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

***NOTE: Gargoyles is a licensed 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!***

***OOPS!  The almighty Black Blade has made a boo-boo:  in part two, I had mentioned
the Outklaws’ barn was on route 137.  Just after posting part two, I drove out to Sidney to
get some ideas for my antisocialists.  Just across the street from the old dairy barn, there
was a route sign, clear as day, posting the road as route 104.  Clan Winslow, however,
live about ten miles away, on route 137.  As you may have guessed, I like to keep my
details on Maine very crisp, and, although my facts on Manhattan aren’t probably good (I
look at a street map I fished out of last year’s Nynex book), I try to make it sound like I
know what I’m talking about.  Thanx for the ear!***

DEMONA: Hello, Demonika. You've grown into a beautiful young woman.  (Show
Demona grasping Demonika’s shoulders in ...Love and War, Part Two)
DEMONIKA: While you missed most of my childhood. (Demonika turns to Mauser)
Let's go.  I just want to get away from here.

RC: (voice-over): Previously, on Gargoyles...

RC: RUN! (RC leans against her door, fearful, in ...Love and War, Part Two)
ZANTHÉ: The Black Sword honors your invitation, turncoat, even if you fail to honor us.

OBERON: Yes, what about him?
PUCK: I have a sunny disposition and I’m always kind to animals. (As in The Gathering,
part Three.)

BROOKLYN: You want to go for a walk?
ARIN: Sure. (Show the two heading toward Central Park, in ...Love and War, Part Two.)

AUTOLYCUS: It was all Jordan's idea!   I didn't know what he was up to! (Show
Brooklyn’s rampage on Touchstone [Jordan] in ...Love and War, Part One.)

***
Prologue:
Chinatown Prescient
Midnight

	Theodore Pasadros perched on the top bunk of his cell in the fetal position,
shaking.  He had been in a nervous breakdown for the entire day.  At first, Howie Sung
watched the dude like a hawk, but tonight, he played Quake over the Internet.  He failed
to notice that Pasadros was no longer babbling.
	In fact, Pasadros was no longer shrouded in his hysteria.
	He leapt off the bunk, walked over to the bars, and stood, his hands behind his
back.
	"'I doth grow bored of this human guise,'" Pasadros suddenly retorted in a sing-
song voice edged with the malignous tone of a rogue.  "'So Pasadros doth sink, and
Autolycus shall rise!'"
	Howie, turning from his terminal, glanced confused at the imprisoned man in the
cell.
	However, Pasadros was replaced by what looked like an elf dressed in dark yet
gaudy clothes.
	"Hey, who the hell are you--?" Howie snarled, reaching for his piece.
	"Pasadros never existed, Officer Sung," the elf, who called himself Autolycus,
Howie remembered, retorted with a sneer.  "My fellow thespian Touchstone and I were
sent from Avalon to this unmagical place to join two unlikely souls together."
	"Yeah?  Sell it to Ann Landers!" Howie steadied his nine millimeter while
groping for the intercom button.
	"Little good that will do you against a master thief.  'This day brings you a great
deal of pains/ so sleep, Howie Sung, and forget thy gains.'"
	"What the hell is that suppose--" Howie suddenly lost consciousness, falling
headfirst onto his desk.
	"Don't worry, Officer, you'll won't remember a thing," Autolycus, now turning to
his more conventional ways, fished out a custom-made lock pick and deftly jimmied the
bolt of the cell.  Flinging the door open, he pushed Howie from his chair and accessed the
police log.  Cursing technology, he wove another spell.
	"'Technology, rotting humans' minds more and more/erase all data on Pasadros
and Whitmore!'"
	Oh, that was tactless, he snarled inwardly, but effective, as he attempted to bring
up information on his human form but found nothing.
	Great.
	He smiled to himself, standing up.
	It was time to go home.

***
Chapter One
Eyrie Building
12:30 am

	Curiosity, worriment, fear, all those types of feelings filled Lexington as he
plucked away at his computer.  He didn't like leaving RC alone, not when he was suppose
to protect his friends--the city for that matter.
	"Time to do a little database searching," he whispered to himself as he typed
"MacKenzie, Colm" into the search engine.  The computer, a Pentium MMX with sixty-
four megs of RAM, Super VGA monitor, five gigabytes of hard drive space, and a 56.6
speed modem, a hand-me-down from Xanacorps, took longer than it should usually, as a
two possibilities popped up on screen.
	Both of them had to do with Xanacorp and Gen-U-Tech employee databases.
	"Whoa, boy," Lex exhaled, clicking on the Gen-U-Tech database.  A new screen
came up, with a list of low-level employees' names, including Colm MacKenzie, with a
little asterisk next to his name.  The gargoyle then linked up to the high-lighted name,
bringing him to a file archive of Colm's employment at Gen-U-Tech.  He was a night
watchmen, and good at his job, loyal to the company, when one night a year and a half
ago, as stated on the record, was killed in an accident involving chemicals as he was
locking up the lab.  As Lex read on, he found the personal dossier, revealing his
schooling, past employment, vital statistics, and disabilities.
	Which almost made Lex drop a load in his loincloth.
	According to the file, Colm was mute.

***
Central Park

	"Y'know,  Arin," Brooklyn began as they sat underneath a large oak tree
overlooking on of Central Park's many ponds.  Abruptly, he found himself tongue-tied at
the moment.  He couldn't say it.  Not this soon.
	"Yeah, Brook?" She questioned, skipping stones on the once smooth water, now
rippling with her constant tossing.
	Shit.  He had to say something.  He was stuck now, and he knew--he just knew--
Arin wasn't the kind to allow him to drop it.
	"Uh...." He mantled his wings over his shoulder and leaned back on the huge
trunk of the tree.  What was he going to say to her?  "...You like Smashing Pumpkins?"
	Oh, smooth, Brook, he scolded himself.  That sounded real intelligent.
	"They're all right," she shrugged.  "I'm not much into alternative.  My thing is
Steppenwolf, Black Sabbath, other hard rockers."  She threw a small stone across the
surface of the water.  It skipped seven times before it sank into the depths.  "That wasn't
what you were going to say to me, was it?"
	Brooklyn sighed, shaking his head.
	He couldn't say it.  He only knew Arin for a little more than twenty-four hours.  It
wasn't right.  He shouldn't feel this way, not to a human and even if she was gargoyle or
he was human it wouldn't matter it was too soon you couldn't fall in love in such short of
time but he did but it wasn't possible....
	"You look like you have something on your mind, Brook," Arin inched closer
with an encouraging smile, squeezing his hand friendly, noting that his was clammy with
nervousness.  "Say it, bloke; I won't laugh."
	"I'm...I'm not afraid that you'll laugh," he whispered hoarsely.  "I'm afraid you'll
get pissed at me and I'll never see you again."
	"You're joking, right?" She chuckled.  "Brook, in the past day, you have became
my best friend, the only one willing to like me despite of my differences.  I mean,
everyone at school, no matter how friendly they seemed to me, they always managed to
get a comment about this."  She yanked at a loose lock of silver from her head. 
"Premature greying?  Dyed?  What's with my hair?  And my taste of music...I can go from
Mozart to White Zombie.  I was the weirdo; I was reluctant to leave London, for the fact
that I would have to leave Una and Leo behind as well, forced to relearn the States, trying
to gain more friends.  But all my old friends are different now; I can't relate to them any
longer."  She gazed out into the rarely-seen clear night, up at the stars, with a loneliness
all too familiar with Brooklyn.  "Truth is, Brook, I can't stop thinking about you.  You
were there for me when I needed you, and I'll never forget that."
	Brooklyn allowed her words to sink into his mind as he picked up a quartz-
speckled stone.  Studying it, he finally gave it a good fling into the pond.  It skipped five
times and disappeared with the rest of Arin's attempts.
	"I just happened to be there at the right time, that's all." He ultimately concluded,
more to convince himself.
	"I think it was more than that, Brook," she hissed, facing him, staring deep into
his hazel brown eyes.  "It felt like...fate...like we were destined to meet one another."
	"Yeah, destiny, fate," he mumbled.
	Arin said nothing, only leaned over and pecked him on the cheek.
	And abruptly, he found his voice.
	"Arin, I need to tell you something that's been gnawing at me since last night..."
he clasped her hand with both of his, gently.
	"Yeah?"
	And then, his words warped, forming into something he didn't plan to say, but
probably worked even better for his part.
	"You have the most beautiful eyes," he murmured, a warm smile stretching across
his face.

***
The Labyrinth
1:00 a.m.

	Elisa groaned as she rubbed her shoulder just after setting down one of the many
bags of groceries the Xanatos’ donated for the Labyrinth’s many denizens onto the large
kitchen table.  Maggie followed her example, and settled down in one of the chairs.
	“Thank you for your help, Elisa,” her feline green eyes smiled in place of her
mouth; it was difficult to express some more human emotions with mutated faces, even
those so simple as a smile.
	“Not a problem,” the human nodded, and began helping put the foodstuff away. 
“I heard Derek wanted to talk to Goliath.  Do you know what about?”
	Maggie sighed, her hands folded in her lap.
	“It’s about Fang,” she replied.  “We’re thinking about letting him out on
probation.”
	Elisa almost dropped a six-pack of Coke.
	“Is that wise?” she whispered.
	“Fang hasn’t done anything drastic in almost a year, save for trying to bribe one of
the squatters to sneak him a screwdriver.  Turned out he wanted a drink.” Maggie
chuckled a little.  “Seriously, he pleaded for a pardon.  Your brother is a good man, Elisa,
and he wouldn’t do this if he didn’t feel it was necessary.  Who knows?  Maybe Fang will
behave this time.”
	“Maybe.  Is that what he wants to talk to Goliath?  To keep an eye out in case
Fang misbehaves?”
	Maggie nodded, standing up, and joined Elisa packing away the groceries.  They
remained silent for the remainder of the chore.

	Goliath was puzzled on why Lexington wanted to come with him to the
Labyrinth.  Usually, the little olive gargoyle preferred his computer, but tonight, thought
Goliath, he, Angela and Brooklyn, along with Arin, were to go to Lex’s friend’s place
that night.  They returned early, saying RC had a test in the afternoon and needed to
study.  Angela and Broadway decided to go see a movie, probably the new Disney one,
Hercules, and Arin and Brooklyn, according to his daughter, went to Central Park for a
walk.  Lex, however, decided to head to the Labyrinth, saying something about talking to
Claw for some reason or another.  Goliath wasn’t one to argue on something so petty, so
Hudson and Bronx “guarded” at the castle (while watching a six-hour Beavis and
Butthead Moron-a-thon), and Lex went with Clan Manhatten’s leader.
	The one and only Claw met the two gargoyles under the turnpike exit, a sewer
grate emptying out into the Hudson River.  The tiger Mutate had with him a small
woman with spiky, almost porcupine-ish hair framing her feral face.  An autistic smile
donned her face, and she seemed to look at not Lexington, but a point through the young
gargoyle, which made him a little uneasy.
	“Shade,” she hissed, pointing to her chest, before anyone asked.
	Claw took a pad and pen from his pocket and jotted, “She’s new in the Labyrinth. 
She calls herself Shade, sometimes Runs-With-Shadows.  She has followed me around
for the past week.”
	“Is she all right?” Goliath asked after reading Claw’s note, when she returned to
her stare. 
	Claw shrugged, and wrote, “She’s autistic, maybe schizophrenic.”
	Goliath, who never tried to understand mental disabilities, shrugged as well and
asked, “Where’s Talon?”
	“In the old lab,” scratched the ball-point pen with a hesitant scrawl.
	The lavender gargoyle nodded, said his thanks, and disappeared into the maze of
sewers.
	“Um, Claw?” Lex beckoned.  Claw’s massive form, to most smaller folk (which
was almost anyone in the Labyrinth) was threatening, but his gentle cat’s eyes betrayed
this true personality; a kind, innocent soul longing for a friend...
	...or perhaps, Lexington added to himself, a lost loved one.
	“I need to ask you something.”
	Claw’s eyes smiled, as if to say, “Go right ahead, kid; knock yourself out.”
	“Um...” The gargoyle’s eyes shifted to Shade, and when he finally realized she
was in their presence only physically, he finally gathered the courage to ask, “Is your real
name Colm MacKenzie?”
	Claw raised an eyebrow, nodded, then, almost telepathic, (which somewhat
chilled Lex’s bones,) his eyes demanded how Lex had found out.
	“RC told me, “ he finally replied.  “I just did a little investigating on the Internet.”
	Claw snorted, and, grasping Lex around the neck, noogied him friendly.  Then,
returning to his pad, he penned, “How is she?  I miss her terribly.”  His eyes saddened as
he wrote this.
	“She needs help,” Lex whispered.  “Do you know of the Black Sword?”
	Claw’s ears pressed against his head.  Apparently, yes.
	“They have her brother,” Lex continued as the two-and-a-half walked back to the
decommissioned Gen-U-Tech laboratory-turned-safe-haven, Shade a half a step out of
synch with the other two.  “Zanthé, a gargoyle I’ve never seen before, came and wrecked
her apartment.  RC told us not to interfere.”
	The big Mutate snarled silently, baring his teeth.  Quickly, he began signing to
Lex, anger and fear causing the fur on his neck and back to rise.
	“Claw, please,” Lex whimpered; his friend’s wild gestures frightening him.  “I...I
don’t know sign language.”
	The Mutate stopped, nodding, his stormy eyes calming.  Reaching for his notepad
once again, he jotted something and handed it to the small gargoyle.
	“Zanthé is brilliant, but insane.  Many of the Black Sword are.  How do you know
Raquel?” he had written.
	“She is a good friend of mine.  When she hadn’t heard from her brother, I tried to
help out by using my computer.  She invited us to come over earlier tonight and watched
some movies.  That’s when we found out about Zanthé the hard way.  Claw,” Lex
exhaled, his brown eyes showing signs of concern, “RC may need help.”
	Shoulders slumped, Claw shook his head, suddenly aware of his altered form.
	This made Lexington a little angry himself.
	“You’ve known her a lot longer than I, Claw; does she seem to be the kind to
judge people one their appearance?”
	The Mutate snorted, tapping his temple, then opening his hands, palms up,
rapidly.  Nodding once more, this time with confidence, Claw squeezed Lex’s shoulder
and led him out of the sewers, unaware of Shade’s physical presence following the two.
	Goliath found Talon in the abandoned lab--converted to a storage area--, as Claw
had said, or rather, wrote.  Elisa’s brother was talking to someone behind some storage
crates while a deep jazz album blared from the stereo.
	“I still think Louis Armstrong was the greatest musician of all time!” Talon
argued as, to Goliath’s shock, Fang hefted a wooded crate on top of the others.
	“That’s where your wrong, fuzz-brain,” Fang panted, then regained his breath. 
“No one--no one!--can beat the talent of Ian Anderson!  Jethro Tull alone kicks more ass
than all of your little jazz peons combined!”
	“What is going on, here?” The lavender gargoyle demanded in a low voice.
	“Oh, that’s one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you, Goliath,” Talon
nonchalantly scratched his brow with his middle claw, directing it at Fang exclusively. 
“We’ve given Fang a parole.  Good behavior, for the most part.”
	“’One of these days, I’m gonna change my evil ways!  I’m gonna ride on, ride
on,’” Fang began singing in nasal tone.  “Seriously, Bat-man, I’m gonna try to be good,
or, at least, stay out of serious trouble.”
	Talon snorted.
	“Tell him what you told me, Fang.” Talon then nudged Goliath with his elbow,
and snorted again.  “Get a load offa this, man.”
	“After what Sevarius did with Clan Greenbow, Alabama--”As if on cue, Malibu
and Brentwood walked by, singing their newest running gag, “I think I’m a Clone Now”
by Weird Al Yankovic and laughing hysterically after “’There’s always seem to be more
than one of me running around’”, forcing them to start over again.  “’I think I’m a clone
now, there’s always seems to me more than one of me running around--’”, and more
hysterical laughter.  “’I think I’m a clone now--’”
	“Hey, guys,” Fang interjected, obviously bored with the tasteless joke,
“Transformers the Movie’s on the Sci-Fi Channel.”
	“Cool!” Brooklyn’s and Lexington’s dopplegangers exclaimed.
	“We’ll have to get Burbank from the tube, ‘though,” Malibu pointed out.
	“I hate the Brady Bunch,” Brentwood added, as the two crossed the large room.
	“--As I was saying--” Fang continued, only to be interrupted once more.
	"Prime!" 
	“’One shall stand, one shall fall--’”
	“All right, you two!” Talon shouted.  “Enough or I’ll go Unicron on both your
asses!”
	The two clones silenced, padding further into the Labyrinth.
	“As you were saying, Fang,” Goliath ordered, somewhat agitated.
	“Case in point,” Fang threw his hands toward the door.  “Brent, Holl, and
Burbank have the intelligence of Forrest Gump combined.  Delilah and Mal are the
brains of the operation, and even then, she keeps calling Talon ‘master’ almost every
time he talks to her.  Now, I’m not one to bitch about science or anything, but when it
comes to the point of training a being to be dumb--” a snarl issued up from his throat,  “--
Y’know, Talon, even when you told them not to go near me, Mal, Brent, and Hollywood
would still visit me, talk to me.  They're like little kids, ('cept for Mal, y'know,) asking
simple questions of the sorts.  They probably know me better than I know myself. 
They’ve become my only friends, and dammit, I want to avenge them for the intelligence
Sevarius and Thailog had stripped from them.  They deserve more than living a life of
limited mentality.”
	“So, what do you think, Goliath?” Talon sullenly clapped at Fang’s dramatic
performance, if it was that.  “I’ve known Fang to be somewhat of an actor, but not that
good.  Almost demands plausibility in truth.”
	“Yes,” Goliath rubbed his chin as he spoke slowly, thoughtfully, carefully
choosing his words.  “Almost.  I think we should contain him for a while longer while we
mull over this situation.”
	Fang sighed, then nodded.
	“All I want in return for my loyalty is revenge on Sevarius,” he reminded.
	He did not bolt.  He did not even move.  Instead, he stood, awaiting Talon’s and
Goliath’s next move.
	Goliath smiled grimly.
	“Or perhaps he could behave himself,” the gargoyle retorted.
	Talon nodded.  “Okay, Fang, you’re free do whatever in the Labyrinth.  When you
want to leave, you have to have an escort for a while, to build up our trust.  Then you’re
free to do what you please.”
	“Thank you!” Fang beamed, breaking open one of the wooden crates and fished
out a six-pack of Molsen’s.  After cracking the tab on one of them and downing the beer
in two gulps, he belted out the lyrics to Lynnard Skynnard’s “Free Bird” as he headed out
to join the clones.
	“I hope you won’t live to regret your decision, Derek,” Goliath remarked.
	“I don’t think I’ll have to.” Talon sighed.  “I’ve seen the way he treats the clones,
like they were his best friends.  The worst he’s ever said anything about them was the
Clan Greenbow Alabama crack, and they accept it and even laugh, like they know what it
means.  It wouldn’t surprise me if they did, with all the TV they watch.”  The mutate
grew a little more relaxed.  “Personally, I think the clones were the best thing to happen
to Fang, and vice versa.  We noticed his change when the clones first joined our ‘clan’.
	“But that wasn’t what I asked you to come for.”
	“Oh?” Goliath raised an eyeridge.
	“Yeah,” Talon fished a small box out of his jeans pocket and handed it to Goliath. 
“Open it.”  As the gargoyle did so, the mutate continued by saying, “I’m going to ask her,
big guy.  I’m finally going to ask her.  It’s second-hand, unfortunately; I originally bought
it two years ago for my girlfriend at the time.  She dumped me just as proposed.  I had no
idea why I kept it, until now.”
	Nestled in a maroon velvet board, Goliath’s eyes pondered over the beautifully
crafted half-carat diamond set in a simple 24-carat gold band.
	“I sure hope it fits; Elisa will get it sized if it doesn’t.” Talon beamed proudly. 
“And, Goliath, I want you to be my best man.”

***
Central Park
1:00 a.m.

	Talking about nothing and everything, the two continued to skip stones.
	Love was strange finally concluded, as a light fog settled over the pond.  He
didn’t have to say a word to her, nor she to him.  They just knew.
	Finally, he dared himself to do what he was thinking to do for the past hour.
	But as he carefully cupped her narrow chin with his taloned hand, sensing she had
the same thing one her mind, they both noticed that curiously, the fog seemed to grow
thicker by the second.
	“Kinda reminds me of London,” Arin jested nostalgically, dreamily, as she inched
closer to him.
	“Something seems wrong here,” he stood, causing Arin to lose her balance
slightly.  She quickly stumbled to her feet as well.
	“Like what?  Fog isn’t common here?” She quipped.
	“Not like this,” he turned to face her, and found he could barely make out her
form.  Reaching out, he grasped her hand firmly.  “This is getting weird.”
	“Bloody hell, I can’t see my own nose!” Arin swore.
	“If you think that’s bad, I can’t even see my beak!” Brooklyn broke the
seriousness of the moment.  “Arin, stay close to me, just in case....”
	“No problem, Romeo,” He felt--he was now unable to see period, save for the
dark mist surrounding the two--her body press against his side, with a grunt.  “Oh, there
you are.”
	“What is going on here?” Brooklyn groped around behind him for the tree they
were just, until recently, leaning against.  He then swung his arm in a complete arc,
finding nothing.  “What the hell is going on?”  Finally, after sweeping the immediate area
with his tail, he finally concluded, “I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore, Dorothy.”
	“No shit, Scarecrow,” she muttered, although he could not help but notice she
nudged closer to him, a shiver of fear quaking them both.
	Gradually, the mist began to rise, and soft music filled their ears, music unlike
any they had heard before, but reminded Arin vaguely of something cross between Enya
and Riverdance.
	And, finally, after what seemed to be an eon, the fog dissipated, Brooklyn and
Arin found their feet sinking slowly in tidal sand as waves lapped at their ankles.
	“Shit!” Arin jumped, pulling her well-loved and now ruined suede from the wet
sand.  “Aw, dammit!”  Disgusted, she stormed forward to the rocks fifty feet away,
turning  to see Brooklyn struggling to follow her footsteps.
	“Um, help?” Brooklyn questioned meekly, although biting his tongue on some
nasty obscenities he’d rather not say in front of Arin, even if she was expressing her true
feelings without so much as a blush.  The young woman nodded, and deftly raced back to
him, staying on drier sand, grabbed his hand and pulled him toward her as he attempted
to lift his legs.  With a sudden slurp, Brooklyn’s feet wretched free and he tumbled onto
her, together flying back.
	“Um,” he smiled shyly, gently picking himself up off of her, rearranging his
loincloth.  She snorted as he helped her up.
	“So, where the bloody hell are we?” she demanded, looking around at the cliffs
above them.
	“Damned if I know,” the copper gargoyle shook his head, then pointed to the edge
a hundred feet up.  A large bonfire roared, and two figures peered down on the reluctant
travelers.
	“Ahoy, the shore!” a strong male voice carried out over the waves.
	“Ahoy, my ass!” Arin snarled.  “Where the hell are we?”
	The latter two did not respond; instead, they leapt off the cliff, spreading gargoyle
wings to glide down.  When they landed, Brooklyn and Arin stared in somewhat relief,
somewhat confusion, and somewhat angry at the entire predicament, at the two new
gargoyles, the male with sky deep blue skin, light blond hair, and back-swept horns, the
female donning light green skin tone, deep auburn hair, with a head plate similar to a
triceratops, Arin noted.
	“You’re on Avalon,” the female retorted, her voice soft and pleasant.  “I’m
Ophelia, and this is Gabriel.”
	The male nodded dutifully.
	“I’m Brooklyn, of Clan Manhattan, and this is Arin, my friend,” Brooklyn
introduced, somewhat wary.  Avalon?  Oh, shit.
	“Goliath’s clan?” Gabriel demanded.  “Do you know of Angela?”
	“Yeah, Broadway’s love, right, Brook?” Arin replied.
	A universal look of rejection crossed Gabriel’s face as he nodded again.
	“Well, what brings you to Avalon?” Ophelia then asked.
	“A thick fog,” Arin answered truthfully.  “Seriously, one minute wee were sitting
in Central Park, the next, sinking in sand over there.”  She flipped her thumb behind her,
and finally realized Brooklyn was just standing there in an almost catatonic shock.  “Hey,
bloke, you still with us?”  She snapped her fingers in front of his beak.
	“Only two I know of could have brought us here,” he whispered, staring off more
into space then anywhere else.  “And both bring chills down my spine.”
	“Oberon and Titania?” Ophelia murmured.
	Brooklyn went to speak, but closed his mouth and nodded instead.
	“We should tell the princess of your arrival,” Gabriel suggested, still unbelieving
about Angela finding someone else to love.  Of course, she had told him, smiling and
shaking her head, that she loved him as a brother, when he proclaimed his love to her.
	The four climbed the stairs carved eons ago by unknown hands into the rock
itself.  Up to the top where the bonfire was burning bright, like a beacon, the two
travelers could see the castle, much more massive than Castle Wyvern by at least one-
and-a-half times.  Gabriel shouted to not one, but more than a score of gargoyles, all
roughly the same age as Brooklyn, performing various chores around the fortress. 
Amongst the bustle, which abruptly halted when Arin and Brooklyn were sighted, a pair
of humans, a man and a woman in medieval garb, strode out to meet them.  Brooklyn
recognized both, the man being Tom, the Guardian, a tall middle-aged knight with
dignified grey at the temples and the same blue eyes he remembered long ago, when Tom
was just a naïve child asking what gargoyles called one another.  The woman, however,
he had learned early in life that she lived with contempt with gargoyles living in her
family castle, now older and wiser, smiled at once at the copper-red gargoyle.
	“Princess Katherine,” Brooklyn whispered, then, recalling protocol from a
millennium past, bowed deeply at the knee to the princess.
	“Rise, young warrior,” Katherine greeted with a quick bob of the head.  “I
remember you from ages past.  What brings you to Avalon?”
	“Don’t say it, Arin,” Brooklyn ordered just as his companion opened her mouth. 
“We have reason to believe he have been brought here by the Court of the Fae.”
	Just as Katherine was going to remark, a bulky male with a long face, a dark
ocher tone to his skin, and bleach white hair ran in a disorientated fashion to Tom and the
princess.  He heaved a mighty breath, managed to stammer out “Avaon” and “ocean”,
then took another gulp of air and tried again.
	“Princess,” he stated in a clearer but still frantic voice, “Avaon’s gone.  We were
on our way back from fishing, and he heard something, so he went to check it out, and I
saw him fall from the great tree about a mile down the shore, and Titania took him, and
told him something, and pushed him out to sea--”
	“For good cause, I assure you,” a dismembered voice called out, as two bright
emerald eyes peered out like a Cheshire cat, then forming that of the Queen of the Fae
herself.
	Many of Clan Avalon quickly surrounded the two humans, and Brooklyn, instinct
firing up, ushered Arin to stand behind him.  
	And yet, gently pushing his hand away, Arin MacDuff advanced slowly toward
Titania’s floating body.
	“I know you,” she whispered, and Brooklyn shivered as he locked onto Titania’s
eyes, realizing that Arin’s were the mirror image.
	“How you have grown since I last saw you, darling daughter,” Titania hovered for
a few more seconds, then, once touching the ground, metamorphed into a pleasant human
woman with auburn hair wearing a simple skirt and blouse.
	“Mom?” Arin muttered.
	Anastacia nodded, opening her arms to accept her daughter’s hug.
	“I’ve missed you, Arin,” Anastacia smiled, then faded.  “But I must get you off
Avalon, and Brooklyn too.  Oberon has brought you here for the Gathering, as soon as he
found out you existed.  You are in peril, child, you and my Champion.”
	“’Champion?’” Brooklyn raised an eyeridge.
	“It is too complicated to explain at present.”  Anastacia suddenly clapped her
hands high above her head, and the mists surrounded her as she reformed into Titania. 
“Now, come with me--”
	“HALT!!!”
	“I’m halting,” Arin whimpered at the commanding sound of Oberon’s voice, the
King of the Fae materialized next to his lady.
	“Oh shit,” Brooklyn mumbled in the same tone.
	“My Lady,” the blue-skinned Sidhe Lord hovered next to Titania, taking her hand. 
“Why do you offer this wayward Child passage back to the limited world of Man?”
	“I thought she did not belong as a Child, my Lord.  She may be my daughter, but
she, like Fox, cannot call upon her powers.”
	“Just what the hell is going on here?” Arin demanded suddenly, Brooklyn smirked
grimly.  That definitely sounded like her father talking.
	“Child, if you knew what was good for you, I’d remain quiet,” Katherine hissed
into the young woman’s ear.  “Oberon is not one you want to get on his bad side.”
	“I think we require a place where we can discuss this further,” Oberon growled,
and with a wave of his hand, he, Titania, Brooklyn and Arin disappeared in a shroud of
mist.

***
Mason Farmstead, secret Headquarters of Clan Winslow, which is situated on the
Albion/Winslow town line on route 137, ten miles from Al’s Drive-In...(dammit, Bob,
give me back the keyboard, you stupid numskull!)
1:00 a.m. (Still!)

	“Wow, I think that’s strange,” Eddie snapped off the Tonight Show with David
Letterman.
	“What, that Elly finally went to bed before midnight?” Mag whispered, inching
closer to the green female.  “And the fact that everyone is gone doing whatever....” He
trailed off, gently kissing her neck.
	“No; we haven’t heard anything on Colt on the news yet.” She stood and padded
to the window.  Outside, Alexis was chasing Clay with a rather large butcher knife,
laughing maniacally.  “You’d think the press would do one big exodus up here to find out
more about these gargoyle clans.”
	Magnum whined, then got up and joined Eddie. 
	“I wonder if she knows that turns him on?” he whimpered wistfully.
	“Turn off your hormones for a minute, loverboy, and think with your head.”
	“Thinking takes too much energy.”
	“Now I see why you’re still an Outklaw,” she smirked, standing straight to peck
him gently on the cheek.  He took the initiative just then and embraced her, giving her a
long, passionate kiss.  She seemed to enjoy that, so his hands started to explore....
	“Mmph!  Not now, hon,” Eddie pushed him away tenderly.  “I’m trying to think.”
	“You think too much.”
	“And that’s why I’m leader of this rag-tag clan, eh?” she scoffed.
	“Leading’s much too serious.”
	“Tell that to Mauser.  Speaking of which, what’s the news on the Underwear
Open?”
	“What a mind: goes from Letterman to Colt to sex to golfing in the near-buff.”
	“Oh, ha-ha.  Seriously--”
	“You’ll have to talk to Maus about it.  He’s organizing it this year.”
	“There goes Kennebec County.”
	“So, what’s the story new guy, Avon--”
	“Avaon?  He’s just a guy we sort of adopted into the clan.  Funny thing is, he says
he’s from Avalon, a magical island.”
	“’And I would not feel so all alone, if everyone must get stoned!’” Mag sang in a
drunken-like stupor.
	“He doesn’t seem to be the kind to pull a yarn like that.”
	“Never seen a guy willing to wear a skirt, save for the Royal Canadian Kilted
Yakmen in the July Fourth parades in town.”
	“You mean the Highland Band.”  Eddie shrugged.  “Listen, tell your good-for-
nothing-save-sextoy-for-’Monika leader to get his ass in gear.  The Underwear Open is to
take place two nights from now.  This year, Clan Winslow will take home the Green
Boxers!  And no, no mud-wrestling like last year.”
	“Awwww...but that was the best part!” Mag smiled at the memory when it rained
a year back, and everyone just free-for-alled in the sandtrap of the seventeenth hole. 
There was even a rumor about Mauser and ‘Monika sneaking off to the clubhouse....
	“No mud-wrestling.  Period.” Eddie settled back onto the couch.  He sat next to
her, and inched closer, once again, and the two began kissing--
	“Did I hear mud-wrestling?” Bob suddenly stormed in from the kitchen, forcing
Eddie and Magnum to grab near-by reading material, Eddie flipping through Green Eggs
and Ham, Magnum appearing devoutly interested in The Farmers’ Almanac.
	“Nope, not a thing,” Magnum shook his head.
	“You’re hearing things again, Bob,” Eddie added.
	Bob shot a queer look, as if allowing it to sink in, then shrugged and went back to
whatever he was doing.  Outside, they heard Clay screech “Argh!  She’s trying to castrate
me!  Mag, help!  Ow!  Watch the jewel box, Alexis!  Help!”
	“Goddammit, you kids!” Ben suddenly shouted from the garage.  “Can’tcha keep
it down?  Elly’s tryin’ to sleep!”
	“We can go to your loft,” Magnum whispered schemingly into Eddie’s ear.
	“The computer’s up there, handsome; I think Mercedes is showing Avaon the
Internet.”
	Mag moaned, then clicked the television back on.

	“...and this...Internet...can take you anyplace?”  Avaon’s lavender eyes stared in
wonderment as Mercedes double-clicked the mechanism called quaintly the mouse.  
	“Anywhere you want.” The aquamarine female smiled warmly as she typed in
“Avalon” into the search engine.  a few seconds later, summaries of countless websites of
the legends of Arthur Pendragon and a few on the Sidhe.  She clicked on one of the latter,
bringing up a homepage with “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” by William Shakespeare,
with numerous pictures of brownies, faeries, and other members of the Daonie Sidhe.
	“Fascinating,” he whispered, pushing a strand of bright red hair from his face. 
“This is unbelievably fascinating!”
	“Wait a minute,” Mercedes then typed out a lengthy address above in the box and
hit enter.  “This is the Kennebec Journal, one of the biggest daily newspapers in Maine. 
And this link--” she clicked on a highlighted word, reading “USA Today” “--will take us
to the national newspaper, which, on the front page--” she chortled aloud “--we find our
favorite OUI case in the whole United States!  Colt, I salute you!” She took a swig of
Mountain Dew and grinned, then noticing Avaon’s shocked look, she giggled sheepishly.  
	“Colt is one of the Outklaws.  He got busted a couple of nights ago for reckless
driving and operating under the influence, or OUI.”
	“’Driving?’”
	“Y’know, a vehicle.”
	“And under the influence of what?”
	“Blood alcohol level, BAL, of point one six, twice the legal limit in Maine.”	“’Alcohol?’”
	“Y’know, beer, wine, whiskey, scotch, bourbon, Kahlua, After Shock--alcohol. 
Getting drunk?  He got plastered and highjacked a human friend’s truck.  We all know
the idiot let Colt borrow the truck, but they were both drunk off their rockers.”
	“Your ways confuse me, Mercedes,” Avaon shook his head.  “And I am very
confused on how I came here.  Why I came here.”
	“Don’t worry, friend,” she patted his arm.  “We’ll find out soon enough.”

***
NYU Apartment Complex
2:00 a.m.

	“RC?” Lexington called out as he and Claw landed through the still-open
skylight.  Shade had stayed just outside the complex, staring up at night sky.  She seemed
to have had a particular fascination for the constellation Cassiopeia.
	“Lex, I told you, I can handle this--” the woman’s voice cut off short, and
suddenly Claw felt he should not be there.  He turned to leave.
	“No!  Colm, don’t--!” RC ran out from her bedroom, dressed in a simple black
tanktop and black jeans.  Her dark hair was tied back in a tight bun, and her grey eyes
stared with mixed emotions at the Mutate.  “Please, stay.”
	Lex sank into the shadows.  He noticed RC had already had security up there; the
new door, though not as sturdy as the old one, appeared to be the bedroom door, adequate 
temporarily until they could get Maintenance up to fix it completely.
	“Why haven’t you come to me in the beginning?” she demanded, throwing her
arms around Claw’s neck.  He shrugged, returning the hug.  A low rumble sounded in his
throat; a purr that made RC smile wider.
	“Oh, dammit, Colm, you should have told me!  It doesn’t matter what you look
like, it’s what’s in here that counts.” She thumped his chest, which was about eye level
for her, tall as she was.  “I loved you for you, not because you were human.  It wouldn’t
have mattered, anyway.  I’ve always loved you.  Still do.  Wait a minute.”  She lifted a
finger and raced back to her room.  Claw snuck a glance at Lex, his green eyes beaming
happily and brimming with tears.  Lex grinned as well.  So he was somewhat of a
matchmaker.
	The Grecian woman ran back to Claw, holding an small engagement ring.
	“You gave this to me almost two years ago.  I wore it until school started back up. 
It didn’t feel right wearing it without you around.”  She gazed up into his eyes.  “If I may,
could I still wear it?”
	Claw took the tiny ring into his huge paws, no longer feeling like a freak, and
gently slid the ring onto RC’s ring finger.  She abruptly burst into tears, hugging him
once more.
	“Oh, I’ve missed you so!” she whimpered.  “I could never stop loving you!”
	Claw said nothing, well, of course he said nothing, but the happiness inside him
welled up so much that he too began crying.
	Lex sighed, reluctant to break up this heart-wrenching engagement.
	“RC, Claw, I hate to say anything, but what about the Black Sword?”
	“My brother,” RC grimaced.  “Claw, they have Shawn.”
	Claw nodded, then stared into the grey pools of her eyes.
	“The Black Sword now has a branch in Manhattan.  What Zanthé had told me,
they are in the catacombs of the old St. Damien's Cathedral,” she answered his unasked
question.
	Lex shivered.
	“Lex, I beg of you, don’t come with me,” RC pleaded.  “The Black Sword doesn’t
take kindly to unwelcome visitors.”
	“RC, I want to help,” the little gargoyle retorted.  “’Gargoyles Protect’,
remember?”
	She smiled sadly, and nodded.
	“Colm--”
	He shook his head, with an expression that clearly stated he was not going to
leave her side ever again.
	“Well, with two men here to protect me, what do I have to fear?” she sighed.
	Claw scooped her up into her arms, and vaulted out the skylight, with Lexington
in close pursuit.
	Shade noticed the two nonhumans gliding toward the ruined cathedral.  Her sharp
eyesight caught that Claw was carrying the turncoat.
	She smiled, and instantaneously, her autism faded, replaced by a feral disposition
with the agility and the strength of a wolf possessing her face.  Swiftly, with the night
wind, Shade made truth of her long name, running with the shadows, to the meeting
place of the Black Sword.
	Zanthé would be pleased.

***
Labyrinth
2:00 a.m.

	Malibu stared at the list Maggie had left he and his brothers to do while she and
Talon went for a “walk”.  Well, it couldn’t be much of a “walk”, mainly because Elisa
and Goliath joined them.  Double date, maybe?  Group sex?  Let’s hope not, he added
mentally.  His mind went back to the list.
		1. Put away the rest of the groceries.
	No prob.  Mal could con Hollywood to do anything that had to pertain to food.
		2.  Wash dishes.
	Hmmm...How could he get Brent to do the dirty work...?  Bribe him with a dirty
joke, of course.  Mal mentally checked off each chore with how he could get someone
else to do it.
	Oh, wait.  This one was great.
		9.  Walk Burbank.
	Mal howled with laughter.  Getting that couch potato out from in front of the
television would take a mind.
	And, for some reason, a mind is what he got out of the group.
	Odd, he rubbed his chin, how Brentwood didn’t have that much of a potential
for...for...for intelligence, considering he was, after all, Lexington’s clone, when the dark
purple clone could barely read Dr. Suess.  However, Brent did inherit the love of
technology, but had proven he could not only figure out how to program the VCR, he
could stare in fascination for three hours straight watching a traffic light change color. 
Hollywood wasn’t any better; he was prone to think more with his stomach, a trait strong
in Broadway, but diminishing, Mal did notice.  Unlike Broadway, Holl seemed to have a
perpetual air of pessimism around him.  Then there was Burbank.  Obvious both he and
Hudson loved the boob tube, however the only intelligent thing ever to come out of
Burbank’s mouth was quoted from Mel Gibson in “Hamlet.”  In fact, Mal couldn’t recall
in the past year they were able to speak for themselves when Burbank actually had his
own words.
	The blue gargoyle chuckled, grabbing the last Mountain Dew from the fridge.  He
usually had to fight Holl for it, but Holl was watching the conclusion of Transformers:
the Movie.
	Then Mal thought of himself.
	So much different than Brooklyn, he was the goof-off where as Brook was dry
with his humor.  Also, Mal never tried to cover it, he was somewhat arrogant, true;
Brooklyn was pretty much modest.  He was the jokester, the prankster, the trickster.  In
fact, he had his idiot savant brother fix up an old video camera for him, which he filmed
anything and everything.  A budding Alan Funt, with a little Ed Wood and a lot of Kevin
Smith thrown in.  That’s him.  The brains of the group.  Mal could never figure that out;
why he was about to reach normal intellect, maybe even surpassing that, whereas his
brothers were still at a fourth grade stand-still.
	Mal shrugged, whistling “Slime Creatures from Outer Space” by Weird Al
Yankovic as he strolled back to the clones’ “toy-room”.  A computer torn apart,
electronic and Highlights magazines, that was Brent’s corner.  The coloring books and
crayons and empty McDonald’s bags were Hollywood’s.  The television and VCR, were,
of course the living lump’s, who just, out of an act of God or a miracle or something of
the sort, moved from the large living room to here to watch the Andy Griffin Show. 
Burbank paid no attention to Mal as he gathered his mismatched video equipment from
his side of the room, littered with Weird Al and western music CDs, a small stereo, an
old video/audio mixer he, once again, conned Brent to fix for him, and various video and
audio periodicals.
	“Hey, Burbank,” Mal called as he was leaving.  “They say TV rots the brain!”
	“There you go again with your accusations, Barney,” Burbank waved him off,
never taking his eyes off the television.
	Malibu shrugged, hoisting the camera up onto his shoulder.  He had more
entertaining things to do, particularly, some spying on beautiful Delilah and a nasty
practical joke with Fang.
	
	His ear to the door of the bathroom, Mal heard the shower snap off.  Out of the
corner of his eye, he saw a brief glimpse of Fang entering the kitchen.  After the six pack
of beer he just downed, he should have to piss like a racehorse.  Good.  He couldn’t have
timed it better.
	Turning his back to the door, he opened it slightly, then, just as Fang came into
immediate view, Mal shut it behind him.
	“Oh, hiya, Fang!” He smiled cheerfully.  “Congrats on your parole!”
	“Yeah, amigo, thanks, could you excuse me?” The dark Mutate gestured with a
finger to the general direction of the toilet.  Mal nodded, still grinning, as he let the
bigger freak enter.  Phase One completed.
	Mal caught the door just as it began to close, then, almost so he wouldn’t be
noticed, he stuck the lens though the crack and began filming.
	Just as Fang unzipped and began doing his duty, Delilah stepped out of the
shower, stark naked and dripping wet.
	He stared, she screamed.
	Mal chortled, pulling away from the door.  Mission accomplished.
	Now, had to run like hell, for Delilah was pissed, that was apparent.  Fang still
gawked even as she grabbed a housecoat and ran off to find Malibu.
	“Well, I’ll be damned,” Fang whispered as the two gargoyles vanished from sight. 
“That was probably the best practical joke Mal’s ever pulled off.”
	“What was the best practical joke Mal’s ever pulled off?”
	At the sound of Talon’s voice, Fang swore, quickly zipping back up his fly.  Last
thing he wanted was Talon and Maggie spreading around that he may have the hots for
Delilah.
	“Oh, nevermind, fearless leader,” Fang exited the bathroom, grinning sheepishly. 
“Just Mal pulled a fast one on me, that’s all.”
	“I think it’s high time we took away that camera of his,” Maggie grumbled.  “At
least until he learns not to play with other people’s emotions.”
	“Like the time he put the ‘Out Of Order’ sign in the public restroom?” Talon
smirked.
	“And everyone came up to use ours?” Maggie grimaced.
	“It seems Mal has made a name of himself.”  The corner of Elisa’s mouth quirked
upward.
	“Hell, yeah, sis!” Talon cracked up.  “You didn’t hear yet about the television set! 
He rigged it up to automatically change the channel every five seconds, and then hid the
remote.  Confused the hell out of poor Burbank so much, he actually turned the TV off!”
	This caused Maggie to giggle, too.
	“The thing is, he likes to capture it on video tape as it happens!” Fang laughed,
then sobered up.  “Oh, shit!” he then slapped his head.
	“What did he do this time?” Goliath bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep
himself from laughing.
	“He came out of the bathroom just as I went in.  Turns out Delilah just finished
her shower, and boom!  There I was trying to take a whiz, and there she was, dripping
wet and in the buff!”
	“Poor Delilah, probably not used to seeing such a tiny little itty bitty--” Talon
went into hysterics.
	“Hey!  Leave my wang out of this!” Fang protested, then slapped his forehead
again.  “No fuck’n privacy with that kid running around.”
	Just as the laughter died from the two couples, Mal ran through, still taping. 
Delilah continued to chase him, stopped shortly, still shrouded in the house coat, and
walked angrily over to Fang.
	He smiled and tried, “You look great!”
	“Bastard,” she snarled, slapping him full force in the face.  Fang winced painfully,
spitting out a tooth.
	The ivory-haired gargoyle growled, and turned to resume her chase on Malibu,
but he had already fled the scene.  She then stormed off to her room, enraged.
	“Whoa, boy,” Fang groaned, rubbing his cheek.  “She packs a punch.”
	Suddenly, the conversation died, and a mood of sobriety blanketed the kitchen.
	Goliath went to speak, but instead he closed his mouth and looked at Talon. 
Talon glanced back, shrugging.  Elisa shot him a glance clearly telling her baby brother
to go ahead and get on with his plan.  Talon sighed, rolled his eyes, and finally cleared
his throat.
	“Maggie,” he squeaked, then cleared his throat again.  “Maggie, I have something
to ask you."
	Fang rolled his eyes.
	"Maggie--" he fumbled around for the object in his pocket, found it, pulled it out,
and kneeled on one knee.  "Maggie, will you marry me?"
	"Whoa!" Malibu whistled, accidentally revealing his hiding place in the cabinet
under the sink.  He fell out and stared up at the four sitting at the table and Talon. 
Obviously, he was not noticed.  
	Maggie put a hand to her heart and gasped, staring at the large ring.  Talon waited
for her response, his eyes never leaving hers.
	"Yes," she mouthed, her initial shock over, as Talon placed the ring gently on her
left hand.  It fit surprisingly perfect.
	The other three clapped, and Maggie hugged her fiancé.
	Goliath grinned, holding Elisa's hand.  This had been a rather pleasant night after
all.
	
***
Chapter Two
Castle Wyvern
2:15 a.m.

	"Len, Arin is safe, you know that," Fox chased down her former step-father, trying
to hand him a cup of chamomile tea.  "She and Brooklyn probably went to see a movie
afterwards.  Did she have her cell phone with her?  She would have called if they were in
trouble."
	"Dammit!" MacDuff cursed, finally sinking into a chair and took the proffered
tea.  "I would think she would be back by now.  Blast!  I can't stand to think if anything
has happened to her...she's my only daughter...my only child I've had since Luach was
killed....”
	“’Luach’?” Fox questioned, oblivious to his past.
	“My son,” The Scotsman caught himself.  “He died long before I met your
mother.  It...pains me to talk about it.”  And, with that, the topic was dropped.

	“Arin and Brooklyn haven’t returned yet?” Broadway whispered to Angela as she
returned to the projection room.  The lavender female shook her head.
	“I heard Fox and Macbeth talking,” she revealed, and Broadway hit the “play”
button, unpausing The Long Kiss Goodnight.  “He’s really upset.”
	“He’s probably just very protective of Arin.  She’ll be okay.  Brooklyn’s with
her.”
	“I know.”  Angela nestled closer to Broadway.  “But I can’t help but think if he
tells her how he feels about her, and she tells him they’re only friends.”
	“Oh, he does have a blunt way of putting things, doesn’t he?” The large gargoyle
heaved a mighty sigh.  “He needs the reality check, though.  From what it appears to be, I
think Arin has fallen for him, too.”
	“You don’t think that!” Angela punched him lightly in the arm.  “You mean, like
Father and Elisa?”
	Broadway nodded, turning some attention to Geena Davis.
	“Seriously.”
	“I’m serious, love, you see how she hugged him this evening?”
	“So?  She was grateful.”
	“The same way you hug me?” He raised an eyeridge.  “Guys notice that, Angela.”
	“You’re full of it, you know that?” She pelted him with some popcorn. “But I’m
still worried.  Even Brooklyn doesn’t make a habit of taking walks this long.”
	“And by the way,” Broadway’s tone dropped.  “Where’s Lexington?”

***
The ruins of St. Damien’s Cathedral
2:30 a.m.

	Lexington glanced at the yellow police tape, the “condemned” notice, and the
gapping hole of the front of the cathedral, and shivered.
	RC stole a look at her small friend.
	“Pained memory?” she whispered, crawling underneath the “Do Not Cross”
ribbons.
	Lex said nothing, only nodded, rubbing his arms vigorously.
	“I can understand why Zanthé would choose this place as a sanctuary,” she
continued as Claw followed her example.  “Decommissioned holy places usually have
secrets beneath their foundations.”
	“Catacombs?” Lex questioned.
	“Usually.  Some are just old maintenance rooms, others are blocked-off sewer
tunnels, some, like the ones in Europe, are actual catacombs.  So yeah, you could say
that.”  She beckoned the two males to trail her as they circled the building.  She glanced
over her shoulder, and, seeing no one was watching (or sensing, Lex added with another
shiver), she hoisted herself into the frame of a shattered stained-glass window.
	Claw seemed undisturbed joining his love in her mission, but the olive gargoyle
began to have doubts, as he gazed up at eerie broken statues of cherubs and archangels
leering at him, like Lucifer’s legion tossed from heaven.  This sanctuary was tainted, that
much was certain to Lex, not just with Demona’s twisted plans, but a multitude of sins
seemed to have built up from these once noble ruins.  Probably that evil was keeping the
city from tearing it down totally, instead of just leaving the shell of this once-magnificent
cathedral to rot and crumble on its own.
	Something told Lex that it wouldn’t crumble any time soon.
	Then panic began to flood his mind.
	What if RC was still of the Black Sword, and they were as evil as Demona?
	“Lexington!”
	He found himself sprawled on the floor, disorientated.  RC kneeled next to him,
holding his head.  Claw stood above the two of them, keeping a wary eye on the darkened
shadows, just in case....
	“Lexington, what happened?” She demanded, her voice low but commanding.
	“I...I don’t know....” Lex whimpered.  “This place....”
	“Radiates evil, I know,” she whispered, soothing.  “But I can reassure you, it’s not
from us.”
	Us, meaning the Black Sword, Lex thought, his panic wavering but not totally
fading.  She admitted it; she was returning to the Black Sword.  Lex was losing his friend.
	RC winced, revealing to the gargoyle that she had heard his thought, though she
chose to keep it between her, him, and the omniscient statues staring over them.
	“Are you going to be all right?” RC asked instead.
	Lex nodded, and she helped him up to his feet.  RC called for Claw, and he
regrouped with the two.  They started to head to the basement stairs when suddenly the
tiger Mutate’s ears pressed against his head.  His bat wings spread their full span, Claw
pounced at a shadow in a corner.  There was a yelp, a hiss, and Claw pulled a small
unconscious form from the darkness.
	“Shade?” Lex whispered when he recognized their stalker.
	Claw nodded, obviously ashamed.
	“It isn’t your fault, Colm,” RC reassured, touching his shoulder.  “You couldn’t
have known who she was.” To Lex, she added, “She’s one of the Four: Zanthé, Shade,
Althea, and...” she sighed.  “...me.”
	“The...Four...?”
	“The matriarchal hierarchy of the Black Sword.  Listen, Lex, I can’t reveal
anymore.  As much as I trust you, I can’t say anymore.”  She quieted, testing the stairs as
she descended.  Lex shot a look at Claw, whose eyes muttered an apology for dragging
him into this mess, as they accompanied the rather private young woman down to the
catacombs of the cathedral.
	A abrupt click echoed through the stairwell.
	“Nice of you to finally join us, coward,” a black female, attractively muscled and
sharp featured, held an AK-47 assault rifle with one hand at the bottom of the stairs. 
“Who are your friends, before I’m forced to kill them?”
	“They are my retainers,” The pale woman retorted quickly.  “Stand aside, Kiva;
you command the human troops, not the Matriarch.”	“You are no longer a Matriarch, RC,” Kiva snarled.  “You left us high and dry in
the ‘Frisco.” She relaxed the gun.  “However, Zanthé did order me to let you through.”
She grinned sardonically.  “She also did predict you would bring others with you.”
	“She didn’t tell me I couldn’t,” RC replied, passing the human.  Claw, with Shade
still under his arm, trodded after his love, head held high.  Lex, however stared curiously
at the black woman.
	“You’re not afraid of us?” He questioned innocently, eyes wide, curious.
	“Why the hell should we?” Kiva chuckled.  “We of the Black Sword hold no
prejudices, save against bigots.”
	“Then do you hate yourselves?” Lex whispered.
	Kiva grinned suddenly, not a malicious one, but a genuine smile.
	“I like you, gargoyle,” she remarked.  “You think quick.  Yes, some hate
themselves here, and some know no peace.  You’ll understand more.”  She nodded in the
direction of RC and Claw.  “You’d better catch up, boy.  Zanthé’s expecting you.”
	This chilled Lex more than he had ever been afraid before.

	There were so many women here, thought the young gargoyle, as the three passed
through what reminded him of the warehouse similar to the one from the Teenage
Mutant Ninja Turtles movie.  Women (and a couple of males, he did notice) of all races
and creeds, as well as a couple of what seemed to be fae and a few gargoyles gathered
around, loading firearms, playing card games, practicing with swords and knives, or just
goofing off.  There had to be two or three hundred people in the large room, one male to
every twenty females.
	And he then saw one male who stood out in the crowd.
	Well, he wasn’t standing, Lex corrected himself.  He was in a wheelchair.  Long,
jet black hair fell from underneath a worn Harley Davidson bandanna, his keen odd-
colored eyes scanning the crowd.  The wheelchair was a racer, that was for sure,
equipped  with a large knapsack.  He donned heavy leather biking gloves cut at the
fingers.
	And Lex knew at once that this young man was RC’s missing brother.
	“So, the turncoat chooses to come and take her punishment,” Zanthé
unexpectedly materialized next the chair-ridden man.  “Raquel Spiker, come forward.”
	The din quieted, becoming nonexistent.  RC growled, holding a hand out toward
Claw and Lex to stay their ground, as she advanced the albino gargoyle.
	“You have no quarrel with Shawn,” she stated.  “Let him go.”
	“Not until you receive your sentence.”
	“If it involves my brother, Zanthé, I swear, I’ll fry all your synapses off in a
nanosecond.  You’ll be nothing but a vegetable.”
	“It does not.” Zanthé retorted, calculating.
	“I am prepared to receive my punishment, then, First Matriarch,” RC uttered
steadily, formally.
	Zanthé’s eyes glowed red, then died.
	“You will reclaim your position of the Black Sword, as Second Matriarch, on one
condition:  You find a someone to become a liaison with the fae and gargoyles, a
spokesperson who will not choose sides between the Black Sword and their opposition.”
	“What is the alternative?”
	“You will die.” Zanthé’s tone was cold.
	“No.” Lexington walked calmly to the center of the room, where Zanthé and RC
stood.  “No one will die tonight.”
	Zanthé stared down hard upon him.
	“Raquel Spiker, do you choose this gargoyle to be the Black Sword’s liaison?”
	“No!  Lex, you don’t know what--”
	Lexington shook his head.
	“’Gargoyles protect,’” he reminded.  “I volunteer to do this; as long as the Black
Sword stay within the boundaries of the set law.”
	“Common laws do not apply to us, brother,” the albino retorted.  “You will not
interfere with my orders.  You will become a liaison; if the Black Sword is involved, you
can only watch from the shadows.  Do you understand?”
	Claw put a paw on Lex’s shoulder, forcing the young gargoyle to stop.
	“We cannot use you, mute; a liaison needs to talk,” Zanthé continued, as if able to
read minds.  “Nor can we use Shawn, for the agreement was to not use him in anyway.”
	The paraplegic took a breath, but said nothing, as he continued to stare out into
space.
	“Do you agree, brother, to these terms?”
	“Yes,” Lexington replied grimly.
	“No!”  RC shouted.  “I did not choose him!  How do we know if he even has any
fae contacts?”
	“I know he willingly helps teach a young quarter-fae with his abilities.”
	“Zanthé, I don’t want the Second Matriarch!”
	“It is your birthright, Raquel.  As for Lexington--” Lex recoiled, not remembering
giving her his name “--Mark.”
	A sizzling streak hissed through the air, scorching the skin of Lex’s right hand. 
He yelled in pain, cradling his injury.
	“Merely a liaison,” Zanthé repeated.  “You do not have to participate in the
politics.  You only have to remember one rule: you must not interfere with the
Matriarch’s decision.”
	Lex nodded with understanding.
	“You can’t do this, Zanthé,” RC whimpered.  “I wanted out of the Black Sword.”
	“This is a Sisterhood for life, Raquel,” Zanthé reminded, and, with that, she
vanished.
	“Shit.” RC sank to her knees, as the background noise started back up.
	“RC, I--”
	“Shut up, Lexington!” She was crying.  “You don’t know what you just did! 
You’ve got to be neutral now!  There is no more good or evil!  We’ve got to maintain the
Balance!”
	Claw gently picked her up.
	Shawn continued to stare, then instantaneously, he squeezed his eyes tight,
opened them wide, and swore.
	“I’m sorry, sis,” he whispered hoarsely.  “I couldn’t grab it.”
	“Grab what?” Lexington demanded.
	“Grab Nexus,” he shook his head sorrowfully.  “If I could, we wouldn’t be in this
mess.”
	“I don’t get it.”
	“Let’s go home.  It’s been a long night.” RC sighed, leaning against Claw, as the
four left the catacombs of St. Damien’s Cathedral.
	Kiva grabbed Lexington’s arm.
	“I need to talk to you,” she whispered.  “Whatever Zanthé has told you, don’t
heed.  If you’re dealing with my troops, go ahead and interfere.” She grinned ferally.  “I
like my girls to have experience with dealing with forces other than the piggies.  Just
rough them up a bit, don’t seriously hurt them badly.” She clapped his shoulder.  “I really
like you, little sparrow.  I hope we will be friends.”
	Lexington looked the black woman from head to toe, and then bore deep into her
deep brown eyes.
	“I hope so too, Kiva,” he nodded, then ran to catch up with RC, Shawn, and Claw.

***
Bleeker Street Apartments
3:00 a.m.

	Mmmmm...coffee....
	Matt smiled sleepily as his trust old-fashioned percolating coffee kettle began
singing and bubbling, leaning on one elbow on the counter.
	Taking a pot holder, he poured the rather strong brew into a super travel mug,
took a sip, swore, and dug out the sugar bowl.  As he mindlessly dumped tablespoon after
endless tablespoon, he glanced back at his kitchen table covered with newspapers and
case files he had to beg, borrow, and permanently take without asking from national
archives and local newspaper vendors (those, he bought).
	All had some little tidbit or cover story on gargoyles. 
	Sitting down with his super-sweetened java in one hand, he began flipping
through the various periodicals.
	USA Today and two small-town papers from Central Maine, Morning Sentinel
and Kennebec Journal, had the most detailed and informative data, as well as the most
resent, he was looking for.  Last night, as a matter of fact, a drunk gargoyle was caught
with a "stolen" Ford F-350, went on a little joyride, then the Highway Patrol caught him
and threw him in the slammer.  Simple as that.  The guy was actually going to get a trial,
too.  Matt smirked, took another test sip, and spat it out as what he imagined cavities
grew by the dozen on his teeth.
	A little too sweet.
	He dumped it out into the sink, watching the half-dissolved sugar particles ooze
out of the mug, rinsed it out, and poured a fresh cup.  Sipping it gingerly, he swore and
once again added sugar.  Rubbing his five o'clock shadow, he sighed and picked up the
phone.

***
Greenwich Apartment Complex

	Elisa cursed as the sharp shrill of the telephone disturbed her peaceful evening. 
Goliath had left to return to the castle (reluctantly, she smiled somewhat,) after dropping
her off.  Well...okay, so he left after a little intimate kisses and caresses.  Finally, he
departed to let her go to bed.  There was always tomorrow.
	Who would call at this time of the morning?
	"Hi, Matt," she finally guessed as she picked up the receiver, yawning.
	"Hey, Elisa!" Matt replied cheerfully.  "I'm not going to be in tomorrow, okay?"
	"What?" She whispered, wincing silently.  Why the hell was he so damn cheerful
at three in the morning?
	"I'm heading up to Maine in the afternoon.  I've got some investigating to do."
	"This isn't about the clan in Augusta, is it?"
	"Winslow.  And yes, it is.  Have you seen yesterday's USA Today?"
	"Matt--"
	"I'm serious, Elisa.  This tiny town may be what the world needs for equality
between gargoyles and humans!"
	"You're obsessed, Matt." She yawned as she dropped the receiver back onto its
cradle.  She wanted to go to bed.
	Apart from Matt's call, it had been what she considered to be a wonderful night,
one that she hadn't been able to enjoy for a long, long time.

***
Castle Wyvern

	"Where is Brooklyn and Lexington, lad?" Hudson demanded to Broadway as he
snapped off the boob tube.
	"Good question," the large turquoise gargoyle yawned, scratching his belly, and
settled down in one of the overstuffed armchairs.  "Macbeth's sleeping in the guest
quarters, so I say Arin hasn't returned either.  Lex, last I knew, went down to the
Labyrinth with Goliath."
	"What could be keeping them?" Hudson ran a taloned hand through his beard.
	"I took Elisa home," Goliath rumbled in the doorway.  "Lexington  told me he had
to talk to Claw. I assumed he came back here afterwards;  I did not see him again after
we split up.  Claw is with him, however; Talon puts a lot of faith in him."
	The lavender gargoyle spun around to exit to the courtyard when the much
younger clansman wandered in, his right hand bandaged.
	"What happened?" the leader demanded.
	"Claw and I ran into some trouble out by St. Damien's Cathedral.  It'll heal."  Lex
continued to walk toward the library, a dazed look shadowing his eyes.
	"What were you doing at St. Damien's?" Goliath rifled back forcefully.  The
cathedral didn't bring up the fondest of memories.
	Lexington glanced down at his wounded hand, shook his head, and whispered, "I
haven't got a clue."
	Broadway's ears perked up.  
	Something wasn't right.
	Goliath stared at Lexington's fleeting shadow then bolted after the small gargoyle.  
	"I wonder what's up with Lex?"  Broadway stood, stretching and yawning.  "He
normally doesn't like that."
	"Aye."  Hudson smirked.  "Maybe it be lady problems, now that Brooklyn
seems...ah...interested...in Macbeth's daughter.  Maybe it's that new lass he's been talking
to for the past three or four months.  She went and broke his heart, mmm?" His eyeridge
over his blind eye shot up.
	"I don't think there was any romance at all between the two.  Of course, Angela
knows RC.  I never got the chance to meet her personally."  Broadway shrugged, then,
with Hudson's excuse, he left the TV room to find Angela.
	Hudson scratched the beast's neck.  Bronx groaned in pleasure, his tail thumping
against the chair.
	"Ye're lucky not to have any cares about the ladyfolk , boy,  '' the old man
chuckled. '' Love is dangerous ; trust me, I know.
        Bronx suddenly jumped up into Hudson 's lap, licking his face. Hudson oof-'ed,
remarking how the dogoyle weighed a ton, and laughed, pushing Bronx off the chair.
                  '' Y'know, boy,'' Hudson got up feeling, his back and hips protest with creaking
and cracking. '' I'm worried about Brooklyn and the lass, er, Arin.  They should have been
home by now."
	Bronx barked in agreement.
	"It'll be sunrise in a couple of hours.  Maybe we should go look for them. 
Macbeth really seemed hotter'n'hell when she didn't show up." 
	Bronx woofed, and followed Hudson to the courtyard, where he met up with
Angela and Broadway searching the lightening sky.
	"Any sign of Brooklyn?" He asked.
	Angela shook her head.  "I checked Central Park about an hour ago."
	"While I visited Macbeth Manor to see if they went there if they left," Broadway
concluded.
	"Ye didn't say that before," Hudson raised his eyeridge again.
	The patented Dumb Look crossed the large gargoyle's face.
	"I guess you never asked," he shrugged.
	"Ack," the old one slapped his forehead.  "Well, I'm gonna do an arial scout
before sunrise.  If Brooklyn returns before then, call and tell Robbins.  I'll stay there for
the day."
	"I'll tell Goliath," Angela nodded.
	"Atta good lass," Hudson smiled, clapping them both on the shoulder as he
climbed onto the turret, spreading his wings, and glided northbound.

***
NYU Apartment Complex
3:15 a.m.

	"No buts about it, l'il bro," RC stormed her apartment, throwing clothes and
treasured momentos into a small suitcase.  "We're going home, and you aren't going to
worm your way out of it!"
	"Great." Shawn rolled his eyes in disgust. "Go back to the wife-beating old man
who broke my back.  Just what I always wanted."
	"First off, Dad was never a 'wife-beater.'  Next, Dad didn't mean to, Shawn, and
you know it," RC stood, fists to her hips, reminding of both Shawn and Claw of the
actress who played Wonder Woman from the old TV show.  "You both provoked each
other into that fight, and you of all people know you don't pick a fight with someone with
more than twice the body mass of yourself, case in speaking, Dad." She took a breath.
	Claw growled, leaned back in the kitchen chair, and sipped his Coke.
	"It was one incident, a freak accident.  Anyway, if you never went through the
trauma, your ability would still remain dormant."  RC threw her hands up in the air, then
grabbed the bottle of near-flat Sprite off the coffee table and chugged.  "Speaking of
which, why didn't you teleport out of there, anyway?"
	"Nexus works different than normal teleporting, fae or otherwise," Shawn sighed,
having been through this conversation before.  "I can't control the time passage between
my realm and this one. I could have hung low there, for a month, and port back, only to
have five seconds pass by here. And it works vice versa, as well."  He folded his hands in
lap and heaved a sigh.  "For some reason though, Nexus was denying me access tonight."
He sighed  again, pulling a notebook out of his knapsack, and jotted something in it, then
replaced it.  "Anyway, I can usually only teleport only myself.  I seriously can't control
Nexus unless I write it."
	Claw raised an eyebrow, somewhat confused.
	"Shawn has a unique gift," RC explained further.  "His ability was heavily coveted
by Zanthé up until six months ago, when he wrote himself unworthy of the Black Sword,
that his power could not be used for Black Sword purposes."
	Claw's pleading look clearly demanded on what exactly Shawn could do.
	Shawn read it clearly, and retorted, "I have total control over this tiny realm
called Nexus.  There, I can create and destroy.  My power lays in the ability to alter my
own reality by writing about the changes, just as long as I can incorporate it into Nexus. 
What happens in the real world must coincide with my world, and that they can only
involve myself, and no one else.  However, my thoughts must be tangible.  That will
explain why I have to write them down.  In other words, I could theoretically write about
going to Nexus, and coming back here with the ability to walk again." He paused,
appearing wishful.  "But I couldn't bring myself to do it.  Whatever happens in Nexus,
that's my business.  What happens here, in this realm, it's the decision of whatever deity
watches over me."
	The Mutate, nodding, understood.  A powerful gift, indeed, the young man could
theoretically will himself omnipotent, but he chose not to.
	"Also, I need to go home.  Hang low until Zanthé realizes I'm no longer in New
York, follow me to the 'Frisco, and I'll head back, as if to create a pattern." She shrugged. 
"Anyway, I must find a way to free Lexington of his duty.  A gargoyle of his nature can't
remain neutral with the Black Sword forever.  What if Zanthé threatens Brooklyn?  Or
Angela?  Or even that boy he helps out with, the quarter-fae?  He'll stand to protect them. 
His duty as a gargoyle will outweigh his duty as a Black Sword sooner or later."
	Claw nodded again, standing.  His green eyes shone with loyalty and love.
	"Dammit, Colm, you aren't a puppy!" RC giggled.  "You can't come to San
Francisco with us.  There won't be enough room on my bike!  I'm going to have my case
and Shawn's chair, not to mention the two of--what do you mean, you'll follow?  You
couldn't possibly keep up with--what makes you think Xanatos of all people will help you
out?"
	Shawn smirked.  He loved arguments between telepaths and mutes.
	"What do you mean, you know him?  He owes you a favor?!  I love you, furrball,
but sometimes you can get the downright dumbest--what do you mean, he funded this?!"
	Uh-oh.  RC's voice rising, Shawn thought.  Not good.
	The paraplegic couldn't contain it anymore.  He snorted, covered his mouth, then
burst out laughing.
	"What's so funny, baby bro?" RC demanded, her grey eyes flashing.
	"The two of you!" he chuckled.  "Fighting like you're already married!  And,
damn, you don't realize how stupid you look yelling at Colm like that, and answering him
as well!  Think of it, sis!  The two of you staring each other down, you yelling at him, he
just looking at you, you pausing like he actually said something to you!  To a non-
telepath, the scene is downright hilarious!"
	Claw silently laughed, a sound created by great intakes of air, as though he had
already laughed too much.
	RC flustered, her cheeks burning red.
	She then perked up, as if listening to someone.
	"You'll talk to Xanatos personally," she made her voice flat purposely. 
"Tomorrow.  You are dilussional, tiger."
	Claw stuck his tongue out in a "shows-what-you-know" attitude.
	"How will he, the richest guy in the world, who probably signs Bill Gates'
paychecks, fund a renegade Black Sword Matriarch, her paraplegic brother, and an
adorable Hobbes with wings to return to the West Coast?  Answer that, lover?"
	The mutate's face dropped, as his mood changed.  His green eyes narrowed, and
Shawn noticed his sister mirroring the emotion.
	"That's what you mean by he owes you." Her tone was but a whisper.  "Oh, you
poor thing!  I'm so sorry.  What me to brain-fry this Sevarius bastard?"
	Shaking his head, he pulled RC close for a hug, wearing a face that clearly stated,
"Trust me."
	"I trust you, Colm," she whimpered.  "I trust you with my immortal soul."
	"But I don't want to go home!" Shawn whined, as RC hurled a pillow toward her
brother.

***
Southwest, towards FDR Drive
around 3:30 - 4:00 a.m.

	Hudson cursed, tapping the hilt of his sword.  No sign of Brooklyn, or Arin.
	"Damn!" He swore again, noting the sky.  The morning stars were still bright, but
fading by the minute.  It would be sunrise in a half-hour.
	Of course, Brooklyn and Arin probably returned to the castle already, while he
was scouting.  It would figure, with his half-senile brain, he scoffed inwardly.  Oh, well,
he needed to see his old friend anyway.  However, he wasn't if Robbins would be up at
this hour.  Well, there was only one way to find out, as he descended to the backyard of
the beachfront house, a one-atory ranch with stone masonry fence and neatly trimmed
lawn.
	Robbins' seeing-eye dog suddenly barked sharply, his usual greeting to Hudson. 
Three short barks, one long yip.
	"Who is it, boy?" A tall black man in a housecoat and slippers opened the screen
door.  "Hudson? Is that you? A little late for you, isn't it? Or early, depending on you
point of view."
	Hudson chuckled.
	"Good morning, Robbins," he greeted, rubbing the German Shepard's ears.  "I was
looking for one of the boys.  Brooklyn hasn't returned home yet, and we're all getting a
little worried."
	"He'll turn up, Hudson."  Robbins leaned against the door, his blind eyes staring
off into the general direction of Hudson's voice.  "Why don't you come in?  I was just
going to have breakfast."
	"Er, I hate to be imposing, old friend, but I should get back home--"
	"You're welcome to stay here for the day, if you wish.  You'll be safe here until
nightfall; you'll be with friends, and tonight, I'll show you my new book."
	"What?"  Realization suddenly hit Hudson like a load of bricks.  "How did you
know I was--"
	"A gargoyle?"  Robbins finished, pulling the old coot inside.  "Mostly by the way
you had to leave at sunrise the first time I met you, and the visits thereafter, but what got
to me was the littler things.  I patted you on the shoulder, like this."  Without so much as
a fumble, the blind man lightly grabbed Hudson by the shoulder, where he had his wings
draped over, like a cape.  "I felt the bone structure of the wings, and knew you couldn't
have been human.  Seriously, I always thought it strange and to coincidental to the fact
that you always left at sunrise and came after sunset. "
	"Not to be offensive, but how can you tell what time it is?"
	Robbins held out his wrist, exposing a watch with raised bumps and hands.  "The
miracles of modern technology," the human chuckled, and, as if on que, felt the face of
his watch.  "I would say there's probably a half-hour to forty-five minutes, tops, until
sunrise.  Would you like to join me for breakfast, friend?"
	"I'd be glad to," Hudson nodded, sitting at the kitchen table as Robbins expertly
served him up a plate of bacon and eggs.  Hudson stared in wonderment at his friend,
how he could perform tasks like cooking and writing and just enjoying life in general,
even if he was missing his sight.  It never seemed to hinder Jeffery Robbins, the Vietnam
vet with a Purple Star, now just a writer of historical fiction and non-fiction.
	Mabye one day, Hudson smiled as the two sat across from one another, talking
about what transpired since the last they visited, he'll tell the human about the siege of
Castle Wyvern, the history ov Clan Wyvern, the Viking attacks, and gargoyles, so that
Robbins may one day write a book about it.	But that day was another day, as Hudson temporarily forgot about the nights
problems, and another day would hopefully be soon.

***
Castle Wyvern
5:00-ish in the a.m.

	"Has he returned yet?" Broadway whispered to Angela.
	The lavender woman shook her head, noticing Lexington sullenly climbing onto
the turret next to her, contrasting with the mood he boasted that evening.  He must have
had a hard night.
	Goliath stood on his parapet, gazing out to all cardinal directions, growling lowly. 
His daughter had already informed him about Hudson being over his friend Robbins'
home, but that still didn't give excuse for Brooklyn and Arin.
	Broadway shivered with the thought of Macbeth reverting to his vengance toward
gargoyles in general, just because both his daughter and Clan Manhattan's second-in-
command were missing--
	Wait.  To technically be missing, according to what he learned from old police
flicks he watched avidly, one had to be gone for forty-eight hours before one would ruely
be missing.
	Angela and Broadway both looked up at Goliath, noticing the perplexing mixture
of anger, worriment, fear, and anxiety filling his strong features.
	Only Lexington stared straight ahead, his own young face contorted in such a way
that neigther of the lovers could tell if he was just preparing to greet the sun in the usual
gargoyle grimace or that he had something dark on his mind.
	Lex felt Angela and Broadway's collective stare at him, and held back a snarl. 
They would never know his dishonor, he thought inwardly.  No one would.  Goliath had
demanded he tell him what was going on earlier, and all Lexington said was that he was
fine; that everything was alright.
	But he knew deep inside his mind that everything wasn't.
	And he also knew it wasn't RC's fault, so he could stop blaming her.
	It was nobody's fault but his.
	And it was his shame that he had to live with.
	At least he did one thing good this evening, bringing Claw back to his fiance. 
That was a plus, to an extent, he supposed.
	As the red disk peaked over the Hudson River, and the crackle of the
transformation started, Lexington sighed, losing some of his anger as his entire body
stiffened, throwing him into the depths of stone hibernation.

***
Avalon

	Arin started, glancing around frantically.  Just what the hell was going on?
	She and Brooklyn were in some sort of court, and by the looks of it, court was in
session.
	Oberon settled down in the large gold throne high on a jewal-encrusted dias,
Titania next to him in the silver throne slightly smaller than his.
	Brooklyn mentally estimated there was at least three hundred yards of marble
walkway between the two mortals and the King and Queen.  All around the large room
were fae of all shapes and sizes.  Some appeared to show interest in the human and
gargoyle, some had hatred masking their faces, and some were obviously bored.
	"Child of Oberon," Oberon boomed suddenly, jumping Arin and causing
Brooklyn's hair to almost bristle as his eyes flared lightning bright.  "You did not heed to
the call of the Gathering.  We demand an explanation."  He was addressing Arin.
	"I--I don't know what you're talking about--" Arin mumbled, groping for her
friend's arm.  "What do you mean 'Child of Oberon'? My parents are--"
	"We know now of your parents: the human Macbeth, king of the Scots, and our
lady Titania.  You were overlooked when we first called, but we extended you the
invitation tonight."  Oberon stared down at the two with eyes of blue fire, burning
through their souls.
	"The mist," Brooklyn growled as both of Arin's arms found and circled his right.
	Titania nodded, smiling secretly.
	"This is some sort of frigging Wonderland," she hissed, cowering closer to her
tense friend.  "It's some twisted Wonderland! I must be dreaming. . . this is too frigging
much. . . ."
	"You, gargoyle," the Lord of the Sidhe pointed an elegant finger to the copper
young man, "did not need to come to Avalon.  You may leave before we decide
otherwise."
	"No," he whispered, not in a frightened tone, like what Oberon would have
probably expected, but in a breath that could paradoxally be heard throughout the din of
the Court of Fae.  "I will not leave Arin's side."
	"She cannot leave Avalon, for the Gathering has come!" Oberon floated to his
feet.  "She is a Child of Oberon, and must never leave!"
	"I don't want to leave my da!" Arin shouted, regaining her courage.  "I don't want
to leave New York! I don't want to leave my life! I don't even know what the hell you're
babbling about, bloke, but I don't want to be a part of you're bloody 'Gathering'! I don't
even know what the hell is going on!" A tear crawled down her cheek, as she clutched
Brooklyn's hand tightly.  He could not bring himself to add to her speech, although he
pulled her closer, stretching a wing over her shoulder as though he could protect her that
way.  Hell, it made him feel a little more comfortable, not much, but enough to keep his
wits.
	"You were always just outside the world of Humans, girl," Oberon continued,
hovering closer to the two mortals.  "You knew that you were different.  Join our Court,
and find your true potential."
	"I'm not one of you and never will be!" She shouted, the tears flowing more
freely.  Brooklyn growled again, his eyes sparking brighter.
	Oberon snarled distastefully, obviously annoyed.
	"You do not realize the gift we are bestowing upon you; you are a Child of
Oberon, a fae, a Daonie Sidhe, however the human words have mangled our true name. 
You are one of us."
	"NEVER!!!" Arin cried.  "Never will I be like you! I don't want to be a fucking
Child of Oberon! I have a life back in New York! I don't know where the hell you get
these dilusions of grandeur or where you can go around claiming my father was some old
Shakespearean king or this whole 'Midsummer Night's Dream' meets 'Child's Play' shit,
but I want to get the hell away from this place as soon as possible! You have no frigging
right telling me what I would like! I'll tell you what I'd like: I want to get away from this
fucking nightmare and I want ot leave NOW!"
	Brooklyn snarled his agreement, spreading his wings full span and whipping his
talons through the air so fast they whistled.
	"Thrice we offered," Oberon whispered slowly, "and thrice you declined.  You
wish to return to your mortal life, then?"
	"Hell, yeah!" The human snapped.
	"You shall never know your normality, as you will never know humanity, after
this night, so says Oberon." The Lord of the Fae pointed directly at her.  
"Arin MacDuff, Born of human and fae/ Oberon's curse, on your head will weigh/ Ne'er
to see again the sun's warm ray/ Until mortal death, without knowing day!"
	A sizzle, then a bolt of blue electricity bolted1 from the tip of the long finger,
hitting Arin square in the chest.  She screamed, falling into Brooklyn's arms,
unconscious.
	The Faerie Court completely silenced as Brooklyn sank to his knees, still
suporting the fallen human.
	"Arin?" He whispered, his voice quaking a little, as he brushed a gray silver lock
from her strangely placid face.  The blaze in his eyes died, once again becoming a warm
hazel, sad and worried.  "Arin, can you hear me?"
	Oberon expressed a quick and superior smirk, returning to his seat.  "You have
one hour to leave Avalon," he pointed out.  "There after, the child, Arin MacDuff,
daughter of MacBeth and Titania, shall never set foot on the shores of Avalon.  She, like
Puck, is banished from our beautiful isle.  As for you, gargoyle," his voice dripped
antipathy, uncaring, unfeeling, "you are warned to stay away from the girl.  If you choose
to remain at her side, your life shall be a painful and tortureful existance.  Leave her and
never think of her again."
	The copper gargoyle draped his wings around Arin's form, hanging his head over
her face, allowing his snowy white hair to fall, hiding his face from the court he gently
brushed her cheek with the top of his beak.  He remained in that position for about a
minute, as though pondering his options.
	He came to a choice, as he lightly kissed her.
	"I love you," he finally told the unconscious woman, and those words brought
courage and strength to his heart.
	"Never," he snarled, standing, holding Arin in his arms, his hazel eyes burning
white hot, so much brighter than before.  "I will never leave her side."2
	"You dare not heed our warning?!" Oberon bellowed, his own eyes dancing with
an unearthly light.  "You dare to stand for the banished one?"
	"Yes!"  Brooklyn carefully laid Arin where he stood, and, with a shriek, he
pounced, wings unfurled, at the Sidhe King, his mind thinking nothing but Arin and that
Oberon had cursed her to die at sunrise.
	As Oberon's cloak suddenly billowed, the inside of the silk garment abruptly
changed, the black becoming endless, truly absence of color.
	And Brooklyn fell into it, and into it, as his entire lank body sank into the depths
of Oblivion, the Abyss. 
	"My Lord," Titania finally spoke, her voice soft but firm, as Oberon's cloak settled
down around his body once more.  "Allow me to punish the brash gargoyle.  He, after all,
insults me by his actions toward my daughter."
	Oberon studied her face, then turned to his advisors.
	"I see no harm into allowing our Lady vengance," Luna shrugged.
	"I see no help either way," Selene added.
	"I see it does matter, however, my Lord, that we allow the two to stay together,
the daughter of our Lady and the common gargoyle.  The future of both Avalon and the
Outside may rest in the decision," Pheobe concluded.
	"Very well, our Queen," he replied, looking straight into her emerald green eyes. 
"We will honor your request.  Here."  Opening his cloak a second time, the blackness spat
out the shivering gargoyle, his wings wrapped tightly around him as he whispered
unintelligible syllables to himself.  "You are welcome to do whatever you seem fit."
	"Thank you, my Lord," she remarked with a small curtsy, gathering the mists
around her, the momentarily senseless gargoyle, and the unconscious woman, and
vanished with a tinkling of bells from her unseen escorts.
	Oberon rose to his Court, his Children.
	"Court is dismissed," he ordered, as his Children disappeared using various and
interesting methods, (even though he particularly hated to see that theif Autocylus
actually slip out an open window and scale the wall to the ground a hundred feet below),
he sank into his chair and sighed.
	
	"Brooklyn," Titania whispered, placing a cup of mint tea in front of the young
man, who eventually regained his senses, as he gingerly picked up the fragile cup and
sipped with eyes scrutinizing the entire situation.
	"What do you want with me?" he demanded, his voice returning to normal.  The
tea was strong, and excellent; the best he had ever had.
	"It is obvious the direction you and my youngest daughter are heading," she
retorted, her form shifting into Anastacia Reynard to attempt to make the gargoyle feel
more comfortable.  "And I personally welcome the change.  However, you do not
understand the gravity of your situation."  She glanced behind her, and the Weird Sisters
materialized.
	"The Clone Wars will ravage the world, both yours and Avalon.  The future will
hold casualities for human, gargoyle, and fae," Phoebe pointed out.
	"We see that as powerful as Lord Oberon is, he is also a Fool," Selene nodded.
	"You are destined to become one of the greatest leaders your world will ever
know," Luna revealed.  "This is why our Lady chose you as her Champion."
	Brooklyn blinked.
	"'It's death from the death from the beginning, to the end of time.  And I'm the
Cosmic Champion, and I hold a mystic sign,'" he quoted in tune to the old Blue Oyster
Cult song.  "Right.  And I'm Dorian Hawkmoon.  Listen, Titania, let's just get my
punishment over with.  And while you're at it, lift your current husband's curse off Arin. 
If she dies at sunrise--" his eyes flared.
	"Be assured, Brooklyn," Titania smiled warmly, "I would not bring the two of you
together this far only to let her die.  She will not, that I promise.  My Lord does not like to
kill without just cause."
	"What do you mean, bring the two of us together?" he whispered, suddenly
looking around frantically for Arin.
	"I arranged the two thugs to mug Arin, knowing you were in the vicinity at the
time."
	His eyeridge shot up in horror.
	"How could you--" his tone betrayed his next question, as well as the tears
forming at the corners of his eyes.  "Did you make me fall in love with her as well?  Did
you create these feelings so I would unconditionally protect your daughter, no matter
what the costs?  It's not me you want, but Arin!  I'm just a pawn, right?  A queen's pawn. 
And these emotions...." He choked abruptly, tears streaming down his beak.  "Did you
make me love her?"
	"No." was the flat out responce.
	"DID YOU MAKE ME LOVE HER?!" he shouted, his entire body trembling with
overpowering emotions. "TELL ME!!!"
	The pleasant exterior of the human melted, as the Queen of the Sidhe stood, and,
with a fluid backhand motion, executed a forceful slap to his face, causing him to spit
blood.
	"It is my word," she snarled, leaning on the table, her green eyes blazing (like
Arin's, Brooklyn shivered) as she continued.  "It is my word as Queen of the Court and
Avalon that I had no intentions to play with your true emotions toward Arin MacDuff,
nor did I hers toward you.  I did not need to."  She sat back down regally in the high-
backed chair regally.  "Your feelings for her are true, young one, I assure you."
	Brooklyn issued one last, less conspicuous and more silent, sob, before rubbing
his eyes.
	"You did not create these feelings." He repeated in a flat tone.
	"No."  She smoothed out an invisible wrinkle in her court dress.  "As for you, time
grows short for your stay in Avalon, and I must issue your punishment.  Depending on
how you wish to look at it, it may be a wonderful gift, or an antagonizing burden." 
	"A faerie's gift comes with a price," Brooklyn muttered, thinking sourly about
Demona.  As an afterthought, he asked "You won't make me turn into a human by day,
will you?  That would be so...unoriginal."
	Titania laughed, a sound not unlike the chiming of tiny bells.
	"No, I had in mind this gift for you for a long time; it will not be totally apparent
at first.  Like you, your power will grow, and as you learn more about it, how to use it,
the more it will help you in your leadership.  However," Titania raised an elegant finger,
"if you abuse it, it could drive you mad, or even so much as to destroy you."
	Brooklyn went to say something, though was not quick enough.  Titania stood
once more and placed her left hand on his forehead between his horns.
	"'Young gargoyle with latent mind/ Expose your potential to your Queen/ And
show that which I may find/ Your ability, your magic keen.'"
	Her voice was melodious, hypnotising, as a gentle surge coursed down from her
fingertips into his mind.  Pleasant as it was, it gradually became stronger, more painful,
and before long he let loose a frightened cry.
	(brooklyn...) Arin's voice rang clear in his head, as with his mind's eye, he saw her
slowly solidify into stone.  (...brooklyn, help me...
	...you betrayed my love!) In the same nanosecond, the image changed, as Arin
again, this time angered like if she herself was one of the Furies, screeched at him,
storming away from him.  Over and over pictures melded together behind his eyes, some
of Arin, some of his clan, some of his enemies, some of people he did not know, some
past, some present, some that could possibly be the future.
	The last frame that he "saw" just before he dared open his eyes again was Arin,
once more, smiling lovingly at him.
	(i love you, brook...) she whispered, and he woke up.
	He was sprawled on the sandy beach, the human woman nestled in the crook of
his arm, fast asleep.
	"Great," he mumbled hoarsely, cursing his headache.  "What the hell just
happened?"
	"As if on cue, Pheobe, Luna, and Selene floated onto the shore via the wind that
blew over the raging ocean.
	"We have been informed that you are to leave the island of Avalon," Selene
retorted.
	The copper gargoyle stood, picking up Arin.  She stirred, murmured something,
and settled her head on his shoulder.
	"But first," Luna lifted a finger," we bring a warning from our Lady."
	"What now?"
	The Weird Sisters nodded once then stared straight into the gargoyle's soul.
	"'Magic of the mind is potent indeed/'" their tones blended, as though they were
one and the same, speaking as one soul. "'Trained, your power may usurp our King/ But
choose wisely, listen to the realm's need/ One path salvation, the other, destruction, you
bring.'"
	He shivered.  That sounded too much like a spell to him.
	Then, the three surrounded the two, and, with a nod times three, they vanished in
a dark mist.

***THUS ENDS PART THREE OF ...LOVE AND WAR. (Insert Dr. Sevarius dressed in
the drag and singing "Sweet Transvestite"..."I'm making a man, with blond hair and a
tan..."

Okay, so I lied.  Sue me.  There's another part coming out, but with my stupid computer
on the fritz (there's no place like college, there's no place like college...as I click the heels
of my ruby combat boots three times....)  I'm still calling "Love and War" a trilogy, a la
Douglas Adams.  And the answer's always 42!

NEXT BATTER: The conclusion of ...Love and War: Part Three concluded!  (If I called
it part four, it wouldn't be a trilogy now, would it!)  The Underwear Open!  The Drunk
Scotman!  Matt Bluestone spectates the Underwear Open!  Malibu goes postal!  (Not
really, it just sounded good.)  Macbeth goes postal!  (And that may not be far from the
truth...)  The War of the Underwear Open! And...of course, the aftermath of Oberon's
curse!  ("I'm going through changes, yeah...I'm going through changes....")  Did I mention
the Underwear Open?  It's all Mauser's idea.

Can't you tell I had the Dark Chocalate Decedance (NOT DECAFFINATED!!!) coffee
today?  WHEEEEEE!!!

--Black Blade in hyperspeed.  "My cosmic song goes on for eternity"(put the 33 record on
78 speed!)

SONGS:
"I Think I'm a Clone Now" parody of "I Think We're Alone Now" by (I think) the Beatles. 
"Clone" is by Weird Al Yankovic, from which album, I can't remember. Someone correct
me on this one!

My theme song, "Black Blade" by Blue Oyster Cult, from Cultosaurus Erectus.

"Sweet Transvestite" is from the Rocky Horror Picture Show.

"Changes" by Black Sabbath from Black Sabbath Volume 4.