FOURTH NIGHT A Gargoyles Christmas Carol by Constance Cochran (eilonwy@earthlink.net) & Kellie Fay (198120@aol.com) Disclaimer: Disney owns Gargoyles. Period. This story was posted back in December on the gargoyles mailing list and the alt.fan.disney.gargoyles newsgroup. But we didn't have the chance to do final edits and ship it off to castle.net until now. The gargoyle tradition of Winter Solstice is an idea of Batya "The Toon" Levin's, who is in the process of compiling a gargoyle cultural profile. Anyone interested in this should e-mail her at lb7qc@qcvaxa.acc.qc.edu. We are calling it "Winter Solstice" in this story just to be sure we're being accurate; however, the term Midwinter Festival might do as well. The whirring sound you hear is Charles Dickens turning over in his grave. "Good King Wenceslas" is written by John Mason Neale, traditional music. "The Muppet Christmas Carol" is owned by Walt Disney Pictures and Jim Henson Productions. Comments, criticism, praise, howls of indignation are welcome. * * * * * * December 21 Winter Solstice Seated in front of the TV, Alex chortled at Gonzo and Rizzo in "The Muppet Christmas Carol." Owen held up a shining red glass ball and hung it on the small spruce set up in the nursery. The spruce was a miniature version of the twenty-foot tree standing in the Great Hall of Castle Wyvern. It was a few nights before Christmas, a cold winter solstice. A few flurries of snow had fallen that day, but hadn't lingered to coat the stones of the castle or the city sidewalks. Alex looked up from the TV screen and gazed at his guardian expectantly. "Lex?" He requested. Owen touched the glass ball with one finger so it spun, reflecting the room. "Tonight is Winter Solstice, Alex, a crucial date for gargoyles. You friend is no doubt occupied at the moment." He glanced down at his pupil with a lecturing expression on his face. "After today the nights will get shorter. When gargoyles were numerous they would celebrate on this night, the longest night of the year." Suddenly Alex's eyes widened, and his face puckered as if he were about to cry. With a prickling sensation between his shoulder blades, Owen turned and saw Lord Oberon standing a few yards away. Oberon was just lowering one slender, blue finger from his lips as he shushed the child. "If you really want to turn this into a lesson, Puck, you should show him how to decorate the tree with magic," he said. Oberon, resplendent in red and gold, turned with a swirl of his cape and walked around the tree, regarding it. Owen pushed up his glasses. "That would defeat the purpose. Part of the fun is decorating the tree yourself. I was attempting to instruct Master Alexander in the history of...." "He has no need of such things," Oberon said sharply, cutting him off. He paused, and turned to look at Owen. Then he raised a hand, palm flat and upward. "The disguise is not necessary at the moment, Puck." Oberon waved his hand. Owen's stone arm melted away as he returned to his true form of the fae Puck. "I'm sure you're not just here to come a'wassailing," Puck said in a drawl, hovering a few feet off the rug. He zipped around the tree and added another ornament, still hovering in mid-air. Oberon frowned fastidiously. "Indeed not. We are here for a purpose. The festival of Winter Solstice, celebrated in so many different ways by the humans and gargoyles, has even more meaning for my children, a meaning that runs far back to before the dawn of time." Alex pulled himself along the rug towards Oberon, then stopped. Seated with his little legs sticking out in front of him, the child craned his neck back and stared awestruck up at the tall, slender, elaborately garbed, blue-skinned lord of the fae. Oberon gave the child a tolerant glance, then turned back to Puck. "And what does that have to do with me," Puck said, swooping down to pick up a string of lights. He touched one, and the entire row lit up, while the plug dangled free at the end of the strand. "I have been banished from Avalon, remember?" "But you are still one of my children," Oberon said sternly. Then, surprisingly, his face seemed to soften for a moment. "I am here to give you a midwinter gift, Puck." "Oh goody," Puck said sarcastically. "I just love presents. What are you going to do? Turn me into a gargoyle?" Oberon ignored the little fae's tone. "There is a condition to this gift, of course." "Why am I _not_ surprised," Puck muttered. He caught Oberon staring at him, coughed, and busied himself with another string of lights. "On Fourth Night, I grant you leave to move freely in your fae form, without Alexander's instruction as a condition. However, there are restrictions. It will only be for that one night. And," Oberon held up a finger, "You must perform one task. A 'good deed', as the humans call it." Puck slowly drifted down to the floor. "A good deed?" He asked, raising an eyebrow and looking for a moment uncannily like Owen. "Yes. You know, perform some service for the good of the humans. It's a custom of theirs at this time of year, I understand. And, as you are posing as one part of the time, I thought it appropriate." "_Most_ of the time," Puck added with a sly, sidelong glance at Oberon. "Well, what are we talking here? Conjuring Christmas feast out of thin air? Something involving a sleigh and eight tiny reindeer? Perhaps you'd like me to make it snow?" Oberon seemed to ponder that for a moment, while the sounds of the movie went on in the background. Alex had lost interest in the fae conversation, and was staring avidly at Kermit the Frog. "Yes, something like that...actually, there is one house in particular where you might begin." The lord of the fae held out his hand and waved the other palm over it. A colorful but transparent image appeared there, an urban town-house mansion with a gate with two gargoyles upon it, and a grotesque door knocker. There were no wreaths or lights of any kind anywhere on the house. Stone gargoyles graced the roof and the eaves. Puck recognized that house. He shuddered. "Go there on Fourth Night, deal with what you find." With that, Oberon, king of the fae, vanished. Puck morphed back into Owen and weakly reached up to adjust his glasses. "Ho, ho, ho," he said sepulchrally. On the rug before the TV, Alex gave a happy child's laugh. * * * * * * December 24 Christmas Eve Two hours before sunset "Ten million dollars!" Dominique Destine leaned forward and put her fingers on the shining, varnished surface of the mahogany board room table. "You lost a ten million dollar account. Tell me, there were six of you on this project. How could this happen?" Seated directly to her left, Jenkins swallowed and adjusted his tie. "Well, you see, Ms. Destine, one of the negotiators for the other side was being quite difficult. The figures he offered us were simply not..." "That's no excuse." The woman with the impressive mane of flame-red hair drummed her fingers on the table a few times, her nails making a clicking noise. Several of the men and women seated around the table winced. "If they play hard ball, you play with steel. I have told all of you that many times. And yet you let this deal slip through your pathetic fingers and allowed it to be snapped up by Xanatos Enterprises." She paused, looking out over the faces consideringly. "Perhaps losing your Christmas bonuses will motivate you." There was a murmur of protest, but no one dared to speak up. Ms. Destine rose, graceful in a cat-like way in her a-line, short business skirt and matching, waist-hugging blue jacket. "That will be all, gentlemen, ladies." She gathered up her brief case, snapped it shut with a click, and walked out, trailed by her assistant, a plain, shadow of a woman in somber navy and a severe page-boy hair-cut. As they headed down the carpeted hallway, several people passed them, nodded. "Ms. Destine." There was nothing friendlier. Most employees of Nightstone found out quickly what happened if you got too familiar with _this_ boss. "Um...Ms. Destine?" The assistant, Nicole Cratchit, rushed to keep up. "Yes, Nicole?" She answered coldly. They reached her office, and Nicole followed her in. "Well...um...do you suppose I could leave a little early today? It is Christmas eve, and the commute out to Long Island is going to be hell...I mean, quite long. I promised Robert and the boys I'd be home in time for dinner, and there are a few last minute gifts I need to..." Ms. Destine smoothed back her brilliant red hair and settled back into the deep swivel chair behind her desk. She crossed her legs while Nicole Cratchit stood still before the desk, awaiting an answer, her hands joined around her appointment book. "I can never understand the importance some...people...put on this time of year," Dominique said disdainfully. She turned the chair slightly and stared out of the big plate glass window behind her desk at the slowly darkening skyline. "Very well," she said sharply, without turning around. "You may go, Nicole." "Oh, thank you, Ms. Destine." Nicole quickly turned and fled as fast as dignity would allow, before her boss changed her mind. "Shut the door behind you, Nicole," Dominique called after her. Nicole obeyed. Outside the office windows, the sun began to set over Manhattan. * * * * * Later that night She had learned some time ago how to sleep during the day, or even at night in her gargoyle form. It came in handy, being able to drop off at a moment's notice. It allowed her to choose when she could be particularly alert. Around her the mansion was cold, not bitter cold, just the right temperature for a gargoyle, and silent. The clock in the downstairs hallway marked the seconds like a metronome. Demona went down a narrow flight of steps to the basement, where she now kept her laboratory. There she had all the materials laid out on a table: the stone, looking deceptively ordinary and plain; the parchment bearing the spell, not in Latin this time, but a language that had not been spoken by humans for nearly three thousand years. Cloaking her wings over her shoulders, Demona smiled to herself. It had been surprisingly easy to steal the stone from Xanatos' collection and evade the guards. Faintly, from upstairs, she heard a clock strike the hour. It was not yet time; she could catch a few hours' sleep first, and be fully alert to carry out her plan. Demona left the stone-walled room, sealing the concealed door behind her, and went upstairs. She wasn't sure how long she slept. It might have been an hour, it might have been five minutes before a sound woke her and set her warrior's instincts tingling. Demona slid from the bed and crouched, ready, in the darkness. She had slept in her tunic. A blast of cold winter wind rattled the windows, and a bulky, dark, winged shape took form before her. Demona rose slowly, her eyes beginning to glow. "Show yourself," she said, low and menacing. "Who are you?" Laughter, full, deep, resonant, came out of the darkness. Demona caught her breath in shock before she could stop herself. She hit the light switch, and the figure stepped forward out of the shadows. "Don't you remember me, Demona?" A burning rage seized her. "Thailog!" Demona sprang at him with a battle scream like a panther's cry. The next thing she knew, she had hit the wall and was lying, bruised on the rug. Thailog chuckled again. "I see I'll have to explain things to you." Slowly, Demona pushed herself to her feet and stood glaring at....well, it looked like Thailog, but something was not right -- aside from the fact that he was transparent and she could see the shape of the bed right through him. The coloring was the same, the black skin and eerily red eyes, the white hair -- that negative image of Goliath. But his skin seemed dusted by some unearthly white powder, giving him an oddly bleached appearance. Over the armor she remembered seeing him in last hung lengths of what looked like chain, but no chain she had ever seen. It was made up of Visa gold corporate credit cards, she realized. ~What did I _eat_?~ She wondered. "Well, so now you're a ghost," she said disdainfully. "Congratulations. Either that, or an exceedingly bad dream." "Ah, Demona, always so arrogant, so quick to jump to a decision. Thailog is not dead. Not really. Only the dead can be ghosts. Ergo, I am not Thailog. Not really. I take this form because it is something you can understand. An old hatred. An old love. And, as I recall, your old business partner as well." Demona laughed bitterly. "Oh, come now. What game are you playing this time?" She stepped forward, her talons clenched, ready to strike, her eyes glowing. "If you want to play games, I can arrange it." "And you would lose, of course." the Thailog apparition said. Whenever he moved, the credit cards made an unexpected metallic clanking sound. "It is nearly midnight. On this night you will be visited by three apparitions. Go with them and witness what they will show you. The first will appear at midnight, after you hear the single ring of a bell. The second will appear at one a.m, after two rings." "Yes, yes," Demona waved a hand. "And the third at 2 a.m. after three rings. Enough of this. I have important matters to attend to and you, whoever you are, are wasting -- my -- time!" On the last word, she sprung again. And again, she went right through him and hit the wall. Demona did not fall this time, but turned, growling. "You never learn, do you? But, then, that's the point." "Get out!" Demona screamed. Thailog laughed again. "I see it will take a bit more to convince you. Well then...." The apparition reached up one large hand, closed its talons around its jaw, and gave a stiff yank. The gargoyle clone's jaw ripped cleanly from the bottom of his face. He held it in the palm of his hand like some fragmented piece of skull. The separation did not seem to affect the rest of him in the least, despite the tendrils of flesh hanging from the base of the jaw line. The Thailog apparition looked consideringly at its jaw for a moment. "'Alas, poor Thailog,'" the upper half of its face said mockingly. Then its red eyes glanced at her. For the first and last time in her life, Demona fainted. * * * * * December 25 11:59 p.m. With a gasp, Demona opened her eyes -- and found herself still in her bed, under the quilt. Faint starlight glimmered beyond her window in the relentless clear, cold night. Groaning, she put her hand to her face. Now she was having nightmares...like those puny humans. It was intolerable. Into the silence, broken only by her ragged breathing, came a single, light, musical ring. Slowly, the gargoyle raised her head from her talons. At the foot of her bed stood a small, familiar figure. She could see him clearly; he seemed to be backlit by white light of an unidentifiable source. The glow pervaded the room, and cast long thin shadows of Demona's wings up to the moldings beneath the ceiling. "Oh, no, not you too?" She groaned. It was Lexington, garbed in a strange, un gargoyle-like white robe tied with a golden sash. In the talons of his right hand he held a sprig of green holly abundantly dotted with red berries. Lexington's large, round, innocent eyes watched her cheerfully from his round, bald brownish-green head. In the white robe, he oddly resembled a friendly, wise alien character from one of the humans' movies that she had seen once. The resemblance unnerved her; she had only watched that particular trilogy of films because her broker had recommended buying stock in the company that owned it, and had found it vaguely disturbing for some reason. She had been trying to forget those movies ever since. "Yes, me too," Lexington said calmly. He held out his free hand to her. "Come on, Demona, it's time to go." She shrank back from the little gargoyle, staring at him suspiciously. "Go where, you fool?" Her eyes narrowed. "Are you really Lexington at all, or an illusion?" Lexington nodded. "You're catching on. Good. I'm the ghost of Christmas Past. C'mon, we're going to be late." He reached out again and grabbed her wrist. Demona pulled back trying to wrench her arm away. "I do not celebrate Christmas!" The whatever it was that looked like Lexington shrugged and pulled back. "Winter Solstice past then. Lets go!" Demona raised her talons to flatten the little gargoyle with one blow -- then stilled her hand. A cold, white mist swirled around them. She thought she heard someone chanting in rhyme, distantly, but couldn't make out the words. When the mist stopped, her hand remained, poised above her head, as she looked around her. Lexington still held her other wrist. They were standing on the wall of a castle -- Castle Wyvern. Behind them the stone wall fell in a sheer drop to the sea. Familiar sensations she thought she would never feel again rushed in at her; the smell of the salty air, the sound of the deep booming of the surf on the jagged rocks. Across from them was a wall cut by an arcade of large windows. Torchlight burned from within, where she could see the humans celebrating their holiday. A great feast was spread out on the long trestle tables. The humans were feasting, or dancing to the music of the minstrelsy group in one corner, or hanging garlands and holly. At the head table up on the dais sat a dark haired, youthful man with a beard. Demona recognized him as a young Prince Malcolm. She could not see his brown-haired, French bride anywhere, and realized he was too young to have met her yet. Flanking the prince on his right was a grey-bearded man in blue robes: the Archmage. At the sight of him, Demona felt the familiar surge of hatred. But for the Prince, she felt a strange twinge of pity and loss, remembering the night he had died, leaving his daughter Katherine to reign alone over the castle. Lexington tugged at her wrist to get her attention. "Look there," he said. She looked -- and saw the gargoyles on the wall nearby. More swooped and dove over the courtyard. Demona turned away. It didn't matter. They were all gone now...rubble. "No," The Lexington apparition said. "Watch." So she did, but not because he told her to, but because she could not do otherwise. Side by side, a male and a female gargoyle crouched on the ledge, watching the human rituals within. His wing encircled her shoulders, and his dark, black hair commingled with her scarlet strands, tugged together by the wind. "See, my angel, this is a time for everyone to celebrate, gargoyles and humans alike. It has always struck me that their celebration and our Winter Solstice Festival fall so close together, within days of each other." "Hmph," the female said, turning away in mock-disdain. "I do not care what the humans are up to tonight. Other...things...interest me," she added, with a teasing smile. An answering grin appeared on the male's square, stern features. It lit up his face. "They look...so contented..." The Demona watching whispered. The Lexington apparition nodded. "And so they were...once. Let's go," he said. "It's time to move forward." "What?" She said sharply. "Where are you taking me now?" "You'll see," Lexington said, taking her hand. "Take one last look, Demona...and remember it." And the torchlight, the dancing and ivy within, the flight and companionship without, vanished in a swirl of cold mist. When the mist cleared, they were once again standing on the wall of Castle Wyvern, but in a slightly different spot. It was cold; even a gargoyle could feel it. Stars glimmered in the winter sky, and the wind whipped angrily across the stones. In the courtyard below, the hilts of rusted swords or the decaying shafts of arrows jutted from piles of fallen stone. There was no fire or torchlight, just the stars, the darkness, the booming of the sea. Slowly, drawn by a need she couldn't understand, Demona turned and looked for the rubble that would signify the destroyed members of her clan. In the dim starlight, she saw an uneven, small heap of shattered stone several yards away. Demona shut her eyes and raised her face to the sky. When she opened her eyes, she found she was looking at Goliath's stone statue, up on the main tower. He was seated with his chin upon his hand, elbow on knee in a thoughtful position, in the stance she had thought he would hold for all eternity. "Where...when are we?" The Lexington spirit looked around. His robes barely stirred despite the stiff wind. "Castle Wyvern, December 24, 1005 A.D. Three days after Winter Solstice, on the human's Christmas Eve. Eleven years after The Massacre and the Magus' curse on the remaining gargoyles. The end of the year in which MacBeth was born." Demona hugged her arms, shivering from something other than the cold. It was so lonely here; looking out over the countryside, she couldn't even see the lights of the local farmers. The castle was utterly deserted and desolate, save for its silent, stone guardians. Lonely. Alone. "Lexington...whoever, whatever you are...take me away from here. Please," she said, tiredly. "Don't you like it?" The small gargoyle said, with a mocking note that was most unlike Lexington. "You made this," he added, gesturing, and as he gestured, the mist curled around them again. Demona found herself standing in the Great Hall of a castle. Minstrels played, while at the center of the merry throng of humans a tall, broad-shouldered, white-bearded man danced with a laughing, lithe, red-haired woman: MacBeth and Gruoch. To one side of the king's dais, the other Demona stood, wings cloaked, arms folded, a look of satisfaction on her face. Her clan, what few of them there were at that time period, crouched near her. The king and queen danced by, and as they did so the white-bearded king called out in his thick Scottish brogue: "A fine Winter Solstice to you, Milady." The other Demona nodded. "Thank you, your highness -- but Midwinter Festival was three days ago." She did not wish him a Happy Yuletide. "You see?" Lexington said, gesturing with one white-clad arm. "You were allies once. Good allies. But you thought he would betray you, didn't you?" Watching Demona turned to him, snarling. "He is a human. I could not trust him. They pretend loyalty, for time...but sooner or later they always betray our kind," she added, looking at the dancers, at the human men and women toasting each other with pewter tankards of ale. A thin, melodic sound playing a mournful tune reached her ears. At first she thought its source was one of the minstrels. Then she saw that Lexington had produced from somewhere a violin -- an instrument that had not yet been invented in the eleventh century. "To paraphrase something you said once -- You sing an old song, Demona." Lexington played with an expression of exagerrated melancholy on his young features. Viciously, Demona reached out to wrench the violin from his grasp. But as soon as she touched the instrument, it vanished, and the music trailed off with a horrible squeal like a dying cat. "Time to go," Lexington said. The mist closed around her a third time. Then it was gone, and she found herself back in her bed in the New York City mansion, the silence falling around her as she strained to hear the faintest thread of medieval music. ********* Two tiny bells woke Demona this time. She sat up for a few moments and breathed a sigh of relief. ~I must be losing my mind. It all that Christmas foolishness. It is making me imagine things,~ she concluded. She lay back down, and shut her eyes again. "Oh Demona, are you up yet? Gotta shake a leg." Demona's eyes opened sharply. That sounded like Broadway. ~Not again.~ She covered her head with a pillow and shut her eyes. Broadway's voice called again. "Come on, Demona, we have to get moving." When she didn't answer, he added. "In that case, I'm coming to get you." ~If he tries he'll be sorry,~ she thought. Seconds later she felt the soft feather bed fade away, and her skin warmed as if near a fire. Before she could register these new sensations the pillow was taken from her hands. "I warned you," Broadway said. Demona lifted her head and opened her eyes. Broadway was lounging on a low couch surrounded by almost every delicacy she could imagine. Behind her, her fireplace was filled with pine logs burning merrily away. She regarded Broadway again who tossed her pillow away and was happily chewing on a leg of mutton. "Broadway!" she began angrily. "I thought we went through this with you all ready," he said cutting her off. He shook the mutton leg at her as he spoke. "I'm not who you think I am. I just adopted this form so you would be comfortable with me." He took another bite of mutton. Demona rose and stood facing the ....well whatever it was that looked like Broadway. "And I suppose you're going to take me on another foolish trip like the other one." Broadway, or his doppelganger, stood up and came within an inch of her. He shook the mutton leg in her face. "Now, now don't be such a party pooper. Didn't you learn anything the last time?." Demona felt the uncomfortable thoughts rise in her mind. She forced them back down. "Nothing useful. So where are you taking me?" Whatever was passing for Broadway took another bite, and looked at her mischievously. "How about we go visit your daughter?" "My daughter?" There was no mist this time. The room and everything in it simply melted away. Suddenly the crisp winter night was surrounding them. They were on the roof of an old building. "Where are we?" Demona demanded. "Over there," Broadway replied, pointing with a half finished apple. She wondered where the mutton had gone, but Demona glanced in the direction he pointed anyway. Sure enough Angela, her daughter, was gliding down for a landing. She had a dark throw blanket in her arms. She landed on a fire escape on the building across from the one she was standing on. Very gingerly she tapped on the window. "Linda? It's me, Angela." The window opened to reveal a human girl of about ten years of age. She had fiery red hair, and rust colored freckles. She smiled when she saw Angela's face. "You came. You came, just like you promised." The girl said, hugging Angela with child-like enthusiasm. "Of course I did," Angela replied. She began to wrap the child thoroughly in the throw blanket. "Gargoyles always keep their promises. Are you warm enough Linda?" When the child nodded she smiled. "Then let's go!" Angela took off with the girl in her arms. Demona looked at her guide who nodded. So they followed Angela to a nursing home on the other side of town. Angela picked a balcony and landed with her bundle. Linda disengaged herself from the throw blanket, opened the window, and went inside. Demona wondered where she should land, but her guide said. "Go ahead. Land on the balcony. She's not going to see you." Shrugging her shoulders Demona did as he suggested. Angela didn't see her, so Demona peeked into the room. Inside, Linda was talking to an elderly woman. "It's okay, grandma. My friend Angela brought me here. She's a grownup, kinda." "But Linda, what about your social worker at the group home?" The woman asked worriedly. "I'll be back before they know I'm gone. I just had to come to see you tonight." Linda hugged her grandmother tightly. "I'm glad you did, child. You've given me the best present ever." Demona pulled away from the window. The sentiment was enough to make her sick. Moments later the girl came back to the balcony and allowed Angela to rewrap her in the blanket. "Thanks Angela," she said. "You're a real angel." Angela laughed as she picked up the child. "No I'm not, silly. I'm a gargoyle." Linda was still smiling at her lavender companion. "I don't see what the difference is between gargoyles and angels. You both have wings and fly, you both like churches, and you're as sweet as any angel story I've ever read. Even your name means angel. Didn't you know that?" Angela beamed down at the child. "Come on. We don't want your social worker to miss you." With that she snuggled the child close to her and launched into the wind. Demona glanced at her companion to see if he wanted her to still follow her. He was sitting on the balcony ledge with his legs dangling, feasting on a string of sausages. He glanced in the direction Angela had gone. "It's poetic isn't it? A demon giving birth to an angel?" "Does Goliath know what Angela is doing ?" Demona asked accusingly. The being posing as Broadway shrugged his shoulders. "If you mean, does he know about the girl, well he was there when Angela saved her life. He didn't know about this though. She's got the same insight and good sense that he once loved in you. He trusts Angela's good judgement." "So where is Goliath?" Demona asked. Her guide broke into a broad smile. "Let's go see." Again her surroundings melted away. This time when things cleared Demona found herself in one of the rooms of Xanatos' castle. Hudson was sitting on a large recliner. On the floor were Lexington, Broadway, Bronx, and Xanatos' son Alexander. They were building their own castle out of toy blocks. Xanatos and his wife Fox were watching in a corner. Demona looked at her companion again. He was helping himself to the buffet table in the corner. "Well this is all very nice," she said sarcastically. "I fail to see..." He swallowed a date and pointed. "Over there." No one seemed to be noticing her, so she walked boldly through the gathering and looked in the direction that her guide had indicated. Goliath was sitting in an alcove alone with Elisa. The wretched human was leaning against his massive chest in a very comfortable position. That was the last straw. Demona moved forward viciously, eyes blazing red, prepared to tear the human to pieces. When she reached out for Elisa, though, an invisible force pushed her backwards. She sat down hard, and looked at her companion angrily. He finished the mouthful of grapes and shook his finger at her. "Uh uh uh. We told you before. You can't do that." Demona answered with a growl, but she resigned herself to watching. Goliath was holding a deep brown scarf embroidered with little purple wings. "It wasn't too hard to get my mom to help me with that." She was saying. "Try it on." Goliath, a bit bemused, draped the scarf across his shoulder. "Well, what do you think, Elisa?" Elisa turned to survey her work. "Not bad. I was worried about the colors. It suits you. Merry Christmas Goliath." Goliath smiled and left the scarf on his shoulder. "Now, Elisa, I have a gift for you. I was going to give it to you at Solstice, but I thought tonight would be more appropriate." Elisa looked surprised. "Goliath you didn't have to..." Goliath looked appraisingly, at Elisa with some amusement. "Is it not customary to give gifts at Christmas?" Elisa looked a little unsettled, but extremely pleased. "Well yes, but..." Goliath eyes had a bit of a sparkle in it. "And did you not just give me this wonderful scarf that you and your mother made with your own hands?" Elisa began to protests less. "Yeah." Goliath presented her with a jewelry box. "Then accept this gift not only from me, but from the clan as a whole. Merry Christmas." Elisa opened the box. Inside, cushioned in snow white cotton was a stone pendant in the shape of a pair of gargoyle wings. It was made from a piece of stone skin, and the thread was woven from Goliath's thick rich brown hair. "Oh Goliath!" Elisa said. Demona recognized the gesture. Gargoyles gave such pendants to humans whom they had fully chosen to be adopted into their clan. Demona squirmed, unable to do anything as Goliath placed the pendant around Elisa's neck. "I think I'm going to be sick." Demona grumbled. She turned to her guide who was sampling some imported cheeses. "Jealous?" He asked. Demona turned on him with a growl. "And why would I be jealous of her?" Broadway's double ignored her anger. "Well, she took your place, didn't she? She's at Goliath's side, trusted by the clan. She's friends with Angela. Everything you always wanted. You had it all a thousand years ago, but you lost it in a moment of vengeance. Now Elisa has everything you lost. Aren't you the least tiny bit jealous?" Demona looked at Goliath and Elisa. They were watching Lexington and the others play on the floor. Elisa had her head nestled against Goliath's upper arm. Demona looked at Broadway sitting among them, then at her companion again. It really wasn't Broadway. Suddenly she felt very uneasy. "Let her have him," she growled. "I don't care!" Then she surveyed the room again. "Where's Brooklyn?" Her guide gave a wicked grin. "He's got his own plans for the night. Do you want to see?" Before she could answer her surroundings melted again. This time she found herself on the roof on Belvedere Castle. There seemed to be a celebration there, a group of humans singing, off all things, Christmas Carols. On the step below them and on the path clustered the audience, city dwellers of all ages, bundled up warmly against the night. The humans were not the best singers that Demona had ever heard. There were some flat notes among them and some missed words, but no one seemed to mind. After three or four songs some of the singers began to falter. At the moment they were singing a rather long carol, "Good King Wenceslas." The lead singer didn't quite know this song. He was faltering slightly, and they had two more verses to go. "Sir the ...night is darker now... and the wind.....blows stronger. fails my heart .....I know not how I can go no longer......" By his face Demona could tell that he had no idea what came next. Suddenly a clear tenor voice on her left picked up the words. "Mark my footsteps my good page. Tread thou in them boldly. Thou shall find the winter's rage, freeze thy blood less coldly. She turned to her left, and saw Brooklyn crouched there on the castle roof. He was singing, picking up where the song leader had faltered. Several singers looked up, but Brooklyn was hidden from their view by the weather tower. Encouraged, the lead singer was able to finish the song. The applause was staggering. The audience was asking for more. None of the carolers knew what to sing next, and again Brooklyn saved them. In his crystal clear voice he began to sing "Silent Night." As the gentle notes dispersed into the sharp winter night, again the group of humans looked up but couldn't locate the source of the singing. But after the first verse, at first only a few, then more, the carolers and the audience began to join in, until they were singing in full chorus. The sound carried across the cold, bare-branched, quiet realm of Central Park. For the moment, the restless city was at peace. Demona hadn't heard Brooklyn sing since he was a young hatchling performing for Prince Malcolm. Even then the humans predicted he would have a marvelous voice when he grew up. They had been correct. Demona hadn't heard anything so genuinely moving in at least three or four centuries. "He's good isn't he?" The pseudo-Broadway said, eating cookies from a colorful tin. "He....he's a fool. If they see him they'll attack him." She protested. For some reason she could put no anger behind her words. "He knows, but they can't see him. That's why he's sitting up here. For the rest they didn't seem to care much about a strange voice from above. Humans expect little miracles at Christmas. Even if they are made of flesh and blood." Somewhere far off, bells began to toll. It was deeper than the bells she had heard before, and it rang three times. Whatever was passing for Broadway looked up. "Uh oh. It's time." "Time? Time for what?" Demona asked. Then she realized what he meant. "You can't mean to leave me out here alone?" "You won't be alone," He assured her. "He's already here." "What? Who's here?" "Me," a hard voice answered. Demona spun around to see Brooklyn standing up wearing a long black robe with wings slits and a hood. His eyes seemed to be permanently white without pupil or iris. Demona glanced back to where she had last seen Brooklyn. He was still there, humming along with the songs, though it seemed to be muffled, as if coming from behind a wall. She looked back toward where the apparition of Broadway had been. He was no longer there. "Forget about him, Demona," the new arrival said, his voice growing harder. "It's my turn now." Demona gave a tired, exasperated sigh. "No, wait. Don't tell me. Let me guess. You're not Brooklyn, you only have his form so I would be comfortable with you, and now you're going to show me visions of .... Demona thought about what the first two spirits had shown her. She snapped her fingers. "Got it," she said sarcastically. "You're going to show me visions of the future." The Brooklyn apparition dipped his beak once in a nod. "Good, we were getting tired of explaining it to you. Well, to business then." He snapped his fingers, and the park changed before her eyes. They were no longer standing on the roof of Belvedere Castle. They were at the foot of the steps leading to the castle. The building was in a ruins, the tower where Brooklyn had been perched ripped off, leaving a malicious, jagged tear of broken rock. Pieces of stone lay tumbled across the main terrace. The walls were crumbling away, the glass in the windows of the castle building shattered and filthy. Demona slowly walked up the steps. With her wings folded over her shoulders she turned, surveying the devastation. It was like a miniature -- or a mockery -- of Castle Wyvern. "What has happened here?" "It's the future," her companion answered. Demona looked around. Not only was the castle destroyed, but the Shakespeare gardens that she actually liked were gone, too, leaving nothing but a slope of rutted, rocky, hard packed earth, stripped bare of life save for a few ragged, thin bushes framing the slope. Looking over the remains of a wall, down to where the theater was she could see it was in the same condition as the castle. "Why are we here?" She turned away from the wall and faced the Brooklyn spirit. Her guide looked entirely unconcerned. "Wait for it." "Wait for what?" Demona asked. A second later she heard the sound of people coming. She began to run for a hiding place, but Brooklyn's double reached out a lazy arm and grabbed her wrist. He was stronger than the real Brooklyn; she couldn't pull away, and when she tried to lash out at him, her hand was thrown away from whatever force prevented her from touching things. "I said _wait._" He was holding her effortlessly. The footsteps grew louder. Suddenly three figures burst out of the unkept bushes. Two were running. The taller of the humans was carrying a child who looked about five. They ran past Demona and the spirit, their feet pattering folornly on the broken terrace floor, and scurried behind the remains of a wall. Where Demona and Brooklyn were standing, they could see the group clearly. As Demona watched, the tall human handed the child to the shorter one. The taller of the two young men poked his head out looking for something. He didn't seem to see Demona. Demona drew closer. There was something ...odd, strangely familiar about him. The tall human had a long thin face and straggly white hair. The other human, though slight, had a wiry build, and was dark haired. Both wore ordinary jeans and sweaters. She couldn't shake the feeling that she had seen this man and his shorter companion somewhere before. The tall man shook out his long white hair and sat down next to the others. "I think we lost them, at least for now." Demona stepped back in shock. That was Brooklyn's voice. Before she could ask any questions the human that sounded like Brooklyn turned to his two companions. "How's Alex?" The short, brown-haired human glanced at the red-haired child in his lap. "He's scared and tired. He'll be okay though, as long as he doesn't lose us." Demona's eyes widened. Lexington? "What's going on here?" Demona turned to the spirit furiously. "Watch and learn," her companion insisted. The Brooklyn sounding human sat down next to the others. "I hate running, and I hate this form. We should have the kid change us back now." The boy threw his arms around Brooklyn. "No Brooklyn don't be a gargoyle again. They'll find you!" Brooklyn, for it truly was Brooklyn, drew the child into his lap. "Alex, they all ready know we're not gargoyles anymore. They're going to find us sooner or later." Alex was not mollified. "But if you're gargoyles...." He cuddled Brooklyn tighter as the other human, undoubtedly Lexington, drew nearer. "They'll do to you what they did to the others. I don't want to lose you too." "You won't," Lexington insisted. "You'll see. As soon as we get to Avalon, you can change us back." He glared at Brooklyn. "You can wait that long." "Yeah," Brooklyn said. "I just hate not having wings, and I hate leaving the others behind." Lexington's expression told Demona that he personally agreed with Brooklyn, but his voice was serious as he said, "We made Fox a promise. We have to get Alex to Avalon." Brooklyn looked down at the child in his lap. "And we will, Lex. We will". He glanced around warily. "Come on, let's get going. We have to reach the Lake." The three started across the terrace, towards the rocky slope. Demona followed, drawn by a compulsion she hardly understood or was conscious of. As they reached the remains of the trasverse below, loud voices made them start in fear. They began to run faster over the jagged pavement, but were cut off before they could go any further. The mob slowed and stopped. A man in a sleek, padded red jacket, jeans and boots, his dark hair worn in a buzz cut, stepped to the front. "Well what do you know?" he said. "Our new informant was right. If they had the kid, they'd run. Head right for the first body of water they could come to. Trying to get him where the other freaks are. Well, we know where Avalon is now, and how to get there. We'll destroy every gargoyle on that Island and all the freaks as well!" Brooklyn pushed Alex and Lexington behind him. "How do you know about Avalon.?" The man laughed wickedly. "We have some new informants. They told us everything, even how you were probably hiding." "Alex, sword," Brooklyn ordered. Alex nodded. He held out his hands. "To save us from this ugly horde Give my gargoyle friend a sword." A flicker of white light surrounded Alex's hands, then a sword appeared in Brooklyn's grasp. Holding the pommel in both hands, Brooklyn turned towards the mob. "This wasn't done to hide. It's a defense. I might not be as strong as I was. I can't glide, but you can't use me either. I'll die on my feet and not betray my clan." He turned to Lexington. "Take Alex and get out of here, now!" Lexington started to protest, "But Brooklyn!" "Go!" Brooklyn ordered. Lex did as he was told. He picked up Alex who struggled in his arms. "Brooklyn....No!!" His words were drowned out, as Lexington ran off with him into the darkness, south towards the Central Park lake. Brooklyn faced the men alone. "Who's first?" He asked, raising the blade of the sword. At the leader's hand signal, the crowd stepped aside, revealing Broadway, Angela, and Bronx. All with electronic collars that obviously were controlling their minds. "Our new slaves," the man said. Demona, standing at the foot of the rocky slope watching, shuddered. She now knew how these men had found out about Avalon. Her wings tightened about her shoulders as if they could shield her soul as well as her body. Brooklyn's shoulder's twitched in a movment of revulsion and shock that echoed the watching Demona's, but his voice remained firm. "I'm sorry, guys," he said to Angela, Broadway, and Bronx. Then, more softly: "I really am." Then he launched himself at the three. "No!" Demona said. She tried to move forward, but the spirit stopped her. "You can't do anything about it. He'll save them if he can, but he's going to survive one way or another." Demona looked at her daughter, Broadway, and Bronx. They had no emotion on their faces. For an instant Demona was reminded of when she had used magic to control Goliath. She shook the uncomfortable thoughts away. "How are they controlling my daughter?" "Let's go see," her companion answered. He led her only a few steps, but suddenly they were in a laboratory with Jonathan Castaway hovering over an examination table. Hudson was all ready strapped down. "Ye canna kill me cleanly? Give me a warriors Death? Not even on Christmas?" Hudson was asking the man. Castaway regarded Hudson as if he were a piece of litter he might discard. "I have a Christmas present I want to give to myself. The total annihilation of your barbaric species, and you are going to help me." "I'd rather die, thank'ee" Hudson replied. "I'm sure you would," Castaway replied, "but that's not going to happen." Castaway flipped a switch. A machine roared to life. Two half-circle pieces of metal came together around Hudson's neck. Hudson roared with pain, as long needles from the collar began to embed themselves into his neck one by one. When the last one drove itself into his spine, Hudson's cries ceased. He had that same blank look on his face that Angela and Broadway had. Again she was reminded of Goliath. "Where is Goliath?" She demanded. "Why isn't he doing anything? Was he captured and made into a slave too?" The Brooklyn apparition looked saddened. "No," he said evenly. "Goliath wasn't captured. He's one of the lucky ones. Come on, I'll take you to him." They walked again only three or four steps, but when they stopped they were in a dark lonely alley. There, on a puddle of frozen ice and crumbled pavement, was a human body. The body of Elisa Maza. Her neck was bent at an unnatural angle, broken. Tears were frozen in dusty streaks on her lifeless face. Demona looked up at her guide again. "I asked to see Goliath!" she said. "Look a little closer," he advised. She did so, and to her shock found that Elisa's body was cradled around stone debris. Demona carefully examined the rubble. It was all to obvious what had happen to Elisa. She had tried to shield Goliath's stone form with her own body, and she had been killed because of it. Crouching, Demona tightened her talons around the rubble. Then she relaxed her grip, letting the stone pieces fall to the ice. They struck with a small clacking sound. ~Foolish Human,~ Demona thought, without conviction.. For a strange reason she found herself having a grudging respect for her old enemy. She had done something Demona had never dreamed a human would do. She had sacrificed her life for Goliath. The human had fought by his side often, but to protect his stone form, knowing full well she would die.... "You really did love him, didn't you? And look where you are now." Demona spotted something nearby on the ground. It was the gargoyle pendant Goliath had given Elisa. Without quite knowing why she was doing it, Demona replaced the amulet around the dead woman's neck. "Come on," the pseudo-Brooklyn said. "We have one more stop to make. Demona followed her guide through empty streets. There were few lights in this dead-looking city. Many buildings were deserted and hollow, the windows boarded up with cinderblock. Trash littered the streets. The traffic lights were out, as if they had burned out and no one had bothered to replace them. Behind the eerie concrete caverns was a terrible, profound, silence. Was this New York? "Why is it so quiet? We are on Manhattan, aren't we? Where are all the people?" Her companion gave her a strange sardonic look. "You almost achieved your ultimate goal. You cast a spell that wiped out ninety five percent of the human population." He turned to face the wind as they walked. "Of course, that's what started all the problems for the rest of the clan. Castaway survived, and at once began blaming all the gargoyles. There was nothing the clan could do. Thanks to you, Xanatos and Fox are also gone. The clan took in Alex, and they've been on the run ever since." Demona rushed to keep up with him. "And what of me? What has happened to me?" She demanded. The spirit turned onto what had once been a broad avenue -- Central Park West. They were at 59th Street and Columbus Circle. The tall, narrow monument that used to stand on the island was broken off halfway down. "That's where we're going now," the spirit explained. He stepped in front of the Central Park entrance. "Come here. Don't you want to see?" Demona advanced gingerly. There, just outside the gate like some new monument, was...herself. The life-sized apparition was encased in what appeared to be a plastic. But when she touched the surface it was as cold as ice. "What? What is this?" Her companion leaned against the frozen block and answered casually, "Oh, little Alex Xanatos did that. You see he was really ticked that his folks were dead. So as soon as they ran into you, he put a major whammy on you. Oh you're still alive in there. In fact, you can hear and see like that. So you can revel in your empty city. No humans, except mostly gargoyle killers, and no gargoyles either. You wanted a world without your enemies. Congratulations, Demona. You finally have it." Demona looked with horror on her inert form. And she could hear and see like that? That was worse than death. Worse than the slavery Hudson and the others had succumbed to. "No," she said at first uncertainly, but then with more strength. "No! I didn't want this! I wanted a world in which gargoyles could be free and safe! I wanted to lead them into a new era of power! It wasn't suppose to happen like this. It's not going to happen like this! Tell me that my decisions can change this! Spirit?" Demona spun around. The Brooklyn spirit was no where to be seen. "Spirit where are you? Don't leave me here!" She began to move about the area looking for her guide, but never leaving sight of her inert form. "No, don't leave me!" Fear welled up inside of her. She fell to her knees before the block of ice that encased her future self. "I didn't want it to be like this!" She sobbed. "Please come back. Don't leave me alone again." Voices out of her past began to assault her. "And I do not wish to be you!" "Who betrayed the castle to the Vikings?" "The years have changed you too. You have become hard, unforgiving." "Your thirst for vengeance has only brought more sorrow End the cycle, Demona." Demona tried to shut the voices out. "I didn't want it to be like this." "GOOD MORNING AND MERRY CHRISTMAS NEW YORK CITY" A voice suddenly blared into her grieving. Demona lifted her head and dried her eyes. She was in her own bedroom in her home. Her radio alarm clock had just gone off. Slowly Demona looked around the room. It was her bedroom to be sure. Everything was like it was when she went to sleep earlier. "How can this be?" she said into the empty air. The radio continued. "It's five thirty, but we've been up all night playing your favorite Christmas tunes. And here's another one! The radio began playing "Little Saint Nick." Demona shook her head and got to her feet. She had no idea how she had gotten out of bed. As for the visions, she shook them off as dreams. She had to stop eating the food in the Nightstone Cafeteria. It would be dawn soon; before her transformation occurred, she must get started. She went downstairs into her magic workroom. There everything was laid out ready for use. She put the silk mantel around her shoulders, and placed the beeswax candles in their holder. She sprinkled powder over them, then lit the flames. She drew the runes on the white linen cloth in front of her, then held the stone in her left hand. She stopped there and stared at the stone. She could feel its inherent power making her palm warm. She looked at how common, and plain it looked. Had she not known its power she would have passed it by when she broke into Xanatos' private vaults. She marveled at the fact that she held the power of life and death in her hand.... ********* Dec 25th, 7:40 am Xanatos thought that his yawn would split his jaw in two. Alex had insisted on getting up a three thirty in the morning so that he could share his Christmas with Lexington, and the gargoyles. He played with them until sunrise and then promptly went back to sleep. Fox decided that Alex had the right idea, and so did he. More by instinct than anything else, Xanatos made his way to his bedroom. "Mr Xanatos?" Xanatos looked at Owen who was both immaculate and alert, despite being up all night with them. ~I wonder if he ever sleeps.~ "Owen, this had better be important." Owen was unruffled as he answered. "The stone sir. It's back" Suddenly Xanatos was fully awake. "What?" "The stone is back in the vault. None of the guards saw anything suspicious. Just like the night it was stolen. It simply reappeared back in its place." "Well fire -- No, don't fire them, it's Christmas. Put a letter in the guards' file, and send the stone to my researcher. It could be a fake." Owen adjusted his glasses. "Already done sir, but I do believe it to be the genuine article." ~If Owen thought it was real....~ "A Christmas miracle, Owen?" He asked ironically, raising one eyebrow. Owen raised an eyebrow in return. "A miracle sir?" Xanatos let out a small snort, and shook his head. "Never mind Owen. I guess I should just be grateful. Maybe the thief had a change in heart. After all the Philosopher's Stone is not something to be tampered with lightly." Owen let his employer wander off to bed. Alone, he went in to the Great Hall, and began to put away the dishes and left over food from the evening before. A tingle in his mind alerted him to a presence. Setting down the stack of Wedgewood china dessert plates, Owen turned. Oberon stood there next to the Christmas tree looking at the ornaments with an expression of curious disdain. Then Oberon averted his gaze from the tree to Owen. "It was very well done, Puck," he said regally. He then vanished, taking his gift with him. Somewhere within Owen's mind, Puck reveled in the memory of that one unencumbered night. His little assignment with Demona had taken but a few hours. In that short space of time, he had managed to save humanity from almost total annihilation. And even though he didn't think for a second that he had truly reformed Demona....it had been quite fun to play his games with her again. Owen smiled, remembering the other pranks. He was sure that it would take Herald Square several months to recover. Perhaps in the spring thaw. Owen picked up several wine glasses. ~Hmm,~ he thought to himself consideringly. ~And yet the humans complain that it never snows on Christmas.~ ********* THE END Merry Christmas, Happy Chanukah, Happy Kwanzaa, Happy Winter Solstice Festival, and A Happy New Year from Kellie and Constance