Lethe

Written by: Jennifer "CrzyDemona" Anderson, A Fan, and Patrick Toman

Story concept by: A Fan, Todd Jensen, Nicodemus, and Patrick Toman

Illustrations by: Jennifer "CrzyDemona" Anderson

Previously on Gargoyles...

"Who would send me all this?" Angela wondered aloud, not noticing Dominique shaking her head slightly and massaging her temples with her fingers. Angela searched among the brightly colored tulips and daffodils until she came up with a small card, her expression changing to one of puzzlement as she read it. "Who's 'Darien'?" she asked, confused.

Dominique sighed again and tried to compose herself a little before responding. "Someone who mistakenly believes that he is getting on my good side by attempting to court my 'eligible' daughter," she said.

~~~

Demona could barely hear him. She leaned closer and stared into his dark eyes, her hands still clasped around his. "What is it, Michel? I'm listening," she said softly.

"When your child assumes two forms, a great evil draws near..."

"Child?" Demona whispered, "I have no child..."

~~~

"It's beautiful," she whispered as her mother moved up beside her and joined her in looking. "Where did you get it?"

"I... made it for you," Dominique said. She hesitated a moment, then added, "A friend gave me the idea a long time ago."

"A human friend?" Angela asked suspiciously, arching her eyebrows.

~~~

Demona took her daughter's hand as she descended the last few steps and led her back into the library, where the spellbook she had used that morning still lay open on the podium next to the long-extinguished candles. "One thing to always remember, my daughter," she said as she turned Angela to face her, a deadly serious expression on her face, "all things in this world have a price - especially those things done using magic."

~~~

"No, we used a spell..." Angela blurted without thinking.

"A spell?!" Goliath growled, wings flaring back and eyes starting to glow. Angela winced again. Her father's short but loud interrogatives were not helping her pounding head any.

~~~

Goliath looked about ready to explode as he turned back to his daughter, his voice rumbling on the low side of a roar. "So this is what happens when I allow you to spend time with Demona? You dabble in sorcery and come home like this?"

* * * * *

Her thoughts turned again to Angela. Angela, the single bright star shining in the hollow darkness of a long, painful existence. The terror that touched her was not for herself, but for her young and treasured daughter. Angela had no gift/curse of immortality to see her through whatever dangers the world might bring. The pendant Demona had given her was gone, destroyed -- perhaps another?

She seized on that brief hope until it flickered and died, knowing there was no time to craft another pendant even if she'd had the rare materials readily on hand.

Angela's own talent for sorcery, then? She had it, Demona knew she did.

"No," Demona murmured. "Not untutored, not without training."

~~~

"You have to send Angela back to Avalon. There, perhaps, she will be safe! She'll go, if you tell her to. Please, Goliath! If not for my sake, then for hers! For our daughter! Send her to Avalon!"

"I will not force her to go, and she would not leave her clan to save herself. A clan stands and falls together, Demona, or have you forgotten?"

She ignored the barb. "All I want in the world is for Angela to be safe!"

"Safe, with her clan, where she belongs," he said firmly.

Demona flung her hands in the air. "I knew it was a bad idea to come here! I knew you would refuse, but I had to try!" A sudden tear welled, and she dashed it angrily away. "Go on, then! Be blind, await your fate. But remember, I did try!"

She spun and ran from him, diving into the night.

He watched her go, scowling.

Elisa approached. "What was that all about?"

"I don't know. She seemed genuinely upset --"

"She's deceived you before."

"Still, this time there was something different about her. I wonder if I should have listened to her."

She gaped at him, stunned.

~~~

"If he won't take steps to protect our daughter," Demona said, "I will!"

* * * * *

Her mother led her through the dark hallway and up the stairs. Hurriedly, still holding her hand with light pressure, she said, "First, I must have you swear to secrecy all you see tonight."

"Secrecy? Why?"

Demona turned back to her. "Your father would no doubt disapprove of what I am about to show you."

"What is it?"

"Swear to me." She made a noise. "Trust me."

"I swear." Demona squeezed her hand.

"What we are about to do is a grave undertaking, something I would never consider under normal circumstances."

"What do you mean?"

Her mother placed her free hand against a closed door. The frame flashed green. Demona opened the door.

At first glance, the room appeared to be the ill-gotten product of a union between Muppet Laboratories and Radio Shack. Shelves lined the walls filled with white and gray powders, liquids clear and vermilion and algae-green. Benches below the shelves held the multicolored guts of laser rifles and other equipment she could not as easily identify.

The center of the room was divided into two areas, one with a square table, four feet to a side, and an empty space, where pungent traces of ash lay strewn in the remnants of a circle. Letters in an unfamiliar tongue were scrawled in chalk at five points on the circle. The shelves on that side of the room were covered in books, filed, stacked, or leaning against one another companionably, some with unbroken laminated spines, some probably older than Demona herself. Odd trinkets, none bigger than her thumb, were piled on one side of the table, scrolls in various conditions in another pile opposite them. Make that Muppet Labs, Radio Shack, and a particularly vivid dream by the Archmage.

"Welcome to my workroom."

Angela turned around twice, trying to take in everything. "Why have you brought me here?"

"In my life, I have seen much of danger and unrest. When humans squabble amongst themselves, gargoyles die. At Wyvern, at Moray, in Paris, frightened humans murdered our kind." She scowled, eyes momentarily lined with ancient pain. "Our kind are never completely safe, but these are more dangerous times than even I have seen. And the humans will be terribly afraid."

"What do you mean?"

"I fear for you. After what Maeve did ... " Her face went dark again, while Angela blushed in hot shame at the memory of her capture. Something was wrong. Not for the first time, she had the uneasy feeling her mother was not telling her the whole truth. More dangerous times? A chill shivered down her wings. Rather than ask, and perhaps receive an answer she could not accept, she grasped onto a flaw in her mother's argument.

"Maeve isn't human. She never was."

"No," said Demona. "But she and her kind are the nightmares that make humans fear the dark. For your protection," she paused, then said quickly, "and that of the clan, I'm going to teach you the art of magic."

Angela's eyes went back to her mother. In confusion, she stammered, "Me? A magic user?"

"I know you have the gift within you. All it requires is training to coax it out." Thoughts of the Unseelie momentarily forgotten, her mother's face was bright, animated.

"I don't know. Father isn't going to like this."

Demona spat, then said, "Your father will be the death of this clan yet. That's why I made you promise."

"What if I talked with him about it first?"

"He would tell you that I am trying to corrupt you." She rolled her eyes. "I am trying to protect you. Look into your heart, Angela. Surely you can see that it is the truth." Demona took her hand again, which Angela had pulled away. "Think of this as a trial. I'll teach you some basic spells. After you learn them, and it will take some time, you can show Goliath, and he will see that it is for the good of the clan, and you, that you learn."

Angela bit her lip. It would make her mother happy. As she said, it would be helpful for the clan if they had someone on hand who knew a little magic, just in case. It wasn't as if they could simply drop Alexander off the building so that Puck could appear. She could hear no trace of guile in her mother's words, no more than their usual colored impression of the world, and she did so want to believe.

"All right."

Demona smiled. "Excellent. Do you swear to be silent about your lessons, at least for the time being?"

"Yes," she said, more quietly. She would keep the secret for now. If she thought Goliath needed to know, she would tell him. It was that simple.

"Good. Then let us begin."

* * * * *

* * * * *

Offices of Nightstone Unlimited - May 12, 1998  

Dominique Destine shuffled the papers on her desk back together and tapped the jumble several times to settle them back into an orderly stack. She looked up at the man sitting in the chair - or rather, on the edge of the chair - across from her, who was waiting anxiously for her to speak.

"Your counterproposal looks interesting, but I will need some time to review it and the blueprints before I make my decision."

Darien Montrose shifted in his seat and nodded. "Very good, Ms. Destine. I'm glad we're starting to make progress. The Exeter property has been a real sticky wicket for both of our companies for quite some time. I'm anxious to get the matter resolved."

"As am I," replied Dominique as she stood up. Mr. Montrose immediately stood up as well. She began re-rolling the thick stack of blueprints that was spread out on the desk and asked. "Shall we meet again in a few days?"

"That would be fine," Darien replied.

"Talk to my secretary on your way out, and she'll schedule you."

"Actually," Darien said, "I was wondering if we could perhaps meet over dinner..."

Dominique looked up sharply.

"... and you could invite your daughter, Angela, so that I could take advantage of my visit to New York to finally meet her in person."

Dominique read the glint in his eye as one she had seen too many times from human males since beginning her own part-time career as a human female. Still, she maintained an outwardly calm demeanor that befitted her position as an executive, even though she was seething inside.

"I don't really think my daughter would be interested," she replied.

"All I want is the chance to find out for myself, from her," Darien said benignly.

Dominique glanced at the clock. If she left now, she would just barely make it home before sunset. She thought it over briefly. She was wearing a suit that she particularly liked -- it was just the right shade of red -- and she had absolutely no desire to endure her transformation here and then have to glide home on a chilly, rainy night in tattered clothing. So she could make up a quick concession and leave now, and get home in time to save herself another visit to the boutique, or she could remain here trying to convince this man that his pursuit of her "eligible daughter" was fruitless.

"I'll talk to her about it when she visits me again," Dominique said.

"Excellent," replied Mr. Montrose. He shifted edgily. "That will be soon, I hope," he added. "I could even make the dinner arrangements if you'd like..."

Dominique inwardly growled, but tried to keep her voice level. "I said I will talk to her. If she is interested, then we'll arrange a meeting."

Darien looked at her for a moment, and straightened his tie in an attempt to cover a gulp. "Yes, yes, I see. Very well then." He stood there for a moment more, then extended his hand automatically. After a brief moment she shook it. "A good evening to you, Ms. Destine."

Dominique began packing her briefcase as he exited the office. As the door clicked shut again, she shook her head and muttered acidly, "Humans."

* * * * *

Dominique curled her fingernails into the upholstery, the feeling of apprehension and anticipation growing within the pit of her stomach. The end of rush hour traffic had been heavy, and the weather had made it even worse. An early evening thunderstorm had broken just as she left the office, and was only now starting to let up. The rain beaded on the window, running down the glass in small rivulets as the limousine turned into the driveway.

Another twinge in her gut made Dominique rise up in her seat. "Let me out here!" she shouted urgently. The car came obediently to a stop halfway up the semi-circular drive, a few yards from the mansion's front door.

Dominique bolted from the car as soon as the door was opened. "Thank you, Gregory, you may go," she blurted quickly, not even turning around as she ran as fast as her high heels would allow through the light drizzle and up the front steps.

Gregory nodded silently, closing the car door as his employer rattled her keys in a desperate search for the right one. As Dominique finally unlocked the door and tumbled into the foyer, the limousine turned back into the street and slipped away.

She cast her purse and keys on the small table just inside the door as she jerked the door shut behind her. She started immediately toward the stairs, and began to take off her suit jacket. The jacket was half off as she lifted her foot for the first step up.

A sudden convulsion shot through her chest, beginning at the top of the ribcage and rocketing downward into the very bottom of her abdomen. Dominique staggered and doubled over, her right arm clutching her midsection and her left instinctively grabbing the balustrade for support.

"No! Not now! Not yet!" she growled against the pain. Then she screamed.

Dominique ground her teeth together as the wings erupted from her back, shredding the jacket and the fragile silk blouse underneath instantly. Her hands clenched up, her fingers gouging deep grooves into the oaken stair rail as human fingernails melded and shifted color to become sharp gargoyle talons. The red patent leather shoes on her feet ripped apart as if made of tissue paper as her the bones of her feet popped, grew, and shifted. An intense pain at the base of her spine made her writhe back in agony, until finally her skirt ripped open and the tail sprouted free.

At last, the pain - and the screams that came with it - stopped. Dominique freed her hand from the balustrade, the wood giving a final, sickening crack as she withdrew her talons. She turned defeatedly to the small mirror on the wall of the entryway. Dominique Destine was gone. Demona had arrived to take her place.

Demona scowled, eyes glowing scarlet as she pinned her arms against her sides to keep her blouse, now ripped completely apart in the back, from falling off altogether.

"Curse you, Darien Montrose!" she growled, surveying the unsalvageable remains of what had been her favorite suit. With an angry hiss, she whirled about, her tail knocking over the little entry table and sending her purse to the floor. It fell open, its contents spilling across the floor amongst the shredded remains of her jacket and pumps.

Demona's eyes glowed brilliant red. With a bloodcurdling screech, she kicked at the purse, punting it into the next room, then took to all fours and fled up the stairs.

* * * * *

Angela's arrival an hour later brightened Demona's mood some, and by then she had tidied up a bit, as well. As she led Angela from the dining room after the dishes from their meal had been cleared away, the younger female noticed nothing awry in the front entry hall. They continued into the back of the house, and Angela paused at the door to Demona's workroom as the elder female came up beside her.

"You try it this time, daughter," the blue-skinned gargoyle said, gesturing to the portal. "You have been practicing, haven't you?"

Angela straightened up. "Of course, Mother," she replied. Taking a deep breath, she concentrated and raised her hand, pressing her palm firmly against the dark wood of the door. A warm, tingly sensation began in her fingertips and raced down her arm, and a moment later the door glowed dimly as the magical barrier was undone and finally gave way under the pressure of her touch.

"Excellent, my child," Demona commended, nodding.

Angela looked at her hand, wiggling her talons slightly as the magic quickly dissipated from around them, then looked up at her mother and smiled. Demona returned the smile, and Angela followed the older sorceress into the small study and set to the first task of lighting a candle for herself near her work area, where she found a new book already waiting for her. Angela picked the book up carefully. While it was "new" in the sense that she had not seen it before, the stiff, deep-grained leather cover and yellowed pages hinted at its true age.

Demona came up behind her. "Your studies are progressing well. You are ready for some new material. Your mastering of the ability to dispel the barrier protecting this room is proof of that. It is time for your training to begin progressing in earnest, my daughter - time for you to start moving beyond the simple spells I have taught you so far." She guided the book back to the table and Angela onto her stool, helping the girl open the volume as one might help a small child open an oversized picture book.

Angela stifled a sneeze as her mother folded back the cover and the dust from within rose up to her nose. She looked at the text, handwritten words in Latin, and inwardly groaned. "I want you to start by reading this introduction," Demona began, slipping into teacher mode, "and when you're done, we'll discuss it."

"Mother?" Angela asked.

Demona looked up from the book and at her daughter for the first time. "Yes, Angela?"

The girl paused a second, forming her thought. "Can't we discuss something besides magic for just a little while?" she asked timidly. Demona looked at her oddly. "I mean," she added with a bit more strength in her tone, "ever since you started teaching me, we've hardly talked about anything else... and we only really see each other once a week."

The book was momentarily forgotten as Demona pulled up a stool of her own. "All right," she said. "You sound like a person with a lot on her mind. What would you like to talk about?"

* * *

Minutes turned to hours and the candle on the table slowly shrank away as Angela regaled Demona with the latest goings-on in her life - from the books Broadway had been reading to her, to the latest antics of Brooklyn's children and their pet, to the story of her human friend Richard Harrison and his newly acquired family. Demona listened to all of it patiently, holding her tongue at times, until Angela reached the part about how Richard's brother, George, had walked out on the child he had sired.

Demona made a disgusted noise. "Hmph, typical human. Useless creatures with no sense of responsibility... what kind of person abandons their own offspring?"

"You abandoned the eggs in the rookery," Angela replied matter-of-factly. Demona gasped in shock, then flinched as the memories hit her like a wall. "I admire Richard," the girl continued. "He's like Princess Katharine, stepping in like that to take care of Quinn and Hope."

Demona shot up from her stool. "I was denied the chance to raise you and your siblings! Katharine and the Magus stole the eggs away before I was able to claim them!"

"That's not how it happened," Angela began.

"How dare you defend them? You weren't there! You don't know what really happened! You only know what you've been told by the humans," she sneered. Angela opened her mouth again, but Demona cut her off with an angry wave of her hand. "Your precious Princess Katharine and her human followers never gave our clan an ounce of respect when we shared our castle with them. We gave our lives for them and they gave us only contempt! But the greatest insult of all came the day they stole away our children!"

Angela balked as her mother's eyes flashed red. Demona drew a deep, ragged breath. "And they have the gall to call us 'beasts.' Humans are the real animals, especially the males." Her eyes narrowed and glowed faintly red. "Disgusting creatures, always thinking with their..."

"Mother!" Angela gasped in shock.

"...hormones," she finished. Demona's eyes widened and lost their reddish cast. She gazed at her daughter curiously. "What did you think I was about to say?"

Angela sat there, open-mouthed, debating whether to reply.

"Honestly, Angela... you've picked up too many filthy human ideas. All that garbage they broadcast on the television and have the nerve to call 'entertainment'... you'd be wise to stay away from it. You're a gargoyle, try to think like one! Just because the rest of your clan has been corrupted by human depravity is no excuse for you to allow your mind to be polluted as well."

Angela gaped in shock. "Mother, please! Just listen to yourself for a moment! Must you always be so harsh when it comes to humans?"

Demona cut her off. "I know, Angela. You were raised by humans. Princess Katharine is a saint and Elisa Maza is the best friend the clan ever had. I've heard it all before." She crossed her arms angrily. "You've given me this lecture so many times, I've lost count. Must I hear it again tonight? I am really not in the mood."

Angela scowled viciously at her mother. "It sounds like you need to hear it again, but I don't know why I should waste my time. Ugh. Sometimes you are more stubborn than Father."

"I'll take that as a compliment, Daughter." Demona said sarcastically as she turned away, picked a book from the shelf, and began to thumb through it.

Angela sighed. "Maybe if you could just spend one day looking things from the human point of view, you might feel differently about them."

Demona turned back, the book open in her talons. "Now why would I ever want to do that?" she asked with mock curiosity. "To see how the other half lives?"

"Yes," replied Angela sincerely.

"I do that every single day, if you haven't forgotten," Demona chastised. "And a wretched, monotonous life it is, I can tell you that. I'd take being a gargoyle over being a pathetic little human any time, were it my choice." Her eyes flashed red for a moment as she thought about Puck. "Infernal trickster!" she muttered.

Angela sighed again. "There's no sense even talking to you," she said calmly.

Demona looked up at her. "Then don't," she replied simply.

"Fine," Angela said. With a flip of her head, she spun back around on her stool and picked her book back up from the worktable, pressing her nose into the pages.

Behind her, Demona frowned for a moment, then retired with her own book to her desk at the other side of the room.

* * * * *

Angela lit a fresh candle off the dying stub of the old one and slipped it back into its holder. She'd slowly grown re-accustomed to reading by the flickering of candlelight or firelight ever since beginning her lessons with her mother. On Avalon, they had had no electric lights, and so the fact that Demona seemed quite averse to using any artificial light when a candle would suffice just as well never had really bothered her. In fact, she found something quite comforting in the dancing light of a flame. "There is life in all things, even a fire," she recalled the Magus having told her and the other Eggs once when she was young. "A fire breathes, it consumes, it grows, and from it's sparks, can give birth to new fires. And deprived of its food or its air, it dies as well."

Perhaps that was why her mother preferred candles to light bulbs. Angela shrugged and sighed and went back to the text she had been given to study. She turned the page and began reading again, not really paying attention to what the words were actually saying, as tired as she was becoming. She yawned and tried to refocus. When she looked at the page again, a heading near the bottom seemed to nearly leap up and grab her.

Angela's eyes got wider the more she read, following the text furiously from one page onto the next. When she had reached the end of the entry, she went back and read it again.

Angela looked up at her mother. Demona was sitting quietly at the far end of the room, hunched over a tome of her own. As on many nights past, Angela couldn't even really tell if she was awake or had fallen asleep from exhaustion. The latter had become almost routine as of late, and Angela had taken, on her own volition, to not even waking her. She would simply let herself out and return to the castle, knowing her mother needed her sleep whenever she could find it -- or more aptly, whenever it could find her.

She looked back down at the text and read the one-and-one-half-page passage again, and at last made up her mind. She spoke in almost a whisper. "Non recorder tuus vitae de statue alati facias ad tenebram super urbanis cadet."

The candle beside her flickered, and a moment later the ones near Demona flickered similarly, as if a soft breeze had carried through the room.

Angela smiled. She closed the book softly and laid it back on the table, rising silently from her chair so as not to wake her mother. "Good night, Mother," she whispered as she departed the room. As she tiptoed past the grandfather clock in the hall, it began chiming the hour. Before the third and final tone had sounded, she was out the back door and off the balcony, winging her way towards home.

* * *

Something stirred Demona from her sleep, and she woke to the clock chiming three. She made a small sound as she opened her eyes, and after blinking several times, she realized she was in her chair in her study. Sleepily, she rose and snuffed out the last candle, then made her way slowly upstairs to her bedroom. She was asleep again by the time her head hit the pillow.

* * * * *

The monotone buzz of the alarm clock pulled Dominique from a dream whose details were forgotten nearly as soon as her eyes had pulled the large red numbers reading "5:45" into focus. She swatted the top of the clock, fumbling with it for several seconds before its annoying droning finally ceased. She rubbed the remaining sleep from her eyes as she forced herself out of the bed, stretching and yawning groggily. Looking out between the partially drawn curtains, she could see just the barest traces of sunlight brightening the eastern sky. Sighing, she grabbed her bathrobe from the bedpost, pulling it around herself as she headed toward the master bath.

She emerged fifteen minutes later, showered, hair wrapped in a towel, and a bit more awake. After stepping into a pair of slippers, she made her way downstairs, still in her bathrobe. Leftover coffee from the day before was poured into a mug and placed in the microwave, and milk was pulled from the refrigerator to be poured on a bowl of cornflakes which was eaten while standing over the sink. The dirty dishes were left for later, and the rewarmed cup of coffee joined her in the trip back upstairs.

Dominique pulled a red suit out of the closet and a pair of pantyhose from a drawer. She disappeared into the bathroom again and returned another twenty minutes later as Ms. Dominique Destine, business executive, ready to face the world for one more day. She hung the bathrobe back on the bedpost, slipped on a matching pair of red pumps, and picked up her briefcase and her purse. She looked at the clock again: 6:30. After one quick final check in the full-length mirror, she headed downstairs and outside to her waiting limousine.

* * * * *

"And now that you're here permanently, this will be your desk," Candice said, concluding the short tour. "Until Ms. Destine bounces you out of here and back down to the mailroom," she added mentally.

"Cool," Lydia replied, smiling. She ran a hand across the smooth, polished mahogany. "This sure beats that crummy cubicle." She set down a small box she had brought with her from down the hall and began unpacking a variety of items, none of them work related. A small potted cactus. A portable clock radio. A coffee mug adorned with the face of an orange comic strip cat. A little figurine of a white-shirted engineer with a buzzcut and a tie that curled absurdly upwards, sitting at a small desk and fuming at a small computer.

"So when does the big boss lady get here?" Lydia asked as she finished decorating her desk and sat down in her new chair. She bounced up and down on it a couple times to test the springs.

Candice regarded her levelly as she sat back down at her own desk across the way. "Ms. Destine always arrives at seven A.M. sharp. She likes her messages and her coffee waiting for her, and if she ever says more than three words to you between the elevator and her office door, you're probably in deep trouble."

Lydia blinked, but didn't get a chance to respond as the elevator chimed and the "boss lady" in question stepped out.

"Good morning, Ms. Destine," Candice said, rising from her chair.

Dominique smiled. "Good morning, Candice. How are you today?"

Candice stammered a moment; Ms. Destine had never asked that question of her before. "I'm fine, Ms. Destine," she replied.

Dominique deposited a white cardboard box on Candice's desk. "I had Gregory stop and I picked up some doughnuts on the way in," she explained. "Help yourself." Before Candice could reply, she turned and noticed Lydia, who was still sitting at her new desk.

"And you must be Lydia," Dominique surmised. She crossed to her and, shifting her briefcase, extended her right hand. Lydia rose and shook it, smiling broadly. "Welcome aboard. I reviewed your personnel file last night and I think you're really going to do well up here in the executive offices.

"Thank you, Ms. Destine," Lydia replied.

Dominique nodded and smiled at each of them once again before hurrying off to her office. Once the door had clicked shut, Lydia came over to Candice's desk and took a cream-filled doughnut from the box. The two secretaries looked at each other for a moment.

"I thought you said..." Lydia began.

"Trust me," Candice said, taking a sprinkle-covered doughnut for herself. "I don't know what's up with her, but I do know it won't last."

* * * * *

Dominique finished off her third jelly doughnut and washed it down with the last of her second cup of coffee. As she shook the powdered sugar off the expense reports on her desk, she looked up suddenly. What was that odd, rhythmic thumping? She turned to the window. No, it didn't seem to be coming from outside. She turned back and listened carefully. No, it was definitely not coming from outside. It seemed to be coming from the outer office...

* * *

Lydia gave the volume knob on her radio another small twist upward and bobbed her head in synch with the beat of the song that had just come on. Candice scowled at her and made to speak when...

WHOOSH. The door to Ms. Destine's office flew open, and Dominique herself stood there in it, glaring across the reception lobby.

A half-dozen employees froze in their tracks, as still as figures in an oil painting. Lydia's head stopped bobbing, but the voice on the radio launched into the chorus as electric guitars wailed.

"I don't remember, I don't recall,
I've got no memories of anything at all..."

No one said a word as Dominique strode across the room, homing in on the source of the music in an instant. She snatched the radio up from the desk and stared at Lydia for a moment with piercing eyes. For the briefest of moments, they flickered with pure, uncontrolled rage. Dominique tensed up for just a split second, then a wave of calm washed over her. She stood there with the radio in her hand, everyone's eyes on her, as the song played on.

"Stop staring at me like a bird of prey,
I'm all mixed up, I got nothing to say,
I don't remember... I don't remember..."

Dominique blinked, and felt her cheeks glowing warm with color. "If you're going to play the radio," she said at last, a bit flustered, "keep the volume down." She moved the volume control down a few notches to demonstrate and set the radio gently back on the desk.

"Now, ladies," she said, straightening her jacket. "We are running a business here. Let's get some work done, shall we?"

Candice and Lydia simply stared at each other as their boss retreated to her office, the door closing behind her with a soft click.

* * * * *

Dominique remained sequestered in her office for the remainder of the morning, poring over paperwork at furious pace -- until she reached up for the next item in her "In" basket and realized it was empty. She looked up at the clock and saw that it was a quarter to noon, and gave a small smile at her own efficiency. "I believe you deserve a reward, Ms. Destine," she said quirkily to herself as she grabbed her purse from the drawer and rose from her chair.

She strode calmly into the outer office, pleased to note that although Lydia's radio was still on, the music was barely audible over the hum of the office machines.

"I'm heading out for lunch," she announced to Candice as she passed by. "I'll be back in time for my meeting."

Still smiling, she stepped into a waiting elevator and the doors closed behind her.

* * * * *

Dominique savored the last bite of her "reward," grinning happily as the final forkful of the sweet, creamy desert spread over her tongue.

"I shall have to do this more often," she commented to herself as she set the fork down next to the empty plate. A trio of plump pigeons perching on the railing caught her eye as she dabbed the last of the cherry-topped cheesecake from her lips with her napkin. They returned her stare curiously, one of them ruffling his feathers and bobbing his head in that peculiar way birds do, almost as if he was pointing at something. Dominique looked down at the table, spying the bread basket with several pieces she hadn't touched still remaining in it. She looked back up at the birds again as one of them cooed. A funny grin played across her lips as she reached for the uneaten breadsticks.

After a quick glance to make sure none of the café's staff was looking, Dominique crumbled one of the sticks in her hand and cast the crumbs to the ground beneath the table. The three birds seemed to look at each other for a moment before hopping down as one and, after a short squabble over the largest piece, beginning a feast of their own.

Dominique watched them for a few moments, looking up as the largest skittered out of the way of her waiter's foot as he returned with the check. The man nearly stumbled as the bird flapped between his legs, and Dominique stifled a chuckle as he awkwardly regained his balance and continued on as if nothing had happened. She accepted the bill and looked it over for a moment before withdrawing a platinum card from her purse and slipping it into the leather folder and handing it back to the man. She entertained herself again by watching the three pigeons battle each other for crumbs until the waiter returned with the slip for her to sign. Under "gratuity," she quickly penned in a figure, and then signed her name to the line with a small flourish.

Rising from her seat, she handed the document back to the young man with a "thank you" as she tucked her credit card back into her purse. He glanced at it and his eyes went wide as they scanned across the number she had written in.

"Thank you, ma'am," he replied, hurrying to hold the gate for her as she left the confines of the sidewalk eatery for the bustle of the street. She nodded appreciatively at him. "Please come again," he called after her as she left."

His words were lost to the air as the sounds of the city enveloped her once more. Dominique paused at the corner, waiting for the light to change, and glanced down the street toward Washington Square Park. Over the rumble of the traffic, she could hear music. Curious, she decided to take a different route back to the office, and started toward the sound.

The music had ended by the time she reached the edge of the park, but a banner strung across the street proclaimed the annual art show which now stretched before her for several city blocks. Her eyes lit up with curiosity, but she wasn't quite sure where to begin looking. She side-stepped a white-faced mime who was pressing his hands frantically against an invisible glass wall and headed towards a grassy area where some activity was going on.

Dominique pressed her way into the crowd that had gathered to watch a group of tumblers performing. For several minutes, she watched in fascination and awe at the acrobatic stunts, "ooh-ing" and "ah-ing" along with the rest of the crowd. When the group was done, she joined in the applauding, as well. As the crowd began to break up, she checked her watch. She had an afternoon meeting and she was going to be late if she didn't head back now. She looked down the street, at the block after block of displays still waiting to be explored, and made a mental note to come back tomorrow. Turning away, she hurried back to Nightstone.

* * * * *

Lydia walked past Ms. Destine's office door. It was open slightly so it was her duty, as office gossip, to dare a peek through the crack. Her boldness had proven to her that Ms. Destine was, in fact, still at her desk and was humming as she looked over financial reports and her meeting notes.

Lydia leaned over to Candice, Ms. Destine's personal secretary. "Psst! What is she still doing here? She usually leaves hours before now or she has kicked us all out. Something has GOT to be up... what is the scoop?"

Candice looked back over her shoulder at Ms. Destine's door and then looked at the clock on her own desk. She gasped. "I honestly don't know why she is still here, but I am not going to risk being here when that good mood wears off."

She opened her desk drawer and grabbed up her purse out of the bottom of it. She quickly turned off her computer and headed for the elevator. Lydia was quick on her heels.

"But Candice, why don't we ask..."

"Hush up, Lydia... let's go!"

The elevator doors opened and the two women stepped inside, Lydia still nagging Candice as the doors shut.

Dominique walked out of her office just as the doors closed completely. "Candice, could you please pull up the last meeting's notes..." She looked up to find that Candice was already gone.

"Hmm, she didn't even say good night."

Dominique shrugged and turned back to her office, shutting the door behind her. She walked over to the small wet bar in the corner by the window. She leaned down and opened the mini-fridge beneath the counter. To her disappointment, it was nearly empty. She picked up the small carton of milk and was pleased that there was a little left. She poured herself a small glass.

The glass was full but there was just a small bit of milk left in the bottom of the carton. She looked back over her shoulder and, remembering that there was no one in the office, she smiled. She quickly moved the carton to her lips and tipped the end up to drink the last sip.

After tossing the empty milk carton into the trash basket, she picked up her full glass and went back to her desk. She sat and leaned back in her soft leather chair to admire the beautiful sunset just outside her office window. She pulled open her desk drawer and reached her hand into a nearly empty box of chocolates. She popped one of the tiny treats into her mouth and then quickly made a face as she bit down into it. "Coconut... bleh. No wonder it was still in the box."

She reached for her milk to wash down her most hated chocolate. She stopped before the glass reached her lips. Something wasn't right. Her back itched and her stomach seemed to tighten up. The itch soon turned into a searing pain that ripped through her entire body. Dominique began to scream.

Every nerve in her body seemed to be on fire. Her ears were filled with the horrible sounds of popping and grinding bones. She screamed again, but her voice seemed more like that of an animal's than her own.

Then, quick as it started, it was over. She shook her head a bit to try to clear it but it seemed only to make the room spin a bit more. She soon realized she was on the floor, her chair tipped over on its side and her milk spilt in a puddle beside her.

With her head spinning so, she reached to rub her temple. She quickly pulled her hand back, wondering if she had hit her head harder than she thought. She dared to touch her forehead again. Bony, pointed ridges seemed to adorn her head. She moved both her hands slowly over her face.

Then, her hands! They were BLUE! She tried in vain to rub the blue off her hands. She flinched as she scratched the back of her hand with her sharp... talon?? Wait... there was something else wrong. She mentally counted her fingers. Eight. She blinked and counted again. Eight again. She was missing one on each hand! She was so shocked that she briefly searched the floor for the missing fingers.

She scrambled to her feet, or rather, tried to. Her balance was off and she nearly tripped backwards over her upturned leather chair. She ran carefully to the full-length mirror that was on the wall in her office bathroom. She stopped dead in her tracks and took a step back. There before her in the mirror was a MONSTER! A blue-skinned, fanged, taloned, bat-winged MONSTER! She looked at the tattered remains of the expensive tailored suit that barely clung to the creature in the mirror. And it even had her red hair!

Dominique looked down at her taloned hands and at her tattered clothes, then back up to the mirror.

"Oh my..." was all she managed to mutter before she fainted.

* * * * *

"Oh, what a headache." Dominique slowly sat up, only to confirm in the mirror that the monster was still there and that SHE was the monster.

She carefully got up off the bathroom floor, holding onto the sink for support as she tried to figure out how to stand on her new feet.

When she was finally standing on her own, she glanced at the mirror again. Her gaze started down at her impossible feet and tail and worked up past her knee spurs. She then looked up at the small hands that adorned her wings. WINGS! For Pete's sake! She had WINGS! She concentrated on them for a moment, got them to move around a bit, then let them fall limp at her sides.

She looked at her ears next. Pointed and large. She ran her tongue along her new fangs and ran her hands over her pointed brow. Then she looked into her own eyes and spoke out loud to the image in the mirror. "What has happened to me? This is impossible!" She turned to look at her back and flicked her tail around, startling herself. "OH!"

The questions continued. "Who did this to me? HOW did they do this to me?" She shook her head as plots from a hundred "B" horror movies ran through her head.

Dominique gave up the interrogation of her reflection and walked back into her office. She picked her chair up and set it right, glanced over her shoulder at her tail and wings, and decided it was best if she just stand.

She looked at the desk and was relieved to see that the milk had only landed on the floor instead of all over her spreadsheets, graphs and reports. She glanced at one spreadsheet titled 'Nightstone Yearly Budget - Genetics Division - 1996'.

Her face brightened up a bit. "Genetics! That's it!" She looked down at her hands again. Could it be that she had been genetically mutated? She flipped through the old budget and found a name that fit the bill. Dr. A. Sevarius. She had fired him over a year ago. Could this be his sick, twisted revenge for losing his job? No, if she recalled correctly, Dr. Sevarius always had someone else pulling his strings. He wasn't one to strike out on his own. So who did that leave? A business rival? Possible, but why not just kill her? Why do this to her?

Her new ears seemed to ring briefly. Wait, that wasn't her ears. It was the elevator! She marveled at how keen her hearing was now. Then she heard the voices.

"Candice, do you always want her to be a bitter old hag?"

"No, Lydia... but..."

"Come on! Just ask her if she wants to join us for dinner. It couldn't hurt to ask!"

"I don't know how I let you talk me into this.... "

"OH NO!" Dominique-turned-creature tried to straighten out her suit and hold together the torn remains. Then she realized that it wouldn't matter how presentable she looked. She was no longer human! She looked for a place to hide then eyed the large window in her office.

She quickly moved to the window and opened it as fast as her large, clumsy hands would let her. She stepped outside the window onto the ledge and quickly closed the window behind her.

"Ms. Destine? Are you here?" Candice's trembling voice came from behind the glass.

* * *

Dominique pressed her body against the cold wall. The ledge she was perched on was plenty big, perhaps a bit too big. Almost like it was built for this very thing. Curiosity got the better of her and she knelt down to examine the ledge. Then her eyes drifted past the outcropping and down to the street.

She was suddenly frozen in place, her eyes never wavering from the tiny cars moving like busy ants below. Her head began to spin and her heart seemed to pound in her throat. Tiny beads of sweat broke out over her newly acquired browridge and wave of nausea hit her.

She jumped a bit as she saw something move out of the corner of her eye. She forced her head to turn and look back into her office, only to find that Candice was moving toward the window. She jumped and leaned back against the outside of the building again. Unfortunately, her balance was still off and she slipped against the smooth stone and toppled off the ledge.

Dominique reached out and caught the edge of the platform with one taloned hand, smiled and sighed a bit of relief. Just then there was a spine-jarring scrape of stone. Her talons tore through the carved marble and she plummeted toward the concrete below.

She flipped head over tail, too terrified to even scream. Almost as if it was on reflex, she extended her wings. A small squeak escaped her lips as her new wings caught the wind and her decent slowed significantly.

Sheer luck, not skill, guided her toward the roof of the building across the street. She brought her feet forward to land but forgot to angle her wings for the landing. Her feet touched down onto the roof while the rest of her continued forward at the same speed. Her chin planted firmly into the tar-covered roof. The entire weight of her body balanced on her face for a moment then dropped with a thud to the rooftop.

The reluctant gargoyle sat up and blinked a few times then began to dust herself off. "Well, any landing you can walk away from..." she muttered to herself then laughed nervously. She looked back up to her office window, rubbed her eyes, then looked again. My goodness! She must have fallen at least fifteen stories! She got up and walked on shaky feet to the edge of the building. She looked down and stepped back with a gasp. Her hand covered her mouth. She cast a look back over her shoulder and flared her wings. "You two got me into this mess!" she started angrily, then sighed and closed her eyes. "... thanks for getting me out."

Dominique turned and sat down on the rooftop. She looked at her hands again, a tear rolled down her face. When would this nightmare end? All she wanted was to go home and curl up on her bed. With a sniffle she wiped away the tear from her cheek.

Then it hit her. "How am I going to get home!?" She asked out loud to no one.

She got up and walked to the far edge of the roof, the edge that was closest to her home. She looked down to the alley below. There was no way she could just hail a cab. Not when she looked like this! There had to be another way.

Her wings rustled in the night breeze as if in response to her thoughts. No, she couldn't possibly be thinking that. It was only luck that she was alive now! Still, an impossible urge forced her up on the short wall that encircled the rooftop. Dominique took a deep breath, opened her wings and hurled herself off into the air. The night echoed the animalistic scream that escaped her lips as gravity began to take over.

* * * * *

Dominique sat straight up in bed, her heart pounding and sweat beading off her face. She looked around her bedroom; the sun was just peeking into the window. She heard herself sigh. Yes, she was home, in her own bed. It was all nothing but a vivid dream. She looked at her hands. Human hands. Just a dream, nothing more.

A cold breeze swept over her damp skin and she got the chills. Her eyes moved to the French doors that led to her balcony. They were open, the linen drapes flapping in the morning breeze. "How odd," she muttered. Rationalizing that she must not have latched them properly the night before, she flipped back her comforter to get up and shut them.

Her heart skipped a beat as she saw that she was still wearing the tattered remains of the business suit she had worn yesterday. She leapt from the bed and ran to the freestanding mirror in the corner of her room. She was human, but her clothes hung from her frame in shreds. The images of her nightmare flooded her mind. Wings... talons... falling off her office ledge... flying home... no, not flying... she had tried flapping her wings and that didn't work well... gliding was more accurate. No, it had to be just a dream.

She continued to reassure herself of that as she grabbed the first thing she could find in the closet -- a one-piece dress in faded denim -- and hurried into the bathroom. She showered and changed in record time, and as she hurried downstairs, hair still dripping wet, for a badly needed cup of coffee, she discarded the tattered remains of yesterday's clothing in the small wastebasket just outside the bathroom door.

* * * * *

Lydia stood near the window, arms folded and coffee cup in one hand, steadying a pair of binoculars against her eyes with the other. Peering through the mini-blinds, she stared down at the point where the Nightstone Building's courtyard met the street.

"I bet she had a hot date who kept her up all night," Lydia speculated. She lowered the binoculars and turned to Candice, who was sitting at her desk and already hard at work. "Think she'll tell us about it?"

Candice gave her a disbelieving look. "Where did you get those things, anyway?" she asked.

"I could tell ya," Lydia replied, grinning. "But then I'd have ta kill ya."

Candice stared at her for a second, unamused, then went back to her paperwork. "Lydia, if I were you, I'd just get to my desk right now before Ms. Destine walks out of that elevator and sees you loafing at the window."

Lydia rolled her eyes and made a small noise. "You act like she's a monster or something. She seemed perfectly pleasant yesterday." She turned back to the window, raising the binoculars to her eyes and surveying the traffic again. "And I bet she would've gone out to dinner with us, too, if she hadn't run out of here for her hot date."

"Whatever," Candice said under her breath.

"OK," Lydia said, spinning around to face Candice again, "if you know her so well, why is she..." she paused and checked her watch, "...almost two hours late?"

Ding. The elevator interrupted before Candice had a chance to answer. The doors opened, but it took the two secretaries a second or two to recognize the casually dressed woman who stepped out.

"Good morning, Ms. Destine," Candice said, rising from her chair as Dominique approached.

"Good morning, Candice, Lydia," Dominique nodded to both of them. She stopped by her personal secretary's desk and hovered there uncertainly.

Candice looked into her boss's bloodshot eyes. "Are you feeling all right, Ms. Destine?" she asked after a moment.

"Yes," Dominique said. "I just... didn't get much sleep last night."

"There's a fresh pot of coffee in your office, and I left all your messages on your desk," Candice replied brightly.

"Thank you." She nodded again at Lydia before shuffling off to her office. As the door latched shut, Lydia took another sip from her mug and smiled at Candice knowingly. "See," she said. "I told you so."

Candice shook her head and went back to work.

* * * * *

Dominique poured herself a big cup of hot, black coffee, and walked over to her desk, which was still covered with the papers she had left there the previous night. Her chair was right where it was supposed to be. She cautiously made her way around to the backside of the desk and found nary a trace of anything spilled upon the floor. The carpet was spotless.

"Because it was all just a dream," she reminded herself. She gave a small sigh and pulled out her chair. Smoothing the long skirt of her dress under her, she sat down wearily in the plush leather seat. Setting her coffee cup down beside her, she started shuffling through her papers and tried to focus on the reports that were still unread. After a minute or two of organizing, she picked up what looked like the most interesting of the budget reports, opened it on the desk in front of her, and started reading.

* * *

Dominique jerked her head up at the sound of the intercom buzzer.

"Ms. Destine? Ms. Destine?"

It took Dominique a moment to recognize the voice as she brushed her hair from her eyes. "Yeh... yes, Candice?" she said hoarsely. She made a face; her mouth was dry.

"Go on, ask her," she heard Lydia whisper in the background.

"I was just wondering... a few of us are going out for lunch, and... we thought maybe you'd like to come?"

"Lunch?" Dominique looked for the clock. She gasped in shock at seeing that it was nearly noon. She looked down at the report still lying in front of her, opened to page three and now wrinkled from having been used as a pillow. "No," she said quickly. "Not today."

"OK, Miss Destine." The intercom clicked off and Dominique sat up in her chair, shaking her head to clear it. How could she have fallen asleep? She got up and hurried to her office bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror over the sink.

"Ugh," she muttered as she saw her own reflection. Her hair was all mussed up, her lips were dry and chapped, and her make-up was smeared.

She blinked. A blue-skinned face with fangs, a fiery head of red hair, and glowing red eyes glared back at her from the mirror. Dominique screamed and jumped back.

The towel bar on the wall behind her jabbed her painfully in the back. She cried out again and staggered forward, catching herself on the sink before she her head hit the mirror. She looked up into her own reflection again -- the image of a disheveled human woman with panic in her eyes. She grabbed for the tap and turned on the cold water, and leaning over, she splashed several handfuls on her face.

"Pull yourself together," she ordered herself as she wiped her face dry with a towel. "It was just a stupid little dream."

She fiddled for several moments with her hair, brushing it back into place, but didn't feel like reapplying her make-up. She walked back out into the office and looked again at the pile of papers on the desk. Then she looked out the window, at the bright, sunny day waiting beyond the thin pane of glass. She made up her mind a second later, grabbed her jacket and her purse, and headed out the door.

* * *

Dominique made her way slowly down the street, taking in the displays. It wasn't as warm as it had been yesterday. It was pleasant in the direct sunlight, but a breeze made it a bit chilly in the shade, so she wore a light jacket, zipped partway, and tucked her hands into the pockets from time to time to warm them. Still, it was better than the snow, which had lingered much longer than she could remember being usual for New York, and she gladly shook off the slight chills as the wind ruffled the long skirt of her dress.

At first, it seemed to be working. The music in the background, and all the friendly people walking about... and the artwork. Within a short distance, she had forgotten all about the stresses of work and her strange dream of the night before, as she examined paintings and sculptures of such quality that she almost couldn't believe they were out here, on the sidewalk, instead of in a museum.

As she neared the end of the first block, she stopped to inspect a finely crafted stained glass piece, taking off her sunglasses to fully take in the brilliant greens and blues as the sunlight glinted off of it. She was turning away, just about to slip her glasses back on, when something else caught her eye. The hand holding the sunglasses fell limply back to her side, and she moved toward the painting as if pulled by a magnet. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up and her heartbeat quickened. Stopping about four feet away, she stared, unnerved, at the image on the canvas. A moonlit cityscape, and over it, a winged creature gliding... a creature that looked hauntingly similar to the one she had seen in the mirror -- no, she corrected herself -- in her dream last night.

"Looks like you have a customer, girl," said a bearded man in a denim jacket and faded blue jeans. He elbowed the young woman beside him and pointed.

Andrea Calhoun brushed a stray piece of her windblown hair from her face and looked in the direction he had indicated. A tall woman with flame red hair pulled up in a loose braid was examining the one painting which Andrea had not yet packed away with a critical eye and an intensity that made her instantly nervous. The young artist quickly assessed this latest "potential sale" as she had all the others for the past day and a half -- by taking a short inventory. Long skirt denim dress, sneakers, and a plain-looking jacket. Probably one more "just looking."

"Hello, Ma'am, may I help you?"

Dominique looked up, slightly startled, at the young woman who had approached her.

"Are you the artist?" she asked after a moment.

"Yes, ma'am. I'm Andrea Calhoun. Pleased to meet you." She extended her hand.

Dominique shook it firmly. "Dominique Destine," she replied. "I'm very interested in this painting of yours."

Andrea gulped. The Dominique Destine? One of the wealthiest and most powerful people on Manhattan, right here, interested in her painting? She mentally kicked herself. This was only one of the most well known people in the city, and here she was, writing her off as a browsing housewife.

"Can you tell me about the subject matter?" Dominique asked, turning her eyes back to the canvas.

"Certainly," Andrea replied hesitantly. "It's a gargoyle in flight," she explained.

"A 'gar-goyle'?" Dominique mouthed the unfamiliar word.

"Yes," Andrea answered. "Isn't it beautiful?"

"It's... fascinating," Dominique replied. She reached out her hand but stopped when her fingers were about two inches from the canvas. It was not just that the creature -- the "gargoyle" as she had called it -- looked so much like the one in her dream last night, though that in itself was eerie enough -- how had this woman painted what she had dreamed about? It was that the painting was so lifelike that it made it seem almost as if such creatures could be real.

Andrea fidgeted nervously as Dominique examined the painting some more. Finally, the red-haired woman's eyes settled on the small placard attached to the mat which read "price on request," and the question that Andrea was dreading was asked.

"How much?"

Andrea almost couldn't believe what she was hearing herself saying when she replied, "I'm sorry, but... this painting is not for sale."

Dominique blinked and turned back to her, making eye contact again. "Why not? Is it sold already? I'll pay double."

Andrea had no doubt this woman could do just that. "No, it's not the price," she admitted. "It's just that... it's one of my first paintings..."

"And you don't want to part with it?" Dominique finished for her.

Andrea nodded, suddenly hopeful that this woman would understand.

Dominique thought quickly. She wasn't even really interested in the painting itself as much as she was in what this artist might be able to tell her about the story behind the image on the canvas. "I'll tell you what. Why don't we talk about this over lunch? My treat," she suggested.

Andrea only thought for a moment before accepting. It was past noon and she was hungry -- what harm could there be? "Sure, I was just packing up for today anyway. Just let me get my stuff together," she replied. Dominique smiled, and Andrea hurried back over to her table to grab her jacket and her portfolio.

"You ain't never gonna get no sales if you keep doing like that, girl," the bearded man told her as he leaned forward in his lawn chair and accepted a twenty dollar bill in payment for one of the many pewter dragons sitting on the fold-out table in front of him.

Andrea ignored him and picked up her stuff, hurrying back to where Ms. Destine was waiting.

"Here, let me help you with that," Dominique offered as Andrea struggled to juggle her purse and hold the portfolio open to slide the last painting in. Dominique took the painting in her hands and looked at it one last time before lowering it into Andrea's portfolio with all of her other pieces.

A few moments later, both women were in the back of a cab and on their way to lunch.

* * * * *

"... until I learned what I really have is just an opinionated blue-collar outlook," Andrea concluded wryly.

Dominique froze, her fork halfway to her mouth, and stared at Andrea for a moment. The young artist stared back at her, grinning innocently. A split-second passed before both women broke into unrestrained laughter. As the fit subsided into chuckles and giggles, Dominique took a long sip from her glass, not even caring about the people at the nearby tables who were casting disapproving looks in their direction.

"I still can't believe they let them in here dressed like that," a stylishly attired blonde whispered none too softly to her companion. "I mean, they're wearing denim for goodness sakes! Brendan, this is the last time we are coming here."

Dominique didn't hear the comment. She was too busy enjoying herself. In fact, she was starting to wonder why she didn't do this more often. Aside for a few business meetings over lunch, she couldn't recall having been out just to eat and talk with anyone since she had spent the day with her daughter over a year ago.

Her daughter, Angela. She hadn't heard from her in a while, but it was mid-May and finals should surely be over. She made a mental note to call her up later and see how she was doing.

"Dominique, is something wrong?" Andrea had noticed the momentarily distant look on the woman's face.

"Hmm?" Dominique phased back in to reality. "Oh, Andrea... it's nothing. I was just thinking that I haven't seen my daughter in a while... she's been away at college."

Andrea did a double take. "You have a daughter in college? Wow... you barely look old enough - and I mean that as a compliment." Dominique blushed slightly, unsure of what to say. "Maybe sometime you can give me a few of your secrets," Andrea added kiddingly.

Dominique grinned again. "Maybe," she said, chuckling. She set down her glass and went on. "Actually, Angela, my daughter, is only a bit younger than you. Maybe the two of you can meet sometime. I think you'd both really hit it off."

"That'd be fun," Andrea replied. "I really haven't had anyone to pal around with since Helen..." she broke of the thought abruptly, pain flashing in her eyes.

Now it was Dominique's turn to ask, "What's wrong?" Without even noticing that she was doing it, she reached across the table and put her own hand on Andrea's.

Andrea averted her eyes for a moment, then gave a ragged sigh. "Helen was... is my sister. She... she disappeared about three years ago."

Dominique's brow furrowed in concern. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "I know how you must feel," she offered. "My third husband went missing over a year ago." Andrea didn't reply immediately, and Dominique grew quiet, a puzzled expression on her face as she thought about her other ex-husbands.

"It's all right," Andrea said, quickly wiping away a tear. She looked back up and saw that Dominique's eyes had that distant look in them again. "Dominique?"

The red-haired woman shook her head and blinked, clearing the bizarre mental picture of Angela's father, naked save for a loincloth, from her mind. "I'm sorry," she said, embarrassed, "I don't mean to keep blanking out like that..."

"Something's been bothering you ever since you saw my painting," Andrea observed. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Dominique hesitated a moment. Andrea gave her a reassuring nod, and finally she spoke. "It's a dream I had last night," she began shakily. "I... imagined that I had turned into a creature like the one you painted... a 'gargoyle' as you called it." Andrea leaned forward, her interest peaked. "The dream was so real... but... what's most frightening to me is that until today, when I saw your painting, I had never even heard about 'gargoyles' before."

Andrea laughed. Dominique recoiled back in shock, thinking she was laughing at her dream, but Andrea shook her head and took her hand reassuringly. "My goodness," the young woman exclaimed, "where on earth have you been living for the last year?" Dominique stared at her, sincerely confused. "Gargoyles are real," Andrea explained. "It was only the biggest news story last year. Why, for a while, you couldn't even pick up a newspaper or turn on a TV without hearing about them."

Dominique looked at her skeptically.

"It's true!" Andrea insisted. I've seen a few of them myself." Dominique's eyes widened, and Andrea went into a story she had told and retold dozens of times. "About a year and a half ago, one of Castaway's goons broke into my apartment. Three gargoyles came swooping in through the window and saved me. I was a little scared at first, but then I realized that they only wanted to help me. They stayed until the police came... one of them, a female, even tended to my injuries."

Dominique gasped. "The robber assaulted you?"

Andrea blushed slightly. "Actually, he threw some of my paintings into the fireplace... I burnt my hands pretty badly trying to recover them." She held her hands out and allowed Dominique to see the backs of them. Looking closely, the older woman could see that the skin was just a bit lighter in some places than others, evidence of healed injury. "The doctors said if it hadn't been for that kind female gargoyle tending to my hands quickly like she did, the scarring might've been much worse," Andrea continued. "I might've even lost some of the feeling in my hands."

Andrea didn't need to complete the thought. Dominique realized right away the impact such an injury could've had on an aspiring painter such as this talented young woman. "You were very lucky," she said, at a loss for words but wanting to say something.

"If I ever get the chance to see those gargoyles again, I'm going to thank them," Andrea declared sincerely. "Especially the female. She had such kind eyes... I'll never forget those eyes, or her voice..." Andrea trailed off, leaving Dominique a moment to think.

"So that's what these 'gargoyles' do?" Dominique asked after a moment. "They fly around and fight crime, like Superman?"

Andrea giggled. "Something like that... though none of the ones I saw wore red tights." Dominique smiled and giggled herself. "Seriously," Andrea continued. "They're protectors. They don't want to hurt anybody. And don't listen to anyone who tries to tell you otherwise."

Dominique nodded. It was a lot to take in, but she was doing her best.

"If you ask me," Andrea added somewhat angrily, "Castaway and his Quarrymen all got what they deserved. I hope those hate-mongering hoodlums rot in prison forever."

Dominique was taken slightly aback by the malicious undertone in her words, but Andrea wasn't finished so she didn't interrupt.

"You know my sister, the one I told you about?" she asked. Dominique nodded. "Well, last year, my idiot brother-in-law, her husband, made up his mind that he knew what had happened to her after hearing one of Castaway's first public speeches. He thinks 'the gargoyles took her.'" Andrea sighed in exasperation. "I mean, what evidence does he have that gargoyles had anything to do with it? Stupid, superstitious bigot. I don't know what Helen ever saw in him...."

Dominique nodded in agreement, though she wasn't exactly sure why. To be certain, she was actually more perplexed now than she had been a few minutes before. For though she was still positive she had never heard of gargoyles until today, she knew who both the Quarrymen and John Castaway were and also was certain she had never liked them either.

Andrea took a sip from her glass of ice water, and once she had calmed down some, she could see that Dominique still looked a bit bewildered. "I'll tell you what," she offered. "If you want to learn more about gargoyles, why don't you come with me this afternoon to a meeting of People for Interspecies Tolerance?"

Dominique thought for a moment. She still had a lot of questions and wasn't sure now that Andrea could answer them all. And the office could certainly survive without her for one afternoon. "Yes," she replied as the waiter deposited the check discreetly on the table, "that sounds like a fine idea. Thank you, Andrea."

Andrea smiled.

* * * * *

Dominique left the PIT meeting with more questions than answers. She hailed a cab and started to head back to the office. Her mind was still working over the irony of running into Andrea and her painting. Her body still ached from her restless night's sleep. "I am working too hard." She muttered to herself.

Gazing out the window of the cab, she made a decision. She retrieved her cellular phone from her purse and called the office. "Candice? Yes, I won't be coming back into the office this afternoon, please reschedule my appointments. Thank you."

As she hung up the phone she redirected the cab driver to take her home.

* * * * *

Dominique walked in the front door and kicked off her shoes. She set her purse down on the small entry table along with the PIT pamphlets and the 'I DONATED TO INTERSPECIES PEACE' button that they had given her. She had enjoyed the meeting and her lunch with Andrea. If only she could stop thinking about that nightmare.

She rubbed her sore shoulders and headed upstairs to her room. Looking herself over in the mirror again she again verified that she was still human. Upon examining her face, she cringed. Just look at those circles under her eyes! Shaking her head she headed for the bathroom.

Leaning over her ultra large bathtub, she turned on the water. She moved to the vanity next to the sink and looked over her collection of bubble baths and bath salts, picking the eucalyptus and spearmint scented bubble bath simply because it claimed to help reduce stress. She poured a capful into the running water and smiled as the soothing smell reached her nose, then decided to add another capful to the already bubbling water.

As the tub filled to nearly the brim, Dominique slipped out of her confining business attire and put her hair up in a large gold clip. She was still cursing pantyhose as she stepped into the hot foamy bath. She sat down and leaned back, sinking to her chin in scented bubbles.

Forcing herself to relax, she pushed all thought of these "gargoyles" out of her head. A vision of her daughter filled her mind. Recalling back to last year, she remembered their day out shopping and having lunch together, and the 'Take our Daughters to Work Day' they had spent together last April.

She took a deep breath and wondered how Angela was doing in college. When she got out of the tub, she would have to give her a call. Dominique smiled at that idea, then frowned. She couldn't recall Angela's campus phone number. That was strange. She thought a bit more. Even stranger was the fact that she couldn't recall what school Angela attended.

She struggled with the memories a bit more. It just seemed as if the information was never there. She finally concluded that she needed a vacation. All this stress was affecting her mind.

Making a conscious effort, Dominique tried to relax again, only to find that the water was now cold. How long had she been sitting here anyway? She pulled her hand out of the water to examine it; her fingertips were pruned. Obviously, she had been in long enough.

With a sigh she climbed out of the bath and, grabbing a large fluffy towel, she dried off. Pulling the towel around her body, she headed back into her bedroom.

* * * * *

Dominique opened the door to her large closet and took a step in. She began to search for something comfortable to lounge around in for the rest of the day. Hmmm, suits, suits and more suits. She seemed to have a never-ending supply of them. Most of them were red and none of them were comfortable.

She saw the small dresser in the back of the closet. Surely there would be a pair of sweats or a nightshirt in there. Still hugging her towel around her, she opened the top drawer of the dresser.

Pantyhose. There must have been thirty pairs of wretched pantyhose. With a groan, she shut the drawer and opened the one below it.

She looked rather shocked as she removed a slinky halter and.... Dominique blinked... Loincloth?? Grinning as she examined them, she then looked back into the dresser to find some gold jewelry. She lifted what appeared to be a bracelet out to inspect it further. She slid it on her wrist, but that didn't seem quite right. She then pushed it up, over her bicep, like an armband. There! That was better. She remembered wearing all of this stuff before, but couldn't for the life of her remember where.

"Why on earth would I have worn this?" she said out loud to the halter in her hands. Settling on the idea that it must have been a Halloween costume, she tried to resist the urge to try it on.

She failed.

Her towel dropped to the floor and she slipped into the skimpy outfit. It took only a moment to dress and a bit more to don all the jewelry.

As she walked out of the closet, she was admiring the tiara and was remotely reminded of her ex-husband. Dominique frowned a bit until she caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror again. She placed the tiara on her head. It seemed a bit big but that didn't stop the grin from spreading over her face.

Then she seemed to recall wearing that same outfit to Central Park in the middle of the day. No... that would be ridiculous. She turned and looked at how the loincloth was cut so curiously in the back. Central Park? In this? She would have been arrested for sure!

She reached up and pulled the large clip out of her hair and let her flame red locks pour down over her shoulders. Striking a pose in front of the mirror, Dominique began to burst out with laughter. "Maybe I should wear this to the next board meeting."

Her hearty laughter echoed throughout the mansion just as the sun set. Dominique took in a breath that was intended to continue the laughter, but what echoed through the mansion next... was a scream.

* * *

Dominique watched in morbid fascination as her body changed before her eyes, the full-length mirror capturing it all.

Her skin began to change, not just to that sickly blue color, but the texture of it changed as well. She held her hands up before her face and her pinky and ring fingers seemed to melt together.

Her face suddenly felt tight as the bone beneath it reformed and her brow began to take the same shape as the tiara.

With wide eyes she watched her ears stretch like rubber to form sharp points and fangs replace her canine teeth.

Dominique's face twisted in pain as the bones in her feet popped and ground together, breaking and reforming, the skin of her foot stretching and the muscles molding themselves to the new shape.

She doubled over as she felt her internal organs rip free and move about her body, but her eyes were glued to the mirror in sheer horror.

With a final, animal-like, scream, her spine snapped free and twisted about, the bones reshaping and moving. From her half-bent position she witnessed wings pull free from the skin on her back, springing from her shoulder blades.

The pain ceased. Dominique, once again, stared at the nightmare that was her.

She balled her taloned hands into fists and tossed her head back. "NOOOOOOOOO!!!!"

* * * * *

A shrill, persistent ringing was the first thing to greet Dominique's ears as her senses returned to her. It took her a few more seconds before she realized it was the telephone, and she immediately made to answer it, not so much running as scampering on all fours to the nightstand upon which it rested.

She fumbled with the receiver for a moment, trying to grip it in her thick gargoyle fingers, and it clattered noisily for a moment against the marble topped stand before she was able to place it to her ear and speak.

"Hello?" she said quickly, tension filling her voice.

"Hello... Mother?" came a suddenly uncertain voice from the other end of the line.

A look of recognition came over Dominique's face and she relaxed a bit. "Angela?"

"Yes, Mother, it's me." There was a brief pause. "Are you all right?"

Dominique looked down again at her blue skin and taloned hands, then made up a quick half-truth. "I'm fine, daughter. You just... caught me getting out of the tub." She winced at realizing how unconvincing she had sounded, and tried to put more confidence in her voice as she added, "I wasn't expecting you to call tonight."

"I just wanted to see how you were doing," Angela replied. She paused. "I thought I might stop by later tonight, and we could talk."

"No!" Dominique replied - much too sharply, as she realized immediately. "No," she repeated in a more controlled tone. "I... have a lot of work I need to finish tonight," she fibbed quickly.

Silence.

"But perhaps we could get together tomorrow," she offered. "You... you could come by the office and we could have lunch again."

"Lunch?" Angela's voice sounded genuinely confused this time. "Mother, are you sure you're all right? If something is wrong, you know you can tell me."

"I'm fine, Angela. Really." She tried hard to sound sincere, and waited for her daughter's reply.

"I'm coming over right now, Mother," Angela announced calmly. "I'll be there as quickly as I can. And don't try to stop me."

Dominique's heart rate doubled. "Angela, please, I'm fine," she said, panicked. "You don't..."

"Yes, I do. I'll see you soon."

A click ended the call and replaced Angela's voice with the steady hum of a dial tone. Dominique sat, momentarily stunned, against the side of the bed for several moments before she slowly replaced the telephone receiver back in its cradle.

She pulled herself up onto the edge of the bed and stared numbly at reflection in the darkened window across from her before the full meaning of the conversation that had just taken place finally sunk in.

"I can't let her see me like this!" she said aloud as panic began to set in. Her mind began to whirl. She closed her eyes and leaned back, taking a deep breath and trying to clear her head. A moment later, she opened her eyes once more, took one more look at the blue skinned, winged reflection staring back at her, and scampered off in search of a place to hide.

* * * * *

Angela gave silent thanks that she had made it away from the castle without encountering any of the other members of the clan, who might've asked her where she was off to in such a hurry all by herself. She angled her wings and pulled them in a bit tighter, trying to increase her speed as she made her way over the city toward Destine Manor. A funny, queasy feeling filled her stomach. It had begun the moment her mother had answered the phone, and it grew progressively stronger the closer she got to Demona's home.

"It was only a simple spell," she said to herself as she banked her wings into an updraft. "What harm could it have done?" She spotted the home, angled into her descent, and tried not to think about the possible answers to her own question.

She spiraled down slowly, circling the property several times and looking for anything that seemed out of the ordinary. The house was dark, and there were no cars in the driveway or on the street. In fact, it looked as if no one was home. But that in itself was not unusual -- Demona always kept the drapes tightly drawn and it never looked like anyone was home.

She set down softly on the patio, right beside the small platform her mother had had installed as a perch for her to take off from, and walked to the French doors. To Angela's surprise, the curtains on the door were partially open, but the room inside was dark. She rapped gently on the glass, waited a few moments, and then tried the handle.

Locked.

Angela peered through the glass one more time before reaching into her tunic and withdrawing the key her mother had given her several weeks before. She slipped it into the lock, gave it a twist, then tried the handle again. The door swung open silently and easily. Angela peered into the darkness beyond for one more moment before stepping inside.

* * *

Dominique crouched in the back of the closet, listening to the sounds of the house over those of her own breathing under the heavy blanket she had pulled over herself. Her eyes were wide open, but it was pitch black. Strangely, though, she paid little attention to the darkness, amazed as she was by the sounds she could hear when she tried with her transformed (and now pointed) ears. Sounds she had never even noticed before. The dripping of water in the pipes. The creaking of the rafters as the wind blew against the roof. The scraping of tree branches against the siding.

She was focusing on listening for the car pulling into the driveway which she assumed would announce Angela's arrival, when a different sound made her suddenly jump. A rapping of knuckles on glass. She tried to tune out the other sounds and focus on that one. It had come from downstairs... and a moment later, it was followed the shick of a deadbolt, the click of a latch and the padding of feet on the hardwood floor. Dominique sucked in her breath and tightened her grip on the blanket. Someone was in the house.

* * *

Angela closed the door behind her as she entered the living room. The tiniest bit of light filtered in from the streetlights around the edges of the blinds, but it was plenty for Angela's sensitive gargoyle eyes. She looked around the room, which appeared pretty much as it always did except for the lack of light from the candles which her mother usually kept burning in abundance. It was also deathly quiet. So much so that Angela nearly startled herself when she called out, "Mother?"

* * *

"Mother?"

Dominique jumped again. Yes, someone was in the house. It was her daughter. She bit back the urge to respond to the cry out and shrank back even more into the corner of the closet.

* * *

"Mother, are you here?"

Angela waited for a response, but only silence answered her. The uneasy feeling in her stomach grew stronger, and she moved further into the room and, finding the matches right where they always were, she lit several candles. Even though she really didn't need them to see, for some reason the warm glow they cast upon the walls made things seem more familiar. She picked up one of the glowing candles and took it with her as she went into the front hall and approached the stairs.

"Mother?" she called again, directing her voice and her eyes up the darkened stairway. Again, no reply. Again, her insides tightened. Candle held before her, she raised a taloned foot and began to climb the stairs.

* * *

Dominique counted the footsteps, each tread of the stairway making a similar but distinctive creak as her daughter made her way up them. Fifteen steps.

"Mother?" she heard Angela call again. Each time, the voice was filled with more and more worry; each time it became harder for her to resist answering back. But then she thought again of what her daughter's reaction would be to her currently monstrous form, and she pressed her lips tightly together and willed herself to be silent.

Soft footsteps echoed down the hall. Then a call again, louder this time.

"Mother, where are you?" This time, there was more than worry in her daughter's voice. There was fear, too.

Dominique pulled the blanket back from over her head. She could barely take it anymore. She pulled herself slowly along the floor to the front of the closet, stifling a cry of pain as she shifted position and one of her many dress pumps, hidden by the darkness, jabbed her in a sensitive spot at the base of her new tail. Pulling the offending shoe from beneath her, she moved close to the doors and crouched down to where she could peer through the louvers.

She had drawn all the curtains and turned off all the lights before shutting herself in the densely packed walk-in closet, but she could now see a dim flickering of candlelight coming from the hallway. She could only assume the source was her daughter, searching for her.

* * *

Angela looked into the master bedroom. She saw the bed was unmade, with the clothes her mother wore in her human form lying scattered on the floor. She was becoming genuinely alarmed now.

"Mother, where are you?" she called out as she stepped into the room.

* * *

Dominique gave a small gasp and fell back on her tail at seeing the figure that entered the room, speaking with Angela's voice. She quickly pushed herself back up and peered between the louvers again, blinking quickly several times, her jaw half-open in shock at what she saw. Standing in the room (and seemingly surveying the clothes Dominique had left scattered upon the floor) was a lavender-skinned creature with a feminine figure, long dark hair, and bat-like wings much like the pair currently gracing Dominique's own backside. The girl-creature was barefoot and dressed in a rough tunic, and she vaguely resembled...

* * *

Angela was reaching for the jacket hanging on the bedpost when a rustling noise behind her made her whirl about, her wings reflexively rising from her shoulders as she came to face the closet doors. She pricked up her ears and held the candle out in front of her.

"Mother? Is that you?"

* * *

Dominique jumped back at the creature's sudden motions. She swallowed hard, rubbed her eyes with her hands, and blinked again before peeking once more back through the louvers. To her ears, it had sounded undeniably like her daughter's voice, but her eyes just couldn't quite accept the source.

"Angela?" she questioned, timidly.

* * *

Angela took a step toward the sound of her own name. It was coming from inside the closet. Her expression held relief mixed with confusion, as did her voice. "Yes, it's me -- it's Angela. Mother, are you in there?" she replied.

* * *

Dominique's eyes went wide as her fears were confirmed by her daughter's voice coming plainly from the second creature's fanged mouth.

"Oh, no..." she cried as she got to her feet and pushed the door open in one quick simultaneous motion. She rushed to Angela and pulled her into a protective embrace. "No, please, no... not you, too."

* * * * *

Angela was momentarily speechless as Demona hugged her ferociously and then immediately began fawning over her.

"Look at what have they done to you, my child," Demona lamented, teary-eyed. Angela found herself being held by the arms and turned from side to side as Demona inspected her -- something she hadn't experienced since her hatchling days, when Princess Katharine would dote on her and her rookery siblings over even the tiniest suspected injuries incurred during their normal play.

Dominique ran her hand gently across Angela's forehead, feeling the bony crest that was quite similar to her own, stopping only when the girl flinched and raised her own hand and took Dominique's by the wrist.

"Mother, what's wrong? Look at what who has done? What are you talking about?"

Dominique stared at her daughter -- yes, this was her daughter, she was sure of that now -- for a moment. "You've been turned into..." she tried to remember the word but failed in her haste to speak, "...some sort of creature... I have, too!" she exclaimed incredulously.

Angela felt that sick feeling in the bottom of her stomach return in force. "Demona, no... I don't understand... we've always been this way -- we've always been gargoyles."

"Gargoyles," Dominique repeated. Yes, that was the word. Then she paused. "Wait, who is 'Demona?'"

Angela stared at her a moment. "You are, mother," she said meekly. "Don't you remember?"

Dominique blinked. "I am Dominique Destine. You are Angela Brigitte Destine, my daughter. And we are human... at least, we are supposed to be." She paused as a sudden flash of insight lit up her eyes. "Oh no... they must have gotten into your head, as well. My poor child..." She trailed off as she took Angela into another fierce hug.

* * *

Angela put her arms tentatively around Demona and did her best to return the hug, though her mind was far from the room at the moment. The spell had seemed so simple and harmless when she had found it the other night. A spell of forgetfulness - it seemed like the perfect thing to give her mother the opportunity to see the human world through fresh eyes, unburdened by a thousand years of prejudice and hate. But though it was only supposed to last one day, it seemed now like it was still affecting her. And if Demona didn't remember being a gargoyle, or remember being Demona...

Angela trembled at the realization that Demona wouldn't remember any magic, either -- and that she, as still little more than a fledgling apprentice, had no idea what to do.

* * *

Dominique stroked Angela's hair reassuringly. "Don't worry, my child. I'll find a way to make you human again - to make us both human again - and return your proper memories to you." She finally loosened the bear hug she had Angela in and backed off enough to take another look at Angela's face, examining the features once more. They were definitely similar to her own -- especially the bony crest on the forehead. "It has to be some sort of genetic mutation," she mumbled. "And if it can be done, it can be undone."

Angela's eyes were distant, and she barely registered what her mother was saying. She blinked several times, her mind returning to reality as her mother began pacing in a small circle and talking to out loud to herself.

"I'll have to find a doctor I can trust. And we'll have to have tests run. I'm sure I have blood samples in storage somewhere that would have our original DNA..."

"Mother, what are you talking about?"

Demona stopped pacing and looked up at her. "Getting us back to normal, of course!" she said. "I have a business to run. You have school coming up again soon... and you'll still need to see a counselor after you are made human again. So we can't afford to waste any time."

She spoke as if it was all perfectly clear to her. Angela tried to remain composed but succeeded only moderately in hiding her bewilderment and confusion. She knew, however, that Demona was just as stubborn as a human as she was as a gargoyle, so she realized there was nothing more to gain at the moment by continuing to try to persuade her mother that she had always been a gargoyle -- even if it was the truth.

"Stupid spell," she cursed under her breath.

"What was that, Angela?" Demona asked, breaking off her stream of consciousness mutterings once again.

Angela looked up. "Nothing," she said quickly, her mind already elsewhere again. She could do nothing for Demona herself... but Owen was back at the castle -- maybe Puck could help her. "I... I need to go," she added.

Demona froze. "Go? Go where? And looking like that?"

"I... have some friends... who are already working on trying to cure me," she fabricated quickly. Her tail twitched nervously as she waited for her mother's reaction.

"Why didn't you say so before? Who are they?"

"I can't tell you," Angela began. Demona balked. "Not yet," she added. Quickly, she formed the rest of the story in her head. "I met them at college; they say they are close to finding a cure. They don't know that you've been affected, too, but I'll tell them."

Demona was silent for a few moments. "Go on, then," she said. "But be sure to stay in contact with me. In the meanwhile, I'll work on some ideas of my own."

Angela managed a small smile. "Thank you, mother." They hugged again briefly, and as they separated Angela added "You'll be OK here alone, won't you?"

"Yes, I'll be fine. Now go, and be careful that you are not seen."

"I will." Angela gratefully took her leave, along with a candle to guide her back downstairs, leaving her mother to her pacing and planning.

She made one quick stop as she passed back through the downstairs part of the house, detouring to the back of the mansion to the study. She gasped as she touched the door and it swung easily open. "She didn't reinstate the protective wards?" the girl wondered aloud. She shivered as she entered the dark room, and hurriedly picked her way to the back table she used for her lessons. The soft glow of the candle she carried revealed the book still there, right where she had left it.

Without a moment's hesitation, she snatched the book up in her talons, and held it protectively against her chest with one arm as she exited the room and hurried back through the darkened lower level of the house. She exited the way she had entered, and only looked back once -- to make sure her mother was not watching from the upstairs window -- before mounting the platform on the patio and speeding back off through the sky to the castle.

* * * * *

"So Demona does not remember who she is?" Sata asked.

"Sorta. She has amnesia about being a gargoyle. She thinks she's Dominique Destine, a human," Lex corrected.

Broadway scratched his head. "But isn't Dominique Destine really Demona?"

"Yes, but she doesn't remember that," Brooklyn said.

"Remember what?" Broadway asked, befuddled.

Angela sighed. Some of the clan were understanding, and a few were still trying to figure it out, but all she knew was that if she had to try to explain it all one more time, she was sure she was going to lose it.

"I... think we have the basic idea," rumbled Goliath, seeing the tired look on his daughter's face.

"Aye," spoke Hudson, turning to Angela, "though from what you be sayin', it sounds like this lapse of memory Demona be sufferin' may not be an entirely bad thing. She sounds a lot... nicer."

Angela nodded uncommittedly and accepted Goliath's massive, reassuring arm around her shoulders. She leaned up against her father for a few moments, wishing the funny sensation in her stomach would just go away.

Elisa, who had been silently thinking throughout most of this, finally spoke. "Do you have any idea what might've caused your mother's amnesia, Angela?"

The feeling of discomfort Angela held within her stomach jumped up by another factor of ten. She nearly choked on the word as she backed away from Goliath and said, "No."

"Are you feeling well, Angela-chan?" Sata questioned, noticing the disturbed look on the young female's face.

"Och, she's just worried about her mother, aren't you, lass," Hudson answered, clapping a taloned hand gently on her shoulder.

"Yes," replied Angela softly. "I just... need to be alone for a while."

She slipped quietly from the room, not noticing Elisa's pensive eyes following her, as the other adult members of the clan continued to discuss the news of Demona's apparent memory loss.

* * * * *

Angela waited in the hall outside the TV room, listening to the mingled sounds of the television and Brooklyn and Sata's children.

"You gotta jump over the fireball then land on his head," Ariana instructed.

"Quiet, sis-twerp, you're ruining my concentration."

"Get the mushroom! No, don't jump now - you're gonna fall in the lava!"

A somber, electronic tune announced the unfortunate end of the round.

"See, I told you," Ariana said proudly.

"If I had been riding the dinosaur, I coulda made that jump," Graeme commented. The controller clattered to the floor. "These games are lame, anyway. Hologames are more fun."

"Uh-huh!" Ariana agreed emphatically.

"C'mon," Graeme announced. "I'm starving... let's go see if the adults are done talking about Aunt Demona yet."

"I dunno why they're always so mean to her," Ariana said, her voice growing louder as she and her brother approached the door. Angela ducked back against the wall, hidden from sight in the shadows as the twins hurried off.

"Aunt Demona?" she said softly to herself as she entered the now empty room. Shaking her head, she hurried over to the sofa and lifted the middle cushion, giving a little sigh of relief that the spellbook was still there. Picking it up, she tucked it under her arm and caped her wings tightly about her. After glancing furtively down the hall, she hurried back out of the room.

* * * * *

Elisa pulled the library doors shut and walked beside Goliath to the couch opposite the fireplace. Elisa slipped off her jacket and lay it over the back of a chair, warming her arms off the small fire burning in the hearth. Goliath watched her, waiting for her to join him on the sofa.

"So what do you think, big guy? Is this legit, or just another one of Demona's schemes?" she said as they sat down.

"I do not know," Goliath answered. "Angela certainly seems distraught. If it is another scheme, my daughter would most certainly not be taking part in it."

"Of course not," Elisa agreed. "But Demona could be just acting." She paused, almost not wanting to say her next thought. "She could be using her," she added softly.

Goliath shook his head. "No... I do not think she would do such a thing. Not now, with all that is happening. She would not risk endangering our daughter." He said the last words with a certainty that made Elisa look up at him.

"Even not counting tonight, she's not the same Demona she was before she met Angela, that's for sure," Elisa agreed. She leaned over, resting her head against Goliath's arm, and looked up at him. "You see, I told you letting Angela visit her would work out okay."

Goliath raised a brow ridge, and lifted his arm, creating a nook that Elisa slid smoothly into. "I just hope whatever has happened to her can be remedied soon," he said as he resettled his arm around her. "I hate to see Angela so worried and upset."

"Me, too," Elisa agreed. She put her hand on Goliath's arm and leaned her head against his chest as he trailed his talons through her dark hair. They grew quiet, resting in each other's embrace and listening to the fire. After a few moments, their eyes met. After a few more, their lips followed suit.

* * * * *

"So you are saying the source of your mother's amnesia is actually a magical spell which you placed upon her two nights ago, during your weekly visit," Owen summarized calmly as he finished getting Alex into his cartoon-character adorned pajamas.

Angela twisted her foot nervously on the carpet. "Yes," she replied.

"And neither your father nor the clan know of this fact, nor do they know that Demona has been tutoring you in the arts of magic," he continued flatly as he carried Alex across the room and placed the sleepy toddler into his bed.

Angela stared at the floor. "I haven't told them," she admitted. "Yet," she added a moment later.

"I see," replied Owen. Alex sleepily mumbled something unintelligible and Owen rose again and began intently searching the room for something. "I must say that I am honored that you have chosen me over one of your clanmates as a confidant," he continued as he searched the bottom of the toy chest. Angela frowned at the dry sarcasm, but he spoke again before she could respond. "I assume that you think I might be of some assistance in this matter?"

Angela bent down to pick up a winged teddy bear sitting near the wall, half behind a table scattered with plastic building blocks of multiple colors, and approached Alex's bedside. "I think he's looking for this," she said as Owen emerged, empty-handed, from the toy chest and turned back to face her.

"Indeed," Owen replied. Angela placed the fuzzy in the toddler's arms and the boy squeezed it and giggled contentedly. Owen held out his hand expectantly. "If I may?"

Angela quickly handed him the spellbook, which she again held clutched against her chest.

"Hmm," he said as he scanned the page that she had marked with her talon. She waited nervously as he flipped ahead and back, scanning adjacent pages, as well. At last, he closed the book and handed it back to her. "No counterspell," he stated simply. "Miss Angela, you do have a problem."

"I know," Angela said, sighing, as she reclaimed the book. "I checked already. But... I thought you might be able to undo the spell," she explained softly, getting back to the real reason she had come to the nursery. "It was supposed to wear off on its own, but it didn't... and I don't know what I did wrong."

"You dabbled in sorcery!" she could hear Goliath accusing already. She flinched.

"The spell you cast was human magic," Owen stated. "Even if I could manage a way to allow my... other half to appear, I would not be able to help you."

Angela sighed. "I know, 'mixing magics is dangerous.'"

"One of your mother's first lessons, no doubt."

Angela was silent for a moment.

"Someone should at least keep an eye on her during the day," she said, thinking out loud more than anything else.

"I have my own duties here," Owen stated.

Something flashed in Angela's eyes. "You have to put that spell on me - the same one you put on Demona - so I can be human by day, too," she said desperately.

"No," Owen said decisively. "That would be much too complex for Alexander to deal with, aside from the fact that you really have no idea what you are asking."

Angela's shoulder's sagged in defeat. For a moment, she entertained the thought of asking instead just to be turned into a human again, but then she thought of how confused that would make Demona when she saw her again. Angela looked down at Alex, who was already drifting off to sleep, and sighed again.

Owen turned his attentions back to tidying up the nursery as Angela silently left the room.

* * * * *

Angela opened the door just a crack and peered cautiously into the hall, making sure no one was around before she opened it the rest of the way and emerged from the narrow stairwell that led to the small west tower. She pulled the door closed quietly, making sure it latched, and then departed quickly.

She padded slowly down the hall, turning ideas over in her mind. The book was hidden away safely now, and she would return it to her mother after everything was sorted out. Still, it made her nervous just having it in the castle. Maybe she should just tell Goliath the whole truth. Her stomach turned again. She stopped and shut her eyes for a few seconds, only to be greeted by the image of the massive clan leader towering above her, eyes glowing.

"This is what happens when I allow you to spend time with your mother?! You dabble in sorcery and come home like this?!"

She snapped her eyes back open and shook her head. No, not yet. Not until she had exhausted every other remaining option. She thought for a moment. She still had a couple of other books that her mother had given her, hidden in plain sight in the library. Perhaps she might find something in one of them that would be of help. It was getting late and she was tired, but she had to try. With a little bit more resolve, she turned toward the library and set off through the stone passageways again.

* * *

Elisa was just pulling shut the library's heavy wooden double doors as Angela rounded the corner. Both human and gargoyle seemed momentarily surprised to see each other.

"Good evening, Elisa," Angela said, stopping where she was, only a few feet from the detective.

"Hello, Angela," Elisa replied, a bit quickly. She brushed her hand self-consciously over her hair, smoothing a few errant strands back in place, and then tugged at the bottom of her jacket, straightening it. Angela looked at her oddly for a moment. She seemed a little disheveled... and was she blushing slightly? In the dim light of the hallway, it was hard to tell. "If you're looking for your dad, he's in the library," Elisa added, seeming eager to get the conversation moving.

"Oh," Angela said, her secret hopes of studying her spellbooks evaporating. "No, I wasn't looking for him... I just..."

Elisa read the dejected, worried look on Angela's face. The girl looked even more upset than she had when she had wandered off by herself earlier in the evening. "You need someone to talk to?" she asked. She took Angela's hand and cupped it between her own. "Come on," she said, "let's go find someplace quiet and talk."

* * * * *

Elisa leaned against the cold gray stone of the tower parapet, her hair rustling in the stiff breeze, listening quietly as Angela finished pouring her heart out. She was still in a little bit of shock over some of the things Angela had admitted to her, but she was finding it hard to be angry with the young female, who was on the verge of tears as she finished.

"I don't know what to do, Elisa. I just wanted to give her one day to see what it was like to just be human. Now she's trapped by the spell and it's all my fault."

Elisa took her into a comforting hug without even thinking twice and held her for several moments while she worked through the sniffles and sobs she had been holding back for most of the conversation.

As Angela's tears slowed and she and Elisa stepped apart, Elisa asked the question that both of them knew was coming. "So why haven't you just told Goliath what you've told me?"

Angela turned away and faced into the wind, her head down. "I'm afraid to," she admitted meekly. "You know much he dislikes magic and Demona. If he knew she was teaching me..." She shivered slightly.

"He's still your father, Angela. He might be upset at first, but he wouldn't stay angry forever." Angela didn't reply. Her cloaked wings rustled slightly as a chilly gust buffeted her. Elisa placed her hand on Angela's shoulder. "You can't hide this from the clan forever, Angela."

"Are you going to tell Father?" Angela asked.

"No," Elisa replied. Angela turned back to face the human woman, her eyes questioning. "It's not my place to tell him. That's up to you."

Angela impulsively hugged the dark-haired woman, nearly lifting her off her feet. "Thank you, Elisa."

"I know you'll do the right thing, Angela," Elisa said as she felt her full weight return once more to the soles of her high-top sneakers.

Angela nodded and glanced at the sky, which was already brightening in the east. "Could I ask a favor, Elisa?" she inquired softly.

"What is it?"

"Could you keep an eye on my mother, just for the day? I'm worried about her, out there, alone."

Elisa inwardly sighed. She had hoped to catch up on some badly needed sleep, but upon seeing the puppy-dog look in Angela's eyes, she found herself saying after a moment, "I'll check up on her for you."

Elisa found herself captured in another firm gargoyle-style hug as Angela thanked her a second time. They stepped apart again just as Goliath emerged from the stairs, looking surprised to see both his daughter and his Elisa on the tower.

"We were just talking about some things. Girl to girl," Elisa explained. Goliath gave her a slightly confused look. "Female stuff," she added, trying unsuccessfully to stifle a chuckle as she crossed to him.

"Oh," he said. "I have not interrupted, have I, Elisa?" he asked seriously.

"No, big guy, we we're just finishing up," Elisa replied, taking his arm and making no effort to prevent her laugh this time. Angela, however, had remained silent the whole time. Both of them looked at her for a few seconds.

"I should get to my perch," Angela said as she stepped toward the ledge. Goliath nodded, and Angela spread her wings and disappeared over the side of the tower. Elisa followed Goliath to his perch and as he climbed up on the parapet, she watched as Angela spiraled down to her place near Broadway.

"Do you have any new ideas about the problem with Demona?" Goliath asked.

Elisa looked at Angela for a moment longer, then up at him. "No," she replied. "Not yet."

"I see." Goliath didn't say more. Sunrise froze him in stone in a solemn, contemplative pose.

* * * * *

Dominique climbed into bed and stretched out. Her intent was to get a few meager hours of sleep in before work tomorrow. It seemed that her mind was the only part of her that didn't ache for rest. So many questions flooded through her sleeplessness, not to mention the difficulty of getting comfortable with so many extra appendages.

She finally rolled onto her stomach and stared out her bedroom window. The warm colors of dawn were slowly creeping across the sky.

"Ugh." She grunted as she flopped onto her back. The sun's first rays began to shine through the window onto her skin.

Dominique felt her stomach twinge. "NO! Not again!"

Once more, she felt her insides pull apart. She curled herself up into a ball and clenched her teeth together. She felt the tingle then snapping of her backbone as her tail seemed to be sucked back up into her body.

She arched her back and screamed as her shoulder blades burned. Her wings withered to stubs and seemed to stab back into her torso.

The last talon on each hand ripped in two and her claws grew backwards to be replaced with flimsy human fingernails.

She cried out again as her high arched feet cracked and shortened and her brow felt as if it has been torn open with knives of ice.

Then, once again, it was over. This time her breathing didn't slow down. She began to panic. Realization set in. This would happen every dawn and dusk! How could that happen? No one had that kind of technology. Why had they chosen her!?

She staggered out of bed and over to the mirror, pulling the golden tiara from her forehead and casting it angrily onto the dresser. She checked herself from a dozen different angles before she was satisfied that she was indeed again human. "I'll find out who's responsible," she vowed aloud, more angry now that frightened. "No one toys with Dominique Destine and gets away with it." Heading back to the closet, she flung open the doors and grabbed the first suit she saw which was not red. The flimsy 'Halloween costume' was quickly shed, hitting the floor as she stormed angrily into the bathroom.

* * * * *

Across town, another woman opened another closet. Elisa hung up her red jacket and surveyed her selection of "undercover clothes" which hung on one side, while Cagney circled her feet, rubbing her ankles to reaffirm his marking of her as "my human."

"What do you think, cat?" she asked, standing with her hands on her hips. She reached in and pulled out a shiny black jacket and a blue vest and looked them over. Cagney meowed, then slipped between her legs to make sure he hadn't missed a spot.

"I wonder how much she really doesn't remember," Elisa mused. After a second, she decided not to take the risk. Slipping the hangers with the jacket and vest back into place, she drew out another pair of hangers bearing a long, deep blue jacket and a matching dress with a high collar and a very short skirt. Turning around, she tossed the items onto the un-slept-in bed and then went back to the closet, this time to the top shelf.

"Looks like 'Salli' is back in town," she said as she slipped the stylishly cut blond wig off its faceless holder and deposited it expertly on her own head, checking it quickly in the small mirror on the closet door before turning back around. Cagney, now sitting on the bed, cocked his head to the side and looked at her for a moment, then curled up on top of the pillow for a nap.

Elisa sighed. "I wish I could do that once in a while," she said enviously. Sighing again, she returned to the closet, trying to find the boots that would complete her outfit.

* * * * *

Dominique grabbed her purse off the table and checked herself in the mirror one last time before heading out the door. Her limousine was waiting as always, and her driver opened the door as she approached.

"Thank you, Gregory," she said as she slid down into the soft leather seat. The driver nodded and closed the door securely. A few seconds later, she was on her way to work in air-conditioned silence.

* * * * *

Elisa stood impatiently beside her Fairlane, oblivious to the stares she was attracting from some of other tenants of the building as they made their way through the parking garage to their own cars. Adjusting her light blue fingerless gloves, she looked at her watch and then brushed a persistent strand of blonde hair from her face once more, then continued glaring at the garage's entrance door.

A low rumbling almost like a jungle cat's purr preceded the sleek, low riding black sports car as it rounded the corner and cruised into the garage. Elisa stepped out into the aisle in front of it, into its headlights, standing with legs apart and hands on her hips as it rolled to a stop with its front bumper a mere six inches from her shiny blue thigh-high boots.

A head covered with neatly combed red hair leaned out the driver's side window. "Bluestone. Matt Bluestone," he announced, affecting a hint of a British accent.

"You're late," Elisa snapped, stepping around to the side of the car as Matt got out, leaving the engine idling with its low mechanical purr filling the air.

"Traffic," Matt said, "I got stuck behind this slow moving manure truck."

Elisa glared at him. "Save it, Matt," she said as she slid into the seat he had just vacated. As she surveyed the instrument panel, she felt the seat beneath her automatically adjusting to the contours of her body. She saw the clock on the dash. "She's probably left for work already," Elisa griped.

"So what's with playing dress-up and secret babysitter to Demona all of the sudden anyway?" Matt asked as he stood there holding the door.

"Angela asked me to," Elisa replied, as if that explained it all. Matt recognized her tone. He decided not to pursue it.

"Just don't do anything crazy with this car, OK, Elisa?" he said as he shut the door with a soft click. "I had to pull some major strings with the guys down in Narcotics just to get the keys."

"Speaking of keys," Elisa said. "I suppose you want these?" She dangled the keys to her Fairlane in front of him. He reached out his hand and she jerked the keys back, teasingly. He sighed and held his hand open, palm up, waiting. "Don't hurt my car, Bluestone," she ordered, dropping the keys into his hand.

He jangled the keys in his hand. "You just be careful with this car, 'Salli.'"

Elisa smiled at him as she took hold of the steering wheel. "I know how to handle a stick, Matt," she said, grinning. A moment later, Matt Bluestone was staring at black rubber marks on the concrete and smelling exhaust as the little convertible disappeared up the exit ramp.

* * * * *

Click.

"Yes, Ms. Destine. It's me, Mr. Montrose again. I was just calling back to inquire about the possibility of you and your daughter joining me for brunch this morn-" Click-beep.

Dominique punched the "3" button for the third time, deleting the last of Darien's voice mail messages, and then clicked the speakerphone over to its intercom setting.

"Candice?"

"Yes, Ms. Destine?" the secretary's voice answered back.

"Please make sure I'm not disturbed this morning. I'm working on some important research."

"Of course, Ms. Destine."

Dominique took a sip from a steaming mug of coffee and turned her attention from the phone to her computer. With a few quick keystrokes, she accessed the company's personnel records and began searching through them, one name at a time.

* * *

Dominique clicked on "print" and turned away from the screen and rubbed her eyes. She yawned, then reached for her coffee mug and brought it to her lips. Cold. She grimaced and swallowed the last of it anyway.

She got up out of her chair, using the short trip across the room to the laser printer as good an excuse as any to stretch her legs. Her heels were killing her, so she kicked them off as she walked, leaving them where they fell on the floor. A moment later, she stood by the printer in stocking feet, reading the first pages as the last ones finished printing. The words printed on paper were much easier on her eyes than when they were on the screen, and she continued reading as she scooped the last few pages from the printer tray and headed back to her desk.

Her eyes narrowed as she scanned down the list of names printed on the page, and she turned back to the computer quickly to cross-check it with another file. A moment later, she was on the intercom.

"Candice, call Mr. Xanatos and schedule me a meeting with him for right after lunch."

"You mean today?" Candice asked.

"Yes," Dominique replied, her eyes still on the computer screen. "Tell him it's urgent. If you need to, ring it through to me and I will speak with him directly."

"Yes, Ms. Destine. Right away."

"This must be it," Dominique said to herself. "I'll figure out your little game, Xanatos."

She tapped her fingers impatiently on the mouse pad, reading and re-reading the information on the screen. Finally, the intercom buzzed. "Ms. Destine?"

"Yes, Candice?"

"Your meeting with Mr. Xanatos is set for one o'clock," she said, her voice still showing surprise that it had been that easy to make the arrangements, "at the Eyrie Building."

"Thank you, Candice." Dominique replied calmly. She checked her watch -- it was nearly noon. She logged off the computer and began gathering her things.

* * * * *

"What do you suppose her intentions are this time, sir?" Owen inquired from the office doorway.

David Xanatos swiveled his chair away from the magnificent view of the city beyond his office window. "I don't know, Owen," he said, leaning back in his chair and grinning his trademark grin. "But I intend to find out."

"Do you think it was wise to invite her to come here?"

"By having the meeting here, I have the home field advantage," Xanatos commented. "Besides, I have complete faith in you, Owen. I know you won't let her pull any tricks."

"Thank you, sir. I shall make the required precautionary arrangements and inform Mrs. Xanatos at once."

"Very good, Owen." Xanatos paused. "Just for curiosity's sake," he added. "What do you think Demona is up to?"

Owen adjusted his glasses. "I'm not certain, sir. But I suspect that she's not quite been herself lately."

* * * * *

Dominique pulled her jacket back on over her crisp, v-necked white silk blouse and checked herself in the mirror one last time. She smoothed her skirt, which matched the jacket in a shade of a light pastel mint-green - a color that set off both her green eyes and her flame red hair, which was still pulled back neatly in a braid. She leaned in close, checking her skin for any signs of a bluish tint, and counted her neatly polished, clear-lacquered fingernails. Ten, to match ten fingers. Just like there should be. She shook off a momentary shiver, picked one last microscopic piece of lint from her skirt, and stepped back into the office.

A few seconds later, after she had retrieved her shoes from the floor, slipped back into them, and grabbed her briefcase off the desk, she strode confidently out the door and past her bustling employees.

Candice approached her and matched her stride toward the elevators. "Your car is waiting downstairs, Ms. Destine. Will you be back this afternoon, or shall I reschedule your other appointments?"

"I probably won't," Dominique replied. "Please go ahead and reschedule them."

The two women came to a stop near the bank of elevators, and Candice reached out and hit the "down" button. "Will do, Ms. Destine." Dominique's personal secretary moved off and Dominique waited patiently for the elevator.

Ding. The elevator doors slid open, and Dominique moved to step inside when...

"Ms. Destine! I was just on my way up to see you." Darien Montrose stepped out of the elevator and moved just far enough into the hall to allow the passengers behind him to get off while blocking Dominique from moving to get in before the doors had shut again.

"I was just on my way out," Dominique explained impatiently as she sidled around him and hit the "down" button herself this time. "I have an important meeting, and I cannot be late."

Darien looked surprised. "But what about our meeting?" he said, perturbed.

"It was scheduled for two o'clock. It's just past noon now... but I don't think I'll be back in time. You can talk to Candice about rescheduling it."

"I know I'm rather early," Darien admitted. "But I was hoping to perhaps get you and your daughter to join me for lunch first- even though you never did return my message."

"Angela has been very busy with some matters related to her schooling. I haven't had a chance to speak to her yet," Dominique lied. She really wasn't very enthusiastic about introducing her daughter to this man to begin with; she certainly didn't want them to meet now, while Angela was dealing with recovering from the affliction of being genetically altered and brainwashed into thinking she was a gargoyle.

Ding. The elevator doors opened once more and this time Dominique was between them and Darien. "We'll have to talk about it some other time," she said as she backed in. She jabbed her finger on the "close door" button and the last she saw of Mr. Montrose was him opening his mouth to speak as the doors slid shut.

With a sigh, Dominque pressed the button for the lobby and leaned back against the wall of the elevator, closing her eyes as she tried to regain the composure she had just lost during that brief conversation so she would be ready for what lay ahead that afternoon.

* * * * *

Fox brushed the cobwebs aside and stifled a sneeze as she ascended the last few stairs. She stepped into the musty room, placing her hands on her hips and surveying the mass array of boxes, old suitcases, and trunks piled against the walls and on the floor.

She let out a deep sigh, stirring a cloud of dust particles and sending them drifting through the narrow beams of sunlight penetrating through the room's dirty windows. Her eyes drifted slowly over the individual boxes and bags, until at last she turned as if to leave, overwhelmed by the immensity of her self-appointed task.

"No," she said, stopping herself at the stairs. "No," she said again, more forcefully, turning back around. "You can do this, Janine. You've battled Evil Ninjas, angry gargoyles, and outcast fay. You can deal with a few old memories."

Pushing up her sleeves, she moved to the nearest stack of boxes and set to work.

* * * * *

'Salli' tossed the wrappings of the hotdog away and picked her gloves back up from where she had discarded them on the dashboard to avoid getting mustard and relish on them, watching as Dominique Destine emerged from the Nightstone Building.

"It's about time," she said to herself. Having arrived just in time to see Dominique enter, she had sat out front, wait