***
Consequences: Cat and Cradle
a Gargoyles story
by Melissa "Merlin Missy" Wilson
mrwilson@umr.edu
missy@darklair.com
Copyright 1998
PG-13
***

For those who came in late:  Surprise!  You don't to have read
either "Fortune and Men's Eyes" or "Hill and Home" to read this
fanfic.  (Of course, it wouldn't hurt. You'll pick up on a lot
more, know who various characters are and why they're doing certain
things, and such.  Not that this is an advertisement or a hint or
anything.)  A few spoilers for those stories will appear at the end
of this brief introduction to catch you up to speed.  We live to
serve.

Welcome back to "Consequences" (no relation to the TGS ep of the
same name).  For those of you who've been waiting for this since
"H&H" came out in July, with its promise of Parts 3 & 4 on the way,
I apologize, and thank you profusely for your patience.  A lot of
things happened between then and now, and now there are five parts. 
You waited and got an extra 150k+ of story.  Thanks go out to
everyone who wrote "When's it coming out?" letters *poke Constance,
and Jennielf*.  Without y'all I might not have gotten up the
gumption to see this through to completion.  Special thanks to
Nicole, who told me in the kindest terms possible which bits needed
to be left on the cutting room floor.


SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS

In our last adventure, Princess Katharine, losing her mind and
memories, came to Manhattan with the Guardian.  When they returned
to Avalon, Angela went with them, knowing the Princess would not
live much longer.  Maggie, Delilah and Hyena are pregnant.  Hyena
is in prison, and has arranged for Fox to take her baby.  Fox,
doubting her own mothering skills, has made plans to hand the child
over to Jackal and Hyena's parents.   Beth is out to her parents. 
Maggie has been disowned by her parents.  Elisa is contemplating
never being a parent.  Owen has finally admitted who his parents
are, and who his brother once was.  If this sounds like a soap
opera, wait until we *really* get started.

***

     They called it "New Year's," and the humans celebrated it just
as much as they had the nights that Ruth called Hanukkah and Maggie
Christmas and the real gargoyles Yule.  Talon didn't call it
anything at all, but he seemed to enjoy watching the rest of them
have fun.  Tonight's celebration wasn't quite so much fun as the
last party; there had been toys then, wrapped in paper and boxes. 
"Presents," said Maggie and Elisa.
     In the boxes with her name on them, Delilah had found a
faceless rag doll with floppy wings and a blue dress, a
checkerboard with checkers, some books about a vampire bunny
rabbit, and a puzzle.  Her brothers had also made out well:
Brentwood had spent almost every waking moment with his new
colouring books and his train, while Malibu had gone to sleep each
morning for the past week holding his favorite little car.
     Delilah and her brothers liked presents.
     There were no presents at this celebration, although a lot of
the same people had come from outside: Elisa and Peter and Diane
and Hudson and Goliath were in the big room with the rest.  Delilah
didn't like being around Goliath.  He was nice to her, but he
looked at her funny or didn't look at her at all.  All the real
gargoyles did, but he did especially.  She knew why: she was ugly
and fat.
     She looked down at her belly.  Try as she did, she was getting
fatter every day.  Maggie was too, but that was different.  Maggie
was going to have a baby.  Maggie and Ruth said Delilah was going
to lay an egg.  Delilah thought a baby sounded like lots more fun. 
Thailog had told her that he didn't want her to get fat.  He would
be very disappointed in her.
     She frowned.  She didn't like the thought of making Thailog
unhappy.  It made her unhappy, too.
     It didn't matter anyway.  Thailog was dead, after fighting
with Demona, and he was the only male who would have her because
she was so ugly.  So she could get as fat as she pleased.
     Delilah moved her hand over her face, feeling her features. 
None of the others in the room noticed as she pushed her lips into
a pout and then let go.
     She knew from the few times she'd seen her own reflection that
she looked very much like Elisa.  Elisa was pretty, for a human,
and the way that Goliath looked at her suggested she might also be
pretty for a real gargoyle.  Delilah thought that should make her
own face pretty.  But it wasn't.  Her ears were gargoyle ears, and
she had ridges like a gargoyle, and her hair was blue-white like
Thailog's had been.  She was a bad copy of Elisa.  She could see
that in the eyes of the real gargoyles when they looked at her,
except for Angela, and Angela had gone far away.  She missed
Angela.  They had fought once, but that had been a long time ago;
Angela was her friend now, like Maggie.
     Elisa and Goliath had taken up a small corner of the room to
themselves, just talking.  Goliath was looking at Elisa that way
again, the same way Thailog used to look at her.  Delilah tried not
to feel sad and half succeeded.
     "Hello lass," said a voice near her and she jumped a little
until she saw Hudson.
     "Oh, hello," she said in a small voice.  She was still afraid
around the real gargoyles sometimes.
     "Are ye enjoyin' the festivities?"  He didn't much look like
he was having fun.  Maybe it was because the others weren't there
and he missed them.  Maybe he missed Angela too.
     "It's okay."
     "Well, perhaps ye'll like the next gatherin' a mite better."
     "More parties?"  They were kind of fun, but there certainly
were an awful lot of them lately.
     "Not a party.  A celebration.  When ya kindle."  That appeared
to explain everything to him.
     "What?!"  In her mind, she saw fire all around her.
     "When yer egg comes, child.  It'll be the first egg in our
clan in over a thousand years."  He smiled at her, a rare thing
from any of the real gargoyles.  "It's a happy time, a day more
sacred even than the Winter Solstice, and you'll be the center of
attention."
     "I don't want to be the center."  She poked at the bulge at
her stomach.  "I don't want to have an egg."
     "Ya haven't much choice now," he replied gently, and under his
breath, she heard him add, "An ya ever did."
     "'Lilah!  C'mere!"  Malibu's yell cut through the noises of
the other people in the big room.  Hudson bowed his head to her and
then held out his arm.  'Lilah looked at it.
     "Let's go hear the humans sing.  Even if they're doin' it
eleven nights late."
     "Okay."  Singing?  All these parties involved singing.  When
they held the fire party, they'd probably sing again.  Hudson
picked up her hand and put it in his.  He started walking, and
'Lilah walked with him.
     The group of them gathered around the radio, except for
Goliath and Elisa, who were still in the corner not paying
attention.  Malibu looked at her and put on a funny face, very much
like a real gargoyle.  She didn't like that.  It was one thing for
the real gargoyles to stare at her because she was ugly; it was
another for one of her rookery brothers to do the same.
     Hudson patted her on the shoulder and moved to stand nearer
Peter and Diane.  'Lilah nestled in the comfort of her brothers'
presence, as Malibu lost interest in staring at her.  The humans
were gearing up for something.  They were counting, though they
were doing it funny.  Burbank had been very proud of himself when
he'd counted all the way to fifty by himself, but he'd never done
it backwards.
     "Nineteen ... eighteen ... seventeen ... "  'Lilah tried to
keep up, but the numbers were going in a direction she didn't know
at all.  She contented herself with nodding in time with the
counts, noticed her brothers doing the same.
     " ... two ... one ... Happy New Year!"  The humans shouted and
clapped, so 'Lilah patted her hands together.  She saw Talon reach
his arms around Maggie and kiss her on the neck, and turned away
blushing.  Most of the humans were cheerful, a few singing in their
happiness.  She edged closer to her brothers and looked for Elisa.
     Elisa was still in the corner with Goliath.  Unable to help
herself, she watched as he took Elisa into a winged embrace,
ducking his head to press his mouth against hers.
     'Lilah's wings were already draped around her body.  She
pulled them closer to her, remembering the feel of strong arms
holding her, the taste of lips, the moist growls in her ear, the
knowledge that she was where she belonged, that she was doing what
she was meant to do.
     In a room filled with celebration, Delilah felt terribly
alone.

***

     "Should auld acquaintance be forgot ... "
     The rankling sounds of humans caterwauling from the television
shook her from her half-doze, and before she was quite awake, she
thought to herself, "But Batya still hasn't posted that yet ... " 
Then she was completely alert, if not entirely sober, and in the
fraction of time between the two states, she wondered who this
Batya person was.
     The humans' wretched singing continued, and she growled,
forgetting her semi-dream completely.  She sat up from where she'd
been hunching on her couch, and regretted the motion instantly as
she reeled.  Her tail lashed for support and found it, righting her
before she fell.  Her mood worsened with the throbbing of her head.
     Demona didn't drink often.  She'd had her fill of quaffing
mead and ale when she'd been young and happy.  Wine was for
celebration; again, something she hadn't enjoyed much in recent
years.  She'd discovered centuries back that too much alcohol
brought unpleasant thoughts to the forefront of her mind, needling
reminders of how much her fate had been as a direct result of her
own doing.  She couldn't drink to forget.
     On the other hand, this was a special occasion.  Not only did
the solstice mark her first meeting with Thailog, it also marked
the end of the year in which she'd met her daughter, both surely
milestone events in her life.  The one had used her and dropped her
for his genetically-engineered whore.  The other despised her, and
that was worse, much worse than her last lover's betrayal, worse
even than Goliath's betrayal of their clan's trust.  Angela had met
her, and found her wanting, and so Demona drank.
     Solstice.  Hmm ...  It *had* been solstice when she'd started
this little binge, hadn't it?  And the humans were singing their
New Year's songs.  Stupid humans, celebrating eleven days after the
year began.  Her head was still very fuzzy as she redid the math. 
Eleven days.  She hadn't been that drunk that long in at least
three centuries.
     Hell with it.  She had a business to run again.  She'd planned
on going somewhere for the holidays, hadn't she?  She couldn't
remember, only recalled telling her latest secretary that she'd be
back after a while.  It was time to return.
     Return to what? asked a small voice.
     "My life," she said out loud.
     You don't have a life.  You have a shadow that you cling to
and call it existence.  If you had any sense of honor left, you'd
go find Macbeth and ask him to end both your lives.
     "Who the hell are you?!"
     I'm you.  I'm the part you've been trying to drown in bourbon
this past week.
     "You sound like that fay wretch."  An image of Puck swam
before her vision, but she knew this Puck was in her mind and only
half-swatted him away.
     I sound however you want me to sound.  You know I'm right.
     "I am not going to kill myself," she enunciated.  "I want to
live.  I want to build a world for my daughter, where she can be
safe from those blasted humans."
     Then do something about it.
     "I've tried!"  She noticed that she was shouting at herself
and didn't give a damn.  "Every time I've tried, something goes
wrong."
     Quitter.
     "Am not," she slurred.
     Prove it.  And thankfully, the voice shut up, leaving her
alone again.  As she was always alone.
     Angela ...  She remembered her first sight of her child, as
she'd recovered from yet another death.  Her face had been so open,
so innocent, and even then, before she'd known for certain, part of
her had already known and felt and rejoiced.  The miracle of
miracles had occurred: her egg, her only egg, had hatched in safety
and grown into a remarkable young woman.
     And Goliath had found her first, had poisoned her mind against
her mother.
     She'd tried, hard, to get the girl to see reason.  She'd gone
so far as to willingly spend months in a cage just to have her ear. 
Nothing had worked.  Angela wouldn't listen.
     She should have dropped the vial, ended it for them all.
     No, where there was life, there was hope.  Angela lived, and
could be made to see.  She was so young, so beautiful, and just
slightly confused as to the way of the world.
     Demona was immortal.  She could spend the time.  She *would*
spend the time.
     Suddenly, everything was clear to her.  She knew what she had
to do, and how to go about doing it.  The plan crystallized in her
mind like a sudden snowstorm, covering her inner terrain with a
crisp white blanket of logic: kill Goliath, frame his human pet,
and Angela would know the truth about humans.
     Demona remembered why she did drink sometimes.  It made her
world a simpler place.

***

     The party ended late, for those who went by a daylit schedule. 
For the night-dwellers, it was the equivalent to some time after
lunch and before dinner.  Elisa had counted herself among the
latter for the past few years, and found herself amused when the
rest of the group started nodding at only 2 am.
     She had a rare night off, and didn't care to waste it
sleeping.  She'd barely tasted the champagne, unlike many of the
other revelers.  As people wandered, or staggered, off in their
pairs and families, with many solitary party-goers also returning
to their dark homes, she noticed several people eying her in
curiosity and only now did she remember why.  She had been utterly
at ease down here in Goliath's presence, hadn't even thought to
hide her feelings towards him in front of everyone else.
     Ease.  She smiled.  She felt easy around him, and not in the
sense her siblings would automatically take it, either.  With
Goliath, she didn't have to be always in charge, always strong,
always right.  Yet, when she was with him, she set the pace their
relationship was taking, and she was strong, and her life felt more
right than it ever had before.
     She'd noticed the same effect in him.  Around the rest of the
clan he was the leader, the decision-maker, the rock on whom the
others leaned, if one pardoned the pun.  When they were together,
he could relax.  They would sit for hours and discuss books, or
watch rented movies and then debate theme, metaphor and mood. 
She'd reintroduced him to Shakespeare via Jacoby and Brannagh and
Thompson.  He pressed books into her hands she hadn't read.  In her
free moments, she'd found there new friends in John Irving and
Walter Mosely, then had to explain to him why the protagonist in
the latter's works was treated so poorly by the other characters. 
He found it peculiar that humans would waste so much time hating
other humans for no better reason than the birthplaces of each
other's great-grandparents.  This had led to a long discussion of
the 1960's, as filtered through her own memories and stories her
parents had told.
     As he questioned, and learned, and challenged her, he was not
the same person who ordered nightly patrols of the city, and who
met with Xanatos to discuss appropriate boundaries for all the
castle's residents.  With her, and only with her, he was a dreamer
apt to become lost within the world of Byron's gloomy visions.  He
was also the first person who'd held out his hand and offered to
take her with him when he did.
     "Elisa ... "  She recoiled back to reality with a snap.  In
her reverie, she had once again disregarded the rest of the world,
and blushed slightly as she noted the room was much emptier than it
had been minutes ago, and was growing cooler for the lack of body
heat.  Her mother stood beside her.  Her father was a few feet
away, still in conversation with Derek, but the smirk almost hidden
on his lips let her know he'd seen her distraction.
     "Your father and I are going home in a few minutes.  Would you
like a ride?"
     "No thanks.  I think we're walking back."
     "All right."  Her mother hugged her, and only then did Elisa
notice something was not all right.  She heard the restrained
emotion as her mother said softly, "Happy New Year, Elisa."
     "Mom?"  She pulled away, read the strain on her mother's face. 
"What is it?"
     "Nothing."  Her hands lingered at Elisa's shoulders, played
idly with Elisa's hair behind her.  "Do you remember the first time
we let you stay up to watch the ball at Times Square?"
     "No, because I fell asleep at eleven anyway."  She smiled, and
Mom smiled back.  That was it.  She was just feeling maudlin about
all her chicks being out of the nest, and her first grandchild on
the way.  "Happy New Year, Mom," she said.
     Her mother blinked quickly, and her mascara smeared.  Her
father, sensing his wife's distress, or just ready to go, appeared
at her side.
     "Are you riding with us?" he asked her.  Behind him, she saw
Claw gathering the clones.  She shook her head while Maggie and
Claw led the garish group away, probably to the chamber that was
their schoolroom and playroom.  "Okay."  He gave her a kiss on the
forehead.  "Give us a call now and then.  I don't want to have to
come down here to pump Derek for details about you all the time."
     "I heard that," said her brother, picking an errant cup from
the ground disdainfully.  Derek had never been a big fan of washing
dishes.
     "I'll call," she promised.
     "Good-night, Goliath," said her mother, her eyes going from
him to Elisa and back again quickly.
     He bowed his head gracefully.  "Diane.  Peter."
     "Which way are ye headed out?" asked Hudson, who'd walked up
behind them.  "I'm goin' back to the castle," he added to Goliath. 
He appeared sober, and Elisa reminded herself: bigger body mass,
bigger tolerance.  Mathematical fact.
     "I'll be in later," said Goliath.  Hudson nodded his
acknowledgment, and escorted her parents out.  She worried for a
moment, then decided the three of them could handle any trouble
they encountered on the way to her parents' car.
     "I'm sure you two would like to hang out here all night," said
Derek, "but some of us would like to get some rest."  He took her
into a hug.  "Happy New Year, Sis."
     "Happy New Year, little brother," she replied, and for a
moment saw the same vague sadness she'd seen in their mother's
eyes.  "What is it?"
     "Did Beth tell you why she went back to school so soon?" 
Goliath suddenly found something interesting to look at on the
floor.
     "She wanted to make some headway on her honors thesis."  She
paused.  "Didn't she?"  Beth hadn't been exactly communicative with
the family since Thanksgiving; she'd spent only four days at home
for Christmas.  She'd been going through a rebellious period. 
Elisa's view on it was to let her sort things out on her own terms.
     She'd watched Derek's radical rebel phase, all three weeks of
it, with somewhat less detachment.  He'd told her she was selling
out to the system by applying for the Academy.  She'd told him to
drop the victim mentality and grow up.  Eventually, they had met in
the middle, like they always did.  He'd reduced his involvement
with the Panthers in favor of other activities, while she began
examining, then challenging, minority hiring practices on the
force.  It hadn't made her many friends in those first days, but it
had won respect among the people who were now her coworkers.
     "I don't know why she did it," admitted Derek.  "It's probably
just schoolwork, like you said, but it's bothering Mom."
     "I noticed."
     "Anyway," he said, "you two get going."  He glanced up at
Goliath.  "Make sure she gets home okay?"
     "Of course."
     "Excuse me," she said sweetly, "but who ends up saving whose
neck most of the time?"
     Derek didn't laugh, but he did smile toothily, and she hugged
him again.  The missing happiness returned to his face.  A moment
later, she saw Maggie back from the darkness, and understood that
Claw would be clone-sitting this evening.
     She placed her hand in Goliath's arm, and walked with him.
     They took the most direct route from the Labyrinth to the
Park.  It was bitterly cold outside, too cold to stroll despite the
thick coat she'd brought out for this week.  They found the rock
promontory near the Museum.  He wrapped her in his arms as they
took flight.
     As the gargoyle flew, her apartment wasn't far.  Within a few
minutes, they'd reached her rooftop, and as it was really too cold
for her to stand outside and talk, he came inside without quarrel
or hesitation.  She hung her coat on the rack, beside her
temporarily-abandoned jacket.  She brushed it once to smooth it,
felt warm spots lingering from where it had been pressed against
him, and shivered.
     "Do you want some coffee or tea?" she asked quickly.
     "Tea."  He stood in her living room, awkward for all his
years.
     "You can sit down, you know."  She ran the tap until it was
cold, then filled the teapot and set it on the stove.  "Any tea
preference?  I've got a few."
     Her Secret Santa this year had given her a huge sampler of
teas, then a super-sized coffee mug with her name, and finally, a
year's paid subscription to the Precinct Coffee Club.  The fourth,
and Santa-revealing, gift had been a little figurine of the station
house, with the clock tower intact.  The city had been selling them
as a fundraiser to get the place fixed.  "Santa Bluestone" had
glued seven pebbles to the top.  She'd been so happy that she'd
actually pulled him under the mistletoe and kissed his cheek, and
oh but that had given the rumour mill a holiday present of its own.
     "Do you have any ... darjeeling?"  He said the word uneasily,
like a boy on his first date asking for a Coke.
     She checked.  "Yes."  She took out a darjeeling and a
raspberry.
     As she walked into the living room, she glanced at the
figurine on the coffee table.  Matt, Morgan, and some of the other
singles on the force had thrown a party of their own this evening. 
She was just as happy to bow out; the only one who knew she was
seeing someone was Matt, and everyone else thought she was seeing
*him*.
     Goliath had left a perfect Elisa-sized spot open for her on
the sofa.  She placed herself there happily, and rested her head
against his arm.
     No, she wasn't seeing Matt.
     He made a noise in his throat as she settled more comfortably
into him: a gargoyle purr, if there was such a thing, or perhaps
just a heavier sigh than a human made.  She'd never been sure, knew
only that it was a noise she felt in the pit of her stomach, to be
followed by the quick hot firing of her nerves.  Whatever he was
doing, it always managed to make her feel warm.  The kettle chugged
on the stove, making sharp noises of its own.
     Goliath's hand rested on her shoulder, one talon playing
unconsciously with a dark lock of her hair.  That one touch was all
he gave her.  Had she not moved against him, he would not have
dared even that.  She wondered sometimes if he was afraid she might
break.
     Instead of asking him, she took his hand from her shoulder,
held it at her cheek, and slipped out from under his arm to catch
the kettle before it squealed.  His craggy features moved through
bewilderment and disappointment in less than a moment and he
covered both as she poured the tea.  Once upon a time, she wouldn't
have known his face well enough to have even noticed.  Tonight, she
couldn't imagine *not* knowing every detail, every expression, from
a long series of sunny days spent snoozing in his shadow, watching
him as he rested in stone slumber.
     "One darjeeling, no sugar," she said brightly, and handed him
the steaming mug.  His hands surrounded hers, burning her more with
that warmth than the cup itself did.  She gasped, and he withdrew
like a shot.
     "Are you all right?"
     "I'm fine," she lied.  What was wrong with her?  She hurried
back into the kitchen, turned her face from his for long enough to
catch her breath, and then brought her own tea into the living
room.  "Be careful, it's hot."
     He sipped at his tea with perfect delicacy, enough to shame 
the most proper Brit.  Then she remembered he *was* British.  Her
mind, completely without reason, provided her with the sound of his
lovely deep voice doing a Sean Connery imitation.  The grin on her
face wouldn't leave.
     She set the tea carefully on the coffee table and returned to
her previous position.  He had shifted a little, and the warm spot
had moved.  She settled in anyway.
     "I wonder what the rest of the clan is doing," Goliath mused,
and again his voice sent shudders inside her.
     "They did Times Square at midnight, right?  They're probably
out enjoying themselves right now."  More like Lex and Brooklyn
were trying to get Broadway to enjoy himself.  He'd been moody and
sulky since Angela had returned to Avalon.  She couldn't blame him. 
If she had to face losing Goliath for months, maybe years, she
would probably be in a lousy mood, too.  Heck, she hated being away
from him during the day.
     Maybe he had learned telepathy and was reading her thoughts,
for he tentatively moved his arm down and curled it around her,
drawing her closer to him.  When she neither objected nor
shattered, he smiled a little.  He was so handsome when he smiled.
     I love you, she thought at him as a test.  He didn't respond,
and she sighed.  It seemed there would be no mind reading tonight. 
But somehow, she didn't mind.

***

     A hand slapped down in front of his face, rattling the desk,
scattering papers like crisp autumn leaves.  Anton opened one eye,
saw the deceivingly delicate fingers splayed before him, followed
the curve of the hand to where it was swallowed in a richly-
tailored red sleeve.  He closed his eye again.
     "Wake up," she hissed impatiently.
     "I'm awake."  He recalled looking at his watch around four am,
thinking to himself that he'd somehow missed the birth of 1997,
then returning to the calculations he'd been poring over for the
previous nine hours.  He'd prefer using a computer, but this
particular sequence involved matrix functions he hadn't encountered
since his days at MIT, and while software was available that could
probably handle the load, he trusted his own thought processes
better.  Besides, he could check them later.  He'd grown too
excited at his latest project to allow even the delay of inputting
the mess into the mainframe to separate him from the answer.  He'd
gotten close, too.  He hadn't just found the replication rate of
this thin strand of proteins, he'd almost, *almost* found out why. 
What could be understood could be controlled.  He curved his mouth. 
Not cloning, not splicing, but soon, the creation of life itself in
any form he desired would be within his grasp.  Then they would
see.  His mind formed a pleasant image of Meikle, who'd gotten him
thrown out of the university, his face a mask of terror as Anton's
baby walked towards him with deliberate, slurping steps ...
     Hands grasped his collar, pulled him up and against the back
of his chair.  Sleep was so much more restful in his bed than on
his desk; one would think he could learn to go home.  He opened his
eyes again.
     "Oh, it's you.  I'd hoped you left."
     "I need something from you."  He let his gaze wander from her
face, felt satisfaction as she dropped him and glared at him in
disgust.  "Watch your place, Sevarius."
     "Yes, Demona.  I'd like to help, really I would, but as you
can see," he indicated his work, now strewn about the desk and
floor, with a sweep of his hand, "I'm quite busy."
     "You'd best not be too busy for me.  It would be a pity if you
outlived your usefulness."
     He considered reminding her who was the scientist and who the
half-gargoyle metamorph, then decided she would be more easily
controlled when she was calm.  "What do you want?" he asked in fake
resignation.
     "You cloned Elisa Maza," funny how much venom she could put in
the mention of the woman's name, "and made that ... *thing*."  The
venom doubled.
     Anton couldn't resist.  "You mean Delilah."
     The darkness on her face made him regret saying the name, as
she shoved him back with such force he lost balance.  The chair
legs tilted out from beneath him, and he tumbled to the floor.
     "Bad enough that he stole my very genes, but then put *her*
face on his toy."  She growled, and he remembered again that the
red-haired woman was merely the guise, and the blue demon beneath
the reality.  She would just as easily break his neck as sign his
paycheck, and only his brain and charm kept her from doing it. 
When his charm wore thin, he still had a sizeable bargaining chip. 
He hoped it would be enough.
     "You used her blood."
     "Yes."  The mosquitoes had been a stroke of genius, even for
him.
     "I need a sample of it."
     Questions fired in his mind: "What for?" "Are you mad?" "Do
you honestly think I'd give it to *you*?"  His self-preservation
instincts kicked in, leading him to instead ask, "You do?"
     "I do."
     "I don't have any left."
     "What?  You had enough to make a clone."
     "That was months ago.  The little I had degraded, and even
then I had only a few drops."  Which he had cryogenically frozen as
soon as he'd been able, but she didn't need to know that.  His
other project needed base materials; he hadn't yet given up hope of
using Maza directly rather than the pale reflection he'd created. 
The other reflections, and he had a little something from everyone
he could, remained sleeping in cold storage, and would until their
own times had come.  He reminded himself to check his assets in
Switzerland.  He'd have to make a large transfer soon, if all went
according to plan.
     "Get more."
     "I have her DNA code on file.  If you want to clone her, I can
do it without more samples."
     "I don't want another Elisa Maza!" she snapped.  "I don't want
the one we have now.  She and her kind are a blight on the planet." 
Anton frowned but did not disagree.  For the most part, he had to
admit his own race was worthless.  Given a little time, he was
certain he could improve it.  Why not?  Wasn't he a shining example
of what could be done given the right tools?  He barely considered
himself in the same species with the things he'd dragged from the
streets for his experiments back in the good old days.  Humans? 
Them?  Hardly.  They'd been more like rats, scrounging bitterly on
the edges of society for food and heat.  Anything he'd done had
only raised them up from the decay that had been their only
existence.
     "Then what *do* you want?"  He attempted to sound impatient
without being rude.  Rudeness could get him killed.
     "I want her blood.  Drops will suffice.  Obtain it for me."
     "I told you, I'm busy."
     "Yes.  You are."
     He considered arguing, pointing to his work again, playing up
its benefits to her.  Then he saw the look in her green eyes, and
stifled a shudder.  Demona, Dominique, whatever she wanted to call
herself, had always been one shade within the happy side of
insanity.  He'd seen her drift to the opposite end once or twice,
and he felt grateful for being permitted to live through those
experiences.  In many ways, she was like a rabid dog.  He'd
eventually have to put her down, though he hadn't the faintest clue
as to how.
     He'd learned of her immortality from Thailog, who'd wondered
if it would also apply to Delilah.  It didn't appear to, and the
clone had been too fond of the plaything he'd created to test her
limits.  The thought was intriguing to Anton's mind.  Could he
isolate what made Demona immortal, use it for himself?  Xanatos
would sell what remained of his soul for that secret, and Anton
would be more than happy to be the one collecting.
     She waited before him, expecting an answer.  If it was the
wrong one, he'd probably die before he finished his project, his
reason for working.  That would be a pity.
     "I'll see what I can do."  Mosquitoes in January?  No one was
going to buy that one.  He'd have to figure out a better means of
gathering blood, short of vampirism.  He sighed and started
thinking about his new problem.

***

     Because it was New Year's Day, and because his employers were
both suffering mild hangovers from the client party the night
before, Owen had the day free.  Had it been any other holiday, he
probably would have spent it in his office or his quarters,
immersed in work.  He was still behind from his forced
convalescence of October and November.
     The part of him that had seen over three thousand years was
amused by the significance humans placed on their passage.  One
year, after all, was really much like any other.  One more year
around the sun, eh, and a tip of the champagne bottle, and watch
them not even celebrate it at the proper time.  Two months late
they were this time.  One might as well choose the fourteenth of
July and call it New Year.
     The part of him that wore the body of a thirty-two year old
mortal had taken up a certain tradition on this day.  When he'd
first come to New York to live, the woman known to the world as
Anastasia Renard had already been performing it for years.  He had
joined her in the ritual, and eventually taken over for her, as she
traveled further and further from this place.
     The cream-coloured jacket he wore was a bit light for the
weather.  He adjusted the parcel he carried, then zipped the jacket
to his neck.  He had forgone his typical business suit for more
comfortable apparel; mostly unworn, the material chafed at him as
if it were new.  His legs itched from walking.
     Central Park was never deserted.  He saw joggers, trying to
make the most of the dying afternoon light, puffing small clouds of
steam as they made their determined way on their accustomed trails. 
A few brave pet owners walked their dogs, staring at them in the
hopes of convincing them that *here* was as good a spot as any, and
swearing when Fido or Fifi only sniffed and moved onwards.
     Mortals.
     He found the place for which he'd been looking.  The landscape
rolled up and over, showing a gaping mouth of a steam tunnel. 
Glancing around to be certain of no special attention being paid
him, he strolled inside.
     Ten minutes later, he was climbing down a vast staircase that
headed beneath the bowels of the city.  He had no idea who had once
carved it, or why it had been abandoned.  Strange things existed
here in the netherworld beneath the city streets, and this was not
the strangest.  Several blocks over, Talon and the other Mutates
had taken up residence with some homeless folk, a fact which amused
his master and worried him.  They were dangerously close to
*another* community very much like their own, and the time wasn't
yet right for the two to meet.
     He flashed his Maglite down the stairwell.  It highlighted
nothing but more darkness.  He shivered involuntarily, although it
was warmer in here than outside.  The last time he'd come, he'd
been informed that the great blind white Alligator King had been
slain by a woman who called herself Hunter, and he was fairly
certain it had not been Robyn Canmore.  He did not fear this
Hunter.  He feared the things that had remained hidden in the
darkness dreading the King's wrath.
     Something caught in the beam of his light.  Yes, there it was! 
The marker!
     A few more steps, and he was on the correct level.  The winds
blew at him, whispering voices from the city beyond.  Some called
to him, ~Come dance with us, pretty fairy!~  Some tempted him with
mortal pleasures, some with the forbidden but more savory
enticement of a return to grace.
     He blocked his ears, and the insincere promises of the wind
faded.  They sang old songs of forgotten dreams, and had only the
power he granted them.  Her chamber was just past here.
     The brown old woman bent over a cauldron, muttering to
herself.  She wore a concoction of gaily-colored rags, making her
almost indistinguishable from any other homeless person on the
street.  If one knew where to look, and how, one might have seen a
pattern to her crazy-quilt clothing, a style of courtly garb
centuries out of date.
     She did not turn around, but said in a light Jamaican accent,
"So.  You've been banished."
     "Bad news travels quickly.  Who told you?"
     "I do have a brain."  Her accent vanished.  "All the magic has
gone from this place, save a sprinkling on you that is not even
your own.  Oberon has finally discovered his lapdog's teeth, and
has sent him into the streets with the rest of the curs."
     "I prefer to think of it as being on extended holiday in the
mortal world."
     She turned around, scowling.  "Trickster."
     "Witch."
     "Lackey."
     "Traitor."
     "Perhaps I'm not the only one.  Why *did* he cast you out?"
     "I refused his summons.  He's called for the Gathering."
     "Don't you think I know that?!"  She tapped her forehead.  "I
can hear him, calling me.  Another part of my punishment, to feel
the overpowering urge to return with the rest of our kind, knowing
that to do so means my death."  She peered at him.  "But it seems
you understand that, too."
     "Yes."  She went back to her stirring.  He found a nearly-
clear space to set the bundle he'd brought her.  "How are the
children?"
     "Vincent's second child was born late in the summer.  A girl."
     "I sensed."  For being utterly ignorant of his origins and
completely untrained, Vincent had a surprisingly strong presence,
a trait he appeared to have passed on to his children.
     "His brother has taken up with a young woman.  I expect
they'll wed soon."  She smiled vaguely.  "He builds things, you
know, out of iron.  He's another Hephaestus."  She went back to her
stirring.  She had told him the same thing a year ago.  The boy
might be married now, or dead.  The woman's mind was not what it
had once been.
     He considered her, thoughtfully.  Before Oberon's ascension to
the throne, all of their kind had been created by the first Queen
or else born of other Children.  Oberon was bound to prove he could
create a child from pure magic as She had done with him, and to
outdo Her work.  His first attempt had been to create the
impossible: a Child with no fear of iron.  He succeeded, and
brought forth Hephaestus.  It was true the new Child could bend
iron to his will, something no other of their kind dared even
consider, but in return he had very little magic, and could not
change the hideously ugly form he wore.  Oberon, always too
enamoured of beauty, was repulsed by his creation, and never
attempted another Child with the iron gift.
     As time went by, others dabbled in the formation of life from
raw magics.  Narcissa and her husband created between them a
simulacrum of Aphrodite, and named her Galatea.  The jealous
goddess, seeing her own beauty rivaled, bade her son Eros to put
love for the ugly Hephaestus into the girl, hoping to make her a
laughingstock among the others.  The final jest had been on
Aphrodite, for the couple became the closest of lovers and friends. 
When the rebellion had come, and Hephaestus and Narcissa were
banished forever for their roles in the battle, Galatea had
accepted banishment with them.  The lovers had died in exile.  He
himself had attended Hephaestus' funeral at Titania's side.
     "The Queen sends her regards," he said, finally.
     The stirring stopped.  "How does she fare?"
     "Well.  She remarried Oberon and has returned to the Island." 
He hesitated.  "She has become a grandmother."
     "Not from the Three."
     "No.  The halfling.  Fox."
     "Indeed."  She looked out into nothingness.  When she began to
speak again, he knew she was Seeing.  He had the gift of prophecy,
could make out images of what might be.  Narcissa, like poor
Cassandra, was cursed with True Sight.  What she Saw *would* be.
     "I have a secret to tell you, Trickster.  We are never far
from those we love."  She stared at him with sightless eyes. 
"Vincent's girl-child will know the babe whose cradle you rock. 
She will be his Titania."  Fear trickled down his spine.
     "I have to go," he said quickly.  "There's food and clothing
in the bundle."  He moved to the doorway of the chamber.
     "When you next see the Queen, send her my love."
     "I will."  She turned back to her cauldron.  She pulled out
her spoon and tasted the mixture, then smiled.  "Needs salt," he
heard her say, and then the mad voices of the wind stole away
whatever else she might have said.

***

     Delilah shivered in the crisp night air.  The Labyrinth was
always damp and chilly, but this was true cold, something her foggy
memory associated with being up top.  She'd been programmed with
the knowledge of summer, knew what the sun looked like for the same
reason, but the former had already ended when she'd stepped out of
the vat, and the latter had no more meaning than a fairy tale.
     The world glittered.
     Snow lay dusted over everything in the Park, like frosting on
a cookie.  She'd never seen snow before, not really, and she
scooped a few flakes into her hand.  Not sweet, not salty, they
melted on her tongue and were gone.
     She reminded herself that she was up top on a very important
mission.  Some of the Labyrinth's other children had come up to
play not long before, and they'd asked if Brentwood could join
them.  The human children had never wanted to play with them
before, but he'd always wanted to play with them, even more than
the rest of her brothers.  Maybe it was because he was smaller than
them.  Maggie wanted to see him, now, though, and she'd sent 'Lilah
to fetch him.
     Brent had wanted to play with the other kids for a long time. 
Delilah had wanted to go outside for a long time.  Since those were
two long times, she didn't hurry to find him.  Things up here were
so pretty!  She had dared other, more secret trips to the Park, as
her heart had hammered in her chest that she was going to be
caught, by a human or by a Mutate, and she would be in trouble
either way.  She had never stayed more than a few minutes.  Now she
had permission to be out here, and she wanted to enjoy every
minute.
     In the unchanging light of the Labyrinth, time passed in two
ways: when she was stone and when she wasn't.  Several nights had
passed since the last party.  Her fears of the party to come, the
kindling, as Hudson called it, were fading.  Maybe if she didn't
think about it, it would never happen.  Her tummy twisted and
released.  She gasped and grabbed her belly, then glared at the
bulge.
     "You be good!" she whispered.  Her voice was muffled by the
powdery snow.
     "Lookit, Dad!"  A child's voice, unfamiliar, came from very
near.  Terrified, 'Lilah fled into a shadow, and stayed there,
panting.  "Aw," said the child.  "They melted."
     She heard a laugh, low and rumbling.  "They do that."  A
pause.  "There, do you see?"  His voice was deep and comforting,
like Talon's.
     "Those two look kinda alike."
     "But not exactly."  She guessed the voices to be far enough
away to be safe.  She peeked out of her hiding place, wings drawn
in so tight that she was almost choking.
     Not far from where she hid, another two figures walked in the
spidery shadows cast by streetlights and the naked trees on the
snow.  The larger, the father she guessed, was cloaked in deep
brown.  The child wore layers of clothes like the humans in the
Labyrinth, and had a warm-looking knitted cap on his head.  They
were both watching snowflakes on the boy's mitten.  Neither of them
looked her way.
     "Look!" said the boy, breath puffing in the cold.  "See? 
Toldja there could be twins."
     His father peered.  "Close, but not quite."  His cloak moved
aside, revealing for a moment ...  She wasn't sure what she thought
she saw, but compared to some of what she'd seen during her short
life, it wasn't high on the list of weird things.  She turned and
took a different path towards where the kids said they'd be.
     She heard the kids a good space away.  They were louder than
they ought to be.  Someone might hear them and come looking and
find Brentwood.  That would be bad.
     The playground came into view, and she froze.  The kids had
taken the swings down from over the tops, and two were swinging,
laughing loudly.  The rest were gathered around a spinning thing
with bars to hold onto; she'd seen one like it once in a picture
book.  Brent was in the center of the thing, holding on for dear
life as it spun faster and faster.  He had white splotches all over
him; as she watched open-mouthed, one of the kids threw another
snowball at him.  He ducked, but it hit him anyway.
     "Stop it!" she shouted, not caring who heard her.  Her eyes
blazed white.  With satisfaction, she watched the kids scurry away
from the spinning thing.  Without their influence, it started
slowing down.  'Lilah ran to it and slowed it with one hand.
     Brent, red eyes wide and scared, crept off it, legs shaky.  As
he took a step, he fell into the muddy slush made by the kids'
feet.  From a safe distance, some of them snickered.  Others held
hands over their mouths to stop the laughs.  She growled at them.
     A *thud* hit the back of her head, and cold wetness slid down
her back.  "Freak!" shouted the pitcher.  Brent got to his feet and
wiped himself off with his hands.  She judged the distance between
them and the kid, knew she wouldn't reach him before he'd dashed
out of sight, not as fat as she was.
     "C'mon, Brent," she said, tears stinging her eyes and throat. 
"Maggie wants to see you."
     "But ... "
     "They're just stupid kids," she said loudly, and grabbed his
hand.  "You okay?"
     "Yeah."  Then he looked at the children.  She'd known him all
her life, and only once had she ever seen such pain on his face.
     Another snowball whizzed by her ear.  She spun and roared,
noting the fear on the faces of their tormentors.  Brent's eyes
went bright red, and before she could stop him, he went after the
kid who'd thrown the snowball.  Just as she'd thought, the kid  and
his friends were far enough away to be gone by the time Brent
reached the place they'd been.
     Brent stood there, shaking in anger.
     "C'mon," she called to him again.  The snow melted in her
hair, making her cold.  "We oughta go."
     He took her hand.  They made their silent way back to the
opening, back to the Labyrinth.  The snow which had been so cheery
now just froze her feet and tail.  Neither spoke during their long
way back to the chamber where Maggie waited.
     Her bright face turned to one of concern when they arrived. 
"What's wrong?"
     "Nothing," said 'Lilah, before Brent could say a word.

***

     With the rare gift she had for these things, Elisa honed in on
a parking spot a block from the Amsterdam Caf‚, and slipped the
Fairlane into it before anyone else.  She shut off the ignition,
listened worriedly as it muttered for a few more seconds before
dying, and reminded herself to take it to the shop for a tuneup.
     As she got out, she rested her hand on the roof, feeling the
still-sleek metal.  Restoring the old car had been a months-long
restoration project about ten years back for her father and
brother.  The thing had resided under a blue tarp in the backyard,
and every weekend, the two Maza males had gone out to tinker with
the engine, the body, and the rest.  She'd spent some time helping
them, but there had been an underlying current of father-son
bonding being interrupted, so those times had not been often.  On
her eighteenth birthday, she'd gone outside and found the car
completely refinished, with a large red bow stuck to the top.  All
those months, and she'd never even realized.
     The restaurant was already getting crowded.  She spotted her
mother sitting outside and waved, then made her way to the table.
     "Hi Mom," she said, placing a comfortable kiss on the woman's
cheek.  "You're early."
     "The meeting let out early.  I can't wait until classes begin
again.  Faculty meetings are duller than dirt."
     Elisa opened her menu, already knowing what she would probably
order.  She'd been here once or twice before to meet Mom.  The caf‚
was close enough to the university for her mother to walk, but she
always had to fight midtown traffic.  She considered the night she
had ahead of her, then ordered the chicken sandwich platter.  Diane
ordered a salad.
     "Have to keep my girlish figure, you know," she said, and
Elisa made an exaggerated look up and down of her.
     "You know, when I mention you to my friends, the word
'girlish' is always the first one to pop into mind."
     "Just wait until you have three children.  Then we'll see
who's teasing whom."
     Elisa bit her lip.  "Yeah, just wait."
     Mom's face flooded with concern.  "Elisa, I'm sorry."
     "Don't be.  I'm happy.  I'm lucky, too.  Angela's already one
of my best friends, and I didn't need to go through those awkward
teenage years with her."  She played with her napkin, thinking
uncomfortably of her other quasi-daughter.
     Was there a way to explain to her mother the unease she'd been
feeling around Delilah more and more?  She knew why, hated herself
a little for it, but the fact was that the clone had her face and
her voice, and was going to have a baby any day.  Elisa knew the
circumstances too well, knew how old 'Lilah was mentally, knew
there was no way in several hells that she'd been mature enough to
consent to *anything*, knew there was more than a good chance that
the egg, if egg it was, would never hatch because of 'Lilah's
genetic makeup.  She knew all this, and still she found herself
watching the girl with envy, and that wasn't healthy for either of
them.
     "Have you heard anything from her?"
     No, because I've been avoiding ...  Oh, Angela.  She shook her
head.  "Not since she left.  It's only been six weeks.  Where she
is, that's," she did the math, "not even two days."
     "How long will she be gone, do you think?"
     "No idea.  Owen said Katharine is dying.  That could mean
weeks, or even months.  Angela's going to want to stay until she
does."  She took a sip from her water glass.  "Demona can wish, and
I can pretend, but Katharine is her Mom."  She reached over the
table, took her mother's hand.  Diane placed her other hand on top. 
"Talk to me, Mom.  Why did you want to have dinner here?  We could
have done this at home."
     "I like it here.  Besides, I wanted a chance to talk with you. 
We don't do this often enough."
     "And I'm the only one you *can* talk with here," she said.
     "There's that."  The waitress brought their food.  Elisa dug
into her sandwich with vigour, discovering to her surprise that she
was ravenous.  Her mother went at her salad with less gusto,
picking at the lettuce with her fork before finally taking a bite. 
"Elisa ... "  She paused, stared at her for a long moment, then
changed her tone.  "How's Goliath?"
     Wonderful, she thought.  Amazing, incredible, warm, exciting,
perfect, she thought.  "Fine," she said.  "I guess.  He misses
Angela.  We all do.  Why?"
     "It's been a while since I've seen him."
     "Two weeks."
     "That's long enough.  I mean, he *is* family now, and while I
understand he can't exactly drop by for Sunday dinner, he's
certainly welcome."  The words came out in a flood; Elisa washed
along with them, then paddled back madly.
     *Family?*  "Mom ... "
     Diane suddenly found her salad very interesting, and attacked
it voraciously.  Elisa sighed.
     "What is it, Mom?" she asked as her mother took a bite of
tomato.
     "Elisa," she began hesitantly, "I don't know how to put this
right.  I know how important it is to you, and how satisfied you've
been, but ... "  Elisa felt a blush creeping to her ears.  Was it
*that* obvious?  It wasn't like they'd ...  She missed her mother's
next words, was certain she'd misheard.
     "Huh?" she managed.
     Diane looked away, down, anywhere but her face.  "I knew you
wouldn't consider it.  The force is too important to you."
     An image of Alec Guinness popped into her head.
     "Mom, I'm really confused right now."  Mom patted her hand.
     "I know, dear.  I was confused, too, when I was your age. 
Should I go into teaching?  Should I stay home with you and your
brother?  You've spent enough years as a cop.  You have a
psychology degree, dear.  You could go on for your Master's, your
Doctorate, even teach here or at Barnard?  I think you'd enjoy the
challenge."  Her eyes were bright with hope.
     "You want me to leave the force?"  She sat back, staring at
her mother dumbfounded.  This had *not* been what she'd expected to
hear.
     "I know, I know, you love it."  There was defeat in her
mother's voice, and grief.  Elisa suspected she knew the cause.
     "This is about Andy, isn't it?"
     Andy had been her country cousin, the only son of Grandpa
Darren's youngest brother.  He'd been born and raised in a small
town in Pennsylvania, and had eventually become the sheriff.  She
remembered infrequent trips to his house at holidays, how he always
touted the benefits to small town life over the myriad dangers of
the big city.
     In the summer, he and his wife had been brutally murdered in
their safe, small-town home.  It *could* have been a racial
incident, but from what they'd been able to glean, it had been
associated with a case he'd been working on at the time of his
death.  Mom hadn't spoken much of it since, but now the truth, and
the grief, were clear in her eyes.
     "I don't want to lose you," she said softly.
     "You're not going to lose me, Mom.  I'm not going anywhere."
     "You live dangerously Elisa.  It was bad enough," her breath
caught.  "It was bad enough knowing every day when your father went
to work that he might never come home.  Then you decided you wanted
to be a cop, and then *Derek* decided the same thing, and then I
had to worry three times as much every single day."
     "I love my job, Mom."  Sometimes it was hard, sometimes
dangerous, and sometimes just wearying, when perps were back out on
the street within hours.  But it was who she was.
     "I know."
     Elisa glanced at her watch.  "Damn.  And speaking of the job
I love, I'm gonna be late."  She finished the last bite of her
sandwich, looked longingly at the fries, and waved at the waitress.
     "I'll get dinner.  You get to work."
     "Thanks, Mom," she said, and gave her another kiss on the
cheek.  "I'll see you on Sunday.  And I promise to be careful."
     "Yes, dear."  She didn't sound convinced, but Elisa didn't
have time to comfort her further.  She scooted off towards the
entrance, and did not hear her mother's following:
     "Dear!  You have ...  Oh never mind."

***

     Downtown traffic was horrendous.  Her usual parking place was
taken, so she had to settle for a spot three blocks away.  Swearing
slightly, she ran in as dignified a fashion as she could to the
precinct house.  She dropped her jacket at her desk, and almost
didn't notice the roses.
     She stopped.  Yup, they were still there.  She picked up the
bouquet and sniffed at them, then read the card:  "For: Elisa Maza
From: You Know Who."
     The grin inside would not be contained, and blossomed on her
face.  She couldn't recall the last time anyone had sent her
flowers.
     "Ow!"  Her hand went to her mouth.  Had she caught it on a
thorn?  No, the pin affixing the card was at a bad angle.  She set
the bouquet down awkwardly, grimacing as she smeared blood on the
tissue paper.  No time for romance, now.
     She hurried to Captain Chavez's office, carefully opening the
door.  Everyone else was already there, of course, and stared at
her as she entered.  I'm not *that* late, she thought, and moved to
stand beside the seat Matt had grabbed.
     "Nice of you to join us," said the Captain.  "Now, as I was
saying ... "
     The Captain had instituted biweekly meetings for all the
detectives on their shift, to compare cases and try to see if any
correlations existed that might have escaped cops working on
seemingly separate crimes.  She and Matt had just wrapped up a
string of catburglaries, and hadn't started a new case yet.  She
found her attention drifting back to the flowers on her desk and
the conversation with her mother.  Both seemed out of place.
     Several times during the hour, she noticed some of the others
giving her strange looks, then finding other things to watch.  It
started to get annoying.  She'd have to let Goliath know that,
although the thought was appreciated, work wasn't the best place
for sending presents.  When the meeting ended, Morgan and Tan
corralled her, asking who'd sent the flowers.  She dodged the
question, barely, and slipped out of Chavez's office before they
could try to pry anything further.
     The flowers were no longer on her desk.
     Matt sat at his own desk, innocent as a new babe. *click*
*click* *click* *click*  "All right, Bluestone.  Hand 'em over,"
she said in her best movie-cop voice.
     "Hand what over?  I thought you hid them." *click* *click*
*click*   "Damn."
     "I should have.  Are you playing Minesweeper again?"
     *click* "Um.  Yeah." *click* *click* "Damn."  He looked away
from the screen.  "What?  It clears my mind.  You meditate, I save
the world from mines."
     "Computer Zen," she teased as she checked her desk, inside and
out.  No flowers.  "That's weird.  Well, now maybe everyone'll stop
staring."
     "I doubt that," said her partner, a smirk on his face.
     "What did you say?"
     "Nothing.  Nothing."  His boyish face could no longer resist
the smile.  "Um ...  Partner?"  He tapped just beside his own
Adam's Apple.  "You've got ... um ...  Just go look in the mirror,
okay?"
     Elisa clapped a hand over her neck, scowled at her partner,
and headed towards the women's locker room.  She went to a mirror
above one of the sinks.  As she moved her hand, she saw the large
purplish bruise and groaned.  For the moment, she forgot about the
flowers entirely.

***

     Fox opened her eyes.  The clock on her side of the bed read
4:15 in light green, unobtrusive numerals.  Four minutes had passed
since the last time she'd checked.  She rolled over.  David was
half-sprawled beside her, mouth buried in his pillow. His long
hair, free from its customary elastic, lay askew around his head,
with one lock wrapped around his neck.  He was quite soundly
asleep.  Unable to do the same, she watched his eyes dart beneath
his lids, always moving, always seeking, even in his dreams.
     Restlessness drove her from their bed.  She grabbed her robe
and slipped noiselessly out of their room.  The flagstones were
cold on her feet.  She considered going back for her slippers, then
decided that David needed his sleep.  She did, as well, but lately,
she'd been having trouble.  It was the same problem she'd had
before Alex's birth, only this time she was not the pregnant one,
and there were no dreams of Katharine.
     Hyena's C-section was scheduled for the first of February,
over two weeks away.  The doctors could possibly have performed it
earlier, but since there was zero chance of the kid being breast-
fed, the decision had been to delay the birth as long as was
feasible.  So far, she hadn't gone into labour naturally, a good
thing all around.
     Fox wandered into Alexander's room.  He lay on his back
asleep, the covers kicked off haphazardly.  She pulled them up over
his legs.  He breathed, but didn't stir.
     He was such a pretty baby.  His little red curls framed his
wide face.  His lips made a slightly quivering pucker, as if he
were eating in his sleep.  She wondered what his dreams were like. 
Were they of multi-coloured toys?  Days in the sunshine?  Changing
his shape?  Suckling from a giant breast?  Whatever his dreams,
there was an aura around him of peacefulness.  Was that part of his
glamour, or was it just because he was a baby?
     "I love you, sweetie," she said.  She reached in and brushed
his temple with her finger.  He twitched.
     Goliath had risked his life and that of the other gargoyles to
let him stay with his family.  The same had to hold true for the
unborn child for whom she was taking responsibility.  A child
needed his family, no matter who that family was.  Wasn't that what
Goliath had said to Oberon?  Wasn't that why she had her son here
tonight?  It had to be the truth.
     Then why, when she lay down to sleep each night, did she see
a dark, smoke-smelling apartment, and wonder if she was doing the
right thing?

***

     Elisa took the elevator up from the Eyrie's private parking
lot, pacing in the car as she did.  She was running later than
she'd anticipated; as she'd pulled into the lot, the cold sky had
already been laced with cotton candy clouds.
     She passed by the living room, in case the guys were catching
the end of the So Late It's Early Show.  The television was on, but
the gargoyles were nowhere to be seen.  Instead, Fox lay curled on
her side on the couch, fast asleep.  Elisa did not particularly
want to know why.  The private lives of the Xanatos family, unless
they directly affected those of the clan, held little interest for
her.  Typically.
     Two nights before, she'd overheard Xanatos making baby-noises
at his son.  More than once, when she had been over and Alex had
been with the clan, Fox had come into the room and picked him up,
and for a moment, just a moment, had let slip her careful veneer of
confidence and had become a real person.  That seriously damaged
the comfortable mental image Elisa had formed of the two of them.
     She found Goliath on the tower, as she'd suspected she might.
     "Hey," she said to his back.
     "Good morning," he replied.  "How was work?"
     "Quiet.  I don't care what anyone else says, since you guys
came to town, the scum has been a lot less likely to surface."
     "Tonight was also quiet for us.  Perhaps the cold has sent the
criminals to bed early."  He smiled as he turned.  His sense of
humour, such as it was, improved little by little ever night.
     "Have you been to the Labyrinth lately?" she asked out of the
blue.
     "I have not.  Broadway was there tonight, guarding Fang.  He
returned only a few minutes ago.  Why do you ask?"
     "No reason.  Oh, before I forget ... "  She tugged at her
shirt collar, giving him a good view of her neck.  "We humans
bruise easily."
     He flushed.  "I'm sorry."
     "Don't be."  She took his hand into both of hers, rubbed it
against her cheek contentedly.  "We just need to be a little more
careful.  Matt's been razzing me all night about it.  The flowers
didn't help, either."  She smiled shyly.  "But they were
appreciated."
     A perplexed look crossed his face, and stayed there as the sun
rose a second later.  She pulled her hand from his stone grip,
patted his arm, and went down the stairs.

***

     Elisa checked herself in the mirror one more time.  The bruise
had lingered for several days, but it had finally faded from sight. 
No more worrying about covering it with makeup or semi-convenient
turtlenecks.  Matt had teased her about it nonstop for days.  On
the flip side, she was certain everyone at the station thought he'd
been the one to give it to her, so it all worked out.  Damned
embarrassing, though.
     She patted her hair.  She'd opted to wear it up tonight, and
she couldn't get past the feeling that she looked more and more
like her mother when she did.  Well, maybe not.  Mom probably
wouldn't have opted for the deep rose of her dress, nor the
generous neckline.  She also would probably have avoided the
spandex that clung to her legs suggestively and stopped well above
her knee.  The earrings that brushed her shoulders had been bought
for this outfit.  Her toes were cramping inside the heels she wore,
but she had to admit, back problems later or no, they completed her
ensemble perfectly.
     She added a quick touch of little-used perfume to her wrists.
     Precisely on time, she heard a tap at her balcony.  She smiled
at her own reflection one more time, and thanked her guardian
spirits that it was a warm night.  They were going to a concert in
the park tonight, close enough to hear, far enough not to be seen. 
He was probably expecting a sweatshirt and jeans.
     She walked out of the bathroom, shut off the light, checked to
make sure Cagney had food, grabbed her wrap and went to the sliding
window they used as a door.
     Tonight, she decided.  Tonight she was going to convince him
to stay until daybreak.
     The expression on his face was exactly what she'd hoped it
would be.

***

     'Lilah slipped outside.  The moon was brighter now than it had
been her last time outside, bigger.  Maggie had tried explaining
the idea of phases to her, with oranges, but she'd only gotten more
confused.
     The night was a little warmer than she remembered, at least
she thought so.  The snow was gone, leaving short brown stubs of
grass to prickle her tail behind her.  The last time she'd been out
here, the night had been cloudy, and hid away any stars she might
have seen.  Tonight it was clear, but she wasn't out to see stars.
     It was easier to think outside, even though she wasn't
supposed to be here.  Everyone stared at her in the Labyrinth
anymore, at least at her belly.  The egg would be here soon, they
said.  She didn't want a stupid egg.  She wanted a baby like Maggie
was going to have.  She tried to summon a picture in her head of a
baby gargoyle.  It would look like her and Thailog, with their
blue-white hair, and it would be as dark as he was, but with her
eyes,  And she would call it Grover.
     The real gargoyles stared when they came to visit.  They
hadn't come to visit in a long time.  The only times were when
someone took a turn guarding Fang, and that wasn't often.
     She found her destination: the swings.  She had come here
twice since the kids had brought Brent outside to tease him.  It
was a nice, quiet place in the night where she could be alone.  She
climbed into a swing carefully, poking her tail out the back, and
pushed herself with her feet.  From far away, she heard music, but
she ignored it.  She didn't want to hear music tonight.
     Elisa stared.
     'Lilah didn't understand why Elisa stared.  She'd thought
Elisa was her friend, but now her friend watched her with the same
expression that the real gargoyles did, and she didn't like it. 
The worst part of all was ...
     Her lips trembled.  She didn't want to think about this, but
here it was.
     She knew how she'd come to be.  Thailog had programmed her
with the knowledge, and Maggie and Ruth had explained it in terms
she could almost understand.  Part of Elisa and part of Demona had
become her, not exactly like but close to the way that a part of
Goliath and a part of Demona had become Angela.  That made Elisa
and Demona her parents.
     Demona had tried to kill her the last time she'd seen her, but
Elisa had always been nice.  Maybe Demona didn't know that she was
her daughter like Angela was.  Maybe if she told her, it would
change Demona's mind about killing her.  Angela hadn't always liked
her, but she did now, or did before she went back to Avalon.
     Elisa didn't like her anymore.  She could tell by the way she
stared, by the way she stayed away.  She could stand the real
gargoyles staring, and she'd gotten used to Malibu doing it now and
then, 'cause Malibu wanted to be a real gargoyle.  Elisa was
something different.
     Hot tears warmed her cheeks, but she did not brush them away.

***

     Beth kept her mouth closed as she yawned, knowing it would
send her face through weird contortions.  She normally didn't mind
night classes, but she'd discovered that Dr. Tremaine's unique
lecturing style left her sapped of energy before he'd reached the
end of his first sentence.  Then again, said lecturing style meant
the end of the first sentence might be twenty minutes into the
three-hour class.  She'd heard from survivors of his classes that
he only took a breath once an hour; his lung capacity made up for
the rest.
     Blinking her eyes rapidly, she stared down at her notes,
forcing some sense into them.  A few lines were legible, the rest
scrawled into oblivion, testament to previous times this evening
when her hold on reality had slipped.  It wasn't that the class was
boring, either.  In fact, the subject of this particular lecture
was very near and dear to her heart.  Again, she forced herself
awake enough to listen.
     "Trickster, in this case Crow, although as you'll read this
week, those of you who do your assignment, many of the same
attributes will apply to Red Horn, who is also an incipient hero,
as well as Legba, the Dogon Trickster, and Anansi, Trickster of the
Hauka tribe, with some remnants in the Greek myths of Hermes, who
stole Zeus' sheep the day he was born, which brings us back to Crow
and his sexual appetites, which are both strange and insatiable, as
they are for all Tricksters; strange in that Crow, as you read this
past week, often switches gender and even sends his genitalia away
from his body in order to have sex with unsuspecting young maids,
demonstrating Trickster's role as a cultural pressure relief, here
a sexual taboo ... "
     A few of her classmates giggled, and Beth herself felt a large
grin growing on her face.  She doubted they were having the same
mental images she was, but none of them had met a Trickster-god in
the flesh.
     As she had before, she wondered how much of the mythology had
grown from actual things Coyote and his cousins had done, and how
much of what they were had come from the myths already saturating
the cultures they adopted.  Dr. Tremaine and her classmates
operated under the assumption that the religions they studied,
while held to by a vanishing minority, had no more basis in reality
than the Easter Bunny.  They spoke of cultural and personal need,
for heroes, for Tricksters, for gods of all shapes and sizes, and
had reached a level of intellectualism where they believed in none,
or in a hero-cycle originating in the Middle East.  Last week, the
first night of class, Dr. Tremaine had handed out a page of the
characteristics of a classic hero myth.  According to him, the
higher a particular figure scored, the more likely it was the
individual had never really existed.  Zeus scored a 19.  Robin Hood
scored a 13.  Christ scored 19, and when that was noted, two of the
class members walked out.  Beth had ignored them and kept reading.
     King Arthur scored 17.  So did Cu Chulainn.  She wondered how
many other people Dr. Tremaine was claiming had never been were
numbered among her sister's friends.  The people had left the class
because of the implication that none of the heroes on the sheet had
ever existed.  Beth faced a more frightening notion: the prospect
that they all did.
     Dr. Tremaine finished his final sentence.  The class awoke
like a slumbering giant (though she'd learned never to get him
started on giant myths) and ran for the door.
     Outside, the night was clear and crisp.  As she walked from
the lights of Mevis Hall in a loose knot of people, she could see
the stars growing brighter.  Somewhere beneath those stars, the
fairies were dancing.  Not here.  She wasn't certain when Coyote
had left Arizona for Avalon, only knew that the Gathering had come
when Elisa had called the first time from her apartment to let her
know the long journey had ended.  She hadn't heard him howling
across the desert before his departure, nor had a weight lifted
from the earth when his tread no longer touched it.  She knew he
was gone now because the night was emptier, the stars not as
playful.  Gods had walked this land, and if they had been but
Oberon's Children in masks, who was she to say they were more or
less real than a carpenter who would have been king?
     So caught up was she in thoughts spiritual that she did not
see the black-clad figure until the voice spoke to her from what
first appeared to be utter darkness:
     "Hi, Beth."  She stopped, oblivious to the rest of the group,
who continued to walk back towards the safety of light and home.
     Coyote, her mind provided, and she was in that instant a young
maid encountering a childish spirit who was also the oldest of
gods.  Then her eyes focused.
     "Sarah."  The surprise mingled with disappointment before she
could stop it, and she read the instant pain on the face of someone
who'd once been her closest friend.
     "Who were you expecting?"  Not teasing, not playful, just
inquisitive, and incredibly sad.
     "Coyote the Trickster," she replied.  Sarah rolled her
cinnamon eyes.  "What's up?"
     "I wanted to see you."
     "I thought you didn't want to see me ever again."  It sounded
more accusational than she'd intended.
     "I needed some time."  She turned and began walking.  After a
moment, Beth followed her.  Their paces caught and matched as they
walked.
     Beth said, "Sarah, listen.  There are some things ... "
     Sarah held up a hand.  "Don't.  You have secrets.  I know
that.  I'm sorry if I tried to get them out of you before you were
ready."
     "I was ready, but they weren't mine to tell.  They still
aren't."
     "I can accept that."
     She could accept ...  Her arms trembled from the cold, from
the words.  She kept her teeth from chattering as she asked, "What
do you mean?"
     "I mean, I haven't been able to do anything for months but
think of you.  I went home over the holiday, and spent every damn
minute thinking of things I should have said to you, seeing things
I wanted to show you."  She stopped, and Beth saw the rarest tears
running down her face.  "I miss you.  You're my best friend, and
... "  Her shoulders shook.
     Beth set her satchel on the ground, and wrapped her arms
around Sarah's neck.  "I've missed you, too," she said, not yet
crying, knowing the tears would come soon enough.
     "I'm not asking for things to go back to the way they were. 
I just want to spend time with you again."
     "I'd like that."
     Sarah smiled through the tears on her cheeks.  Beth's heart
warmed, and her thoughts turned far away from gods.
     "I was afraid," Sarah said.  "I was afraid you'd hate me until
May, and then graduate, and then leave, and I'd never see you
again."
     "No such luck.  I'm applying for grad school here.  I'll be
here for a good long time."
     As she said it, she knew she meant it.  Mom would have to deal
with her youngest chick being away for a longer time, maybe for
good.  She was where she belonged, with people she liked, and the
woman she loved.  Manhattan was a distant crystal dream, with no
more solidity for her than Avalon.  This was what was real, had
been real forever.
     As they walked back towards her home, slower this time, Beth
swore she could hear a howl from far away, and although she knew in
her soul it was not Coyote, she smiled anyway.

***

     Demona unwrapped the parchment with a gentleness that would
have surprised an outsider, or even an old friend.  The vellum on
which it had been written had been taken from a sheep who'd grazed
in the verdant pastures outside a small village named Lud, which in
time had become a somewhat larger village called London.  Needless
to say, it was before her time by a good thousand years and she had
spent the fifty-four years since its acquisition being careful not
to damage it.
     She had no idea what the original words written on the paper
had been.  The traces she could see below the Latin were faint and
bore little resemblance to any alphabet she knew.  Someone, most
likely a sorcerer in desperate need of writing paper, or a
practitioner of the Old Religion caught in a strange new age of
monotheism and persecution of the supernaturally gifted, had half-
eradicated the old words and scribbled a brief Latin spell atop
them.  When she'd first found the paper, amid the ruins of a museum
after a bombing, she'd had a split second of vision: a human man,
not old but ancient in the way only the loss of friends and family
could bring age, hurriedly setting to paper spells that would
otherwise have been lost with his impending death.
     No matter what the first spell had been; the second, more
readable one held the magic she required for this evening's working
beneath the full January moon.  She scanned the words, then set the
paper where she could easily access it when the time came.
     She required no talismans tonight, but the herbs she needed
had raised the eyebrows of more than one gardener in her employ. 
She'd hired gardeners, architects, built an elaborate greenhouse,
and given the strictest of instructions for the care and feeding of
the precious flora she planted there.  Many a gibbous moon had seen
her on her knees, running her fingers through rich black dirt,
coaxing seed pods open with her talons, making sacrifices of
songbirds as both offering and the richest of fertilizer.  All her
work, and the sweat of her human drones, weeding and pollinating
and asking no questions, had created for her a garden whose fruits
were by turns succulent, magical, intoxicating and/or illegal in
the state of New York.
     She took a handful of dried leaves, whose close cousins had
once been used by native tribes on the Great Plains to instill
prophecies.  The fire sparkled as she threw the leaves into it,
being careful not to breathe the smoke.  That was for later.
     The second ingredient was bark from a flowering shrub, one
thought by most horticulturalists to have been extinct for the past
ninety years.  Demona was not a horticulturalist, but *had* been
aware of the encroachment of the rapine humans into the sacred
places where it had once grown wild, had saved a few specimens of
this particular bush.  The blossoms, while having no particular
magical value of their own, resembled lilacs, but with an
enchanting scent that made ordinary flowers smell like toxic waste
in comparison.  She peeled bits of the bark, placed them into a
silver bowl of water, while breathing hotly on the surface.  She
stirred the water with her finger in three sharp swirls, then
sprinkled salt over it.
     She held the bowl above her head, and chanted the first half
of the spell: "Iae Jesu Domine!"
     She poured the bowl's contents onto the fire.  Angry at the
sudden cold wetness, the fire sputtered its protest and died in a
cloud of aromatic steam.  She breathed deeply.  Nauseated, she
placed a hand to her forehead, steadying and centering herself. 
The sickness passed.
     Now for the final part.  She took the vial, the few drops of
rich red liquid within rolling back and forth as she twirled the
container.  Here was the time of truth.  If it was Elisa's, the
woman would come to her, unable to resist the call of her own
blood.  It was possible that her brother, even her parents would
come as well.  Demona had her particle beam weapon ready in case of
unwanted company.  There could be no mistakes made after this
point.
     Demona opened the vial and dripped the precious drops over the
smouldering pile.  "Doniae ys requiem!"
     The ashes glowed with a blue-green tint, pulsating sickly like
gangrene.  She dared not breathe the smoke now, lest it consume
her.
     Blood called to blood.  She heard the siren call from the
ashes, demanding their lady's return to them, sending out their
scent through the Park, above the trees and the skyscrapers,
calling Elisa to her.
     "Blood return to blood!" she hissed.
     Yes, she would come, and when she touched the ash, Demona
would steal her wretched face and form.  It would last only the
night, long enough to steal into the castle, find Goliath and
Angela, strike down the one in front of the other.  The fool would
probably not even raise a talon in protest.
     She heard a sound in the bushes, the sound of gargoyle feet
making their way nearer.  Yes!  Summoned by the spell, that
detestable human was coming to her, and much sooner than she had
anticipated.  She placed a victorious smile on her face as she
turned to the darkness and whispered, "Come to me."
     "Yes, Mother," said Elisa Maza's voice.

***

     As ears went, Elisa's were rather tasty.
     They had returned to her apartment after the concert, which
was fine by Goliath.  He hadn't heard a note of music the entire
night.  He'd been hyper-aware of Elisa's appearance, of her scent,
of her voice and of her.  Every touch against him had sent shudders
down his spine to the tip of his tail.  When she'd casually
suggested they go back to her place, he'd been unable to deny her
any request.
     Using only the tips of his teeth, Goliath bit down on the
outer curl of her right ear and felt a responding quiver from
Elisa.  Feeling bolder, he slid his tongue out from between his
lips and traced the edges, down to the tender lobe, which he
kissed.
     The phone rang.  "Damn!" she swore, and dashed up to answer
it.
     "No, I hadn't checked my messages yet.  I just got back.  At
a concert.  Guess.  Yes."  She looked back.  "Beth says hello."
     "Hello, Beth."
     "He says hi.  Really?  That's great!"  Her voice was warm. 
"I'm glad to hear that.  Did you tell her?  When you do, let me
know.  I'll tell Brooklyn.  Yeah, I think he knows.  Look, I really
can't talk right now.  Stop it.  Yeah, yeah, tomorrow.  Bye, sis."
     She placed herself beside him on the couch.  "Now, where were
we?"
     He could not stop a smile.  She was pressed up against him,
eyes bright and eager, and she looked like a hatchling getting
ready to play.  And perhaps she was.
     "Here."  He placed his lips at her ear again.  She made a
happy noise in her throat.  Boldly, he moved his head down to her
neck and kissed her there, breathing in the aroma of her.
     Elisa jerked harder this time, and pulled away from him,
sitting forward on the couch.  He drew back quickly.  Too much, too
fast, he cursed himself.  She was so fragile, this one; he could
damage her with the intensity of his heart, never mind the rest of
him.
     "Elisa, I'm sorry."
     She looked at him blankly and stood up.  He got to his feet,
a violet blush burning his cheeks.  "I'll go," he said quietly.
     "Go?"  Again, the blank look, and she was more distant than
he'd ever seen her.  "Yes, go."  It took him several seconds for
the realization to hit that she wasn't talking to him.
     That came when she started putting on her jacket, ignoring him
completely.
     "Elisa?"  What was going on?  Did she want him to leave?  He
grasped her hands.  "Please.  Tell me what's wrong."  She pulled a
pair of slippers from beneath the couch and placed them on her
feet.
     "Wrong.  Nothing."  She pulled away from him again and
zippered her jacket.  Tried to zipper her jacket.  The teeth didn't
catch, and she gave up, going to the door with it left open.  She
flicked off the light, shut the door behind him, left him alone in
darkness and confusion.

***

     "You!"  The contempt in Demona's voice, the hatred, slapped
Delilah across the face.  There was no love calling, no tiny
affection, only very bitter, very focused rage.  On her.
     'Lilah shrank back, feeling her blood calling her to stay,
knowing too late that staying would be very bad.  She half-fell
into the shrubs, turned to flee.
     A pale blue hand clamped down on her wing membrane and held. 
She squealed from pain, tried to free herself.  The hand was
relentless, dragging her back inside the circle with the numbing
agony concentrated at one point on her sensitive skin.
     "Thailog's little whore."
     "No," she said.  "I am yours," she said as boldly as she
could.  "I am of you."
     "You are nothing but a mockery of me with the face of a human
beast."  Demona's eyes traveled down her body.  'Lilah shuddered. 
It was like when Thailog had placed his hands on her in the Game,
making her feel all sticky everywhere even when she'd just bathed.
     "You carry his egg?!"  'Lilah nodded unhappily.  "So.  Even
dead, his legacy lives on.  She scowled.  "I should destroy you
now, make sure his seed does not foul our race any further."  Then
a cruel smile slid over her face.  "But then again, it *will* be a
gargoyle, even with your human contamination.  I could raise this
one right, make sure it knows the crimes of humanity against our
kind."
     Raise.  Demona raise?  Delilah again pictured her baby, this
time in Demona's arms.  "No!" she shouted, and pulled hard enough
to free herself.  Her left arm protected her stomach, as her eyes
went white.  "Mine!"
     Instead of attacking, instead of shouting, or grabbing,
instead of anything 'Lilah expected, Demona started to laugh. 
"Foolish little girl.  You don't have a choice in the matter. 
Taking your form would be useless; it's Elisa I wanted.  But your
child could be very useful to me.  Therefore, rather than gutting
you, as I probably should, I'll just blow your ugly human head off. 
Your egg should still be viable."
     Suddenly, there was a mean-looking weapon in Demona's hand,
pointed right at her face.
     "Mother, please!"  It wasn't supposed to be like this.  Her
mother was supposed to love her, be nice to her.
     "Don't call me that.  You're not my child.  You're an
abomination to everything that we are.  You're not a gargoyle. 
You're a freak that Thailog created for his own sick amusement. 
But I can fix that.  Join your master, slut."
     Like an angered god, she heard Thailog's roar, and fell to her
knees on instinct.  A blast from the gun grazed the top of her
head, singeing her scalp, and she rolled on her back as a solid
shape appeared from the night sky and fell on Demona in attack.
     Master! her heart cried out.  You've come back!
     Drawn by his presence, renewed by his renewal, she rose to her
feet and moved towards the two grappling combatants.
     "Let me go!" screamed Demona, hissing and roaring.  "She
deserves death!"
     "No!" came her master's voice.  "The only one who has
committed any crime here is you."  Demona freed her hand with the
gun, swung it at him.  Instinct moved Delilah faster than thought,
and she whipped her tail out, knocking the gun far from Demona's
hand.  The other female's eyes blazed again.
     "Demona stop this!"  'Lilah saw him clearly now, and her heart
fell.  It was not her master, only Goliath.  Defeated, trembling,
she sank back to the ground as the former lovers before her
continued their brawl.
     Demona slammed her palm into Goliath's face, driving him
backwards.  "I'd intended to kill you tonight anyway," she growled. 
"You haven't changed my plans."
     "We'll see."  He swatted at her hard, sending her flying
against a tree.  She screamed and attacked again.
     There was a hand on her shoulder.  "'Lilah, are you okay?" 
She looked up into Elisa's concerned, and kind of dazed, face.
     "No," she said simply, and went back to watching Goliath.
     He forced Demona's head against the ground, and she saw Elisa. 
"It did work!"  There was absurd triumph in her voice, and with a
heave, she kicked Goliath off her like a sheet, was on her feet
advancing towards Elisa in moments.  "Come here, human.  I'd prefer
doing this with your face anyway."  She reached out her hand, as
she said, "Angela will see what treacherous creatures humans can
be."
     Elisa back away quickly.  "'Lilah, run!  Go get Talon!"  She
ducked to the side, away from where Delilah still sat.  "Go!"  Her
tight skirt made it difficult to step back, but somehow she
managed. 
     'Lilah pulled her feet under her and pushed up unsteadily. 
Her body mass shifted, the egg skewing her judgment of up, down and
side.  She steadied herself against a tree, then saw Goliath slowly
getting up from where he'd been thrown.  He looked hurt.
     Forgetting Elisa's instructions, she hurried to his side and
helped him up.  "Goliath?"
     "I'm fine."  His eyes locked onto Demona, blazed like white
stars when he saw her stalking Elisa.  She pounced.  He moved like
lightning and grabbed her tail.  They both went down again, Elisa
just beyond them.  Her human mother flew at her gargoyle mother
with her fists.  Delilah crossed her arms over her body, feeling
tears about to come.  She was very very scared.
     "Stop it!" she cried.  "Please!"  Neither heard her.  It was
like the amusement park, only the fires were inside this time,
eating her alive.  Her mothers were fighting, and one of them was
going to die.  "Please," she squeaked.
     Then she saw the gun.  It had landed at the far side of the
clearing.  She wasn't sure how to use it, but that was okay.  Guns
meant power, Thailog had always said so, and it had to be true. 
She fell to the ground beside it, wrapped her hand around the small
handle.  Definitely not like the ones she'd been taught to use, but
it would have to do.
     "Stop!" she shouted as loudly as she could, and pointed the
gun at Demona.
     Everyone froze.
     Goliath held Demona down, panting.  Elisa stood beside them,
ready for whatever happened next.  She held out her hand.  "Give
that to me, 'Lilah."
     "No."  Goliath's head turned.  So did Demona's.  "Get off her,
Goliath."
     "Delilah ... "
     "Get off her.  Please."  He turned back to her.  Demona
growled, until Delilah put the barrel closer to her face.  Goliath
extricated himself from his once-lover, but remained beside her.
     'Lilah continued to point the gun at Demona.  "You want Angela
to think humans are bad.  Humans aren't bad."
     "Humans are a scourge on the face of this planet.  Angela must
be made to see that."
     "No," she said.  "And she won't anyway.  Angela went away."
     "What?  Where?!"
     "Where your poison cannot touch her," said Goliath.
     "She went home," said 'Lilah.  Then she waved the gun.  Elisa
ducked.  "You go home.  And stay away.  We know what you can do. 
You don't need to do it.  Humans aren't bad."
     "Ugly and stupid," said Demona.
     "I am not ugly," said 'Lilah carefully.  "I look like my
mothers.  And they are both beautiful."  She waved the gun again,
then pointed it at Demona.  "Go."
     "I won't forget this, you little freak of science.  I'll have
you again, and no one will save you."  She turned to Elisa.  "That
goes double for you."  She swiped at Elisa.  'Lilah fired, missed
by a foot and hit a tree three yards behind them.  Demona grabbed
Elisa, thrust her into Goliath, jumped into a tree, and gained just
enough height to glide above them.  'Lilah aimed the gun again, but
her hands shook too much, and by the time she got it aimed, Demona
was too far away.
     She pulled the gun against herself, played with the barrel,
shook violently.  Elisa was the first to reach her, and coaxed the
laser weapon away from her.  That made 'Lilah shake even worse.
     Goliath came closer.  The same old look, of fear and something
else, was back on his face, but also gratitude.  Elisa slipped her
arms around 'Lilah's shoulders.  "Are you okay?"
     "Yeah," she said, then burst into tears.
     Goliath rubbed his shoulder.  'Lilah saw nasty red scratches
there, and cried more.  "Let's take her home," he said.

***

     You failed.  Imagine that.
     "Shut up," Demona said.
     They'll tell Angela, and she'll hate you even more.  Why don't
you end it now?
     "Shut up!"
     She trembled in rage.  Her tail lashed out into a table,
sending her lamp crashed to the floor.  It sparked, and the room
went dark.
     "I can try again."
     That won't do you any good.  They know what you can do, and
they'll guard against it.  You'll never get another chance.  Go on,
find Macbeth.  You know where to look.  The voice wheedled at her.
     "No ... "
     She placed her hand at her head, felt a vein throb under her
fingers.  It had seemed like such a good idea.  Stupid spell,
calling that ... that ... *thing* to distract her.
     She went home, the abomination had said.
     That's good.  Blame the spell.
     Spells ...  She'd taken spells from the Grimorum, before
Goliath had stolen it back.  A new thought forming in the depths of
her mind, she strode from the darkened room into her workshop.
     "It was here.  How did it go?  'Vocate venti' something."  She
pushed ragged pages onto the floor, uncaring of their contents. 
The spell she needed had to be here somewhere.
     The page, edges torn from their hasty removal, passed beneath
her fingertips.  Triumphantly, she picked it up, read it through,
read it again to make certain.
     The Grimorum Arcanorum was a compilation of spells scribed by
several mages through the centuries.  Often, the spells included
stories and fables associated with their origin and possible use. 
The story with this spell was the tale of a great flood that had
covered the world.  Only two humans had survived, a male and a
female, because one of the fay had given them the secret words to
reach Avalon.  Demona didn't believe the story, any more than she
really believed that the Goddess had mated with the Moon and
conceived the World, but at least this fable included a spell that
would probably work.
     "Angela's home is Avalon," she told the empty air.  Angela had
told her during those long months of her confinement.  She was away
from New York, away from Goliath's influence.  Demona would have
her ear
     You're not seriously considering going after her.
     "Why not?" she muttered.
     And you're going to tell her what?
     "I'll think of something."

***

     Fox unzipped the diaper bag, looked inside, made certain
everything was in there that ought to be, and zipped it again. 
She'd only done this seven times so far.  Maybe she should check it
one more time ...
     "Madame?"  Owen tapped at the nursery doorway with his fist.
     "Have they arrived?"
     "Mrs. Sloane telephoned to say she and Mr. Sloane will not be
here until the day after tomorrow."
     "What?!  Did she give a reason?"
     "Yes."  He frowned.  "'Something came up.'"
     "That's it?"
     "That was the message, yes."
     "But it's today.  We can't postpone the operation any longer. 
She might go into labour for real."  Fox had spent far too much
time in the past few months going over the specifications for
Hyena's cybernetic alteration.  Getting the child out after
contractions had started would be a nightmare.
     "Then do not postpone it."
     "It's her daughter," she said.  "Mom flew in from Australia to
be with me for Alex's birth."
     "Your mother is hardly a typical woman."  His mouth twitched.
     "No."  She didn't fly in from Australia, did she?  She just
stepped through a portal somewhere and let me think she took a
plane.  For a moment, her thoughts were not on Hyena and the baby. 
"If I ask you something, can you answer me as someone who's known
my mother longer than I have?"
     "You may ask," he said, his voice changing slightly.  This was
territory they didn't often cross.  Since his recovery, Owen had
been *extremely* Owen-like, without a trace of his alter-ego.
     "Other than the Three, did she have any other children?  I
mean, was I ... just another ... "
     "No.  Your mother gave birth to four daughters: Luna, Selene,
Phoebe, and you.  I've always considered that evidence of how much
your father meant to her."
     "She loved him," she said, wondering as she had since June if
it was the truth.
     "Of that I have no doubt.  She loves you, as well.  You were
never 'just another.'  You are her child."
     "Oh.  Good."  She blinked her eyes quickly, then bent over the
bag.  "Alex is with Mrs. Ong.  Arkham Asylum wouldn't be a good
place to bring him."
     "No."
     "If the Sloanes aren't coming, I guess we should go.  T-minus
three hours until Baby."
     "As you wish," he said gravely, and bowed his head until she
walked by him on her way out the door.

***

     Hyena's head moved up slowly to see her as the door closed and
locked behind her.
     "Hi, sleepyhead."
     "Hello," she responded, her eyes a little out of focus.
     "How're you feeling?"
     A broad, languorous grin teetered on her mouth.  "High as a
kite."  She blinked, pulling herself back to as close to reality as
she typically came.  "Where's my baby?"
     "Getting weighed and cleaned up.  They'll bring her out in a
few minutes."
     "Her?"
     "Yeah.  Congratulations, Mommy.  You have a little girl."
     "I wanna see her."
     "You will."  On cue, the lock clicked on the door, and an
orderly walked in holding the child carefully.  "How is she?"
     "Just fine," he replied, bringing her over to her mother.
     When she'd caught her first glimpse of Hyena's child, Fox had
searched her face for signs of her probable lineage, a familiar
shape to her nose and ears or some hint of mongoloidal features. 
None were obvious.  She looked normal, almost cute if red and
scrunchy.  As she recalled, Alex's head had been elongated at
birth.  Her first conscious thought on seeing him had been that it
looked a little like a football.
     "Can I hold her?" asked Hyena hesitantly.
     He held her out, and Hyena clumsily folded her arms to take
her child.  The baby shifted, looked like she might start crying,
then settled into her mother's metal embrace.
     "Hey," she said, her voice cracking.  "Hello there."  The
baby's eyes, brown like her mother's, wandered aimlessly.  If Fox
tried, she could see the resemblance.
     "Do you have a name picked out?"
     "Jasmine.  Jasmine Victoria."
     Jasmine.  "And how many times did we watch 'Aladdin' while we
were here?"
     "I like the name.  It's pretty."
     "It's ... "  She watched her former associate helplessly, and
sighed.  "It's a name.  Who do you want put down as her father?" 
Here goes nothing.
     "Nobody.  She's *my* baby."  She made a gooey face at her
daughter.  She moved the baby a little, freeing her right hand. 
The orderly tensed, reminding Fox that the staff at Arkham
consisted of trained guards who also knew the proper treatment and
handling of lunatics.
     Hyena used her free hand to stroke her baby's face, lightly,
so as not to scratch her by accident.  She traced her nose and
lips, the outline of her ears, then rested her fingertips on top of
the downy fuzz at her head.
     "Here," she said, suddenly thrusting Jasmine towards Fox. 
"You take her."  Fox picked up the bundle, and with a motion made
automatic by months of Alexander, cradled her gently.  Hyena
continued to stare at the baby, but made no further motion to touch
her.
     "I'll get the paperwork filled out," said the orderly, and
walked out, locking the door behind him.  It was an odd kindness,
unexpected.  Hyena would have a little time alone, almost, with her
baby.
     "Do you want to try holding her again?"
     "No," she said shortly.  Still she stared.
     As Fox had with Alexander, she began counting Jasmine's
fingers, and when Hyena said nothing else, moved onto her toes. 
Ten each.  Good start.  Her eyes hadn't yet focused, probably
wouldn't for a while.  She'd have to get her checked out by Dr.
Howard when they got home.
     "She's a pretty baby," Fox said, just to make small talk.
     "Yeah," came the response and then, "You're good at that."
     "Practice," she said, feeling like a liar, and they both fell
to their own private thoughts.  The baby drifted into sleep.
     After a while, the doctor came into the room.
     "Mrs. Xanatos, I'm afraid you're going to have to step out
now.  We're going to prep Hyena for transport."
     "Transport?"  She heard Hyena say it a fraction of a second
later.
     "Yes."  He looked apologetic as he said to Hyena, "You're
going to be moved back to Riker's Island this evening."
     "She just had a baby," said Fox.  Men could be such idiots. 
Never mind that she'd been toting a laser cannon a few hours after
Alexander's birth; those had been vastly different circumstances. 
"You can't move her now."
     "I have no say in the matter.  I'm sorry."  He held the door
open.
     "One more minute," said Fox.  She held out the baby to her
mother.  "C'mon.  It'll be a long time until you can do this
again."
     For the second time, Hyena folded her arms, as Fox gave her
daughter to her.  She held her for the space of two breaths, then
said, "Fox.  Please."
     Fox picked up the baby again, then saw the misery naked on
Hyena's face.  "What?"
     She looked up at Fox, small and scared and hurting from more
than the fading of anaesthesia.  "I can hold her, and I can touch
her, but I can't feel her."  She flexed her metal fingers, staring
at them as she'd stared at Jasmine.  "I can't feel her," she
repeated in a barren whisper.
     Fox ran her hand over the baby's small face, an hundred
moments of holding Alex spilling into her mind at once.  She placed
the child down near her mother again.
     "What are you doing?"
     "This."  Gingerly, she moved the baby's head near her face,
most of which was still flesh.  Hyena's eyes went wide.  Then she
closed them as she placed her lips on Jasmine's forehead.
     "Oh.  Oh, she's soft."  The doctor cleared this throat and she
pulled away.  "Thank you," she breathed.  Fox nodded, unable to
speak. 
     "Mrs. Xanatos?"  Holding Jasmine protectively, she went to the
door.  She turned back, thinking she ought to say something else,
make them let the other woman stay a little longer.  She remembered
the cell at Riker's, in the heart of the building, with no windows,
hardly enough room to breathe, guards always watching.  Hyena would
be going back there, and would never see daylight again if the
warden had anything to say about it.  The faceless They would find
reasons to keep her locked away, just as They were finding reasons
to keep Wolf in prison.  Fox herself would go back to her castle,
to her life, hand over the baby to Hyena's mother, and that would
be that.
     The knowledge, and the unfairness of it, glittered in Hyena's
eyes, colouring the lingering gratitude with shades of silent
accusation.  The words died in Fox's mouth, and she left the room
quickly.

***

     The needle slipped out of her grasp.  Instead of picking it up
immediately, Maggie breathed on her fingers to give them a little
more warmth.  When she could feel them, she reached over clumsily
and grasped her needle again, noting while she was down there that
her feet were indeed still attached to her body.  One month to go,
by her count, and already she was ready and more than willing to go
into labour.  Anything would be better than this endless wait in
the cold of the Labyrinth.
     The kids, oblivious to the chill, were spread out on the
floor, colouring.  Brent was finishing what looked to be a passable
picture of Goliath.  Burbank had gone for ... abstract.  Yes, that
was a good word for it.
     Delilah, having given up on getting the purple back from
Brentwood, was busy on a green Muppet-like figure.  She'd barely
spoken since her run-in with Demona.  Maggie and Derek had been
stern with her about not going outside anymore, and she'd accepted
the restriction meekly.  Derek had relented enough to allow her out
again after the egg was laid, which had earned him the largest
smile 'Lilah had granted in weeks.
     Maggie wasn't sure what Hollywood and Malibu were drawing,
only that they had taken one big piece of paper to the other side
of the room and weren't showing anyone.  She herself, for lack of
anything more constructive to do, was babysitting and making her
very first quilt.
     She'd been collecting scraps of material since the day they'd
moved into this place.  She'd told herself that they would make
good patches for the clothes they wore, but her little bag of
scraps had grown into a big bag of scraps, and when she'd read her
mother's letter, she'd understood why.
     The nesting impulse had never been strong in Maggie.  While
she'd often daydreamed about meeting someone kind and handsome, and
settling down in some nice house, she'd been aware that those were
no more than dreams.  Finding Derek, falling in love with him, and
everything that had transpired around that love, these had been
accidents.  She had accepted them with as much dignity as she could
muster, allowing her old daydreams to slip forever from her life
and be replaced with other dreams, of dark, cold chambers and a
lover who was not always kind and would never be handsome, but who
was gentle with her.  The old dreams would not be silenced, though. 
They touched at her mind, making her try to find some shape of them
in her so-different existence.
     So she sat, in the weak light of a few kerosene lanterns (and
oh but how she was coming to hate the smell of kerosene with a
passion!) doing as she'd seen her mother do, and making a crazy
quilt for the child she carried.
     The radio, the one expenditure of their stolen power that they
would not easily live without, drifted a popular song through the
room, and Maggie hummed along with it, neither knowing the lyrics
nor caring.  'Lilah was singing also, and as she didn't know the
words either, she made her own up.  Maggie somehow doubted the
phrase "I want to hug Grover" had ever run through Ms. Etheridge's
mind as she'd recorded her latest cd, but then again ...  The song
ended.
     The DJ's cheery voice said, "And now the news.  Hello Dolly! 
Scientists in Scotland announced today the first successful cloning
of a sheep.  The new sheep, Dolly, is genetically identical to her
'mother,' another sheep named Molly ... "
     The clones stood still like the statues they were by day, as
Derek appeared silhouetted in the doorway.  He looked to her and
said, "Elisa told me Sevarius was in Scotland about a year ago."
     "Sheep?" peeped Brent.
     "Sheep," asserted Malibu.  He turned to Hollywood and poked
him.  "Baa."
     "Baa," said Hollywood back at him.
     "Baa," repeated Burbank.
     In moments, the room was a chorus of bleats, drowning out the
radio.  'Lilah was in stitches on the floor.  Even Derek was
smiling, as Claw joined him at doorway, mystified.  Maggie giggled.
     The DJ continued.  Maggie barely heard him above the noise
from the kids, and shushed them as he said, "And continuing on the
'Better Living Through Science' thread, two police officers are
dead, one severely wounded ... "
     "Turn that up!" snapped Derek, instantly back to business.
     " ... prisoner transport from Arkham Asylum to Riker's Island
State Penitentiary was brutally attacked by former television star,
now cyborg and wanted fugitive Jackal.  The transport was carrying
Jackal's sister, convicted felon Hyena, also a cyborg.  Police have
issued a statement that Officer Rene Montoya is in stable condition
at an area hospital, but have declined to release any further
details at this time."
     Derek winced.
     "Do you know her?" Maggie ventured, unsure if she wanted the
answer.
     "We went out a few times," he replied.  "She's a good friend." 
Claw patted his shoulder.  Maggie slowly got to her feet, something
more difficult these days.  The kids had quieted down, although
they looked to start laughing again at any time.  They didn't
understand, and that was perhaps for the best right then.
     "I'm sure she'll be fine."
     "She's not the one I'm worried about.  They didn't name the
other two cops."  There was fear in his face, for Elisa, for Matt,
for yet more of the bad luck that followed him from place to place
and life to life.
     "Elisa's fine," she said to calm his fears.  But she wasn't
certain, and he knew that, too.
     "Ow," said Delilah.  Maggie glanced back to the kids, who had
returned to their colouring.
     "Burbank, don't step on your sister's tail."
     "Didn't step on tail," mumbled Burbank.
     She turned her attention to Derek.  "Do you want to risk going
up top?"  The names of Xanatos and the Eyrie Building remained
unsaid.  There were a lot of unpleasant memories still attached to
both.
     "Not unless we hear anything else.  I wish I could go by the
hospital."
     "Ow," said Delilah.  "I ... " she clenched her face.  "I
hurt."  Her hands moved to her tummy.  "Ow," she repeated.
     "Ah, damn," said Derek.  "Claw, can you please go find Ruth?" 
Claw nodded and disappeared.
     Maggie got up from her chair, not an easy task these days, and
went to the clone.  'Lilah's face was pale and terrified.
     "What is happening?" she asked.
     "It's going to be all right.  Derek, can you ... "
     "I'll get the clan."

***

     The mists cleared before her, revealing the mysterious Island. 
No one awaited her on the shore, as Demona pulled her small boat
aground.  Tendrils of magic sought her out, caressing her, seeking
her potential, then left her again.  She shivered with
anticipation.
     Whatever happened now, she had to keep her story straight. 
The palace wasn't immediately visible, but her feet began moving
her in the direction of a path through the dark woods.

***

     Brooklyn and Bronx stayed behind to guard the castle while the
rest of them followed Derek by air, she safe in Goliath's arms. 
Excitement buzzed among them, and hope of things finally coming to
the good.  The first egg in a thousand years, she thought, as the
streets and then the trees went by below her feet.  The survival of
the clan always rested on the next generation, which was about to
become a population of one.
     They landed.  Goliath let her down gently.  How much it had
become a part of her, to be carried in his arms!  Lexington hopped
to the ground, continued almost bouncing.
     Broadway walked behind him more slowly.  He appeared excited,
but at the same time, sad.  Elisa touched his arm.
     "Hey, big guy.  Are you going to be okay?"
     "This is a sacred time for the clan."
     "That's not an answer."
     He shrugged.  She read a lot in his shrug.  His missed his
mate.  In a better world, she would have given birth to the first
egg.  In their world, Angela was farther away than a dream, and the
egg would be birthed by a child.  Sometimes it just wasn't fair.
     "It *is* a sacred time," said Goliath.  "The adults of the
clan gather to welcome the eggs into the clan."
     "What's it gonna be like?" asked Lex, his eyes wide and eager.
     Hudson laughed.  "I near fergot.  Yuir clutch was nae present
fer th' last kindlin'.  The females gather in th' rookery wi' their
mates."
     "What if they don't have mates?" asked Elisa.
     Goliath said, "Female Elders would stand beside those who had
no mate."
     Female Elders ...  "You mean their rookery mothers?"
     He nodded and looked pleased.
     They reached the chamber that the clones used as their
playroom, classroom, and bedroom.  Delilah sat on a frayed blanket
on the floor, with Maggie beside her.  Ruth, the midwife who'd been
examining Maggie during her own pregnancy, held a hand on 'Lilah's
abdomen.
     She looked up from her patient.  "Get out."
     Maggie got unsteadily to her feet.  "Elisa, I'm glad you're
here.  Can the rest of you please wait outside?"
     "Why?" asked Lex blankly.
     "Because we don't need any more spectators than necessary,"
said Ruth shortly.
     "We are not spectators," said Goliath.
     "I don't care if you're the President.  Unless one of you is
the father, leave."  Delilah's face clenched in pain, and then
released.  Was she okay?  Was this part of it?  She knew next to
nothing about gargoyle birthing methods, she realized.
     "We are her clan."
     "You could've fooled me," the midwife replied harshly.  "You
don't come down to see the clones, and the lot of you avoid 'Lilah
like she's diseased.  If you want her and the rest of them to be
part of your clan, fine.  Treat them that way.  But for now, she's
been raised human, and she's part human.  She's going to have her
egg the human way, and that means you leave."  Guilt flashed
through the gargoyles' faces, and Elisa felt it, too.
     "We'll just be outside," she started.
     "No," said Maggie and Goliath at the same time.
     "You need to be here," said Maggie, as Goliath said, "We're
staying."
     Ruth glared at Goliath.  "Over my dead body."
     "Nae," said Hudson, "but mayhap over hers."  Gently, he
explained, "She's gonna have an egg, no' a baby.  There's a rhythm
tae be made if she's tae get th' egg pushed out."
     Elisa tuned out the finer points of egg-laying versus live
birthing.  She went to 'Lilah's side and knelt.
     "How're you doing?"
     "I hurt."  Her eyes were filled with pain, and more.  Elisa
understood.  She still saw Thailog as her mate, and whatever
gargoyle instincts she had were screaming that he needed to be with
her here.
     Elisa almost wished he were.  There were few places she wanted
to be less than here.  Give me guns, give me terrorists, give me
gangs, give me catfights with psychotic gods, but please, don't
leave me alone with a woman going through childbirth.
     Mercifully, Maggie came back, and took her place beside
Delilah, stroking her soft white hair away from her face.  "That's
my good girl," she whispered.  "You're doing just fine."
     Rookery mothers stood beside those with no mate.  Over the
past months, Maggie had been more of a mother to the clones than
Demona, or anyone.  Her own baby was on the way in a month, maybe
less, but her first thoughts right now were for a gargoyle she'd
known only since September.  That was what it meant to be part of
a clan.  Whatever else she was to her, this girl was her rookery
daughter.  She slipped her hand into 'Lilah's.
     "Do you want me to stay with you?" she asked.  'Lilah nodded.
     She noticed peripherally that the argument had ended.  The
clan stayed, but at a discrete distance.  Ruth returned to them and
placed her hand over Delilah' abdomen.  Elisa watched her as she
pressed her fingers against the lump, wondering suddenly what
tragedy or series of tragedies had brought her into the safety of
the Labyrinth.  She had the body and attitude of someone who had
borne many children, but as far as she knew, no children lived with
her now.
     She frowned, then went to confer with Goliath and Hudson, the
only ones present who had a working knowledge of gargoyle laying
habits.  Angela wouldn't have been any help, Elisa mused.  The only
female gargoyles in the clan who'd laid eggs were Demona and
Coldfire, and neither were available.
     She returned her attention to Delilah.  "Is there anything you
want, sweetie?"
     "Grover."
     "She left him in my chamber," said Maggie.  "I'll get him." 
Again, she huffed to her feet.  Elisa looked around for Derek,
thinking he could retrieve the purple Muppet, but he had
disappeared.
     'Lilah clenched again; Elisa felt her own hand bruise.  She
brushed at her hair the way Maggie had done, not sure what else to
do.  What would her own mother have done?  She had no idea.
     A memory from her childhood returned, a night's stay in the
hospital for the removal of her tonsils.  Mom had by-passed the
hospital staff and stayed with her, sitting beside the bed, holding
her hand and singing.  She'd been six, and frightened of this
strange place.  The only familiar things had been her mother's
voice, and the old, beloved tune.
     'Lilah had said that she looked like her mothers.
     "Have I ever told you that I'm very glad you were born?"
     "Why?"
     "Because I like you.  You're ... you're very special to me,
'Lilah."
     "Really?"
     "Really."
     She rested her head on Elisa's shoulder.  "This is gonna hurt
a lot more, isn't it?"
     "Probably.  But we'll all be here with you."  She was so
young, so innocent, for all she'd seen.
     Elisa remembered well the words her mother had sung that dark
night, over and over.  They were highly inappropriate for a
gargoyle, or maybe they fit especially well.  In a low voice, she
began to sing very softly to her frightened child: "You are my
sunshine, my only sunshine.  You make me happy when skies are grey. 
You'll never know, dear, how much I love you ... "
     She continued to sing until Maggie finally came back with
Delilah's stuffed Grover.  If the clan paid her any attention, she
neither knew nor cared.
     "It's time," said Hudson, approaching them solemnly.  "Who
would ye have with ye, lass?"
     "Maggie n' Elisa."  Great.
     Delilah hugged Grover, then gave him to Elisa so they could
both hold on to him as they held hands.
     Ruth settled to the ground before her.  She'd handle the
delivery.  Goliath moved to a place just behind them.   The rest of
the clan did the same.
     "Do ye remember the words?" asked Hudson.
     "I remember," said Goliath.  "Now is the time that we gather.
we of the clan.  We come to this place ... "

***

     Fox had sent Owen to pick up the Sloanes from La Guardia,
while she spent time in the nursery with the kids.  Alexander had
discovered the joys of pulling himself from place to place.  He
would hoist his little body up until she was certain he'd stand on
his own, then fall on his heavily-diapered bottom and giggle.
     She'd spread out a cotton blanket in a sunny patch of light,
polarized by the window.  Jasmine lay asleep on her stomach, head
turned to the side, one pink fist against her mouth.  Alex had been
this small once.
     Her son burbled.  He'd rediscovered his gargoyle teddy, and
made noises at it as he pulled one wing back and forth.  There was
a repetition to the tone; he was talking to hear himself talk, but
it sounded like a first attempt at singing.
     "That's a pretty song," she said to him.  He turned his head
to her, then returned his attention to the bear.
     The baby hadn't moved in a while.  She placed her hand on the
tiny back.  Still breathing.
     The first few days with Alexander, after her mother and
stepfather had left them for greener pastures, had been terrifying. 
She'd checked his breathing every few minutes, made certain he had
a wedge to keep him from rolling onto his stomach because she'd
read somewhere that SIDS might be related to that sleeping
position.  Between her checking and his discomfort, neither of them
had slept much for the first few weeks.
     She watched him at play.  He was fascinated by the world
around him.  Everything deserved an inspection, from his toys to
the pattern on his blanket, to the new faces moving in and out of
his sight.  His head, surely too big for his little body, swivelled
around eagerly for new images once the old had been thoroughly
digested.  She quietly suspected he was a genius.
     What would this new baby be like?  Would she be curious and
bubbling with smiles like Alex?  She'd slept through the night
before, had spent today sleeping.  Who would she be when she woke
up?  Had she somehow managed to escape the thousand different birth
defects Fox had tried not to imagine before her birth, or was there
some unseen threat lurking in her genetic code that would surface
in a year or in five?  With the right environment, she could become
anything.
     Alex pull-crawled to her.  Fox didn't move, let him do it on
his own.  Such a perfect little being, she thought, not for the
first time.  Some of the best damned genes on the planet, full of
potential.  He might someday be a king among men, even a god.
     He looked up at her.  "Maaaa," said Alex.
     He'd been forming sounds for a while.  He had yet to identify
them as anything.  Yet he was on the floor in front of her, looking
right at her.  Was it possible?
     "Alex, can you say 'Mommy?'"
     "Maaaa," he repeated, and grinned.  The baby didn't stir.
     "That's my sweetie," she said, picking him up.  He cuddled
into her arms, rolled over and closed his eyes.
     Someday he might be a king.  Today, he was just her little
boy.
     There was a cough at the door.  Damn, she thought.  She
swivelled her head and placed a finger over her lips.  Victoria
Sloane waited there, eyes darting around her, taking in the
spacious room, the thick pile of the carpet, the toys that she and
David had picked up at FAO Schwartz, finally the three of them on
the floor.
     "Is that her?"
     "It's her."  Mrs. Sloane came over slowly, as if the walk
pained her.  She got to her knees beside them and looked at her
granddaughter.  "Does she have a name?"
     "Jasmine.  I've got her birth certificate."
     "I'll need that."  She touched the child's head.  "She looks
all right.  Is she healthy?"
     "I had my personal physician check her out.  She's just fine."
     "Good."  She continued stroking the baby's fine brown hair. 
"She looks like Hannah."
     "I thought so."  Might as well ask now.  "Did you hear the
news report?"
     "I heard.  I've heard them all, from the day they were
arrested for trying to kill your husband.  They think Jack took her
out of state.  The Feds came by to ask us if we'd seen them."
     "Have you?"
     "No."
     The woman's disinterest shocked her.  "They're your children. 
Don't you care about them?"
     "Of course I do!" she snapped.  "I've always tried to do my
best by my kids.  Everything I did was for their own good."
     She remembered the dingy apartment, and a half-dozen
conversations with her former associates.  "Yeah," she said.
     "You have a right to talk."  She indicated the Baby Disney
decorations, the designer baby clothes.  "I had two kids by the
time I was nineteen, and had a bastard of a husband.  I didn't have
anywhere else to go, so I took it.  Then one night, he ... "  She
swallowed.  "Never mind.  It's in the past now."  Fox didn't press.
     "I told him to get out.  I was twenty-three, with two kids, no
diploma, and now no husband.  My mom died, and I tried to keep
everything together but I couldn't.  I gave my kids to the state
for a while.  I figured I could get on my feet, go to night school,
and then get them back after a year or so.  I didn't think they'd
be gone as long as they were.
     "I came home from work one night, and found my kids sitting in
the hallway.  They'd gotten themselves thrown out of another home
because my little girl was pregnant.  I looked at her, and I saw
the last seventeen years of my life about to be repeated.  The
money I'd been saving for college was going to pay for a baby who
would ruin Hannah's chance at a good life the same way they'd done
for me, and the best thing I could say about it was that she had
the sense not to marry the father."
     "You said she didn't have another child."
     "She had a miscarriage."  Her mouth twisted in a familiar
manner.  "Can you imagine how things would have been different if
I'd miscarried with Jack?"
     No doubt the woman was thinking on the wasted years of her
life, but Fox heard Owen's voice, impassionately reporting the
findings from Coyote 3.0's memory tapes, supplementing the news
from the Emir's last known location: a city in Egypt, gone; over
five thousand people wiped out with a thought.  New York was in
shock that he'd killed two cops, but he'd done worse, much worse,
and they would never know.
     "I can imagine."
     "I might've had a real life.  Now I have another baby to
raise.  Just watch.  She'll grow up exactly like her mother.  She's
two days old, and I can already tell you what her life is going to
be.  Just like mine.  Just like Hannah's.  Maybe I can keep this
one out of jail.  Is she ready to go?"
     "I suppose."  She looked into the future this woman described,
saw the baby sleeping in the sunlight as a young woman, growing up
and growing hard.  No.  She would keep that from happening.  There
would be visits, and trips.  She'd show the kid there was more to
life than that.  When the time came, she'd make sure there was an
opportunity for college.  This child was going to have a chance. 
Her thoughts strayed to a little boy she'd met not long before,
with the same brown hair and eyes.  He'd have a chance, too.
     She picked up Jasmine.  The baby's eyes opened, looked around
fuzzily, settled on her, and closed again.  "Here you go."
     Mrs. Sloane stood and took her.  Fox picked up Alex and led
the way to her office.  There was paperwork to finalize.  The only
comforting thought was that this had to be the right thing to do. 
The child belonged with her family.  All children did.  Really.

***

     Demona hovered at the edge of the orchard, her senses keen for
the sounds of gargoyle or fay.  She'd been aware of their nearing
proximity, and was frankly surprised that she had not been accosted
yet with demands of who she was and what she wanted.  She had her
story set, would stick to it as long as it took to see Angela.  She
doubted she could get them both free afterwards, what with the
entire Fairy Court surrounding them, but perhaps she wouldn't need
to escape.  As before, she would docilely be led to captivity, or
perhaps escorted off the Island.  Angela would see her, would hear
the tale she'd concocted of betrayal, and surely then she would
want to leave Avalon, see for herself.
     And when Demona had her alone, she would show her the true
evils humanity was capable of; not the petty trifles she'd shown
Brooklyn, but real horrors like Bosnia and the remains of Auswitz.
     She smiled, then put on her most distraught face as she saw
two young males approaching.  Centuries of self-preservation moved
her into the dappled shadows cast by the moon through the apple
trees.  Her tail made a faint swish in the grass.
     The taller male jerked, his overlarge and tapered ears tipping
towards her.  She stopped dead in the darkness, waiting.
     "What?" asked his companion, a handsome copperish boy.  He
seemed more perplexed than worried.
     "Didn't you hear that?"  She could see him clearer now, a
gangly youth, forest green but for the ebony of his hair.  He
blended with the trees as well as his friend stood out from them.
     "Hear what?"  The copper looked around them.
     "I heard a noise.  There's someone here with us."
     "Probably all sorts of people.  It's a free island.  Hello!"
he called pleasantly.  She refrained from responding.  The copper
turned back to the green.  "One of Oberon's, I'll bet, and I'll
also wager whoever it is doesn't want to be disturbed right now, if
you take my meaning."
     The other male wouldn't be appeased.  "It didn't sound like
one of the fay.  It sounded like ... "  He paused, uncertain.
     "Julius."  There was a weary patience to the shorter male's
voice.  "Remember when you thought you heard a dragon in Princess
Katharine's chambers?"
     "That was different.  If you'd heard that sound, you would
have thought so, too."  He shuffled uncomfortably in remembrance.
     "We'll leave you in peace!" called the copper male towards her
general direction, then grabbed his friend's arm.  "Come on.  We
can gather lunch from the far side of the orchard."
     "I guess," said the other, less than happy.  Julius, his
friend had said.  "Sorry!" he threw at her, and let his friend lead
him into the trees, and beyond to darkness.  When they were out of
earshot, she let herself breathe.  It might have been easier to let
them see her, tell them then.  No.  She wanted to be as close to
Angela as possible first.
     Demona continued towards the palace, knowing without thought
that her daughter would be there.
     The feeling of unease she had experienced since her arrival
only increased as she approached the massive edifice, impossibly
soft grasses stroking her feet and tail.  There remained an acrid
tang of smoke and sharp ozone upon the fresh breeze, less a smell,
more a memory of a smell, of a battle fought on this previously
undefiled land.  No, beyond the scent of battle, the tracest memory
of more arcane warfare also lingered here.  The innocent grass had
known the tread of warriors, bloodthirsty soldiers for all that
they fought without touching their opponents.  This land, this
place, had seen much of fighting, and ghosts of those wars
persisted, trapped like a mist in the clinging grasses.
     Why can I sense this?
     The gleeful other voice responded in her ears: You can sense
this because you caused it.  Not all of it, but much.  The blood of
wounded children is on your claws.
     But I've never been here before.
     The voice trembled inside her, as if aching to give a
response.  It subsided without answering.
     What had happened here?  One battle was recent, one ages-old,
and a third still muttered its ripples although it had occurred in
time out of mind.  Rebellion, she thought, someone had turned
against the ruler of the Island, and she shuddered the image away. 
A face appeared in her mind, a human male, perhaps of fifty years,
with long, greying chestnut hair and clear blue eyes.  He had a
sword, and he was using it to strike ...  Macbeth?
     She cleared her mind of this nonsense.  She had never been
here before, and anything she picked up here was only a shadow of
what had happened long before her own time.
     Sure it is, said the voice.
     She hurried through the meadow to the palace gates.
     In the twilight, before torches flared everything to a level
more amenable to seeing, the palace was filled with shapes that
shambled in and out of moonlight.  She saw gargoyles among those
shapes, and her heart leapt.  At the same time, she did not run to
them, knowing they would realize she was not of their own too soon. 
Instead, she accosted a nearby pixie, darting by in her own
brightness on some errand.  The little thing stood no more than six
inches in height, blonde hair piled at the top of her head adding
a half inch.
     "Excuse me," said Demona in her most polite voice.
     The pixie made a sound like little bells.  Although she
verbalized nothing else, Demona heard a different voice in her
mind.  "Yes?  What is it?"
     "I'm looking for Angela.  Have you seen her?"
     The pixie's face turned, more in annoyance than distaste, as
if to indicate it was not her responsibility to see which gargoyle
went where.  "She's with the princess," came the tinkle in her
mind.  She nodded towards a window overlooking the courtyard;
Demona knew which she meant instantly.  The pixie no doubt was
saving herself from having to give directions.
     "Thank you," she said, gritting her teeth ag