Chapter 1: The Visitor, New York City, 2001

It was less than an hour past sunset, and Demona sat in the castle library, engaged in a new hobby that had become a hallmark of her new life as a prisoner in the Eyrie Building; Namely, pretending not to exist while others openly talked about her, right in front of her face. In this case, it was Xanatos and Goliath, discussing her progress and probable future. It was a strange thing, being privy to a conversation about you, that didn't include you. Goliath often seemed to believe that he could read her mind and, at times, she almost wished he could. There was so much she wanted to say to him, but she couldn't begin to put it into words without breaking down entirely.

It had been nearly two years since she'd surrendered herself to the clan. At the time, the most she could hope for was that Goliath would facilitate a merciful end to her suffering, but he was not inclined to let her off so easily. A lifetime sentence of imprisonment, which in her case meant an eternal sentence, was his verdict. It was a severe punishment, but it was never in Goliath's nature to be cruel, even to an enemy. He had allowed for her prison to be within the castle itself. Xanatos supplied her with an almost laughable array of comfort, from elaborate living quarters to the use of a gym and conservatory for exercise and whatever passed for fresh air in Manhattan. There was no starlight for her though. No chance to feel the wind lifting her through the air. And not a word of what was going on in the world outside the castle, for Goliath forbade anyone who spoke to her from mentioning news of any of the cases the clan worked on, any of the happenings in the world, or anything at all about the clan's interactions with humans. Even details about Xanatos' businesses and family life were off limits. This was both a blessing and a cause of anxiety, for while the majority of such information would merely frustrate or enrage her, she had to admit that when the clan was away for a long period and she had no way of knowing where they'd gone or why, she worried.

Still, the greatest charity was that even in her imprisonment, Goliath allowed her to see them. Her daughter came almost nightly to check in with her, and often stayed a while to talk or read together. Occasionally, Broadway would accompany her, and less frequently, he and Lexington might come around and propose a game of some sort. Surprisingly, Brooklyn not only saw her, but made visiting her a priority. Every Tuesday, he would escort her to the courtyard where he would train with her. He was so consistent with this ritual, it was one of the ways she marked the passing of time. Little conversation was shared between them during these sessions. Brooklyn worked them both hard, with intense focus, and didn't feel the need to distract himself with talking. She had been curious of his intentions at first, when these sessions began, but by now, they were clear. In the six years since his reawakening, Brooklyn had grown from a youth with remarkable potential, into a powerful and intellectually keen warrior, and he had no intention of letting her forget it. She didn't mind his domineering in the least bit though. For a couple hours a week, someone wanted her presence, had something useful for her to do, and didn't require her to answer uncomfortable questions or even speak at all. She looked forward to Brooklyn's cathartic training sessions and, in truth, sometimes preferred them even to her daughter's visits.

The visits she did not prefer were Goliath's. She had long since concluded that there was simply nothing between them to say. At least nothing that would not cause them both unnecessary pain. But he rarely came anyway and when he did, it was with a specific purpose, such as the consultation she now listened to. Hudson almost never saw her at all, which suited her, as his presence was almost as painful as Goliath's. If she could ever be honest with herself, she would have to admit that she was ashamed before him. So much so, not even her fits of rage were enough to distract her from it. Hudson had been like a father to her, but one she was never quite able to win the approval of. She had thoroughly rejected and openly despised nearly everything he'd ever attempted to teach her. Even so, he had held her as a child and shown her love and protection as a youth. She didn't particularly enjoy being an utter disappointment to him.

She focused her gaze on Xanatos' pristine, designer shoes, trying to appear as non-interested in their discussion as possible. They were arguing about her treatments now. Upon her surrender, Xanatos had had experimental surgical implants installed somewhere near the base of her brain. It was because of these implants that she could enjoy considerable freedom within the castle. As long as she remained within her assigned boundaries, she was fine. If she broke them, however, the implants would instantly render her unconscious. The clan also had several remote controls which could be used to paralyze her if she behaved in a way that made them feel it necessary. She had not given any of them reason to engage the implants in some time, and Goliath had opened up several new spaces within the castle for her, such as the library, the dining room, and a sitting room they frequently used, though she rarely used the privilege. But that wasn't all the implants could do. Since he'd had them installed, Xanatos had hounded her to consent to a series of experimental treatments that were meant to lessen her rage and allow her to heal emotionally. For the first year she'd lived in the castle, Goliath had gently but relentlessly pushed her to consent to Xanatos' surgeon beginning the treatment. Perhaps it was a sense of gratitude at the kindness he'd shown in allowing her to stay in the castle, and the forgiveness she had known from Angela, that compelled her to try to please them both, but one night, she asked them if they were certain that was what they thought was best. Enthusiastically, they had said it was, and she had reluctantly agreed to try a round.

It had been an utter disaster. Dr. Chatoorgoon, the surgeon that Xanatos had employed to design and implement the implants, had explained to her the strategy. The implants would diminish the area of her brain that controlled her fear and rage, which would allow her to process her trauma and heal from it. Demona was not at all convinced that her fear and rage weren't entirely justified given the circumstances she had lived through, but she didn't really feel like she would miss them all that much either. The doctor had explained that without those crutches, her brain would rewire itself to deal with pain in more healthy ways. None of that sounded so terrible to her. She supposed that even if ultimately, she experienced no benefit from the procedure, it wasn't likely it could hurt her. How wrong she had been, for nothing Dr. Chatoorgoon said could have begun to prepare her for the trial she would endure.

For the first couple of hours after the implants were reprogrammed, she didn't notice much of a difference. By the third hour, she was sobbing uncontrollably. The fourth hour found her convulsing and screaming with the emotional turmoil of centuries of guilt collapsing down on soul. With horror, she had seen herself as Goliath saw her. She saw what she had done to her loved ones and, without the ability to rage at humanity or Goliath instead, she had no choice but to face it.

The anguish had continued for several days and nights. Dr. Chatoorgoon had given her medications to reduce the screaming and convulsions to whimpering and trembling. Angela had remained by her side, stroking her shoulders and lying to her about how it would be all right. She didn't mean to lie, of course. But she couldn't have known what was happening to her mother interiorly, and how it couldn't possibly ever be made right.

This was the only time during her captivity that Goliath had visited her regularly. He would sit beside her and read to her out loud. Weeks passed and the quaking pain subsided, leaving her entirely numb and almost catatonic instead. Still, Goliath came and sat beside her for an hour or two each evening, reading to her as she stared into a darkness that she alone could see. Occasionally, she would turn to him and begin to sob uncontrollably. Goliath had concluded from this that his presence was causing her unnecessary pain that could only slow down her recovery. So he stopped coming altogether, that she might heal without his interference. It wasn't what she had wanted, but she had been too stricken to speak and tell him so. As weeks turned into months, the numbness faded and she became able to focus enough on the real world to speak to Angela and Xanatos again. Slowly, she had returned to a functional state, and after reviewing her scans and charts, Dr. Chatoorgoon had shockingly declared the entire nightmare a moderate success and was now recommending a second round.

"Adelpha?" Goliath called softly, and she came to attention. Even after two years, she hadn't become used to the new name. She knew she no longer wished to be called "Demona", for several reasons. Not the least of which was that the name had been chosen for her by an enemy, and a human enemy at that. She wondered if she even needed a name at all. She lived all her happiest years without one. But she wasn't sure Xanatos could handle her not having a name. To humans, a person's very existence seemed to depend on having a name. It was a risk, to her way of thinking, to have your identity so connected to a simple word. But interactions with the modern world seemed to require a name, and so her name would be Adelpha.

She looked up at Goliath, who had ceased discussing her with Xanatos and was now waiting for something from her. She stared back at them silently.

"Did you hear me? Dr. Chatoorgoon says that your scans…

"No more," she interrupted coldly.

"Adelpha?"

"No, more, I say! The first trial nearly broke me and it changed nothing."

"But the doctor…"

"I still hate them," she spat with sudden loudness, "I will always hate them for what they've done to us. No amount of emotional torture is going to change that. You are merely wasting your time, Goliath. Isn't it enough that you have me prisoner here? What harm can I do? You are safe from me. Your precious humans are safe from me. That's going to have to suffice."

Xanatos, looking frustrated, began to protest, but Goliath said quickly, "We understand."

"Then I'm free to go?" she demanded, her voice returning to its typical cool tone. Goliath nodded and she made her way toward the door. Just outside, she paused to listen.

"She's a stubborn thing," Xanatos grumbled.

"The first trial was devastating for her and for some reason, she can't see for herself all the improvement she's made."

Her eyes widened curiously. "Improvement?" she thought in surprise, "I wonder what improvement he is talking about?" She was certain she didn't feel the least bit improved, but it did interest her a little to know that Goliath thought she was. She pondered this as she walked about the rooms of the castle in which she was permitted.

She was finally free to return to her room, but she suddenly didn't want to be cooped up inside. She made her way through the corridor to the internal entrance to the conservatory. Xanatos had built a large, glass conservatory in the courtyard and filled it with plants that he found exotic or interesting. It was the closest thing to outdoors that she was allowed to visit unaccompanied, and she found it to be a calm, pleasant place, particularly with the large glass ceiling tiles tilted up so the occasional breeze could find its way in.

She watched as Goliath's shadow glided over the roof. He was joining the rest of the clan on patrol. The clan's area of the the castle would be deserted for the next few hours, except for Hudson, who she wouldn't see anyway, as he was always in the TV room, where she was not permitted. There was a hammock on a hammock stand in the far corner of the conservatory. She spread across it, sighing a little. Was it really so awful?, she thought as she rested her eyes for a moment. Her captivity in the castle was far more comfortable than any of the centuries of solitude she'd endured. She was better off there than anywhere. True, she was still tormented by recurring nightmares about the murder of the clan, particularly her daughter, Angela. But how could she not be anxious when Goliath insisted on constantly putting them all in harm's way, for the sake of his humans? His naïve obsession with protecting what she considered the vilest scum on the planet infuriated her, but she no longer sought to kill him. They coexisted in relative peace. Even if the future should see her relapse into a violent rage once again, they had thoroughly rendered her harmless. The clan was safe from her now. Why couldn't he be content with that? Why did Goliath feel the need to make it so much harder?

Suddenly, she was startled by the inexplicable sound of a voice calling her name. She froze in confusion, wondering if she had started to fall asleep. Then she heard it again. It was not a voice she recognized, but it had a strange quality of being able to pierce through the racket of the fan and the water fountain without sounding loud or strained. She rose slowly from the hammock, glancing around her.

"Come here and play with me, Adelpha," the voice continued. The tone sounded like that of a child, but there was a sense of something more to it. She carefully made her way along the gravel path, and around a large fern, toward the center of the room. There was a beautiful fountain there, surrounded by a lovely Moorish pattern of burnt orange and indigo tiles that spread out from it in an octagon. At each corner of the fountain was a small citrus tree, and a series of stairs, also adorned with Moorish tiles, ascended from the far end of the fountain and up a rock formation to another fountain at higher level. Water trickled down these stairs, creating a series of waterfalls, and near the top level, there was crouched the figure of a young boy, barefoot and wearing only white, cotton shorts. His pale skin had a slight glow to it and when he lifted his head to greet her, his eyes flashed in a way that was simultaneously strange and familiar, and she knew she was in the presence of one of Oberon's own.

"Come here, Adelpha!" he called to her. She obeyed cautiously, stepping across the beautifully painted tiles and approaching the edge of the waterfall.

"Do I know you?" she asked him.

"Of course!" the boy replied with an unnerving smile. He did not elaborate further and she did not ask.

"Why do you come to me?" The boy's face fell.
"I've no one to play with," he complained, "I want to play boats!"

"I don't know how," she protested, "And I don't have a boat." The boy smiled again and he lifted his hand to show her two large leaves he'd picked up. He dropped them into the top of the waterfall and laughed gleefully as he crab-walked down the steep rock formation with his bare feet to follow them. She watched as the leaves made their way through the series of chutes, and by the time they'd reached the fountain at the bottom, they had transformed into two lovely, miniature ships.

"Look!" the boy cried as the ships sailed around the circular fountain, "What should be in the water?"

A bit taken aback by the question she replied, "Er…fish?" The boy looked disappointed at her answer.

"Is that all?" he asked as though he found her terribly unimaginative. But he took a bright orange begonia flower and crumpled it until the small petals dropped into the water. As soon as they hit the surface, they transformed into tiny golden koi and raced around the fountain, chasing the ships.

"Something else!" the boy urged.

"An octopus?" she replied. The boy's eyes widened.

"A giant octopus!" he agreed and dropped a red paper lantern flower into the fountain as well. The sides of the flower wilted and became tentacles and the octopus flew through the water gracefully. The boy seemed pleased with his creation and sat watching it happily, while she observed him. Despite her unfortunate history with others of his kind, she was not particularly fearful of Oberon's children. She'd always found them, and their powers, fascinating. She wondered what was to become of her interaction with this one. They were known to tease, meddle, and even curse mortals who approached them, as Puck had cursed her when she'd vexed him. But they didn't just leave themselves to be easily or accidentally found by mortals, and this one already knew her name, so it certainly wasn't a random meeting. And there was a familiarity about him that she couldn't explain. Perhaps she had interacted with him before, and the memory had been erased by enchantment? Either way, she knew there had to be a reason he had chosen to visit her.

"Who are you?" she pressed.

"Well…" the boy replied hesitantly, not yet looking up at her.

"Do you have a name?"

"I'm not supposed to tell you my name."

"Oh, and why not?" she inquired.

"My mother says not to," he explained.

"Your mother? Are you a child among your folk?"

"Of course I am!" he exclaimed with a giggle, as though the fact should have been obvious.

"I've never encountered a young fairy before," she told him honestly, "I've always thought that they came into the world in whatever form they would always be. I've known them to disguise themselves as children, when they converse with us mortals, but I never thought of them having to grow into adults. Will you always be like a small child this way? Or will you grow as mortals do?"

The child of Oberon seemed to consider the question a moment, then said, "I'm not sure. I think I will grow a while…and then when I decide I've grown enough, I'll stop."

"How very convenient," she replied.

"Yes!" he agreed, giggling again.

"Why have you come to visit me?" she asked, in a much gentler tone, now that she knew she was dealing with a young one.

"I hear you crying," he explained flippantly.

Taken aback by this, she replied, "You hear me crying? When?"

"Nearly all the time!" he exclaimed, as though her pain was a tremendous inconvenience to him, "Late at night, when I'm supposed to be asleep!"

"I'm sorry…I didn't know," was the only thing she could think to say, and it certainly was the truth. The boy went back to violently splashing his toy boats in the fountain and she watched him curiously, in awkward silence. She didn't doubt him when he said he was disturbed by her crying, but it surprised her to hear that Oberon's children could sense mortal anguish from their realm. Then again, she had wept so much the previous months, it wouldn't come as a surprise to her if all of Avalon was having a staff meeting at that moment, discussing how to go about getting her to keep it down. But on the other hand, wasn't the world filled to the brim with tormented souls? Why should this strange fairy child pick her cries out from among the multitudes? Suddenly, he looked up at her from his play.

"Would you like to see me do a trick?" he asked her enthusiastically.

"Well…" she began to reply.

"Look!" he shouted and he pointed at the water in the fountain. A strange coloration appeared in the middle of it, with the rainbow sheen of a bubble. It filled with a bright light and formed the shape of a flower blossom. Then with a pleasant humming sound, it rose from the surface of the water and into the air. At the boy's gesture, it floated through the air toward her.

"Take it," he directed her. She reached beneath the floating, crystalline droplet and it fell into her grasp. She expected it to splash like water, but although it moved and glistened like a very large and colorful dewdrop, it stayed firm to her touch.

"It's for you," he informed her.

"What is it?" she asked with a healthy mixture of wonder and trepidation.

"It's a sweet dream," he explained, "If it wasn't so late past my bedtime, I'd come along after you fell asleep and drop it in your ear." She looked up in alarm and he laughed.

"But you can just put it under your pillow," he concluded.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"See? I'm a useful friend to have around!"

She sighed.

"You know, Oberon's children do not forge friendships with mortals," she told him.

"Don't they?" he asked.

"And I'm afraid I'm not fit to be friends with anyone. I don't want to disappoint you, but I don't think it's possible for us to be friends." The boy fairy grinned impishly, and the shimmer of his skin seemed to shine a bit brighter.

"I like to do impossible things," he informed her, "And I say I'm going to keep you."

"Keep me?" she repeated in a disgruntled tone, "I'm already being kept prisoner by Xanatos and the clan. Not to mention I have three of your sisters perpetually on my back as well. I think I've already got more captures than I can endure." The boy's eyebrows raised and he cocked his head as if he were a wolf listening for a brother's cry in the distance.

"Uh oh! They've caught me out of bed!" he told her, grinning sheepishly, "I have to go now. Put the charm under your pillow. It will help." The boy rose abruptly and scampered toward the stone doorway that led into the main part of the castle. She rose and followed him, but he seemed to evaporate the instant he got out of view. When she turned back to look into the conservatory, the toy boats he'd been playing with had turned into blossoms, floating on the surface.