...Love and War: Part Two a Gargoyles story by Black Blade (a.k.a. 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 and Shawn Spiker, Zanthé of the Black Sword, Althea, Shade, 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. 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!*** ARIN: Thank you for saving my life. (Show Arin throwing her arms around Brooklyn's neck in ...Love and War: Part One) FOX: (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) MACBETH: Thank you, Brooklyn. (Show thirty-second clip where Macbeth carrying Arin into his home, from ...Love and War: Part One.) Thank you for being in the right place at the right time to come to my only love's aid. BROOKLYN: Yeah, no problem. Glad to have been of service. MATT: 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? (Show Avaon pulling himself to shore, being helped out by Mercedes and Ben, in ...Love and War: Part One.) *** Prologue Somewhere in Maine, near the Winslow/Albion town line 1:30 am (same night as Part 1) "Avalon, eh?" Old Ben stuffed his pipe full of tobacco and leaned back in his favorite recliner. The sage gargoyle nodded silently, his eyes full of wonderment as he gazed around the interior of the living room. "That near 'Gusta or Bangor?" The deep gold gargoyle questioned, lighting up the pipe. "I don't know, sir," Avaon shrugged. "Avalon is an island." "I can't seem to recall any islands nearby called 'Avalon.' Elly!" Ben beckoned. A white haired human female poked her head out from behind the counter in the kitchen. "Ayuh?" Elena Mason, the clan's "rookery mother", answered. "You know of any islands nearby called Avalon?" "Can't reckon so," she scratched her head in thought. "'Course, you might want to ask Eddie. She has that atlas up in her loft." "I don't think an atlas will help." Avaon shook his head, his crimson hair falling around his snout. Pushing it back behind his ear, he attempted to explain. "Avalon is a magical island. My clan was smuggled there as eggs during what would be to you the tenth century." Ben puffed away in thought, unsure of what exactly to think of the young man's unusual statement. "Never really thought much on magic," he finally replied. "Didn't really have much purpose on the farm. Magic. Can't say I believe in it. "Boy, are you feedin' me a line?" Ben then demanded. "'Feeding you a line'?" Avaon raised an eyebrow. "Lyin'!" Elly yelled from the kitchen. "Ben, leave the poor kid alone. You can tell he ain't from around these parts. Anyways, I'm headin' up to bed. Don't tear apart the house, okay? Tomorrow's my bridge game, and the girls' want to come over here for a change. It may run over after sunset, so just warn the younguns before they come trampin' in here. And leash the dog! Vivian didn't appreciate it much when that beast tried to jump into her lap last time." "You'd think we'd be married or somethin' the way we talk to each other, dear!" Avaon noted the two were not pronouncing their "r"s, and found this fascinating. He began muttering "heah", "neah", and "deah". Ben smiled, amused at the foreigner trying out the Yankonics, and stood up, stretching his good wing. The other, his right, was still folded useless around his shoulder. "Well, then, Avaon, allow me to show you around the farm," he suggested, grabbing a ratty John Deere cap from Elly's rocker. Avaon shrugged as he too stood up and, straightening his kilt, followed the old gargoyle out to the barn. *** Chapter 1 Macbeth Manor 2:00 am Lennox set his heavy tome back down on the end table and rubbed his eyes. Glancing at his watch, he cursed lightly. Already two in the morning, and he had to get up at eight. Ever since Puck granted Demona the gift of becoming human by day, Macbeth had lost his ability to survive on an hour of sleep through the two's magical link. As he left the reading room, he began thinking about what had happened earlier in the evening. Hire a bodyguard, he thought sourly. He knew he couldn't protect his daughter twenty-four/seven, and she was too free-spirited to be cooped up in the mansion all the time. He would have to hire a bodyguard, simple as that. As he passed the phone, he placed the receiver back on the hook. Lennox hated it when his reading is interrupted by the annoying little device. Suddenly, it rang maniacally. "Damn," he cursed, picking it back up. "Hello?" "Mr. Lennox MacDuff? This is the NYPD, Chinatown prescient." He groaned inwardly. "May I help you?" He sighed. "We have been trying to reach you all night. This is Lieutenant Howard Sung. Is your daughter home?" "Arin's sleeping." "Are you aware of what happened tonight? How did she return home?" "She was mugged, yes, her wallet was missing, and a friend found her and brought her home." He really didn't have the time to talk with these petty excuses for the law. "Um, sir, that isn't all. From a confession from the surviving thug, he and his partner attempted to rape her, when a gargoyle apparently killed the big one." The Scotsman's anger suddenly flared. "What?" He demanded, his tone amazingly calm. "They did not get far, from what I understand." Macbeth was no longer listening. He slammed the receiver back in the cradle and stormed into his atrium. An age-old tradition for the pagans of his people, he trodded into the garden, grasped a good-sized clod of earth, and, holding above his head, he screamed, "Vengeance!" His voice, strong and clear, bounced off the glass windows with deafening effect. Lennox MacDuff was not above the law of this society, but Macbeth, King of the Scots, was the law of his. Out in the hallway, he heard the telephone faintly ringing again. He ignored it as he went to his bed chambers, his head swimming with thoughts of revenge. *** Greenwich Apartment Complex 3:15 am Elisa hummed along to "Beethoven's 9th" playing on her CD player as she dried her hair with a large bath towel. As the song came to its climax, she entered her kitchen and put on a pot of coffee, just in case she did get some company.... A tap on the skylight window cracked a smile on her face. Only when she saw who it was not Goliath did her face fall ever so slightly. She opened the skylight, allowing Brooklyn into the apartment. "Slow night," he grumbled, sarcasm dripping in his voice, as he flopped onto the couch. "I didn't really want to stick around the castle, with Goliath lecturing me or Angela giving me that look of pity. I really need someone to talk to." His hazel eyes locked onto her face. "Elisa, have you ever...killed...in the line of duty?" Elisa blinked, thinking about her piece padlocked in the strongbox in the kitchen. After the accident when Broadway accidentally shot her, she had since kept it from unintentional use. "Once," she whispered slowly. "What turned from a routine stop about seven years ago turned into a shoot-out. I was still a rookie then. Coffee?" She suddenly interjected as Mr. Coffee's timer went off. Brooklyn nodded slightly as Cagney, Elisa's cat, jumped onto his lap, demanding attention. Gently, the copper-red gargoyle stroked the feline absentmindedly. He smiled sadly, then glanced down at the small black cat, marveling on how he could treat such a fragile creature with care when he was capable of gutting a human-- "NO!" he growled, jumping Cagney, who scampered into the bedroom in surprise. Brooklyn groaned, placing his head in his hands and closed his eyes tight, trying to block the memory. "Brooklyn?" Elisa whispered. "I...I know what it's like." She sat next to him on the couch and took his hand. "The boy...he was only fifteen. His blood alcohol was point-one-two, he was driving without a license, and he had stolen a car with a concealed firearm, a nine-millimeter. I pulled him over for driving at night without headlights, and he pulled the piece on me. It was pretty much of a stand-off, until he began firing randomly at my cruiser. My aim was for his leg, to incapacitate him, knock him off balance, (point blank, you can't miss), but he ducked as I fired, probably thinking I was taking a shot for his head. The bullet caught him in the chest. He died in the ambulance on the way to the ER. My point is that in dire situations, sometimes it's necessary to kill. Just like Hudson said earlier. I felt terrible after shooting the boy, but he posed a danger to the people in that area. Records showed the boy was a straight-A student, a junior-varsity soccer champ, and had plenty of friends. He went to a party that night with a crowd of friends, according to his parents. After investigating a few of his fellow party-goers, we found he got mixed up with alcohol and marijuana, and decided to take one of the upperclassmen's car. He found the pistol in the glove compartment just as I stopped him. But what could I do? One of his shots could have hit some local resident, a small child, anyone. The hard part was telling his parents, who thought their only child was perfect, couldn't be corrupted by that kind of temptation...but we're only human. We're all tempted by things during our lives, good or bad. We just have to keep in mind that we must remember what's right and wrong." She passed him a steaming cup of Kahlua-flavored gourmet coffee. So what it was instant, it was still good. Brooklyn sipped the liquid, sighing as he set the cup--one with a Robotman comic printed on it's ceramic surface--on the end table. "I see your point," he whispered hoarsely, tracing his foot over the pattern of the carpet. Elisa smiled sadly, trying to push the vivid memory back down. "Not to sound antisocial, but I'm going to bed." She then yawned, emphasizing her fatigue. "You're welcome to stay a while longer, finish your coffee, but just a warning, sunrise will be in about two hours." "I've got to get going anyway," he retorted, standing up. "Thank you, Elisa. I needed to talk to someone who understood." "No problem, Brooklyn." She ruffled his hair with a little humor as she passed him to her bedroom. "Good night." "Good night, Elisa," he smiled, and, climbing out the skylight to the roof top, he gave a slight wave as he launched into the night sky. Elisa sat on her bed after her friend left, patting Cagney. "Y'know, old boy," she cooed as the black feline purred contently. "He's right. It feels better to be able to talk about it to someone who can understand." Without any further comment, the dark-haired woman crawled into the comforts of her bed and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. *** Castle Wyvern 4:00 am The little Transformer icon blinked excitedly. ARE YOU ALL RIGHT, LEX? came the other party's query. YEAH, BUT MY MIND IS ALL JUMBLED, the small gargoyle typed, his own icon, the green lion from that old show Volton, blinking in correspondence. WHAT HAPPENED? I CALL IT THE WASTELANDS. OTHER TELEPATHS WOULD CALL IT WHAT IT SEEMS TO APPEAR TO THEM. IT'S THE SAME WITH THE JABBERWOCKIES. I'VE ALWAYS BEEN A FAN OF LEWIS CARROLL'S WORKS. I'M PRETTY MUCH A CLASSICS PERSON.:-) SERIOUSLY, THOUGH, HOW DID YOU END UP IN THE WASTELANDS, ANYWAY? Lex rubbed his chin in thought. I DON'T. KNOW WHAT REALLY HAPPENED. I LED AN EXTREMELY STRANGE LIFE. OR THE FATES DRAG YOU WHERE THEY WANT YOU TO BE. The olive green gargoyle froze, the light emanating from the monitor reflecting in his eyes. R.C., YOU DON'T KNOW HOW BAD I WISH TO SHARE WITH YOU MY PROBLEMS. ALL I HAVE ARE MY BROTHERS, BUT THEY USUALLY SHARE THE SAME PREDICAMENTS WITH ME. WELL, MY FRIEND, IT GIVES YOU AN EXCUSE TO COME OVER HERE, SAY, TOMORROW NIGHT, AFTER NINE? I GET OUT OF MY LAST CLASS THEN, SO YOU'RE WELCOME TO COME OVER AND LISTEN TO SOME TUNES. YOU LIKE LOUIS ARMSTRONG? ANDREW LLOYD WEBBER? LED ZEPPELIN? I HAVE IT ALL, JUST AS LONG AS IT ISN'T HEAVIER THAN EARLY BLACK SABBATH. MODERN ROCK GIVES ME A SPLITTING MIGRAINE.%*} I WOULD LIKE THAT, PENDING THAT I DON'T HAVE PATROL THEN. Lexington chewed on his lip, trying to remember the schedule Goliath had set up when they still lived at the clock tower. Goliath was always on duty, and tomorrow night, Hudson and Broadway were to accompany him. Great. Maybe Angela and Brooklyn would like to come, too. Turning his attention back to the computer, he typed, YES, I'M FREE, BUT DO YOU MIND IF I BRING A COUPLE OF FRIENDS? JUST AS LONG AS YOU DON'T BRING AN ENTIRE CLAN. ;-) BTW, HOW BIG IS YOUR CLAN, ANYWAY? I'D THINK IT WOULD BE EXTREMELY TINY, CONSIDERING I HAVEN'T SEEN MANY FLY-BYS. WHAT DO YOU KNOW OF GARGOYLES? I USED TO LIVE NEAR A CLAN BACK IN THE FRISCO came the quick reply. I KNOW QUITE A BIT, FOR A HUMAN. THERE'S SIX OF US, SEVEN, INCLUDING BRONX. AND YES, WE ARE A SMALL CLAN. WHAT ABOUT THE CLAN NEAR WHERE YOU USED TO LIVE? SMALL ONE, TOO. ONLY FOUR, ALL FEMALE, TOO, BUT I'D RATHER NOT TALK ABOUT THAT NOW. SO TOMORROW NIGHT, AROUND NINE? SOUNDS GREAT TO ME! :) SEE YA THEN! The sports car blinked out of existence. Lexington smiled, stretching his arms and wings, and tapped his mouse to play a little Duke Nukem. As he did, his mind wandered. He and R.C. met on-line, she was actually trying to find her little brother after two years missing, he was just plain bored. During his free time, when he actually thought about it, he would help her look throughout cyberspace for her brother, a kid by the name of Shawn, who, like R.C., was a Transformers buff, and went by the handel "Hot Rod". Someday, he would have to see if Xanatos could help out with the search, but for the while, R.C. was his friend and his friend alone. He wasn't really keen about letting his other rookery brothers know--hell, he might get teased, or even worse. He was taught when he was smaller that gargoyles did not socialize with humans, and believed that, up until Brooklyn attempted to be friendly with the little refugee boy, who, regardless of his mother's prejudice, became guardian of the eggs and went to Avalon to help raise them. Still breaking the ancient taboo, when the remaining clan awoke in nowaday Manhattan, Elisa Maza became their one true friend, and even, Lex added with a silent giggle, Goliath's girlfriend. Bringing himself back to the game, he dismissed all thoughts of the night momentarily. Angela could never figure out the movie Pulp Fiction. Sure, she enjoyed it, but it was in fact far too confusing to really follow without watching it a second, third, or even fourth time. Actually, the fun part was listening to Broadway quote John Travolta and/or Samuel L. Jackson. As Broadway conversed with himself about the little differences between the United States and Holland, Angela saw Brooklyn briskly walk to the parapets, a different book in hand than the Hawkmoon book he was hauling around all night. "What're you reading now, Brooklyn?" She called out suddenly, causing her beau to skip a beat. Brooklyn backed up, noticed the two exiting the projection room and shrugged, glancing down at the book. "Erekosë," he retorted somewhat brightly. "It's another Eternal Champion book, like Hawkmoon. Moorcock's a great writer. You should try him sometime." Brooklyn nodded and continued outside. "That's strange," Angela muttered. "What, the fact he's actually smiling?" Broadway peaked out the doorway. "Smiling without some sarcastic or sardonic reason, that is?" "No, besides that, he looked at us differently," Angela ran a hand through her thick brown hair. "He looked at us like he accepted us being together." "It's about time," Broadway snorted. "I mean, I didn't see his usual, wishful gaze." "Maybe he actually found some peace with himself?" The large gargoyle shrugged. Angela threw her arms around his neck. "Let's pray so, love," she whispered. "Let's pray so." "I'm surprised, lad, that ye've never came to that point in your life," Hudson whetted his sword, testing the blade with his finger. Goliath stood, one foot on a turret, staring out into the east. The morning glow of dawn was beginning to lighten the sky. "Ye've ne'er really fought to the point of life or death." "Hudson," the lavender gargoyle sighed, defeated. "No. I've always been able to find a way around killing." "And that's what makes you a great leader," Hudson nodded, placing a hand on Goliath's shoulder. "But someday, when you are forced between protecting someone you love from certain danger, meaning you have to vanquish your enemy in death, or risking both your lives, you must choose." The elder flipped his thumb at the copper gargoyle reading fifty years away. "Sometimes, you must choose between life and death, not for yourself, but for your adversary, and the others around you. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few or the one." "Wise advise, old friend," Goliath cracked a small smile. Hudson shrugged. "I picked it up from Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan. James Kirk. An incredible sage." "Picard's better!" Brooklyn interjected. He had obviously been eavesdropping, regardless on how busy he looked with his book. "He's much more skilled for leadership, he didn't sleep with every woman in the galaxy, and he wasn't ashamed to be bald!" "How would ye know, lad?" Hudson snapped back, his venerable guise replaced by his old, wise-arse couch potato. "I ne'er've seen you watch any of the series!" "I don't need to; I wait until the book comes out." Hudson opened his mouth to retort, but found no words to come to his aide. Inwardly, he praised Goliath's choice on the clan's second: Brooklyn was quick-minded, and eager to learn. Maybe some day he would show the lad how to sword fight, but for now.... Brooklyn glanced once up at the elder and leader, grinned solemnly, and returned to his book. ...He may be too much of a romanticist, Hudson concluded. The lad knew how to fight, yes, and think, that too, but he tended to fall for the damsel in distress more times than not. Then again, many swordsmen were lovers, especially what he gathered from television. He'll bring up the subject to Brooklyn the night after tomorrow, when neither of them had patrol. That is, of course, if he could pry the youngster's eyes from his books. Aye, but it was good to see Brooklyn found something that amused him. For someone with so much pain in his life, he needed cheering up on occasion. Hell, the old man shrugged as he climbed onto his turret just before the sun rose, drawing his sword to greet the day, he saw a lot of himself in that young copper red gargoyle spreading his wings, assuming the position for stone hibernation, though Hudson noticed curiously that he was facing more towards Brooklyn Heights than usual. *** Macbeth Manor 7:30 am Lennox studied his daughter as she went through her normal routine of spreading cream cheese on her bagel, then smothering that in strawberry jam, finally finishing it off with a satisfying squish of the two pieces of bagel. He stared in wonderment, remembering all the years when she was much younger how she would hold up to her daily routine with the bagel, ever since she was three. Now, a young woman, Arin held true to her daily practices. But today, she seemed to do it much slower, with less finesse to her passes with the knife, with less humor to the sound of the jam squashing together. His eyes darkened at the thought of the phone call from the Chinatown prescient. "Arin," he broke the silence. "What happened last night? Before Brooklyn found you?" She glanced up, the bagel still in her right hand, the knife in her left. "Bloke grabbed me from behind, demanded my wallet, I gave it to him, he let go of me just as the gargoyle passed by. He scared to living daylights out of the man, and he brought me home." "Where's your wallet?" He asked flatly. Arin remained in her frozen state, her emerald green eyes unblinking. "I must have dropped it in that alleyway, Da," she reported, a little too mechanically. "I only had ten quid to my name in there--" "Why was your shirt torn?" The woman said nothing, her eyes widening. "The police from Chinatown found it, along with the two attempted rapists--" he stressed the last two words "--one of them killed by a gargoyle. Now Arin," he leaned back in his chair, his arms folded across his chest, "I would like to hear the truth from your own mouth, starting now." Arin found the words easier to think than to speak, but eventually the details of her incident took form, as Lennox simply nodded, sighed, or just looked at her. When she had finished, Arin noted the expression in his eyes. Revenge. "Da, the one who tried it is dead," she whispered. "And the other?" Her father's voice frightened her. It was cold and hollow, like a winter's night. "I don't know, Da," she whispered, setting down her breakfast. Suddenly, she wasn't in the mood for eating. "Why didn't you tell me in the first place?" He demanded, his fatherly demeanor returning. "I don't know, Da," she repeated. "What if Brooklyn wasn't there? What would I do if they went through and killed you?" "That would be impossible, Da," she retorted, her voice abruptly monotonous. "Brooklyn knows when I need him, and vice versa." Lennox gazed at his daughter in confusion. It was like someone else spoke those words... he desided to ignore her cryptic responce and, in one fluid movement, he stood and gave her a big bear hug. "Daughter, you're all I have left," he whispered, a hint of tears tainting his tone. "I want to see you protected at all costs." The phone's shrill ring broke the sentimentality of the moment. Lennox swore and picked up the reciever. Hopefully it wasn't the damned police again. It wasn't. "Len? It's Fox," the no-nonsense pitch of his ex-wife's oldest daughter broke the tention. "I heard Arin was back in the States, and was wondering if she could come over here and meet David and Alex. I'll have Owen pick her up around noon. Oh, we're all so excited to see her, I haven't seen her in so long, tell her to be ready, okay, Len? Thank you so much, you're the best. Ciao." Click! "Who was that, Da?" "Apparently, Janine," Lennox stared at the beeping reciever. "Typical, like her mother. Never allowing anyone to get the last word in." "What did she say?" "She's having her aide-de-camp pick you up at noon." He shook his head, unsure for once in his life on what to do. "May I go, Da? Please?" She whimpered hoarsely. "I'll be safe there, with Janine and her husband. Please?" "Very well, but I don't want you leaving without them to go anywhere." Lennox heaved a mighty sigh. "I'll pick you up after work. Speaking of which--" he checked his watch, "I've better be going--" he paused. "I'll call in late. Stay with you until Owen gets here." "Da, you don't--" "Arin!" He cupped her face in his hands, staring deep into her eyes. "I love you too much to abandon you." "I love you, too, Da," she whispered. *** New York UniversityApartment Complex 8:15 am RC woke up in a start, shot a look to her alarm clock, swore, and sat up. She had gone to bed just four hours ago; she never got up before noon. Cursing again, she rubbed her eyes and tried to fall back asleep. No use. "Great," she hissed. "Just great. Now what?" She studied the ceiling--painted black with glow-in-the-dark stars and astrological symbols--and thought of what could have caused her to rouse at that hour, she being a normally heavy sleeper. And then, swimming amongst a sea of thought, it called out to her. Her telepathy. "Shit!" She snarled, throwing off her covers and heading to the bathroom. Three years of peace and quiet, ruined because of her good-nature to help a friend in need. Oh, well, she shrugged, turning on the shower as she shimmied out of her nightshirt. Just before the steam claimed the mirror, she caught a look of herself in it. Naked, with fair skin, black hair, and Grecian grey eyes, Athena in flesh, she could have any man she wanted. But then, the tattoo on her left shoulder made her cringe. The mark of the Black Sword, a simple design of a blade, screamed attention to anyone who would see. Even if someone saw it and were not familiar with the Sisterhood of the Black Sword (which was the majority of the world), they would know she was a freak, a genetic throwback, or a mutation. She fingered the small tattoo, and with a sour "fuck it", she stepped into the steaming shower. She finished five minutes later, returning to her tiny living room wearing a bathrobe and a towel wrapped around her head like a makeshift turban, just as the telephone rang. Curious, she thought to herself. Everyone knows I sleep until noon. Who would call at this hour? "Hello?" She hit the speaker button. "Raquel?" A raspy, almost reptilian but definitely feminine voice demanded. "Raquel, is that you?" RC paused in shock. "Althea?" she whispered. "Raquel, I need to talk to you, soon! It's about Shawn!" "What?" "I...I need to talk to you in person. There are forces who want him dead." "Oh my god." Hand to her mouth, she leaned against the wall and slid down. Her brother was still alive, then, but why would someone wish him dead? He threatened no one. "Raquel, please, I need to talk to you. I know where he is, and I--I got to go!" The other end snapped and died, bringing back the dial tone. "Althea!" she shouted, without a response. "Dammit!" Of all the Black Sword, Althea was her closest and dearest friend. She wasn't going to let her down, no matter what. Throwing on a pair of jeans and a black tee-shirt, she raced out of the apartment and jumped onto her motorcycle, a beat-up Kawasaki Ninja. Kicking it into gear, she peeled out of the residential parking area and hauled ass toward Central Park. That was where Althea's psion trail was leading her. That was where RC would find the truth. *** Eyrie Building 9:00am "David," Fox knocked quietly on the oak door of David Xanatos' business office. Alexander gurgled happily in her arms, fiddling with a teddy bear with gargoyle wings, his favorite toy. "David, are you in there?" "Come in, my dear," David opened the door with a flourish, his smile widening at the sight of his wife and son. "I have wondrous news to share with you." "Same here," she nodded, setting Alexander down to play with the blocks and rings in the corner. Save for the toybox, the computer on the desk, two chairs, and a painting of the Xanatos' on the far wall, the room was pretty much empty. "My sister just flown in from London--" "A sister?" Fox's husband raised an eyebrow. "I didn't know you had a sister." "A half-sister, really," she shrugged. "I told her Owen will pick her up about noon so she can have lunch with us. She's dying to meet you and Alexander." "Of course! I'll tell Owen at once." So, old Halcyon still had it in his withered old body, he grinned slyly as he paged his aide-de-camp. "Um, David," Fox twirled a red lock around her finger, "Just to warn you beforehand, she's my mother's and Lennox MacDuff's child." Daivd's jaw dropped. "Well, isn't that a twist," he reclaimed his cool and picked up his cooing son. "The Queen of the Fae and the immortal king of the Scots. Cancel my dinner date with Forbes Magazine," he then turned to the sudden appearance of Owen. "Go to Macbeth Manor at eleven-thirty and pick up--" "Arin MacDuff, sir?" Owen ad-libbed. "Thank you Owen. This will be far more interesting than talking about my financial success." David's assistant nodded and stepped out of the office as quietly as he appeared. "And now for my news, my dear. Sitting down at his terminal while still holding Alexander, he fished out a document folder and pushed it towards her. "Do you know what this is?" Fox studied her husband's scrawled handwriting on the tab. "'Nightstone?'" She questioned. "Domenique Destine is moving her operations up north, toward the Boston area, I believe. Less competition up there, without two of the wealthiest businessmen in the world wanting her hide for other than financial rivalry, if you know what I mean." "Garg!" Alexander shouted, tossing the gargoyle teddy towards his mother. David laughed good-heartedly. "What then do you want to do about lunch, then?" Fox chuckled, handing the stuffed animal back to her son. "There's that charming little place down on Fifth Avenue; I think it's called Land's End, isn't it?" Xanatos rubbed his beard. "You know; that new one Detective Bluestone suggested." "I'll check it out." Fox stood up to leave. "Would you like me to take Alexander, or--" "I'll watch him," He smiled, bouncing the boy on his knee. Alexander squealed in delight. Fox smiled as well, and, with a quick kiss to both of them, she left the office. How could life be any more perfect? She questioned herself as she picked up the phone book. A wonderful husband, a beautiful child, money no concern to either one of them anymore, just happiness. Everything had just gotten better ever since they were forced to realize how important life was over money or power. Thanks to Goliath and his clan, that is. *** Central Park 9:00am Damn morning rush hour, RC snarled inwardly as she parked her bike (removing the keys, of course--she had already lost one motorcycle that way) near the entrance of the southern entrance to the park. Quickly scanning the area visually, she saw no traces of her friend. Then, letting down her psychic guard, she mentally probed every sentient entity in the vicinity. (RAQUEL!) A cry of pure thought ricocheted in her head. (althea! where are you?) She projected. Something was wrong. RC picked up speed and ran toward the zoo. That seemed logical, since Althea always felt more comfortable among what she called "fellow beasts", and the fact that her psi signature seemed to be emanating in that direction. Althea had always been fascinated by cats; maybe that's where RC would find her. As she approached the tiger exhibit, she praised her amateur detective work as she laid eyes on a trench-coated figure, a solidly muscular woman donning a pair of sunglasses, her red-blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. "Hello, Althea," RC whispered. The other woman turned to face her. "Zanthé wishes to speak with you, Raquel," Althea simply replied. "Zanthé? I don't give a damn about Zanthé right now!" RC grabbed Althea's solid shoulder. "What about my brother?" "Shawn is under Zanthé's care, for now. The Chaos Lords want him dead. He poses a threat to them, being one of Order." RC shook her head, not understanding. "Please, come back to the Black Sword. We need you." "No." The Grecian woman shook her head again. "I will not. Zanthé doesn't know what she serves. She says Balance, but I'm forced to disagree. I've seen her demons." "We are the Balance," Althea protested meekly. "Then have Zanthé come to my address tomorrow," she flipped Althea a handwritten card from her pocket with her name and address written in green ink. "Tell her to bring Shawn, and we'll discuss terms then." RC walked away, back toward the southern entrance. Althea caught her arm in an almost bonecrushing grip. "Please reconsider," the other woman whimpered. "We need you to become four. I need you. You've never been open for three years. I don't have anyone to talk to anymore." "I need you, too, Althea," RC whispered. "But I don't need the Black Sword." And, with that, RC left Althea to her cats. *** Macbeth Manor 11:30 am Damn, Owen is punctual, Lennox smirked grimly, as the limousine pulled in front of the mansion. Personally, he was not fond of limos and chauffeurs; he never did. He enjoyed doing things himself. "Arin!" He called, a little reluctantly. "Owen's here!" The young woman excitedly tramped down the stairwell. Kissing her father on the cheek, she bolted out the door. "Arin, I'll pick you up when I get out of work!" Lennox shouted. She nodded and, before Owen could open the car door for her, she flung it open, jumped in, and slammed it shut. Her father chuckled, praising her spirit. She reminded him so much of his first child, Luach, before he was killed by Duke Canmore over nine-hundred years ago. The thought saddened him greatly, although he knew it was the cost for immortality. Back then, he was a fool, a smart fool, but a fool, nevertheless. He waved his daughter goodbye as he headed into the garage, got into his BMW, and drove off after the limo had left. Arin, inside the limo, exploded the interior of the car. "So, do you have a fridge in here?" she questioned. "How about a stereo? Telly?" "Yes to all your questions, Ms. MacDuff," Owen nodded, his eyes remaining on the busy road. "Call me Arin," she retorted, finding the stereo. Fishing a CD out of her jacket pocket, she inserted it in and hit "play." "'When I go a-walking, I strut my stuff, then I'm so strung out. I'm high as a kite, I just might, stop to check you out. Lemme go on, like I blister in the sun. Lemme go on, big hands, I know you're the one!'" She sang along to the classic Violent Femmes song. Owen groaned, rolling up the partition. He did not care for any kind of rock and roll, no matter how folk it sounded. At least she wasn't playing any heavy metal. He had to put up with Brooklyn's music at night, he didn't need any more. He glanced in the rearview mirror when they got on the Manhatten Bridge, and saw her tapping at the glass. "Sir, if you don't like rock, all you had to do was tell me," she replied. "I have others, if you don't mind." She pulled out "Phantom of the Opera" from the other jacket pocket and, replacing Violent Femmes, belted out in a saprano voice "Angel Of Music". "'Where in the world have you been hiding, really you were perfect.'" She sang in perfect harmony with Meg. Owen relaxed. She had a good voice, he gave her that much, but not when it came to rock. "'I only wish I knew your secret, who is this new tutor?'" When the limo pulled into the private garage of the Eyrie Building, both of them got out, singing "Phantom of the Opera." Fox blinked when the elevator cab opened, reveiling Owen in alto belting out the Phantom's part, with the streaked chocalate-brown hair woman as Christine Daae. The aide-de-camp coughed, straightened his tie, and retorted in his normal stoic tone, "Mrs, Xanatos, may I present Arin MacDuff." "Sis!" Arin tackled her half-sister in a tight bearhug. "Arin!" Fox returned the hug, then held the young woman at arm's length. "You use to be a scrawny little thing when you left! Look at you!" As the two women talked about the past five years, Owen scrutenously studied Arin. She had more of her mother in her than Fox, that was obvious, though her eyes and posture, her very features were Scot. Fascinating. Owen began wondering why his lord Oberon did not attempt to kidnap her for the Gathering like he did for Alexander. Maybe, like Fox, she did not have the ability to call on her fae power. Fox and Arin wandered around the upper levels of the Eyrie Building, as Owen followed not too closely behind. He recalled what he had heard that past night with Alexander through the fae magicnet, something about two of his brothers from Avalon had come to New York posing as--as what? He pondered, as his connection with Avalon was scattered since his banishment--whatever to try the Lady Titania's Champion--a gargoyle, that part he did remember--in protecting her daughter--Arin, of course, since Owen knew from reputation and experience Fox was already well-protected, by herself, mostly. So there was something going on with his King and Queen. But what, he pondered. But what? “Oh, great!” Arin smiled as she entered the library. Fox had to alter the tour a little; she had forgotten how much she enjoyed books. “We’ve over ten-thousand books,” Fox retorted proudly, as the younger woman pawed through shelf upon shelf of volumes and tomes, novels and biographies. Finally, after ten minutes of browsing, she stumbled on a large paperback on a windowsill. She smiled broadly and opened it, the pages seemed to automatically flip to the beginning of a chapter. “’The Gates Of Londra,’” She whispered, smiling at the chapter title. “This has to be the saddest story in all of Moorcock’s literature, even more than when Cymoril was thrown by her brother Yyrkoon onto her lover Elric’s demonsword Stormbringer.” She than begin to read aloud the paragraphs of Huillam D’Averc’s love for the Queen Flana, who watched in horror as her own guards shot the unfortunate Frenchman, who died at her feet. “Isn’t that beautiful, Janine?” she asked soon after, tears wetting her eyes. “Well written,” Fox nodded. She personally couldn’t stand science fiction, fantasy, romance, or any literature with any of those components. Now, a good spy novel.... “So, who reads Michael Moorcock?” Arin then demanded, holding the book to the light. “David, once in a great while,” Fox lied, but by the look on Arin’s face, she realized she could see the falseness in her statement. “Well, let’s go meet my brother-in-law and nephew,” Arin quickly changed the subject. “Yes,” the red-headed woman led her half-sister out of the library and to the office complex a couple floors down. David and Alexander were on the floor, the baby playing horsie on his father’s back, squealing in delight. “David,” Fox beckoned. “My sister is here.” David stood, still with Alexander on his shoulders, walked with his usual aura of aristrocasy, and shook hands with the younger woman. “Please to meet your aquiantance, Arin. I’m David, and this little rascal--” he pried his son from his neck and passed him to Arin, who took him in her arms as if they had known each other since the day he was born “--is Alexander.” The baby gurgled in compliance, tugging on Arin’s hair, a lock of silver. “Hey, you!” She laughed, peeling his fingers from her hair. He gurgled again and honked her nose, then clapped, laughing as well. “He likes you!” Fox grinned. “I’d hate to see him if he didn’t!” Arin replied. David smiled at the sight of the three. All had some degree of Anastacia Reynard in their features, that was clear. And suddenly, he feared for all three of them, his family. Oberon was a looming threat on breaking his perfect life apart. After a pleasant lunch at Land’s End, a quaint little resturant with a Mediterranian atmosphere, the four of them returned to the Eyrie Building and talked some more, this time in the courtyard of the castle, about Arin’s schooling, her hobbies, her plans for the future. When Fox brought up the subject of friends, David couldn’t help but notice a fallen look to her face. “I didn’t make many friends there,” she retorted sullenly. “They were mostly from Europe, a couple from Canada. I was the only one from the States. The only good friends I had were propieters of a book shop, Una and Leo. But ah well, the girls all thought I was a weirdo anyway.” She took a sip of some hot green tea Owen had just served her. “Rather, I took up theater. I was never loney when I sang.” “What productions were you in?” David questioned. “The school initially started with two preformances a year: A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Forum, and Funny Girl. However, I managed to get the music and had an aquaintance of mine add My Fair Lady, Phantom of the Opera, Cats, and...” she grinned evilly, “Rocky Horror Picture Show.” “How in the world did you manage that?” Fox demanded, amused. Alaxander bubbled some nonsense. “Take out the bed and pool scenes, and voila! You have RKO on stage.” She rose from her chair and sang in a very high-pitched voice the part of Columbia in “Time Warp.” After a quick tap dance, she returned to her seat and grinned. “I also sang the intro song. We just projected the lips onto a screen in the back. Really grand. I also played My Fair Lady’s Eliza Doolittle, The Phantom’s Christine Daae, and Cats’ Grizzella.” “You must be really talented to potray all those different characters,” David accolladed. Personally, he had only been able to sit through the entire Rocky Horror Picture Show mainly because he used to be a “follower” in the seventies, right down to the toast, rice, umbrellas and squirt guns. He had fallen asleep during Cats, gave up understanding what Audrey Hepburn was saying in My Fair Lady, and got a splitting headache when he took Fox to see Phantom last November. However, getting a school to put on one of the most radical musicals in history was a major endeavor. “I’ve just noticed,” Arin abruptly interjected, “that you have some interesting gargoyles up on those turrets.” She pointed to the west tower. “That’s my hobby,” David coughed, checking his watch, “I collect gargoyles. I mean, real gargoyles, from actual castles, not the facsimilies you find in catalogs. Come,” he stood. “I’ll show them to you.” Fox shot a “Do-you-really-think-that’s-smart?” look over Arin’s head to her husband. He returned one that clearly stated “What-are-you-worried-about-they’ll- be-stone-for-another-seven-hours” and led his sister-in-law to the stairwell leading up to the tower, Fox and Alexander right behind them. “I aquired six of them, the males and the dog, when I purchased the castle some five years ago.” Fox heard David explaining. “The seventh, the female gargoyle, I purchased from a friend from Europe just resently. “This one here, is called Goliath.” A brooding silence from Arin, then she questioned, “Did you give him the name?” “No; that was the name he came with. In fact, he was the only one who had a name when I bought the castle. The female, however, was named Angela.” Fox witnessed her younger sister study the stone female. “Well-named,” she muttered. “I call this fellow Bronx,” David grinned, petting the petrified dog’s head. “It seemed appropriate, and I felt it fit him. And this is my veteran,” he moved to an elderly gargoyle, a sword clutched in his hand, posistioned to strike an enemy. “This is Hudson. And finally, the Trio.” David indicated the three smaller gargoyles facing south, southeast, and east. “That big one is Broadway, the small one is Lexington, and the one with the beak is--” “Brooklyn?!” Arin squealed. She got suspicious when David mentioned Goliath; she could not help but react in the way that she did when seeing Brooklyn’s stone form. Apparently, Fox and David were equally surprised. “And how would you know that?” David then asked, trying to regain his nonchalant demeanor. “He was the one who saved me last night, from those two ra--muggers,” she caught herself. “He was the one who took me home. Da knows about him from the past, but he didn’t say anymore. And Una and Leo told me about Goliath--” she pointed to the largest form, now excited so much that she couldn’t hold still. “--and Bronx and Angela and Elisa.” “Wow.” David smirked. “I think it’s no good hiding that from you.” “Janine can’t hide anything from me; she knows that,” Arin grinned in a childish way. “May I stay tonight and watch them wake? Da won’t pick me up until eight, and by then they should be up. Please, sis?” Fox said nothing, only glared at David. He shouldn’t have brought her up here in the first place, and now she just confessed into knowing one of the clan. How could things possibly get more complicated? “Mr Xanatos,” Owen walked out from the stairwell with a cell phone in hand. “Ms. Destine is on the phone. She wishes to settle terms on the purchase of her Manhatten office building.” “Very well, then,” David nodded, taking the proffered phone. Arin noticed a small look of disgust crossing her brother-in-law’s face as he greeted the woman on the other line. “My final offer is twenty-five. That’s more than anyone else will give you. Domenique, no one else will buy it. I own half the stocks for IBM, you aren’t selling there...do you think you can get MacDuff to truly buy it?” “YOU LEAVE MACBETH OUT OF THIS, XANATOS!!!” The woman on the other end shrieked, causing David to wince in pain. “Fine, Domenique, see who else will buy your monstrousity. I’m withdrawing my bid. Good day.” David forcefully hit the “end” button with a curse. “I honestly can’t believe I was once partners with her,” he snarled, leaning against Goliath’s shoulder. Shaking his head, he finally broke the silence. “I don’t see why Arin can’t stay, with her knowing about the gargoyles, it would be pointless to argue otherwise. I must get back to work. Arin, it was a pleasure meeting you, and I truly hope to see you later tonight.” In an attempt to be charming, he bowed, took her hand, and kissed it, causing Arin to laugh. He then kissed his wife lovingly, then his son, and then left with Owen down to the lower office floors. “Well, is there anything special you’d like to do until sunset?” Fox questioed wearily, defeated. “May I go back to the library?” Arin grinned, more like a statement. Fox shrugged. “I think I’m going to take a nap,” she moaned. *** Avenue of the Americas, heading south 3:00pm RC checked her watch and swore. Her psychology class had just begun, and she was still traveling aimlessly around Manhatten for six whole hours, trying to decipher what to do. Althea was up from the ‘Frisco, could that mean the rest of the Black Sword was up too? We rearly traveled alone, she thought to herself, then corrected her hypothesis. Not we. They. She was no longer of the Black Sword. Dodging slower-moving traffic deftly, she managed to get on some side streets and get back to her apartment in less than ten minutes. She grabbed her Psychology and English books from the table and, throwing them into her pack, she jumped back onto her Ninja and sped off to the NYU English and Humanities campus. She cursed again in realization as she walked in late for the lecture on the human psyche. The Black Sword, especially Zanthé, were terribly punctual. And, if the Black Sword were in town... ...she would have to email Lex not to come tonight, that’s all. ostpone it, tell him she had family business, a mid term to study for. Not a problem. No problem whatsoever. *** Somewhere on Route 137Sidney/Waterville town line 6:00pm Her dark green Saab raced down the state route, the top down, the wind ripping through her thick red hair. What beautiful country up here, she smiled, cranking up the radio to the local rock station. The Blimp rang loud and clear with some old Led Zeppelin song, one she couldn't place at the moment. She was dying to return up here after almost thirty years. Now that Thailog was dead, all his assets were her's--the bastard didn't foresee his own death, and forgot to name that bitch clone Delilah his successor--she moved Nightstone up to the Augusta area--that dim-witted human Xanatos actually believed she was going to Boston, of all places--to continue a more important mission than destroying the human race. Even that was getting monotonous, she shrugged. Beside her, in the passenger's seat, laid several newspapers, files, and documents fluttering underneath a large leather-bound book. She had thought the gargoyle clans in New England were wiped out. Obviously, by the headlines of the Morning Sentinel and the Kennebec Journal, some survived. She snuck a glance at the top paper, the Sentinel from a couple of days ago, skimming the article while keeping her peripheral vision on the road. CAR THEFT RELATED TO GARGOYLE, blared the headline. The picture, taking up half the page, showed what looked like the body of a lank young man in an orange prison suit, covering his face with his hands, save for the fact that his skin was deep blue, he had wings mantled over his shoulders, and the horns, spiraling from around his head and just meeting at the back. He was being led into the Waterville courthouse by at least ten armed human police officers. According to the article, a state trooper pulled him over in a stolen Ford F-350 diesel truck, found not only was he a gargoyle, but a slovenly drunk one at that, who actually consented to a breathalizer test and had a BAL of .16, double Maine's OUI limit. Said County Deputie Sheriff, Scott Cyrway, the "man" ("Did he really say 'man?'" Domenique smirked, disbelieved) "didn't even put up a fight. He could have easily taken out the officers who responded to the call." The gargoyle, his name being "just Colt", even commented, saying he "knew he (screwed) up, and will be willing to pay the price, on the condition that he will be tried as he would if human." Domenique Destine chuckled. "You poor creature," she snarled sardonically at the gargoyle in the picture. "Do you truly think the humans will have pity on you?" She came up to the old abandoned barn as described in the letter she received almost two months ago. The windows, boarded up in such a way that whatever was stored there could not be seen even if someone grew curious enough to actually go up to the barn, and yet probably the dezisens could have a strategic advantage for they could spy out. Domenique pulled her car into the dusty driveway where a rusty old Volkwagen Beetle jacked up on blocks was parked and tried the ancient barn doors. Locked from inside. Domenique nodded, as if approving the strategical advantages of this location. Taking the letter from her pocket, she perused the handwriting for any more directions. A treehouse, about two hundred yards to the north-west from the barn, in the wooded area behind it, secluded from the highway. The woman grinned and, replacing the letter, she took off her shoes and threw them back into the Saab, hiked up her Gucci dress over her knees and waded through the tall grass and into the woods. After about an hour of searching, she found the treehouse. It was at worst as old as the barn, but in rugged shape, still functional. It might have belonged to a spoiled brat of a wealthy landowner, a long time ago, but she didn't care. Taking a hold of the rope ladder, she climbed up onto the small porch and knocked on the door. Then she laughed aloud at herself. She wouldn't be up yet, Domenique scolded, and tried the tarnished brass doorknob. It turned easily. She was slightly surprised it unlike the barn was unlocked. Maybe because it was well secluded from curious eyes... ...or maybe, as she glanced around the cluttered room, then at the two stone gargoyles inside, the male, it appeared, was fumbling at his jeans' fly, trying to get them back on, and the female, lounging sensually on the threadbare futon couch, with her hand holding a blanket over her naked breasts, was probably trying to plead with her lover to spend the day with her, the door was left unlocked for the fact no one had time to lock it. Domenique checked her Rolex. Forty-five more minutes until sunset. She pondered what she was going to do for another three-quarters-of-an-hour. Probably catch up on some reading, she decided, as she returned to her Saab. Expertly, she changed from her business suit to a halter top and tattered jeans--as much as she wanted to don her usual tunic and loincloth, she felt a change with the times was in call for, although she did accessorize her outfit with her gold headband. Then she propped her knee against the steering wheel, grabbed her tome, and began reading. *** Chapter Two Castle Wyvern 7:35 pm Curled on the window seat, listening to The Empire Strikes Back soundtrack and reading Nomad of the Timestreams (yet another Eternal Champion book she found in a pile of what seemed to be a shrine built to Michael Moorcock--more specifically, Hawkmoon--in a dark corner of the library,) Arin almost failed to notice the sun setting behind her back. In the bay window, the brilliant hues of red and oranges and yellows cascaded onto the bookshelves and on her hair, causing the silver and gold strands to shine iridenscently. She marked her page and ran up to the courtyard, before a warm but firm hand caught her shoulder. “Now, Arin,” her father’s voice was stern, but had a tint of whimsical to it. “Xanatos had informed me you found the castle’s most well-kept secret, and he didn’t know about you...” his tone darkened in time with his eyes, then softened momentarily, “...and Brooklyn’s meeting last night. Surprising he didn’t foresee this, but, then again, he had no clue about your past relationship with your gargoyle friends. Knowing Goliath’s reaction to unannounced visitors, why don’t I come out with you.” MacDuff shrugged. “I needed to talk to Goliath anyway.” “Now that we’re all on friendlier terms, eh?” David joined the two MacDuffs. Lennox chortled a short laugh. The three ventured out to the courtyard, then up to the west tower. Already up there was a dark-haired woman in a red jacket staring up at the statue of Goliath. MacDuff introduced his daughter to Detective Elisa Maza, who appeared mildly surprised, especially when Arin mentioned her friendship with Una and Leo from London. The sky darkened gradually, and the cracking of stone alerted the four humans to the awakening of the seven gargoyles. Flecks of stone fell away from each of the gargoyles as they stretched, yawned, scratched, whatever. Goliath smiled at Elisa, then took notice of the new face in the group. “Hello, you must be Goliath.” She held her hand out in greeting. “Una and Leo told me about you and your clan.” “Welcome to our castle,” Goliath greeted, amused. “You are...aquaintances with the gargoyles in London, then?” Yeah, we’re chums,” she smiled shyly. “I’m Arin MacDuff.” Goliath shook her hand, his lavender talons gently engulfing hers. She was unafraid, even welcoming, towards being here. “Hail there, lass,” Hudson saluted, then turning to MacDuff, he shot a smile. “Didn’t know you had a daughter.” “I’m usually a very private man, Hudson; I don’t talk about anything unless it proves to have a positive outcome. Arin has been abroad for five years, in London, for schooling. Now, she has chosen to return here and go to college at New York University.” A smile of fatherly pride stretched across his face. “Arin!” Deftly, the young copper gargoyle navigated around Hudson and Broadway and stood in front of the young human, silent, unsure of what to say. Uh, hi.” He finally welcomed, then slapped his forehead, grimacing. “Hi, Brooklyn,” Arin laughed, then hugged him. “Thank you again for what you did last night.” All were silenced by her action. Yes, there was no doubt in Goliath’s mind that this girl was definately easy-going when it came to gargoyles. Bronx broke the quiet by jumping up onto Arin, lapping her face, and woofed happily. “Down, Bronx!” Everyone unanimously ordered, and Arin giggled again. “It’s all right,” she rubbed behind his ears, coaxing him onto all four legs once more. “Well,” Brooklyn clapped his hands together, really uncomfortable, as they all headed into the castle. For some reason, he wanted to talk to her alone. “So, how did you come to the Eyrie Building, anyway? Just out of curiousity.” “I came to visit my sister, Janine, or rather, Fox, as she prefers to be called nowadays,” Arin answered, despite of David’s mouthing “NO!” to her. “Your...sister?” Lexington queried, rousing suspicious glances from Clan Manhatten and Elisa. “Yeah, well, half-sister, really.” David slapped himself in the face. “I was married to Anastacia Reynard, old Halcyon’s former wife.” MacDuff chuckled. “She divorced me due to ‘incompatibility.’ However, it was an interesting arrangement, and,” he placed a fatherly hand on his daughter’s shoulder, “with a beautiful child to prove it, too, it was worth it.” “You can say that again,” Brooklyn whispered, then grimaced again when Lexington, Angela, and Broadway turned their heads toward him, all exposing blackmailing smiles. His eyes widened in horror. “Oh, damn,” he cursed under his breath. “Oh, we’re not that childish,” Lexington grinned, “to actually blurt it out so that everyone will know that you have the--mmhph!” Brooklyn clapped his hand over his brother’s mouth. “Say one more word, shorty, and I’ll make certain you’ll never be able to reproduce,” he threatened, his voice rumbling. “I think it’s cute,” Angela chuckled. “Brooklyn in love with--” “All of you, quiet!” he snarled, his skin taking a deeper red tone. “Wait a minute,” Broadway blinked. “Did Macbeth just say, ‘Anastacia Reynard’?” The entire clan paused once more. “I’ve take it you’ve met her before,” MacDuff retorted slowly, as if weighing the situation. “And please, don’t call me Macbeth.” “You could say that, on numerous occasions,” Elisa replied. “Remarkable woman.” the Scotsman grinned at the memory. “She seems to have a magical aura about her.” Goliath was trying very hard not to comment. Brooklyn dodged into the library as they passed it, then, rhythmically, began hitting his head on the oak doors. “Damn, damn, damn!” he repeated over and over, to no one but himself. Or so he thought. “Hi.” He halted his headbanging in mid-stroke at the musical souund of Arin’s voice. “Damn, I’m sorry, Arin,” he muttered, shifting to look her in those beautiful emerald eyes, practically melting him inside. “For what?” She asked innocently, looking down and picking up a tattered copy of Count Brass by, of course, Michael Moorcock. For falling in love with you, he almost blurted out, but decided to hold his tongue. She wasn’t expecting an answer, obviously, for she completely changed the subject. “You like Moorcock?” “Like him? I love his works!” Brooklyn relaxed a little. “Same here, especially his Elric Saga.” “I’m a Hawkmoon fan myself.” And Brooklyn got his wish, as the two talked about The Prince of Melniborné and the Duke of Köln, and then music (she was big on British heavy metal, he was more into alternative and gothic metal) and then themselves. Both bibliophiles, avid movie-goers, especially with science-fiction, they had so much in common. And the more they talked, the more he loved her. But he had only known her for not yet twenty-four hours! Their conversation was broken by Lexington and Angela standing over them with big grins on their faces. “Angela and I were wondering if the two of you would like to go over to my friend RC’s place tonight,” Lex invited, still grinning maniacally. “We’d really enjoy it if you did,” Angela added. “I’ve never heard of this ‘RC’ before,” Brooklyn commented. “Who is he?” “She,” the other two gargoyle corrected similtaniously. “Broadway said he’ll join us after patrol,” Angela added. “Anyway, Arin, your father mentioned you were going to apply to NYU,” Lex pointd out. “RC lives right on campus. She would tell you what it’s like there.” “I would love to!” Arin smiled, standing up. “Brooklyn?” “Sure,” he shrugged. “Why not?” *** The Outklaws' Barn Waterville/Sidney town line 8:00pm "So, what's that Scab doing in our driveway?" Magnum, the largest of the mini-clan, snarled, the crest on his head rising slightly. "Where's Mauser, anyway?"Chaz grumbled, checking his watch. He was almost as tall as the large tan gargoyle, but at least a hundred pounds lighter. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it with his Zippo. "I'd hate to leave him behind in case we go--" Chaz released a deep chortle "--joy riding." "Don't you think we should wait a couple of days? You'd think we would learn anything from what happened to Colt," Clay, the youngest and only Outklaw who hadn't reached a six foot height, growled, pacing the barn's worn floor. "Anyway, I think we all know where our fearless leader is." "Porking 'Monika," Smith and Wesson, the fraternal twins, at least in spirit, moaned wishfully. Smith finally leapt up from the tattered horsehair couch he had occupied and grabbed a can of shaving cream. "I'm going over to that treehouse, and I'm going to pull that asshole out by his naked balls if I have to, and we're going to find something destructive to do!" Chaz snarled, throwing back the large bolt to the barn doors and stormed out into the night, with Smith following suit, shaving cream at the ready. "Yo, bro, what are you doing?" Wes demanded the bleach white gargoyle. Smith grinned evilly. "Shaving cream, Scab. Shaving cream, Scab. Shaving cream, Scab. Heh-heh," he retorted, impersonating Beavis. "Huh-huh, you're pretty smart, Beavis," Wes suddenly broke into an air guitar solo in the tune of "Symphony of Destruction." "Enough, both of you." Mag snorted. "I'm heading over to Clan Winslow's place." "That's pitiful, Mag," Wes shook his head. "So desperate for a chick you'd go after that Eddie bitch." Mag simply grasped Wes' tee-shirt and hoisted him up, slamming him against the barn wall. Dust from the rafters rained on them from the force. "I don't care what you say about me," the huge gargoyle's eyes blazed white, "but when it comes to my girl, keep your comments to yourself, or else they'll be trouble." "Jesus, sorry, man," the rich red gargoyle whispered. "I didn't mean it in a mean way, y'know..." "Hey!" Chaz snarled, issuing a warning. Mag released his hold of Wes. "Then keep it to yourself," he repeated, exiting the barn, only to find Chaz engaging conversation with the person in the Saab convertible. Looking closer, he was astonished to see that that person was a rather beautiful azure blue-skinned gargoyle female! "No, that ain't possible, ma'am," the grey man was saying. "You're far too young-looking to be 'Monika's mom." "I am," she laughed, climbing out of the convertible. "I came here in fact to see her." "Oh, really?" Clay joined his clan brother. "Well, I don't know when she and Mauser will, ahem, return, but--" "'Mauser?'" She questioned. "'Monika's man, our fearless leader," Chaz shrugged. "They're probably at her treehouse," Smith added, the can of shaving cream forgotten for the moment, then quickly elbowed Wesson before he could say what exactly they were doing there. "Well, Winchester," the woman smiled sweetly at Chaz, using his full name, "aren't you going to introduce your clan brothers to me?" "Oh, yeah, guys, this is Demona. Demona, this is Smith and Wesson, our residential Beavis and Butthead, the short one is Claymore, and the big one is Magnum." Chaz pointed to each gargoyle respectfully, and each one bowed formally (Mag), waved shyly (Clay), or grinned idiotically (Smith and Wes). "Pleased to meet you," she smiled, though inside she felt like grimacing. Just what she needed. Her daughter hanging out with a group of horny males. While they talked, mostly by Demona and Chaz, they were joined by a tall and lank dark green male and a similarly built dark pink female coming from the north-west. "Was it good for you as it was for her?" Smith taunted to the male. He threatened to slap the white male, and the female giggled. And then noticed Demona. "Mother?" she whispered, disbelieved. "Hello, Demonika," Demona smiled, grasping hold of her daughter's shoulders. "You've grown into a beautiful young woman." "While you missed most of my childhood," 'Monika's tone dropped, backing away from Demona's touch. "Mauser, guys, let's leave. Go visit Eddie and the others. Anything. I just want to get away from here." And, with that, she turned and ran back into the forest. "Demonika!" Demona shouted, racing after her, just as Mauser grabbed her arm, his eyes aglow with an eerie green light. "She told me how you left her when she was just old enough to know your face," he growled. "You were her mother, and you abandoned her like an unwanted burden." "Wow," Mag whispered. Mauser wasn't the type to sound that sensible usually. He almost never seemed pissed, and now he defended his mate against her mother. Of course, Magnum would do the same for Eddie. Now Demona's eyes flared a crimson red. "Let go of me, child," she snarled, then snagged hold of Mauser's hand and jerked his arm over his shoulder and, throwing her hip into his side, threw him crashing into the jacked-up Beetle. "Outklaws! Stop her!" Mauser ordered, pain shooting down his side. A couple of ribs might have been cracked when he struck the car as he struggled to stand. "Don't let her get 'Monika!" Suddenly, the other five ceased to be immature party crashers and shifted to a clan of fully responsible gargoyles, sworn to their creed. Mag tackled her first, locking her arms behind his back with his left hand, his tail wrapped around her feet, immobilizing her momentarily. Clay, Chaz, and Wes stmbled to help the large tan gargoyle. An audible crack sounded as Demona’s tail whipped upward, whipping sharply into Mag’s groin. Mag howled in pain, releasing his advesary, as he clutched his crotch and falling to his side. “Oh, shit,” Wes grumbled. “There goes our brute force.” “Artillery time!” Clay quickly unsheathed his little bladed buddy by the name of Dragon Lord and held it in preparation to slash. He wasn’t much on using his talons or fangs; he prefered the human art of knife fighting. Chaz, however, didn’t take kindly to being played like he was by a beautiful lady. He was pissed off at himself to having revealed some of the Outklaws’ fraternity secrets, and needed to atone for his foolishness. His foot found one of the Beetle’s hubcaps in the tall grass by chance. Flicking up with his tail, he caught it, then launched it toward Demona. She ducked, however Chaz calculated this, aiming a little off, so the Volkswagen cap clipped the back of her head. She snarled, rubbing the wound, swearing when she found blood on her palm. “You’ll pay for that dearly, child,” she vaulted toward the lank grey gargoyle. Then thunder clapped from nearby. No. Wait. It wasn’t thunder. It was a shotgun firing, as made evident when the bullet cut through Demona’s arm. Fangs bared, she whirled around expecting to see a trigger-happy human behind her. Instead, her eyes widened in surprise as to see her daughter standing with Clan Winslow, old Ben aiming the shotgun directly at her head. “Now, whoever you are,” he snarled, his glowing white eyes visible in the scope, “I recommend we sit down and talk about this.” “You shot me!” Demona snapped. “It’ll heal come morning, missy.” The venerable gargoyle lowered the sight, but still kept one finger on the trigger. The other, much younger, gargoyles carefully advanced the melee, the two smallest, Sam and his best friend, the youngest female named Pippen donning a ratty aviator jacket, took up the rear, while Eddie and Avaon took lead with Bob as shotgun. Mercedes and the second-youngest female, a flaming red-head by the name of Alexis, stayed behind with Ben and ‘Monika. Eddie abandoned her position when she saw Magnum crumpled on the ground, mewing in pain. Wes, like Smith, managed to say out of the fight, crawled up behind Eddie, now helping Mag up. “You okay, dude?” Wes whispered. Mag, teeth gritted, nodded somewhat, as he leaned on Eddie’s shoulder. “I would recommend all of you to stay out of my personal business.” Demona stood straight, challenging. “If it involves any of the clan, it’s the other’s personal business.” Ben deftly waded through the grass, shotgun still cocked. “You claim to be ‘Monika’s mother. I remember you, somewhat. Luke, leader of Clan Arostook, you were his mate.” “You escape my memory, old man,” Demona snarled. “This is Clan Kennebec, then, I take it.” “Now just Clan Winslow, and the Outklaws, of course,” Ben snorted, waving the barrel of the firearm toward Mauser and his gang. “You took off ‘bout thirty years ago, leaving a child alone. Didn’t you know this is New England’s gargoyle population?” He gestured to the younger gargoyles. “The poor girl really didn’t have a chance, not at that time.” “Oh, yes,” the newcomer grinned evilly. “You were the one who hid in the rookery with the eggs, when the humans came to exterminate us.” This apparently touched a nerve. Ben raised the rifle once more. “Leave,” he roared. “Leave, and I never want to see your face ‘round these parts again!” Demona hissed, then turned to her car, only to find that Smith had thrown baloney on the Saab's hood, slashed the tires, and emptied the contents of his shaving cream can on the driver's seat. *** NYU Apartment Complex 9:00 pm RC paced, as usual, when she was worried. And, right now, she was worried as hell. Of course, the rapping at her skylight didn’t help things much. “Lexington!” She hissed, opening the window and allowing the three gargoyles--an one human, she noted late, being carried by the copper-red one--inside her apartment. “Didn’t you get my post?” “I haven’t checked my mailbox tonight,” the olive green gargoyle replied truthfully. “I had to study for a surprise test tomorrow, and--” she shrugged, hoping that she was worrying about nothing. “Oh, well. It’s six p.m. tomorrow night. I’ll cram during Psych. Welcome to my humble home.” She addressed her other guests. “I’m RC Spiker. I’ve known Lex, and you,” she did a quick point to the lavender female, “--you must be Angela, from last night.” “This is is my brother Brooklyn, and his friend, Arin,” Lex concluded. “I thought gargoyles didn’t have family as we humans consider family,” RC exclaimed. “We’re rookery brothers, that is.” Brooklyn interjected. “We’ve become more quote-unquote ‘human-orientated’ in the past couple of years.” “Wow.” She suddenly shook her head. “Aw man, where are my manners? Can I offer anyone a drink?” Five two-liter bottles of Coke, three bags of chips, four containers of salsa, and a large pizza on the way, the five watched old anime flicks RC had collected over the years--Arin mastered A-ko’s shocked look, complete with the sleeve of her shirt dropping off her shoulder--when then someone knocked on the door. “That must be the pizza guy,” RC got up, pulling out her wallet. “I’ll handle it. “Who is it?” she then demanded. “Vinnie’s Pizza!” a woman yelled from the other side of the door. The voice sounded familiar to RC, but she disregarded it. She ordered pizza on a regular basis; it might just be one of the regular delivery people. “How much do I owe you?” “Sixteen-eighty-seven.” RC pulled out a twenty, and opened the door a crack. Then slammed it shut, meeting the eyes of four curious friends with her terror-filled grey orbs. “Run,” she simply ordered, her voice low but domineering. “Run, and don’t stop until you get home.” “RC, are you in some sort of troub--” Lex demanded. “RUN!” she screeched. Then there was silence. Then a single word broke the calm. “Shatter.” The door suddenly exploded into a thousand tiny shards, forcing the gargoyles and humans to cover their heads, Brooklyn shielding Arin with his body. The “Akira” theme abruptly blared from the television’s speakers as Brooklyn raised his eyes to the party crashers. Another gargoyle, a female totally white with crimson eyes sized up the situation. Her clothes, totally black in comparison to her features, were formfitting, the tanktop revealing a tattoo of a black dagger or sword of some kind. “The Black Sword honors your invitation, turncoat, even if you fail to honor us,” the gargoyle directed her statement to the groaning woman at her feet. RC stood, shakenly, as Lex bolted to her side to steady her. “It is you who failed to honor your code, Zanthé,” she snarled. “Where is my brother?” “Tell your little friends to eave, so that we may talk in private.” Zanthé commanded. “No!” Lex snarled, his eyes blazing white. “I will stand next to my friend!” “Lexington,” RC patted his hand, “I appreciate your offer, but you should leave now. This is my business, but I will allow you one thing,” the Grecian woman turned her face to the interloper, “if Zanthé or any of the Sisterhood harm my brother, I will allow your clan to help extract my vengance. Gargoyles protect, even if she has forgotten that.” “I have not, with is the reason why my non-gargoyle sisters will not harm him, for I say so. He is safe.” “I do not trust you.” RC faced her friends. “Not to sound spiteful, but leave, for your own sakes.” Lexington, of course, was reluctant, more than the others, but, with a little coaxing from Angela, the four left from which way they came. “Now, Raquel,” Zanthé snarled. “We will have words.” *** "I don't want to leave her!" Lex shouted at Brooklyn on a rooftop a block away from RC's apartment. "She needs help!" "She obviously knows what's she's doing, Lexington," Brooklyn held his brother's arm in a gently but firm grip. "What can we do against someone who can control that kind of magic using a single word?" Seeing Lexington's dismay, he sighed, then added, "we'll check on her later. This Zanthé character doesn't seem to be the type to actually hurt RC, just scare her." "Did you see the tattoo on Zanthé's shoulder?" Arin pointed out. "I noticed one on RC's indentical to her's when we were doing A-ko impersonations. There's got to be a connection there." "Fine. Let's roll out," Brooklyn unfurled his wings and jumped off the rooftop. "Hey!" Arin called out. "Aren't you forgetting someone?" Brooklyn grinned sheepishly and manuvered over the human, snatching her by the waist without landing, then catching a strong air current back to the apartment, following Lex and Angela. "RC!" Lex called through the skylight. The Grecian young woman was cleaning up the wooden shards from the shattered door. "Damn," she whimpered meekly. "There goes my security deposit." "RC, are you all right?" Lexington glided into the apartment and began helping her clean up. RC stood straight, blinked, and glanced down at the small gargoyle. "Lexington," she whispered, "my brother is being held hostage by the Black Sword. they'll let him go if I agree to present myself at their Assembly. Zanthé wants me to return to the Sisterhood. The point is," she sighed, sitting back down on the couch, "I don't want to ." Lex settled next to her, but said nothing. "I don't get it," she then mouthed. "First my fiancé is missing, now my brother is being held hostage, I should have stayed in San Fransisco." "Your...fiancé?" Lex questioned. "Yeah...Colm McKenzie. He went to work one night about a year and a half ago, and never returned home. The cops couldn't find a trace. Dammit!" She swore, resting her head in her hands. "My life is just too far fucked up." "RC, let us help you," Angela pleaded as she entered the room. The woman shook her head. "I appreciate your help, all of you," she replied sullenly, "but this is Black Sword business. Anyway, I can take care of myself." She smiled at the four of them, and then stood up. "I'll have to call and tell my teachers I won't be coming in tomorrow." "I think its time we go," Brooklyn suggested. "Not to sound like I don't appreciate you, but I do have a lot to think about tonight." She the hugged Lex. "Thanks for coming over anyway. I had a lot of fun, and I hope we can do it again, without the interruptions." "Thank you for inviting us," Arin grinned sadly. "And I hope so too." The three gargoyles agreed, as her new friends left with good-byes and good luck wishes, RC sank back onto her couch once more, groaned, and thought deeply on her predictament. Broadway met up with the four just outside the NYU campus. "Did I miss anything exciting?" he asked wistfully as he clasped Angela's hand. "It was pretty uneventful; nothing exciting whatsoever," Brooklyn shrugged, then glanced at Arin. "You want to go for a walk?" "Sure," she smiled, as they veered toward Central Park, as Lex, Broadway, and Angela headed back to Castle Wyvern. *** End Part Two of ...Love and War (insert video clip of Robbins and Hudson fishing and arguing, calling one another "Putz!" and "Schmuck!", circa "Grumpy [and Grumpier] Old Men") And now...a little tantalizing tidbit on the last part of ...Love and War: Arin and Brooklyn take a little trip to the sunny isle of Avalon, Clan Winslow and the Outklaws find out the meaning of working together to help a common friend, Lex finds out a startling discovery, and Talon asks Goliath’s advise on love! Next time, same bat time, same bat channel! "Blister in the Sun" is by Violent Femmes from their self titled debut album. "Angel of Music" is by Andrew Lloyd Webber from Phantom of the Opera. "Time Warp" is from Rocky Horror Picture Show. Hawkmoon, D'Averc, Elric, Flana, Cymoril, Yyrkoon, and Bastable are all characters from Michael Moorcock's excellent novels.