October 29, 1997
4:05 a.m.
Demona's Townhome, Gramercy Park
"Things have been odd at the castle lately," Angela said, as she gently set her teacup into its matching saucer, struggling to find the right words.
"What do you mean odd?" Demona pried.
Mother and daughter were sipping tea at a small table on an upper floor of Demona's townhome that overlooked her garden. It was where they often met during their visits. When the weather was particularly nice, they sat on the veranda, but neither of them wanted their tea to cool too quickly in the late October chill, so they remained indoors this time.
"Unexplainable things keep happening. Things go missing or are stolen, and in such a way that it makes everyone quick to blame each other, and tempers flare. Mine included," Angela sighed remorsefully, though she didn't like admitting it out loud.
"Go on…" her mother's tone was soft and wheedling.
"Well, when I take some time to cool off and mull things over… it just doesn't add up. The motivations don't make sense. And then, add in the fact that some events are clearly supernatural—like books flying off shelves. It can't be a coincidence that all of this is happening at the same time. It almost feels like we're being haunted, but in a way that's so subtle, like it's meant to cause discord and division. I can't think of a better way to explain it, other than to say I know something's not right, and it's making everyone angry and on edge all the time."
Angela turned up her palms and looked at Demona with pleading eyes. "Is any of this making sense to you? I know—I know you've seen things. Heard about things. In your… um… experiences."
Demona raised a brow speculatively.
"I've never heard of ghosts stealing things," she said. "But you have good instincts. Like me. If you think something isn't right, trust your gut. What you're describing sounds plausible, but not a haunting. Not something from the other side. It sounds more like trickster mischief. Fae magic. Have you confronted the tricky one or the half-breeds he serves?"
"It's not them. They're being plagued by this as well, and likely want it to end just as much as we do. Xanatos's Halloween party is in a couple of nights, and I think everyone is getting a bit anxious about it given all that's still going on around the castle. Goliath is even thinking of forbidding the clan from going, which would be awful! It's the one night when we get to mingle with humans without fear, when we can be ourselves without hiding in the shadows."
"I don't understand why you would even want to be amongst so many vile humans," Demona chided, the last word dripping with disdain.
"They're not all like that," Angela replied lightheartedly. "I was raised by humans, remember?"
Demona winced ever so slightly, but it was hidden by the sip of tea she took at that exact moment.
"Besides, it's fun to dress up."
Demona snorted derisively. "I thought you just said it was the one night you could be yourselves. How do you reconcile that with parading about in gaudy human costumes meant to disguise your appearance?"
"Well… we don't dress up because we have to. We dress up because we want to…" Angela stammered. But her cheeks had started burning under the skeptical look she was getting from her mother, and she felt a little lightheaded and warm. Maybe they should have sat out on the veranda after all.
"Besides, you parade around as a human every day," she added.
"Not by choice," Demona snapped, and Angela swallowed. It wasn't wise to antagonize her mother, and yet, she couldn't seem to help herself.
"Anyway," Angela said, quick to change the subject. "I wanted to get your advice on how to banish whatever this is so the Halloween party doesn't get canceled. And with Goliath and Elisa's commitment ceremony less than two months away, we need to fix things at the castle soon, or—"
Angela stopped talking immediately, clasping a hand to her mouth as she felt a wave of burning fury radiate off her mother.
"Their what?" Demona said through clenched teeth. The teacup she'd been holding instantly shattered in her hand as she clenched down on it in a torrent of rage. Several shards of porcelain bit into her lapis skin, breaking the flesh.
Angela jumped in shock. "I—I'm sorry," she stuttered, her eyes following a trickle of blood that slid down one of Demona's talons. It was almost as red as her mother's fiery mane.
"A commitment ceremony?" Demona said coldly. "Like a human wedding, you mean?"
"I've said too much." Angela said tremulously, her eyes wide with fear at the gravity of her blunder.
"Goliath has completely lost any shred of dignity he once had. He has no idea what it means to be a gargoyle!" Demona growled. The rills of blood that glistened on her talons had started to converge and were now dripping off her hand and onto the table, but she still didn't seem to notice or care.
"I should go," Angela said, rising from her chair, shakily collecting her cup and saucer.
"No, wait!" Demona snapped, her hand flying to the cup in Angela's hands, which she snatched and placed back on the table. She'd instantly ceased her tirade, and her face slid back into a calm, cool mask. The very picture of composure and control.
"I spoke out of turn. Forgive me, daughter. I know what your father does with his life is none of my business," she said calmly. "You needn't leave yet. You can trust me."
Angela narrowed her eyes suspiciously at her mother's sudden change of tone.
"When you found out Goliath and Elisa were together, you cast a spell on him, and it was awful. For all of us. You say I can trust you, but how do I know you won't try something like that again?"
"I learned my lesson from that fiasco," Demona said matter-of-factly.
"Right," Angela said skeptically.
There was a long stretch of uncomfortable silence as Demona wrangled with how to get control of the situation again.
"I should probably still go. It will be dawn soon, and Broadway worries when I'm not back on time," Angela said, not meeting her mother's gaze.
"Ah, yes… your mate," Demona said, her tone dripping with disapproval. "I hope you do not come to regret your choice in mate the way I did."
"If you had not mated with my father, I would not be here," Angela pointed out.
"And it is because of my love for you that your father is still alive to this day," Demona countered.
"I think it's more likely that your plans have always been foiled," Angela scoffed, and then she quickly bit her lower lip, mentally chastising herself for being so reckless with her words. She'd certainly thought such things many times—but she knew voicing those thoughts aloud meant risking her mother's wrath. What was wrong with her tonight?
Angela saw a cold flash in her mother's eyes right after her rash words had slipped out, but the blaze quickly dissipated, and Demona's visage returned to a state of equanimity once again.
"If I really wanted him dead… he'd be dead," she said flatly.
"If you say so." Angela stood up from the table and walked toward the French doors that led out to the balcony. She turned briefly, glancing back at her mother with a melancholy look of disappointment. "You know, I didn't really want to come here tonight. Everyone always worries about me when I visit you—my mate and Goliath especially—and I hate putting them all through that. But the Halloween party is important to me, and I really thought you might be able to help. Possibly in a way no one else could. I guess I was wrong."
Then she flung open the doors and placed a foot on the balcony railing, she extended her wings and her body tensed in preparation of leaping off the side.
"Angela, wait," Demona said standing up. The lavender hued gargoyle who reminded her so much of her former mate turned to look at her.
"I'll look into it," Demona said. "I promise."
Angela searched her for a long moment as if looking for anything nefarious behind her intent, and then she nodded before leaping off the balcony.
Demona watched her daughter's silhouette until it disappeared into the pre-dawn New York skyline. She felt a lump form in her throat, but immediately shook her head as if banishing all the disconcerting thoughts that threatened to distract her. Turning, she glared at the pile of shattered porcelain, the bloodstained tablecloth, and the teacup she'd wrenched from Angela's hands. Her tail lashed in irritation. Gazing down at her palms, she saw the wound had already closed up and was nearly healed, but clearly not before she'd made a mess of things. With a sigh, she flicked off some of the drying blood, gathered the ends of the tablecloth, and then bundled everything, dishes and all, into a grotesque mass that she dragged down to the kitchen, not even bothering to lift it as it thumped down each step, and shoved haphazardly into the trash can. It didn't matter that the tea set was from the 1700s and was worth a fortune now, even with one of the cups shattered. She had others.
With that task behind her, she washed her hands to remove the last of the blood. But that wasn't all. When she'd crushed the teacup, some bits of dried tea leaves had gotten stuck to her palm, along with a few dark flecks of sediment. One could easily mistake the dark flecks for tea leaves, but they were evidence of something far more nefarious.
Even so, the drug she'd put in the tea had no lasting ill effects. She would never let any real harm befall her daughter. The crushed herbs simply made one more talkative, less inhibited, and, most importantly… far more likely to spill secrets.
The challenge was keeping Angela at ease and unsuspecting each time they partook during their visits. Demona knew that if she didn't drink the same tea, Angela would grow suspicious, so it was crucial that she always drank the drug right along with her daughter.
With a surreptitious smile, she spat something small into her hand—a tiny stone she could keep concealed between her cheek and teeth without detection. It had been enchanted to absorb toxins and poisons that were consumed—a spell she had once gotten from the Grimorum Arcanorum—but there was no guarantee it would keep her immune to the drug's effects if absorbed through the skin, so she made sure to wash her hands thoroughly.
Demona thought back on the events of the night and all the interesting—and unsavory—details she'd extracted. Angela might not willingly give up any tidbits about the clan, but with the drug, Demona could press her just a little, and she'd eagerly talk. She was learning quite a bit about the clan and the other occupants of the castle during their visits, and Angela hadn't even caught on yet.
In fact, tonight was the first time she'd actually seen her daughter get flustered by a slip-up, so that was an interesting development. Perhaps she'd put too much of the drug into the brew this time. Or perhaps Angela was finally starting to catch on. After all, her deductions about the castle mischief she'd described had been genuinely impressive. Either way, it was clear her daughter was still far too trusting of others, even when she was supposedly on her guard. She'd have to teach her better. Help her refine her natural instincts. And she would.
Once she'd gotten everything she needed from her.
…
…
The sound of bamboo kendo swords striking each other filled the castle's gym, which also served as a dojo whenever Katana instructed Nashville in his regular sword practice.
"Very good, Gnash," Katana said pleased as the young gargoyle parried one of her attacks, but when he tried to get past her to strike her armor, she knocked his sword back with a swift, deflective move.
"One of these days, I'll finally beat you, Mom," he said as he lifted his face mask up, panting.
"Yes, I would hope so, but not today," Katana said affectionately.
"In the meantime, you can try and beat your dear old dad again," Brooklyn said as he walked into the dojo to see how things were going.
"Easy," Nashville said cockily.
"Once is luck, kid. It's skill if you can repeat it," Brooklyn said to his son as he took up a kendo sword and swished it experimentally. Then he took a spot on the mat, sword in hand, both hands respectfully at his sides.
"Where is your practice armor?" Katana admonished her mate.
"Eh, I'm fine," Brooklyn replied arrogantly.
Katana shook her head.
Nashville smiled confidently as he pulled his face guard down again. They both stood straight, then bowed to each other before crouching into fighting stances, their hands on the hilts of their swords, the blades extended and just touching. Then Gnash lunged and Brooklyn parried him easily enough, but after a few attacks, Brooklyn realized it was getting harder and harder to deflect his son's strikes. When he felt a painful slap of a kendo sword on his arm that made him drop his own practice sword, it took him by surprise.
"Geez, Gnash," Brooklyn said as he rubbed his biceps.
Nashville lifted his face guard, not even bothering to hide his triumphant grin.
Brooklyn shook his arm out several times. "I can barely move my fingers," he muttered.
"I warned you, my love," Katana reminded him with a self-satisfied smile on her face. "But that is enough practice for today. It is nearly dawn."
Nashville put away his armor and kendo sword, but when he went to get his real sword where he had left it in the sword rack, it was gone.
"Mom?" he said, confused. "Where's my kodachi?"
"Did you leave it somewhere again?" Katana asked, her tone mildly scolding.
"No! I put it in the sword rack right here," he said petulantly.
"I don't know what to tell you, bud, but if it's not in the sword rack, you must have left it lying around somewhere," Brooklyn said.
"I did not!" Nashville said indignantly. "I'm not a child."
"Yes, you are," Brooklyn and Katana said in unison.
Nashville folded his arms across his chest, sulking.
"We'll ask around and see if anyone has seen it," Katana suggested. "But you really need to be more responsible. Someone could get hurt. And soon we'll have a hatchling running around the castle to worry about."
"I didn't lose it!" Nashville shouted, annoyed.
"Cool it, Gnash," Brooklyn ordered, losing his patience a little. "Let's all just go look for it together instead of whining about it."
"Fine," Nashville said, and he grumpily marched out of the dojo.
"Remember when he was a hatchling and he was really cute and sweet, and he'd never dare talk back to us?" Brooklyn said to his mate out of the side of his mouth.
"Hai," Katana sighed wistfully.
"Something to look forward to with the next one, I suppose," Brooklyn replied as they left the dojo together to help their son find his missing kodachi. "For as long as it lasts, anyway."
…
…
Lexington had had enough.
Once more his laptop had gone missing, but this time… this time he found it lying in the bottom of the pool in the atrium.
He was dejectedly carrying the waterlogged laptop back to the command center, his whole body dripping wet from fishing it out, when he ran into Nashville and his parents coming out of the dojo.
"Hey, Lex, have you seen—" Brooklyn started, and then stopped as he took in his brother's soaking wet appearance as well as the anger radiating off of him. He was surprised the water wasn't steaming off Lex's head given how furious he looked.
"It's ruined!" he roared, and he threw his laptop on the ground in a rage. It landed on the stone floor in a clatter that made everyone else flinch. The lid of the laptop popped open, the screen shattered, and the case cracked. If it hadn't been ruined before, it was now.
"What gives, Lex?" Brooklyn said, trying to remain calm.
"You just hate me so much you threw my laptop into the pool?!" Lexington roared at Nashville.
"I didn't take your dumb computer! I haven't used it since the last time you let me!" Nashville shouted back. "Did youtake my kodachi?"
"Why would I want a stupid kid's sword?" Lexington threw back.
"Guys, take a step back," Brooklyn suggested, moving to stand between the two of them.
"It's not a kid's sword!" Nashville shouted back.
"If I had taken your sword, I would have thrown it in the trash!" Lexington yelled.
"I should throw you in the trash!" Nashville shouted, and he leapt at Lexington, his talons extended.
"That is enough!" Brooklyn roared, his wings flaring out, and his eyes glowing white as he grabbed his son by the back of his blue USN shirt and dragged him backwards, stopping him from attacking Lexington.
Gnash glared at his father, but didn't try to lunge at Lex again.
When Brooklyn was sure no blood would be drawn, he released his vice-like grip on his son and reprimanded the two hot-headed males for their behavior.
"Nashville, we are clan. We use our words—not our fists—to solve our differences. Got it?"
Gnash glared at the floor, but he didn't talk back or openly roll his eyes at his father. Brooklyn figured that would have to be good enough for now.
"As for you, Lex," Brookyn said, turning his attention to his brother. "I'm sorry about your laptop, but you're being a complete asshole right now. Go cool your head," the older gargoyle growled.
Lex stared at his brother, his hands clenched into tight fists. All of his fears and worries compounded into the fact that he didn't know what Brooklyn knew. He had been to the future. He knew all kinds of things that he mentioned cryptically from time to time. Did he know about him? Did he know his secret? Was that why his computer was constantly targeted? Because his secrets were on it? And was Nashville doing his dirty work? Those thoughts horrified him more than anything else. Would his own brother do that?
But truthfully, he didn't know his brother anymore.
For a moment Brooklyn thought Lex was actually going to throw a punch rather than obey the command, but he eventually leaned over and picked his laptop up off the ground, and stormed off instead.
After Lex was out of earshot, the two parents refocused on their son.
"Nashville." Katana said her son's name with so much disappointment that it made him want to disappear into the floor, but he was also furious and embarrassed by the insinuation in her tone. "You didn't throw Lexington's laptop into the pool, did you?"
"No! Why would I do something like that? I don't care about his stupid laptop! You shouldn't even have to ask!" he shouted. "You know what, screw this!" he fumed and then abandoned his parents mid-search in the hallway.
As he stormed off, Brooklyn and Katana looked at each other. Wordlessly, they agreed chastising him for his language choice wouldn't be particularly productive at that moment. Instead, they let him go, figuring it was best to let him cool off for a little while, too.
...
...
Angela returned to the castle from Demona's place and immediately ran into a very angry Nashville.
"Have you seen my kodachi?" he growled at her as she stepped through one of the stone archways, looking for Broadway.
"Uh. No. That's your sword, right?" Angela said cautiously.
"Yeah, duh!" Nashville replied venomously.
Angela recoiled slightly. "Okay, geez. I'll let you know if I find it," she replied.
Nashville stalked off, muttering to himself.
Angela watched him go, and felt her heart sink. How long could this go on? Although she'd left her mother's place feeling bitterly disappointed, she had to admit it had also felt validating to share her suspicions with someone and be taken seriously for once. In contrast, everyone at the castle was too busy sniping at each other to recognize something more sinister was afoot. Maybe if she tried, she could get through to Broadway. She just needed to find him and talk to him, to share what she'd been able to articulate for her mother. Somehow it had been easier to get the words out tonight, to explain the ideas that had been forming in her mind. Like a dam had been loosened.
She checked the kitchen to see if Broadway was there, but upon finding it empty, she quickly turned down a different corridor to search elsewhere. To her surprise, she soon found her mate in the TV room. His wings were folded around his shoulders, and he was relaxing in Hudson's big maroon recliner, humongous feet up, watching an old detective movie.
Normally, Broadway preferred to watch movies in the theater, hidden among the ceiling beams or in an empty upper balcony with a large bag of salted popcorn in hand, or over at Elisa's place where he had peace and quiet, but surprise drop-ins had all but ceased when she and Goliath started dating. It also didn't feel right to leave whenever Angela visited Demona. On those nights, he liked to stay closer to home so he'd know when she was back, assured that she was safe and sound. He also liked to be ready and available to comfort her if needed, in case the visit didn't go so well.
Besides, the TV room had been unusually free as of late. For some inexplicable reason, Hudson had lost interest in his usual programs and had been spending a lot more time in the library instead. Ordinarily, this would have piqued Broadway's natural curiosity, but after their uncomfortable exchange on the battlements a few weeks ago, he decided Hudson's sudden change in behavior was a mystery that he didn't really need to solve.
"Hey," he said as she walked in. He turned off the TV and sat up, spreading his arms open in invitation.
"Hi," Angela replied, sounding defeated. She crawled onto his lap and rested her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her and began stroking her hair.
"You seem a little down, love. What's wrong?" he asked.
"I'm tired of living like this! We have to constantly walk on eggshells around each other. Everyone is so stressed all of the time, and feuding, and it's not letting up! We can't keep doing this," she sighed in exasperation.
"What's happened now?" Broadway asked sympathetically, a touch of worry and exasperation in his voice.
Angela shrugged. Not with indecision or confusion but with resignation.
"I just bumped into Gnash, and he's looking for his sword. I guess it's gone missing," she said, choosing to skip some of the details from her tense interaction with the young gargoyle. He was just a child, afterall, who deserved grace when acting like one.
"Hopefully it will turn up," Broadway said optimistically.
"In the same way everything else has been turning up? Yeah, that's been going real well," Angela said sarcastically.
"Fair point," he conceded. But as he held Angela, he could tell it was more than just Gnash's missing sword weighing on her.
How was your visit with… her?" Broadway asked as gently as he could. He refused to refer to Demona as Angela's mother because she was anything but, in his opinion. But he also knew the topic was a sensitive one, and he genuinely wanted her to be open with him and not bottle it all up. He needed to make sure she was okay.
"In terms of whether she's up to something, like some new plot, there's nothing new going on that I can tell, other than the usual anti-human rhetoric," Angela replied.
"That's pretty normal for her, though."
Angela was silent.
"Hey, what's going on?" Broadway prodded her gently.
Angela sat up so she could look at him.
"I have a… suspicion that I've kept to myself because I didn't know how to put it into words—but I spoke to Demona about it, and she made me feel like I was onto something. Like truly onto something. And frankly, I started feeling good about visiting her—like I was finally doing the right thing." She paused, then sighed deeply. "But then our conversation suddenly fell apart. It's kind of a blur, and I may have said—well, never mind that—it's just, I worry."
Looking into her mates eyes, Angela halted. She could tell he'd been growing more and more concerned as she spoke. Her cheeks flushed, and she realized how naive she must have sounded. She hated that feeling, and she hated that look he was giving her, even though she knew he didn't mean to. She decided to take a step back and pose a different question to him.
"Be honest. Do you think I'm doing any good visiting her?" she asked quietly. "Do you think there's any hope I could actually reach her?"
Broadway looked at her for a long moment as he debated whether he should tell her what he really thought, or tell her what she wanted to hear.
"Truthfully? I don't think it's likely, Angela, considering everything she's done," he said bluntly. Seeing the stab of pain in her eyes, he quickly tried to backpedal, even if just to offer some consolation. "But, I don't think it's totallyimpossible. It's hard to say anything is ever completely out of the question, right?" he finished weakly.
"No, I think your first answer was probably the right one," Angela said mournfully as she picked at an invisible spot in the recliner with a talon. "Sometimes I think about her changing her ways and rejoining the clan, but… that's probably just me being delusional," she said with a small hitch in her voice, feeling self-conscious again.
"I know you want that, Angela, but just imagine how it would play out if she ever tried to rejoin the clan. Do you honestly think she'd be welcome back here? I don't know if Brooklyn's ever forgiven her for tricking him and endangering Goliath with the spell she cast from the Grimorium. He won't talk much about his travels through time, but I get the impression there's some more history—er, future—there, too, based on the few things he's let slip now and then. He doesn't seem to hate her as much as he once did, but he's still very cautious about her.
"And think of Coldstone and Coldfire. You and I know all too well that they harbor some pretty significant resentment toward her for bringing them and their rookery brother back from the dead to live as animated robots and a cyborg-zombie hybrid." He shuddered, remembering the uncomfortably intimate feeling of being possessed by Coldstone.
"And don't forget Hudson. Even before the massacre, Demona frequently tried to undermine his leadership. And then after we awoke here, she tried to kill him—well, all of us—many times, Elisa included."
"And then there's Goliath… oh, boy, where do you even start? You know he can be a merciful leader in a lot of ways, but I don't think he'd ever forgive her and let her back into the clan. Not after… everything." He stopped and took a deep breath, feeling sorry for unloading all of that onto his mate at once, but also believing it had to be said.
"And what about you? How do you really feel about her?" Angela asked pointedly, looking him right in the eyes.
"How do I feel?" Broadway raised his brows, a cold sweat forming under her entreating gaze. He hated to hurt her, but, deep down, he knew he owed her the truth she sought. "It would take a lot to forgive her, Angela. Because of her, most of our clan is dead. When we woke up the night after..."
He paused as the horrible memories of that night came back to him. The horrors they'd seen. At the time, he and his brothers had been in such shock that they weren't able to process it fully before being turned to stone by the Magus. Even after they woke up in Manhattan a millennium later, they were still so overwhelmed by their new time and situation that it was impossible to grapple with all of it. But now that he'd had a few years to work through it, he'd finally figured out how to manage a lot of that pain, forgive himself for surviving, and put his focus on the present as well as his future with Angela, though the nightmares still plagued him at times. More so lately, for some reason. He shuddered at the memories, hating to revisit them.
"When we emerged from the rookery, the castle grounds were still burning. The shattered bodies of our clan—my rookery brothers, sisters, and parents… our elders, and… the young ones—were everywhere. She didn't smash them all to pieces herself, but you know she went behind Goliath's back and came up with the plan that led to all of their deaths. That's pretty damn hard to forgive."
Broadway's tone had grown harder, and his jaw clenched as he described what Demona had done. Angela closed her eyes momentarily as moisture rimmed her lashes. His words had painted a very painful picture of the horrors her mother had caused.
"I understand," she said as she turned her face away.
"Angela, look at me" he said, gently placing a hand under her chin until she turned back to look at him. "I don't believe that she would harm you intentionally, but you still need to be careful. Because of her immortality, real consequences like life and death aren't the same for her, and that makes her really dangerous."
She winced and closed her eyes again, like she'd been stung, which made Broadway feel awful. But as much as he hated seeing her in pain, he was more afraid of not getting through to her—of not doing everything in his power to prevent the danger Demona posed to her… and to all of them.
"Please, at least listen to what I have to say. You can't truly trust anything she says or does. Like I said earlier—just ask Brooklyn—she knows how to get into your head. Make you feel special or heard, but it's just a seed for her manipulation. She knows how to play the long game. As in, the really long game."
"I know that!" Angela snapped bitterly, her voice full of pain, then she curled up into his arms again. He could feel her hot tears as they slid down her cheeks and onto his skin. She had grown up in an idyllic situation, hardly facing any grief or hardship until only very recently in her young adult life. She had grown immensely in the face of challenge and adversity, but he knew it was still hard for her to process a lot of it.
Still holding her gently, he shifted his broad frame in the recliner, unfurled his wings, and tenderly wrapped them around her, pulling her close.
"I'm sorry, Angela. I know that's not what you wanted to hear. I know you always want to see the best in others. I'm the same way," he said with a small laugh. "It's one of the things I love most about you, about us."
She made no response.
"Hey, uh, wasn't there something else you said you wanted to talk to me about?" he asked, hoping to get her reengaged and her mind off of Demona, Vikings, betrayals, and massacres. "Something you said you discussed with Demona that you wanted to share with me?"
"It doesn't matter," she whispered, and then she buried her face deeper into his chest.
Broadway said nothing more as he softly stroked her hair, his heart bleeding for her. Wishing she would open up more to him. She deserved so much better than this. He wasn't normally prone to dark thoughts, and he knew Demona couldn't be killed, but if she ever endangered Angela, he swore her immortality wouldn't stop him from trying.