...Love And War: Part One
a Gargoyles story by Black Blade (aka Eddie of Clan Winslow)
kadecyrway@geocities.com; rayapam@mint.net

***NOTE: Gargoyles is a licenced trademark of Disney and Buena Vista.  All characters
save for Clan Winslow, the Outklaws, RC Spiker,  and Arin MacDuff are copyrighted by
the above fore mentioned companies.  All others are of my own twisted imagination and
creation, who apparently appeared out of nowhere and began talking to me
telepathically...uhh....  This is an unofficial fanfic and is not intended for infringement of
any kind.  There is as well mention of some characters of Michael Moorcock, the greatest
sci-fi/fantasy author (in my opinion) in the modern age, Flana, Hawkmoon, and Elric, just
to name a few.  Also, this fanfic takes place after The Journey, but I do not go any further
in The Goliath Chronicles and I totally ignore the Quarrymen, mainly because in my
opinion the world of animation already has a pro-human group (Friends of Humanity
from Marvel’s X-Men) and I like to keep it that way.  Thank you very much. As for the
content of this piece, it does contain ADULT CONTENT.  It’s mostly violence and
swearing (face it: teenagers do swear), but, to my current knowledge, I’m not going to
write about wild, maniacal sex (much to the Trio’s chagrin.  Anyway, Broadway and
Angela promised to behave somewhat.) although I may--may--mention it.  Just a warning
for all you pro-censorship people out there--Remember the First Amendment!  My thanks
to my rookery sister, Mercedes, for being editor and critique!***

PUCK: Did you say that human, or that human?  Oh, never mind, I’ll figure it out.  (Show
the “human” gargoyles from The Mirror.)

OBERON (voice over): Previously on Gargoyles. . .

MACBETH: There was a time when humans and gargoyles fought side by side, cousin. 
(show Duncan and Macbeth in the cave of Demona’s clan from City of Stone, Part 1)

GOLIATH: You and I are one . . . (Show Goliath and Demona holding each other from
The Awakening.)
(Show Goliath and Elisa kissing, from Hunter’s Moon)

XANATOS: Marry me.
FOX: What? (Show Xanatos and Fox at dinner, from Eye of the Beholder.)

GOLIATH: I’ve never noticed how beautiful you were when you were human.
ELISA: You mean you thought I was ugly? (Show Goliath and Elisa as a gargoyle soaring
from The Mirror.)
GOLIATH: Er...ummm...careful, updraft!

BROOKLYN: She doesn’t want our help. (Show Maggie and the rest of the Mutates
flying away from the Clock tower from Metamorphosis.)  She doesn’t want me.

XANATOS: Now you know my weakness.
GOLIATH: Only you would consider love a weakness. (Show Xanatos carrying off Fox
from Eye of the Beholder)

BROOKLYN: “Parting is such sweet sorrow.”  (Show Angela and Broadway kissing
from The Journey, cutting to Brooklyn walking away.)

***Prologue:
	A young woman in a 737 en route to JFK International Airport from London looks
out the window down onto the island of Manhattan and thinks to herself, “My destiny
awaits me there.”
	A young man perched on a parapet on Castle Wyvern atop of the Eyrie Building
stares hopefully into the clouding sunset-red sky.  But it is not a young man just yet; it is
a statue, a gargoyle, awaiting the night.  His stone-induced sleep whispers softly, gently
to him, “Your destiny awaits you here.”
	The airliner descends at John F. Kennedy International Airport at sunset, just as
the stone gargoyles on the Eyrie Building molt their hardened exteriors, emerging with a
collective roar as flesh and blood beings with a heartbeat, with high sentience.
	The young woman, a comely female with bright green eyes and strange,
tri-colored hair, chocolate brown with silver and gold streaks, leaves the departure ramp
and, after claiming her luggage, waits patiently for her ride.  He comes, a tall, dignified
man with white hair and regal dark eyes that silently demanded respect.  She rushes up to
hug him, oblivious to the weight of her bags.  He catches her in a loving embrace, a
father who has no seen his daughter in five years.
  	The gargoyles, seven in all, stretch and yawn, preparing for what the night has in
store for them.  Six of the seven have plans; the seventh remains on his parapet a little
longer.  His sharp hazel eyes scan the sky, the stars, the crescent moon, as the breezy
wind picks up and tosses his thick mane of snowy white hair around his face and neck. 
His young mind is quick, shrewd, calculating; he is not what most consider a dreamer. 
And yet he dreams, both in sleep and wake, of a time when he may find a companion.
	“Yes,” the young woman thinks to herself.  “My destiny lies here.”

***
Chapter 1
JFK International Airport
7:30 pm
	As Lennox MacDuff and his daughter quickly and quietly settled into his BMW,
he could not help but to notice the long and brooding look on Arin’s sharp-featured face.
	“Arin?” he beckoned, turning over the ignition.  “Are you alright?  Has New York
changed that much since you’ve been here last?”
	Her father’s strong Scottish accent pulled her back into the present.
	She turned to him and smiled warmly, almost calculating, MacDuff noted.
	“Something is a little different, Da,” she replied truthfully, her green eyes
betraying her excitement, her faint British accent melding with her Manhattan dialect
from years past.
	“Is there?” He smiled broadly.  “Like what?”
	“First off, you seem more at peace with yourself.”
	“Do I? Maybe it’s because my ex-business partner has finally left New York,
probably for good.” MacDuff smiled, more to himself, as he pictured the hell-crazed
gargoyle, Demona, being chased around the world with the Hunter Jon Canmore hot on
her heels.
	“Also,” Arin’s grin widened.  “There wasn’t a clan of gargoyles in Manhattan five
years ago, either.”
	MacDuff fought the surprise that abruptly wrapped around his throat.
	“I saw it on the telly,” she continued.  “A lot of negative publicity, but my friends
Una and Leo said they met the leader of Clan Manhattan when he was visiting London. 
Una said he was a noble creature. I didn’t meet him myself; I was at school at the time,
but Una told me all Goliath and his friends.”
	“Oh, really?” A cock-eyed smile crept across MacDuff’s face, hiding his
disappointment in the prep school he had sent his daughter to.  They were supposed to
have tight security at night, to keep the girls from sneaking out or the boys sneaking in. 
However, MacDuff added with a hint of pride to his thoughts, Arin may have the brains
and wits to outsmart the common English man, a trait that ran in the lineage of Macbeth,
King of the Scots.
	Arin nodded, an eighteen-year-old with the curiosity and child-like excitement of
a ten-year-old.	The two sat in silence on the rest of the drive to Macbeth Manor in
Brooklyn Heights, the father thinking back to when, just a few months ago, he would
have been extremely unsettled by the fact of his daughter--his only daughter!--was
conversing with his mortal enemies.  But, after the incident with Arthur Pendragon and
the gargoyle Griff his horizons had broadened, his awareness of his prejudice became
apparent.  Yes, so he was branded a gargoyle sympathizer, even a gargoyle advocate, but
now he had a purpose in life other than revenge on Demona.  The hatred for his
soul-bonded enemy had seeped onto all other gargoyles, but now he had learned to see
that only Demona was the cause of his centuries of pain, not Griff nor Goliath nor
Hudson.  As they entered through the gates of Macbeth Manor, MacDuff whispered a
silent prayer of thanks to God that Arin was naïve about his long and rocky past.
	Arin, once outside the car, stole a look at the mansion.
	Mansion?  It was a goddamned fortress!
	The young woman listened as the two entered the MacDuff home only
half-heartedly to her father’s rules of the home; what she could use, what was off-limits,
the security system’s programming of retina, voice, and fingerprint scans as well as
traditional combination of numbers, and other security perimeters.  She truly wanted to
live in a normal home, a quaint, cozy place like Una and Leo’s shop, not a fortress to
keep enemies out...
	...or Arin in.
	As she patiently absorbed what her father said, she began making plans of her
own.  She hoped Manhattan was the same as it was five years ago.  She was born here in
Brooklyn Heights, and grew up in Manhattan.  She knew of wonderful mom-and-pop
sandwich shops, the best music clubs, the excellent skate parks.
	Of course, she wanted to go gargoyle hunting.
	No, she corrected herself.  Not hunting.  Searching.
	After her bags were brought up to her room, she dug out her most prized
possession--a small book of Latin poems Una had given her before she left--and began
reading it with interest.  She soon was again bored, and, finally, decided she wanted to
re-explore Manhattan.	Her father was in the library, reading, she noted, as she snuck past
to the kitchen.  An old-style backyard with a tire swing laid behind the screen door, but
that was surrounded by a tall hedge twining around an equally high metal link fence. 
Through the garage was another possibility, but the doors opened to a numeric code she
was unfamiliar with yet.  To go through the front door was definitely out; she would have
to go through the library and past MacDuff to get to the main hall.
	“Face it, girl,” she muttered, “You’re stuck.”
	“Eh, Arin?”
	She turned her head to face her father, who had suddenly and quietly entered the
kitchen behind her.
	“What?” she asked innocently.
	“You’re not a prisoner here, daughter,” he laughed.  “New York has changed, and
I just want to keep you safe.”
	“Is it anything to do with the clan of gargoyles here, Da?” She abruptly
questioned.
	“No, no,” his voice was defensive.  “It’s not them I’m afraid of.” MacDuff sighed. 
He would have told her the truth, the entire truth, just then, but the timing was off.  She
was far too innocent, too naïve, she would take the truth too quickly, without
understanding.  Right now, Arin would have to believe her father was merely a wealthy
businessman named Lennox MacDuff.  Maybe, when he could find a way to die, he
would reveal to her she was in fact a direct lineage to Macbeth, King of the Scots.  Not
just an ancestor...
	...but his daughter.
	By then, she would be disbelieved, thinking her father was going senile.  Now she
was too open-minded, even for an eighteen-year-old young adult.
	There was no sense in believing in magic in this day and age.  Arin deserved a
normal life, one without the complications of magic, fae, immortality, and revenge.
	But somehow, deep down, Macbeth knew his daughter would never know
normality.
	Her friendship with the gargoyles from the London book shop proved that already. 
	“Until you get your American driver’s license,” he sighed once more, realizing
that Arin was no longer a small child, “call a private cab to take you around.  In fact, I
can arrange one for you.  But--” he held up a warning finger at Arin, who was showing
immense eagerness, “I want you back by a reasonable hour.”
	With a hasty “thank-you” and a peck on the cheek to her father, Arin grabbed her
jacket off the coat rack.

***
Castle Wyvern
7:50 PM
	Brooklyn was still perched on the parapet when he heard Lexington and
Broadway arguing.  	Those two numbskulls, he thought good-heartedly, deciphering
what was being fought about.  This time his two rookery brothers’ heated discussion was
over which action star was better.  Pointless, the copper gargoyle shrugged to himself, but
it eases boredom.
	“You’re crazy, Lex!  Van Damme is the best!”
	“He’s good at kickboxing, yes, but when it comes to all-around skill, Seagal
wins.”  The little olive-green gargoyle crossed his arms over his chest and stared up at his
turquoise brother.
	“But Van Damme uses his brains more often.  That’s what counts.” Broadway
mimicked Lex’s stance and, with childish effect, stuck his tongue out.
	“Seagal has his points of brain-storming--” Lex defended when Brooklyn decided
to step in.
	“What’s the conversation this time?” he demanded, smiling somewhat grimly.
	“A third vote!” Broadway cheered.  “Okay, Brook, who’s better--”
	“--Seagal or Van Damme?” Lex interrupted.
	“Personally,” Brooklyn’s smile became somewhat humorous.  “I prefer Jackie
Chan.”
	“Wha--?” Broadway was taken aback.  “But he wasn’t--”
	“Hey, you two have your favorites, and I have mine.”  He held his hands up in self
defense.  “I think Jackie Chan’s the best, far more than either Seagal or Van Damme.”
	“And why’s that?” his two rookery brothers demanded simultaneously.
	“Because--” Brooklyn turned to enter the castle, “--Jackie does his own stunts.”
	“Good answer,” Broadway and Lexington muttered with no emotion.
	Brooklyn knew how to get the last word in.  No wonder why he was
second-in-command.
	“So, Lex, what do you want to destroy tonight?” The larger gargoyle joked as they
followed Brooklyn’s example into their ancestral home.
	“Oh, I was thinking about surfing the “Net for a while, talk to my friend RC on
mIRC, y’know, the usual.”
	“Yep.” Broadway yawned and scratched his slightly portly belly.  “Looks like
another somewhat-uneventful evening.”
	“Ack!” A curse sounded from the television room.  The elder gargoyle of the clan,
a light brown one by the name of Hudson, stormed out, with Bronx at his heels. 
“Nothing but blasted reruns.  And I missed Home Improvement!”  He noticed then
Lexington and Broadway staring at him.
	“Even CNN was boring tonight.” He shrugged defensively.  Bronx woofed in
what seemed to be agreement.
	“Yep; that seems to be the trend for tonight.” Lex scratched his head.  “I’m
actually thinking of volunteering for patrol.”
	“Same here,” Broadway yawned again, this time his stomach issuing a complaint. 
“After I grab breakfast.”
	“Of course,” Lex rolled his eyes.
	“You and food, lad,” Hudson shook his head, humored.
	“I honestly don’t see what Angela sees in you,” Lex added.
	“Hey, I can’t help it if I’m a babe magnet.  She says I’m romantic.”
	“More like a food magnet.”
	“Lads, lads!” Hudson interrupted.  “Who are we to question a lady’s love?  Now,
if ye’d excuse me....”  As a final note, the elder headed to the living room where Owen
left the daily paper.
	“Do you think he actually reads it?” Lex whispered, indicating the newspaper.  “I
mean, the print can get pretty small....”
	“Maybe he only reads the headlines.”
	“Maybe.  Hey, I got an idea!” The small gargoyle snapped his fingers.  “Let’s get
him a reading magnifier!”
	“Maybe he doesn’t want to be reminded of his glaucoma.” Broadway pointed out
bluntly.
	Lexington said nothing, only shrugged.

***
	Brooklyn sat at the kitchen table, a glass of orange juice untouched at his left, a
Michael Moorcock novel in his hand, and an intense stare devouring the printed words as
he read.  Hawkmoon was his favorite, and tonight he read the first trilogy.  He read his
favorite--and, in his mind, the most romantic--part of the story, where d’Averc was killed
when trying to reach his lover, Queen Flana of Granbretan, dying at her feet during the
war between Count Brass and the tyranny of the Dark Empire.  Just as the horrified
Frenchman fell in front of the crane-masked queen, a cough pulled him from Londra
back to Real Life, Wyvern Castle, Eyrie Building, Manhattan, New York.
	Angela glanced questionably at him, her dark eyes seemed to radiate warmth. 
Her father, the clan’s leader, Goliath, stood behind her.  Just by glancing at father and
daughter anyone could see they were blood-lined: same lavender tone to the skin, same
dark brown eyes and hair, same posture in the way they held their heads.
	“Hey, bookworm,” Angela quipped.  “Did you forget we have first patrol
tonight?”
	Quickly, the copper-skinned gargoyle folded the corner of his current page and,
closing the book, stood up.	“Um, no, I didn’t,” Brooklyn checked the wall clock
behind the two.  “I’d thought I’d do some reading before going out--”
	Goliath smiled somewhat, nodding.
	“Very well,” his great baritone voice rumbled softly as he nodded and, quietly,
defying his bulk, padded out of the kitchen, probably out to the courtyard.  Goliath was
not known to waste words.
	“Do you want to patrol Chinatown?” Angela questioned.  “There was something
on the news tonight about a festival of some sort going on down there.”
	“Potential pick-pocket fest, sounds good to me,” Brooklyn agreed.
	“Also,” her tone suddenly dropped, her innocent side disappearing with it.  In its
place was the face of a more serious gargoyle.  A face that made Brooklyn think with a
internal shudder of Angela’s mother, Demona. “Also, we need to talk.  Alone.”
	Brooklyn narrowed his eyes, not meaning to be insincere, but that was the way he
showed his confusion.
	“’Morning,” Broadway suddenly pounded into the kitchen, with Lexington
trailing close behind.	Brooklyn snorted a laugh, attempting to be polite.  This was
Broadway’s running gag for God-knows-how-long.  He had started it eons ago, it seemed,
when they were just old enough to understand the difference between words like “day”
and “morning” with “night” and “evening”.  And, after one thousand and thirty-six
years--eighteen waking, one-thousand, eighteen in stone hibernation--Broadway still
found it hilarious.
	For Lex and Brooklyn, however, it was monotonous, but a symbol of normality in
their lives.
	“Don’t you think that’s getting old?” Lex voiced Brooklyn’s opinion before he
was able to share it.
	Broadway shrugged, and, once he noticed Angela, sidestepped toward her in a
romantic attempt to give her a kiss.  Instead, he comically tripped on a throw rug and
landed flat on his back.  The three others howled with laughter as Angela bent down to
help him up.
	“Um, sorry,” the turquoise gargoyle jumped to his feet, blushing, as Angela
smiled and hugged him tenderly.  Broadway and Angela then lost themselves in each
other’s eyes.	“Ugh,” Lex grimaced, sticking his finger into his mouth and made small
gagging noises.  He gave up with women, at least externally.
	“Hey, Angela,” Brooklyn beckoned.  “We have patrol.”
	“Oh, yeah,” She snapped back into the present.  “Sure.  Umm...” She glanced at
her beau lovingly, then back at Brooklyn.  “Okay. Well...” she hastily planted a kiss on
Broadway’s cheek and whispered, “Meet me after patrol, in the library, okay?”
	He nodded dumbly, a big grin spreading across his face.
	Lexington suddenly grabbed the side of his mouth and in mock pain cried, “I’m
getting cavities from all this sweetness!”
	Brooklyn snorted another quick laugh and exited from the kitchen, his
Hawkmoon  book still in his hand.  Angela smiled slyly to her lover and followed suit. 
Lexington began to fake seizures.
	“Oh, you’re just jealous,” Broadway slapped him lightly on the side of the head.
	“Ha!” Lex crossed his arms over his chest.
	“Ha yourself.”  The larger gargoyle opened the refrigerator.  “You want breakfast
or what?”

***
Chinatown
8:30 pm

	Brooklyn stared out at the marketplace from atop of the roof he was perched.  
	Nothing seemed to happening tonight, regardless of Angela's speculations.
	"Slow night," he muttered, reaching for his belt pouch he had hidden Hawkmoon.  
	Angela grabbed his arm before he could pull out his book.
	"Let's talk," she hissed.
	His hazel eyes narrowed again.
	"What about?" he demanded.
	"What is with this melancholia you have to submerge yourself in every time I'm
with Broadway?"
	Brooklyn sighed, almost growled.
	"If you haven't noticed, you're the only female gargoyle in Manhattan, whereas
there are three of us males.  I cannot help but feel rejected that--"
	"That I'm with Broadway and not you?" Angela was not hiding her apparent
anger.  "That seems a little selfish, Brooklyn."
	His eyes widened, and he recoiled as if she struck him with her fist and not her
words.	He realized her words rang truth.
	"You're right." His eyes closed, his head drooped, his posture sank.  
	"Brooklyn," she whispered, not meaning to hurt him.  "You are my friend, and I
love you like a brother, the same as I do with Lexington.  I fell in love with Broadway,
and I know you're dying to know why."
	"Hell yeah," he retorted without much emotion.
	"He makes me laugh."	He bit his lip, restraining from snapping some lewd remark
about how someone as funny-looking as his larger rookery brother would make anyone
laugh. Instead, he concentrated on the noisy crowd below.
	"Y'know, I've never seen you happy ever since I've been here in Manhattan, save
for that time after that incident with Alexander and Oberon."

	He thought back to the events succeeding the banishment of Puck to the job of
being Alexander's fae tutor, then remembered the coldness of Oblivion, where Oberon
had sent he and Angela for what seemed to be an eon, when in fact had only been a few
seconds.  He shivered slightly.
	"You don't remember...?" she seemed shocked.
	"I do," he hissed.  "But Oblivion keeps overpowering you and me." His answer
was disturbing as it was cryptic, and Angela decided to pursue it no more.
	"Angela," his voice seemed withdrawn.  "I really cannot recall a time when I was
truly happy, or, if I did, something negative would counter it.  I've never had the best of
luck."	"When you were named second-in-command, were you not happy?"
	"For a brief time, and then Goliath, Elisa, and Bronx disappeared.  I thought it
might have been a test, and I panicked a few times.  Thank God Hudson was there."
	"How about in your childhood?"
	"Ha!" His laugh was short, almost mocking.  "My childhood?  I didn't make a lot
of friends, and when I did, well, you know Tom, right?"
	"Aye, the Guardian."
	"I knew him when he was a small boy.  He came up to Broadway, Lex, and I, and
asked us our names.  Of course, we didn't have names at the time." "What do you call
each other?" the blonde boy inside of Brooklyn's mind questioned with a broad smile.
"Friend," a younger, innocent, nameless copper gargoyle returned the smile.  "His mother
suddenly appeared at his side, her arm around his arm, fending us away with a stick.  She
called us monsters.  It was my bright idea to give her what she thought of us, and that was
what landed the four of us--Bronx included-- in the rookery for that night and day.  When
we awoke the next night, we found our clan had been destroyed and the princess
kidnaped.  Before Goliath returned with her, the Magus had turned us to stone.  My Latin
was rusty at the time, but I could make out the words, which seemed almost apocalyptic
to me.  We were to remain as stone until Castle Wyvern rose into the sky."  He pointed to
the Eyrie Building still visible in the north-east horizon, lit for all to see.
	"I'm sorry." Angela whispered.
	"What for?  Why Fate is always cruel to me?  It isn't your fault.  And please don't
give me any pity.  I've got enough of my own as it is."
	"Poetic, Brooklyn," she snarled dryly.  "I was attempting to be friendly."
	"I'm sorry."
	"You need to be cheered up," Angela finally decided.  "I'll be right back."
	Brooklyn watched her stand up.
	"Wait, Angela," he whimpered.  "Please hurry back.  I enjoy your company, I
really do, I'm just sorry I'm not in a good mood."
	"I'll be back, don't worry."  And, with that, Angela unfurled her wings and glided
onto a strong current for a little ways, then she dropped into a nearby alley.
	Instead of going into his book, Brooklyn studied the crowd.	"'You never said you
loved me, and I don't believe you can,'" he began to sing softly, not know why, or,
perhaps, did know, subconsciously. "''Cuz I saw you in a dream, and you were with
another man.  You looked so cool and casual, and I tried to look the same.  But now I've
got to know you, tell me, who am I to blame?  I was born without you baby, but my
feelings were a little bit too strong."

	Just a fifteen minute walk away, a young woman with brilliant green eyes and
strange tri-colored hair strolled down the street, toward the celebration.  A Chinese
festival, maybe to bring in the coming of summer, a tradition in Chinatown.  The woman
smiled faintly, glad to be back in the States, where so much in diversity surrounded her.
Chinatown, the Bronx Zoo, Cony Island, and Times Square were her favorite spots in the
Big Apple, and she wanted to savor each place, remembering the times when her mother
and father took her to these areas of interests when she was very young.  She reminded
herself to dig up her half-sister Janine's number and get back in touch with her later.  She
smiled to herself and allowed New York to engulf her, embrace her, once more.
	What she did not expect was the dirty, muscular hands grabbing her, covering her
mouth, as they dragged her into an alleyway to an out-of-the-way corner.
	"Hello, pretty-pretty," the greasy man holding her peered into her eyes with dull,
sludge brown pools of gelatinous cells.  "What are you doing walking the streets alone?"
	"If you want money, I'll give it to you," she retorted, shaking with fear as she
pulled out her wallet from her back pocket.  Damn muggers!  She had not even
considered them!  Of course, she had the nerve to wander off from the chauffeur to be by
herself.	"Oh, we'll want your money, all right," the other man, a scrawny fellow with a
nose and teeth like a rat's grinned evilly.  "But, you see, the only women we ever see
walking these streets alone are usually hookers.  You seem to be a refined hooker to
me."	Arin's eyes widened in shock, dropping the wallet.  She opened her mouth to
scream, but the big thug clamped his mouth over her face once again.
	She had underestimated her home town.

	Bored with Black Sabbath's "The Warning", Brooklyn glanced around for
something--criminal activity, food fight, Angela coming back wearing
lingerie--happening.  Just as he reached for his book once more, he felt an unnerving
sensation at the base of his skull, something that screamed that something was out of the
norm.	That something, that feeling, seemed to have an origin, too.	Jumping to his feet,
he leapt of the building, and, with wings noiselessly unfolding, glided southbound.
	Whatever it was, the sensation was getting stronger.
	One thought crossed his mind.  It was the motto of his clan, his kind.
	Gargoyles protect.

	A flick of a wrist, a flash of a switchblade, Arin struggled to no avail.  Times like
this, she wished she was telepathic, like the White Queen or Jean Grey from X-men. 
Professor X, I need help!  I'll send Wolverine or Gambit or whoever the heartthrob hero is
this week.  Or, she would, like the White Queen would do, just fry off all their synapses
at once, leaving them mindless vegetables.
	Unfortunately, this wasn't the comics.  Tears streamed from her eyes and down
her cheeks as the switchblade knife cut open the front of her Judas Priest tee-shirt,
revealing her Lycra sports bra underneath.
	"Now there's a nice girl, just cooperate--"
	An inhuman shriek suddenly forced Ratman and Greaseboy to halt their advances
to the young woman.
	"Fuck, man, what the hell was that?!" Ratman quivered.
	"Your worst nightmare," someone snarled as a red fist struck Greaseboy square in
the jaw.  He dropped Arin and fell backward in pain, as blood gushed from his badly-split
lip.	The two thugs, as well as Arin, focused their eyes on what stood at the entrance of
the alleyway, blocking any chances of escape.  It seemed only a silhouette of an unnatural
creature, wings unmantled and spread out on both sides of its lithe body, tail twitching
ever so slightly, talons out-stretched, eyes blazing blue-white, like lightning.
	"What the fuck are you supposed to be?" Greaseboy pulled out a Magnum .357
from his waistband underneath his jacket and fired.  The gargoyle dodged the bullet, the
projectile singeing some strands of death-white hair.
	"Jesus H.Christ!" Ratman screamed.  "It's a fucking gargoyle!"
	"Good guess," the creature nodded slightly, eyes sparking with rage, as it dashed
toward Greaseboy, knocking the piece from his hand. Ratman froze in terror, pressing
himself against the wall of the nearby store.
	The larger thug snatched at the much smaller creature's neck, but failed, as the
gargoyle's talons raked against his wrist, chest, and thigh in one fluid motion.  Greaseboy
yelped, throwing a wild punch, when the thing caught hold of his good arm and, with a
snap, broke the humerus bone smack in the middle.
	Greaseboy, in terrible pain, crawled to the far brick wall and mewed
uncontrollably.
	No longer the threat.	The gargoyle picked up the handgun and faced Ratman.
	"It was all Jordan's idea!   I didn't know what he was up to!" the scrawny man
protested.
	The gargoyle threw its right hand out, talons extended, sinking an inch deep in the
brick wall millimeters from Ratman's head.  It then brought the gun to eye level and, as
Ratman fainted, crushed the metal, rendering the firearm useless.
	Finally, the gargoyle slowly turned to Arin, it now became "he" as the glow in his
eyes died, becoming those of rich hazel.
	"Are you all right?" he spoke softly, kneeling in front of her.  He had expected her
to bolt in fear, or faint, or something of that sort, but what he didn't expect, not even in a
millennium, was what she did just then.
	She threw her arms around him, burying her face into his shoulder.
	"Thank you," she whispered hoarsely, as her head lifted up, her emerald green
eyes studying his beaked face.  "Thank you so much.  I owe you my life."  She stood up,
but found her legs weak, and fell back to her knees.
	"Are you certain you're all right?" he demanded, helping her stand.
	"I'm just a little shaken up, that's all.  I mean, they were ready to--" she suddenly paled,
then, groping at the dumpster nearby, she retched into it, gasping for breath.  Physically,
she showed no sign of injury.
	"I know what they tried to do to you," he whispered, holding her up.  It was all he
could find to say.  This was the first time he had stopped a rape attempt.
	"Thank you again for saving my life.  I want to go home..." she trailed off, starting
to  stagger off.  Brooklyn caught her gently.
	"Where do you live?" he questioned sincerely.
	"Brooklyn Heights, on Manhattan Ave," she retorted, leaning on him for support.
	"Would you like some help home?"
	"Yes," she nodded, glancing back into his hazel eyes.  "Yes, that would be most
kind."
	The gargoyle acknowledged sullenly, and held her by the waist, as he climbed the
fire escape of the store to the roof.  She clutched his neck as he launched himself into the
clear sky, heading to the east, toward the borough of his namesake.
***
	Angela returned about five minutes later, with two ice cream cones she had
bought with what little money she had from a kind elderly shop owner she had met a few
days before.  The man, Mr. Liu, was half-blind and could only see shapes and a little
color, but told Angela he had been saved from drowning by a gargoyle from the local
clan when he was a boy back in the outskirts of Tungkwan, by Hwang Ho, the Yellow
River.  She automatically liked him, and for the past few nights, she would stop by just to
say hi.  Tonight, she stuck around a little longer than she intended, as he told her the
Chinese mythical creation story of Pan Ku.  	As she landed on the rooftop overlooking
the festival, she called out for Brooklyn.  When no one answered, Angela hmphed,
thinking that he probably got bored and took off.  Then, shaking her head, she dismissed
the thought.  Brooklyn wasn’t that type of person.  Maybe something happened: he found
a pick-pocket, a mugging, an arson attempt.  That was it.  It had to be.   Abandoning the
cones, she leapt off the building, scanning the alleys below.  Two minutes latter, she
noticed two men, one small one kneeling next to a much larger mass.
	The smaller man, who had the face of a rat, just happened to look up and, once
seeing Angela, screamed.
	“It was his idea, not mine!” he wailed, pointing to the bloody body next to him.
	Angela, curious, perched on the fire escape above the two humans.
	“It was all his idea!” Ratman continued, as if to convince himself more than to
the gargoyle gazing directly at him.
	“What happened?” she whispered.
	“Oh Jesus...” he placed his head in his hands and sobbed.  “Oh Jesus....”
	“What happened?” Angela demanded again, her voice rising.
	“Oh, Christ, what have I done?  It was all Jordan’s idea...all his idea....”
	“What happened?!” the gargoyle snarled once more, her eyes flaring red.  This
caught Ratman’s attention and, out of terror, began blabbering mostly nonsense.  What
she did manage to pick out was graphic and horrid: the word rape stuck out the most in
her mind.  He stuttered more, revealing a demon straight from classical mythology had
stopped them, killing his friend Jordan in the process.  Obviously Ratman was a very
religious man, as it seemed to the lavender gargoyle, believing that their attempted victim
was one of Satan’s pets, and He had come and destroyed those who would try to taste his
concubine.
	To Angela, it sounded like this guy was using religion to make right his actions. 
She growled, posing to dive at Ratman.  This frightened him even more, and he fainted
again. She climbed down and studied the larger man.  He was unconditionally
without-a-doubt dead.  His right arm had been broken in a disgustingly sick angle, and
had long, deep claw marks on his thigh and stomach, where bits of intestine stuck out. 
His left hand was almost completely severed.
	Angela gulped, feeling nauseated. 
 	Only a gargoyle could make those claw marks.
	“Oh, Brooklyn,” she whispered, climbing back onto the roof.  He had probably 
had no clue what he had done and had headed back to the Eyrie Building.
	That was where she would find him.
***
	“Where exactly do you live?” Brooklyn asked softly.
	“Have you ever heard of Macbeth Manor?” she questioned.
	Brooklyn froze for a nanosecond before saying anything.
	“Lennox MacDuff lives there,” he whispered.
	“He’s my father.  I’m Arin.”
	The gargoyle’s hazel eyes widened, obliviously surprised.
	“You know my da?”
	“We’ve met,” he responded truthfully.  Great.  Macbeth was able to reproduce. 
Just grea....
	His sarcastic thought suddenly dissolved.  The man was no longer one of his
clan’s enemies.  In fact, after the debate on Crossfire against the assistant district attorney
and gargoyle-hater Margot Yale, Macbeth was considered a potential ally, like Xanatos. 
He had no real reason to continue his hatred.  Macbeth had tried to atone for his past
crimes.  You couldn’t hate a guy for attempting to make amends.
	“You never told me your name,” she muttered, her voice edged with sleepiness. 
“Or don’t you have a name, like the old-fashioned gargoyles?”
	“Brooklyn,” he snorted slightly.  So, she had done her homework on gargoyles. 
Of course, she was Macbeth’s daughter.  He probably had told her all about his kind.  “I
didn’t know MacDuff had a daughter.”
	“I was in London for five years, for school.  Before, when I still lived here, there
were no gargoyles.  Una told me that Goliath’s clan was frozen in stone for a millennium
by a spell.”
	Una.  That was one of the gargoyles from London that Goliath, Elisa, Bronx, and
Angela met along their journeys from Avalon.  Goliath had relaid the adventure to the
rest of the clan.  Brooklyn nodded.
	“I’ve heard of Una,” he retorted, somewhat dumbly.  He really did not know what
to say.  As he descended inside the gate of Macbeth Manor, he set Arin down, still
allowing her to use him for balance.  She was still shook up, but not as bad as she was in
the alley.
	They took two steps toward the front door, but  immediately halted when it swung
open, revealing Macbeth, King of the Scots, in full anger.
	So, young Brooklyn,” his voice was amazingly placid, in contradiction to the fury
in his eyes, “I see it did not take you long to meet my daughter.”  Then he noticed Arin’s
tattered shirt, and the anger melted away into concern, as the immortal Macbeth melted
away into the loving father Lennox MacDuff.
	“What happened?” he whispered, racing to retrieve his daughter.
	“I was mugged in Chinatown, Da,” she retorted with a shiver.  “Brooklyn saved
me.” 
	MacDuff’s gaze switched from Arin to Brooklyn and back to Arin.
	“’Gargoyles protect,’” he muttered, a humorless smirk twitching on the corner of
his mouth.  Deftly, he scooped up Arin into his arms and carried her into the house.
	“Thank you, Brooklyn,” he suddenly acknowledged, without turning his head to
face the copper-red gargoyle.  “Thank you for being in the right place at the right time to
come to my only love’s aid.”
	The heavy oak door then slammed shut.
	“Yeah, no problem,” Brooklyn squinted, scratching at his ear.  “Glad to have been
of service,” he announced to no one.  Snapping back into reality, he vaulted over the gate
and decided to take his time heading home.
***
	Detective Elisa Maza sipped her coffee as her partner, Matt Bluestone, was
ranting continuously about gargoyle sightings in Maine.
  	“I’m serious, Elisa,” Matt’s boyish face had an expression of total seriousness,
which made Elisa laugh.  “Various cars and trucks, mostly Chevrolets, GMC’s, and
Pontiacs, were reported stolen about one hour after sunset, and found abandoned the next
morning, cluttered with beer cans and various magazines, including VW Trends, Playboy,
Black Belt, and Hot Rod.”
	“That could have been any red-blooded American human male.” Elisa grinned,
humored.
	“But the indentations and marks left in the beer cans and seats were made by
talons.  Gargoyle talons.  This all happens almost every night, between Augusta and
Showhegan, usually in the Waterville area.  At least five different police departments, not
to mention three county sheriffs and six staties, report that they have had visual contact
with this clan, and the Fairfield P.D. had even confronted a couple of them, getting into a
verbal disagreement with the two.”
	“Interesting,” Elisa nodded.  It really was, and she reminded herself to relay the
information back to Goliath when she got off-duty.
	“And in Winslow, to the east of Waterville, the P.D. there confirm with Fairfield,
and expands to say there is a rival clan living somewhere in the rural parts, a clan that
seems to follow the “gargoyles protect’ creed.  Two clans in the same area?  What are the
chances of that?”
	Elisa set down the coffee mug on the table of the small caféon the corner of 11th
and Broodway.                         
	“Maybe they’re the same clan that split apart long ago.”
	“I thought so too. “ Matt shrugged as the police radio in Elisa’s classic Ford
buzzed.  The woman raced outside and grabbed the mike.
	“Maza here.”
	“Captain Chavez,” Maria Chavez’s voice crackled over the slight static of the
radio speaker.  “This just in from the Chinatown prescient: one dead, one nervous
breakdown.  What they can make out from his hysterics, he and his partner had been
foiled in a mugging attempt by what appeared to be a demon.  Sound like anything
you’ve dealt with, Detective?”
	“Sounds like gargoyles to me, Captain,” she retorted the obvious answer.
	“I’m saddened to report, Detective, but this is the first suspected gargoyle-related
casualty.”
	“How can you be sure?” Elisa found it difficult to breathe. 
	“Why don’t you come down here and see for yourself?” Chavez suggested, a
small tint of sympathy lining her tone of voice.
	“I will.  Maza out.” Elisa slammed the mike back onto the hook.  
	“Shit,” she whispered.  Bad guy or not, this was not going to be good for the
gargoyles’ public image.
	“Matt!” Elisa then yelled.  “I’m heading back to the station.  You coming or not?”
	Matt heard her voice waiver.
	“What’s going on, Elisa?” he questioned as he hopped into the passenger seat.
	“Captain Chavez just brought to my attention that the guys down in Chinatown
just brought in two men, one of which was killed by what they believe was a gargoyle.”
	“Oh boy,” her partner groaned.	“I mean, it didn’t just have to be a gargoyle,
right?”	“No...of course not, Elisa,” Matt shook his head as they sped away to the
temporary 23rd prescient house on 2nd Avenue.

	“Ah!  Detective Maza!  Detective Bluestone!  Come in!” The annoyingly cheerful
personality of Doctor Ira Gerard, the mortician and autopsy investigator, greeted the two
down in the basement of the temporary station, where the prescient’s morgue was
located.
  	"Where's this body from Chinatown, Doc?" Matt demanded rather bluntly.  
	"Oh..." Gerard scratched his surgical cap.  "...you mean the guy the gargoyle
killed, eh?"
	"Purely speculation, Gerard," Maza retorted.	"I'm not too sure, Elisa," he strode
over to a gurney where a great mass of flesh underneath a white sheet laid.  Pulling off
the sheet with a little finesse, he ta-daed and did a quick tap step.  "You might want to
note the slashes on the thigh, lower abdomen and chest, and wrist."
	"Those slashes could have been made by a bladed weapon," Matt suggested.
	"Like what Jackal and Hyena use," Elisa added.
	Gerard shook his head.
	"If we were looking at the wounds with just the naked eye, I would have to agree
with you, Detectives, but..." He side-stepped to an electronic microscope and focused
onto the stomach area on the corpse.  "...have a look."
	Septically, Elisa peered into the eyepiece. 
	"Note that to the naked eye, the lacerations appear to be linear, or regular, for you
non-medical personnel.  But upon closer look, the wounds are in fact more stellate,
irregular, than any bladed weapon used by Jackal and Hyena, or even the Steel Clan."
	"Maybe someone with a broken bottle, or a dull gauntlet set, similar to Jackal's or
Hyena's?" Matt queried.
	"Those would be too noticeably stellate.  This was done by something organic,
like claws, or talons.  Extremely sharp ones, too, like that of a predatory animal. 
Something with four digits, including..." Gerard pushed away the microscope and
indicated with a gloved finger at the beginnings of the lacerations near the chest,
"...opposable thumbs.  The only predators with opposable thumbs in existence are
gargoyles."
	"They aren't predators!" Elisa protested.
	"Au contraire, Elisa," Gerard pointed a bloody finger upwards, "Gargoyles are
scientifically labeled as predatory creatures with human sentience.  Genetically, they
started out as hunters, not gatherers, as opposed to us humans."
	"So who was this guy stupid enough to cross a gargoyle?" Matt then asked.
	"New York driver's licence said this guy's Jordan Whitmore.  He was wanted in
New Jersey and Pennsylvania for child molesting and rape charges.  His partner-in-crime,
Theodore Pasadros, is still at the Chinatown station.  Chavez wants us hush-hush about
this.  She already talked to Captain Lao down there, and his men are not to say a word. 
Same with us."  Gerard shook his head.  "These creatures are far too dangerous to be
vigilantes.  It's like allowing tigers to wander around the city without restraint."
	Elisa bit her tongue, holding back a harsh phrase.
	"Not all people feel that way, Gerard," Matt shrugged.  "I think they're the best
thing that happened to this city.  A few citizens feel that way as well."
	"I'm just stating my opinion." 
	"And I'm mine," Matt grabbed Elisa's arm.  "Thanks, Gerard, for your time."
	"No, thank you, Detectives!  Mortuary science is a lonely profession, and I enjoy
the company." The man in the blood-covered smock smiled brightly as he bowed deeply.

	"So, Elisa," Matt coughed as the Ford raced down Lafayette Street, "Are you
going to let your boyfriend know about this turn of events?"
	"I'm not sure yet," Elisa was in too bad of a mood to protest Matt's referring to
Goliath as her "boyfriend." "I don't know how he would react to an accusation that one of
his clan killed a human.  Personally, I can't believe one of them could do that."
	"What about one of the Mutates?"
	Elisa's frown turned into a scowl.
	"Last I checked," she retorted slowly, "Fang was still in his prison.  That was this
morning."
	"Oops."
	"I'm sorry, Matt," she shook her head.  "I'm just a little edgy about this.  It couldn't
have been the clones, Thailog is dead, Demona hasn't been sighted for six months.  With
those possibilities out of the way, who else could it be?"  

***
Eyrie Building
10:45 p.m.
	Angela stared out into the night sky with puzzlement sparking her eyes.  
	Brooklyn, where are you? she thought sourly.
	"Penny for your thoughts, love?" Broadway came up from behind and wrapped his
arms around her waist.
	"I'm worried about Brooklyn," she stated, her voice a whisper. 
"Something...terrible...has happened in Chinatown earlier.  And I truly don't think
Brooklyn has a clue of what he has done."
	Her dark brown hair rose slightly in the gust of wind that suddenly came up out of
nowhere.
	"What happened?" he muttered in her ear.
	"I...." she trailed off.  "I went to see Mr. Liu for a minute, to get some ice cream. 
That always cheers me up, and I thought it would do the same for Brooklyn, but when I
returned, he wasn't there.  I got worried, and went to look for him.  I just happened to
find...." her voice hesitated.
	"Is Brooklyn all right?" Broadway queried, now worried as well.
	"...I found two men in an alley, one of them babbling nonsense, the other
was...dead."
	"What?"
	"The man was saying something about a demon killing his friend after he had
tried to rape a woman."
	"What?"
	"I...." Angela was now crying, tears freely flowing down her cheeks.  "I don't think
he knows what he has done, Broadway."

	He could not get her out of his mind.	He did not know why she fascinated him:
her sparkling emerald green eyes, her odd tri-colored hair, or her relation to Macbeth. 
She seemed so much an enigma.  There was so much more to her, something mysterious,
something supernatural, something magical.  Her tears still burned on his shoulder, where
they landed earlier.  He rubbed the joint subconsciously as he glided back to the Eyrie
Building.  It was a good kind of burning, like a flame warming his heart.
	Great, his sarcastic side snarled.  I'm in love with a human.
	But what's so wrong with that?  Elisa and Goliath were involved.
	But there was something different with Arin.  Something that wasn't quite human. 
Probably it was the fact that she seemed so open with gargoyles.
	"Great.  Just great.  Just because one female is nice to you, you immediately fall
in love with her," he scolded himself.  Hey, it happened twice before, both with Angela
and with Maggie, one of the Mutates.
	Glancing back to the southeast, he sighed.
	I hope to see you again, Arin, he thought wistfully as he descended onto the one
of the turrets of Castle Wyvern.
	He looked back in the direction of Brooklyn Heights, then, without turning his
head, ran smack into Broadway. 
	“Hi, Broadway,” he greeted, sidestepping to get around the large gargoyle.  His
rookery brother caught his arm.
	“We need to talk,” the turquoise gargoyle gruffly retorted.
	“Seems this night everyone wants to “talk’ to me tonight.”  Brooklyn shrugged. 
“What about?”
	Broadway opened his mouth to speak, then his patented dumb look crossed his
face, erasing all seriousness of the moment.
	“Brooklyn,” Angela padded next to her beau, clasping his hand.  She had tears in
her eyes.  “What happened earlier tonight, in Chinatown, just after I left you?”
	The copper-red gargoyle stared deep into her dark brown eyes and sighed.
	“Can we talk about it inside?” he murmured.  It wasn’t a request.  Both Angela
and Broadway knew that tone of voice.  It was more of an order.
	The three ventured into the library, the place where they knew they could have
the most privacy.  Lexington was in the den, playing with his computer, and Hudson and
Bronx were in the TV room watching Beavis and Butthead.  Goliath was still out on
patrol.	“What happened?” Broadway demanded as the large wooden doors shut.
	“When I was waiting for Angela to return, I...” he sighed, then totally stopped for
five seconds.  “What I can’t explain it.  It was like, I don’t know, clairvoyance or
something.  I found two guys in an alley about a mile from where Angela and I were
watching the crowd.  They had a girl with them.  Her shirt was ripped, and the big guy
had her pinned, with a switchblade to her throat.  I stopped him, and scared the little guy
shitless.”
	“What did you do to the larger man?” Angela choked.
	“He fired a gun at me, I dodged, then attacked him.”
	“Do you know that guy’s dead?” Broadway stated bluntly, as Angela jabbed him
in the ribs.
	Brooklyn’s face paled, his hazel eyes wide and dilated.
	“What?” he mouthed, disbelieved.
	“I saw him, Brooklyn, when I went looking for you.” Angela’s gaze was
downcast.
	“What?” his mouth moved, but his voice refused to cooperate.  He began to pace,
then slowly staggered to the giant bay window overlooking Manhattan.  He stared at the
star-specked sky, repeating the monosyllabic question over and over.

	Below, just outside the Eyrie Building, three teenage girls walked hastily down
4th Avenue, their heads huddled near one another, giggling and whispering.  As the black
haired girl looked up at the castle in the sky, she smiled secretly and nodded.
	“Luna, Selena,” she pointed to Castle Wyvern on top of the Eyrie Building,
“Behold.  Our Lady’s Champion.”
	The two others, one golden blonde, the other bleach white, stared up to where she
was indicating.  Although no human could make out any detail from that distance, the
three noticed the melancholy soul gazing out the large bay window and nodded in
unison.	“Very well, Phoebe,” Luna with the white hair grinned.  “The die is cast.  We
must move on to the next step.”
	Selena added, “Let us tell our Lady, and inform our Lord.”
	The three nodded thrice, and vanished.

***
	“Hey, Elisa!” The Chinese American male trotted along side of her as she and
Matt entered the Chinatown station.	“Hey yourself, Howie,” She replied mechanically.
	“Haven’t seen you around since the Policeman’s Ball a few years back.  ¿Que
pasa?”
	“I’m doing a little investigating,” she muttered, not in the mood to talk to anyone.
	“Is it anything about the freak accident with Jordan Whitmore?” Howie Sung
grinned at her expression.  “I was the one who brought his partner in.”
	“Did you get anything from this Theodore Pasadros?” Matt queried.
	“You’re not gonna believe this.” He led them to his desk and punched a screen up
on his computer terminal.  “The basket case confessed he and his recently-deceased
buddy were conducting a routine mugging, and decided to get time-and-a-half overtime
with the victim, if you know what I mean.  We found her wallet at the crime scene, but
she had made tracks before we had arrived.  The boys down at the lab scoured the place,
but they couldn’t find any evidence of actual rape.  We’ve been trying to get a hold of her
father for the past hour, but the line is busy.”
	“What did Pasadros say about the girl’s guardian angel?” Elisa then questioned.
	“Some sort of demon, if you can believe that.  Classic devil from Christian lore. 
Y’know, glowing eyes, wings, fangs, horns, claws--”
	“What color?” Elisa suddenly demanded, not knowing why.
	“A dark red.  Like I said, classical devil.  Personally, I think this guy’s been
hitting on the bong one too many times.  Unless it was one of those gargoylxs up in your
neck of the woods, Maza.  There have been sittings as far south as Jersey City from what
I understand.”	“Thanks for the information, Howie,” Matt acknowledged quickly,
grabbing onto Elisa’s shoulder.  “We ought to get going, though.  C’mon, Elisa.  I’ve got
to get back to the station to fill out paperwork.”
	“What?” She stammered.  She was going to question this Pasadros fellow herself,
according to her plans.  Her partner winked and started out toward the parking lot.  Elisa
reluctantly followed.
	“What the hell was that all about?” She snarled.
	“I have a hunch, Elisa,” he buckled his seatbelt once inside the car.  “I noticed on
Howie’s computer the file for Jordan Whitmore.  It was full of holes, no address, no birth
date, nothing.  Just his name.  But Gerard said they identified him by his driver’s licence! 
He had to have an address and birth date to have a licence.”
	“The plot thickens,” Elisa mumbled.
	“Do you think Brooklyn did it?” Matt whispered as they headed back to their
station.
	“All evidence seems to be pointing towards him,” she sighed.  “But why?”
	“I’ve also noticed one other thing on Howie’s terminal that might have some
relevance,” he wiggled his eyebrows.  “The victim’s name was Arin MacDuff.”
	“So?”
	“Her father’s name is Lennox.”
	The Ford screeched to a halt, causing other motorists on Center Street to blare
their horns, shout obscenities, and flip the bird at her.
	“Looks like I will be talking with Goliath after all,” she blinked.
	The police band radio then sparked to life.
	“Bluestone here,” he answered.
	“You two better get back to the station right away!” Chavez shouted.
	“We’re on our way!” Elisa affirmed.
	“What’s the problem, Captain?” Matt demanded.
	“The stiff’s gone!”
	The two detectives glanced at each other.
	“Do you mean, just got off the gurney and walked out?” he quipped.
	“According to Doctor Gerard, it went through an accelerated state of
decomposition.  All that’s left is ashes!”
	“’Ashes?’” Elisa raised an eyebrow.
	“Just get up here!”
	They exchanged looks once more.
	“And I thought nothing interesting ever happened in Manhattan,” Matt grinned.
	“Shut up,” Elisa smirked.
***
Chapter 2
Eyrie Building
11:15 pm
	“Brooklyn?
	“Brooklyn?
	“Brooklyn!”
	Angela snapped her fingers in front of Brooklyn’s beak.  There was no response.
	“Brooklyn, talk to us, dammit!” Broadway grabbed hold of his brother’s shoulders
and shook his lithe body.  
	“I didn’t mean to,” he whispered, almost child-like.  “He was going to hurt her,
and I had to stop him.  She was in trouble, and I had to help her.  I did not mean to kill
anyone.”
	“We know you didn’t mean to, Brooklyn,” Angela replied tenderly.  “But this is
very serious.  If humans get the wrong idea about this...”
	“I know if Margot Yale gets her hands on this, she’ll turn the story all around,”
Broadway scratched his head.	“She can’t, no matter how hard she tried,” Brooklyn shook
his head.  “She doesn’t have the authority to alter the evidence.  At least, I don’t think she
does.” His eyes closed.  “God, what have I done?”

		The phone in the private den of David and Fox Xanatos chimed crazily,
though the hand that claimed the receiver was calm and steady.
	“Hello?” Owen Burnett answered, curious.  Not many people had this private
extension.  In fact, he could only recall five people to have this number: himself, David,
Fox, David’s father Petros, in Bar Harbor, Maine, and Elisa Maza.
	“Is Janine there?” a feminine voice hissed from the other end.
	“I’m sorry, you must have the--”
	“Is Janine Reynard there?  She got married about a year ago, but I can’t remember
her husband’s last name.  David something-or-other.”
	Owen then realized the girl on the other end was looking for Fox.
	“Do you mean Mrs. Xanatos?”
	“Yeah!”
	“And may I ask who’s calling?”
	“Tell her it’s her sister, Arin, back from London.”
	Owen raised an eyebrow.  He did not know Fox had a sister. 
	“Please hold,” he stated, and, with a press of a button, he put down the receiver
and walked placidly into the nursery.	“Fox,” he whispered, for the baby was sound
asleep.	The red-haired woman bolted up from her own nap in the rocking chair.
	“Yes, Owen?” she yawned.
	“There is a young woman on the private line.  She says she is your sister, Arin,
back from London.”	Fox suddenly stood up, overcoming the sleepiness mommy hours
had created.
	“She’s back?” she grinned, racing as quietly as she could to the den.  Snatching
the receiver, she hit the “hold” button and screeched, “Arin?!”
	“Hiya, sis!”
	“You’re back in the States already?  I wasn’t expecting you for another six
months!”
	“Da sent the plane ticket just last week.  I’m at his place right now.” Arin’s tone
dropped.  “I ran into some trouble in Chinatown a few hours ago, sis.  Almost got
mugged.  Da isn’t letting me out of the house without him.  But I was wondering if you
could, like, dream up some sort of plan to get me over to your new place.  You were
always good at that.”
	“Wait a minute, Arin.” Fox blinked, disbelieved.  “Did you say you were
mugged?”
	“Almost,” Arin retorted.  Fox sensed a lie.  They always had that sort of bond. 
One could tell when the other was lying.  “Anyway, I’d like to see that nephew of mine. 
You told me so much about him, I’m dying to meet him.”
	“Arin, please, slow down.” She rubbed at her blue fox-head tattoo over her right
eye.  “Did anything else happen?” One side of her suggested Arin was telling the truth. 
The other, more sensitive side, implied that Arin was pulling a self-denial stunt.
	“Yeah, my wallet was stolen.  I had ten quid to my name.  That shouldn’t get
them anywhere, unless they go to a bank to cash in, which equals out to, what, fifteen
bucks?  That’ll get them to the Bronx in a cab.  Big deal.”  Then again, Arin had always
been an excellent liar.  However, Fox knew she was lying through her teeth.  Something
did happen, but apparently she didn’t want to expand on it.  So, for now, Fox would play
along.  	“Say, sis, do you think sometime tomorrow I could stop by, maybe you pick me
up?  Please, big sis?”
	Fox laughed and added, “Of course.  I’ll call up Len, and make arrangements for
Owen to pick you up in the afternoon.  You’ll love David, and Alex, too.”
	“Great!  I’ll see you then.  I hear Da coming up. He doesn’t know I’m using the
private cell phone line.  “Bye, sis.”
	“Bye, Arin,” Fox repeated before the connection severed.
	“Your...sister, Fox?” Owen questioned.
	“Half-sister, really,” Fox shrugged casually.
	“On which side?” The aide-de-camp raised an eyebrow.
	“My mother’s, of...” the red-headed woman stared deep into Owen’s eyes. 
“...course.  Shit!  You don’t mean...”
	“If my Lord had any interest in your half-sister, Fox, he would have expressed it
during the calling for the Gathering.”
	“You’re...you’re right, Owen.  But there’s another problem I just realized.”
	“And that is...?”
	“Her father.  Lennox MacDuff.  I’ve been thinking about that since I found out
about Demona.  You would think that would grasp Oberon’s attention, the daughter of
the queen of the fae and the immortal king of the Scots.”  She sighed heavily, standing
up.  “I know it’s stupid, but I suddenly worry for Arin.  She is special, Owen.  She has
amazing talents.  She’s so bright, and curious, and ...” She shook her head.  “I don’t
know.  There has always been something different about her.”
	“I do not doubt it, Fox.”
	She yawned.  “I’m going to bed now.  The mommy hours are really killing me. 
Good night, Owen.”
	“Good night, Fox,” Owen watched her carefully as she exited the den and headed
down to the master bedroom.  A prankish, uncharacteristic, un-Owen grin crept across his
face as he tip-toed deftly into the nursery.  As if on cue, Alexander awoke, staring
wide-eyed at the tall man.
	Owen placed a finger over his lips as, in a flash of light, Owen melted into
another, elven, form. He had dropped his human guise, and metamorphed back into the
trickster-turned-babysitter/tutor, Puck.
	“Want a quick lesson?” Puck whispered.
	“Goo ga fum!” Alexander jumped up in his crib.
	“Goody.  You’re so much fun, kiddo.  Much more fun than what I expected you to
be.”
	“Gaa bo phfffft!” The ten-month-old gave the fae a raspberry, then clapped his
hands and bubbled another nonsense cantrip.  A bewildered Lexington suddenly
appeared.  “Bi bi odd!”
	“What are you doing up still?” Lex demanded, getting over the initial shock of the
teleportation.  For some reason, he was the only thing Alexander could teleport.  The
olive-green gargoyle picked up the baby gently.
	Then he noticed Puck.	“Oh, hello, Puck,” he nodded, a little coldly.
	“You know, you should feel honored Alexander has chosen you as a...how do I
put this nicely...familiar?”
	“I’m not a familiar!” Lex protested.  Alexander cuddled in the crock of his arm
and babbled more baby talk.
	“Well, how else am I able to put it?  “Container?’ “Channel?’--”
	“Okay, fine, whatever you say,” Lex raised his free hand.  “So, what do you want
tonight?”
	“Tonight,” Puck grinned almost maniacally, “I’m going to teach him how to
access the fae mindnet.”
	“What’s that?” Lex demanded.
	“Oh, you know, it’s sort of a magical telepathy garblety-gook.  Well, it isn’t
exactly telepathy, but it’s almost on the same principal.  Well, not quite, it’s more like
magically jacking into the phone lines of Avalon--”
	“Okay, I get the idea,” Lexington groaned.  Yeah, sure, but aren’t you forgetting
one thing?”
	“And what’s that?” Puck crossed his arms over his chest.
	“Rfffoo brrorr!” Alexander muttered, giving Puck another raspberry.
	“Don’t get wise with me, young man.  No, I didn’t forget I was banished from
Avalon.  But we aren’t exactly going to Avalon, we’re merely, in techno babble you keep
spewing, Lex, hacking into Oberon’s network.”
	“Is that wise?”	“Wise, no, but just as long as we don’t get caught, and Alexander
is the only one doing it, he won’t notice.”
	“Jalapeña,” Lex whispered, feeling defeated.  Alexander clapped quietly.  “Fine,
but remember, I have no part in this.”
	“Well, save for the fact you’re going to be Alexander’s voice, no, you won’t.” 
Puck rubbed his chin.	“Just as long as we get back before it gets too late.”
	“Yes, den mother,” the fae rolled his eyes.  To Alexander, he whispered, “Ready,
kiddo?”
	The baby grinned, exposing all six teeth he had, and babbled another nonsense
phrase.  He instantly vaporized into a visible white cloud surrounding the small gargoyle,
then it abated.	“So what now, Mentor?” Alexander/Lexington asked, two voices now one.
	“Now we head up to the top turret.” Puck retorted, snapping his fingers and
vanishing in a flash of light.  Alexander/Lexington debated whether or not to attempt
teleportation, then decided to take the stairs.

***
Avalon

	Touchstone paced the little glen he called home.
	“I hope I didn’t scare that poor girl too much,” he repeated for the thousandth
time.  “I feel so awful for pulling something like that.  Milady, why would you have
gentle Touchstone play a rapist?”
	“You have always been an excellent thespian, my sweet Touchstone,” Titania
placed her hand on the blonde head of the plump little elf.  “That is why I chose you and
Autolycus.  My clown and my thief, and two of the better actors of my court.  Therefore,
you were my first choice to lead my youngest daughter and her Champion to each other.”
	“But, milady, is it truly wise for someone as that highly unstable gargoyle to
watch over the girl?”
	“He is not unstable,” Titania explained softly, the wind accenting with it, as if her
voice and the breeze were one.  “It was his latent gift that led him to Arin’s danger.”
	“He had no reason to kill me,” Touchstone protested, then quickly added,
“milady.”
	“I wanted to see how far he would go to protect.  You were not truly killed, my
dear little Touchstone.  I would not allow it.  I would not let my present husband kill
Puck, and I would certainly not allow a mortal gargoyle to kill you.”

	The young, pale sage gargoyle perching in the great maple tree watched intensely
with bright lavender eyes at the two fae conversing.  He had never truly encountered the
fae before, save for that brief encounter with the Queen and King, who returned to
Avalon two or three weeks ago.  He did a quick calculation in his head.  About a year had
passed in the real world, but that was really irrelevant at the time, he scolded himself. 
Craning his serpentine neck to see more, he slipped on a branch and fell fifteen feet with
a loud crash.
	Titania abruptly appeared above him, and he swore.
	“Hello, spying Avaon,” the Queen of the Faeries greeted solemnly.
	Princess Katherine was not going to like this, Avaon thought grimly.  He was
supposed to be fishing, not eavesdropping on entities much more powerful than he.
	“Queen Titania,” he whispered, quickly thinking up excuses on why he was
there.	“It seems you’re a curious young lad,” she continued, waving her hand over his
head.  His crimson red hair rose with the wind.  He shivered, unable to protest.  “I have a
mission for you.  A small one, really, but a mission, never-the-less.”
	Avaon blinked, afraid.  Titania was not the kind to spontaneously assign missions
for adolescent gargoyles unless she had planned it from the beginning.  The beginning of
what, he added to his thoughts, he wasn’t sure.  This was the Queen of the Elves, after
all.
	“My Ultimate Plan for the mortals would not be complete without the help of a
certain clan, and I do not mean Clan Manhattan.  I am already on that task.  No, you, my
little friend, I am sending you to another clan, for you to tell the tale of Oberon and
Titania, to prepare them for when they will be most needed.  The clan has been schismed
into two, but must be brought together as one.  That is your challenge, Avaon Thalion. 
The leaders of each clan are close to mortal enemies.  They must be brought to see
beyond that, and merge their clans as they were hundreds of years ago.”
	“I...I do not understand, Queen Titania....” Avaon stood up, licking his dry lips. 
“You wish me to leave Avalon?  My home?  To bring two warring clans together in the
real world?  Why me?  Gabriel or Tybalt would make a better diplomat than me.”
	“You dare question my judgement, young gargoyle?”
	Damn, he scolded himself.  Go right ahead and question an nearly omnipotent
being and see where you get.
	“No, Queen Titania.”
	“Very well.” Her hand came to about eye level, and a black hole formed around
it.  A crystal-clear image of two very odd-looking gargoyles appeared within the
blackness.  Both were green, the male several shades darker than the female, who was in
turn several shades darker than Avaon.  Both were arguing heavily, as two more
gargoyles, a tan male with a crest and a beautiful aquamarine female, attempted to pull
them apart.  The first male, with a humanoid face and short and curly brown hair, seemed
to be the antagonizer, whereas the beaked female, scared around the eyes and arms,
snapped back.  Her eyes flared red, although the male was calmer than a summer day. 
He obviously knew what he was doing.  “The two green ones are the leaders of the rival
groups.  You must make them realize their hatred for one another is not true, and that
they must learn to coexist, or else Earth may be doomed.”
	“Doomed, milady?” Touchstone whispered.
	“I can tell you no more, young Avaon,” Titania concluded, closing her hand and
with that the image.  “You must succeed, or all of us, mortal and fae, will suffer in the
end.”	With those cryptic words burning at his mind, Titania thrusted her hand out once
more, picking up the young gargoyle, and throwing him out toward the sea.
	He was still trying to figure out what had just happened as he struggled to keep
his head above water.  Abruptly, his feet hit dirt, and he soon found himself wading in
murky water.  He found his memory fuzzy; he couldn’t recall anything of what happened
in the past day, save for the fact he was gone fishing....
	“Hello, out there!” a woman’s voice shouted.
	Avaon glanced up at who called out to him.  He did not recognize the voice, nor
the accent.
	“Hello!  You all right there, son?” An elderly man beckoned.
	“Ben!” another, a young boy, it seemed, stammered.  “It’s a gargoyle!  I see him! 
It’s another gargoyle!”
	“It’s probably one of the Outklaws,” A rough female voice scoffed.  “Dammit,
which one of you is out there?  Smith? Wesson?”
	“My name is Avaon Thalion,” he finally retorted, climbing onto the shore.  
	“He isn’t an Outklaw,” the smallest whispered.  “I’ve never seen him before.”
	“Who’s your clan?” The rough female demanded.
	“Clan Avalon,” he stated, coughing, shaking the excess water from his crimson
hair.  He had no clue what to answer otherwise...he had never known the real world to
have living gargoyles, save for Goliath and his clan.
	“He’s wearing a skirt!” The biggest form giggled.
	“Shut up, Bob; it’s a tartan kilt,” the softer female snarled.  To Avaon, she spoke
with a gentle tone.  “Don’t be afraid; we’re gargoyles too.  I’m Mercedes.”
	Avaon looked up at the one who spoke to her.  She was beautiful, with an
aquamarine tone to her skin, and a warm, gentle smile. 
	“And this is Ben--” she waved pointed to the elderly male gargoyle wearing a
flannel work shirt, denim pants, and an old John Deere cap, “--and my rookery brothers
Sam and Bob.” She then indicated the two other, much younger, males, one short and
lithe, the other tall and large. 
	“I’m the Big G, for “gigger,’” Bob, the tall one, reported, crossing his arms over
his chest.
	“Shut up, Bob,” the rough female voice snarled.
	“And that’s our leader and my rookery sister, Eddie,” Mercedes concluded as the
other woman joined them from the concealing shadows of the forest.
	Avaon gasped.  Somehow, he recognized her, but he couldn’t place her beaked
face.
	“I was fishing in the ocean, I think, when I fell into the water,” he whispered,
coughing water.  “I think the Mists of Avalon had engulfed me and sent me here.”

***
Eyrie Building
11:45 pm
“Goliath’s” Parapet
	Lexington was floating in a dark, comfortable place with no confinements.  He
was aware of all his body was perceiving, but he just wasn’t in control at the moment. 
That’s okay, he had reassured himself numerous times in the past millisecond.  He
trusted Alexander like he did Brooklyn and Broadway; he and Alexander were brothers,
in soul.
  	So this is what a womb must be like, he pondered, his consciousness exploring
the mental paths of his mind.  Dark, warm, welcoming.  Lexington, of course, had no
idea what a womb was like, mostly because of the fact that he was hatched, not born. 
But, hey, the humans were always using that figure of speech, and he liked it.  His mind
was like a womb.  Yeah, that’s right.
	(unca lex?) The ageless mindvoice of Alexander whispered across the mindscape,
drawing Lexington’s soul from his deep thinking. (unca lex, you might want to listen in
on what me and puck found...)
	(hmm...?) Lexington found his ethereal body being pulled toward a brightness in
one of the infinite corners of his mind.  That brightness, he knew, was his Senses.  From
there, he would gain all control of the small, olive green gargoyle body he was sharing
for the moment with the ten-month-old baby.
	Wisps of stray thoughts, not all his own, wrapped tendrils of pure energy around
his incorporeal form.  Voices filled his mind at an alarming rate.
	(alexander!  what is going on?) He demanded, hearing Titania’s voice say
something about her youngest daughter and her Champion.
	(it’s grandmother!) The boy cried.  (i’ve reached my grandmother!)
	The voices’ whispering abruptly became an insane drone.
  	(alexander!) Lexington moaned.  (please!  stop!  my head....) Lexington’s
consciousness tried to reach out, toward his Senses, but fell deeper into the womb of his
mind. (please...too many voices....)
	(unca lex?)
	“Puck!” The childish gaze of horror locked onto the full fae.  “Puck, I’ve lost
Unca Lex!”
	“What?  How can you lose a spirit?” Puck snapped out of his own trance, glaring
down at the gargoyle.	Alexander/Lexington chewed on his lip.
	“Maybe if I come out, he’ll come back,” he whimpered.
	“That’s how it’s always done.  You’re probably tired.”
	“No, it’s different somehow, Puck, like he actually left.”
	“Oh my,” Puck raised his eyebrows.  He had never encountered a body-share
where the host spirit was no longer in the body.  “Okay, kid, don’t panic.  Why don’t we
do like you said.”
	Alexander/Lexington nodded, then quickly chanted a simple cantrip.
 	“’ For the spirit to be willing, the flesh must first grow weak/Just long enough for
soul in flight to pass from cheek to cheek.’”
	White wispy tendrils of smoke escaped Lexington’s nose and mouth, reforming
into the baby Alexander Xanatos in Puck’s arms.
	Lexington, however, crumpled to the stone ground, a marionette without a master.
	“Um, Lex?” Puck bent over and shook his shoulder.  The gargoyle’s entire body
was limp.
	Puck gulped.
	“Well, kid,” he hissed.  “We’re gonna get it when Goliath and your father find
out.”
	“Bribbb phtfff!” Alexander gurgled angrily.
	“Hey, it wasn’t my--okay, maybe it was my idea, but I had no idea Lexington
would go into quote-unquote ‘psychic whiplash’.”
	“Phtfff!”
	“I guess I’ll have to fish his spirit out, then.” Puck sighed, then pointed a finger at
the little infant.  “Not a word to your parents or the other gargoyles, ¿Comprende?”
	“Babo go iph!”
	“What do you mean they can’t understand you anyway?  Honestly, boy, you’re
just like your father.” Gesturing slightly, he levitated Lexington’s body behind him as he
snapped an incantation, teleporting them back to the nursery.  Putting the child into the
crib, Puck rubbed his chin in deep thought.
	“Oh, Goliath is going to kill me,” he repeatedly mumbled while sitting
cross-legged in mid-air.  “Fox is going to kill me, David’s going to kill me, and, when he
pulls through, Lex is going to kill me!”
	“Ghophtttt!”
	“Go to sleep, Alexander; I’ll figure this out.”
	“Pu?”
	“Yes, Unca Lex will be fine.  Now, go to sleep.”

	Somebody help me! Lexington screamed.  Puck!  Alexander!  Anyone!  Help! 
I’m lost!
	The voices had stopped, finally, but now there was only silence.  The silence
bothered and even scared him.
  	His mind’s eye searched the bleak, desolate landscape.
	His mind was no longer a womb.
	It was a desert.
	Where am I? he screamed, looking around for that bright Sense.
	The Senses were no where to be seen.
	But I can always find my Senses, Lex thought to himself.  Then it dawned upon
him.
	His astral form had wandered outside his body.
	Damn you, Puck! Lex screamed.  Damn you for talking me into this!
	He just had to find a way out of this.	He had always gotten himself out of tough
situations before.
	But this one took the cake.  No one was there to fall on for backup this time. 
	With a mental sigh, Lex willed his consciousness to move forward, wherever
“forward” might be.

***
Macbeth Manor
Midnight

	Arin stared out the window into the night.
	The night had always fascinated her.
	She leaned back into her warm, safe featherbed and sighed deeply, thinking back
to the past few hours.	For some reason, what transpired in Chinatown didn’t bother her
as much as it should.	It was like that, deep within her soul, she knew nothing more
would happen and that she would escape alive and with her virginity in tact.
	It was so strange, though.
	But the night does hold surprises, evil as well as good.

***
Chapter 3
Castle Wyvern
Midnight

	Brooding, Brooklyn flipped the pages in his book.  He wasn’t reading it, rather, he
was just doing something to keep his hand busy.  His left hand felt funny, like a
numbness that was slowly spreading up his arm.
	“God, what have I done?” He whispered for the millionth time.	

	Puck’s--or, in reality, Owen’s--pager suddenly went off.
	“Oh, drat, it must be Maza,” he groaned, glancing back and forth from the
unconscious gargoyle and the sleeping baby.  Snapping his fingers, his elven features and
earthly clothes were transformed back into human with the neat three-piece suit and
wire-rimmed glasses.  Thinking quickly what he was to do with Lexington’s little
dilemma, he took the elevator down to the ground floor and, after checking the security
monitor to see that it was, in fact, Detective Maza, as well as Detective Bluestone, at the
Fourth Avenue entrance.  He buzzed them in, shrugging.
	They’ve probably have had an otherwise normal evening, Owen thought as he
greeted the two.
	“Goliath, to my knowledge, hasn’t returned from his “patrol’ yet, Detective,” he
addressed Elisa exclusively.  By the expression the African/Native American woman, he
retaliated his previous thought and realized she must have had a rough night instead. 
Seemed as though it was very catching tonight.
	“Is Brooklyn here, then?” She demanded, with a hint of--fear?  Anger? 
Sympathy?  Owen couldn’t tell--to her voice.
	“I believe so.  Last I time I checked, he as well as Angela and Broadway were in
the library.”
	Elisa nodded her thanks and stormed to the elevator.  Matt shrugged defensively
at the aide-de-camp when Owen’s eyes locked onto his as the two men followed Elisa.
	The woman never slowed down when the elevator cab reached the living area of
the Xanatos’ --known by only the inhabitants and close friends as Castle Wyvern-- as she
continued in a bee-line to the library.
	“May I at least ask what is going on, Detective Bluestone?” Owen questioned
honestly.
	“Well, considering the fact that we may be all in the same boat...” Matt coughed. 
“An attempted rape down in Chinatown.  One of the thugs was killled, the other, nervous
breakdown.  The basketcase told the Chinatown presceint his partner was killed by a
classical demon.  The autopsy reported gargoyle claw marks on the body.  The odd thing
about it was that the dead guy, Jordan Whitmore, was carrying a driver’s liscence, yet
when Howie from Chinatown brought up his file, he was in reality a nobody.  No address,
no date of birth, just a name and convictions.  But here’s the really strange part: Chavez
called us back to the station about an hour and a half ago.  The stiff was gone.  Well, not
really.  There was a pile of ashes on the gurney.  Ashes, not dust, as if the corpse
decomposed completely, but like it was creamated!  Then...” his voice lowered.  “...Elisa
doesn’t know this yet, but I took a quick look at the police log.  Jordan Whitmore does
not exist.  Not dead, just never existed!  His licence was gone from the lab, his clothes,
the crushed firearm, all missing.”
	“Strange indeed.” Owen raised an eyebrow.  David would have to be informed of
this, of course.  “What does the victim say about the situation?  Was she talking?”
	“The victim was gone.  No sign of her, save for her wallet.  The poor girl must
have ran off after the attack.”
	“Indeed,” Owen nodded.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other matters to
attend to.” And, with that, he turned toward the nursery.
	Matt scowled.  Damn you and your icy personality, Owen Burnett! he thought
coldly.  Do you care for anything besides the servitude you’ve sworn yourself to David
Xanatos?
	Dismissing the thought angrily, he decided to track Elisa down and headed for the
library.	Elisa ran into Broadway and Angela just inside the library’s great wooden doors. 
She noted the sorrow in the eyes of the young lovers and knew.
	“It’s true, then?” She whispered, as Broadway nodded.  Angela leaned closer to
the other gargoyle, tears streaming her eyes.  “Does Goliath know?”
	“He hasn’t returned yet,” Broadway shook his head.  “Hudson and Lexington
don’t know either.”
	“You can try to talk to him, if you want,” Angela whimpered, meaning Brooklyn. 
“He’s been staring out the window, whispering to himself, since he found out the man
was dead.”
	“I would like to hear his side of the story,” Elisa mumbled, nodding, her voice
returning to normal somewhat.
	Angela and Broadway nodded back and exited, whispering amongst themselve.
	Elisa sighed, then advanced toward the brooding figure in the far corner.
	She failed to notice Matt leaned against the open door, peering in.
	Brooklyn raised his head, his hazel eyes dulled with melancholia as the human
woman placed a hand on his shoulder.
	“I didn’t mean to,” he whispered.  “He would have hurt her, and I couldn’t let
him.”

	“Lexington?” Broadway peered into the study, lit only by the glow of the PC on
the desk.
	It was beeping maniacally, but no one was at its keyboard.
	Broadway, with Angela trailing him, holding his hand, progressed toward the
cursing computer.
	“’MIRC’,” Broadway sounded out, reading the program title bar.  “Isn’t that the
chatting program Lex is always on?”
	The beeping computer ignored his question, repeatingly flashing a picture of a
pink female robot transforming to and from a sportscar and the word, in a block font,
“Arcee”.
 	“That’s Lex’s friend, I think,” the larger gargoyle pointed out.
	 Angela, curious, reached over and, with the mouse, double-clicked on the icon. 
Lex had shown her the fundementals of computers, so she claimed the office chair before
Broadway could protest.
	“What does it say?” He demanded instead.
	“’What happened, Lex?  I lost you there!’” She read, then, typing as fast as she
could, she relayed to her beau what she had written.
 	“’I’m Angela, Lex’s friend.  We can’t seem to find him.’  Maybe we should check
the nursery.” she then suggested to Broadway.
	“I’ll do that, but I’m surprised I didn’t hear him go by.” Broadway let a growl
escape his throat.  “Boy, this night has been the worst night of my life,” he added as he
quickly kissed the young woman and left the study.
	The robot icon flash again, and Arcee sent back WHERE COULD HE HAVE
GONE? HE TOLD ME HE DIDN’T HAVE PATROL TONIGHT.
	Angela froze.  Did this Arcee know Lex was a gargoyle?
	Quickly, she typed, NO, HE DIDN’T.  Maybe if Angela stuck to the truth, she
would get Arcee to reveal what she understood about gargoyles.
	ARE YOU A GARGOYLE TOO, ANGELA?
	The young gargoyle blinked.  Lexington told the Arcee character about the clan!
	The icon blinked.
	YOUR SECRET IS SAFE WITH ME.  I’M RC  MISS SPIKER, IF YOU’RE
NASTY. ;-)
	Angela scratched her head.  What exactly was going on?
	I DON’T GET IT. she typed.
	WHAT?  THE JANET JACKSON JOKE, OR THE FACT THAT LEX TOLD ME
THAT HE WAS A GARGOYLE?  HE NEVER TOLD ME THERE WERE OTHERS,
HOWEVER, SAVE FOR BRONX.  WE’VE BEEN IN CONTACT FOR ABOUT
THREE MONTHS NOW.
	Angela sighed, a small grin forming despite of her tears.
  	IT’S PROBABLY NOTHING.  LEX IS PROBABLY AROUND HERE
SOMEWHERE.  IT’S JUST THAT WE’VE HAD A VERY LONG NIGHT ALREADY.
She typed with two fingers. 	AND YOU’VE ONLY BEEN UP FOR FOUR AND A
HALF HOURS.  FROM ONE NIGHT OWL TO ANOTHER, I SALUTE YOU.
	I’M SORRY, I’M STILL TRYING TO GET USED TO SLANG.  I’M NOT
FROM NEW YORK ORIGINALLY.  Far from it, the lavender gargoyle smirked, as she
continued poking at the keyboard. PLEASE EXPLAIN NIGHT OWL.
	NIGHT OWL.  THOSE WHO SLEEP DURING THE DAY.  I TAKE
AFTERNOON AND NIGHT CLASSES AT NYU--NEW YORK UNIVERSITY--AND
I’M FAMOUS FOR MY ALL-NIGHT STUDY SESSIONS.  SOME NIGHT, MAYBE
YOU AND LEX AND BRONX MIGHT LIKE TO COME UP TO MY PLACE AND
HANG.  IF YOU’RE HAVING A BAD NIGHT, I KNOW OF SOME MUSIC TO
BRIGHTEN YOUR SOUL.
  	THAT WOULD BE NICE, RC, BUT NOT TONIGHT.  I SHOULD GET GOING
NOW.
  	RC’s sportscar/robot blinked.  10-4, GOOD BUDDY.  TELL LEX TO PING ME
WHEN HE GETS BACK.  AND I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE GOING TO ASK. 
“PINGING” IS AN EXPRESSION SIMILIAR TO A TELEPHONE RING.  IT WAS
NICE MEETING YOU ANGELA, AND THE NIGHT CAN ONLY GET BETTER
FROM HERE, RIGHT?  The little Arcee icon blinked a few more times, then,
transforming into the sportscar one more time, it sped across the desktop wallpaper and
disappeared.	Angela stood up and left the den.

		Broadway’s angry gaze darted from Puck, to Alexander sleeping in the
crib, to Lex’s unconscious form in sprawled in the rocking chair.
	“You what?” the large gargoyle hissed, trying to control his voice as to not to
wake the baby.
	“Simple terms: Psychic whiplash.”  Puck shrugged.  “He might come out of it
naturally, or we might have to jump in there and retrieve his psyche.  I’ve never seen
anyone react so negatively to the fae mindnet.  I didn’t even think he was capable of
hearing the broadcasts.”
	“I’m not sure whether I follow you,” Broadway pointed out blatantly, his eyes on
the verge of blazing white.
	“Well, to put it in even simpler terms, either Alexander or I or both of us will
have to get Lexington back from whatever astral plane he slipped into or else the clan’s
cyberpunk will be the clan’s pet vegetable.”
	“Not a good night, Puck, for anyone, is it?” Broadway snorted, rubbing his eyes.  

	Elisa sat in front of the young brick-red gargoyle, her dark eyes staring deep
within his hazel ones, as he retold his side of the story.  The thought that reoccuringly
popped into her mind was the fact for how unbelievably human those eyes were, so full
of emotions as he talked in softly, sadly, remorsefully.  Occasionally, Brooklyn would
glance down at his hands, at the worn Moorcock novel clutched gingerly in his grip.  She
remembered when she got him that book, more than a year ago, when Clan Manhattan
resided in the clock tower above the original 23rd prescient house, before it was
destroyed by the Hunters.
  	“...And so ends my tale of love and loyalty,” he concluded with a little of the old
Brooklyn humor.  “At least, for now, I think.”  He cracked a sad smile, allowing it to die
slowly as he stared out the window once more.  “I didn’t know what came over me. 
Maybe instinct took over.  Survival.  I don’t know.  I don’t really remember much of
what happened, everything seems to be like an old memory now.  I remember Arin,
though.”
	“Arin MacDuff.”
	“Macbeth’s daughter,” Brooklyn added.  “Yes.  I don’t know what drove me
there.  Angela and I were ten blocks away.  Then suddenly, I knew she needed help, and
fast.  I don’t know.  Telepathic or something.”
	“May I add something?” Matt coughed at the doorway.  Both the gargoyle and the
human turned their heads to face Matt.  He walked in, his hands in the pockets of his
trench coat, bottom billowing out, like a poor imitation of Bogart.  He repeated his
findings to the two in the library, including the fact of the nonexistance of Jordan
Whitmore.
	“I hope this isn’t an attempt to make me feel better,” Brooklyn mumbled.
	“I can vouch for the ashes in the morgue,” Elisa retorted.  “As for the missing
evidence...this is the first time I’ve heard about this.”
	“About what?” A deep, baritone voice demanded from behind the three.
	Brooklyn let slip a hopeless sigh.
	Goliath had returned.  Behind him stood Hudson, and at his feet, Bronx.
	“Damn,” he whispered, dropping his head into his arms.

	“This has been, at best, an interesting and exciting evening,” Puck groaned.
	“You can say that again,” Broadway growled as Angela padded into the nursery.
	“I heard Father return, Broadway,” she stated simply.
	“There goes the neighborhood,” both fae and gargoyle commented uniformally.
	“We should be there for Brooklyn,” Angela pointed out.
	“And you--” Broadway grabbed the collar of Puck’s tunic “--are coming with us
to explain Lexington.”
	Angela then noticed Lex slumped in the rocker and demanded the same question
everyone had been asking all night.
	“Puck will explain it all to all of us, isn’t that right?” The largest gargoyle snarled.
	Puck sighed, defeated.  He could change back to Owen and explain it in a stoic
fashion, avoiding an emotional breakdown, but that wouldn’t be fair.  Owen had no part
in it.  Anyway, Puck couldn’t just magically whisk himself away without Alexander to
instruct.  The only fallback of his banishment--no magic without the kid.
	“I agree.” He sighed.	The gargoyle couple and the fae exited the nursery and ran
(or floated, in Puck’s case) to the  library.  As they reached the doorway, they caught the
tail end of the shortened version of Brooklyn’s incident, which was followed by the
expected bottled-up “WHAT?!” from Clan Manhattan’s leader.
	“Ooh, goody, I’m not the only one in trouble,” Puck grinned, trying to crack a
joke.  All he recieved was harsh looks from Angela and Broadway.
	“How could you loose control?” Goliath demanded.  “Never have I’ve known you
to lose control of a situation!”
	“Save for the bright idea of scaring the refugees back in Scotland,” Broadway had
to interject meekly.  “Then again, if he didn’t, we would have ended up like the rest of
Clan Wyvern.” He shivered, recalling the sight of his rookery siblings crushed one
thousand years ago.
	“The .357 piece pointed at my head didn’t exactly make things easier, Goliath,”
Brooklyn retorted, his cool, calculating, second-in-command additude returning briefy.
	“A human is dead because you lost control, Brooklyn!  Do you know how serious
that is?”
	“Do you think I enjoyed it?” His hazel eyes flashed whited for a couple seconds. 
“I’ve got to live with it, not you.”
	“Wrong, Brooklyn; the entire clan has to live with it--”
	The seven-foot gargoyle was abruptly interrupted by a clanging of metal against
stone.  Hudson’s battle-scarred sword, centuries old, quivered in front of him, the blade
buried two inches into the marble floor.
	“Gargoyles protect, lad,” the elderly gargoyle snarled.  “No matter the cost.  If it
is the only way to stop an enemy, do so.  If ye can get out of it without bloodshed, do so. 
If someone threatens the yer castle, protect it at all costs.  If that means ye must kill, then
do so.” He pointed to the sword.  “I’ve had this sword since I was Brooklyn’s age.  The
first of many Viking raids on the Castle, we lost many of our elders.  Still, human and
gargoyle fought side by side.  Then, the Viking leader himself attacked me with this very
sword.  Without much thought, I defended myself, killing him with nothing but my own
talons.  Their leader dead, his sword in my hand, the Vikings retreated.  Since then, I had
killed many a foe with it.  It was then the mantle of leadership was passed down to me.
Each nick and groove in its blade has a story of an enemy, both human and gargoyle, and
a death.  True, I’ve ne’er battled anyone the past three years to the point of mortal
combat, but if that time came, I wouldnae hesitate.”  He pulled the sword up from the
marble and, with great care, sheathed it back into the scabbard.  Goliath growled, and,
seeing Hudson’s moral to his story, said no more.
	“This getting more interesting by the moment!” Puck exclaimed.
	“I would say.”	Broadway and Angela jumped at the sound of David Xanatos’
voice.  The air of aristocrasy was ever present with him, even if he was in his pajamas
and nightcoat.
	“This is clan business, Xanatos,” Goliath disclosed bluntly. “You do not have to
be a part of this.”
	“Um, I think he might want to hear this,” Puck scratched one of his elongated ears
as he floated toward the larger group.  “If you haven’t noticed, Lexington isn’t amongst
our numbers.”
	“Where is he, Puck?”
	“Oh, he’s here in the castle.” The fae answered truthfully.  “Physically, that is. 
Mentally,” he shrugged, exaggerated, “who knows?”
	Goliath, as well as the entire company, shot Puck a confused look.
	“Are you saying Lexington’s mind took a walk outside his body?” Brooklyn
suggested, a little sarcastic.
	“Well,” Puck flashed a sheepish smile, “yeah.”
	Goliath groaned, sinking into an overstuffed armchair.
	“I don’t suppose you could tell us what happened?” He muttered, obviously not in
the mood to encounter more problems within the clan.

***
New York University
Apartment Complex
12:15 am

	RC padded in her stocking feet around her tiny apartment.
	Lex was missing, Angela had said.
	Her Grecian features contorted in confusion.
  Lex wasn’t the kind to up and leave her online without informing her he was taking off.
	Pushing a strand of wavy black hair from her face, she sipped at her herbal tea
and settled down crosslegged on her futon couch.
	She only had known the gargoyle for three months, but she worried for Lexington.
	Setting her teacup down, she closed her eyes and consentrated.
	Her telepathy, unused for three years, bursted forward like a caged animal tasting
freedom for the first time, dragging her conscious into the astral plane.

***
Astral Plane

	Desolation.
	The only word he could think of at the moment.
	Desolation.  Desolate scenery.  Desolate sky.  Desolate feeling within his
consciousness.	Desolation.
	Lex ventured further into this desolate place, thinking of painful ways to torture
Puck.  	But that wasn’t in his nature.
	Sighing, his ethereal eyes scanned the sky.
	He allowed a wail of angst to escape his lips, before sinking to his knees.
	All an illusion, he reassured himself sardonically.  Yeah, right.
	(lexington)
	He slowly turned his senses around him, trying to find where the voice had come
from.
	(lexington)
	Sensing a presense behind him, he whirled around and...
	...and sceamed, a scream so loud, his own body a zillion miles and a zillion eons
away, probably physically uttered the same.	Run, he told himself once he encountered
the psionic entity, a creature who seemed to resemble what he imagined Cthulhu, an evil
deity from Lovecraft’s short stories,  to look like.  Octopus-like head; large, portly green
body; tiny, bat-like wings incapable of true flight.  Yep.  Definately Cthulhu.
	His incorporeal body, while he knew held no true form, ran like as if he was still
in his body, complete with gasping for breath as he began to tire, as he searched the bleak
landscape for anything, a tree, a rock, something, he could leap off and catch a current. 
But there was no wind, he sorrowfully noted, as the creature began closing the space
between it and Lex.
	Abruptly, A psionic battle-cry shouted the arrival of a new entity.  The horrid
creature sounded a curse alien to the ears of mortals as it stopped dead in its tracks,
gazing with dead black eyes at a point in the sky.  Lex did the same, seeing a figure,
female, in some sort of armor that existed only in comic books, wielding a large pike
staff.
	(JABBERWOCKY!) She screamed, plunging toward Cthulhu and embedding the
pike into its forehead.  The creature bellowed and fell, disappearing into the sand.
	She turned to face a frightened Lexington.
	(so, my friend,) she smiled without much humor.  (you read a lot of lovecraft,
yes?)
	(what was that thing?) He demanded.
	(a jabberwocky.  one of the many hostile creatures who haunt the astral plane. 
they tend to take the form of what their victims fear most.  the first time i came here, the
jabberwocky came in the shape of a rancor from star wars.)
	(who are you?) Lexington then questioned.
	The woman laughed.
	(lex, i’m rc.  your friend from online.  i got worried when you just up and left, and
when your friend angela came looking for you, i decided to go look for you.  i was
surprised to find you in the wastelands, of all places.  i seriously thought maybe you
physically left your home, and i was simply going to locate you and tell angela where you
were.)
	(the...wastelands...?) Lex projected an aura of confusion around himself.
	(a place where most telepaths begin their journey into finding their true selves. 
however...) the grey Grecian eyes scanned the gargoyle’s face, (you are not telepathic. 
how did you come here?)
	(an accident,) he simply retorted.  (what are you?)
	(like i said, lexington, i’m a telepath.  the wastelands are a second home to me. 
however, i’ve neglected to visit here in the past three years, mainly because of school.)
She held out her hand.  (come on, lex, i’ll take you back to your body, where you belong. 
the wastelands are no place for a non-telepath to be stuck in.)
	Lex, curious, did as she instructed. Then, with a nausuating feeling like going
downhill on a roller-coaster, with the exception she pulled him upward, the two psyches
left the desolate Wastelands.

 ***
Castle Wyvern
12:30 am

	Lexington awoke with a start and a yell.
	He was in the nusery, with a sleepy-eyed Alexander standing in his crib, cooing
excitedly.
	“What happened?” He whispered to the baby, settling the infant back into
sleeping position.  Alexander quieted, as if to say he did not know.  “Looks like I’ll have
to find Puck to explain.  My mind is all jumbled.”
	Lexington yawned, then, kissing the child good-night, he padded out into the
hallway and up to the library.	Voices could be heard from inside.
	“Ummm...hello?” He questioned.  “Am I interrupting anything?”
	He noted everyone, save Fox and Alexander, were inside, including Matt and
Elisa.  Puck suddenly grabbed him in a great bear hug.
	“Ah!  See?  Told you he’d come back!” The fae grinned.  Adding in a whisper, he
demanded, “How’d you do it?”
	Lex shrugged, confused.  He really couldn’t remember anything from the point
when Alex borrowed his body.
	Puck shrugged as well, then metamorphosed back into Owen.  “Now, if you’ll
excuse me, I believe I need to straighten the den...”  With quick movement short of
magic, the aide-de-camp sidestepped out of the room.
	Goliath sighed, obviously tired.  The night’s excitement was now officially over,
for now.  Hudson and Bronx headed back to the TV room, Lexington to the study,
Xanatos to bed, and Matt and Elisa to the front door.
	“How about you come over later for a cup of coffee?” Elisa whispered in
Goliath’s ear and winked slyly after giving Brooklyn a reassuring hug around the
shoulders.  The seven-foot gargoyle smiled weakly and nodded, watching as the two
humans left.  He stood up and began to say something to the copper gargoyle, but decided
to wait.  Brooklyn had once again buried himself in the pages of Hawkmoon, almost
finished with the volume.  Better to wait to talk about sensitive things when some time is
allowed to ease difficulties.  Goliath exited the room, nodding with some amusement to
Broadway and Angela.
	“Ummm...” Broadway scratched his head. “You want to go watch a movie?”
	“I’ll meet you in the projection room, okay?” Angela whispered.
 	Broadway nodded, squeezing her hand, and retired from the library.
	The female gargoyle stood over Brooklyn’s brooding form, noticing their
reflections in the window.
	“Are you going to be all right?” She questioned, a friendly hand on his shoulder.
	Brooklyn turned around, staring into her rich brown eyes.
	“I hope so,” he replied hoarsely.
	Quickly, she placed a small, sisterly kiss on his cheek and left to join her beau.
	Brooklyn smiled sadly, then returned back to the aftermath of the battle of Dorian
Hawkmoon of Koln.

***THUS ENDS PART ONE OF ...LOVE AND WAR (insert video clip of Brooklyn
“Randall-ing” out of the door.  Circa “Clerks” :-)
	Next: The next encounter with Arin, who, in fact, did not escape the scheming
gaze of Oberon after all (thank you, Phoebe, Luna, and Selene), RC invites Lex and
company to her apartment for a night of music and dance (along with a few other
friends...), the Brookster is still depressed (what else is new?), and more Clan Winslow
cameos through Avalon (groan...), as well as...enter the Outklaws! Art thou having fun
yet?
 	Also, just so you don’t think I actually wrote it, the song “The Warning” is by
Black Sabbath, from their debut album, “Black Sabbath.”  As if any self-respecting Ozzy
fan would know that!	 --Black Blade “My cosmic song goes on for all eternity”