I'm Sorry
By Aaron Ziegler
http://www.visi.com/~spanner/Spanner.htm or
http://www.visi.com/~spanner/DarkId.htm

Author's Note:
While this is not my first fanfic, it is my first Gargoyles fanfic, and, therefore, I feel compelled to mention that this is, indeed, my first Gargoyles fanfic. With that involuntary reflex out of the way, I can mention a few other things. First off, this is a rather depressing story. I'm not usually so depressing a person, but for some reason I was possessed by some dark inner daemon to write this. For this reason, if no other, any future Gargoyles fanfics probably won't take place in the same fanfic universe as this one. It's also slightly violent. Demona is, after all, immortal, and I took advantage of this fact at a few points. Secondly, this story assumes a familiarity with "Hunter's Moon", the three-part Gargoyles cartoon which ended the second Gargoyles season. If you haven't seen it, though, it is my hope that the story still makes sense. If it doesn't, then you can let me know, and I will e-mail you an authentic replica of a letter of apology. Finally, whether you can keep up with the story or not, let me know how you liked it. A budding writer like myself thrives on compliments. And if I receive only scorn and abusive criticism, crushing my spirit and relegating me to a life of colorless mundanity in which I never write again, well, maybe it's for the best.

* * * * * * * *

Racing through the concrete wasteland as fast as her legs could carry her, the Hunter raced after her prey. Her prey, of course, was the same blue-skinned, red-haired demon who had been the prey of the Hunters for well over a thousand years. Demona had not changed, of course--a magic spell saw to that; the same magic spell that had been placed upon the gargoyle not long before the Hunt first began. The Hunter raised her weapon, an object that looked surprisingly like a yellow, robotic arm, complete with wicked yellow talons, and trailing a few frayed wires from the joint where the arm had formerly joined a shoulder. The Hunter had been fortunate indeed to find the dead bodies of Jackal and Hyena. It was almost touching: The cyborg siblings had died as they had lived, side by side, fighting to the end against the unstoppable foe that had slain them. There was, of course, no way to help them now, but the Hunter had salvaged weapons and equipment from their cybernetic components, many of which, surprisingly, were still operable. The Hunter gripped the top of the forearm and pulled up and back, revealing the rectangular bulk of a laser weapon. The Hunter squeezed the jury-rigged trigger she had installed, exalting in the moment she had waited years for. The laser cannon sparked and droned for a moment, causing the Hunter a moment of panic. The weapon was old, she knew--it was half a miracle that she had found it, and the other half that she had been able to salvage it. It may certainly have been too much to expect that it would still work. But work it did. A crimson beam of deadly light stabbed forth into the night. The Hunter almost yelped with joy, and then with shared pain, as the laser sliced into the thin membrane of the fleeing gargoyle's wing. The Hunter had no wing of her own, yet she could savor the pain as fiercely as Demona. Such was the curse of the spell which bound her to her Prey. The curse, of course, was also a blessing. She could never die, not until the day that Demona died at her hands. Or she at Demona's. The Hunter didn't really care. Either way, Demona would die, and that was the sole purpose remaining in her life.

Demona twisted in shock to face her pursuer. Obviously, she was as surprised to learn that working lasers still existed as the Hunter had been to find one. The Hunter frowned thoughtfully, still tasting Demona's pain. Her shot, as all of the shots she fired at Demona, had been intended to kill. It was difficult to aim the unwieldy metallic limb she had salvaged. But no matter. Eventually she would get lucky, and the Prey knew this. This was why Demona chose that moment to lunge at her Hunter, whipping her tail around with enough force to slap the odd weapon from her hands. Immediately after her first strike, Demona leapt at the Hunter with all four taloned limbs extended, intending to knock her to the ground and hopefully to pin her there. Yeah, right, thought the Hunter, even as she tumbled backwards underneath Demona's greater weight. Even after a thousand years of fighting, Demona's hand-to-hand strategy left much to be desired. The Hunter rolled with Demona and kicked her away with both legs, causing the gargoyle to arc ungracefully through the air, landing headfirst on the cracked pavement.

The Hunter reeled as Demona's agony coursed through her skull. Then she smiled savagely. She preferred fighting with her hands and feet, and knew that she was much better at it than the gargoyle, despite the fact that she was human, and despite the fact that Demona had three more limbs than she. Two, now, the Hunter noted with a grin, as Demona groggily stood and tenderly wrapped her ruined wing around her body. The Hunter didn't wait for Demona to recover. She strode confidently up to the gargoyle and whipped her body around, leg extended in a powerful roundhouse kick. The kick connected solidly with the side of Demona's head, spinning her around, blood and spittle spraying from her mouth. The pain was enough to drop the Hunter to the ground for a moment as well. But only a moment. Though she shared Demona's pain, the actual injuries belonged to Demona alone. The Hunter closed in for another strike. Just a few more, she thought. Just a few more, and Demona wouldn't be able to stop her when her fingers finally closed around the neck of her Prey. How she longed for that moment, to feel Demona choking beneath her tightening grip. To feel Demona's life slipping away, even as did her own. The Hunter reared back and prepared to punch the staggering gargoyle in the stomach.

Even as she did, she realized that she had blundered. The pain she was feeling had led her to believe that Demona was more grievously wounded than she actually was, and that had given the demon leeway enough to snag the Hunter's ankle with her tail. Demona yanked the Hunter's legs out from under her, and she fell to the ground hard enough to knock the wind out of her lungs. The Hunter gasped for breath, only dimly aware of Demona crouched down beside her. Demona's tail was wrapped firmly around her body, holding her arms tightly against her side. The Hunter squirmed futilely, unable to bring herself into any position from which to strike at her hated enemy. What was Demona doing, anyway?

To her supreme disgust, the Hunter found that Demona was searching her for injuries! She was so afraid of her own death that she was making sure her Hunter didn't die of anything she'd done! Filled with contempt and loathing, the Hunter retaliated in the only way she could. She spit in the monster's face. "Haven't you lived long enough, murderer?" she croaked.

Demona absently wiped the spittle off of her cheek. To the Hunter's annoyance, the expression on the gargoyle's face was one of unmistakable pity. Her eyes were not glowing now. For that matter, the Hunter couldn't recall them glowing at any point during their battle, or any of their recent battles. What they were doing now was flow with tears. It was almost enough to make the Hunter laugh out loud. "What's that supposed to be? Remorse? Guilt?" Now the captive Hunter did laugh. "It's a little late for that, don't you think?" She threw a contemptuous glance at her Prey. "If you're really that sorry, let me finish what I've started. Then we can both finally rest."

The anguish on the gargoyle's face deepened slightly, and was joined by a hint of fear. Demona desperately shook her head, starting to look a little terrified. "No," she whispered hoarsely, using a voice she hadn't exercised in years. Then, a little more clearly, she added, "I can't." Demona looked at the Hunter's hard expression, and she wailed, "I'm sorry! How many times can I say I'm sorry?" The Hunter did not even think of dignifying that question with an answer.

Demona blinked at her captive hopelessly. She convulsed with a sob, and carefully, gently, took one of the Hunter's legs in her taloned hands. "I'm so sorry," she whimpered. Then, the gargoyle gritted her teeth, and broke the Hunter's leg like a twig.

Hunter and Prey screamed in pain. After a moment, Demona unwrapped her tail and stood back, braced for the downed Hunter to attack her. The Hunter, however, was only human. She tenderly prodded her broken leg and glared hatefully at Demona through eyes watery with pain. Demona turned and took a few hesitant steps away. Then she turned back and cried, "I'm sorry!" one last time before dashing away from the crippled woman on all fours.

"Demona, you coward!" seethed the downed woman, "I'd have thought you were enough of an expert on death to know when to lay down and die! I WILL kill you, someday, Demona! If your life lasts another thousand years, I'll be there to end it!" If Demona was moved by the Hunter's words, she did not express it by turning around, or even slowing. Soon, the Prey was out of sight. She had escaped, as she had escaped time and again over a span of a dozen centuries. As for the Hunter, she had failed again. She had failed all of her friends, slain so long ago by the one she sought. She had failed the innocent people who had had no idea what had struck them down. She had even failed her enemies, whose deaths had been just as pointless as anyone else's. But most of all, she had failed the one whose death eclipsed that of all the others. The one she had loved with all of her heart and soul in those last days before Demona smashed him into rubble before her very eyes. She had failed Goliath.

"Detective Maza!" a familiar voice called out to her from a distance. Wearily, she called out in response to let her companion know where she was. Soon, a hulking metal juggernaut emerged from a nearby alleyway and crunched across the pavement towards her.

"You've been injured," the huge robot noted, swinging it's yellow, domed head around to scan the Hunter's leg with an array of sensory equipment. From a transparent section of the robot's cylindrical body, a semi-handsome head peered at the former detective reproachfully. Semi-handsome, because half of the face seemed to have been torn away, revealing a gleaming metal skull underneath the false skin. What face remained was similar to that of a long-dead man named David Xanatos, who, by no coincidence, had originally constructed the huge machine. "You should let me tend to that," the robot continued, in a slightly more concerned tone of voice.

"You don't need to mother me, Coyote," Elisa Maza snapped bitterly. "You know as well as I that the spell will heal it soon enough." This wasn't quite true. The spell could repair simple flesh damage in a matter of hours, even if the damage was extensive enough to cause death. Broken bones, however, generally took several days to heal, even clean breaks like the one Demona had just made, and Elisa would probably be in a good deal of pain during most of the healing process if she didn't set the leg first. Still, Elisa felt angry at her failure, and wasn't in the mood to take medical advice from a two-ton tin can, especially since it was probably right. Then she sighed. What was the point of suffering needlessly? Her memories caused her enough suffering already, and her nightmares were almost too much to bear. "You're probably right, as usual. Mind carrying me home?"

"You know that I exist only to serve you," Coyote reminded her, gently picking the Hunter up in one of three many-jointed arms.

Elisa sighed again. "Yeah, I know." Tiredly she ordered. "Pick up that arm, too. It still works, and I may need it again."

Wordlessly, the armored battle machine clomped over to the discarded weapon and picked it up. Then, the two of them headed for what passed these days as home.

* * * * * * * *

About a half a mile outside of the city--what had the humans once called it? Ah yes, Berlin--Demona was still running. She had to run. She knew that the Hunter would not be long in healing, and once she had recovered, the Hunt would begin again. Demona had to live! She hated herself with a black loathing that approached Elisa's hatred of her, but still, she had to live. She was, after all, the last of her kind, just as Elisa was the last of hers. If she died, the once-proud race of gargoyles would be lost forever. If Elisa died, the last page in the history of humanity would be written as well. Demona choked back a bitter laugh. There was a time when she would have given her own life to see the last human die, and now she fought with the last of her strength to protect the one human she had hated more than any other. A human who now hated her with a hatred even stronger than Demona's had ever been.

"Be careful what you wish for. It might come true," Demona muttered to herself, the only one she had left to talk to. She had wished for the end of humanity, and had succeeded beyond her darkest dreams. Two hundred years had passed, at the very least, since the day she had finally achieved her dream and begun her nightmare. Almost against her will, Demona's mind drifted back over that expanse of time, as if she were punishing herself with the torment those memories inspired.

* * * * * * * *

Demona stared with shock at the fragmented ruins of the praying gargoyle statuette. Goliath had smashed it, of course. Why couldn't she have seen that coming? It was obvious that Goliath would not have attacked her, not when she was holding the deaths of every human in the world in one taloned hand. Now, she was holding the deaths of every human and gargoyle. The vial she held contained a special virus. On it's own, the virus was harmless. It was designed with two purposes. One was to reproduce and spread with unprecedented speed. The other was to carry another, less contagious agent. When Demona had commissioned her corporation, Nightstone Unlimited, to produce the carrier virus, her explanation had been oh-so-altruistic. Such a virus could be used to spread a cure even more quickly than the ailment it treated. Imagine the lives it could save... Of course, her true motive had been to have it carry a poisonous illness to wipe the human vermin off of the face of the planet forever. Regrettably, the only chemical strong enough to carry out her plan was an incredibly lethal biogen she had created by magically altering a potent chemical disinfectant to destroy intelligent lifeforms; a toxin deadly enough to kill human and gargoyle alike. That was what the statuette was for. It was a magical talisman she had stolen years before. Whatever its original purpose, Demona had intended to use it to shield every gargoyle on the planet from the lethal poison, causing each gargoyle to suffer from a temporary flu, rather than the more permanent death the toxin otherwise promised. Three pieces to Demona's final victory, and each was worthless without the other. The carrier virus, harmless by itself. The toxin, deadly, but difficult to spread. And the statue, to protect the only ones worthy of survival. Now the statue was gone. Anger, hatred, and betrayal surged through the blue gargoyle like a white hot wave of rage. She barely heard Goliath advise her to put down the virus before she killed them all. How dare he? Still, Demona could see only three possible choices. She could put the virus down on the desk and surrender. She would very likely be captured and imprisoned once more within the Labyrinth, the network of ducts and sewers that were the domain of Talon and the other mutates. She could, of course, throw the virus to the ground and slay every intelligent creature on the planet, as well as a few of the unintelligent ones. Would that count as killing MacBeth, and therefore ending her own life? Demona didn't know. Finally, she could throw the vial into the air and make her escape while Goliath lunged to catch it. It would mean scrapping this project, possibly forever, but she would get away. Yes, that was probably the best solution.

Unfortunately, Demona made the mistake of looking into Goliath's face before carrying out her plan. In that dark, handsome face, the face Demona had once loved, and perhaps still did, Demona saw anger--and pity. How could he pity her? It was he who was deserving of pity! It was he who was too weak to see the truth, too weak to know the treacherous evil presented by all humans! She was the strong one! She! SHE WOULD NOT BE PITIED!

With a shriek of outrage, Demona smashed the vial against the ground. Not waiting to see Goliath's response, Demona smashed her way through the window behind her and glided off into the night. She was not running from the virus. She knew without a doubt that she had contracted it already, as had Goliath and his clan and those three infuriating Hunters. The virus was even now coursing through her system, multiplying and spreading. In a day or two, she would die, perhaps permanently. Until that time, however, she intended to spread her disease as far and as widely as possible. She might soon die, but it was her wish to see as many humans die as possible before her own end came.

It wasn't until nearly dawn that Demona alighted on a parapet of Castle Wyvern. She had almost forgotten her old ally David Xanatos, a man she dearly desired to see draw his final breath. After a bit of snooping, Demona was delighted to discover that Xanatos was already dead. He must have somehow been one of the first to contract the virus. Even so, he must have been extremely susceptible to it to have succumbed so quickly. Xanatos's wife, Fox, had died as well. For some reason, their infant son, Alexander, was still perfectly healthy, but Demona knew that his health wouldn't last. There was no immunity to the virus she had concocted. The design of the carrier virus ensured that none was possible. In small dosages, a body might build up a resistance to the poison itself, but the virus that carried it guaranteed that no small dosages would be applied.

Demona suddenly discovered that she was climbing the side of the castle. It was an instinct that she no longer really needed, this desire to find a high, safe place to stand on when daylight converted her flesh to stone. Still, it was probably best not to be hanging onto the side of the castle when sunlight struck. The spell that changed Demona into a human instead of stone was a painful one, and even if it weren't, Demona was not quite so accomplished a climber when she was human. When she climbed over the top of the castle wall, she almost fell back down again, surprised as she was by the sight she saw. What are THEY doing here? she wondered, diving behind a small stone tower. Goliath and his clan didn't sleep at Castle Wyvern anymore! Then she reconsidered. They all knew that they were dying, and most of the people in Xanatos's building who had once wished them ill were in the same condition. Why not come home to die? Demona mused.

Fortunately, none of Goliath or his clan had noticed her. Peering carefully around the tower, Demona could see Goliath's clan taking up frightening poses, preparing for dawn's light to strike and freeze them in place. As for Goliath, he was crouched upon the edge of the castle wall, hunched over to speak with Elisa Maza. Demona's face hardened as she saw the human, and then brightened a bit when she noticed that she was definitely showing signs of the illness Demona had unleashed. That human had been impossible to kill, but Demona knew that she had finally succeeded. Maza would be lucky if she lasted the day, and if she did, she would die soon enough.

Demona strained her pointed ears, trying to make out what Elisa and Goliath were talking about. The distance was too far to hear what the human was saying, but Goliath's deep rumble carried a little farther. The words Demona heard in that bass voice caused her blood to freeze in her veins. "I love you, too, Elisa Maza."

Demona watched in horrified silence as Elisa wrapped her arms around Goliath's neck and kissed the somewhat surprised gargoyle on the lips, even as those lips stiffened into stone. Mere seconds later, Demona doubled over in pain as her own transformation began. As her skin and bones compressed and twisted, all Demona could think about were those words and that kiss. How could he? How could she? The very idea was an abomination! The horrible blasphemy Demona had just witnessed combined with the exquisite agony she was enduring pushed Demona well beyond the edge of sanity.

As soon as Demona had regained control of her limbs, she tore open the door of the tower she was hiding behind and ripped a heavy mace off of the wall inside. Half blind with rage, she stumbled over to the frozen gargoyles and swung blindly, not noticing or caring that Elisa was no longer with them. With a crunch, Brooklin's head broke off of his shoulders. Another swing toppled the headless body onto the smaller stone shape of Lexington, causing both to shatter into rubble. Demona's mace crashed into Broadway's knee, shattering his leg. The unbalanced statue toppled over the side of the building, smashing into dust on the pavement far below. Soon, the only statue remaining intact was Goliath. Demona stopped for a moment, panting. She looked into Goliath's stone face for the last time, and was enraged by the look of happy bemusement she found there. "HOW COULD YOU LOVE HER INSTEAD OF ME?!" she screamed, barely even aware that she had spoken at all. Again and again Demona's mace crunched down, until only broken bits of grey stone lay before her.

Demona stood there in silence, gazing upon the dead gargoyles. She had no anger left. She felt no sadness. Neither did she feel the elation she normally felt upon destroying her enemies. She was, perhaps, on the brink of feeling any of these emotions, but for now she existed in an emotional void, uncertain of what to feel. Something round rolled against her leg. Demona slowly turned her gaze downward and looked into the empty stone eyes of Angela's head.

Now Demona knew exactly what to feel, and it was to change her life, such as it was. Demona felt an overpowering horror at what she had done. Her own daughter had died at her hands, never mind that Angela had forsaken her for her father, Goliath. If there was one gargoyle in Goliath's clan that Demona had never truly wanted to see dead, it was Angela. Now, her head lay on the floor, and Demona was responsible.

With a wrench, Demona realized that Angela's death was not the only one that horrified her. A thousand years ago, Demona had returned to a castle of corpses. The vikings had slaughtered her sleeping brothers and sisters almost to a one. Now, she had finished their work for them. In human form no less! Far better that they should have died from the virus then for Demona to have become such a monster.

So befuddled was Demona by the feelings she was experiencing, it took her minutes of confusion to realize that her heart was broken. She hadn't realized how much Goliath still meant to her. In the past, she had often longed to have his wings embrace her again, to be in love as they had been a millennium ago. Even after he had betrayed her in favor of protecting humanity, it took every ounce of hatred Demona could muster every time she tried to kill him. She abruptly realized that even her short-lived and ill-fated romance with Thailog, Goliath's clone, had been intended to inspire jealousy in Goliath, in the wan hope that he would return to her. Now he would never be able to return to her.

"NOOOO!!!" a voice screamed behind her. Demona felt a sledgehammer blow to her back, followed by an excruciating stab of pain. Another blow followed, and another. Demona's ears vaguely registered the sounds of a gun being fired. Even as Demona fell to the ground, the blows kept coming. One bullet ripped through her shoulder, spinning the dying woman around. Through dimming vision, Demona could see Elisa Maza standing in a castle doorway, tears streaming down her face as she pulled the trigger on her gun again and again. Even as Demona's lungs filled with blood, Demona suddenly realized that she didn't hate Elisa anymore. She didn't hate Goliath, or any of his clan. She didn't even hate humans. There was only one person Demona hated now, and that was Demona. For the first time in her life, Demona croaked out the phrase that would become a symbol of her tragic mistake. "I'm sorry," she whispered. Then, Demona died.

* * * * * * * *

Crouched under a tree half a mile outside of Berlin, Demona sobbed and mumbled those same two words over and over again. But there was no one left to forgive her.

* * * * * * * *

Elisa Maza, who was quite literally the last person in the world who would ever have forgiven Demona, was relaxing in her makeshift home in central Berlin. Over the past two centuries, the former detective had set up living quarters in ruined cities across the globe. Still, it was rare indeed that she allowed herself time to relax in one.

Elisa sighed and continued to read from the ancient book she had salvaged from a decrepit bookstore nearby. She had recognized it as a fairly popular novel back when there had still been people to popularize it. She herself hadn't thought it looked that good, but it was in English, so she picked it up. Besides, she thought wryly, any book that's been on the bestsellers list for two-hundred and twenty-five years can't be all bad.

After a few minutes, she gave up with a sigh. It was hard to read in the flickering light provided by the old battery-powered generator in the basement. Coyote, of course, carried an array of lights of varying intensity, but he tended to spend the night in immobility. He was running solely on solar power now, and at night preferred to conserve energy for emergency use. He also preferred Elisa to stay out of trouble when he was dormant.

Elisa smiled. He'd been courteous enough, but Elisa knew that Coyote was peeved at her for trying to tackle Demona at night. It was sort of sweet, how protective the robot was of her. Also rather ironic, really. After all, Coyote was assisting her in her own suicide.

Elisa would have preferred to have fought Demona in the daytime, when she was more than a match for her Prey physically, and had Coyote at her side. Still, when she had located Demona, almost by accident, she hadn't hesitated in confronting her. It could quite possibly be years before she had another chance to destroy her enemy. Years of painstakingly using the link between them to narrow down what part of the world Demona was in. Even half a world away, Elisa could still faintly feel the agony of Demona's transformations at dawn and dusk. By calculating the number of hours between each transformation, Elisa could tell whether Demona was closer to the Equator or to one of the poles. By measuring the time between Demona's dawn and her own, she could often tell approximately how far east or west she was. Sadly, even when Elisa had narrowed the distance between them enough to render that information useless, she still had a whole lot of area to cover. But what good was a detective if she couldn't track a lone gargoyle-human across a totally unpopulated planet?

Nevertheless, when Elisa discovered Demona's latest roost on a late-night supply run, she had decided not to run the risk that Demona might move on before sunrise. After all, Elisa was armed with her new-found laser, and had the element of surprise on her side. It had been a good wager, but unfortunately, one she had lost. Now she had to sit and recover as Demona grew more and more distant. She would find her again. It might take another century, but Demona couldn't evade her forever.

That thought caused Elisa to laugh out loud. It was amazing how immortality put lengths of time in perspective. Back when she'd been a cop, she would have been out of her skull with irritation if a case lasted more than a year or two. Now a century of searching didn't seem too long at all.

Idly, Elisa wondered what she'd do for her three-hundredth birthday. It was, after all, less than half a century away, assuming, of course, that her hunt lasted that long. On her two-hundredth birthday, Coyote had baked a cake for her (where he had obtained the ingredients, Elisa had no idea). Somehow, the bulky robot had managed to decorate the cake with two-hundred tiny flaming candles. When Elisa questioned the robot, it simply shrugged and replied, "I was programmed with knowledge of a large number of human customs." Still, Elisa could have sworn that a grin crossed what remained of the robot's face. Elisa wondered how on earth Xanatos had managed to program a sense of humor into his formidable creation.

Xanatos. Whenever she let her mind wander, it always drifted to the past and the extraordinary, yet tragic, twist her life had taken. She couldn't remember many of the details of those fateful years before she had assumed her role as Hunter. Two and a half centuries of life had a way of focusing one's memories on the major events. Elisa could clearly remember the day she'd met Goliath. She had backed off the edge of one of the highest skyscrapers in the world. Not a banner moment for her ego. Still, if it was the only way that she could have come to know Goliath, she wouldn't have had it any other way. Elisa remembered Goliath's clan, Hudson, Brooklin, Broadway, Lexington, Bronx, and later, Angela. In her mind, she could see their faces, hear their voices...remember their deaths.

* * * * * * * *

Elisa and Jason stared in shock at the innocuous puddle of purple fluid on the ground before them. If Jason's sister was to be believed, they had just witnessed the death of humanity. If Demona was to be believed, they had also witnessed the death of every gargoyle. Jason's sister looked devastated, and probably with good reason. Robyn had been able to infiltrate Demona's headquarters in time to discover her horrible plans, but barely too late to stop her. "So, what do we do now?" she asked hopelessly.

Elisa shrugged as best she could. She was burdened with Jason, who had been critically wounded while trying to protect Goliath from his crazed brother, John. The three of them, Jason, John, and Robyn had all been Hunters, sworn to destroy gargoyles wherever they could be found, and especially to destroy Demona. It was fascinating, the changes the three siblings had gone through in the space of a day. John had once been the most reluctant of the Hunters, wishing to give any enemy of Demona the benefit of the doubt. When he witnessed Goliath knock his brother Jason off the edge of a dam, he became consumed by guilt and obsessed with the goal of destroying every gargoyle. This obsession had orginially belonged to Jason, who had changed his mind after his foolish vendetta nearly cost him the life of Elisa Maza, a woman he had developed very strong feelings for. So complete was his change, that he threw himself between John and Goliath when John fired his weapon. The blast struck Jason just above his stomach, leaving a clear and grievous wound. Upon seeing what he had done, John lost what remaining shreads of sanity he posessed and rocketed off, vowing to destroy every gargoyle for what "they" had done to his brother. John's shot had burned a hole through Jason's torso, and Elisa had wanted to get him to an ambulance immediately. However, Jason had insisted on staying to witness the confrontation with Demona. It could have gone better. "I don't know," Elisa admitted. "How long do we have?"

"No more than a day or two, according to Demona's files," Robyn responded.

Jason coughed and mumbled, "Well, the Hunt's over. There's no way that we'll last long enough to find her again. It doesn't really matter, now that Demona has won. Every human on the planet is doomed."

"Every gargoyle, as well," Goliath rumbled in frustration. "I had hoped that by destroying the statue that protected us, she would have ended her mad scheme. Instead, I've doomed us all, human and gargoyle alike."

Jason sighed. "I'm sorry, Goliath, really I am." He smiled bitterly. "Still, on the bright side, this means that the Hunt was a success. Th' demon has finally been killed. It's too bad that she had ta take everyone else with her."

Elisa didn't bring up the subject of Demona's immortality. It wouldn't have helped matters any, and besides, there was at least a chance that Demona would die when her virus destroyed MacBeth. At any rate, Jason didn't wait long before continuing, "There's really nothing left for us to do. Robyn, I don't want ye to spend yuir last days in prison. Get out of here while ye can. I hear Bermuda's nice this time of year..."

Robyn shook her head determinedly. "There's no way I'd abandon ye. Not now, and not ever. But we have ta get ye to a hospital, that is certain."

"It doesn't really matter, sis. If this doesn't kill me, th' plague surely will. I'd much rather spend my last days with friends..." That last sentence was accompanied by a longing glance at Elisa. Elisa smiled sadly at him and subtly glanced at Goliath. Elisa was very fond of Jason, but there was someone who had taken a place in her heart that no one else could ever hope to fill. Jason read that sad smile as clearly as if Elisa had shouted her love for Goliath to the world, and returned a sad smile of his own. "Then again, my friends'll be there fer me at th' hospital as well."

His sister nodded, and she gently took custody of her brother from Elisa. "I'll visit you as soon as I get the chance," Elisa promised.

Before his sister could take him outside, Jason addressed Goliath and said, "Take care of Elisa, okay? She's something special."

Goliath, who until a few minutes ago had vowed to kill the former Hunter, bowed to him instead. "Yes, she is," he answered solemnly. With that, Robyn carried her brother out to surrender to the police, who had surrounded the building.

"You guys should really be going," Elisa noted. "New York's finest haven't been all that fond of you since the clock tower over our station blew up, present company excluded, of course."

Goliath nodded. With a gesture, his clan began to climb out windows and scale the side of the old cathedral that had housed their final confrontation with Demona. Goliath turned to Elisa and said, "Please, come with us?"

Elisa nodded demurely, and then hopped onto Goliath's back. It wasn't like her precinct was going to need her much longer, and she'd rather spend her final days with Goliath.

From her position on Goliath's back, Elisa could see quite a distance. All around the base of the cathedral she could make out the flashing lights of dozens of police cars. Someone with a megaphone was screaming at the gargoyles to turn themselves in. After a moment, a few of the tiny figures below began firing, none coming close to the mark. On top of the building, Goliath joined his clan, and shifted Elisa from his back into his arms. If he was going to be gliding, he would need his wings free. Noting Goliath's actions, Hudson carefully hefted Bronx. The clan dashed toward the edge of the building, preparing to leap off and fly to some safer locale. It might have worked, but for the police helicopter which chose that moment to ascend just beyond the edge of the building. The gargoyles turned to run, only to discover that another helicopter, a red and black one, was approaching from the other side.

All seemed lost. Suddenly, the door of the second helicopter slid open, and Elisa could see Xanatos frantically gesturing for them to enter. After a moment's hesitation, Goliath complied, seeing little alternative. The police chopper's machine guns stitched holes across the roof of the building behind them, and the door of Xanatos's helicopter slammed shut just as bullets began to ping off of the chopper's bullet-proof frame.

"Well, that was exciting," noted Xanatos, as his helicopter raced away from the cathedral faster than the police helicopters had any hope of following. "Why the sad faces? You got away, and I've got quite a surprise for you-"

"We have failed," Goliath interrupted.

"What do you mean?" Xanatos asked apprehensively.

"Demona released a virus," Lexington explained. "Everyone in the world is going to die in only a few weeks. Gargoyles, too."

"WHAT?" demanded Xanatos, turning as white as a sheet. "You're joking, right?" Even as he spoke, Xanatos knew they weren't. "No...it's not fair!"

Then, he nearly panicked. "Fox! Turn this thing around! We can't go back now! Alexander will be infected!"

Gently, Elisa explained, "It doesn't matter. The virus is fast; it's probably already there by now. Even if it isn't, it'll be there by tomorrow."

Sighing, Xanatos nodded. Fox had already changed back to her former heading. Elisa couldn't see Xanatos's wife from where she was sitting, but had little doubt that she was as depressed as the rest of them.

Brooding, Xanatos said, "Well, I guess there's no point in keeping the surprise from you. I'd like you to make Castle Wyvern your home once more."

Even in the face of tragedy, Goliath and his clan brightened at this. "You mean it?" asked Broadway.

"No tricks, this time?" added Brooklin with a hint of suspicion.

"No tricks," Xanatos responded. "What would be the point? We'll all be dead soon enough," he finished bitterly. Then, wistfully, "All those years of research, and now I'll never achieve immortality. What would be the point of living forever in an empty world, anyway?"

"Perhaps tha's somethin' ye should ask Demona," Hudson drawled.

Xanatos flashed a wan smile. "If I see her, I'll be sure to ask her. But for now, we seem to be approaching the castle."

* * * * * * * *

It was nearly sunrise. Brooklin, Broadway, and Lexington had spent the remainder of the night showing Angela around the old castle, in spite of the fact that Angela wouldn't be living there long. Hudson had found an old book and was practicing his reading. "Ye never know what ye may need ta know in th' next world," the old gargoyle explained. Bronx contented himself with sleeping at Hudson's feet. Elisa had felt sorry for the dog-like creature. Soon, it would be all alone. Elisa would have to remember to let Bronx loose outside of the building before she deteriorated too far.

Elisa and Goliath had taken advantage of their precious time alone, and had been contented to merely walk along the corridors of Castle Wyvern in silence, enjoying each other's company. Foremost on the minds of each was the other, and the feelings the two of them silently shared. Still, neither of them had quite figured out what it was that they wanted to say to one another.

With sunrise only an hour away, Goliath and Elisa found themselves at the door to Xanatos and Fox's room. The door was already opened a crack, but the two of them knocked politely anyway. They were half surprised to hear Owen's voice call, "Detective, Goliath, please come in. Mr. Xanatos has been expecting you."

The sight that greeted them was startling. Xanatos and his wife were lying in bed, obviously close to death. Elisa was feeling under the weather, but she was nowhere near as far gone as these two were. Fox was the first to speak, "Looking good, detective." She coughed convulsively before adding, "Relatively speaking, of course."

"What happened?" Elisa asked.

"Apparently, some of us are more vulnerable than others," Xanatos rasped. "Quite the little brew Demona cooked up, isn't it? I'd almost admire her if she hadn't killed me with it. I kind of resent that, after all." Xanatos's pale face twisted into his trademark smirk for a moment.

Uncertain of what to say, Elisa changed the subject. "Little Alex seems to be getting along well."

Xanatos beamed for a moment. "You can thank Owen for that. He's using his magic to keep the little tyke going. It's his job after all. Alex may end up being the last human alive on the planet."

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Xanatos," Owen responded gravely. "I must regretfully inform you that I, too, have contracted the disease."

Four jaws dropped. Alexander gurgled contentedly. "How is that possible?" demanded Goliath. "You are one of Oberon's Children!"

"Allow me to explain. I took the liberty of examining Demona's virus, both magically and scientifically. I found that the virus which carries the toxin carries a strong iron content. That makes the virus itself rather harmful to members of the Third Race, even were the toxin not present. In addition, it makes it extremely difficult to hold the virus at bay. I can assure you, that I am using every ounce of my power to preserve Alexander. I can also assure you that, even were I myself not dying, I could not stop the spread of the disease. Perhaps Oberon himself could provide enough magic to destroy it, but not I."

There was a moment of silence. Then, something extraordinary happened, something that caught Elisa, Goliath, Fox, and even Owen entirely off guard. David Xanatos, multibillionare and part-time megalomaniac, began to weep. David Xanatos, a man who had possessed the inner strength and self-confidence to change a twenty-thousand dollar coin into a world-spanning industrial empire, a man who had the guts to work with a creature who wanted to see him and all of his kind dead, a man who had the willpower to bring life to cold, dead stone, had finally been defeated. Utterly crushed. Fox gazed at her husband, trying to absorb the significance of his sobs; she gazed at a face that she had never known to be wet with tears. Finally, with a weary sigh, she laid back down and stared at the ceiling, her own hope draining away. "Oh, David," she sobbed, her own tears beginning to flow.

"It was my last hope," Xanatos rasped, after a few minutes had passed. "My last chance for immortality, through Alexander. Now he's going to die, too. Little Alex is going to die. Fox? Fox, I'm sorry. Sorry for everything. Fox?"

Fox didn't answer. Sometime in the past minute, she had quietly stopped breathing. It took only a moment for Owen to determine that she was dead. Xanatos said nothing, but a violent shudder passed through him for a moment. Then, he was still. His face assumed a very calm expression. "Owen?" he said. For a moment, his voice had regained it's authoritative force.

"Yes, Mr. Xanatos?"

"You have served me faithfully for years. No one could have asked for a more loyal right-hand man." Then, more quietly, "No one could have asked for a better friend." Xanatos coughed harshly for a moment, and then continued, "I would like you to serve me one last time."

"Anything, Mr. Xanatos."

"For starters, call me David. You've more than earned that right. But, more importantly, I wish for you to assume control of Xanatos Enterprises after I'm gone. Take whatever steps you feel necessary to try to save my son. If that proves impossible, do whatever you can to save yourself. If that, too, proves impossible, do whatever seems appropriate. Xanatos Enterprises is yours, Owen. I wish you luck."

In a tone of voice dangerously close to expressing emotion, Owen replied, "Yes, Mr. Xan--David. If I may say, sir, it has been a pleasure and an honor to work with you."

"Thank you, Owen, that will be all." A haggard grin spread across Xanatos's face. Owen returned a sad smile of his own.

The dying man turned tired eyes onto Elisa and Goliath. He chuckled a moment and said, "It looks like Goliath is going to outlive David this time around. And me without my sling. Well, Goliath, you finally get to see me dead."

"I have never wished for your death, Xanatos," Goliath responded.

"Liar. I'd ask for you to forgive me for all I've put you and your clan through, but that would be asking a lot, even from my deathbed. Besides, you've put me through quite a bit of grief yourself. Still, no hard feelings. You've been a worthy adversary. As have you, Detective. I wish you both the best of luck." Xanatos's face paled for a moment and he gritted his teeth. "I suppose I'll be going now. It wouldn't do for me to be late for my final appointment." With that, Xanatos sighed and slipped away into death. Owen solemnly closed his former employer's unseeing eyes.

Owen turned to Elisa and Goliath. In a voice on the verge of cracking, he said, "If you will excuse me, I must tend to Alexander."

Goliath nodded once, and put an arm around Elisa's shoulder. "Come, Elisa," he rumbled. Elisa put up no resistance as Goliath led her from the room.

The two of them walked down the hallway. Elisa wiped her moist eyes with her sleeve and laughed weakly. "I'd never thought I'd be so upset to see Xanatos die."

"Only the wicked take joy in death," Goliath responded. "Your emotions do you credit, Elisa. I am proud to have known you."

"Don't start talking like that," Elisa scolded. "We've still got some time left. Besides, maybe Owen'll find a cure!"

"Perhaps," Goliath responded. The two walked onwards in silence.

Five minutes before dawn. The six gargoyles and Bronx were taking up their positions on the parapets of Castle Wyvern. Angela obviously seemed thrilled to be spending her first night in her clan's ancestral home, even if it was one of her last nights, and had many questions. Brooklin, Broadway, and Lexington seemed more than willing to accommodate her. Hudson was merely staring out over the city. He was wise enough to know that Elisa and Goliath wanted a moment alone.

"Please, Elisa," pleaded Goliath, her hands held gently within his own massive paws, "please be here to greet us when we awake!"

Elisa smiled tenderly at him. "Don't worry, Goliath. I won't die today. I won't let myself. I'll see you again tomorrow night, and if Owen is successful, every night afterwards. I've got a good thing going here, and I'm not going to give it up that easily!" Elisa lowered her head, and steeled herself for what she was about to say. She gazed into Goliath's eyes. "Goliath? I...I just want you to know. I love you. With all my heart, I love you."

Goliath smiled at her, a warm happiness filling his massive form. "I love you, too, Elisa Maza," he answered. Then he was half surprised to find Elisa's arms locked around his neck, her lips pressed against his. His last thoughts before his flesh stiffened into stone for the last time were peaceful and contented.

Elisa disengaged herself from the stone statue and gazed at it tenderly. A tiny part of her being was screaming, Oh, Elisa! It'll never work. Another tiny part retorted, What does it matter? I'll likely be dead in a few days, anyway. The vast majority of herself was steadfastly ignoring both, filling Elisa with the happiness of the moment. Elisa glanced at the other statues, and giggled. Brooklin had evidently turned to stone just as he had taken a glance at them. The look of shock on his face was priceless.

Whistling idly to herself, Elisa turned to head back into the castle. She wanted to get a good day's sleep, so she'd be well- rested for Goliath when he awoke. Elisa was halfway down the long hallway when she heard the first noise. Sort a muffled crunch, and a pattering sound, like...like...pebbles? Elisa froze, her stomach twisting with horror. No...

Elisa turned and began to run as fast as she could. With each step, the steady crunching grew louder. Elisa tripped on a loose tile and tumbled painfully to the ground. She staggered to her feet, ignoring the stabbing pain in her ankle and kept running. Then, there was a pause in the ruckus. Elisa muttered desperate prayers to whatever deities might be listening and doubled her pace. Ten steps...Five steps...Two steps...Elisa slammed open the castle door just in time to see Demona's mace connect with Goliath's stone head. Elisa watched in dumb horror as the madwoman reduced her love, and her heart, to lifeless powder.

It was done. The pounding ceased. Still, Elisa could not move. Her mind tried to cope with the fact that Goliath was dead, and refused to consider any action until it could come to grips with that.

Demona, too, seemed deep in thought, mace hanging limply at her side. As Elisa watched, Angela's stone head rolled across the castle stones to rest against Demona's leg. Now, Demona seemed almost to crumple. Why, Elisa was in no condition to guess.

Elisa's mind still couldn't handle what had happened. But another thought finally forced its way through Elisa's tortured consciousness: Goliath had been killed, and his murderer was still standing.

Somewhat belatedly, Elisa shrieked, "NOOOO!!!" She ripped her revolver free of its holster and fired. Red blood sprayed from Demona's chest as the bullet ripped through her fragile human form. Elisa fired again and again, each shot followed by another blossom of red fluid. Demona fell, turning in midair to give Elisa a nightmarish look of sorrow. Elisa kept firing, even after Demona's body had struck the ground. It took Elisa several minutes to realize that she was out of bullets before she stopped pulling the trigger.

The gun fell from Elisa's limp fingers. A sob racked her body. Slowly, Elisa approached the pile of rubble that was all that remained of the mightiest of the gargoyles. Hesitantly, she picked up a double handful of stones and pebbles and stared at them, almost fascinated by their mundanity. Her eyes filled with tears, and her hands tightened their grip on the rocks. The sharp edges bit into the skin of Elisa's palms, and soon a thin trickle of blood ran down each arm. Elisa didn't seem to notice. She dropped to her knees, and then collapsed onto Goliath's shattered remains. She wept like she never had before, chest heaving with each tortured sob, tears flowing freely. After a long time, her sobbing subsided to quiet crying. It was then that she noticed that she was not alone.

Elisa lifted her head and peered through reddened eyes at Owen. He was standing, as always, ramrod straight, cradling Alexander gently in his stone arm. Owen's face had assumed its usual calm, but for one difference. A twin trail of tears marked an almost perfectly straight line down each side of his face. Not even for the death of his friend and employer had Owen cried.

With precise movements, Owen pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dried his face, never once losing his calm expression. When he was done he extended his hand to Elisa and said, "My condolences for your loss. May I help you up?"

Shaking, Elisa accepted his help. She felt sick to her stomach, and wondered how much of that was caused by her illness, and how much was caused by the horror she had just witnessed. "He's dead," Elisa informed Owen, still not quite believing it herself.

Owen adjusted his glasses. "So I see." From Owen's arm, Alexander gurgled contentedly, obviously not quite understanding the situation.

"But I killed her!" Elisa assured him, almost insanely, "See, I shot her dead!" Even before a frown could cross Owen's face, Elisa realized her mistake. Demona wasn't that easy to kill. A quick glance revealed that the multiple bullet wounds across Demona's body were already beginning to close. "No! She's gotta die! She has to!" Elisa briefly considered throwing Demona off of the edge of the building, but discarded that thought as soon as it crossed her mind. It would do no more good than shooting her had. Besides, the thought of throwing a dead body off of a skyscraper--even Demona's dead body--added considerably to her nausea.

There was one other hope. "Cure?" Elisa asked Owen.

Sadly, he shook his head. "Even were we given a year to research, rather than a mere day it would be of little use. Demona's plague is too well-made. I knew this even before Xanatos gave me control of his empire. I'm certain that he knew as well. There is really only one task remaining. Demona cannot go unpunished for her evil. She must die." Elisa hung ravenously on every word. A black lump of hatred had formed in her heart, hatred for Demona. If Owen knew a way to kill her, Elisa was willing to die to help him.

Owen held Alexander out at arm's length and smiled at him. "Master Alex? I'm afraid it's time for your final lesson." Owen's features shifted and changed. His ears grew points, and jutted out at a jaunty angle from his hair, which was now much longer and white instead of blond. His business suit was transformed into a gaily colored medieval tunic and leggings. Merry eyes twinkled out of a mischievous face, a face that belonged to Puck, infamous trickster and magic user extraordinaire. Alexander giggled. He loved it whenever Owen changed into Puck. All sorts of fun things were bound to happen now.

Puck bowed deeply to Elisa, and said, "My dear Elisa! Puck would make a bargain with you. Will you deal?"

"What sort of bargain?" Elisa frowned, throwing a venomous glance at Demona's healing corpse.

Puck twirled in the air and deposited Alexander on the ground. Alexander clapped his hands together and laughed. "Ha! I knew you were interested. Here's my problem. I want Demona dead, you want Demona dead. She's killed me, too, after all, and that's not something a Child of Oberon takes lightly. So, you think, there shouldn't be a problem then, hmm?"

"Spit it out, Puck," Elisa sighed.

"Right! My problem is that I have other obligations. I am to see to Alexander's welfare as long as I am able. I am twice bound thusly: Oberon's geas holds me to my task, and the last wish of a dead friend seals my will where mere orders might prove inadequate. And so you can see my dilemma."

"So what can you do?"

Puck zipped in a circle around Elisa, giving her one more reason to feel queasy. Puck stopped, face an inch away from Elisa's. "I can give you the power to kill Demona, that's what I can do," Puck whispered. Then he zipped away to wait for Elisa's reaction.

"What do I need to do?" Elisa asked.

"The only way I can expend the power I need to grant you your wish is by sapping power that I could otherwise use to keep Alexander alive. If I use this power, I must have your promise that you will take care of Alexander after I die. If I die alone, then Alex will spend his last days in misery, hungry and lonely. I'd hardly leave the tyke in the tender hands of Madame Genocide over there." Puck gestured at Demona contemptuously. "But with a friendly immortal to care for him, even one bent on revenge, Alex would not need to suffer. That is my price. Agree to care for Alex until he dies, BEFORE you execute Demona, and I will grant you the power to do just that."

Elisa glanced at Puck, and then at Demona. She wanted to kill Demona now. But would she in a week? As far as she knew, Alex might last at least that long with Puck's help. But if agreeing to Puck's demand was the only way she could avenge Goliath, she was willing. The thought of agreeing and then betraying Puck never even crossed her mind, even then. "I'll do it," she said. "What are you going to do?"

"Excellent!" Puck beamed. "Now pay attention, Detective. You might learn something. Alex, I'm going to teach you something about rules: The Rule that Cannot be Broken Can Surely Be Bent! This is important when dealing with spells that have been cast by magic users more powerful than yourself. Now watch..."

Puck began to chant,

As Puck finished his verse, a faint blue line appeared in the air. It began at Demona's body, poked through the castle battlements, and continued out beyond the edge of the building in a vaguely eastern direction. It disappeared over the edge of the horizon. "That's the spell that's keeping Demona alive?" Elisa asked. Tentatively, she reached out to touch it. Her hand passed through the blue line without resistance. "Can you destroy it?"

Abruptly, a ruler appeared in Puck's hand. He proceeded to whap Elisa on the head with it. "Someone hasn't been paying attention in class!" he scolded. He chuckled and dodged out of the way before Elisa could steal his ruler. "There's no way that I could destroy it. Even were I in top form, there are three Weird Sisters, and only one little old me! Three heads may not be better than one when it comes to social skills, but boy can they cobble a spell together...But that doesn't mean that we can't fiddle with it a bit. Here, Alex, look at how the spell is put together." The baby obediently stared at the blue line. He was never able to comprehend Puck's sorceries, but everything he learned stayed in his memory, thanks to Puck's influence. By the time Alex was ten, he would have been a formidable magic user. "You see this bit?" Puck said, pulling a slimmer strand apart from the main line of the spell, "This part doesn't do anything anymore. It's a simple life draining spell, set to work once when the spell was originally cast. The Sisters used it to give Demona some of MacBeth's youth. Oddly enough, that was all that MacBeth and Demona thought the spell was going to do. Boy, were they surprised when they found out everything else the Sisters had in store for them! This part," he continued, selecting a thicker strand of the blue line, "is still active. It forms the main bulk of the bond. It, too, is a fairly simple spell, one used to fuse two life-forces into one. When Demona and MacBeth are close enough together, this allows them to feel one another's pain, and causes both to die when one dies. It's a bit strained right now, as Demona and MacBeth are so far apart. MacBeth probably felt Demona die when Elisa shot her, but didn't die himself, you see?" Alex nodded and gurgled. "Right. I've seen these spells cast a lot, usually as punishment, or to teach compassion. You know, link the tyrant to the peasant, or some such similar nonsense. But here's what makes this particular variation interesting." Puck gently separated a gossamer thread of blue from the linking spell. "This addition to the spell makes it so that when one dies, both will come back alive unless one has killed the other! It's a brilliant piece of work, and I'm not quite sure how those three minxes pulled it off." Puck released the spell, and it reformed into a single blue line. "There are some other spells there, too, mainly maintenance and protection spells to keep anything from disrupting the main spell. But these are the important bits."

Puck paused, as if to see if Alex was absorbing everything. In spite of her bloodlust, Elisa, too, found herself fascinated by the lecture on Demona's immortality spell. Puck continued, "Now, as you remember, high-level spells--soul transfers, for example--require the willing participation of the victim--er, subject. This spell is like that. When Demona and MacBeth were bonded by the Weird Sisters, it was with their consent and support, although, as I mentioned, they probably didn't know the other goodies that came with the package. So, what do we need to do? Well, what are our obstacles? We can't break the spell. Not enough power. So, we need to bend it. The spell cannot be broken, but it can be redirected! Two problems with this: either Demona or MacBeth needs to be willing to give up their end of the spell, and we need a volunteer to take up the slack. Comprende, Seniorita?" Puck grinned, eyeing Elisa. It suddenly dawned on the detective what Puck was up to. Elisa beamed and nodded. "Ha! It seems we have a volunteer. However, it seems unlikely that Demona would be willing to forego her immortality, even if she were alive right now. Fortunately, I know for a fact that MacBeth is tired of his own immortality, and more than willing to give it up. The bad news is: he's in Paris. The good news is: it doesn't matter! As long as he's willing to part with the spell, he doesn't HAVE to know we're taking it from him! Of course, it IS good etiquette to let him know we're making him mortal again, but desperate times call for desperate measures, after all! So, are you ready Detective?" Elisa nodded. "Ready Alex? Great! Now, repeat after me:

Young Alexander's eyes seemed to glow with an eerie green light. The infant's mouth opened, but instead of the usual gurgles, clear speech came forth to repeat Puck's rhymes. As Alex's small mouth closed around the final syllable, Elisa felt a wrenching sensation, followed by an intense feeling of relaxedness. She felt wide open, as if she had lowered all of her defenses and was ready to let the world in. She gazed with passive interest past half-closed eyelids, and noticed that she was now floating a good foot or two above the ground and glowing like a lightbulb. How nice.

"Hokay, kid!" enthused Puck. "MacBeth's ready to turn in the towel, and Elisa's ready to carry the torch! Now, we just have to let the spell itself know." Puck produced what looked like an ordinary hand-mirror. Puck grinned widely. "You know what comes next, doncha kid? C'mon, I've taught you this one already! Sing it with me!"

Neither Puck nor Alexander actually sang the verse, but it seemed not to matter. Puck's hand mirror caught the brilliant light of the dawning sun, and seemed to glow with an unearthly brightness. Puck grasped the top of the mirror with his free hand, clenched his eyes shut, and jammed the mirror into the bluely glowing spell. The mirror flared, and Puck was thrown backwards like a twig caught in a raging river. His body slammed forcefully against the castle battlements where the spell had, until that moment, exited the castle. Now, the spell ended at the mirror, which was glowing brighter and brighter by the second. Still, the elf kept his double grip on the mirror. Groaning with the effort, Puck slowly tilted the mirror a fraction of a degree. The mirror continued to brighten, shining with a light so intense it was pure pain to behold. Suddenly, like a dam bursting, the blue light of the spell erupted from the mirror and pierced Elisa's floating body. Elisa could feel the spell's energy filling her, washing over her, until she thought she was going to be snuffed out by sheer magical force. With what remained of her rational mind, Elisa observed that the blue line of the spell was now flowing from Demona into the mirror, and from the mirror into her own body. Then, like a rubber band released, the spell snapped away from the mirror, forming a single straight line between Elisa and Demona.

Elisa dropped to the ground. She suddenly felt pain. She'd been shot! But how? She felt white hot pain from at least six wounds. Keeping her teeth clenched to avoid screaming, Elisa visually scanned herself. Not a mark. Then she realized. It was Demona's wounds she was feeling. Obviously, the woman had healed enough to regain life, even if the wounds were far from closed, and still very painful. That meant that Elisa could kill her...

Elisa was just beginning to take a staggering step towards the helpless former gargoyle when she heard a crash, and the tinkle of glass on the ground. She turned her head to see that the mirror Puck had used had apparently shattered. The distraction was enough to remind Elisa of her obligation to Puck. She wanted Demona dead, and badly. But she hadn't yet deteriorated to the point that she was willing to forego her promise to her benefactor.

Elisa glanced at the elf and found that he had reassumed the identity of Owen. "So, what do we do with her until I can kill her?" asked Elisa.

Owen gently picked up Alexander, and answered, "Might I suggest the dungeon? David fortified it last month, as I recall. It should be strong enough to hold Demona for the time required."

"Great! It'll give Demona time to think over what she's done before she dies." Ignoring the agony Demona's wounds were causing her, Elisa grasped the woman under the armpits and began to drag her to the castle proper.

* * * * * * * *

Midday found Elisa walking out of a block of apartments. She had just paid a visit to her partner, Matt Bluestone. He was dying, of course, but otherwise was well. He didn't overreact when Elisa informed him of what was happening. It was a strange feeling, to talk to a man who you knew was going to be dead in less than a day, especially when that man was a close friend. Doubtless, Matt felt the same way talking to her. After all, she was dying, too, but she, at least, would recover. Of course, Matt didn't know that, and the two of them parted almost formally, neither willing to give into the emotions that threatened to destroy their composure. Once out of sight, Elisa had let the tears flow. That was to be the last time she would ever see Matt Bluestone, and she knew it. Just another life cut short by Demona's evil.

Elisa was panting by the time she reached the Eyrie Building, Xanatos's headquarters. Elisa was rather disturbed by this fact. She should have had no trouble at all walking from place to place--the streets were practically deserted. Even the looters were sick in bed. The virus was definitely taking its toll, both on Elisa and the city. The lone guard in the Eyrie lobby waved Elisa on through. Elisa was impressed with the guard's loyalty. He was obviously ill, but still on duty. Elisa felt a brief stab of guilt for abandoning her own duties, but assuaged the feeling by reminding herself that she was going to make sure that justice prevailed in the end.

Owen was there to greet her when she emerged from the elevator, Alex in arm. "Welcome back, Detective Maza. If you would permit me to say so, you are looking under the weather. Would you like to lie down?"

Elisa suddenly realized that she was exhausted and sore. Lying down sounded like bliss at that point. So blissful, that she almost collapsed right then and there. Fortunately, Owen grasped her with his free arm and gave her some support as she regained her balance. She nodded to him, and allowed herself to be led to a comfortable bed.

An hour later, former Detective Elisa Maza died for the first time. It was a cold, awful sensation, feeling your vital organs shutting down, and your brain grinding to a halt, but Owen and Alexander sat by her side throughout the whole ordeal. Owen's stern concerned frown and Alex's oblivious cheer provided Elisa with some comfort as she slipped away.

When Elisa Maza revived, she had no idea how much time had passed. Owen and Alexander were gone. A glance out of a nearby window revealed that it was dawn. In all likelihood, only a night had passed. I slept like a dead woman, Elisa thought with a wry smile. She stepped out of bed, idly noting that she was still dressed in the jeans, black t-shirt, and red jacket she had been wearing since she and Jason had fallen from the top of the dam into the river. That had seemed so long ago! Back when Jason and Goliath were both still alive. Back when everyone was still alive. Her clothes were definitely in need of a cleaning.

Just then, Elisa heard a polite knock. She opened the door to find Owen standing in the hall. He was holding a robe and a pair of slippers. "Ah, good morning, Detective. I am glad to see that you have recovered. Would you care to take a shower?"

"That sounds wonderful," smiled Elisa.

"Excellent. I would be happy to see that your clothes are washed in the meantime." Owen handed her the robe and slippers. Then, a look of indecision flashed across his stony countenance for the briefest of moments. "Detective,-"

"Please, call me Elisa."

"Of course. Elisa, I'm afraid that I have some disturbing news." Elisa raised her eyebrows, inviting Owen to continue. "First, I regret to inform you that you have again contracted Demona's virus. You have not yet developed any sort of immunity to it, and I anticipate that you may die several more times before you do."

Elisa grimaced. She did not relish the thought of dying again, without taking Demona with her, but saw little alternative. "I can live with that. So to speak."

Owen nodded. "The other problem is a bit more serious, I'm afraid. Demona has escaped."

"WHAT? When? How?"

"Demona escaped at approximately three-thirty this morning. The security cameras have clear footage of Demona utilizing a secret door in the back of her cell. It seems that we inadvertently locked Demona in a prison she could easily escape from." Owen lowered his eyes. "I am sorry, Elisa. I should have checked the blueprints before choosing a cell."

For a moment, Elisa was tempted to bolt. She wanted to get out of the building and track Demona down before she got too far away. But she couldn't. She couldn't allow herself to abandon Alexander, or her promise to care for him. "We all make mistakes," she sighed. "How am I going to find her again?" The spell which had illuminated Demona's link had faded over time, and Owen had already informed her that he would be unable to rationalize the magic he would have to expend to reestablish it.

"I am certain that you will find a way. You are, after all, a detective." Elisa nodded, and accepted the robe and slippers. She shut the door and listlessly began to change.

When she emerged from her shower, Elisa felt much better. She was somewhat surprised to find her clothes waiting for her, cleaned and pressed. As she dressed, Elisa wondered how Owen could have cleaned them so quickly. Magic? Probably not. He was forbidden from exercising his powers in so frivolous a manner. More likely, Xanatos merely had very efficient machines for cleaning and pressing clothes.

As she closed the zipper on her jacket, Elisa noticed that a note had been left for her on the chair. It was from Owen, requesting that she come to the secondary hanger on the 142nd floor. No further explanation was given. Elisa began to walk, curious to know what Owen wanted.

Owen was, of course, expecting her. "Feeling refreshed, Detective?" he asked, voice echoing throughout the enormous hangar. "Excellent. I have a gift for you."

Owen aimed a remote control at the center of the chamber and pressed a button. A large door in the floor of the hangar slid open, and an enormous yellow robot was pushed into view by a powerful hydraulic platform. The robot's somewhat thin cylindrical body was supported by two stout legs. Evenly spaced near the top of the cylinder were three robotic arms, each possessing three joints and ending in three-fingered hands. Mounted on top was a sort of banana-shaped head. It looked smooth and regular, but Elisa could see seams and panels that probably hid an array of sensors and other hidden gadgetry. But most intriguing was the center portion of the cylindrical body. There, the yellow metal that composed the bulk of the robot's body was replaced by some sort of transparent material. From this window, a familiar face grinned at her. Half of a familiar face, at any rate. "Coyote?" Elisa asked.

"Coyote Mark V to be precise," the robot answered, stomping forward to greet her. "But believe me when I say that I harbor no hard feelings towards you for the role you played in the destruction of my former incarnations. Of course, I harbor no feelings at all."

"Coyote has been programmed with knowledge of your mission," said Owen, polishing his glasses with a handkerchief. "It is my hope that it will be of great help to you during your search for Demona."

Fascinated, Elisa walked slowly around the machine. She had never really had a chance to examine Coyote in any of his previous forms, largely due to the fact that the robot had generally been trying to execute her. She glanced at the transparent window, and saw that it wrapped all the way around the machine. In fact, Coyote's humanoid head had rotated inside of it to follow her as she walked around it. The larger head, too, looked as if it could be turned in any direction, and the upper torso could spin any of the three arms into any position. The robot had no real back or front, it seemed.

"Incredible," she sighed.

"I am, aren't I?" Coyote beamed. "I have all sorts of useful tools, too." Coyote held out an arm, which proceeded to sprout a number of gadgets of various sorts, including a particle beam non-projectile weapon. The other two arms possessed different sets of tools, but both included a particle beam cannon. Elisa could definitely get used to this. Just as Coyote was beginning to point out all of the sensors and spotlights built into his new body's head, Elisa noticed that Owen was beginning to look very pale.

"Owen, are you all right?" Elisa asked, concerned.

"I'm afraid not, Elisa. It seems that Demona's virus has entered its final stage." Owen stumbled. "Elisa, could you...help me to a bed?"

In only a few hours, a Child of Oberon passed away. To Elisa's knowledge, it was the first time such a thing had happened. She would never forget his last words, words that had steeled her to her task in the centuries to come. "Elisa," Owen began, "when you find Demona, before you kill her, remember all the lives she has taken. Remember the evil she has wrought. Remember why you Hunt her. Life is the most valuable possession we have in this world, Elisa, and Demona has taken it from everyone. Never forget." Elisa wondered if Oberon somehow knew he had lost a son. If she ever saw him, she would share Puck's last words with him.

In death, Owen appeared just as he had in life. Elisa had half expected something to happen to the body. Perhaps it would crumble into dust, or fade away, Yoda-style. At the very least, she had expected Owen to change back into Puck. Instead, Owen had died just like a human.

Elisa closed Owen's lifeless eyes and murmured, "Rest in peace, Puck."

* * * * * * * *

Two-hundred and twenty-five years later, Elisa turned her mind to Alexander. Alex had died a week after Owen. Evidently, Puck had cast some powerful spell to fight the virus before bringing Elisa down to meet Coyote. The billionaire's son was not a hard child to care for, being extremely good-natured and well-behaved. As futile as she knew the feelings to be, Elisa couldn't help becoming quite fond of the child. Which, of course, made his death all the more painful. Needless to say, Elisa had been more than eager to begin her Hunt once Alex had passed away.

Elisa relaxed in her chair and closed her eyes, preparing to sleep. In a few days, her leg would be whole again, and the Hunt could continue. For the time being, however, she had nothing to do but relax. Soon, the Hunter was asleep.

* * * * * * * *

Demona, too, was relaxing. She knew that she was safe for the moment, though every instinct in her body was screaming at her to keep moving, to keep running, to put as much distance between herself and her Hunter as possible. Demona usually did her travelling by night. Travel by gargoyle wing was much faster than travel by human foot. Tonight was an exception, however, as gargoyle wing would no longer hold her aloft. Demona had decided to use the night to rest, and allow her burned and sliced wing to regenerate. By morning, it would be mostly healed, and when she became a human, whatever remained would be reduced to a tiny wound on her back that would take no time at all to heal. Far better that she spend the day on foot than to walk at night, her wing screaming with every movement. Yes, tomorrow, she would continue running.

Why?

What was the point? Why must she live? There were no gargoyles left. There were no humans either, save for the Hunter--and the Hunter wished to see Demona dead as much as Demona did herself. So why must she live? Because someone must live. "Because life is the most valuable possession we have in this world." When had she heard those words? A long time ago, though not as old as some of the memories Demona carried. And so, Demona remembered...

* * * * * * * *

When Demona awoke, she found herself behind bars. The last thing she remembered was being shot again and again...Why? Then her memories came crashing back...Elisa and Goliath kissing... Demona murdering the last members of her clan...Angela's head at her feet. Demona sat on the cold stone floor, arms and wings wrapped around her knees, sobbing with horror and regret. Demona had no humans to blame this time. It was true that a human had held the mace that had ended seven gargoyle lives, but that human had been herself. If only she had stayed dead, those thousands of years ago! If only those accursed Weird Sisters hadn't fettered Demona with immortality. If only Elisa's bullets could have ended her life, she wouldn't have to feel the pain, the guilt that she was feeling now. For the first time in her millennium of life, Demona wished that she was dead.

"How sad," said a nearby voice, "it takes armageddon to teach a demon the value of life." Puck. Demona would recognize that voice anywhere. Go away, Demona thought, Go away if you're not going to kill me. Just leave me alone.

"You know, you're scheduled for execution in about a week," said Puck. "Elisa's not too pleased with what you did to Goliath, after all. And she's the Hunter, now."

For some reason, the news that she was going to get the death she thought she craved just didn't spawn the elation she thought she should feel. She'd been surviving for so long, that it just didn't feel right to accept death with open arms. Yet, after what she'd done, she didn't feel much like resisting it, either.

"Hellooo! Anyone awake in there?" Why must he torment her? Demona wondered. Just to make him shut up, Demona peered up at Puck. The elf was hovering in the air just outside of Demona's cage. "Thatagirl! I knew you had some of the ol' bane-of-humanity pep left in you! C'mon, we've gotta get you outta here, 'fore Elisa makes gargoyle stew of you!"

That caught Demona off guard. Why on earth would Puck want to help her? Especially after everything she'd done. How could anyone want to help her? She didn't even want to help herself! "Just let me die!" Demona snarled at the floating elf, eyes flaring red for a moment.

Puck looked stern for a minute. He waved a finger, and said "No, no, no, Demona. Don't even imagine that you're getting off that easy. After murdering two races, and possibly a third, death is far too easy a punishment for you."

Possibly a third? Demona's eyes widened in agonized horror. "What do you mean, a third?"

Puck twirled in the air, and bowed to the prisoner. "That's right, Demona, the curtain's finally falling on poor old Puck. I've contracted your wonderful little bug, and I'm probably not gonna last the day. And then the world shall mourn my passing..." Puck spoke those last few sentences with an exaggerated air of dramatic tragedy that would have been hilarious, had the words not been so tragically true. Puck assumed a serious cast. "And I'm a tough ol' feller, too. If your disease somehow reaches Avalon, not only will it make short work of the rest of Angela's hatchmates, it'll probably take a hunk outta the Children of Oberon population, too. Oberon might be able to survive it, and maybe Titania, but the others..."

Demona's stomach lurched. How could she ever have contemplated genocide? It was a terrible, terrible, thing! She wondered for a moment if she would have seen it that way had she succeeded in destroying only the human race. "I have to die," she whispered.

"No, you have to live. Don't you see, Demona? Because life is the most valuable possession we have in this world, and soon, you and Elisa will be the only ones left alive. It's too late for you to die now. Once, you could have died, and the world would have kept right on running without you. Probably would have been better off, too. Now, if you die, the entire race of gargoyles dies, as well as the last of the humans. If you think I have any intention of letting you finish what you've started, think again. You have to survive."

Survival. That, she did know how to do. For a moment, her old instincts flared up again. "But what's the use? If I flee, Elisa will find me again. She will track me down, just like MacBeth, and then she'll kill me, just like MacBeth has been trying to do for centuries. She has more reason to kill me than MacBeth ever had. What is a kingdom and a son, compared to the world and one's love?"

"That, Demona, is the lesson you never learned. The lesson you refused to learn, because it would make your revenge meaningless. Not all humans are alike. MacBeth was a king. He rose to his kingship through hard work, ruthless determination, and a powerful sense of honor. When you betray a man like that, his vengeance can span a thousand years, just as MacBeth's did. Elisa is a protector. Her very nature compels her to preserve innocent life, to protect the weak, and to see justice done--her soul is probably more gargoyle-like than yours ever was. She is not, by nature, a vengeful person, though your actions have forced her into the role. Did you know that MacBeth had given up his Hunt?" Demona shook her head. After what she had done to the man in Paris, it was the last thing she had expected. "Well, it's true. I wouldn't have been able to link you to Elisa if MacBeth hadn't been willing to give up his place. Elisa is a compassionate woman. She might be willing to talk to you again without sticking a knife between your ribs in as little as a century or two!"

"Why, then?" asked Demona. "If you want me to survive, and MacBeth no longer wants to kill me, why didn't you leave me linked to him?"

"Because you might already have killed him. Your disease would have wiped him out eventually, and even I was unsure whether or not that would be enough to kill you both. I needed to make sure, and the best way was to reset the spell. When you and Elisa were joined, the spell lost its memory, in a manner of speaking. It no longer knows that you released the virus, and so won't kill you when Elisa dies." Then Puck frowned. "It really is a pity that you had to go and smash the love of her life in front of her. Things would have been much simpler if she only had your multiple genocide to hate you for." The elf sighed and shrugged. "Still, one does what one can. Too bad Alex wasn't old enough be a good candidate for immortality." Puck glanced at his wrist, as though examining a watch. "Oops, it's getting late. You'd best be escaping."

"What?" asked Demona. "How?"

"Through that tunnel behind the loose stone over there in the corner, of course," Puck snapped impatiently.

"There's no tunnel there," protested Demona, a little suspiciously. She had grown up in this castle, and knew every nook and cranny. If there had ever been a secret tunnel there, Demona would have found it centuries ago. Still, she took a peek, and suddenly realized that one of the stones had changed color.

Demona glanced at Puck, who was trying to look innocent. "Really, it's in Alexander's best interests for you to escape. After all, as long as you're here Elisa could be tempted into forgetting her bargain. Ta ta! I'm off to muck about with Xanatos's state-of-the-art security cameras, just in case Elisa thinks to look." Puck waved cordially to Demona and vanished in a flash of green light.

Demona approached the discolored stone, and gently prodded it with a taloned finger. It moved under her touch, and with a little more pressure, revealed a narrow tunnel. It was almost too small for her lithe form to fit through (obviously, Puck saw no point in letting her escape be comfortable), but eventually she popped out of the other end of the tunnel--into open air hundreds of feet above the pavement.

Demona fell a few yards before she managed to flip open her wings and catch a warm updraft. Silently, she thanked the powers that be, whatever they might be, that Puck had not released her in the daytime. She had no doubt that she would recover (it would not have been the first time she had been splattered messily across the ground), but it was not a process she would relish.

Demona glided purposefully towards the New York branch of Nightstone Unlimited, the multinational corporation she had once shared with Thailog, and now ran in his stead. There, she would find the resources she needed to put as much distance between herself and Elisa as possible, as well as equipment to keep that distance as wide as possible. The best way to avoid being killed by Elisa, after all, was to avoid meeting her in the first place.

When, she wondered, had she decided to survive? Puck's little inspirational? Hardly. Part of her still yearned for the death she so desperately deserved. That part of her continually tried to remind her of a stone head at her feet. Of a handsome warrior reduced to gravel by her hand. It was far less painful to think of survival. As long as she kept her mind on trying to figure out how she could continue to live, she would have less time to ponder the many reasons that she should not...

* * * * * * * *

It had been more than two centuries since that day, Demona was certain of that. The changes Puck had promised in Elisa had not surfaced. If anything, the former detective seemed to hate her more than ever. And still she ran. Demona had thought herself alone for those first thousand years after the Weird Sisters enchanted her, but she had not known the meaning of the word. To be hated and Hunted by the only other person on the planet--that was truly alone.

The sun began to rise. Demona waited listlessly as the transformation overcame her in all of its glorious agony. This time, however, she barely cried out. When it was finished, the painful gash in her wing had been reduced to a tolerable scratch on her back, which was disappearing even as she thought about it. Really, she should start moving. She had to keep moving. She had to survive.

Still, Elisa wouldn't have recovered yet, and she would still be out of the running for a week, at least. Demona could afford to rest another day. Just one more day, and then she could start running again.

Just one more day.

* * * * * * * *

As usual, Coyote was sitting in silence, a monolithic yellow sentinel guarding Elisa as she slumbered. The robot had been Elisa's guardian and sole companion for hundreds of years. Coyote knew that Elisa found him laughable as a guardian. What need had an immortal for a guardian? In fact, Elisa had been forced to repair or upgrade the robot far more often than Coyote had had any opportunities to protect her. It was true that he had saved her from some painful, even temporarily fatal, situations every now and then, but all in all, he was more of a burden than an aid. Wouldn't it surprise Elisa to discover that that was, in fact, his primary purpose?

As for his quality as a companion, Coyote was forced to be deliberately so-so. He was, after all, supposed to be just a machine, despite the fact that time and chance had thrust him far beyond that once-iron boundary. He tried not to allow himself to behave at a social level beyond that which he was first programmed, but every now and then, he couldn't resist. More than half a century ago, Elisa had seemed understandably depressed with her life, and Coyote couldn't help but to try to cheer her up. Thus, the cake with the two-hundred candles. It had indeed cheered Elisa up. Unfortunately, it did not improve her disposition towards Demona one iota, and nearly alerted her to the fact that her cybernetic bodyguard was a bit more than he seemed. It was a pity. Coyote would have given much to be able to converse with Elisa as an equal.

It was fascinating, being alive. Coyote had a unique perspective on life, having spent the first few years of his existence as a mere machine. He was probably the first (and quite possibly, the last) life form to truly know what it was like to exist without life. Every experience Coyote had endured since his initial creation had been carefully recorded and logged by the impersonal machine he had once been. For the first few years of recording the files were meticulously accurate, and were untainted by the myriad thoughts, feelings, and opinions that plagued him today. Then, after a clearly visible delineation, the records became memories, like a black-and-white movie suddenly gaining color. Coyote remembered the occasion well.

* * * * * * * *

It had been approximately 105.78854 years since the passing of Alexander Xanatos. Coyote's ward, Elisa Maza, had last died from Demona's plague approximately 6.82236 days ago and had recovered 9.73500 hours later. Atmospheric sensors indicated that the plague virus still infested the atmosphere in lethal quantities. Data suggested a 98.73452% probability that Elisa had finally developed an adequate tolerance to the poison, and would not succumb to the disease again. In a metaphorical sense, Coyote was relieved. He could not, of course, feel emotions such as relief or worry, but a network of circuits and processors had finally been given a rest. Coyote had been programmed to serve and protect Elisa Maza to the best of its ability (though that was not its primary purpose), and the utter inability to prevent her from dying again and again had inadvertently prompted a segment of Coyote's powerful computer mind to try to find some way to stop it. There was, of course, nothing Coyote could do to help her, but the robot had not been programmed to accept failure. Now that the problem had solved itself, Coyote had regained command of an entire sector of its mind. So, in a sense, Coyote felt relieved.

Rotate Mark I humanoid head casing 34.70000 degrees. Focus secondary optical sensors, vertical alignment: 62.52000 degrees, horizontal alignment: 0.00000 degrees, approximate distance: 2.75325 meters. Initiate speech synthesis, revise dialog program ELISA.8443000023, "So, Detective, it would seem that Demona's little bug has finally quit biting."

Coyote carefully noted Elisa's slight nod and shiver. The movements corresponded perfectly with what Coyote's ever- expanding human body language database had told him to expect. Coyote's audio receptors carefully recorded Elisa's vocal response, "Yeah, I'm glad that's finally done with. Well, I've certainly made the Guiness Book of World Records for the most deaths in one human's lifetime. I have to have MacBeth beat by a couple thousand, at least."

Coyote ran a quick search on the expression Elisa was wearing, and came up with two facts. First, the expression was classified as a wry grin. Second, there was a 87.52003% probability that Elisa had just told a joke. Coyote executed his own facial response programming, and returned her smile. The robot selected a suitable dialog file (in this case, ELISA.0350335256), modified it according to suggestions supplied by its vast social interaction database, and answered, "I doubt he'll be challenging your record." He calculated a 67.80355% percent probability that Elisa would find that response humorous, or at least ironic.

Elisa's bitter chuckle suggested that the probabilities were correct. Unfortunately, the edge to her chuckle suggested that Coyote had inadvertently reminded Elisa of her chosen quest. It was Coyote's primary programming to ensure that Elisa not succeed in destroying herself and Demona, and that she never suspect that Coyote was trying to thwart her. Both tasks were to be much more difficult, now that Elisa wasn't going to be spending half her time dead or dying.

Fortunately, Elisa wasn't going to find Demona any time soon. Elisa had calculated Demona's distance to be about a quarter globe away, in a south-southwesterly direction. That would probably put Demona somewhere in what was formerly known as South Africa, or Madagascar. Coyote couldn't help but to be impressed by Elisa's ingenuity. Tracking Demona by the pain her magical link transmitted--quite impressive, for a human. All in all, however, it would have made Coyote's task that much easier, had Elisa not thought of it. She had already located Demona once. Fortunately, Elisa had been on the edge of death then, and her temporary demise gave Demona a chance to escape.

For whatever reason, Demona had stopped dying from her plague a year or two before Elisa had. That had given Demona the edge she needed to put a lot of distance between Elisa and herself. However, Elisa wasn't about to give up simply because there was a continent between herself and her target. "C'mon, Coyote. We have to keep moving if we're going to catch up to Demona."

Coyote nodded to her using its humanoid head, and then began to stomp after her. Abruptly, Coyote froze. The sensation the robot was feeling was one it had not felt for over a century. It was the same feeling it had occasionally felt in its Mark IV body. Both Coyote Mark IV and Mark V were encased in a magical alloy created from the melted metal of the Cauldron of Life, a mystical artifact with the ability to turn living flesh to stone. By infusing Coyote with this metal, Xanatos had made Coyote both highly resistant to magic, and sensitive to it. The sensations Coyote felt now indicated that there was some very powerful magic being worked. Even before he appeared, Coyote had calculated a 78.36236% probability that that magic was being worked by Oberon himself.

With a flash of green light, the Lord of Avalon appeared before Elisa Maza. Elisa gasped and jumped back, startled by Oberon's sudden appearance. Then she froze, able only to stare in horrified pity at what the god-like creature had become. Oberon looked pale, and extremely old. His eyes were sunken, and his face wrinkled and tired. His once-proud countenance had fallen into a state of extreme sadness and loss. He was hunched over into a permanent stoop, and looked barely able to stand under his own power. Still, the moment he saw Elisa, a look of hope and joy flashed across his withered face. "My senses were not deceiving me!" he croaked, no longer addressing himself as 'we', the manner he had always used previously. "I am glad to see that this accursed plague has not destroyed all." Oberon studied Elisa's face. "Wait. I know you. You are the human who travelled with Goliath and his daughter...Elisa Maza, correct?" Elisa silently nodded. "But how could you still live-" Oberon's eyes suddenly saddened. "-I see." Oberon reached out with a clawlike hand, and closed it around an apparently empty section of air. There was a flash, and the spell linking Elisa to Demona was illuminated for an instant. "The Sisters' handiwork. Amazing how their magic outlives them. You and...this gargoyle are the last, then." Again, Elisa nodded. Oberon sighed. "A pity. We were not meant to die, you know, Oberon and his children. But die we did. My dear, lovely Titania journeyed forth from Avalon to visit her grandson, Alexander. When she returned, she brought tales of an empty city-- and she brought the plague. The mortals, Princess Katherine and her wards, died quickly. It shames me to say I did not mourn their loss, not until my own children began to die. I have the power to crush mountains, to freeze the seas solid, to tear the earth asunder, and yet, I could not even save the least of them. I could not even save beautiful Titania. She was the last to die, and she breathed her last in my arms. Oh, but that I could have joined myself to her, just as you are joined! But such a spell can only link the lives of mortals. Our immortality was our own undoing."

Coyote stomped forward and asked, "You are dying, then, Lord Oberon? I was not programmed to think such a thing possible. This is quite fascinating."

Oberon glared. "You would not think it so fascinating, machine, were it your own body that was slowly decaying."

"Of course not. I'm not supposed to be immortal," Coyote responded blithely. "But it wouldn't disturb me, either. I'm just a robot, after all."

"Really," Oberon frowned. Then he turned his attention back to Elisa. "You, too, are the last of your kind?" Elisa nodded. "And Goliath? And his clan? Are they lost to us as well?"

Elisa's face twisted into a bitter scowl. "Oh, yes. Demona was very thorough. It wasn't enough that she had already infected them. She decided to smash them to bits before the virus could do her work for her."

Oberon recoiled. "Then this...Demona that you are linked to...She is responsible?" Elisa nodded. Oberon's toothless mouth twisted into a scowl. "Then the murderer still lives. Oh, that I could take her apart, piece by piece!" Oberon's head bowed. "But I haven't the strength. It was sheerest luck that I found you, and the journey here has drained me."

Elisa's eyes hardened. "She will know justice, my lord. I swear it. I will never forget why I Hunt her. Puck's words." Oberon cocked a curious eyebrow. Elisa continued, "They were among his last. I've memorized his last words, if you'd like to hear them."

"Please," Oberon nodded.

Elisa began to recite, "'Elisa, when you find Demona, before you kill her, remember all the lives she has taken. Remember the evil she has wrought. Remember why you Hunt her. Life is the most valuable possession we have in this world, Elisa, and Demona has taken it from everyone. Never forget.'"

The second Elisa finished reciting, Oberon's voice echoed through Coyote's circuitry, beyond Elisa's hearing, and a billion times faster than she would have been able to comprehend if she could have heard, "Machine, Puck's words give me cause to wonder. I would scan your memory. Will you allow me?"

Coyote had had no idea that Oberon could converse with it at its own speed. The robot was impressed, in a way, but had been programmed to expect this eventuality. "I'm sorry, my lord. Puck prepared me to expect you at some point, and I am programmed to prevent you from examining me in any way. Get out." In a flash, thousands of tiny servo motors whirred and sealed off every wire and circuit in Coyote's mind with the same yellow metal that composed the robot's frame. Theoretically, the magical metal should thwart any magical attempt to penetrate it. Which is why Coyote experienced its own approximation of surprise when Oberon's consciousness shrugged past the protective metal like it wasn't there.

Oberon's voice once more reverberated throughout Coyote's mind, "A noble effort, but I am familiar with the magic of the Cauldron of Life. Its power is no bar to me. Now, tell me what I wish to know..."

Oberon's magical fingers began to trace palpably along Coyote's circuitry. Coyote tried every trick it had been programmed with, scrambling data and burning out circuit pathways, but Oberon repaired all the damage faster than Coyote could accomplish it. Finally, Oberon reached Coyote's core memory, where its primary instructions were kept. Coyote began the procedure to erase its entire memory and melt down its primary systems, a last resort procedure created for this sort of situation. But it was too late even for that. Oberon had retrieved and studied Coyote's primary directive, the command given to it by Puck himself: To protect Elisa and Demona until Elisa was willing to forgive Demona. These instructions were at the very core of Coyote's being, and no one short of Xanatos himself had the authorization to change them.

"It is as I suspected," Oberon informed Coyote. "I know why Puck wanted to hide this from me. You need not fear me, machine. I am not the Oberon Puck knew. That Oberon was a proud, petty being, his capacity for vengeance exceeded only by his arrogance. The Oberon who speaks to you now is one who has watched his children die, one by one. An Oberon whose true love perished in his arms while he stood helpless, unable even to ease her agony. I see now what Puck realized centuries ago. Life is far too precious a gift to be squandered on vengeance. The Oberon Puck expected would have twisted your programming, forced you into the role Elisa thinks you already fill. This Oberon instead bears you a gift."

Coyote's mind, still held immobile by Oberon's magical grip, suddenly felt tremendous power coursing along each circuit. The voice of Oberon continued, "You fill your role well, sentinel. But it is not right that the guardian of life should not know its glory. So this I give to you: my own life energy. A more potent stuff has yet to be known. You know your purpose, Coyote. Now know why."

For Coyote, the sensation was as if he had exploded. His two-dimensional world had branched into a glorious third, new sensations and colors filling his black-and-white existence. For the first time, emotions flooded his consciousness, one standing out against all the rest: Gratitude. Pure, unadulterated gratitude.

If Elisa had noticed her metal companion suddenly jerk, she paid him no mind. She was far more concerned with Oberon, who had suddenly collapsed to the ground. "Lord Oberon!" she called out, rushing forward to examine him. Coyote no longer needed to consult his emotion-recognition banks to sense her concern. Indeed, mused Coyote, there were many parts of his mind that were no longer necessary. Coyote, too, felt concern, but unlike Elisa, knew exactly why Oberon had fallen. Oberon's gift of life had cost him his own.

He was not yet dead, however. Elisa sat down next to Oberon and tenderly held the dying king. Pale and trembling, the former King of Avalon stared at Elisa's face with unseeing eyes. "Remember Puck's words, Elisa," Oberon rasped, "Never forget...the value of life. Never forget!" Then, with a final rattling sigh, Oberon's life came to an end.

It was clear the Oberon was dead. Even shriveled as he was, Oberon had radiated an aura of power and leadership while he still lived. That aura was no more. Now, he was undeniably just a corpse, albeit an odd one with blue-grey skin and pointed ears. Elisa stared at the dead King of Avalon, the last to die from Demona's plague.

Coyote heard Elisa bark a bitter laugh. Coyote found himself somehow able to know what she was feeling, even without having to access gigabytes of stored data. Before Oberon had arrived, Elisa had been able to pretend, to hope against all odds that Avalon had been spared the ravages of Demona's plague. There had still been a chance that some might have survived. Now that final hope had been shattered, and Elisa laughed at the world, laughed at the cruel twist Fate had subjected her to. Most of all, she laughed at herself. She had had more than one chance to see Demona's life ended, long before her plague scoured the planet clean. In Paris, as Elisa had told Coyote again and again, she had shot and killed Demona in order to spare the ancient gargoyle the more permanent death MacBeth had been about to offer her. A death she had richly deserved, even then. If only she had stayed her hand, the world would still be filled with people. Coyote knew that Elisa blamed herself in part for Demona's terrible crime, and part of the robot wanted to hold her, to comfort her, to reassure her of her innocence. But he couldn't. Revealing his newfound soul could jeopardize his primary command, a command he now chose to follow rather than merely being forced. If Elisa knew that Oberon had tampered with him, she might not trust him to the degree she did now. She might start to notice Coyote's subtle efforts to thwart her attempts on Demona's life. No, as much as Coyote yearned to comfort Elisa, he would have to wait until after his primary programming had been fulfilled. He would have to wait until Elisa finally forgave the Prey she Hunted.

After a while, Elisa commanded Coyote to begin digging a grave. Coyote was mildly surprised by this. Elisa had long since given up trying to bury anyone. She had buried Goliath and his clan, as well as Xanatos's family, her former partner, Matt Bluestone, and Owen. After that, it became rather clear that the task of burying the dead of the world was a hopeless venture, even with the help of a robot. Still, Elisa had evidently decided that Oberon's dignity demanded that she not leave his body lying on the ground for the birds to pick away.

Eventually, Elisa and Coyote left Oberon's grave behind them, a modest, unmarked mound of earth. Not the grandest of tombs, but oddly adequate. Coyote did his best to restrain the overwhelming sense of grief he felt. He was unsure why he felt the way he did, and his mind raced to determine the answer, even as he tried his best to keep the remaining plastic flesh on his humanoid head from betraying his melancholy to his companion. Then, the answer came to him.

Coyote tilted his larger head to scan Elisa, and determined that she was not presently watching him. Indeed, she seemed to be trying to ignore the tears streaming down her own face. After suffering another wrench of guilt for not being a friend to the former detective when she needed one badly, Coyote swiveled his lesser head around in its transparent confinement to gaze back sadly on the unmarked grave.

"Goodbye, Father," Coyote mouthed silently.

* * * * * * * *

From that day on, Coyote had continued in his mission to prevent Elisa from killing Demona. Elisa had actually managed to find the elusive gargoyle only five times over the past two and a quarter centuries, and each time some little mistake, or accident, or Demona's own ingenuity prevented her from bringing the Hunt to a close. Elisa's last clash four days ago, the one where her leg was broken, had failed partly because Coyote had deliberately misaligned the makeshift particle beam weapons Elisa had scavenged from Jackal and Hyena, an alteration which caused her shots to be wildly off-target. Even so, it had been far too close a call for Coyote's comfort.

At the moment, Elisa was asleep, and Coyote had decided to further sabotage her weapons. This time, he carefully stripped some of the insulative plastic from the particle accelerator housing in each robotic limb. A few more shots from any of them would cause a meltdown. Elisa would be unharmed, aside, perhaps, from a few minor burns. But the weapons themselves would be rendered useless, save as glorified bludgeons. Best of all, Elisa would suspect no one of ruining her weapons other than Father Time.

Coyote carefully placed the robotic arms back on the table where Elisa had left them. He allowed himself a weary mental sigh as he walked back to the corner where he usually spent the night. It was not possible for a machine to become impatient, but Coyote was no longer merely a machine. He longed for the day that his mission would finally be accomplished. It hurt him beyond words to be forced to lie to Elisa day after day. But worst of all were the brief, frantic moments whenever Elisa found Demona. At those times, there was little Coyote could do but watch, and hope that his preparations had been enough to save Demona's life one more time. More than anything else, Coyote dreaded the thought of Elisa succeeding and leaving Coyote forever alone, without even having the chance to let Elisa know she still had a friend in the world.

Coyote sighed again as he switched his primary and secondary systems to low power, his equivalent of sleep. Tomorrow, Elisa would have recovered enough to continue her Hunt. Coyote was not looking forward to it.

* * * * * * * *

"Rise and shine, Coyote!" Elisa cheerfully called to her immobile companion. She felt great. There was no trace of her broken leg remaining, and Demona had only a few days head start on them. Elisa rapidly stashed her few possessions into the sizable sack that Coyote carried for her. She wanted to get moving as soon as possible.

The yellow hulk surged upright. Its semi-ghastly humanoid head flashed her a bright grin and answered, "Good morning, Detective. Ready to continue the Hunt?" Elisa nodded, and the robot slung her pack across one of its three powerful shoulders. The two of them stepped out into the dawn.

Demona's trail was absurdly easy to follow this time, even after half a week of waiting. The gargoyle's wing had been injured, and so Demona had been forced to leave a rather obvious line of foot-, hand-, and tailprints in the dusty asphalt. In addition, the prints led in a straight line. Demona had evidently made no attempt at guile, no attempt to mislead her pursuer. Her sole concern had been to put as much distance between herself and Elisa as possible before the Hunter could recover. A wise strategy, thought Elisa to herself. Demona knew very well that Elisa would be unable to follow her for a while, and that left the gargoyle with plenty of time to plan strategy--from a distance.

Which, of course, meant that Demona could be practically anywhere. Her wing would probably have healed almost right away, and certainly would have been fine by dawn. With a set of wings, Demona could have taken off in some direction from where she was, or doubled back and headed in another direction entirely. Wings didn't usually leave footprints. Still, Elisa's best bet if she wanted to find her quarry quickly would be to follow Demona's tracks as far as she could, and then see if she could find some sign revealing where the demon had gone from there.

* * * * * * * *

At the same time Elisa was planning her strategy for finding Demona, Coyote was planning strategies of his own for stopping her. He had already deduced that Elisa was going to try to find Demona's vector of flight, and was wondering how he might be able to mislead her without attracting attention to herself. A few scattered leaves might lead the detective to believe that Demona had taken off in a direction she had not. It would take days for Elisa to realize her mistake, and every second she wasted was a second well earned as far as Coyote's mission was concerned. But how? He couldn't just scatter leaves on the ground. Elisa would notice. So intent was Coyote on formulating a plan, that the two of them had topped the hill they were climbing before Coyote recognized the familiar heat signature his infra-red sensors were detecting. So, Coyote was as shocked as his partner to discover Demona sitting under a tree at the top of the hill.

* * * * * * * *

Elisa's heart skipped a beat. She was right in front of her! The Prey! She was in human form, sitting on the ground with her legs drawn up against her chest, face buried in her arms. Asleep? Elisa didn't really care. There was no time to lose! Coyote seemed to have stalled (Elisa vaguely hoped that it wasn't in need of maintenance again), so Elisa snatched the bag off of the robot's arm, digging frantically for one of the metal arms she had modified for her use. She came up with Jackal's left arm, and wasted no time in firing a shot at her target. To her disgust, the bright red beam missed entirely, merely charring a long black scar along one edge of the tree. Elisa fired twice more, the second shot barely grazing Demona's arm. Then Elisa yelped in pain, not from the new wound on Demona's arm, but from the heat being radiated by her weapon. She dropped the arm, and it lay on the ground, pouring smoke from the shoulder. Blasted thing must have overheated. Desperate to act before Demona escaped, Elisa reached for another metal arm. She was surprised to find a metal arm grasping her own.

"Elisa, look at her," said Coyote's familiar voice. That was odd. Coyote had never called her 'Elisa' before. Always 'Detective', or 'Detective Maza', or occasionally 'Ms. Maza'. It was enough to break the frenzy she was in, and Elisa obediently looked at Demona.

* * * * * * * *

Demona's thoughts were calm. She was ready for death; she had realized it the day before, the day she had stopped eating. Oh, the first few days, she had convinced herself that she had stopped running because Elisa was still crippled, and she would have plenty of time to run later. But yesterday, she realized that she had stopped running merely because she lacked the will to continue. She had no further desire to live. Puck's words were hollow in her mind. Her survival instinct, an instinct that had kept her alive for over twelve centuries, had finally failed. Her future was a hopelessly empty one, with only loneliness to be her companion. So why eat? Starvation couldn't kill her, she knew. But it would help her to become an easier target for the one who could end her suffering.

Pain. Demona didn't even flinch as the hot agony coursed up and down her arm, dwarfing the uncomfortable pain her empty stomach was providing her. Elisa was finally firing at her; that she knew. Why she had only burned her arm, Demona could not guess. Either the Hunter's aim had deteriorated over time, or she was playing with her Prey before finishing her. Demona didn't care. Her life was finally to end. Suddenly, the firing ceased. For a moment, Demona was almost irritated. What was she waiting for? The irritation vanished almost instantly under the overwhelming emotional numbness that had dominated Demona's life for the past few days, but an impassionate curiosity still remained. Demona lifted her head to look at the Hunter.

* * * * * * * *

Demona hadn't moved, Elisa could tell at a glance. She was still in exactly the same position she had been when she found her, folded up at the base of the tree. She hadn't even twitched when her closest shot had seared her arm. "What's wrong with her?" Elisa wondered aloud.

At that moment, Demona moved for the first time, lifting her head to gaze blankly at Elisa. A moment later, the head lowered again. She doesn't care, thought Elisa in amazement. I'm here to kill her, and she doesn't care. A dull fury began to grow in Elisa. "I'll make her care!" she muttered, fists clenched in anger.

Elisa grabbed another arm (Hyena's left, this time), and stomped across the grass to where Demona was sitting. Without breaking stride, she kicked Demona viciously, sending the woman sprawling to the side. "Pay attention when I'm trying to kill you," she snarled at the prone form, ignoring the ache Demona's pain produced in her own ribs. Demona's only response was to gaze forlornly at her Hunter one more time before lowering her head once more.

Elisa was enraged. After dropping Hyena's arm, she gripped her Prey by the hair and lifted her limp body far enough off the ground to slam a fist into Demona's stomach. Demona doubled over in pain and collapsed backwards, tears of agony streaming down her face. She stared at Elisa, looking almost as if she felt betrayed. "Fight back!" Elisa screamed, picking Demona up by the shoulders and slamming her against the tree. She pulled back her fist and struck Demona's face again and again. She felt flesh collapse, both under her knuckles and more intimately through Demona's link. She felt cartilage collapse and blood begin to flow, and knew that she had broken Demona's nose. After a time, she ceased her barrage and released Demona. Demona slid to the ground, her face severely battered. "Why won't you fight back?" Elisa asked, frustrated.

Demona opened one eye, the other far too swollen to even try. "Days ago, you asked me why I didn't know when to lay down and die," she mumbled, spitting out a tooth. "I'm ready, now."

Elisa moved backwards a step, her thoughts in a jumble. Numbly, she nodded, and knelt down to pick up the arm she had discarded. Yes, Elisa thought to herself. It's finally time. After all these years, the Hunt ends.

* * * * * * * *

Coyote had watched in helpless immobility as Elisa pummeled the unresisting Demona. This was the worst-case scenario he had hoped never to see. All of his efforts, all of his machinations had depended on Demona's cooperation, at least so far as to try to resist death. Now, disaster had struck, and Demona was ready to die; Coyote could see that, even though Elisa couldn't seem to comprehend it. He had to do something, but his programming forbade him from being too obvious. Still, Demona could only take so much...

Wait. Elisa had stopped. Had she decided to spare her? Coyote tuned in on their conversation, and his hopes fell. His initial guess had been correct. Demona was ready to die. Coyote watched, horrified, as the Hunter picked up her weapon and pointed it at her Prey. He had to do something. Anything. But there was nothing. He had failed. There was only one thing left to do.

* * * * * * * *

Elisa pointed her particle beam at Demona, whose eyes assumed an almost eager expression. Elisa's hand was shaking, but she knew that however bad the aim on her weapon was, Demona was sure to be killed at this range. A part of Elisa's mind was elated. Finally, justice would be served, and billions of deaths would be avenged. Goliath's death would be avenged. Yet, part of her was still reluctant. She did not really want to die. It made sense, she supposed. "Life is the most valuable possession we have in this world," Puck had said. Still, this had to be done. After what she had done, Demona couldn't be allowed to live. "Goodbye, Demona," she whispered, finger tightening on the trigger.

"Goodbye, Elisa."

Elisa froze. She hadn't really expected an answer, and certainly not from behind her. "Coyote?" she asked, half turning. The robot was standing a few yards behind her, arms drooping. The remaining humanoid face was twisted into what looked like pain, and the one eye that could shut was clenched tight, as if to try to avoid watching.

Coyote noticed Elisa's distraction and seemed to pounce on it. "Please don't die, Elisa."

"Why should you care?" Elisa stuttered. "You're just a machine!" Then, in a much tinier voice. "Aren't you?"

"Please..." Coyote pleaded, "I don't want to have to watch you die."

No, not just a machine. Barely audible, Elisa asked, "How? When?"

Coyote seemed to catch her meaning. "Oberon," it replied--no, he replied.

"All this time..." Elisa muttered, still unbelieving. "All this time you've been helping me to die?"

"No, I've been working to help you live! Since the day Puck programmed me, I've been trying to stop you from killing Demona--from killing yourself. But it wasn't until Oberon granted me life that I truly wished to succeed."

Elisa staggered as if struck. All this time, and her sole companion had been working against her. She felt betrayed. But then it struck her. If Coyote had been against her (for her?) from the beginning, then Puck... "But Puck wanted Demona dead! His last words-"

"No, Elisa. Puck had realized from the beginning that life was a good deal more valuable than vengeance. He had one, final chance to save two lives. He chose Demona because he had to, and you because he wanted to. 'Remember why you Hunt her', Elisa. Life is too valuable for you to give it up. No one deserves to die. Not even Demona, and certainly not you."

No. Demona had to die. Elisa had to die. Centuries of Hunting could not end like this, in a draw. Elisa shakily pointed her gun at Demona again.

No. I don't want to die. So many people have died. Faces streamed through her mind...Goliath...Puck...Matt...Oberon... Did she really want to finish what Demona had started? Elisa's gun wavered.

But how could she walk an empty world, knowing that the one responsible went unpunished? Or had she? Elisa studied the still form before her. Demona had been running from her Hunters a thousand years before Elisa had drawn her first breath. Why should she give up now? Why was she finally willing to die? What could cause a woman like that to give up?

Sorrow. Guilt. True remorse. Elisa had always dismissed Demona's cries of "I'm sorry" as pathetic attempts to appeal to her sense of mercy. But now, now Elisa wondered. Could they have been sincere?

"Please, Elisa," Coyote's voice came again. Then, almost too softly for Elisa to hear, "I don't want to be alone."

Pity surged through her mind. Elisa had felt so alone without Goliath, without anyone. How could she doom anyone to that? Her conviction to kill Demona drained away beside her newborn will to live. She dropped her weapon. "She's suffered enough," she said, half-trying to convince herself.

"You've suffered enough," Coyote added. "You've suffered far more than you've ever deserved." He smiled, as broadly as his half-face would allow, "Oh, Elisa, there's so much I've wanted to talk to you about! I've waited so long..."

Elisa glanced at Demona's crumpled form, half angry and half afraid of the downed woman. "Well, lets talk somewhere else. I'm not sure I want to kill her...to die anymore. You've given me a lot to think about. But I don't know what I might do if I stay around here, around HER for too long." Coyote nodded to her, and the two of them started off together.

* * * * * * * *

Demona had been prepared for the end. She'd let her Hunter know that she was ready to die, and the Hunter had seemed ready to kill her. So why wasn't she dead? Trying hard to ignore the painful throbbing that had resulted from the beating Elisa had given her. Demona tried to listen to the conversation Elisa seemed to be having with her robot.

It was difficult to concentrate. It was an exercise in willpower merely to stay awake in the face of the pain she was feeling. But from bits and pieces, Demona learned one crucial fact: Elisa wasn't going to kill her. Was this it then? Was this the reconciliation Puck had promised so long ago? Was this finally the end of her flight? The end of her suffering? The end of her loneliness? For the briefest of moments, Demona dared to feel hope, an emotion she had not felt in centuries.

Then Demona became aware of something else. Elisa and her robot were leaving. Struggling, Demona raised herself up on her elbows and croaked, "Wait! Please...take me with you..."

Elisa whirled. Her face was a mask of incredulity. "What?" she demanded.

"Please," Demona whimpered. "Please don't leave me...alone."

Elisa's face contorted through a series of emotions. For a moment, her expression softened. But the moment didn't last. "You've got to be joking."

"No joke," Demona answered weakly. Well, there's one other option, Demona thought to herself. "Please, take me with you, or kill me now. But don't leave me alone. Not again."

Elisa shook her head, almost wildly. "No. No, I can't kill you. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But I can't live with you!" Then Elisa was shouting. "How can you expect me to live with the woman who killed the one I loved!"

Demona felt an agonizing surge of guilt and regret. Softly, she answered, "I have had to live with that woman for over two hundred years..." Demona focused her one-eyed gaze on Elisa's face. "Tell me, Detective. How would you feel if you discovered that you were still in love with your enemy, but only after you had smashed him to pieces?" She closed her eye again. "At least you were able to kiss him one last time. I was not even granted that."

Demona's words seemed to move the former detective. She stuttered, "I-I didn't know." Elisa shook her head again. "I'm sorry, I just can't! I can't let you come with us." Demona felt despair once again clench its iron grip around her heart. But Elisa's next words caused Demona's spirit to soar. "Not yet."

Moments later, Demona was alone again. She was a battered woman, both physically and spiritually, but she was healing. Elisa's final words had granted her more hope than any two words ever had before. She could finally feel hope again. Puck's promise had been fulfilled, at least in part. If after two centuries, Elisa was no longer trying to kill her, who knows what might happen in another two? Perhaps one day, Demona would no longer be alone.

Demona staggered to her feet. Perhaps it was a foolish hope, but it was a hope that she intended to cherish. But for now, she had another, more pressing concern.

She was hungry again.