'Tis The Season, Act II
By Harvester of Eyes Mumbo-Jumbo: All the characters appearing in Gargoyles and Gargoyles: The Goliath Chronicles are copyright Buena Vista Television/The Walt Disney Company. No infringement of these copyrights is intended, and is not authorized by the copyright holder. All original characters are the property of the author. This work is being distributed freely and without any financial gain whatsoever.
Warning: What with this being a Christmas tale, I did my very best to make this one enjoyable for all ages, but there might be a few small things that may not be for kids. It's rated PG, but parents: you can judge for yourselves. Hell, that's what you should be doing anyway. They're your kids.
As with everything I write, comments are welcome, but I do ask that you not over-analyze this one. It's intended to be little more than satire, so lighten up and just try to enjoy it. And I apologize in advance to that master of the English language, the late Mr. Dickens.
A moment later, the rapidly spinning memory-world pressed in all around, so tight that Demona could almost feel it push the air from her lungs. For the briefest of seconds, it was as if the weight of the universe bore down upon her. Then everything went black and silent.…
…It ended more quickly than it started. As feeling returned to her body, Demona became aware that she was surrounded by a warm, familiar substance with the texture of silk. Cautiously, she opened her eyes, and found herself lying in her own bed.
She groaned, and rolled over onto her back. Could she have dreamed that whole thing? If it was a dream, it was certainly very vivid. She remembered all she'd seen and heard, even all she'd felt, in absolute detail. Her head spun as the pockets of memory replayed themselves, things she had worked most of her ageless life to forget.
Demona gave a weary yawn. She wanted to go back to sleep, but part of her was wary. If she had dreamed it, she certainly didn't want to risk having another.
Slowly, she sat up in bed, using her taloned feet to kick the sheets from her body. She looked down as they were pushed away, saw that she was still dressed. Funny, she hadn't worn her clothes to bed. Demona sighed, realizing that this meant she probably hadbeen visited by one of Puck's friends, and taken on a tour through her past.
Demona almost wished it were a dream. At least when she dreamed about the past, she was never a second-hand observer like tonight. Something about watching herself, at all those key moments in her life, gave her a bitter feeling that gnawed at her stomach.
The words of the shapeshifter, right before it parted ways with her, ran through her head like a repeating film reel. In the end, Demona, all anyone has are memories, and memories are the sum of the choices you make. No one else makes those choices for you. Demona shut her eyes tight, trying to silence the voice. It was speaking nonsense, anyway.
If it's speaking nonsense, why are you dwelling on it? Asked another, tinier voice in the deeper recesses of her mind. Demona would not have given it an answer, even if she had one to give. Thinking about it was not helping her mood.
"I need a drink," she muttered, swinging her legs around and planting her feet on the floor. As she rose from the mattress, she glanced at the clock on her bedside table. It was just one-thirty in the morning. Had it really only been a half-hour since she'd last looked at the clock? It felt like centuries.
As Demona walked around the bed towards the door to the hall, she glanced down, saw her laser gun lying by the window. The edges of the handle, and most of the housing, were blackened. Demona picked it up and saw upon further examination that someone had shattered the thermal regulation coils, causing the weapon to overheat and the power core to melt.
The changeling had done that, back when it had first intruded upon Demona's privacy. Then it did happen. This affirmation only strengthened Demona's desire for a drink.
She made her way downstairs to her living room, and stopped a few yards from the doorway. A flickering red light, indicating a fire in the fireplace, was emanating from the room, casting shadows like dancing spirits on the far wall of the corridor. Demona turned around quietly, her footfalls as silent as a cat's, and made her way to the kitchen.
She'd not made a fire. In fact, she barely used the fireplace, even in winter.
Her kitchen was still a shambles, but Demona hardly cared at the moment. She looked around for the poker, found that it was gone. Non-plussed by this, Demona stalked silently back into the hallway and continued on, away from the kitchen, until she came to a section of wall that was bare, save for a few odd braziers attached here and there. Demona grasped one of them and bent it at an odd angle. Instantly, the section of wall alongside the brazier slid up, revealing a hidden sconce that cradled another laser assault weapon, this one a bit heavier.
Demona grabbed the rifle and headed back up the hall, not even bothering to close the panel. She stopped just before the living room doorway, back to the wall, making no sound as she drew breath in and out in steady rhythm. She counted to ten silently. Then a ruby light leapt into her eyes, and she spun away from the wall and dropped to a crouch in the center of the doorway, rifle primed and aiming straight ahead.
Demona knelt there, utterly stunned by what she saw. There was a fir tree reaching towards the ceiling in the corner of the room, festively decorated with multi-colored lights, garlands of popcorn and cranberries, sprigs of holly, and all manner of ornate decorations. A fire burned in the fireplace, and Demona saw that a spit had been erected over the flames, upon which roasted a suckling pig. Other festive foods – fruits, mixed nuts, cheeses, smoked fish, chocolates, pies of almost every variety – were heaped on the coffee table nearby.
Close to the fireplace, in a well-worn easy chair, sat a cheerful-looking rotund figure, a glass of scotch in his hand. He was clad in red trousers and a red, button-down waistcoat. The latter was practically hidden by the full beard, snow-white in color, which trailed down to his waist. Here and there, a sprig of holly or baby's breath peeked out from amidst its depths. Demona also noticed that the man wore a cloak of flowing red velvet, trimmed with white fur that ran down past his feet, which were wrapped snugly in a pair of boots with spurs of brightly polished silver buckled to them. A garland of fresh holly boughs, perched atop his head like a crown, completed the jovial image.
He turned, a smile lighting his rosy features when he noticed the azure gargoyle crouched in the doorway. "A very Merry Christmas, Demona!" He said in a booming voice. The man then nodded his head, and a crystal glass with ice materialized in front of it. The man reached down beside the chair, picking the scotch bottle off the floor, and poured some of the golden liquid into the glass, still hovering in front of him.
The glass then floated magically across the room, coming to rest in mid-air before Demona. "To life!" the man said gladly, and knocked back his own drink.
Demona eyed the glass warily, her rifle still aimed at the bearded figure. If this was indeed another of Oberon's Children, she doubted she'd have much luck with her energy weapon. The iron poker was resting on the other side of the room, next to the roaring fire. Demona eyed the being closer, saw that his hands were wrapped in a pair of white gloves. Well, that explained that. Sadly, she doubted she could get to the poker before this thing could stop her.
As with the last one, playing along with it seemed to be the best option of getting rid of it. For now. Demona dropped the rifle, but still had not touched the glass which floated before her, despite the being's expectant look. "Christmas!" she spat. "Just a silly human holiday!"
The bearded man appeared stung by the gargoyle's words, but his smile did not fade. "Oh, I hope you are kidding, Demona," he said. "It's much more than that. It's a time of year that brings out the best in humankind!"
Demona scowled and knocked the floating glass aside with one hand, whereupon it struck the wall and shattered. She then stalked over to the sofa, caping her wings as she dropped into it. "There is no 'best' to humankind!" she argued. "Their entire race is a stain upon this world."
Despite the viciousness of the gargoyle's barbs, the smile did not leave the figure's face. Instead, the being simply made another glass materialize in front of it, into which it poured another measure of scotch. It then refilled its own glass and sent the first one floating through the air, to land on the table in front of Demona. "I insist that you join me for this one," the being said.
"And if I don't?" asked Demona.
"Then I will keep trying," said the being. "I'm sorry, Demona, but I have strong ties to this season, more so than other members of my race. I cannot just give up on anyone, not even you."
"Lucky me," the gargoyle muttered as she picked up her drink. She brought her nose to the edge of the glass, sniffed it warily. The being eyed her expectantly, its own glass raised. Finally, Demona took a small sip from it, never taking her eyes off the cloaked fay.
"To good will to man and gargoyle," the being toasted as he sipped from his own glass. "And I don't know why you're taken aback to the notion of someone caring about you."
"Because everyone who does care about me only wants me to change! Despite everything I've seen, they expect me to lay down my arms and try to make nice with the humans!"
The being chuckled heartily. "You say that as if it were a bad thing. Considering what my not-too-distant relation showed you before I got here, could it really hurt to give it a try?" Demona bared her fangs at the jolly trickster, but he simply shrugged and downed the rest of the liquor in his glass.
Demona took another cautious sip from her own glass, but the thirty-year-old scotch did nothing for her mood. "Speaking of your cousin," she growled at her unwelcome guest. "I thought it gave me its word that I would be left in peace after I went with it."
The bearded fay nodded. "And indeed, he intends to keep his word. If you'll remember, Demona, the exact thing he said to you was, 'if you come with me, and see what I want to show you, I will never bother you again.' He didn't say anything about me or anyone else, now did he? But come now. Let's not speak of the past anymore. My purpose is to focus on the present, the here and now. And now, it is Christmas!"
So saying, the bearded figure rose from his easy chair, and drew his long cloak tighter about his shoulders. "You know, you were half-correct a moment ago. Christmas is largely a human holiday, but it is far from being silly. And besides, there are some things a gargoyle might learn from it."
"Hardly," Demona scoffed, her eyes already drifting past the scrumptious food before her on the table, and towards the iron poker. Perhaps if she made a quick leap…
"No, really," said the being. "What do you suppose Goliath and the others are doing right now?"
The mention of Goliath brought a slight haze of red to Demona's vision. She glared up at the fay, the poker momentarily forgotten. "No doubt gallivanting around the city in a pathetic attempt to protect a bunch of worthless humans who never repay them with anything but scorn and hatred, just as it was a thousand years ago!"
The being, far from looking aghast, only laughed heartily at Demona's tirade. "Not even close, my friend! They're enjoying a quiet evening at the castle, because there is nothing for them to do tonight! Christmas is the one time of the year when even the hardened criminals in the city have better things on their minds, such as being with those they care about."
Now Demona was on her feet, pointing an accusing talon at the being. "Don't be ridiculous! A human can't stop being a human, just like a dog can't stop being a dog!"
Her response only elicited more laughter, but for some reason, this irked Demona more than a preachy look. "Very well, then! I'll show you!" laughed the being. So saying, he took a step towards Demona, moving swiftly despite his girth, and swirled his cloak about the both of them. For a moment, the entire world spun, and then suddenly, both Demona and the bearded fay found themselves standing in the Great Hall of Castle Wyvern.
The spacious room, which was normally just adorned with Xanatos's collection of medieval tapestries, was now festooned with holly wreaths and strings of lights, as well. In one corner was a brightly decorated tree, reaching almost to the ceiling. It was cheerful, but empty. For a moment, Demona wondered where everyone was.
"This room looked a bit more festive a few nights ago, when Xanatos had his Christmas Party here," explained the fay. "He and his family are in Maine right now, along with my blood brother, the Puck. But the clan is still here. Come!" He started towards one of the doorways, his cloak billowing behind him.
Demona followed him, her eyes gazing across the familiar walls and floors as they traversed the corridors that she still remembered all too well. She hadn't been back since that night when she'd tried to stop Xanatos and the others from undoing her spell. A part of her regretted that. After all, this castle had been all she'd known early in her life. But then she just reminded herself that it was now bespoiled by humans, just as it had been long ago.
They stopped before one doorway, from which a soft light emanated. Demona had remembered this being a workshop for the smithy, but it had since been converted into a rec room for the gargoyles.
The being stepped up to the doorway and simply watched the scene within, and Demona followed suit. She saw Hudson relaxing in a familiar easy chair, watching some program on the television that involved characters made of clay. To the left of the easy chair sat a sofa. Angela and Broadway sat close together at one end, Angela resting her cheek against the burly gargoyle's broad shoulder.
Lexington sat at the other end of the couch, a mug of hot chocolate in his hand. Two large bowls of popcorn rested on the center cushion. Brooklyn sat pretzel-legged on the floor nearby, flipping absently through some hot rod magazine when he wasn't laughing at the stubby-legged reindeer and blond elf on TV. Occasionally he would reach over to scratch behind the ear of Bronx, who was napping at the foot of the sofa.
For a moment, Demona regarded the looks of contentment on their faces with confusion and bewilderment. The spirit took a step into the room and went over to stand in the corner, and Demona's eyes immediately fell to Bronx. But incredibly, the great blue beast did not show any signs that he could smell the being. Or Demona.
"It's all right, Demona," spoke the bearded fay, its voice booming. But still, no one in the room turned to look at it. They continued to laugh at the television, laughter that was made all the more merrier by the pleasure of each other's company. "They can't see or hear us. Please, come take a closer look."
Cautiously, Demona took a step forward. She paused, tapped the talons of her foot against the stones. Not a head turned. She coughed. Still nothing. Bronx made a lazy snuffling noise, but continued napping.
More confident now, the azure gargoyle came to stand alongside the fay, whose arms were buried in the folds of his cloak. Demona had to admit that despite their foolish interest in some insipid human program, they did look genuinely happy. Demona was not a stranger to happiness, but lately she only felt it when she was handing a Nightstone employee their pink slip, or cornering a Quarryman in the sights of her laser cannon. What she was seeing was true happiness, free from any sort of sadistic or malicious undertones.
The spirit seemed to sense what Demona was thinking. "Look at them, Demona," he boomed. "They're residents in a city divided over their right to exist. Every night, they see the same ugly side of humanity that you choose to embroil yourself in. And yet, they can still find peace and contentment in the world, and in each other."
For a long moment, Demona regarded her daughter, the look of utter joy that was etched on Angela's face as she nestled in Broadway's wing. It was not a look that she enjoyed seeing. It brought her back to her brief reunion with Goliath in 1994, and the words of the shapeshifter as it had made her relive that moment.
Why are you still dwelling on that thing's lies? The voice in Demona's head asked again. The answer hovered on the gargoyle's tongue, though she did not voice it loud: Because what if some of them were true?
Demona cast a glance at her fay guide, who seemed to be rummaging inside his cloak for something. Just looking at him reaffirmed Demona's suspicions. Don't be ridiculous, she chided herself. True? This is the Third Race we're talking about! They see the other two races as nothing more than playthings!
The being finally found what he was looking for, a glistening switch made from the bough of a pine tree, adorned at one end with brightly colored ribbons and a bell made of silver. He shook the stick in front of him a few times, as if it were a wand. "What are you up to, trickster?" Demona asked warily. He could abuse the others all he wanted, but if he placed any sort of hex on Angela…
The being smiled as he tucked his stick back inside the wide sleeve of his cloak. "Just spreading a little cheer," he explained. "It's not what you would call direct interference, which is why his Excellency allows me to do it. To explain it in more scientific terms, it very subtly alters the property of the air around us, in such a way that those in the right frame of mind can draw upon."
Indeed, as he spoke, Demona noticed that the contented smiles among those assembled started to appear a bit brighter. Their laughter at what was happening on the television sounded heartier. Even Bronx, who was still napping at the foot of the couch, snuffled happily and rolled over onto his side.
It didn't take long for Demona to cast her gaze back at the spirit once more. The look on his face was equally contented, as if he were admiring his handiwork, but Demona couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more to his incantation. She was about to accuse him further on it when he suddenly gave a slight shudder, as if startled by something. "Oh!" He exclaimed. "I almost forgot the other two!"
"What other two?" Demona asked, becoming more annoyed with this thing by the minute.
"You'll see," the being said, and once more swirled his vast cloak about the two of them. In an instant, they were taken from the Eyrie Building to another part of the city. They stood on the edge of a building which bordered a place Demona had been before. And as in this visit, the last time she had come, she'd also been in the company of one of Oberon's Children. The humans called this plaza Rockefeller Center.
Of course, on the night when Puck had been her prisoner, the area looked completely different. The ground which had served as a battlefield on that night now functioned as a massive ice rink, lined with evergreens that were lit up like the sun. Down at the far end stood one tree which towered above the others, every inch of it adorned with thousands of glittering lights. The fresh blanket of new-fallen snow caught the lights from the trees, making the plaza sparkle like a diamond.
The being's attention, however, was focused on the edge of the rooftop. Demona followed his gaze and spotted a familiar-looking couple seated on a thick wool blanket to keep their clothing dry. The pair nestled against one another and looked down upon the peaceful, brightly decorated scene with pure happiness written on their faces. One of them was clad in a well-worn red bomber jacket and scarf, a pair of earmuffs resting snugly amidst her flowing raven hair. Her companion was significantly larger, and despite having nothing but a heavy brown loincloth on, did not seem to mind the chill at all.
It was Elisa Maza and Goliath. Demona's eyes flared at the sight of her most hated enemy nuzzling against the strong chest of her former mate. As far as Demona was concerned, Goliath was a blind fool grasping at straws. If he wanted to care about the humans in this city, that was his business, and let it be his doom. But the very idea that he should find love again with one of these inferior apes…
The bearded fay seemed not to notice Demona's rage. Demona watched him as he pulled out his stick and shook it over the heads of the couple, preoccupied with his task. Slowly, her mind began to work more clearly through her anger, and a cruel smile came to her face. If Goliath and his little strumpet couldn't sense the immortal gargoyle or the servant of Oberon, then what was to stop Demona from snapping Elisa's neck like a twig?
Quietly she crept towards the pair, her feet leaving no prints in the snow. When she was only a few paces away from them, the fay, with his back still turned to Demona, suddenly waved his hand in her direction. Demona froze abruptly in mid-step. She tried to lift her leg from the ground, but it would not move, nor could she physically stretch her arms out to rend the detective's soft flesh between her talons. For the third time that night, she was transfixed by magic.
"I'm sorry, Demona, but I can't allow this," stated the being. "I've brought you here merely to observe. I'm afraid that my lord would not be pleased if I helped to facilitate the murder of a mortal. And besides, it's just not in the spirit of the season!"
Despite the anger and humiliation she felt for being magically bound a third time, Demona somehow managed to find some sarcasm within her. "And here I thought you were supposed to give people what they wanted for this stupid holiday!"
The fay gave a hearty laugh. "As with most legends concerning me and my kind, certain details have been muddled by both religious and secular groups. The very idea that I would employ elves. Elves don't even like toys! And besides, Demona, you should have paid closer attention to that myth. In order to get what you want for Christmas, first you have to be a good girl!"
Demona growled at him, eyes burning. The fay responded by shaking his stick at her before tucking it back beneath his cloak. "And anyway," he added. "What do you care about the company that Goliath keeps? I thought you had washed your hands of him."
Demona took a moment to sniff the crisp winter air. If that fay's enchanted stick had done something to her surroundings, she couldn't tell. She certainly didn't feel different. After a few more errant sniffs, she spoke. "If he'd found solace in another gargoyle, that would at least have been a different matter! Instead, he chooses to consort with… with that!" If her hands had been free, Demona would have used both of them to gesture at Elisa.
"Why is that such a bad thing?" The spirit asked. "Elisa has never been anything but a true friend and ally to all the gargoyles in Manhattan. She's watched over them during the day on more than one occasion, has risked everything for them many times in the past. How can you look at a human such as her, and not see hope for humanity?"
Demona paused, considering this. The answer she wanted to give hovered on the tip of her tongue: It doesn't matter what promises humans make. Given enough time, they always break them in the end! Elisa will be no different. Someday, she will betray Goliath and his clan.
The gargoyle was about to open her mouth when Elisa, sitting on the blanket a few yards away, took that moment to say: "I love you, Goliath." It was clear by the look on the detective's face that the fay's magical ambience was affecting her.
Elisa's companion appeared to be equally in its thrall. Goliath drew his left wing tighter about the human and nuzzled his cheek against hers gently. "I love you as well, Elisa," he said softly. The detective turned her head slightly to kiss the big gargoyle firmly on the lips.
At the sight of this, Demona's cheek twitched with loathing. A fresh wave of bile rose in her throat, and it was all the azure gargoyle could do to keep from spraying her dinner out onto the new-fallen snow. "Disgusting," she growled.
"I think it's quite touching," said the fay, as he watched the two of them kiss. "Here we have a human and a gargoyle, coexisting as peacefully as two beings can. Doesn't that tell you anything?"
"Yes," replied Demona. "It tells me plenty. It tells me that if Goliath has allowed himself to be seduced by that little tart, then the centuries have made him even weaker than I thought!"
The fay gave a hearty laugh and stepped over to stand at Demona's side. "You amaze me, Demona!" he said. "I can tell just by looking at you that my magic has had no affect on you whatsoever. You really don't have any joy in your heart! Your clan might not have much in this world, but they still have each other!"
Another response formed in Demona's throat, but for some reason, the mention of her clan in this way made her think of the visit to her past, in particular when the shapeshifter had questioned her about the access code, which at the time had seemed like nothing but a simple five-letter word.
I find it interesting. That access code that you chose. Out of the millions of words you could have picked, why that one? …Could it be that, on a subconscious level, you're not as happy in the life you've chosen as you'd like to think you are?
She blinked rapidly and shook her head. Why was she still thinking about that? Maybe this rotund fay had put her under a spell. That would explain why she kept dwelling on her doppelganger's nonsense.
"What's on your mind, Demona?" Oberon's minion asked her, sensing that the gears in her head were turning.
"None of your business," Demona spat at it. "And anyway, I suspect that it's the result of some spell you put on me."
The figure flashed a wide grin and shook his head. "I already told you, my cheer doesn't seem to be working on you. And I think that I know the reason. One of the things that my magic reacts to is the bonds that people form. Family, friends, lovers… it seeks these bonds out and enhances the enjoyment we get from them. You don't seem to have any such bonds. I do sense a bond of love within you, but there's a shadow over it."
Demona knew who that bond was with. And again, she thought back to the final scene between her and Angela that her doppelganger had shown her. You do love her. But you still love something else even more. That same love, or rather hate, pushed you away from Goliath. Demona looked again at Goliath and Elisa, lost in the presence of one another, and for a brief moment, a pang of loneliness rippled its way through the loathing that Demona felt.
The bearded fay seemed to sense this. "Loneliness is an awful feeling, Demona. Even the worst dregs of humanity know this. And as I said earlier, even these people have friends or brothers-in-arms whom they seek out at this time of year."
Demona had turned her gaze away from the cheerful scene to stare at the snow-covered rooftop. She had already been looking for a way to change the subject, and her fay companion had just provided it. "I don't believe that for a second," she growled. "I think that the reason you haven't shown me any of these people is because they don't exist. Humans can never change their stripes!"
The fay gave another infuriatingly hearty laugh. "Actually, I was just getting to them!" he said. With that, he swirled his cloak about himself and Demona once more, and sent them to another part of the city.
When the world stopped spinning, the first thing Demona noticed was that she had regained movement from the neck down. The second thing she noticed was that she stood in the dingy-looking kitchen of some small apartment. There was at least a centimeter of dust on the countertops. Also, whoever lived here had not bothered to check their boots at the doorway, and gritty slush from the sidewalks outside had been tracked in all over the hardwood floor. Two empty pizza boxes and several empty beer bottles were stacked by the sink, which was growing mildew around its edges.
However, despite the squalid surroundings, Demona noticed that wreaths had still been hung in the windows that looked out onto the city, and a small plastic tree, with bright decorations glued onto it, rested in a pot beside the door leading to the living room.
The spirit surveyed the meager decorations with a look of pride etched on his features. Demona, meanwhile, was still trying to figure out how the fay could get such a reaction from a place as dingy as this. Who even lived here, anyway? She was about to ask when suddenly, she heard peals of laughter from the living room.
The spirit followed the noise eagerly, his spurs jangling against the floor. Demona, after casting one final disdainful look at the conditions in the kitchen, went after him.
She passed through the doorway to the living room, to find the spirit standing happily next to a card table, around which sat three familiar-looking humans. Demona recognized them as some of Nightstone's less legitimate employees, ones who assisted with more of Dominique Destine's secret, and thus illegal, projects.
After another moment, the gargoyle remembered their names: Albert Henrickson, Harry Bruford, and Glenn Harper. The three of them sat around the table, smoking cigars and playing rounds of Texas Hold'Em. But the game seemed to be taking a backseat to conversation, as the three of them largely reminisced about jobs they had pulled in the past.
"I still wish I knew what Destine needed all those corpses for," Harper said with a slight laugh.
"Probably wanted to dress them up and have a tea party," mused Bruford.
"Wouldn't be the kookiest thing she's ever done," Henrickson chimed in. "I still say that the reason she wanted us to lift that DI-7 for her was because somewhere, there was a gigantic toilet she needed to clean."
The three of them shared a brief laugh at that, after which Bruford snorted and puffed on his Habana. Neither he nor Harper wanted to dwell on the job that they had botched. "Far as I'm concerned," said Bruford. "The best thing about that job was that the warehouse burned to the ground the night after the cops interfered."
"Hear, hear," said Harper, and raised his beer bottle, only to find it empty. "Shit, I'm out," he grumbled as he dropped the bottle down beside the leg of the table.
"Hold on a sec," said Henrickson. "I've been saving something for a moment like this." So saying, he balanced his cigar on the edge of the ashtray, then rose from his seat and started towards the kitchen. As he approached the doorway, passing within two feet of Demona, the gargoyle considered grabbing him by the hair and slicing him open from sternum to crotch, then doing the same to the other two. That would certainly teach these humans to laugh at her expense.
Then Demona remembered the fay, and glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He still stood by the card table, but he gave Demona a look like he knew what the gargoyle was thinking. Demona had no desire to be held under this thing's magic again, so she hooked her thumb talons into her belt and gritted her fangs as Henrickson walked past.
A few moments later, Henrickson reentered the room, three glasses in one hand, a bottle of sixty-year old bourbon, with only one-fifth still remaining, in the other. He walked back to the table and set the glasses almost reverently on its surface. He then divided the remnants of the bottle between the three, and when that was done, gave one each to Bruford and Harper, and picked up the last one for himself.
"Gentlemen," he said as he raised his own glass. "I'd like to propose a toast to our employer, Miss Destine. Yes, she's a cast iron bitch, but at least the job's never boring." He took a sip from his glass, and Harper followed suit.
Bruford regarded the well-aged liquor for a moment, then cleared his throat. "Honestly, the only reason I put up with the lady is because her quirks are so damn entertaining. That, and it pays pretty good. So, here's to her." So saying, he took a drink from his own glass.
"Entertaining?" laughed Harper. "Yeah, no kidding." He stiffened his posture a bit and started to speak in a bad impersonation of Nightstone's CEO. "I must have my beauty rest every night. Oh, and some dead bodies and a canister of industrial strength window cleaner. Move it, you idiots!"
All three shared a hearty laugh over that one. Henrickson picked his cigar back up and puffed on it thoughtfully for a moment. "Truth be told, guys," he said once the laughter had died down. "I was made an offer by the Quarrymen once. Salary was better, so I went to one of their rallies to check it out. I don't know, there was just something about that crackpot Castaway that put me off. I think that guy has a whole head full of bad wiring. I mean, don't get me wrong, both he and Destine are nuts. But at least our CEO is the fun kind of nuts. So, in the end, I'm glad I turned Castaway down. Here's to you guys." He raised his glass and then took another sip.
The others nodded, and raised their glasses as well. "Here's to future jobs," said Bruford.
"Which will probably include stealing some tea party dresses to go with Destine's corpse collection," added Harper.
The three of them laughed again, and then drained their glasses. "Merry Christmas, gentlemen," said Henrickson as he slammed his empty glass upside-down onto the tabletop. The other two followed suit, and responded in kind with well-wishes of their own.
Demona gave a low, menacing growl as she regarded the three of them, her eyes and wings flared. Speak about her thusly behind her back? These three would be in for quite a nasty surprise after New Year's.
The fay, meanwhile, regarded the scene with his same infuriating look as he produced his stick and gave it a few shakes out in front of him. How in the world he could bestow anything upon this cannon fodder was beyond the fiery-haired gargoyle.
"These three are useless, even among their own kind!" Demona growled at the spirit. "How can you give them anything?"
The fay stepped away from the table to stand once more beside Demona, but he continued to watch the three mercenaries as they resumed their game. "As I said, my gifts are bestowed upon anyone who feels a semblance of virtue in their hearts. These gentlemen might not have the most reputable jobs, but they are still friends with one another. And they still manage to feel some good, even for the likes of you."
"What are you talking about?" snapped Demona. "They insulted me! They already insult me with their existence, as all humans do. But these three actually dared to laugh at my expense!"
"And yet they still toasted you," said the spirit. "With a hundred-dollar bottle, no less! You see, even criminals have better things to do with their holiday. They're in here, spending it in each others' company, instead of out there, making peoples' lives miserable. There is still some spirit that burns in their hearts."
"I'm glad you showed me this," said Demona. "Now I can find a way to make them pay for their insults."
The fay shook his head, almost sadly this time. "Once again, you only choose to see what you want, which is the ugly side of humanity. But perhaps a visit to another one of your employees might show you something more."
Demona's eyes flared again, even as the being's vast cloak enveloped the both of them once more.
When the red faded from her vision, Demona found both herself and her companion standing in an apartment that was thankfully cleaner, and a bit more crowded. The pair stood in the foyer, where a large amount of boots had been heaped by the door, and the pegs on the wall overflowed with coats. Demona had a feeling that the tenant was normally unaccustomed to having so many people under their roof.
They heard enthusiastic conversation coming from somewhere else in the apartment, and the spirit immediately headed off in the direction of the noise. Demona was growing more annoyed with his jollity by the minute, but followed him nonetheless.
As she walked down the hallway, she caught a glimpse of a few of the pictures on the wall: a professional shot of a brown-haired girl, who looked to be about six or seven, in a communion dress; another picture of the same woman, her hair much longer, sitting in a college dorm room with three other girls, all of them with plastic beer cups raised high. Demona cocked her head at that last picture. She swore that the woman in it looked almost like her assistant at Nightstone, Erin Galloway.
More laughter was heard, slightly merrier this time, and also much closer. Demona guessed that that damn spirit had just finished spreading his magical poison about the place. She rounded a corner and entered a dining room that she guessed did not normally hold so many people.
Several extra leaves had been added to the table to accommodate all the people, pushing it back nearly to the walls. It had been laden with food, but the plates and wineglasses had been stacked in the adjoining kitchen to make room for the pie and coffee. Demona noticed her secretary sitting halfway down the table, clad in a bright green sweater and jeans, sitting in between an elderly looking male and female. The woman looked almost like Erin, except the face was more careworn, and the hair carried extra gray.
The rest of the table was occupied by people of ages ranging from five to seventy. Demona didn't recognize any of them. She was sure Erin might have mentioned them at one time or another, but the gargoyle hardly cared about the personal lives of her employees.
The spirit stood behind Erin and the two elderly people, Demona could only guess that they were the human's parents. Demona remained in the doorway, looking bored and perhaps a little uncomfortable with all the cheerfulness. But her sensitive hearing still picked up on the conversation at the other end.
"Erin, honey, I'm still amazed that you found time to put all this together, what with the way that boss of yours works you," said the old woman.
Erin shrugged and took a sip of Guinness from the pintglass resting in front of her. "Well, it is something that looks good on the résumé, mom," she said nonchalantly.
"I know, dear," her mother persisted. "But still, you can't let your job be the driving force in your life."
"Damn right," the old man chimed in. "Otherwise, you'll end up just like that whore you're workin' for!"
"Sean!" Erin's mother chided him.
"No mom, he has a point. You both do." Erin paused for a moment, and gave a tired sigh. "She can be an old crank. I've said as much myself, when she's not around. But the truth is, I kind of feel sorry for her."
Both of her parents, as well as those relatives within earshot, raised their eyebrows at her, but Erin seemed not to notice. "I'm serious," she went on. "Earlier today, she told me that she looks upon this time of year as stupid and meaningless. I really don't think she has anybody to be with. It's almost tragic. She doesn't seem to find any happiness in anything."
For a moment, Demona regarded her secretary with a quizzical look in her eyes. The human's words almost reminded her of her guide's, when the two of them stood in the rec room of the castle. Could the joy and happiness in this room really be any different?
She shook her head, as if to clear it. Of course it could! She re-affirmed with herself. These people are human. Flawed, inferior! They can say all the kind words they want, but in the end the words are all the same: empty!
Or were they? Demona had to admit, that she had never exactly treated Erin with a great deal of compassion. Not that she felt any remorse over that. Humans were cattle, after all. But for all the assistant knew, Demona was just a bitter, eccentric human who refused to be seen after dark. Plus, she didn't know that her employer was standing not ten feet away. What else would motivate her to say that?
Then Demona noticed that the fay had taken his stick out, and began to spread its magic across the length of the table. After a few moments had passed, Sean turned and rumpled his daughter's hair. "Ah, you're a good girl, Erin," he said as he raised his own glass of stout to her. "Merry Christmas."
Erin smiled and clinked her pintglass against his. "Merry Christmas to you too, daddy," she said in reply. With that, the conversation around the table resumed in earnest. The spirit made his way back around the table and came to stand in the doorway alongside Demona.
"Amazing, isn't it?" he said in his obnoxiously jovial tone. "You abuse your employee every day, and yet she still manages to feel some kindness for you."
Once again, seeing the fay spread his magic had brought suspicion to the forefront in Demona's mind. "Oh please," she snorted. "No doubt whatever you laced that magic wand of yours with was inspiring her to say that."
The bearded servant of Oberon chuckled heartily again, nearly bringing dangerous light into Demona's eyes. "You're forgetting, Demona, that my magic doesn't create these thoughts. They already exist in the minds and hearts of the people influenced by it. It only helps people to think and feel them more freely. No, the compassion your assistant has for you is genuine, whether you want it to be or not."
Demona shook her head, and eyed the fay warily. "If there's one thing I've learned, it's that trusting a child of Oberon is no less foolish than trusting a human."
Demona's response elicited even more laughter from the spirit. "Once again, Demona, you amaze me. I'm beginning to wonder if any of this is even getting through to you. But perhaps what we'll see next might be more illuminating." In a flash, Demona found herself enveloped in his billowing cloak once more. Worlds seemed to spin haphazardly about the both of them. And then, a split-second later, it was over.
Demona and the spirit were standing in a dim room, a room that was illuminated only by a large television set resting in one corner. Demona looked about her. It was not as dingy as the apartment where she'd encountered her three soon to be terminated employees, but it still looked lived-in nonetheless.
There was clothing heaped in the corner of the room opposite the television, and unwashed dishes on the counter of the kitchen that was connected the living room. An ironing board was set up next to the television, several pairs of navy blue slacks draped across it.
Demona glanced about the dim room, taking in the details with the enhanced sight of a gargoyle. Her gaze eventually came to rest on a familiar-looking object that was propped against a bookcase close to the TV: a modified sledgehammer.
Demona's eyes locked on it for a moment, scarlet filling her vision like hot blood. Then they were in the residence of one of the Quarrymen! Her gaze moved a few feet to the right, where a figure was hunched in an easy chair, watching the television.
The spirit had gone to stand behind the easy chair. After a moment, Demona moved to join him, the murderous light now burning brighter in her eyes. Just as she was about to close the distance between herself and the person in the chair, the fay took a step towards her, bringing himself in between the gargoyle and the chair's occupant.
Demona gave a feral snarl at the being, but he merely shook his head, and held one hand up in front of his face. Demona saw a slight sparkle on his fingertips, magical energy waiting to be released, and got the message. Annoyed, she crossed her arms and stamped one foot on the carpet like an agitated hatchling, but the person in the chair took no notice.
"We're in the home of someone you should be familiar with," said the spirit. "After all, he and his family have spent many frustrating centuries trying to kill you. You and all the gargoyles."
The fay moved aside, though he still held his hand at the ready, and allowed Demona to take a closer look at the man in the chair. Demona gazed past the being, and saw a blond human with a well-groomed moustache, who appeared to be somewhere in his twenties, sitting hunched forward over a tray table. On the table rested a snifter of brandy, an elaborate looking bottle, and more curiously, a small scrap of black cloth.
In his hands, the blond man held a framed picture that looked like it had been taken during some holiday season past. In it, a dark-haired man with a thick moustache sat in front of a fireplace, the mantle of which was adorned with stockings and candles. To his left sat a boy in his teens, who bore a very strong resemblance to the elder man, despite his lack of a moustache. To the right of the man sat a girl with long blond hair and piercingly brilliant eyes who looked only a few years younger than the teenage boy. There was something familiar about her, Demona noted. Almost too familiar. And in the man's lap sat a much smaller boy, who was also blond.
Everyone in the picture wore smiles on their faces, a far contrast from the straw-haired man who was holding it. Demona stepped around the chair slightly to get a better look at the man's face, and realized when she did that he was the blond boy in the picture. She also saw more clearly the scrap of cloth resting alongside his snifter, and noticed the fabric was punctuated by several strokes of red. A sign that Demona had learned to recognize easily down through the centuries.
Like dual flash-fires, the light leapt back into Demona's eyes. Then she was in the presence of her nemesis, the human called Castaway! The fay momentarily forgotten, Demona started towards the human, but had only taken one step when she found herself frozen, and unable to move any extremities except her head.
Demona cast an annoyed look at the fay, still standing behind the easy chair, and found him grinning broadly. He held his index finger in front of his mouth and blew on it like the barrel of a gun.
"I must say, trickster," growled Demona, "That out of all the members of your race that have ever tormented me, you are undoubtedly the worst. You deliver my enemy to me, and then you prevent me from delivering him. Do you realize that I could cripple the Quarrymen with a single twist of the neck?"
The being laughed merrily. "And if I allowed that, what sort of Christmas spirit would I be? Besides, I had another reason for bringing you here."
"And what was that?"
For a moment, the smile went away from the bearded trickster's face. "Look at this human, Demona," he said solemnly, in a tone that made even the gargoyle do a double take. "Take a good look."
The force behind the spirit's voice compelled Demona to do as he asked. She looked down at Castaway, and was surprised to find that tears trickled down his cheeks. He hugged the picture close to his chest and sobbed quietly.
Demona looked into his eyes for only the briefest of moments, and beneath the tears, she did not like what she saw. There was a fire in them, a fire stoked by an all-consuming hatred, and a desire for retribution. Demona shuddered and quickly turned away. The look in Castaway's eyes was more familiar, and closer to home, than she wanted to admit.
Once again, the fay seemed to pick up on what Demona was thinking. "Perhaps you're seeing something of yourself in him, Demona?" he asked her. "He is someone else who has no one to be with on this otherwise joyous night, but the two of you have more in common than that."
At the fay's words, the deadly light burned anew in Demona's eyes. She glared at him with a look that took him aback slightly, despite her being frozen in place. "I am nothing like this human, and don't you ever compare me to him." Her voice was calm, but no less threatening than the light in her eyes.
"I'm sorry, Demona, but how can I not?" The fay's expression turned serious again. "Castaway has taken his hatred of only a few gargoyles and projected it onto your entire race as a means of avoiding responsibility for his own actions and compensating his weakness. How is that any different from what you are doing?"
"It's completely different!" snapped Demona. "Even before the Quarrymen, he and his family, and his ancestors down through the centuries, hated me and my kind! I've never understood why! And I think it's very likely that they have no reason! This, more than anything, proves why humans must be exterminated! Unlike him, my cause is just!"
"And is that cause worth the price you are paying?" asked the fay. "You and this human have each lost something important in your separate quests for revenge, through your own actions. It's put you both at odds with the ones you care about most."
Demona thought back to watching her former clanmates in the castle, and the fellowship and camaraderie that seemed to radiate from them. She looked again at the blond human sitting on the couch. John Castaway had since set the picture back down, and picked up his snifter. In one swift motion, he drained the rest of the liquid in the glass, and reached for the bottle to pour another. Upon finding the bottle empty, he suddenly sat up a bit straighter in the chair and flung it against the far wall, where it shattered into many fragments.
His outburst complete, he slumped forward over the tray table, his face buried in his hands. In spite of herself, Demona found her thoughts drifting back to the memory of her and her daughter on the rooftop, and Angela's words to her. And again, even though she tried to resist, the gargoyle recalled the shapeshifter's remarks about her choice for an access code back in the Fall of 1995. Could it be you're not as happy in the life you've chosen as you'd like to think you are?
Still, no sense in letting this thing know that its magic was messing with her thoughts. "Angela simply can't see what I'm trying to do for her!" Demona protested. "None of the clan ever did. Someday, this human, all humans, will be the death of us! Since no one else will do it, its up to me to prevent this!"
The bearded trickster gave a small sigh. "It's probably a good thing you've never been to one of Castaway's rallies. His speeches might sound more familiar than you'd like them to."
Castaway had since pushed the tray table back from his chair and risen from his seat, the mask stuck in the back pocket of his slacks. He walked from the room in search of another bottle, leaving Demona alone with the fay. Demona's eyes began to burn again at the thought of her missed opportunity to slay the human.
"Once again, trickster, I must warn you NOT to compare me to Castaway!" she growled. "Otherwise, you will live to regret your words!"
The bearded trickster shrugged. "As you wish. Just remember that Castaway is living with the choices he made. As are you. As do we all, both mortal and immortal."
Once again, the nagging voice in the corner of the gargoyle's mind made her recall the shapeshifter's words about memories, and choices. And again, Demona remembered seeing Angela both in the past and present. This time, however, the nagging was stronger, as if it were starting to grind her mental cogs.
Could Demona really be seeing herself in this human? Impossible. But at the same time, they both had clans, families that they had lost. They both had goals that put them at odds with almost everyone else in their worlds. Could those same feelings of loneliness really be different from human to gargoyle?
For the briefest of moments, Demona actually regretted her savage attack against her doppelganger, when it had made a similar parallel between the two species. Then her mind thought again of the bearded trickster that now held her in place. No, he's just trying to make you regret it! Demona told herself. You can no more trust one of these magical abominations than you can a human. Demona attempted to make this argument stick, like she'd done for most of the night, but this time, she was having some difficulty.
The whole time he was watching the gargoyle contemplate, the smile on the trickster's face had grown wider. Now, even through his beard, Demona could tell that it threatened to split his head in half. "Is something finally clicking, Demona?" he asked.
"Go hang yourself," Demona retorted. But the words did not come out with as much force as she was hoping for.
The fay picked up on this immediately. But instead of speaking, he stepped over to her side and wrapped them both in his cloak once more.
There was a brief instant of red haze, and then they found themselves standing on a city sidewalk. Demona, who'd regained the use of her limbs after emerging from her guide's cloak, nearly toppled off the curb to the cold, damp asphalt. She took a moment to compose herself and then looked around. The snow had stopped falling, and much of what was in the roads had turned into brown slush from the wheels of countless automobiles.
But despite this, Demona had never seen Manhattan looking so peaceful. Of course, she usually was not out and about at this time of year, instead using the quiet of Christmas Eve to pore through her archive of magical volumes or, more recently, to brush up for the meetings that always filled her Nightstone calendar at the end of the quarter.
Now, as she looked up and down the sidewalk, Demona regarded the scene with just a little curiosity, in spite of herself. The streets were almost empty, and what few humans still remained on them walked with purposeful strides, anxious to be with a friend or loved one. The gargoyle searched their faces, and did not find any hate or malice etched on them at all.
The lights that she had seen earlier while gliding over the city seemed to glow more warmly down at ground level, glittering off the pure white snow still blanketing the sidewalks. It was a face that Demona never knew that the city could wear.
"Isn't it something?" The fay asked, his voice filled with awe. "An island with this many humans crammed onto it, and yet right at this moment, it is completely at peace. I bet you didn't know this race was capable of something such as this."
Demona almost found herself enjoying the scene, until the fay reminded her of his presence. "Who says that I'm willing to admit they are?" She snapped defensively. "This… still changes nothing."
For a moment, the trickster regarded her with a contemplative look as he stroked his beard. "Change is one of the few certainties in life, Demona. Sometimes it may take a while, but it does happen. You've already seen the course of your actions in the past, and the changes they have brought about now. But change is ongoing, ever constant. You know that one cannot change what was. But one is not powerless to change what may become."
"You mean when humanity has been destroyed, and all of my kind praises me for the utopia that I will someday bring about?" Demona asked.
The bearded fay regarded Demona for a moment with an amused smile on his face. "Something like that," he answered slyly. "But it's not really my place to elaborate further. I'm afraid that my time here grows short. I do have other rounds to make."
He stood a bit straighter, put his thumb and forefinger into his mouth, and whistled loudly. A moment later, a grand white horse seemed to gallop from out of nowhere, stopping right in front of the spirit. Its coat was even more pristine than the snow that lay round about. Sprigs of holly and mistletoe adorned its flowing mane and tail.
As Demona watched, the trickster leapt onto the polished saddle on its back, and the horse cocked back its head in the direction of its master. The fay smiled, pulled a carrot from out beneath his cloak, and fed it to his mount.
"Remember, Demona," he said to her. "The past is over and done with. Nothing can alter or repair it. But the future is not set in stone. And the time that is to come is defined by our actions in the present. Now, if you'll excuse me…"
"Wait!" Demona interjected, her mind barely registering the trickster's words. "You're just leaving me here?"
"Yes," the fay stated matter-of-factly. Then, with a hint of sarcasm, added, "You wouldn't want to tag along anyway. Mostly I'll be spreading cheer to even more 'undeserving' and 'inferior' humans. Besides, you won't be alone for long." He winked at her and took the horse's reins in his hands.
"Oh, and one more thing," he added. "Merry Christmas!" So saying, he spurred his majestic steed into movement. Demona watched them gallop down the avenue until they seemed to vanish from sight.
For a moment, the azure gargoyle just stood there with her feet in the snow, fuming. Finally, she huffed in the direction of the departing trickster. "Good riddance," she spat, then glanced around to try and figure out where she was.
Her first instinct was to look at the faces of the humans still on the street. None of them seemed to notice her presence, as yet. Demona's experience as a magic-user led her to surmise that she was still experiencing the residual effects of the bearded trickster's spell that had rendered them invisible. She needed to get airborne before it wore off.
Her gaze shifted to the skyline, studying the positions of the buildings. She should be able to figure out which direction home was from here. So intent was she on looking up that she did not notice the excessive amount of mist that began to rise from the storm gratings on the streets. None of the passing humans seemed to notice either as the tepid vapor blanketed the surrounding area, blocking out even the cheery light from the decorations.
Demona, looking upwards, did not even regard the gathering mist until it was too late. Her gaze snapped down suddenly in alarm, and she did not even have time to scream as the fog enveloped her completely…
To be concluded in Part 3…