaching? Should I stay home with you and your
brother? You've spent enough years as a cop. You have a
psychology degree, dear. You could go on for your Master's, your
Doctorate, even teach here or at Barnard. I think you'd enjoy the
challenge." Her eyes were bright with hope.
"You want me to leave the force?" She sat back, staring at
her mother dumbfounded. This had not been what she'd expected to
hear.
"I know, I know, you love it." There was defeat in her mother's voice,
and grief. Elisa suspected she knew the cause.
"This is about Andy, isn't it?"
Andy had been her country cousin, the only son of Grandpa
Darren's youngest brother. He'd been born and raised in a small
town in Pennsylvania, and had eventually become the sheriff. She
remembered infrequent trips to his house at holidays, how he always
touted the benefits to small town life over the myriad dangers of
the big city.
In the summer, he and his wife had been brutally murdered in their safe,
small-town home. It could have been a racial incident, but from
what they'd been able to glean, it had been associated with a case he'd
been working on at the time of his death. Mom hadn't spoken much of
it since, but now the truth, and the grief, were clear in her eyes.
"I don't want to lose you," she said softly.
"You're not going to lose me, Mom. I'm not going anywhere."
"You live dangerously, Elisa. It was bad enough," her breath
caught. "It was bad enough knowing every day when your father went
to work that he might never come home. Then you decided you wanted
to be a cop, and then Derek decided the same thing, and then I
had to worry three times as much every single day."
"I love my job, Mom." Sometimes it was hard, sometimes
dangerous, and sometimes just wearying, when perps were back out on
the street within hours. But it was who she was.
"I know."
Elisa glanced at her watch. "Damn. And speaking of the job
I love, I'm gonna be late." She finished the last bite of her
sandwich, looked longingly at the fries, and waved at the waitress.
"I'll get dinner. You get to work."
"Thanks, Mom," she said, and gave her another kiss on the cheek. "I'll
see you on Sunday. And I promise to be careful."
"Yes, dear." She didn't sound convinced, but Elisa didn't have time to
comfort her further. She scooted off towards the entrance, and did not
hear her mother's following:
"Dear! You have ... Oh never mind."
VVVVV