Breeding Season, Part 1Breeding Season, continued by Christine Morgan "So much for Nightstone's chances," the New Wave rep said in a tone of mean satisfaction. The TarrenTech rep, the new father, whirled on her. "She's having a goddam miscarriage!" David Xanatos touched Owen's sleeve. "Call Dr. Masters." "Sir?" "Call him. I don't care if she's an enemy. I don't care who she sleeps with. Nobody should have to go through that." Owen nodded and pulled out his phone. He punched in the direct line to the med suite, then his whole body twitched. The phone jumped out of his hand. Xanatos caught it before it could strike the tabletop. "Owen?" He had gone more pale than usual, and his lips moved soundlessly as if answering some question that Xanatos couldn't hear. Then his eyes focused. "I'm afraid I have to leave rather quickly, sir. The lights, please." Xanatos opened his mouth, decided he could get answers later, and flicked off the lights. The room, already escalated by excitement and confusion, now boiled over into chaos. Which meant that nobody but Xanatos saw as Owen was yanked backward out of reality, his form changing, shrinking, as he vanished. * * *pop!* Puck tumbled, regained his balance, and flung his long white hair out of his eyes. He was hovering in the ladies' lounge, all tasteful decor in dove grey, mauve, and turquoise accents, but one of the couches and a lot of the carpet was drenched maroon, and a coiled comma-shape of a woman was huddled on the floor. Dominique looked up at him, her face conveying a tremendous diversity of emotion. Under the raw pain there was pleading, and anger, and resentment, and fear, and a glint of hope. "Save my baby!" Sorrow filled his eyes. "I cannot. It's too late." "It's dying! My baby is dying!" "Your transformations were too much for it. Your human body --" "Is your fault!" she said. "Your trick, your magic, that did this to me! If not for you, I'd be a gargoyle and my baby would be fine!" He nodded soberly. Someone banged on the door. "Ms. Destine! Somebody get a key!" Puck spun, fear of discovery making him sift through the loopholes in Oberon's decree. If he were found out, he wouldn't be able to protect the boy. Besides, the hair that Demona had stolen from him pre- dated the Gathering, so he could argue that he was bound by that commitment first. He made a sweeping circular gesture and a bubble of fey light surrounded himself and the woman. When the door skidded open moments later, the rubber wedge squeaking, they were both gone. * * Dominique screamed and scrabbled on the cold, dusty boards as the world crashed back in on her. The agony that had for a split second utterly disappeared now ground into her like broken glass. When it abated enough for her to sit up, she realized she knew this place. The window opposite her was the one through which she'd witnessed her first morning, the old cracked mirror was the one in which she'd discovered Puck's malicious humor. Her old house, the mansion she'd had to sell to try and hang onto her corporation. Puck floated in front of her, without a trace of that malicious humor now. "Demona, I'm sorry." "I don't want your apologies! I want my baby!" "It's too late. If I'd known sooner, there might have been something ..." "I won't accept that!" She lunged for him, but fell short when another belt of spike-studded pain cinched around her. Now, worst of all, a new sensation of something sliding, pushing, emerging. She clamped her thighs together, willing it not to be so, but she couldn't stop it. A river of blood washed her child onto the dirty floor. Its shell hadn't thickened yet, the translucent membrane like a thin-shaved curve of milky quartz, splotched with faint spots that would have eventually darkened to violet. Within, she could see the poor helpless thing, wizened and frail, a fetus mummified in stone. It would have been a boy. Already, the shell was turning black, seeping fluid. Dominique plunged her hands into the spoiling mess and lifted out the tiny figure. She could cradle it in one palm. It crumbled to a soft, gritty mush while she held it and wept, while Puck looked on with bright tears shining in his eyes. * * Stephanie stood in the lounge, staring at the bloodstain and the litter of items from Dominique's purse. "Hey, ma'am!" the custodian called. "Everything okay in there?" "Sure, fine just give us a minute," she called back, amazed at how normal she sounded. People gabbled in the hall, making her think of turkeys. Then she heard a woman's voice, one of the no-nonsense government people, and knew that the rest of them were waiting out there uncertainly because this was the _ladies'_ room and they didn't dare barge in, not in this age of sexual harassment. Stephanie sprang back to the door and locked it again, thankful that she held the key. "We'll be out soon!" "I have medical training!" the woman on the other side said. "That's okay, we've got everything under control." She caught sight of herself in the mirror, and what was meant to be a wide reassuring smile was a lunatic mask. Where _was_ she? Stephanie checked the stalls, but they were empty. There were no other ways out, unless Ms. Destine had gone out one of the air vents. That was impossible, because all the screws were firmly seated and there would have been ... there would have been ... ... a trail of blood wide as a freeway, her mind insisted on finishing, and Stephanie ran back to the stall in which Ms. Destine had only a few hours ago offloaded her own breakfast, to do the same with hers. * * Puck made a circle of his forefinger and thumb, and looked through it to see the place they'd left. To his surprise, the door was still locked, and the room was empty. "I'll take you back now," he said, as gently as he could. A few years ago, what he'd just witnessed wouldn't have affected him; he might have tossed off some flippant remark about how she could have another one, as if she was a little girl who'd dropped her ice cream cone. But now, after seeing first Alexander and then Patricia come into the world, he had an inkling of what Demona might be feeling. It was all too easy to imagine Cordelia there instead. She didn't argue and didn't agree, just carried on with soft, wracking sobs as if her heart was crumbling away just as the baby had done. He clapped, and once again the light bubble surrounded them, depositing them in the lounge. From outside, human voices raised in concern and confusion. Soon they'd break down the door. He couldn't be here when it happened, but before he left ... "Do you want me to take back my spell? Make you as you were before, as you were born to be? A gargoyle, not just by night, but always?" "Oh, my God!" a very faint whisper replied. A human, Demona's assistant, came halfway out of one of the stalls and clung to the side, as if that cool painted-steel wall was the only thing keeping her upright. "No, just go," Dominique said. She tossed the strands of his hair at him. "I release you from the oath-binding." "But she --" "She can keep a secret." Dominique raised her head and looked evenly at the human. "Can't you, Stephanie?" Her mute, dazed nod was the best they could hope for under the circumstances, as the door leaped and shuddered in its frame. "I really am sorry," Puck said to Dominique, pausing to give her shoulder a compassionate squeeze. "Thank you." With that, she broke down again, burying her face in her hands. He hesitated a moment longer, then, as one of the hinges tore free and the door canted inward, Puck whirled like a top and took himself away. * * "This will help you rest," the paramedic said. Dominique did not resist as he injected something into her arm, although, having spent several years in the company of the Brothers Sevarius, she was much more wary than the average person about anybody coming at her with a syringe. Right now, though, she didn't care. Didn't care what poisons the humans might be shooting into her veins, didn't care what irregularities might show up on the blood tests they drew. All that mattered was the pain, the pain she was immersed in like a hot bath. Whatever the injection was, it worked quickly. By the time they'd gotten her loaded onto the gurney, the flourescents had taken on a hazy dreamlike quality, and the tense voices of the humans around her had faded to a meaningless drone. The crushing throb wrapped around her midsection dwindled to a lingering ache. Even the raw stab of her grief went sepia-toned like an old photograph, although she knew it would be back in Kodachrome the moment the drug wore off. They wheeled her into the hall, and she was dimly aware that she was covered to the neck in a pristine white sheet so that no one could gawk at the blood that soaked her legs. Stephanie trotted beside her, having somehow successfully shoved aside everything she'd witnessed and taken refuge in her brisk, efficient, executive-assistant demeanor. Dominique was absurdly touched at Stephanie's evident concern, and in her drug-fog, kept calling her 'Angela.' Two faces swam out of the blur, faces she knew. David Xanatos, leaning in to ask if she wanted to be taken to the castle, and behind him, his dogsbody servant, Burnett. With bemused detachment, Dominique had the silly thought that the expression in Burnett's eyes exactly mirrored the last look she'd gotten from Puck. She mumbled something, not wanting to go to the castle, not wanting to be beholden to Xanatos or have the clan see her like this. Stephanie turned him down politely, and the next thing Dominique knew, the cold wet kiss of snowflakes landed on her cheeks as the gurney passed from the skyscraper's awning to the back of the waiting ambulance. The only part of that ride she recalled was a glimpse of a man on a streetcorner, waving a sign proclaiming the end of the world. Then they were at the hospital, more humans swarming around her, being lifted, moved, bright lights shining down at her, merciless metal poking in sore places, questions about the baby, Stephanie spinning some yarn about how she'd found Dominique in the bathroom stall where she'd dragged herself, where the fetus must have been flushed away into the sanitized blue. Through it all, Dominique drifted in fields of grey. She surfaced briefly in a hospital bed with an IV taped to the back of her wrist and a view of snow falling on Central Park. The television mounted on the wall was tuned to a talk show, the volume down low. People came and went. More doctors. Stephanie, still holding up remarkably well. A snoopy, intrusive brunette named Deanna who insisted on trying to counsel Dominique. The clock -- something about the clock was nagging at her mind. 3:00, 3:15 ... Winter. Sunset by 5:00 at the latest. That brought her out of the fog. With the ruthlessness born of a thousand years' suffering, she pushed this fresh loss to the back of her mind and set about getting herself discharged over the doctors' objections. * * "Where's the gargoyle?" Jon Canmore said in a high, singsong voice. "Wheeerrre's the gargoyle? Oh! There it is!" He brought the small plastic monster out from behind him, and Bryce squealed and bashed it out of his father's hand with a toy hammer. "Good boy!" Jon cheered, kissing his seven-month-old son on the top of his fuzzy red head. "You got him!" Margot Yale sniffed disdainfully. "Aren't you starting him a little young?" "Never too young to know thy enemy," Jon replied, picking up the toy again. "Any news?" "Everything is still on schedule for Operation Champagne," she said. "I told you that my way would work better than your in-the-face propaganda." "Yes, dear heart, you've been an absolute Godsend. I'm looking forward to ringing in the new millennium." "Technically, this _isn't_ the new millennium," she said with the weary resignation of someone who'd tried to explain this countless times before. "_Next_ year is. The first year of the 21st century. Not the last year of the 20th." "Margot, Margot, Margot. You know that and I know that, but the common man on the street prefers to mark this milestone. We might as well go along with them." "I don't think you should stay. What's the good of setting up ironclad alibis for the rest of the high-ups if the main man is going to be right in the thick of it?" "Don't you see that I can't miss this? This night of all nights? My people need me to lead them. They can't go up against Xanatos alone." "You don't have a big enough army to storm that castle. Besides, Xanatos is human. He's not the enemy." "I beg to differ. Bad enough that he snatched those creatures right out from under me, but then he invaded my house, got into our communications, damn near crippled our organization. Who knows what he'll do next? He must be shown the error of his ways, forcibly." "You could bring legal action against him," Margot suggested. "It's well-known that he's harboring those beasts. There are laws against keeping vicious animals." "Once a lawyer, always a lawyer." Jon grinned. "I thought you left City Hall behind!" "I still have my contacts there. They don't know I'm working with you now; they think I'm taking time off to work through this nasty divorce settlement." "Little do they know how accommodating and insultingly generous your father-in-law's attorneys would be. I do believe that the senior Mr. Vandermere was eager to shake you out of his family tree." "And I was happy to go!" she said bitterly. "Brendan used to be the perfect husband. Rich, spoiled, vain, shallow. Now he's gone and developed a _personality_, the jerk! His insufferable sister's rotting in the boobyhatch --" "Nice clinical term, that," Jon said in an aside to Bryce. "Can't you just see her before a judge, when a client is pleading insanity?" "The point is, all my friends think I'm trying to pick up the pieces of my shattered life. They still keep me posted with what's going on at City Hall, figuring I'll come back someday. But if you get yourself arrested, everything might come out." "I hardly plan on that." "Does anyone?" "I thought you believed in this crusade," he said, leaving Bryce to play with his blocks and going to Margot. "You've heard the reports. You know what's going on in that castle. They're spawning, breeding! We have to strike now, before they can raise up whole litters! Just one of those things destroyed my entire family. Imagine what hundreds of them could do." "I do believe in it! But I don't know if this is the right way to go about it. People could get hurt. Not just our people, but innocent people. You'll be setting the perfect stage for looting, rioting." "I'm aware of the risks. In fact, I'm counting on them! While those winged menaces are out looking for excuses to deliver their punishment, we'll be waiting for them. We'll single them out. And when we've killed them, we'll descend on that castle and eradicate every last trace of their nest. It's far too late to back out now, not when we've been planning this for months." She sighed. "I suppose you're right. Stage fright. End game jitters. I'd probably worry less if I knew I was going to be here with you. Going away makes it feel like I'm running, like I'm losing control." "I would rather have you by my side too, but there's no one else I trust to look after Bryce. You mean very much to us, Margot." He bent and kissed her cheek. "Very much indeed." * * "Last night the moon had a golden ring," Gustav Sevarius said. Instantly, Stephanie's tense, worried features relaxed into calmness. "And tonight no moon we see," she finished, after which she lapsed into an expectant silence. Dominique sighed. "I almost hate to do this." "You should be abed, my lamb." "Why? I'm completely healed by now, which would have caused problems if I'd stayed at the hospital." "Physically, yes, you seem in perfect health. But your immortality can't heal your heart as quickly." "Look who's waxing sentimental," she sneered. He failed to be fooled. "I know how much this child meant to you." "I don't need sympathy from you, Sevarius. Are you going to reprogram Stephanie, or stand there all day?" "Are you sure you want me to?" he asked. "After all, I'm not a young man, and it could be useful to have another trusted ally, one who knows your secret and can look out for your interests by night." Dominique regarded Stephanie thoughtfully. "She did do well today. I think you're right. Very well. Do what you need to. I'm going upstairs. It's almost dusk." As she left the sterile white dungeon of the doctor, she heard him speaking to Stephanie in soothing tones, telling her that she would remember nothing of the past few minutes, asserting that Ms. Destine needed her loyalty more now than ever. Alone in the elevator, she studied her reflection hatefully in the mirror on the back wall. What a difference since this morning! Her figure had regained its former shapeliness, so that her clothes hung on her like billowing sails. Her hair was vibrant again, her skin a healthy hue. Only her eyes, her bleak, red-rimmed eyes, gave any indication that something was wrong. She let herself into Jericho's sanctuary, the dark Avalon on the top floor. With winter here, the two of them spent most of their time at the Nightstone Building, since the weather was chancy to make the glides back and forth to the house on the lake. The clones were left mostly to their own devices, and it was a testament to both Jericho's diligent training and Sevarius' behavior modification plan that they hadn't managed to destroy the place. Her son and mate was perched atop one of the obsidian sculptures, wings half-spread, claws raised in a fearsome pose. A heavy melancholy settled over Dominique as she felt the telltale sparkles of heat in her bones that heralded the change. Moments later, she had half-spread wings of her own, and the pain of her transformation seemed shockingly less than she'd been used to over the past several months. It was true, then. The magic that shifted her from human to gargoyle had been more than her baby could withstand, making her body fight against itself. Jericho cast off his stone skin, which pattered down the sides of the sculpture and plinked into the pool. He saw her, and leaped down with a welcoming smile. It faltered after his third step. "Demona? What ... ? Did you lay the egg already? But it wasn't supposed to be for --" "No," she said softly, and that one word seemed to punch him in the stomach. "It's gone, Jericho. I miscarried." "No!" He sprang to her, clutched her hands in his. "It can't be!" She bit her lip, nodded. "This morning, at the presentation. There was nothing anyone could have done. It ... it would have been a boy." He searched her face, as if hoping that this was some cruel joke. When he saw only the truth and the pain there, a terrible rage and grief made him whirl away. He roared, brought his fists down on one of the obsidian pillars with cracking force. His rage vented, he gave in to the grief, and sank to the ground. Demona crumpled beside him, and they clung to each other in a shared storm of tears. * * "You know, you're crazy," Matt Bluestone said, passing a Starbucks cup over the back of the seat. "Why, because I wanted decaf?" Beth Maza replied. Elisa laughed as she tried to wedge herself more comfortably behind the wheel. They were parked not far from Times Square, watching people in party hats getting ready for the big event. The police-band radio spat a constant but low-key string of bulletins. "No, because a sexy single girl like you ought to have better things to do on New Year's Eve than tag along with her big sister on the job." "I told you, it's research for my sociology paper. Besides, it's not like I had a date or anything." "Yeah," Elisa said, as if the thought had just occurred to her, when in fact their mother had been fretting about it for months. "You haven't been dating much, not that you've told Mom about." Beth grinned wryly. "I don't tell Mom everything! But this time she's right. I've gone out a few times, but I'm just not clicking with anyone." "Hey, how about Rick?" Matt suggested. "He's between girlfriends." "Oh, wouldn't that look good around the station," Elisa said. "The guy everyone thinks is the father of my baby, dating my sister. Very cool." "I guess Coyote just spoiled me for mortal men," Beth shrugged. "You should know what that's like. Once with a non-human, and you can never go back." "No wonder all us mortal men have such a hard time finding women," Matt said. "Oh, please!" Elisa said. "You retrieved yours from the Underworld, so don't come whining to me!" "Just for that, I might not give you your present." Matt produced a large foil-wrapped box from beneath his seat. "Matt! I thought we agreed, no presents!" "That was for Christmas. This is your birthday. Different occasion altogether. Go on, open it!" "If it's something stupid like a size 4x T-shirt that says 'Egg on Board,' you're walking home," Elisa warned as she tore into the paper. Inside, she found a bunch of scented bath oils from a ritzy boutique, a large tin of toffee-chocolate almonds, and a new novel by one of her favorite authors. While she was still gaping in delighted surprise, Matt said, "If there's one thing I learned while Edie was carrying Orph, a pregnant woman can get real sick of being treated like an incubator. You're still you, but people sometimes forget that because they're so focused on the baby. Happy Birthday, partner." "Thank you, Matt! I love it!" She gave him an impulsive, chaste kiss on the cheek, feeling truly happy for the first time since the horrible night two weeks ago when Xanatos had told them about Demona's miscarriage. That news had fallen upon the clan like an avalanche, yet no one had said another single word about it. They hadn't been able to. What was there to say? Elisa knew that Xanatos had arranged for flowers to be sent, and she suspected Angela might have written to her mother, but the rest of them could not bring themselves to discuss it. Even she and Goliath, alone, had never spoken of it. She had never been more conscious of the delicate balance of biology and magic keeping her baby safe. She knew the vivid awareness would haunt the rest of her own pregnancy, and possibly reach into the next several years thereafter. Beth leaned into the front seat. "My birthday's June 11." Elisa gave her a look. "Shouldn't you have your belt on? Seen as how you're riding in a cop's car with two cops?" "Oh, all right, all right." She buckled up. "'Egg on Board' ... I've got to remember that." "You really want me to tell Dad about your tattoo, don't you?" Elisa teased. "No good, sis, he saw it at Christmas when I was trying on the slippers Maggie gave me. He thought it was neat. Hey, have you seen Delilah lately? I thought Aiden was getting big, but _whoa_! Derrek says she can barely glide." "Speaking of kids ..." Matt pulled a thick sheaf of photos out of his trenchcoat. "Awww!" Beth crooned. "You should've seen him when he was born," Elisa said, giving Matt a teasing wink. "Blotchiest, squashiest baby I've ever seen." "Well, he's adorable now," Beth said. "Look at those big dark eyes! I just want to pick him up and hug him!" "Everyone falls for that look," Matt boasted. "Even people who normally hate kids -- I mean, hate them like they'd just as soon see them all mailed to Tibet -- go nuts over Orph." Beth admired all the photos, then passed them back to Matt. "Yo, partner," Matt said. "Check it out. Isn't that Harry the Hammer, our favorite fanatic?" Elisa peered through the snow-speckled windshield toward a group of sign-wielding people gathered on a corner. "Damn! When did he get out of the hospital? And what's he doing with the anti-computer fruitcakes?" "He always was a sucker for cults and con men," Matt said. "But yeah, I wouldn't have expected him to be with this bunch. Unless they've convinced him that Bill Gates is the Antichrist." "It's only half an hour until midnight," Beth said, checking her watch. "They must be waiting to see if they're proved right or wrong." "I don't think so," Matt said slowly. "Call it a hunch, but ..." The crowd swelled as last-minute stragglers flooded into the already jam-packed Square. It was pickpocket's paradise, Elisa knew from previous years. Every available badge was out tonight, ready to keep the peace and save the drunken revelers from themselves. As the moment drew nearer, Harry the Hammer and his friends didn't budge from their spot on the streetcorner. Harry himself was standing right beside a pay phone. When it rang, at 11:57 by the clock on the dashboard, Harry picked it up. "I don't like this," Matt said, reaching for his door handle. "Wait," Elisa said. "Let's see what he's up to first." The babble of the crowd suddenly changed from meaningless noise to thousands of voices counting down as one: "Ten ... nine ... eight ..." Harry raised two fingers like the barrel of a gun and tipped them toward one of the other millooniums, who reached into his coat. "Huh-unh, no way." Matt opened his door. The milloonium pulled out something that looked like a controller for a kid's radio-powered car, twiddled the knob. "Two ... one! Happy New --" Before the crowd could holler "Year," from around the city came the sound of explosions. First one, then a pause. Then four, six, ten, a dozen smaller ones. The great glittering apple with "2000" emblazoned across it sputtered and went dark. The power went out, whole city blocks at once, plunging Manhattan into ghostly snow-blackness. "Shit!" Elisa, Matt, and Beth cried together. "Blackout, the bastards staged a blackout!" Matt added. "Everyone'll blame it on the computers," Beth said. A startled hush lay over the city for about five seconds, and then everything went to hell. * * "Two ... one!" Angela ran her hand along Brooklyn's thigh, letting him know she was thinking of their last New Year's Eve, hoping to elicit a smile from her mate. Maybe this new year would close out the old and give them all a chance to start fresh. "Happy New --" the rest began, and then the television went dark. So did the room. So did the castle. "Damn it, that's not supposed to happen!" David Xanatos rushed from the room, calling for Owen and demanding to know what the hell had happened to the building's internal power supply. Hudson shot to his feet. "Come on, then, lads, we've work to do!" "What about us?" Angela hauled herself off the couch on her second try, then sank sheepishly back as she realized that was answer enough. "Goliath and Broadway are over by Times Square," Elektra said. "We'll hook up there, then." Brooklyn brushed his knuckles against Angela's brow, then patted her tummy. "Back soon, junior!" "Be careful!" Aiden told Lex, hugging him around the neck. "Hey, it's just looters and rioters. Nothing we can't handle," he assured her. "Look after them, boy," Hudson ordered Bronx, indicating the females. Bronx whined in disappointment, but trudged over and stood at Angela's feet. The lights flickered, then came back on in a steady glow. But the television only blared static, and from the windows they could see only a well of frosted night scratched by automobile headlights. * * "Want a pretzel?" Broadway offered. Goliath shook his head, his attention fixed on the sea of humans below, popping champagne corks and confetti streamers all over each other as the enormous golden apple began to lower and the countdown started. It would have to be a golden apple, he thought with bitter amusement. KRRR-ZZZZ-BAMMM! A few blocks away, a tall power transformer geysered sparks. A string of smaller explosions went off at relay stations strategically situated around the city, like dominoes in quick succession. The Square was still lit, but only with an insane Wonderland of glow-in-the-dark necklaces and cheap flashlights adorned with sprays of plastic filaments, all sold by vendors at ten bucks apiece. The crowd reacted as if a hoard of yellowjackets had settled onto them, screaming and shoving in all directions. Glass shattered as people threw wastebaskets through store windows. And in the midst of all the lunacy, the Aerie Building suddenly came to life, a bright beacon. * * Right around 11:30, T.J. Lawton suffered a premonition. "Oh, hell, what now?" he wondered unhappily to himself. This sort of psychic crap was not part of his usual repertoire, and he didn't much care for the thought that he might be developing new abilities that would make him even more of a freak. Yet there was no denying it, this was a premonition. Goose waddling over his grave, the shivers, the whole deal. Something was about to go down, some serious bad shit. He looked around to see if any of the others felt it too, although it would have surprised him. They were the normal people, after all. And just as he'd expected, they all kept on with their conversations as if nothing weird was happening. His roommate Birdie was bringing in a jug of punch and a fifth of vodka to add to the punchbowl, resplendent for the occasion in a curve- hugging velvet dress the exact shade T.J. and his pals back in Joshua Flats had referred to as "hello, officer" red. Birdie was a whole lotta chick, probably too much chick to be wearing a dress that tight, but she had the right attitude to pull it off. Her brother Chas was sitting on the couch with his roommate Eric, in a good-natured argument about each other's musical tastes as they tried to decide on a new CD. T.J. momentarily almost forgot his premonition as he kicked himself again for not having figured it out sooner, but then, _all_ those preppy guys had sort of a faggy air about them, so how was he supposed to have known? Cindy, a stone-gorgeous babe who had gone right from the Sterling Academy drama program into a plush movie deal opposite the one and only Leo, was the only one looking toward T.J. Smiling, too, which a year ago might have sent his pulse rate into overdrive. However, he'd had some bad experiences with stone-gorgeous babes recently, so he wasn't all that moved. The rest of the gang -- Tina, Jeff, Patsy, and some other of Birdie's former school chums whose names he'd forgotten -- were hanging out doing the party thing. None of them gave any sign of noticing anything out of the ordinary. But for T.J., the feeling was only getting stronger. He went into the tiny kitchen, where it was a little quieter, and tried to get a handle on his whacked-out senses. Puck and Alex kept telling him he had to pay attention to the weird shit, even if he'd just as soon ignore it. Because, they'd said and he'd grudgingly had to admit they were right, the more you ignore it, the more likely it is to blow up in your face. Hot in here. When Birdie entertained, she went a little berserk, so stuff was simmering on all four burners and there was a clunky old fondue pot that looked ready to detonate at any minute, showering the room with melted chocolate. T.J. opened the window that gave onto the fire escape, and all at once the feeling got stronger. Way stronger. He could even center on it now -- the bigass old antenna tower that stuck out of the top of the building next door. That was part of why he'd lobbied for this particular apartment. One of the other things Puck had explained to him was that there were lines of power in the earth and air that magic-freaks could sometimes tap into. He didn't know squat about the earth and air, but he understood the concept of power lines just fine, and being near that thing made him feel strangely at home. He wasn't even sure what it was called. An electric transformer, a power relay station, something like that. He understood, though, intuitively (more of that psychic crap), that it was a central point, a juncture, a hub. Being near it, he felt connected. Now, though, he felt troubled. "Hey, studmuffin," Birdie said, tapping him on the shoulder. "Enjoying our spectacular view or something? You've been standing there twenty minutes. It's almost midnight! And it's freezing in here; you're getting snow on the floor." "Yeah, okay, be right there," he mumbled absently. Something wrong at the power tower. It pulled at his brain. Something wrong. He crawled out the window onto the icy fire escape. A thick cable ran just over his head. He reached up and closed his fist around it. Juicing up. Energy surged and crackled into him. From inside, he heard a cork pop, heard Birdie filling glasses. The countdown began. Another premonition smacked him, and he let go of the cable two seconds before the explosion. He screamed without knowing he screamed, sensing the current short out, sensing the sudden blind idiot blare of machines seeking, seeking, their lifeblood cut off. Dead darkness slammed down like a coffin lid. * * "Stay in the car!" Elisa shouted at Beth. "You, too!" Beth shouted back. "No can do. It's my job." She slammed the door behind her and looked across the roof of the car at Matt, both of them sharing the same wry thought: so much for the coffee break. Her partner jumped into the glare of the headlights and flashed his badge. "Police!" he bellowed through the bullhorn he'd retrieved from the trunk. "Everybody remain calm! Return to your homes in an orderly fashion --" "Shut up, pig!" Someone bounced a can of beer off his shoulder, and an ugly rippling murmur of approval greeted this show of defiance. "Do people still call cops pigs?" Matt wondered at Elisa, then turned and grabbed the offender and wrestled him up against a wall. She didn't answer, because just then she saw Harry the Hammer and his group start moving. Many of them were carrying flashlights, the long-handled kind the police themselves favored because it was good as a baton in a pinch. More people materialized out of the chaos to join them. She recognized several faces from want-sheets and photos from various Quarryman activities, but none of them were wearing their bodysuits or toting their hammers. That failed to reassure her; in fact, only made her more wary. Whatever they were up to, they didn't even want it traced to the Quarrymen, who had never before been shy about taking credit for their mayhem. She grabbed the bullhorn that Matt had dropped, and began doing her best to restore order. Some people listened to her and fled indoors, but the Quarry-mob didn't disperse. Their attention seemed to be fixed on something behind her, and when she risked a quick glance, she saw the Aerie Building shining in the night. "Behold the Tower of Satan! His minions fly among us!" Elisa whirled. "Harry! You're under arrest!" He looked her way, and his face was transformed by loathing, dread, and an eerie revelation. She took a step forward, and only then realized that he was staring at her stomach. "Devil-lover!" he yelled. "Bride of demons! She's carrying the inhuman spawn of one of those monsters!" His flunkies were willing to be convinced, and surged toward her. Many of them recognized her from other rallies and events she'd broken up, and hated her even if they didn't believe Harry's impassioned claim. Elisa stumbled back against the car, for the first time in her law enforcement career utterly terrified for her life. And moreso for the life of the child within her. Matt, having cuffed his heckler to a mailbox, waved urgently at her. "Get inside!" The rush of wings and the crumple of metal as a very large gargoyle landed on the roof of Elisa's car was music to her ears. The advancing Quarrymen fell back, horrified, very few of them having ever seen an actual gargoyle in the flesh. Harry managed to look at once scared to death and exalted. "Good timing!" Matt turned to wink at Elisa's personal guardian angel, then his eyes widened in surprise just before a taloned foot caught him under the chin. The kick sent him flying back, denting the mailbox and landing on top of the cuffed man. Elisa froze in shock. That foot had been twilight-blue. "Jericho!" He leapt from the car, seized her under the arms, and whipped the legs out from under Harry the Hammer with one swipe of his muscular tail. Still carrying Elisa, he jumped back onto the Fairlane -- the two front tires blew and the hood caved in when he landed on it -- and from there to the roof, then to a van, then to a ledge. And then into the air. * * "See how the devil snatches his own from the wrath of the righteous!" Harry ranted. "But we are stronger! We are not afraid to face the devil on his own turf!" He leveled his flashlight at the distant glow of the Aerie Building. His mob, its numbers swelled by hangers-on caught up in the crazed fever of the moment, cheered and followed as he led them toward the Aerie Building, which drew him like a moth to a flame. There, he would root out and destroy every last trace of the devils. Including the Maza woman, whom he should have known all along was the Dark Madonna. If he survived, the Chosen One would honor him greatly on earth, and if not, he would reap his reward in the glory of Heaven. * * "I thought you didn't go in for this superhero stuff!" Birdie shouted, slipping and sliding after T.J. as he ran across the roof. He didn't slow, didn't answer, just kept on busting his buns toward the source of that dark, dead emptiness. He'd never been up here before but he followed his instincts and knew just where to go. Birdie's brother was close behind her, having shown sense long enough to grab his coat -- an act that put him a couple rungs above Birdie, who was courting pneumonia in her sleeveless dress, and T.J. himself, who was wearing a joke T-shirt with a tuxedo design printed on the front. The rest of the party-goers were still inside, having a higher weirdness threshold than the three of them. Shapes in the slowmo static of the falling snow -- man-shapes like cutouts of black construction paper. Now T.J. slowed, startled by the possibility that this was some sort of crazy commando-terrorist thing instead of just an overload or something nice and ordinary like that. The man-shapes didn't even look his way, but went off the far side of the roof so fast they either jumped or repelled. Once they were gone, T.J. hurried past a big cup-and-prong that looked like a satellite dish, and stopped at the foot of the tall silvery spire. The sense of weirdness increased tenfold as he picked up on a flicker, like letters burned into his head, letters in white fire that spelled out "Puck was here." "Do you see that?" he asked Birdie. "What?" "Never mind." He filed it under M for "More weird shit" and turned his attention to the tower. A large metal box built against the side of it was burst open and smoking, the lid hanging warped and askew. The hum that he should have detected was gone, utterly gone, flat, dead, never-gonna-eat-barbecue-again. All around him, the city was a wailing horrorshow. Not just the people; to T.J., who had grown up in a town whose population had never exceeded two hundred, there were just too many people to seem real. Like the stars. You just had to accept it without thinking about it, or it would drive you out of your mind. It wasn't the people that got at him now, it was the machines, the electricity. The starving, flayed sizzle of exposed and seeking nerve endings. "Mind telling me what you're doing?" Birdie sounded exasperated but not terribly surprised. "Stay back," he told her. "This might get ... pyrotechnic." "Oh, yes, very nice," Chas said as if they were discussing the weather, and pulled his sister in the other direction. T.J. threw his arms wide, embracing as much of the base of the tower as he could reach. He thought insanely of those people who chained themselves to redwoods to spare the axes, knowing he must look a lot like that. A save-the-power-lines techno-druid. He wasn't normally much of a reader, but for one of his last school assignments he'd done a book report on Lucifer's Hammer, plodding through it with moderate interest. Now a line from it popped into his head in bright neon. "For the lightning!" he shouted. Birdie, who would probably be a wiseass on her deathbed, shouted back, "Spoon!" T.J. gave it everything he had. Once, when he'd been a little kid, he'd zapped himself a good one on a frayed lamp cord. He remembered his frantic adoptive mother swearing up and down that he shouldn't have survived -- and now he knew why he had -- but there hadn't even been any pain. A ticklish tingle, a weird pre-sexual jolt. This was just like it. He tripped something in the guts of the transformer, bringing it to sudden, sparking life, and the current fed into him, then he poured it back in, creating a loop with himself as a living conduit. St. Elmo's fire made a blue and white Spirograph in the sky. It dimmed, laboring, as T.J. struggled to cope with the heavy draining demand of lights and televisions and appliances all glomming onto the trickle of energy like millions of mosquitos on one pathetic vein. He reached deeper, reached outward from this central hub, and found the others. Dominos falling in reverse. A mental image -- series of switches, the big ones with perforated rubber handles, getting thrown into the 'on' position one by one. His back arched and his hair stood on end. He saw his hands gloved in white, saw sparks leaping from his skin. Just when he thought he couldn't take it anymore, that he was going to explode like a mouse in the microwave, something seemed to _catch_ and took over. T.J. reeled back a few steps, smoking, his thoughts an electric, senseless hurricane. "Tropical island in the sun," he warbled with a passable Jamaican accent. He flopped over bonelessly and soft blackness like warm felt enveloped him. * * The city groaned and brayed as the power came back on. The Year 2000 Blackout (as the papers would snidely call it the next day) had lasted all of fifteen minutes. All over Manhattan, emotions that had been rising to a fever pitch were cast into confusion. Those who seized on any excuse to loot had only started into motion when the lights came on again, leaving them awkward and embarrassed as burglar alarms howled. Goliath only nodded in satisfaction -- less work for his clan -- and kept gliding determinedly. A streetlight cast a pool of radiance over Elisa's car, showing the mangled metal to good advantage. At the periphery of the light was Matt Bluestone, out cold on top of a struggling, indignant man handcuffed to a mailbox. Goliath swooped down, his heart in his throat. "Elisa! Where are you?" Someone banged on the car door from the inside. Goliath bent down and saw Beth trying to force it open, but the roof had been bent inward and the doors were jammed. He yanked one off, and Beth practically fell into his arms. "Where is Elisa?" "Another gargoyle flew away with her," Beth said breathlessly. "She called him Jericho." * * "I suppose there's a perfectly good explanation for what we just saw," Chas Yale said, gallantly removing his coat and draping it over his sister's bare shoulders. "Yeah, but it's a long one," Birdie replied, gingerly approaching T.J. He had melted the snow around him into a smeary guy-shaped puddle, and he wasn't sparking or smoking anymore, but she still wasn't too eager to touch him. "Please, take your time and tell us," a voice invited, a crisp, classy, British-sounding voice. A man in a black outfit that looked like a Kevlar ninja-suit stepped into view. He had a neat blond moustache and was wearing a mask/headscarf, and Birdie would have had a major 'Princess Bride' moment if not for the gun the newcomer held cradled in his arms. Chas was wearing a don't-I-know-him? look, and Birdie grabbed his hand, squeezed it tight, trying to warn him to keep quiet. If Jon Canmore, Aunt Margot's new main honeybunch, knew that they recognized him, he'd blow them away. And if they thought their mother had a hefty Valium prescription _now_ ... "Please, mister, we didn't do anything," Birdie said, letting her voice shake. It wasn't hard; she didn't have to act. She'd been in some scrapes before, faced down killer unicorns and Quarryman hammers and thugs with switchblades, but this was the first time anyone had actually pulled a gun on her. "You might not have, but whoever that little bastard is, he's ruined _months_ of planning and hard work, and I'd like to know just how he did it." She wanted to say it, wanted to quote at him _so_ bad. But now it was Chas applying crushing force to her hand, picking up her thoughts with the stress-telepathy close friends and siblings sometimes shared. So, instead of suggesting that Canmore 'get used to disappointment,' she gulped and stammered, "I don't suppose you'd believe it was magic?" "Ha, ha, I think not." He was peering at the two of them now, his mouth curled down as if trying to figure out where he'd seen them before. Birdie didn't know if that would be a good thing or a bad one. Surely Aunt Margot hadn't told him anything friendly about her niece. Chas, though ... she'd never had anything against Chas ... oh, except for that yacht incident. Her spirits sank. She was not seeing a way out of this for the Yale kids that didn't end up with at least one of them shot. Unless maybe T.J. ...? She threw a quick hopeful look his way, but he was still totally out to lunch. "Well, Roberta?" Canmore asked, dashing her hopes that he hadn't recognized her. She had no idea what she was going to say, just that it would be some wildly inventive lie, and since it would be her last performance, she might as well make it a good one. "I --" she said. A snowball the size of a pumpkin plummeted from the sky, knocking Canmore flat on his face. The gun went off, searing a clear streak in the snow. Brooklyn landed and planted one talon on the barrel of the gun, brushing snow from his palms. "Happy New Year." "You have the best goddam timing, red, I could kiss you," Birdie said in a relieved rush. He winked. "Later. Who's the jerk?" "The man called Castaway," Chas said, and Brooklyn jumped like he'd been shot. "What?!" Canmore lunged up, shedding his coating of snow as if it were a stone skin. He tried to bring up the gun but Brooklyn's tail lashed it away, sending it sliding through the slush and over the edge of the building. "I'll kill at least one gargoyle tonight!" Canmore vowed vehemently. "I don't think so." Brooklyn landed a perfect punch, a textbook roundhouse that sent Canmore flying backward. With nearly balletic grace, he managed to keep his footing. He flicked a small sphere at the gargoyle, the savage grin on his face clearly stating that he expected it to have painful consequences. But as the sphere flew, electricity arced from it to the unconscious T.J., making him spasm like he just got hit with a defibrillator. The sphere, harmless now, bounced off Brooklyn's chest. T.J. bolted upright, but the dazed look on his face proclaimed that he had no idea where he was or what was happening. Birdie had seen that happen before. When he tried a major stunt, it sometimes blanked out his short-term memory, and this was the most major stunt to date. Brooklyn went after Canmore. "Got any other ideas?" Canmore backed up steadily. He looked torn between genocidal hatred and the discretion that was the better part of valor. When two other figures, Lex and Hudson, swooped low and landed, Canmore decided. He flung down another sphere, not taking his chances by tossing it near T.J. this time. A miniature sun bloomed, baking with heat. The gargoyles cried out and covered their eyes. While they were blinded, Canmore fled through the roof access stairwell door. * * It had been a long time since she knew fear in the arms of a gargoyle, Elisa Maza thought as her feet dangled far above the streets of Manhattan. A long time. Probably not since the first time, when she'd fallen and Goliath had come after her. At the time, she hadn't been sure which was the worse fate -- pavement pizza, or being torn apart and devoured alive by the fierce-looking creature that grabbed her. She still wasn't sure which was the worse fate. Elisa didn't struggle, didn't fight, didn't reach for the gun. Not that she could have gotten at her gun anyway; Jericho's hands were seated firmly under her arms, pressing the gun in its shoulder holster painfully into her side. Which meant that he knew it was there. Even through her bulky winter coat, he was bound to notice. She didn't try to talk to him either, partly because she would have to shout to make herself heard above the rushing wind, and partly because she had no idea what to say. All those classes, those cop psychology classes on dealing with the reality-challenged, didn't offer much that would be helpful in this case. He veered left, soared high, and descended toward the wide stone-railed balcony that marked the refurbished clocktower of the 23rd Precinct station house. The hands of the clock -- funded by a private donation from the Xanatos Foundation -- stood at 12:18. Jericho landed, released her, stepped back. He caped his wings and studied her with an unreadable expression. She could have gone for her gun then, but something made her wait. The silence between them became unbearable. His gaze shifted to her stomach, and his jaw tightened with pain and anger. "Why?" she asked when she couldn't stand the suspense a moment longer. "They didn't deserve the honor of killing you," he replied flatly. She swallowed. Tried to think of what she could say that wouldn't enrage him. "You're afraid, Elisa Maza," he said, apparently pleased by it. "Did you fear I would drop you?" Elisa nodded. "But you didn't." "And now you're wondering if it was so I could kill you at my leisure." "The thought crossed my mind." She willed herself to stay calm. "There's nothing I can say that will change your opinion, Jericho, so I won't try." "No appeal to the legendary nobility I supposedly inherited from my father?" She shook her head. "Good. You'd be wrong." "I know. Tell me what you want. If you want me to beg for my life, I will. For mine and my baby's." "Why should your child be allowed to live when ours wasn't?" His soft, intense whisper conveyed more anguish than any thundering roar. She shrank back, suddenly terrified that he would rip the amber pendant from her, strip her of the magic, make her body reject the pregnancy just as Demona's had done. Somehow, she kept her voice steady. "I can't answer that. There isn't an answer to that. But killing mine isn't going to bring yours back. All it would do is make me feel the way Demona must be feeling right now. Do you hate me that much?" "If you felt as she did, you'd be dead. There's no immortality to make suicide a futile thought for you. Since the day she lost the baby, nothing brings her joy." Elisa felt colder, not just from the chill seeping into her body from the snow-covered stone she leaned against, but spreading from within. "And you think my death would accomplish that?" Jericho's smile was sharp ice. "You misjudge me, detective. I've never intended to harm you." "What game are you playing?" She knew it was unwise, likely to provoke him, but she couldn't stop the irritation from tingeing her tone. "Simple." He moved forward, and she had nowhere to flee, so she pressed herself against the wall. Jericho stopped in front of her, lightly pinched her chin between his thumb and the knuckle of his forefinger. He regarded her with mixed fascination and revulsion. "I don't understand what he sees in you. But I know that you mean everything to him. As long as Goliath has you, there is no way he'd ever go back to Demona." "Even if he didn't, he wouldn't!" she protested. "I think you're wrong. I think if he lost you, he would be devastated. His best and strongest tie with humankind would be torn away. He would eventually come to see the truth, come around to Demona's way. There's a chance she might take him back. I can't permit that." "I don't know what you're talking about." "As long as you are his, she is mine. Is that clear enough?" She recoiled, staring at him. "So that's it. You think he could win her away from you." "He couldn't," Jericho said through gritted teeth. "He cannot offer her what I do -- the dedication, the obedience that she desires. But I won't share her. I won't. She is mine, and I am hers. We are one. Now and forever. That is how it is meant to be, and I will not let Goliath ruin it. Which means that I must not only spare you, but protect you." The words fell between them like stones. Elisa gaped. "Yes," he said. "Protect you. Ironic, I know. And if Demona learned of it, I can't imagine her fury. She hates you with a fever that would burn cinderblock. But I see, as she does not, that your death would only bring her temporary happiness. While I can bring her a lifetime of it. As long as I keep you alive." * * "This is unbelievable," David Xanatos said, shaking his head. "Shouldn't they have torches and pitchforks?" "Flashlights and sledgehammers aren't good enough for you?" Angela retorted, peering down from the battlements at the encroaching mob. "It is rather a sorry showing," Elektra said. "I thought there were more." "There were, until the power came back on," Aiden said. "I guess the others didn't think it was fun anymore, once there was a chance they'd get caught." "Is there aught we should do?" Elektra wondered. "The building's defenses should prove more than adequate," Owen replied. "But they mean to break the glass!" "Let them try." Xanatos smirked. "They'd need a tank." True enough, the first attempt with a hurled trash barrel rebounded off the lobby doors and rolled through the front line of the mob. "I've always wanted to drop a water balloon off of here," Aiden mused. "But I always worried I might hit somebody." "The way they're packed down there, you could hardly miss," Angela said, grinning. "But I don't have any balloons. Guess I'll have to improvise." The small grey gargoyle conjured a sphere of water that hung wavery and ripply in midair. "Bombs away!" From far below came a startled outcry. "More," Elektra urged. "'Tis that, or start throwing rotten fruit and dumping chamber pots." Xanatos drew himself up, pretending to be offended. "Chamber pots? In _my_ castle?" "More?" Aiden looked at Owen, who tilted his head indifferently. "Well ... it is to protect the castle ... okay." She conjured again, this time bringing forth enough water to fill a swimming pool, and let it fall. KA-PHAAAASH! "Owen, make a note; we'll need the window-washers in tomorrow," Xanatos said as the drenched, freezing mob scattered like quail. * * Jon Canmore, unable to believe that it had all gone wrong so suddenly, flew his hoverbike around a skyscraper just in time to see his army dispersed under a torrent. He caught a brief glimpse of Harry the Hammer, one of his most loyal underlings, bounding in the opposite direction from the castle in panicked gazelle-like leaps. Disgusted and hurting from the red gargoyle's punch -- he was lucky his jaw hadn't been dislocated -- Canmore turned around and left the Aerie Building behind him. Hopelessness snuggled up to him, whispering its seductive tune. Give up, it wheedled. You'll never win. Forget about the gargoyles. "Never!" he shouted into the driving sleet, instantly regretting it because it caused a blossom of fresh pain in his wounded mouth. Badly in need of some inspiration, he headed for the police station. The sight of it would remind him how it used to be, how it was when he wasn't alone. When Jason had been in charge, so confident. When Robyn had been the constant comfort and support, making herself Wendy to her Lost Boys brothers. When they had been a family, joined by their common cause. He could not have asked for a better reward than the sight that met his eyes. A gargoyle of impressive wingspan, and a woman. In the shadows and snow, he couldn't be one hundred percent certain it was Goliath, but that didn't matter. He swooped to the attack. * * "Broadway, take Matt and Beth to the castle. Have Aiden seek for Elisa. I will begin here." Without waiting to see that his order was obeyed, Goliath clawed up the side of a building and took to the air. His desperate terror and rage at the thought of Elisa in the hands of his insane son were too much to deal with, so Goliath shoved his emotions aside and concentrated on his search. He went first to the Nightstone Building, and while he was busy finding nothing, heard a hoverbike motor. Although the rider was all in plain black, he knew one of the Hunters' vehicles when he saw it. He followed. * * "And so, good night." Jericho made a slight bow and prepared to leave. Elisa reached into her pocket, hoping one of her station keys would work on this door, or else she'd have to pick the lock. A high buzzing whine filled her ears, sending her memory spinning back to the day she had entered this very same building. Then, she'd heard it in the hallway, turned, been scooped up by Jason Canmore moments before the clocktower turned into a fireball. Now, it was coming from above. A harsh white beam stabbed down, pinning Jericho in a circle of light. He flung his forearm over his eyes and leapt to the side as a machine gun chattered. * * It wasn't Goliath. It wasn't the demon. But it looked like them both, and Jon didn't have to be shown a family tree to understand that it was their son. Both his worst enemies, rolled into one big package. "Die, monster, die," he breathed, and fired. The beast dodged, then whirled and plucked up the woman -- Elisa Maza, of course, the woman who had poisoned Jason's mind and turned him against his family and his cause -- and dove over the rail. * * "There!" Lex shouted, pointing, as the hoverbike they'd been chasing zipped between two buildings. "Head him off!" Brooklyn called. They dipped low as they came around a corner, which saved them from a nasty midair collision as a huge gargoyle swept by right overhead with Elisa in his arms. "Goliath!" Lex hailed, but it went unheard as he kept on going. And here came Canmore, his spotlight slicing the night. And behind Canmore ... "Goliath?" Brooklyn gasped. * * Goliath would have thought he couldn't imagine a worse situation than Elisa captured by Jericho. But this was worse. Elisa captured by Jericho, with the Hunter in pursuit. If he went after one, the other would either get away or have the opportunity to kill. Two figures soared to meet him. He braced for an attack, then recognized Brooklyn and Lexington. "What's going on?" Lex yelled. "Stop Canmore! I'll take Jericho!" "Oh, shit!" Brooklyn exclaimed succinctly as he jerked his head around to stare after the departing gargoyle. "It _is_ Jericho!" "Where is Hudson?" "With T.J. and Birdie. T.J.'s messed up," Lex hastily explained as he and Brooklyn came about in tight formation and went after the hoverbike. Goliath nodded curtly and spoke a word he'd never said out loud before, which brought wide-eyed shock to the faces of his younger clansmembers. He spread his wings and let the updrafts carry him high. If only Hudson had been here ... of all the clan, he alone had something approaching a rapport with Jericho. But Hudson wasn't here, which meant they couldn't bother with diplomacy. Goliath clenched his fists and flew onward. * * As if things weren't crazy enough! Elisa thought, cringing against the shelter of Jericho's broad chest as bullets whizzed past them. This was pretty much the last way she'd expected to spend the first hour of the New Year. The only way things could get worse would be -- She made herself shy away from that line of thinking, because with her luck, it would happen. * * Gargoyles to the left of him, gargoyles to the right of him. Jon Canmore cursed and snarled as they closed in, the red one who had punched him, and his smaller companion. He took evasive action, but the red one passed under him and ripped with his talons at the underside of the hoverbike. Smoke belched from the steering column, and all at once the bike went where it had a mind to, like a crazed bronco. Canmore fought with it, to no avail. The throttle jammed, the bike screamed as it accelerated, and the plate-glass window of a pricey Park Avenue apartment complex towered dead ahead. The gargoyles split off from the doomed bike as it crashed straight into the window and kept on going. Canmore shrieked and ducked, covering his face. The bike tipped wildly back and forth, nearly throwing him, as the furnishings of a ritzy living room passed in a blur. A closed door. The bike went through; Canmore didn't, peeled off on the top of the door frame. A hall, then another door. Again the bike went through. On the other side was another apartment, this one full of partygoers who jumped out of the way as the hoverbike sped by. * * "Where did he --?" Brooklyn began, and then the hoverbike came smashing out a window on the other side of the building, slammed into a brick wall, exploded, and began to rain down on Park Avenue in a shower of burning metal. "Wow, just like in a movie!" Lex said. "He wasn't on it, so let's go!" Faces beneath party hats had appeared at the jagged hole that used to be a window, but they scrambled back as the gargoyles appeared. "Hi, Happy New Year," Brooklyn said as they crunched over broken glass and mangled furniture as hastily as they could. "Don't mind us; just passing through." Although they could easily trace the bike's path, Canmore was gone like smoke. * * Goliath was aware of the hoverbike's spectacular crash, but it stirred nothing in his heart except the mildest relief. All that mattered to him was Elisa. Ahead of him, below him, Jericho wove a course among the skyscrapers. He landed atop a department store, in the shelter of a weatherbeaten light-festooned aluminum Christmas tree that had yet to be taken down. Jericho released Elisa and moved a few paces from her. Just the opening Goliath had been hoping for. He thrust his fists out in front of him and dove, letting gravity and momentum turn him into one gigantic projectile. The force of the collision reverberated down Goliath's spine. Jericho cartwheeled backward, head over tail, into the base of the Christmas tree. It tolled like a gong. The mass of the tree tilted over with a slow squeal. Goliath glanced quickly at Elisa, she all wide dark eyes and streaming dark hair. How close he had come to never seeing that beloved face again! How close he had come to losing her, their child, everything! Just as Aiden had foretold! He would not let that future come to be. He stalked toward the groaning, moving pile of limbs that was Jericho, claws eager to rend and ruin. "Goliath, no!" Elisa cried. "He saved my life!" He stopped, incredulity washing over him. "What?" "He saved my life," Elisa repeated. Jericho sat up, wiping blood from his lip with the back of his hand, and met Goliath's eyes with a challenging glare. "Do you have a problem with that?" He looked back and forth between them, uncertain. "But ..." Jericho laboriously got to his feet, wincing. "Don't think you know everything, Goliath. Don't think you know _me_! Your ... mate has nothing to fear from me." Incredibly, unbelievably, he almost thought that Jericho spoke the truth. Elisa came to Goliath's side, took his arm. "He means it. If he wanted me dead, I would be by now." "I ... he ..." Goliath floundered, then shook his head and faced Jericho. "Thank you." "I didn't do it for you, so keep your thanks." Jericho limped to the edge of the roof, unfurling his wings with a hiss of pain as the bruised flesh moved and stretched. Goliath drew Elisa close against his side, feeling her tremble from reaction and from the cold as the snow began falling more heavily. "Jericho ..." The younger male stepped off without pausing, reappearing moments later on an updraft, a dwindling shadow against the winter's backdrop. Elisa rested her head against his chest. "What a night, huh?" He sank his fingers into her snow-speckled hair and ran his palm over the bulge of weight that cradled their child. "When Beth told me ..." "I know. I thought so too." "But we were wrong about Jericho," Goliath said, feeling a strange warmth of hope. "He is not beyond redemption." Elisa sighed. "Actually, he's even crazier than we suspected. But right now, I'm glad." * * "They're waiting for you," Margot Yale said impatiently. "Let them wait," Jon Canmore slurred. He reached for the bottle of scotch and knocked it over. The liquid ran across his prepared speech and dribbled onto the floor. Margot snatched up the papers. "You can't go on like this, Jon. They're depending on you." "Why? Haven't I failed them enough yet?" His gaze weaved its way up to her as if unable to decide which of two Margots to focus on. "After that New Year's debacle, I'm amazed any of them ever showed up again! We make our plans, and we fail. Every time, we fail!" "So you're going to let them win?" He finally noticed the spilled bottle, and stood it upright again. "Haven't they?" "I guess they have." Margot took a folded piece of construction paper from her purse. "Look at what my niece sent me." He opened it and stared at the newsprint headline about the blackout, pasted above a photograph of himself from last year's VIP magazine. Someone had added a magic-marker moustache, long and stiff and curled up at the ends, and a word-balloon with "Curses! Foiled again!" scrawled inside. "I really hate that girl," he said. * * "I don't care if it _is_ tradition!" Angela said, waddling toward Hudson with one finger poking at him threateningly. "I want my mate right here in the rookery with me!" "But lass ..." He gave up. "Aye, verra well." Aiden and Elektra giggled and went on patting and rearranging straw until it was piled to their liking. Over the past couple of weeks, each female had insisted on bringing various items to make the place more homey. Aiden's stuffed toy Gizmo, a watercolor Elektra had done of Avalon, photographs of the clan and their friends -- in Hudson's opinion, it was all far too cluttered and they'd have scant room for all the eggs, but he had to keep reminding himself that there weren't going to be three dozen eggs this time. He couldn't even really hope for more than five or six. Outside the castle, February doldrums held Manhattan in a dreary grip. The snow that had blanketed the city white in January had now become heaps of brown mush. But inside, as the females grew near their term, all was happiness and excitement. The moodiness was behind them now, though they were getting weary of being landbound. Angela could still glide short distances, but was acutely conscious of how funny she looked when she did. Aiden looked like a top view of an opened umbrella, the poor lass barely able to get her arms to her sides on account of how round her middle had gotten. Elektra was still much too thin for Hudson's liking, but at last her nervous stomach had settled and she'd put on a few pounds. "Look who's here!" Elisa called from the top of the rookery stairs. "Delilah!" Angela waved in welcome, then goggled as Delilah made her way carefully down. Hudson's jaw dropped. He'd not seen her much over the winter, and while he'd heard she was getting big, he wasn't prepared for the sight of her. She was almost shaped like an egg herself, a smooth curve belling out her flesh. And beautiful! If there was anything more lovely to behold than a female at the height of her breeding season, it was one who brimmed with new life. Her eyes touched his briefly and warmly, then flicked away. She joined her sisters in arranging straw, and he moved to the rear wall to watch them with what he hoped seemed grandfatherly indulgence. Elisa laughingly declined to join them. "I'll use a crib, thanks anyway!" As they worked, Elektra and Angela began to sing an old Scottish cradle-song that they must have learned at Katherine's knee. Halfway through the third chorus, Elektra broke off with a startled exclamation and pressed her hands to her belly. "Elektra?" Aiden reached for her. "Would someone be so kind as to fetch my mate?" she asked. "Methinks 'tis time!" "I'll get him," Elisa said, hurrying for the door. Hudson felt acutely out of place. A male in the rookery, when the eggs were being lain? It just wasn't done that way! But, evidently, now it was. Broadway came in all anxious and jittery, holding Elektra's hand while she smiled and reassured him. Dr. Masters, who had endeared himself to all the females over the past six months, checked each of them and announced that he wouldn't be surprised if they all clutched tonight. Had something to do with those pheromone things again. He launched into a complicated lecture, but Hudson told him to save it for later. The news sent the castle into a tizzy. Owen was hastily dispatched to retrieve Samson from the Labyrinth. By midnight, the upper hall was crowded with friends and well-wishers. Aiden's family in California waited by the phone to hear how many grandchildren they could be expecting in ten more years. Below, in the rookery, the only ones in attendance were the mated pairs, Hudson, and the doctor. That was for the best, given the modesty of some of the females. At five past twelve, Elektra birthed one small egg, its shell soft and pale, mottled with large purplish spots. "A lad, most likely," Hudson said. Dr. Masters looked up with interest. "How can you tell?" "The pattern o' the markings," he explained absently, keeping a close watch on Delilah. Samson was doing well, supporting her as she strained. "A boy!" Elektra fell back into the straw, gasping from her exertions, and caressed the shell with one slim hand. She gazed rapturously up at Broadway, who wasn't ashamed to have all his brothers see him cry. "Malcolm." "Malcolm," Broadway agreed, touching the egg. Hudson smiled, remembering his friend the prince, Elektra's father. It seemed right and fitting that her child should be named for him. Nothing more happened until after one in the morning, and then several things happened at once. Four hours passed in a blur, with Birdie and T.J. running back and forth carrying news of each new development to the others waiting upstairs. Finally, at five-thirty, Dr. Masters exhaled wearily. "I do believe we're done." Hudson sat against the wall, stunned. Nine eggs rested in the rookery. One for Elektra. Two for Aiden, a male and a female. Two for Angela, also a male and a female. And for Delilah ... an amazing total of four! Three males and a female, their shells sturdy, their markings clear. Fine, strong eggs. _His_ eggs! He wanted to go to Delilah, hold her and congratulate her and thank her, but Samson was doing that already, and if he did the same, their carefully-kept secret of the past several months would be out and undone. But, as he watched her, exhausted and magnificent, curling her body amid the shells to give them her warmth, he almost did it anyway. * * "We were down. We were beaten. But now ..." Jon Canmore paused, letting the tension build. "We live again!" Full-throated roars answered him. Not as many as there once might have been, true. Membership had dropped off a bit. But what these remaining Quarrymen lacked in numbers, they made up for in sheer bloody-minded fanaticism. Oddly, he could thank Harry the Hammer for it all. Following the blackout, Harry had been found by the cops and detained in the psych ward, raving with what they thought were standard end-of-the-millennium religious delusions. But Jon, once he deciphered the man's babbling, was stricken with a cold, dark certainty. His thoughts flashed back to the brief glimpse of Elisa Maza, realizing that it hadn't been just a coat and sweater thickening her normally trim figure. Once he'd gotten over the repulsed shock, he had quickly seen ways to turn her blessed event to his advantage. It would have been an easy matter to abduct her from the police station. Well, perhaps not an easy matter, but possible. He had even gone so far as to begin planning the assault. And then the answer had come to him, clear and perfect. There was no way she would be able to keep a half-gargoyle monstrosity concealed. The world would know. He would see to that. Perhaps the gargoyles themselves were no longer sufficient to strike fear in the hearts of men, but the news that they were tainting humanity with their evil seed ... that would bring about a whole new wave of terror. Terror was good for business. The people would cry out for the Quarrymen to protect them. The Quarrymen, who had known this threat for what it was all along. Who had tried to stop it and been mocked, jeered, treated like criminals. Now the world would see that everything the brotherhood of the hammer had done was in humanity's best interest! So he would keep an eye on the degenerate Ms. Maza and her horrific mutant child. Sooner or later, she would slip, and he would be there. There was nothing like a renewed sense of purpose to make a man feel like himself again. * * "Are you getting enough sleep?" Goliath fretted. "As much as you are," Elisa said, yawning. "All day long, like a stone." She grimaced. "What is it?" "Another of those Braxton-Hicks contractions, feel." He touched her stomach, which was hard as a drum, the flesh drawn taut. It remained that way for the better part of a minute, then relaxed. An immediate kick was felt by both of them. "Someone is protesting," he rumbled, smiling. "Someone's probably bored and ready to come out," Elisa said. "God knows _I'm_ ready!" "It is still a week until the due date," he reminded her. "I'm counting the hours," she assured him, shifting to try and find a more comfortable position that didn't put pressure on her back or her bladder. There weren't any. Finally she rolled onto her side, cradling her stomach in one arm. Kick, kick, kick. "Okay, all right, okay already!" Elisa said, rolling onto her back. "Strong little thing! Takes after Daddy. Would you get the tape? Sometimes the music helps." He obliged, fitting the headphones onto her abdomen. Elisa still couldn't believe she was doing this, but Maggie swore by it, and she had to admit, it did settle the baby down. The soothing music of Mozart began playing. For about thirty seconds, and then the music turned into a garbled mess. Goliath popped the cassette out, trailing intestinal coils of tape. "Oh, great," Elisa laughed and groaned at the same time. "Now what?" Goliath rested his head on her like a pillow, and began to hum. The deep, low tones seemed to sink into her like heat. The pulsing glow of the amber pendant around Elisa's neck slowed. The baby calmed. So did Elisa, lulled into sleep. She surfaced briefly, aware of Goliath's tender kiss brushing her lips, and then he departed to take his place on the battlements before dawn. She let sleep claim her. Wakefulness came completely and suddenly. She saw the last red- gold rays of the sun beaming through breaks in the rain-heavy April clouds. She struggled to sit up, her bones aching from several hours in the same position. A cramp dug into her side and she paused until it went away. But it didn't go away -- it intensified into a vise that made her fist her hands in the sheets and gasp. "Uh-oh," she muttered to herself. "That was a real one." She picked up the phone at the bedside. "Doc? It's showtime." * * Goliath woke with a roar, breathing the rainwashed air. All around him, his clan did the same. "Let's patrol the park!" Angela said. "I love the park after a good rain!" The females had regained their former sleek shapes, and now that the weather was being cooperative, they relished every chance to get out and glide. "Good evening," Xanatos said, emerging onto the battlements. He popped a cigar into Goliath's mouth. "What is this for?" Goliath spat it into his hand and regarded it with distaste. "It used to be the custom for the expectant father to pace the waiting room handing out cigars. Just thought I'd help you get the custom out of the way." He proffered a box. Aiden squealed. "You mean, now?" "Now," Xanatos said. Goliath drew his brow ridges together. "What are you talking about?" Xanatos clapped him on the shoulder. "They just wheeled Elisa into the delivery room." "What?!" He flung down the cigar. "And you waste my time with this nonsense?" Without waiting for an answer, he shoved past the smirking Xanatos and loped for the stairs. Dr. Johnson, who still had not said a word to any of the clan, or indeed spoken at all in their hearing, was just coming out with a clipboard. She ducked out of the way as Goliath charged past. He caught the door before it could close. Elisa smiled at him, though her face was tense with pain. "Someone's decided to come early." "Only a week," Dr. Masters said. "I feel that's comfortably within the margin for error." "Are you all right?" He took one of Elisa's hands in both of his. "What can I do?" "Just -- ooch!" She clamped down hard on his fingers. "Just be here." Now he understood why males both human and gargoyle traditionally had avoided the rookery and the delivery room. It was terrible to see his mate in pain, to know he was partly responsible, and to have there be nothing he could do. The murmur of voices in the hall told him the entire clan was gathered outside, eagerly awaiting the birth of their newest member. "Can ... can you have someone ..." Elisa panted, "... get my folks? I'd like ... to have Mom here." Goliath passed that duty along to Angela, then asked the doctor how long it would be. "She's already five centimeters," Masters said. "Moving along pretty quick. Before midnight, I'd think. So far, she and the baby are both doing fine." Rather than call, Angela drafted Brooklyn and Broadway to come with her and literally pick up the Mazas, while Lex contacted the Labyrinth to inform Talon he was going to be an uncle. Goliath still felt helpless, even as he was sponging Elisa's forehead with cool water and helping her walk between contractions. The rest of the females had made it look easy, thanks to the design of their pelvises. None of their labors had been this severe, yet Masters swore this was a quick and simple labor. Goliath's estimation of humans went up a notch. Diane Maza brought an air of take-charge competency with her, which eased Goliath's nerves quite a bit. Together, they helped Elisa into the birthing-chair, which supported her in a more or less upright position and let her body work more efficiently to deliver the baby. "You didn't give her any painkillers?" Diane asked. "We weren't sure what effect it would have on the baby," Masters replied. "I'm okay, Mom, really," Elisa said, breathing steadily and in sync with Goliath as they'd practiced from the Lamaze videos. The digital clock proclaimed it to be 11:53 when Masters announced that the baby was crowning. Elisa bore down hard, shaking from the effort. Her sweat-slick back was pressed against Goliath's chest, his arms around her as he looked down over her shoulders. "Again," Masters urged. "Come on, honey, you can do it," Diane said. She pushed again, every muscle rigid. The baby's head emerged, and then the shoulders, and then the entire body sliding loose into the doctor's capable hands. 11:58. "It's a girl," Masters announced jubilantly. Elisa sobbed and laughed, clinging to Goliath, who was awestruck and amazed by what he'd just witnessed. "Let me see her!" "Let me clean her up a little first," Diane said, whisking the baby to a waiting plastic tub of warm water. As she immersed her granddaughter, a wail rose to the ceiling. "Okay, let's get rid of the placenta," Masters instructed. "Another good push ought to do it." Moments later, Goliath carried Elisa to the waiting hospital bed and smoothed back her hair. Diane approached, carrying an infant swaddled in a clean towel. "Elisa, honey, she's beautiful," Diane said, placing the baby on Elisa's lap. Goliath peeled back the folds of the towel, and they looked upon their daughter. Wings that shaded to deep lavender were wrapped tightly around her tiny body. Her skin was a touch darker than Elisa's, her head covered with fine silky/downy sable hair. At the outer edge of each eyebrow was a single bump, barely more than a nub, hardly noticeable. Her feet were delicate and clawed, three-toed and high-arched as they'd seen on the ultrasound, but small, no bigger than the feet of a normal human baby. She wailed again, waving little five-fingered fists. "Hey, there," Elisa said, tears of happiness running down her face. "Hello, my daughter," Goliath said. At once, the baby stopped wailing and opened eyes that were so dark they were almost black. Her lips quivered as she searched the faces above her. Goliath extended one finger, and gently caressed the soft cheek. The baby's mouth turned toward him, seeking. "She's hungry," Diane said, and helped Elisa put the baby to her breast. "Yowch!" "Good nursing reflex," Masters observed. He was standing back, making rapid notes. The door inched open and Angela peeked in. "Can we see? Please, Father?" "Come and meet your sister," Goliath said. The clan crowded around, startling the baby into flaring her wings, but she quieted and returned to the business of feeding while the others oohed and aahed. Elektra burst into an alarming fit of joyful tears, Broadway patting her on the back. "Ye've done well," Hudson told Goliath and Elisa. "What are you going to name her?" Aiden asked. Goliath and Elisa exchanged a glance. "We hadn't discussed it," Elisa said. "But I know what I'd like to call her." She clasped the pendant Elektra had given her. "Yes," Goliath said. "Her name will be Amber." * * The End