8:21 pm

“The guards were found approximately ten minutes post-mortem.  By that time, Canmore had already left through the main gate.  He stole the male guard’s uniform and their weapons.  It appears he freed a fellow prisoner, Dr. Harleen Quinzel, alias Harley Quinn, a classified psychopath who was awaiting transfer back to Gotham.  She probably was responsible for taking Kelly Mercardo’s uniform and thus avoided detection.” Maria Chavez looked haggard as she glanced up from her notes.  The squad room’s members were silent.  Elisa Maza gripped the side of her chair and continued her shallow breaths.  In, out, in, out.

“What were the weapons involved?” someone finally asked.  It was Shaw, starting his third year on the force.  Bit of a flake but Elisa grudgingly gave him credit for picking up the minute details.

Chavez clicked a button, shifting the picture on the overhead projector. “This.”

“I’m sorry, Captain, but … it looks like pottery shards.”

“They’re the remains of a ceramic gun.  Very rare, almost certainly custom-crafted, so there’s no serial number, although the design closely resembles a Carbine shotgun with custom fittings for a silencer, which was found several feet away.  Canmore killed another guard to steal one of Riker’s smaller boats, and it finally shattered from simple usage.  The ceramic shrapnel you’re looking at onscreen was taken from that man’s body.  Items like these don’t last very long, but when they finally break down, it usually involves the gun detonating.  Extremely dangerous to anyone in the way.”

“Sonuvabitch,” Morgan muttered. “It would’ve been a relative cinch sneaking it into Riker.  Ceramic wouldn’t have showed up on the metal detectors.”

“But what about the silencer?” somebody else asked.  Elisa missed who. “That was an iron-alloy.”

“Silencers are obviously not used in Riker,” Chavez replied. “It had to have come from an outside source, but as to how it got in, no one’s sure at the moment.”

“How were the first guards killed?”

“The third guard was shot in the back, but the first two took a shot to the face.  Chip down at the coroner’s had to ID them by badge number.  I personally believe this was intentional on Canmore’s part: he didn’t want to get blood on the uniform if he was going to use it to escape.  I know this might seem a moot point to many of you, but I think it’s a telling detail.  We’re dealing with someone smart, capable, and insane.  From what we’ve gathered on him-” Chavez glanced at Elisa. “-he’s matured from an impulsive man to a more calculated one.  He’s gotten used to waiting, and he thinks things through thoroughly.  Our people have already shut down the George Washington Bridge, and we’re patrolling all other routes into and out of the city.  The sooner we apprehend this perp, the better.”

Elisa smelled a rat.  Besides custom-made weapons sneaked into a felon’s cell, something else just wasn’t adding up. “What about the security cameras?  B Block is maximum security, just two cells to a corridor.  What do the tapes show?  Why didn’t someone show up as soon as Canmore shot two people in the face?  It’s bullshit.”

Chavez looked over her notes again. “At the time of Canmore’s escape, power to the security cameras on that specific hallway had been temporarily shut down to facilitate repairs to the electrical and security systems.”

“How long was this open window of time?” Elisa asked.

“No longer than twenty minutes to a hallway.”

“That’s awful slim.”

“I know.”

“So what you’re saying,” Elisa said, “is that Canmore had a gun sneaked into his cell for him to find at the precise moment that security would be temporarily encumbered.” Heads swiveled in her direction.  Morgan whistled in admiration. “No one else sees this?”

“Nope, I see it,” he said. “The problem is, the repairs are legit.  Captain and I already checked with both the warden and the city.  So whoever’s helping our boy, they knew beforehand.  And the two guards who patrolled this hallway are dead, so we can’t ask them if anyone else was on the floor today.”

“Check the visitor’s log?”

“Yep.  No one paid Canmore any visits in the last week.”

“Unless they smuggled in the gun over a week ago and had someone else put it in his cell,” Elisa offered. “Someone who was supposed to be there, who would have been overlooked.” She had a sudden, awful thought of Jason, but she instantly remembered him telling her that he and Robin hadn’t talked to John since that fateful Hunter’s Moon.

“You suppose someone bribed one of those guards?”

“Then the guilty party would’ve known Canmore had a weapon in his cell.  It can’t be one of the dead guards, at least.  They wouldn’t have been that stupid to just walk in if they’d known.”

“Not unless they unknowingly delivered the gun.  It could have been hidden in something else that was sent to his cell.”

“Bed sheets?  Laundry?”

“It’s a start.”

“Good.” Elisa shot to her feet. “I can interview the-”

“Hang on a minute, Maza.” Chavez frowned. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To do my job.”

Morgan gently patted her shoulder. “It’s alright, kid.  Just a while ago this asshole kidnapped you with intent to kill.  You don’t have to play Wonder Woman, know what I’m saying?”

“But-”

“No buts,” said Chavez. “You have any friends you can hide out with?”

Elisa hesitated. “Yes, but-”

“No buts.  Go there.  Some people here will escort you to your apartment so you can pick up some things, and I’ll have someone stick with you until Canmore’s back behind bars.  You’re one of our best, Maza.  I’d hate to fold your flag before your time.”

***

“No way!  This is only temporary!”

“Elisa-”

“No, Goliath, I’m fine!  I can handle this!” Yet even as Elisa stood in Xanatos’ office, arms folded and glaring at the darkly handsome man behind the desk, a small part of her wanted to hold Goliath and never leave his embrace again.  Protect me.  Please?

From behind his cynical-looking boss, Owen Burnett cleared his throat. “Might I remind the detective of certain hospital bills paid recently by Mr. Xanatos?”

She bristled. “You’re holding past favors over my head?”

“Nothing of the sort, Detective,” Xanatos cut in smoothly, “but let’s not kid ourselves.  You nearly died-” He said something under his breath that sounded like again. “-and the man responsible is on the loose after proving that he’s not hesitant to kill.  I’m offering – very generously, I think – sanctuary from the storm.  And quite frankly, I don’t understand your denial.”

“It’s not…” She closed her eyes for a second, breathed deep, and opened them again. “Look, despite the past, I appreciate the stuff you’ve done for me and the clan.  But you don’t understand: this is my life!  I’m supposed to protect, not be protected!  It’s my job!  When can I go back to my apartment and not have to glance over my shoulder all the time?”

“Never,” Goliath said softly.  She turned to stare at him; he looked pained. “Our lives changed the moment we decided to be together.  There is no other way.  We are unusual, you and I.  Special, yes.  Beautiful, certainly.  But unusual.  Most would call it unnatural, but that is their ignorance.”

“Ignorance is a deadly thing,” Owen added. “I have not spent time immemorial just souring milk and organizing trysts between poor mortal lovers.  For all the beauty your species creates, it darkens at the slightest provocation.”

“Then there’s no hope?”

“Of course there is hope.  If anything, look at my apprentice.  Ms. Hawke entered her current incarnation with severe drawbacks yet has grown stronger than even I could ever imagine. And I do not impress easily.”

“At least Laurie isn’t hunted,” Elisa muttered.

For a second, she could have sworn she saw pain flutter across Owen’s face and disappear just as quickly.  But all he said was, “Assume nothing”.

“Well, this is crap,” Xanatos announced. “Look, here are the facts.  You have my protection.  Come live at the castle.  No judgments are being made on your efficiency as a protector or a cop, Detective.  No snide remarks.  No strings.  For Christ’s sake, if not for you, do it for Goliath.”

She had to force herself to look at her love.  His face had its usual wealth of strength, but behind those dark eyes she saw something odd.  Fear.  Goliath didn’t scare easily, and his fear sent her heart plummeting into her stomach.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay, I will.”

Goliath didn’t answer, merely drew her close and enshrouded them both in his wings.  Pressed against his chest, Elisa heard a frantic heartbeat begin to slow and finally stabilize.  She hadn’t realized how upset he’d been, how little he revealed to her.

“Speaking of protection,” Xanatos began, “where is your-”

The door banged open and Matt Bluestone stumbled into the room looking like he’d been running the last few hours on several shots of hard liquor.  Then Elisa realized he wasn’t actually drunk: Matt often looked off-kilter when he’d just discovered something big.  Judging from his mussed hair and askew coat, the something was huge.

“Miss much?” he asked casually.  Owen sniffed.

“Where the hell were you?” she asked. “Captain noticed you weren’t at the meeting.” At his confused glance, she added, “Emergency meeting about the Riker break-out tonight.”

“Yeah … yeah, I heard something was going on.  Anyone we know?”

“John Canmore.”

Elisa had been expecting Matt to be upset, but she was completely thrown by his reaction.  The oddest expression melted across his face, like that of a man who’d just been told his girlfriend had taken a hatchet to his dog before running off with his dad. “When?  How?”

“I don’t know too much.  I’m off the case.  ‘Personal involvement’.” Even Elisa, good actress though she was, couldn’t disguise the bitterness in her voice. “Where were you tonight?”

“Party,” he answered quickly.

“Not that socialite ball?” Owen murmured. “The literary one, hosted by the Hiltons?”

Matt blinked. “No offense, but what’s it to you?”

“My … someone was in attendance.  I thought it was going to be a long night.”

“It got … interrupted.” Matt looked more disturbed than ever. “But that’s not the point.  Well, maybe it is, considering Lex was involved-”

Owen froze, then said with remarkable control, “I assume wherever Lexington has positioned himself, Laurie can not be far away.”

Matt began looking at every person in the room in turn. “Laur-?  This is going to be a doozy of a story, I can tell.”

“When isn’t it?” Xanatos cleared his throat. “If you will give Detective Bluestone and me some time to confer, I’d appreciate it.  In the meantime, Detective Maza, you’ll find quarters being prepared for you in the west wing.”

“You’ve been planning this, haven’t-”

Xanatos gave his usual annoying half-grin, the one he reserved for when he put one over on a business rival. “Guilty as charged.  Owen will see you out.  Should you have anymore questions – and I’m sure you do – I’ll be around later tonight.  Feel free to stop by.”

It’s a difficult thing to usher a creature like Goliath out a door but Owen proved himself more than adept at it.  As they left, Elisa strained to overhear Xanatos (what could he possibly want with her partner, anyway?) but all she heard was, “Well, Detective Bluestone, I believe we have mutual friends who are eager to …”

But then Owen closed the door firmly behind them, and she heard nothing more.

***

Laurie rested her chin on her bruised arms and stared through the murky contents of her beer and contemplated the universe.  She tended to wax philosophical whenever there were substances in her system.  Caffeine, beer, Tequiza, didn’t matter.  Beside her, Lex sucked down a Coke and admired their surroundings.  CBGB was an infamous place on the Bowery right off Bleeker Street in NoHo.  The bizarre lovechild of a black-box theater and a punk rocker’s crypt, the club had inky walls spattered with old concert posters and stickers advertising hopeful unknowns from the last twenty-five years.  Richard Hell had made his start here, as had Blondie, the Ramones, and the Talking Heads.  Every weekend guaranteed bands ranging from classical rock to goth and punk.  Quality varied based on the musicians’ talent with poetry and whether the guy working the amps was lucid and knew how to keep the equipment from screaming its patrons’ ears off.  Alcohol was plentiful if you had a decent ID, or if you just happened to be descended from the gods and took special delight in honing your mind control skills on the poor sucker working the bar.

And it’d worked pretty well, Laurie considered.  She’d even gotten the dude’s number.  She preened and stuffed the slip of paper into the dainty purse dangling from her shoulder.  She and Lex were still dolled up in their party wear, but none of the young punks and partyers seemed to notice.  Everyone’s clothing here ran straight across the Strange Spectrum, so two more oddities were for the most part overlooked.

“Tonight blew,” Lex muttered through clenched teeth; he was alternating sucking on the straw and swishing it around in his glass, poking the ice cubes with angry little jabs.

“Hrm,” Laurie grunted.  In between bands was a decent time for conversation.  Once the music started, it was hasta luego to your eardrums.

“Too bad we can’t hide out in your dorm, with your roommate’s boyfriend staying over and everything.”

“Yep.”

“Look, I know you’ll be twenty in a couple months, but you might want to go easy on the alcohol.”

“Sure.”

“Are you okay?”

She glanced at him and shrugged. “My family’s a breeding pool of fuck-ups, what were you expecting?”

“There’s a reason Arthur divorced her, it’s a positive reflection on him.”

“Nah, it’s not Dad.  He’s cool though he’s got his own quirks.  I mean, first I have my weird family, then I run into a cop who knows me from the old days.  As if that isn’t enough, we’re reintroduced to the werewolf we ran over and who tried to kill me.  Fate’s laughing at me.” She hesitated, realizing the irony in that statement, and from the look on Lex’s face, he’d come to the same conclusion but wisely remained silent.

“What do you think you’re doing here?”

Both kids jerked up in alarm.  Lex recovered first. “B … Brooklyn, that you?”

“The original.” The hooded figure slipped into an empty seat and rapped Lex’s glass with a ripped leather-clad hand that tapered into one crimson claw. “What’re you punks up to?”

“I was sober before,” Laurie said by means of explanation. “I had to fix that.”

“She ran into relatives at the ball.” In the shadowed recesses of the hood, Brooklyn’s brow arched. “She’s kidding,” Lex added. “She’s not drunk, just mellow.” He looked nervously at his hands to see if the illusion had been destroyed again, and Laurie suddenly realized it was probably a good idea for her to remain as alcohol-free as possible.  They didn’t need a reenactment of tonight’s earlier events.  She pushed her bottle away. “Hey, how’d you see us?”

Brooklyn tapped his snout and revealed a grin studded with fangs. “The nose knows, bro.  You reek of Lex.”

“Gee, thanks – and what’re you doing here, by the way?” Lex looked suspicious. “Angela’s out with Broadway tonight.”

The crimson gargoyle waved him off. “Ain’t looking for Angie.  I’m hunting.”

Laurie snickered. “Who’s the poor female in question?”

He growled at her in what she was sure was a teasing gesture, but even a playful gargoyle makes for an unnerving sight. “Don’t you guys watch the news?”

Lex and Laurie glanced at each other.  Finally, he said, “No.  Something going on?”

“I’ll say.  Remember John Canmore?  The dude who blew up our clock tower with his crazy siblings before he went postal and decided to go after Demona?  The one who tried to kill Elisa recently?” Brooklyn’s fangs gleamed in the haze of the club’s wild colored lights. “He’s out.”

“What?”

“Broke out a few hours ago.  Killed three humans in the process.  They don’t know where he is.”

“Where’s Elisa?” Lex jumped to his feet but Brooklyn yanked him back down again.

“Bad move, little brother,” he whispered. “Don’t attract attention to yourself.  You’ve done enough already.” His glowing eyes shrank to slits, and Laurie felt herself shrink a bit, too, wondering how he heard about the ball already. “I have my sources,” he said, as if reading her mind. “Elisa’s probably at the castle.  I’m not too worried.  If anything, Goliath’s a little over-protective right now, if I know him well enough, and I wouldn’t put anything past Xanatos.  He’s eager as all hell to be chummy with her ever since he mended his ways, so he’ll jump to accommodate her and Goliath.  It’s not them I’m worried about.”

Laurie leaned in, nervously scanning the club for any eavesdroppers.  Luckily, everyone looked preoccupied watching the next band set up. “Who’re you worried for, then?”

“Us.  I mean, Jesus, it won’t take Canmore long to find his Quarrymen cronies.  But I’m thinking long-term.  You’re human, aren’t you?”

This seemed such a change of topic that Laurie wasn’t sure she’d heard him properly. “Uh, yeah.  I mean, most of the time.  I mean, well, partly human, anyway.”

Brooklyn grinned again. “And you like us, don’t you?”

“Sure.  And Lex doesn’t smell as bad as you claim.”

Lex growled something under his breath.  Laurie playfully poked him in the side.

“Exactly,” Brooklyn continued, as if he didn’t notice their bickering. “Elisa, too.  And Matt.  Only way for us to protect ourselves against freaks like Canmore and the Quarrymen is to reduce their numbers.”

“Are you talking about a pre-emptive strike?”

“I’m not talking about murder, little brother.  I’m saying, reduce their firepower.  Would these monsters exist if gargoyles weren’t something to fear?” He watched while his words sank in. “I’m not saying we’ll ever be fully accepted.  There’s always gonna be somebody who’s gonna bitch about us.  Hell, the humans still have dissenters who squabble over each others’ skin colors and choice of gods to worship.  Always been that way, but at least it’s improved.  If we’re going to survive and flourish, we need to do what the dark-skinned humans did.  They banded together for freedom, and then they set out to demand civil rights.”

“You want the vote?” Laurie asked, amused.

Brooklyn snorted. “Not nearly that political, babe.  I’d be surprised if we got that far in my lifetime.  I’m thinking to myself: how can we protect ourselves, maybe form our own gargoyle organization?  How do we prove to humans that we have souls, too?  We need other gargoyles.”

“Holy shit,” Lex breathed.

“What?” Laurie was confused.

“The Cajuns!”

Brooklyn’s grin widened. “Bingo.”

“But they could be anywhere,” Lex protested. “We don’t even know if there were more than Renée and her two brothers.  The rest could’ve been wiped out ages ago.”

“Gargoyles don’t survive in such small numbers,” Brooklyn snapped. “There have to be more.  If not in New Jersey, somewhere.  Rogues don’t last long, and when they do, they go crackers.  Christ, look at Demona.  Is that any way to live?”

“How do you expect to find them?  It’s a wild goose chase.”

“I have my sources,” Brooklyn said cryptically. “I think Renée gave me a clue before she disappeared in that warehouse fire.  And she survived-” he added angrily at Lex’s dubious expression. “-I know she did.  She had to.  Anyway, I heard she used to come here sometimes.  She supposedly loves music.”

“How’re you going to find this chick?” Laurie asked.  Her eyes glinted. “Think you might need an elfin accompaniment?”

“No thanks,” Brooklyn chuffed. “I don’t need pixie dust popping out of my ears and werewolves on my tail, babe.  Besides, Renée and her brood didn’t seem too fond of humans.  If I do find these Cajuns, they’re probably going to be wary of you.”

“How’d you know?” Lex demanded.

“About the werewolf thing?  I ran into Matt on my way out of the castle.  He looked like shit, but he babbled something at me about you two and some party and magic and werewolves, and I thought of that punk Oz we rescued over in London a couple years ago.  Doesn’t take much to put two and two together.  Anyway, I’ve been here a while already, so I guess Renée’s not coming.” His eyes had long since stopped glowing but Laurie saw their dark pupils flicker away as if he was in pain.

“Hey, this trip isn’t entirely business, isn’t it?”

He glared at her. “Clan business, first.  Personal business, second.”

Laurie wasn’t put off by his brusqueness. “Yeah, whatever.  Hope you get lucky.” She bobbed her eyebrow at him. “If you know what I mean.”

Brooklyn’s eyes lit up like 24-watt bulbs and he snapped his incisors at her before standing up to storm the bar. “Careful, he gets touchy sometimes,” Lex warned.

“Eh, he’s a big loveable mush.” Laurie grabbed his cup and sucked at the remains of his Coke. “I wonder if we should tell Goliath what his Second in Command’s up to.”

“Brooklyn can tell him himself.”

“Oh, Lex, you’re really an idiot, aren’t you?” Laurie gave him a sad smile. “Ten bucks says we won’t be seeing Brooklyn for a while.”

Lex frowned. “What do you-”

Ba-dum-dum!  The cymbal crash silenced them both.  A skinny clone of Johnny Rotten had leapt onto the stage and grabbed the mic. “Hey, people, sorry this took so long.” He had a throaty whiskey-and-cigarettes voice, like a male Janis Joplin. “Anyway, this is our first gig in the Big Apple-” The clubgoers cheered. “-yeah, yeah, thanks.  We’re the Hell Hounds coming to you live from your friendly kipper-loving neighbor across the water, England.”

Heat throbbed in Laurie’s chest.  Something magical was nearby, and her lungs turned to ice in remembered terror.

“We’re hoping for a record contract, so if any of you lovelies know someone who knows someone who knows someone, we’re offering beer and pizza in thanks.” He winked and a ripple went through the crowd.  They liked him. “I’m your friendly guitarist, Chad.  We got Tina on bass-” A pale girl with spiked hair and bangles adorning her wrists. “-Matthias on second guitar-” The winking, shaven-headed chap with the tattoos and boots. “-and on drums, Oz!”

Laurie was so low in her seat she was practically sitting on her neck.  Beside her, Lex began a slow decent to join her.  Hunched over the drum-set, their werewolf flashed his toothy smile at the crowd and twirled his sticks.  He’d changed out of the suit and into army combat pants that hung low on his hips and a palm tree motif T-shirt, forgoing the clean haircut from the party and giving his hair a little spike with some gel.  Beneath the glare of the lights and his mischievous smile, Oz scanned the room.  His eyes settled briefly on Laurie – or was it her imagination? – and flickered away again.

But she thought his smile widened a bit.  Oh, fuck.

“We should leave,” Lex murmured.

She glanced between the slats of her chair’s backing. “It’s packed to the entrance.  We’d have to fight our way out.”

“Geez, are you a trickster or aren’t you?”

That stung more than she’d have guessed. “Alright.” The heat coursed down her arms and congealed into a green fireball in her clasped hands.  She was just about to flick it at someone (hoping the pinching would compel people to start moving out of their way so they could hustle to the exit) when a commotion sounded from the bar, but it went unnoticed at first by the crowd: Oz had just started a ripping chord on the drums, drowning out all other noise.  Laurie’s throat tightened upon realizing the commotion was Brooklyn as several dark figures converged on him.

“Lex-” she started, but was cut off as hands dragged the pair up from their seats.

She couldn’t hear the voices over the crash of instruments, but she saw the mean looks on the strangers’ faces, could read their intent.  It wasn’t until she saw the small blue crescent moon and hammer tattoos on their wrists that her suspicions took on a terrifying new reality: Quarrymen.  She noticed one man’s dirty blond hair and diamond stud earring and recognized him as the dude from the party who’d talked their ears off about diamonds and stocks.

Lex’s mouth moved wordlessly beneath the dulling blanket of music, but she saw the denial and fury in his face … and the fear when he saw the men weren’t fooled.  One punched him in the stomach and felt around his shoulder blades, and Laurie screamed: they were looking for his wings hidden beneath the illusion spell.  They must’ve been at the party and seen everything.

By then people were beginning to notice things were a little off.  A gangly kid walked up to the man holding Laurie’s arm and put a hand on her shoulder as if to help, but he was pushed violently back into the crowd.  The lights and the scream of electric guitars and the roar of the people converged on her, making Laurie dizzy.

It wasn’t wise to turn your back on a Quarryman, but it could be downright deadly to turn your back on a trickster.  Her hands were still clasped together.  On instinct, she let the fireball grow to the size of a softball, secretly pleased by the startled expressions on the surrounding faces.  That gave her time to elbow her captor in the gut and fling the fireball not at them but into the air.  The men looked relieved until they realized she’d aimed for the fire detectors in the ceiling.

A siren shrilled and a waterfall cascaded from above.  Onstage, the members of Hell Hounds yelled and abandoned their instruments as they sparked.  Oz dove into the retreating crowd.  With the music gone, it was easier to hear Brooklyn’s full-throated battle cry as he flung a man behind the bar.  The terrified bartender ducked and the man flew over his head to hit the mirror with a sickening crack, and silver shards exploded in all directions.  Girls screamed.  Someone started a stampede for the doors.

Earlier, Laurie would’ve pegged that socialite ball as the worst thing to happen to her in a while.  She was disappointed to discover she was wrong.  “C’mon!  We gotta get out of here!”

She wasn’t sure he could hear her over the roar but he understood her frightened expression, and together they scrambled for the doors.  Lex suddenly hoisted her onto his back and leapt onto a wall, digging his claws into brick and plaster to avoid the crowd.  Below, people screamed as they saw what they thought was a fellow human skitter across the ceiling like a baby monster from the Alien movies.  Not a wise move, Laurie thought, but now wasn’t a time to be picky.

BLAM.  A dull roar throbbed in her ears and something hot slammed into the wall, throwing them into the air as their perch disintegrated.  Despite her terror, it registered in Laurie’s brain that someone had fired a plasma cannon at them.

“Hang on!” Lex yelled, or that’s what she thought he said, as he rebounded off the bar’s canopy and latched onto the opposite wall.  The ceiling became the ground and the ground became the ceiling.  Laurie grit her teeth and squished her eyes closed, unsure of what was what anymore, only praying that Brooklyn was somehow still alive.

Suddenly, Laurie wanted her father.  Dad fixed everything.  But even more than that, she wanted Owen.  She wanted Puck.  You really should practice incantation off the top of your head, you know.  If you are ever in danger, you will not have the leisure of writing out your incantations ahead of time, as if they were mere poetry.  And Laurie had only rolled her eyes at him.  Now she understood his concern.  Some fey she was, if she couldn’t even chuck a decent spell out of habit.

The situation couldn’t be worse.  It was now or never.

“Avalon’s children, hear my plea!  Bash these men and bust some heads!  Save my consort and me, but don’t leave us for dead!” Fire exploded up Laurie’s throat, ravaging her vocal chords as green flame spewed across the room and slammed into the marked men.  One figure combusted into a tower of flame while another dived behind a broken table.

Lex cried out in terror and nearly lost his grip.  The crowd faltered a fraction of an instant, mesmerized by the explosion, before again rushing the doors.  It wasn’t much time, but it was something.  Laurie dug her knees into Lex’s hip, snapping him out of his shock and urging him forward.

He scampered across the remaining expanse of ceiling, down the wall, and over the top of the doors and into the night.  Lex flipped in mid-air and landed on the sidewalk.  Work scaffolding covered CBGB’s front, making it impossible to climb higher to find sufficient currents to glide, so they’d have to run.

A second wave of heat missed Lex by a foot and left a crater in the concrete, throwing them into the side of a parked Toyota.  Laurie shrieked as her head cracked the passenger-side window.  The world swam for a second, and she managed to shake off the beginnings of unconsciousness to notice the surviving Quarrymen filter out the doors along with the panicked clubgoers.  Among them was the blond guy from the party.

Blondie saw them first, smiled as if apologetic, and raised his weapon.  Lex and Brooklyn might’ve been their targets but he recognized Laurie as the threat she was.  A red pinpoint of light appeared on her forehead.

Oz bit the man’s arm off at the elbow.  Even over the roar of the crowd, Laurie heard Blondie’s horrified scream.  Her magic-raw throat closed up as a mostly-human Oz turned glowing eyes on her and grinned, revealing a misshapen mouth laced with knife-sized teeth.

“Lex!” she croaked, her throat damaged from the sheer power of the spell. “Lex, we have to go!  Lex!” She shook him, but he mumbled something and sank further to the ground.  Crimson hands picked them both up.  Laurie never thought she’d be so glad to see red claws before.

Brooklyn pointed down the street. “Go!  I’ll draw their fire!”

“But you’ll get-”

“Go, damn you!  That’s an order!” He whirled, snapped his wings wide, and charged the Quarrymen with a high-pitched scream that would have chilled the darkest of hearts.  Laurie slung Lex’s arm across her shoulders and began a mad limp down the street.  Her breath was coming in ragged bursts, and Laurie knew she had to levitate.  Flight was the only escape right now.  But she didn’t think she could do it.

They’d only made it a block when the screaming started following them.  The illusion masking Lex was beginning to flicker in and out as Laurie started to lose consciousness from the blast.  She glanced over their shoulder and saw flashes of color.  She blinked her eyes, dizzy, and realized they were being pursued.

Without thinking, she scrambled down a flight of stairs into the bowels of the Metro. “Where we goin’?” Lex said thickly.

“Shh, we’re getting out of here,” she muttered, though even she wasn’t sure what she was doing.  Puck, where are you?  Can’t you sense I’m in trouble, or does that only apply to Alexander Xanatos?  Don’t you care?  Laurie leapt the last five steps just in time, because half a second later the spot she’d been was reduced to melted slag.  Terrified, she slapped the subway’s turnstile and they magically passed right through the metal.  A close pursuer gave a pained oof as he ran right into the turnstile, not even two feet behind them.  What followed next Laurie didn’t quite understand, but she thought she heard a wild growl and a man’s frightened yell.  She opted not to look but continued her frantic descent into the earth.

The subway was mostly empty this time of night, but any stragglers vanished at the sight of the dark-haired woman dragging her gargoyle consort with pursuers hot on their heels.  Close behind them, Laurie heard the BLAM of a Quarryman’s weapon, felt the hot afterglow singe her back, and heard an animal’s wild cry of pain.

“Why’re we down here?” Lex blinked blearily and tried to stand on his own, nearly falling over in the process. “I can’t … use my wings.”

What were they doing here?  Laurie didn’t know, only followed the panicked animal sense in her to flee.  Flee somewhere, anywhere.  There had to be an exit.  There had to.  Where was the damn train?  She skittered to a halt on the platform overlooking the tracks.  It was eerily silent all of a sudden.  Laurie looked behind her and saw only a dark staircase leading up to the world above.

There, movement.

He moved so gracefully from the shadows that Laurie momentarily forgot to scream, so beautiful was the fluid movement of his hips beneath the army pants.  Oz still walked upright with a dancer’s lazy grace but his elongated back and massive jaws revealed a hunter’s elegance, a mishmash of human and beast sprung from some deviant’s tortured mind.

Lex feebly hissed and spat.  Laurie tried to hold on to him but he batted her away. “Run!” he roared at her. “I’ll hold him off!”

You can’t fight my fight, Laurie thought. I started this, years ago.  You can’t die for me.

A green fireball smacked Oz across the face.  Laurie reared back for a second strike. “You want a piece of this, Fuzzy?  Come and get it!”

Oz only blinked at the attack but instead of being wounded, he looked almost pleased, like an opium addict getting a rush.  The words came out garbled, his slavering tongue too large for normal speech, but it sounded like, “Yummy”.

“Laurie, stop it!  The spell’s feeding off your magic!  You can’t stop him that way!” Frustrated with the stiff tux, Lex ripped it from his body, revealing tighty whitey underwear.  He hurled himself at Oz and did a mad dance around the beast, swooping in to deliver blows when least expected.  Laurie sucked in a breath at Lex’s elegant leaps … but then Oz swept him aside like a rag doll.  The green gargoyle knocked over a garbage can and crashed into a bench.

Wide-eyed, she stared at him.  Oz watched her with glowing eyes, blood oozing down his singed body where the weapons had hit and dripping onto the floor tiles.  A second passed.  Laurie counted to ten, and then she realized he wasn’t too tired to kill her or even being contemplative.  He was waiting.

“So … you’re Zoe’s boyfriend, huh?” I can’t believe that stupid sentence just came out of my mouth.

Oz bared his fangs and growled in what she realized was a chuckle.  He was closer than she realized and he pushed her toward the subway’s exit.

“I can’t believe it … you want me to escape, don’t you?”

His fangs shrank, and Laurie thought she saw Oz shudder with exertion. “Hard to control right now,” he heaved. “They’re … coming.  Get your … eager friend and leg it.  Fly.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.” A safety clicked.  Standing yards away were the rest of their attackers, dressed in everything from dinner finery to jeans, making it easier to distinguish exactly who’d been at the party.  Blondie stood there, the bloody stump of his elbow wrapped in what looked like a torn jacket. “I may die from my wounds, but I’m taking you lot with me.  Not sure what sort of ancient magic the Society’s messing with now, but rest assured their mistakes will be ratified.”

Mesmerized by the firearms, Oz and Laurie backed up as one, only stopping when the back of Laurie’s high heels stumbled on the edge of the subway platform.  Beside her, sinew and bone crunched and popped as Oz struggled to revert.  Down the tunnel’s dark maw, the screech of an approaching train grew to a roar.

“And where are you going?” Blondie and his men looked amused, and Laurie saw Lex teetered before the exit staircase, looking seriously bruised and only half-conscious. “Going to leave your lady friend so readily?  The gentlemanly arts are lost on the young.”

Never had Laurie seen him so adult.  Lex drew himself up despite his injuries and looked ready to attack, but she stopped him with her eyes.  He looked puzzled, then afraid, as she mouthed at him, Go!

“Do you trust me?” she asked Oz.

“I …” He glanced back at the armed men again, too frightened to answer, which was answer enough.

 “Lex, go!” she yelled.

Then she grabbed Oz by the arm and leapt backwards, off the platform, into the air, and onto the tracks.  If she wasn’t so terrified, she would’ve been pleased by the startled look on the men’s faces, or sorry at the grief-stricken one on Lex’s.  But then the train thundered over her and Oz, and Laurie had little more to think on.

***

“NOOOOOOOOOOO!” Lex screamed and leapt for the train, but a shot took him in the shoulder and sent him spinning against the concrete with a wet smack.  The spiking pain bubbled up and drowned his grief.  He knew only rage and intense helplessness.  He couldn’t help Laurie now.  He’d failed her.

That left only vengeance.

“I’ll rip your head off!” he roared, but he only succeeded in tearing one man’s face open before a second shot clipped his ear and sent a wave of nausea down his spine.  The Quarrymen scattered before his claws but Blondie held his ground.

“NYPD!  Drop the weapons and hands on your heads!”

Everyone whirled to find blue suits pouring down the entrance stairs.  Lex immediately recognized Elisa’s friend Morgan and his young partner, Shaw.  The Quarrymen turned and ran.  More police poured in.  Morgan glared at Lex and yelled, “Get out of here!  More are coming!”

Lex fled up the exit ramp, rage bubbling in his chest and grief melting his heart.

***

Elisa’s calves screamed as she rocketed up the staircase and burst onto the castle parapet.   Behind her, the heavy rhythmic breathing of Owen Burnett followed like an annoying puppy that couldn’t be shaken.  The chill wind whipped her hair as she glanced over the stone wall.  Nothing met her gaze save the winking lights of Central Park West, thousands of feet below. “Are you sure someone’s coming?” she demanded.

Owen almost looked affronted. “Mr. Xanatos’ security systems are impeccable, Detective.  I oversaw their installation myself.  The sensors indicated large-sized objects approaching at a quick pace.”

“There!” She stabbed a finger at the horizon.  The dots grew until she easily identified Angela and Broadway, a crumpled Lex in her arms.  They hit the parapet at an angle and screeched to a halt.

“We need a doctor, quickly!” Angela cried.

Elisa’s heart stopped.  The little green gargoyle was barely green anymore.  Dark blood caked his chest and jaw, ran down his legs in tiny runnels and dried in-between his claws.  Every breath was a shudder of broken flesh struggling to keep itself together.

“Where is Laurie?” Owen said sharply, and it startled Elisa to see the cold fish actually show some emotion.

“We don’t know,” Broadway said, already leading Angela downstairs to the medical quarters. “Matt called us on the communicators, something about a Quarrymen attack on a Village club.  We found Lex on his way up from the subway.  I couldn’t get anything out of him, he was babbling like a nut.”

Lex jerked and gasped into consciousness. “She’s dead!”

“By the Lady-!” Angela nearly dropped her rookery brother.

Owen said nothing but his face slammed shut like a door.  Beneath it all, Elisa saw a very human grief struggling to hide itself.  And anger.  And denial.  And something else that Elisa couldn’t name.

They barged into the medical quarters and placed Lex on a table.  Ortega, the on-site doctor, was pulling shift tonight and ran into the room a second later, hurriedly yanking on a lab coat over his flannels.

“This better not be another case of Brooklyn and beer, or God help me – Buenos Dios!” He snapped on surgical gloves. “Alright, what happened?  Christ … alright, baby doll-” Meaning Angela. “-I want a hook-up immediately to Colombia Presbyterian.  Ask for Dr. Hugh Mitchell.  If he’s not in, get Gabrielle Artru.  I’m going to need a little back-up on this one.  Anyone have any medical experience?”

“Some volunteering with the Xanatos medics on night shift,” Angela said.

“It’s something.  Grab some gloves and just do what I tell you.  Everyone else, out.”

Broadway hesitated.

Ortega’s eyes hardened. “Look, kid, you brought him in.  That’s all you can do.  If you want your brother to stand a chance, let me get to work.  We need to keep our heads right now-”

It was at that moment that Owen interrupted things a little by collapsing into a table, sending the instrument tray flying.  Ortega began yelling at him in Spanish, but he skittered across the floor and out the door.  Lex immediately began wailing Laurie’s name, effectively scaring the crap out of Elisa: something was definitely up.  Owen Burnett just didn’t panic.  She followed on burning legs, down several flights of stairs, through the Great Hall, and into a wing of the castle she’d never visited before, away from the pomp of the public quarters and into the Xanatos’ private rooms.

She followed him through a door and into a guest bedroom.  Owen bolted into a side room but Elisa found herself hesitating.  These weren’t guest quarters.  A briefcase stood beside a desk neatly decorated with a sheaf of documents.  The open closet door revealed a rack of crisply-pressed suits and red ties.  She’d never imagined Owen Burnett having a life besides that of lapdog.  He was like milk in the refrigerator, or God: you didn’t really think about him because you were used to him always being there.  For it to be any other way, or for Owen to actually exist outside of David Xanatos’ corporate office, was contrary to some scientific law.

Suddenly, she was standing in the doorway of Owen Burnett’s bathroom, a pinnacle of chaos and destruction.  On the floor lay something that might have been concocted by the mad nightmares of H.P. Lovecraft: a man deformed by claws and hind legs and fangs.   Owen crouched on the ground clutching something to his chest, ignoring the shards of glass peppering the room.  The large mirror adorning the medicine cabinet was replaced by an empty, smoking frame that canted outwards as if a nuke had hit it.

She clutched the doorframe as she realized that Owen wasn’t hugging a large doll but a familiar, thin young woman with shaggy dark hair and a torn dress.

Perribug says hi.

Elisa wasn’t sure where the words came from, only knew that they fluttered through her head and were gone just as quickly.

I used my magic.  It hurt.  My throat.

“Shh,” said Owen, brushing the blood-matted hair back from Laurie’s glazed eyes.

Help Oz.  I’m sorry I scared Lex.  He’s gonna kill me.  I want Dad.  You need a redecorator, old man.  Too fucking bright in here.

“Detective,” he whispered thinly, “would you please call on Dr. Ortega?  His work may be cut out for him tonight, I fear.”

Splayed on the mirror and blood-splattered tiles, the Lovecraftian creation growled weakly.  Elisa turned and ran.

***

Lex okay?

Dr. Ortega is doing his best.  All told, he could have been much worse.

You should’ve come to the ball tonight.  I’m sorry, you wanted to come and I didn’t think.  I invited Lex.

It’s quite alright.

I’m sorry.

I know.

Really.

Really really?

Yeah.  Smart ass.

Owen relaxed a little.  He’d worry if she ever lost her bite.

I used magic, she repeated. Fire.  Fucked my throat up.

What words did you use? She silently told him. You called on the Children?  I’m surprised that little bit of magic did not rip your head in twain.  Avalon does indeed watch over Hers.

I suck.  Couldn’t hold my own.  Could’ve stopped them.  Stopped them all.  Owen, it hurts.

Breathe with me.

A silent cry of pain. It hurts, Owen!  It hurts!

I’m here.

Puck!

On the double!  It worried him when she didn’t even chuckle but continued to labor for breath.  He couldn’t let her fall asleep, had to keep her preoccupied. Haven’t had a cute girl in my quarters for a while now.  How’d you and the shag carpet make it? The images unfolded in Puck’s mind like a lotus blossom.

***

It was weird how adrenaline slowed the world down until it felt like something programmed on a VCR.  As they leapt, Laurie had been aware of Oz’s frightened gasp, the dull roar of the train, the flicker of the approaching lights.  How fear slowed the mind even as the adrenaline upped the heartbeat.  How rational thought became impossible.

But one had to try.

She had been briefly aware of the train’s heavy steel as she shrieked, ignoring the raw pain in her throat, “Real quick!  Think brick!”

Laurie and Oz never hit the ground.  They passed through it.  Hard wind from the train’s passage whipped across the tip of her scalp as the ground passed over her head as effortlessly as water in a pool, and suddenly all was dark and warm and thick, like when you were a kid and wrapped yourself up in a blanket mummy-style.  Light, sound, movement, all muffled and far away.  Oz’s claws dug into her skin, but Laurie knew he felt the same oppressive heaviness of the earth pressing in on them.  She could sense his fear.  She lightly squeezed back to comfort him.

Somewhere, someone was pounding something.

Bump.

Holy crap, if something sentient just bumped into me I’m gonna scream AND hurl.

“Watch where yuir going, missy,” someone snapped right in her ear. “I’m walkin’ ‘ere.”

What the …?

“Tha’s right,” it grumbled. “Decent folk like us’re on’y trying ta make a living, we be, so move it along.”

What are you?  I can’t see.

Snort. “Ye mortals need to open yuir fool eyes every once in a while.  But guessin’ by yuir surroundings, ye’ve got a bit of the Olde Blood in ye.  Just a simple dwarf, missy, goin’ about ‘is business of minin’.  Came over on the ships from the old country with our native mortals, we did.  Been workin’ this foreign soil ever since and make no mistake.”

We’re in solid rock!

“Aye, but we dwarfs can swim through ground like a fish in water, we can.  Need to pay a bit more attention in yuir lessons, youngin’.”

Laurie felt another stab of fear from Oz, though she wasn’t sure how she felt his emotion.  He wanted to know what was going on, why he heard a dwarf, how to get out of here.

“Talkative lad, ain’t he?  Long on teeth and short on brains, by the look of ‘im.  Jes’ kick and flex, missy, same as swimmin’.  Use yuir heads, the two of ye.” Grumble. “Ye reek of the Phooka, by the by.  Give a ‘ello to the arrogant git for Perribug, will ye?  That’s a lass.”

Hey, wait, don’t leave!  I don’t know which way to go!  If she could still move … this rock was feeling awfully thick, though as a science major, Laurie wasn’t sure how she and Oz weren’t suffocating.  The time for her to write a thesis on the laws of physics would be a trip, she could tell.

Physics.  Refraction.  Reflection.  Mirrors.

The dainty little purse still lay tight against her shoulder.  Laurie’s stiffening fingers pried open the flap and felt around for the make-up compact.  For a few seconds, panic set in as she struggled one-handed with the clasp, but luck was on her side.  It gave way, and Laurie ran her fingers over the blessedly cold, sheer surface of a mirror.  She didn’t know if she had enough energy left for another spell so quickly.

Not that they had a choice.

Hold tight, she whispered to Oz, who gave an eager reply to the affirmative.  The blast was quick and hot and crisp as they vanished into the void.

***

Owen was impressed and horrified all at once.  To call on the Children successfully and survive … to immediately continue afterward with spells involving teleportation, even if it used tools like the mirrors, and molecule remodification and the like … for a spirit of the light and air, it would’ve been a breeze.  For a mortal, much more difficult without sufficient practice.  Halflings were naturally weaker to their deity brethren: the iron that was detrimental to the fey was inherent in the human bloodstream, yet the lack of iron that increased a halfling’s energy field would result in anemia.  It was a double-edged sword.

Puck?

That I am.

He dipped his head and delicately kissed her brow.

I feel better already.

***

Elisa wasn’t sure who was trying to calm down whom.  Goliath returned from his meeting with Matt concerning the NYPD’s newly-instated Gargoyles Task Force to find two clan members in critical condition, another missing, and a fey-cursed stranger sucking down massive amounts of protein shakes and peanut butter (in the medical wing’s waiting room, Broadway and Angela had nervously edged away from Oz, because in-between the eager slurping was the audible snap and pop as flesh knit itself back together).  With Fox and Alexander gone to visit her father, Elisa was left with the unenviable job of calming down Xanatos, who had spent the last hour storming around his office and threatening the walls with everything from litigation to hired murder.  Owen was of no help, having stayed firmly rooted at Laurie’s side even in the OR no matter how violent the protests of Ortega and the just-arrived Dr. Mitchell.  Bronx snapped at everyone, and even Hudson, who had just returned from a night at his human friend Robins’ to find a madhouse, couldn’t offer his calming presence.

Elisa and Xanatos arrived in the waiting room a while later to find a nervous group of gargoyles and one lone young Brit in human form, sucking on the remains of a chocolate protein shake and scratching at the dragon tattoo winding its way around his lean body.  His army pants were a little shredded, too, though at the moment he looked too frazzled to be concerned about making a proper impression.

“Oswald Scott, is it?” Oz jumped at Xanatos’ voice and tugged frantically on an earring. “I’d like to thank you.  Apparently you saved some of my people tonight.”

A shy grin melted through the goatee and across the young man’s face. “Oh, no problem.  I mean, anything for a couple music fans, right?”

Xanatos caught his hand in a firm grip. “I mean it.  Is there anything I can do for you?”

“What?  I … um, wow.” Oz looked overwhelmed. “Christ, never thought about it, unless you happen to know anyone in the recording business for me and my band.”

Oz had said it jokingly but his grin vanished as Xanatos said, “I’ll make some calls to people.”

“What was that all about?” Elisa jumped in.

“Uh, the claws?  Bit of a carry-over from a dumb stunt I pulled a couple years ago.  I learned the hard way that a smart chap doesn’t go around tinkering with magic or it’ll bite you in the ass.” He winced as a flap of skin across his collarbone suddenly stitched itself up again. “Believe me.”

“But Epona’s Tear is gone,” Broadway said.

Oz frowned. “You were in on it, too, huh?”

The big gargoyle shrank. “Well … we all were, to an extent.  How much do you remember?”

“Only bits.  Eating neighborhood pets, attacking some people.  Flashes of this dark-haired girl with these glowing eyes.  So when I got introduced to Laurie tonight, it was like, whoa.  Talk about Memory Lane.  Even when I first began changing, I felt compelled to her, you know?  Don’t ask,” he added at Elisa’s frown. “I don’t get it either, only that it was worse than when I gave up cigarettes, like I wanted to take her into me or something.  Consume her whole.”

“Una said that you’re attracted to Avalon’s magic thanks to the spell,” Broadway remembered. “Laurie’s mother was a goddess.”

Oz blinked. “Uh … huh.”

“So yuir a … werewolf?” Hudson murmured. “Haven’t heard such stories nae since the old times.”

Oz shrugged. “I thought I’d be fixed after I lost that bloody talisman but it’s a no-show.  I can control it now, though, without the original black-outs and rages.  Except whenever I get real emotional.  And the full moon’s always a weird time, too.  I have to be careful onstage, sometimes I get so hyper playing the drums, man …”

“I must thank you as well,” Goliath murmured, catching the young drummer’s hand.  Oz went white beneath the scars. “Your bravery is an asset to my clan.”

He tittered nervously and went back to tugging on his earring.  Bronx sniffed at his bare feet and growled.  Oz growled playfully back until the beast actually snarled, at which point the young Brit decided it was best to stay quiet for a while.  Then Ortega walked in, and everyone who wasn’t already standing or pacing the length of the waiting room jumped to attention.  His lined face was unreadable.

“Okay, first.” He took a deep breath. “Lexington.  He’s got some second-degree burns from a laser pistol – which is highly illegal, so you might want to check into that, Mr. Xanatos – and a sharp impact has fractured his humerus and his scapula, the bones in his upper arm and shoulder.  He lost a bit of blood but we didn’t need a transfusion, thank God.  Most of the stuff on him was from his attackers.  Anyway, I have him on Enalapril and an analgesic right now because some cardiac muscle died in the impact-”

“But the lad’ll be alright?” Hudson interjected.  Bronx whined at his feet.

“-hence the drugs,” Ortega continued. “We don’t want cardiogenic shock.  This case isn’t severe.  I don’t know how it affects gargoyles, but human patients recover through rest, medication, and a graduated exercise program.  With your accelerated healing during the day, his might be quicker.  He wasn’t getting enough oxygen circulation, which is why he started blacking out.  We’re monitoring him for any serious damage, but if he pulls through the next few hours with no more complications, he’s in the clear.”

“And Laurie?”

Ortega rubbed the back of his head. “Laurie, I don’t get.  First she has a torn windpipe, which requires surgical repair, then she doesn’t.  As soon as her bronchi start fully functioning again, her labored breathing returns to normal and she regains consciousness.  Bizarrely-” He glanced at Xanatos, who suddenly looked far too innocent to be genuine. “-almost immediately, your man Burnett has to be put on painkillers and an intravenous.  I don’t know what the connection is, but considering the things I’ve seen go down in this place, I can only begin to guess and I’d probably be right.”

Elisa glared at Xanatos. “Why weren’t the EMTs called?”

“For her safety, Detective.  Besides having to deal with magic-ignorant doctors, Laurie would have to answer to any other possible lunatics.  The castle was the safest treatment option.  I tried contacting her father personally but got an answering machine.”

“Dr. Mitchell and I had a full hook-up to Colombia Presbyterian the entire time,” Ortega stressed. “We weren’t alone in this, believe me, but it definitely kept some nosy questions from being asked.  At any rate, we had to remove bits of glass from her scalp and she still has a mild concussion.  She and Lexington are troopers, I’ll give them that.”

“Laurie can press charges for assault,” Elisa told Goliath. “I’m not sure what we can do about Lex, but Laurie’s complaint might be enough.  That is, if we actually find the scum responsible.  Once they’re lucid enough to give statements and tell us exactly what happened.”

“I’d hold off, Detective,” Xanatos said. “I doubt the Quarrymen know their identities.  It might be better to allow Laurie to fade into the woodwork without drawing attention to herself.”

“It might send a blow to the Quarrymen.  Wherever Canmore is right now, you can bet he’ll try to get to his people.”

Xanatos said something odd then that Elisa wouldn’t understand until much later. “It’ll take a lot more than that to hurt the Quarrymen.  Believe me.”

“My meeting with Matt was interrupted by a phone call about the attack,” Goliath said. “He could only give me minimal information before I rushed back here.  He seemed, ah, how can I say …”

“Jumpier and more neurotic than usual?” Elisa said helpfully. “I don’t know what’s up with him, but I’ve noticed it, too.  Alright, what do you know about this?”

Xanatos blinked. “Detective?”

“Your eyes just did a funny hop in your skull, Buster.  You know something.”

“Don’t we all?”

“Don’t you try that on me-”

“In your definition of ‘knowing something’, I most certainly do,” Xanatos said, “which only added to my anger tonight, and I’m sorry you had to see that unsportsmanlike display in my office though I have to thank you for calming me down.”

“And you won’t tell us,” she said bitterly.

“You didn’t reach the prestigious rank of Detective for nothing,” he said cheerfully. “But it’s in our best interests, I believe.  You’ll know more as certain things come to light.”

“You can’t keep secrets from us when all this-”

“Quite the contrary, Detective, I can.  It’s imperative.”

“Don’t give me that ‘imperative’ bullshit!  You think this is a game or some twisted-”

The phone’s shrilling startled them all.

***

“Yes?”

Goliath sounded terse.  Brooklyn knew better than to mince words. “Hey, it’s me.” He rolled his tongue around the inside of his mouth and winced at the jagged remains of a bloody tooth.

“Brooklyn?  Where are you?  What happened?”

The crimson gargoyle wrinkled his snout at his surroundings.  The chemical-laden steam of laundry was enough to wilt a bonsai. “Payphone beside a Chinatown grocer’s.  Don’t worry, there’s nobody around right now.  I gave the Quarrymen the slip but just wanted to be sure.  Are Lex and Laurie there?  Are they okay?” He hissed relief at Goliath’s response. “Good.  I hated leaving them but I had to lead those scum away to give them a chance.”

“It is still a few hours until dawn.  If the coast is clear, you have more than enough time to get home.”

Oh, Christ.  This wasn’t going to be easy. “I’m not coming home.”

Silence. “What?”

Brooklyn drew himself up to his full height. “If anything, tonight’s only backed up what I’ve been thinking for a long time, Goliath.  If we’re going to survive this game, we need reinforcements.  I’m taking a little road trip.”

“What?  You do realize that some of your clan nearly died tonight and the rest are frightened?” Brooklyn was almost glad he’d started this discussion over the phone; Goliath sounded ready to punch something. “The Second is the glue that keeps the clan together.  He does not run off whenever it suits him.”

“This isn’t a vacation, Goliath!” Brooklyn snapped. “It’s a survival tactic, not some selfish little hatchling’s escape!  My plan has the clan’s best interests at heart.  If you ever had any faith in me, remember it now.”

“And what if you do not return?  What will we do, then?”

Brooklyn hesitated. “I’m coming back, Goliath.  That’s a promise.  I’ll call you from the road.” He hung up before his clan leader could reply.

***

The men had taken their victim from behind so that she hadn’t even heard them coming … not until they’d clubbed her across the head and dragged her into the alley, where no one could hear her muffled cries.  Brooklyn wasn’t even sure what a girl like her was doing wandering around this late, until he saw the stilettos and the mini-skirt, smelled the cheap perfume and hairspray.  Only now there was the mingled scent of adrenaline and salty tears beneath the tang of Eckard’s cologne.

There were three men, hardly a fair fight.  The first didn’t know what hit him; Brooklyn just grabbed his belt from behind and threw him into the opposite alley wall.  That gave his friends time to turn around and find seven feet of pissed gargoyle.  One reached for the Glock in his pocket, thought better of it, and made a break for the alley’s mouth.  Brooklyn’s tail sent him crashing into the heavy side of a dumpster.  In the second it took him to whirl around, the last man already had the girl caught in the crook of his arm, a switchblade at her throat.

“Don’t try nothin’, Fugly,” the man said. “It don’t take much, just a little poke and the bitch is done.”

The girl whimpered, ruined mascara dripping down her face like an angel’s tears.  Her attacker’s hands were occupied, but that left his legs open.  Brooklyn’s tail smacked the back of the knees, giving him room to maneuver and snap the blade from the man’s hand.  Of course, that meant breaking his wrist, but Brooklyn didn’t mind.  The man seemed to care a bit more, however.

“Hijo de puta!” he screamed. “You broke my hand, you stupid sack of-”

He shut up once Brooklyn punched him in the face.  The crimson gargoyle turned on the girl, who rubbed her arms and shook like she had the ague. “Are you okay?” he asked softly.

She jerked away from him. “Yeah, man, I’m fine!  Just … fucking … fine…” She started to sob quietly.  Brooklyn wanted to say something.  Is this the first time you’ve been attacked while trying to make a couple bucks?  Don’t you have older brothers who are worried about you?  Why aren’t you at home?  Do you have a home?  But he didn’t ask, because he knew the answers, could read them in the cold, miserable lines of the woman-child’s face.  It was a testament to her environment that she didn’t scream and run from him: her monsters were much more frightening than anything with wings.

Instead, he said, “You hungry?”

She sniffed and slowly nodded.  Brooklyn pulled the last gangbanger up by his ponytail.  The man yelped and cradled his hand. “Hey, asshole, you got a wallet?”

“Huh, what?  Y-you gonna r-r-rob me, too?” he stuttered.

“No, I’m not robbing you.  You’re gonna pay me to let you keep your balls.” Brooklyn bared his fangs and tightened his grip.

“Back pocket, man!  T-take it, it’s y-yours!”

With one hand, Brooklyn snatched the wallet from its spot and pulled out its contents: $62 in bills and some old ticket stubs.  He dumped this into the girl’s startled hands. “Go eat something,” Brooklyn said. “I’ll drop you off at a shelter for the night, too.  You look tired.  Hey, Skippy-” He shook the man like a wet rat. “-the lady here would like some transportation.  Can’t mess up those pretty shoes of hers.  You got a ride?”

“N-no, I don’t.”

Brooklyn’s eyes lit up like twin lanterns. “Oops.  Wrong answer.”

“Over there!  The bike, take it!  J-just let me go!  Please!”

He dropped the cringing man on his ass and looked: there, across the street from the alley’s mouth, were some gorgeous hogs.  The men must’ve stopped to talk to the girl – either to make an offer or ask directions – and stalked on foot the last couple of yards before jumping her.  One of the motorcycles in particular grabbed his eye: four-hundred pounds of purple and chrome slicked to a sheer finish, a motif of snakes and thorny roses twisting up the sides.

Brooklyn grinned.

***

January 20th, 1999

Matt found the place easily: a huge brownstone of brick and marble wedged in-between a dozen others just like it except for the great lion statues flanking the entrance.  A maple overtook the brownstone’s front, its roots undermining the sidewalk from below, and children hop-scotched in the street until the occasional car sent them scattering like a startled flock of starlings.  An elderly butler (real old school, Matt thought) answered the door and eyed him as if he was a paper boy who’d accidentally broken a window.  As to the question of why he was there, Matt himself wasn’t sure.

“I got a message,” was all he could say in reply, realizing how idiotic he sounded.  Strangely, that answer seemed to satisfy the butler, who ushered him inside.  The foyer was huge, a conglomerate of Persian rugs and brass-trimmed elevators, oil paintings and stiff Victorian era chairs.  A grand staircase wound its way up to upper floors just barely visible in the shadowed recesses of the cathedral-sized ceiling.  Now that Matt thought of it, this building had seemed a bit taller than its brethren …

The butler stood at attention beside the staircase. “Twelfth floor.”

“Uh, which room?”

“You will know when you get there.  You might want to hurry, sir.  The elevators run on an old crank system and it has been turned off for the night.  Good evening.” He scurried away.

Matt jogged up the staircase at an unsteady gait, promising himself to make an appointment with the precinct’s personal trainer, until he reached the twelfth floor.  It turned out to be the top-most level of the building, and the butler had been right: it was easy finding the door because it was the only one on the entire floor.  At the end of the corridor were double doors.  Matt glanced behind him, but all he saw was an empty wall.  Save for the butler, the entire building had been deserted.  He had an odd feeling that this floor was rarely used, too; the rug here was freshly vacuumed, the brass trim of the elevator recently shined, as if this was an area recently buffed up for a special event.

A security camera protruded from the wall beside the double doors, its red eye inspecting him with an electronic wariness.  Matt shuffled in his shoes for a second and said, “Um, hi.  I’m here to …”

Again, he wasn’t sure why he was here.

The doors creaked open of their own volition.  Matt suppressed the urge to shit his pants and entered, though he nearly lost it as the doors swung closed behind him.  Before him was a shorter corridor decorated on all sides with oil paintings.  He’d expected stern portraits of mutton-chopped gentlemen but was surprised to see rolling landscapes with castles and knights and faeries.  He recognized what had to be a copy of La Belle Dame sans Merci … or what he thought had to be a copy.  Knowing the Illuminati, it was probably original.

He shuffled nervously down the corridor and stopped before a single door.  Images had been cut into the medieval stone arch overhead: the familiar eye-in-the-pyramid symbol, the insignia of the Illuminati.  Beneath it was a new one: a hand rising from a lake and clutching a sword.  Weird.

Matt knocked but this time he had a funny feeling it was all right to walk in, so he did.  What first struck him was the sheer size of the room.  As a member of the Tenth Circle (Illuminati-speak for the Jack Shit newbie who was more likely to fetch the upper echelon’s coffee than be introduced to the mysteries of the universe), Matt had seen a fair share of Illuminati offices, most of them no bigger than a precinct cubicle.  A tree grew up through the office floor, its fat trunk home to a host of blossoms and strange fungi whose properties probably ran the gamut of hallucinogenic.  A man-sized globe and telescope stood before the wall-sized windows, and next to that was a set of brass scales weighing what looked like raw slabs of liver.  Floor-to-ceiling shelves adorned the walls, and strange writing adorned the spines of the numerous volumes.  There was a strange maple desk, too, of the sort artists used with an adjustable backing.  A system of lights behind the desk allowed the user to investigate documents by shining light through the back of them; right now a brittle parchment was affixed to the desk.  Matt didn’t recognize the paper’s language.

“That particular document dates to the third millennia before Christ.” Matt’s heart nearly jumped out of his chest, but it just turned out to be a little old man.  Had he been standing next to Matt the entire time?  Some detective he was …

“Uh, really?” was Matt’s genius response. “It looks like Hindi.”

“Good guess, but you wouldn’t win a vacation with that answer.  It’s Sanskrit.  Same region, different époque.  Would you care for some tea?”

“Sure.” Matt followed his host across the room – treading on an ornate tiger skin rug in the process – to another desk, this one looking like the usual sort used for paperwork.  Across from it was a squishy chintz chair, a far cry from the stiff-backed Victorian stuff downstairs.  Matt settled himself in and tried not to fidget, feeling as if he was back in middle school and has just been sent to the principal’s.

The old man sat across from him and began shoving things off his desk. “Blast, haven’t been here in a couple years, I dare think,” he muttered. “Please pardon the mess, I have yet to clean.  Shove off, Archimedes.” There was an angry hoot as he pushed aside what turned out to be a fat barn owl that had decided to nest on a stack of tea cozies.  Matt blinked.

“Can I ask why I’m here?” he said cautiously, resisting his usual urge to get sarcastic.

“You may, though I’m not sure if you’ll get a straight response.”

The old man’s smile was only partially hidden by his long beard.  Matt had a feeling he was being fooled with. “Look, I’ve been getting … messages.  Symbols.  This morning someone taped a dollar on the inside of my mailbox.  They’d circled the pyramid icon and some numbers in the federal reserve number.  Then I get a weird phone call, and before I can ask anything, this guy tells me that the numbers are the time, and he tells me to come to ‘the usual place’ before hanging up.  It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out it was Illuminati business, so I came here.”

“Admirable deduction.”

“So tell me why I’m here.”

“It doesn’t work that way, I’m afraid.  First, tell me what you know.” He rolled his eyes. “Don’t give me that blank expression, my dear boy, it’s rather pathetic.”

“I just know that ever since I got lassoed into this crazy organization, I’ve been in the dark about everything.  Everything!  Until a couple days ago when I met this chick in the local Starbucks, and she dropped a couple hints about who she worked for before leaving me in the dust.  I’m sick of being baited with tidbits and then kicked in the ass.” Matt stopped.  By the expression on the old geezer’s face, this wasn’t the information his host was seeking. “Alright … you’re not American.”

“Correct.”

“You hail from the UK, but I can’t place your accent.  It sounds … dusty, like it’s been locked up in a wardrobe for a couple years.”

“Very nice.  I like the ‘wardrobe’ touch as well.”

“You’re in league with the Grandmaster, who wants me for something to do with the Quarrymen.”

“And you were doing so nicely up until now,” the old man said sadly and offered Matt a steaming cup of tea, and the detective didn’t dare refuse. “I am not, my boy, in league with your Grandmaster.  He’s a bit beneath me.”

Matt gaped.  In all the time he’d studied the Illuminati, tracked them down, researched witnesses, and eventually joined the ranks himself, the Grandmaster had been the top dog.  He’d never even heard it suggested otherwise, never even considered that the Illuminati ladder could go any higher.

“How far beneath you?” Matt inquired innocently, but the old man wasn’t fooled.

“First, let us be honest with each other.  You are here to work for me.  If this venture is to succeed, honesty is imperative, and you’ve been Illuminatus long enough to know that la verité is not a shining point in this organization.  Concealment is often a necessity.  I believe you know David Xanatos?”

“Yeah, he’s Seventh Circle, isn’t he?”

“Yes.  The good Mr. Xanatos does not know of my existence, if that is any indication to you of how high up I am.”

Matt could only stare.  Finally, he said, “I take it this entire meeting is confidential.”

“Assuredly.”

“Or what?” Matt took on a slightly challenging tone. “I’ll meet with a little accident?”

“But of course.”

“Uh-huh,” he said weakly. “The, uh, Grandmaster knows about you?”

“He knows of my existence, seen me at a few formal events.  We’ve never spoken.”

Holy crap, Matt thought.

“That,” he continued, “is not important, however.  You’ve been appointed as head of the Gargoyles Task Force, and you not only have a deep link with the gargoyles professionally but personally as well.  You also have experience dealing with the self-called ‘Quarrymen’.  I believe you will be an asset to the Illuminati, Detective.”

Matt stared: he’d been appointed head of the Force just days earlier. “You do your homework.”

“I put you there.”

“You what?”

“Your case files revealed a man I believed capable of the job.”

“You have friends in high places?”

“Correction.  High officials have friends in even higher places.  I am that friend.”

“Gotcha,” he said weakly.

“Now then, with that laid out on the table,” the old man continued, “we will be on a name basis, you and I.  Not a first name basis.  I prefer Sir, if you don’t mind.  Back in my day I was a teacher, and I still command a little respect.  You may know me as Myrddin Starling.  It’s Welsh,” he added helpfully at Matt’s puzzled expression. “You may also call me the Architect.”

“Nice title.”

“It actually reveals much about my history with the Illuminati, if you think on it.  Anyway, I suppose your colleagues are still panicking over Canmore’s escape earlier this week.  This wasn’t a mere escape, and Canmore was most definitely aided.  We have members in the police force, too, but very few have been informed of … ahem, certain facts.  Secrecy is urgent.

“Detective, are you aware of the Illuminati’s stance on gargoyles?”

“No, sir,” Matt said truthfully.

“We have known of their existence – officially – since the fourth century BC, although formal studies of them were not conducted until the 1100’s.  We took them under our wing, so to speak, because of our belief that a new world order can not be established without unity.  Hatred, genocide, these things are blights upon the gods’ children, you see.  The Illuminati have also collected knowledge since time immemorial on things beside gargoyles.  Like your young acquaintance, Ms. Hawke.”

“How do you-”

“Oh, I know all about Laurie and her friend,” the Architect said softly.  Matt suddenly noticed the photographs on his desk, and one in particular caught his eye: Puck and Laurie, eyes closed, meditating as they levitated a couple feet off the ground.  The picture had to have been taken inside the castle because the floor was stone. “She and I share quite a few similarities, and her relationship with the Phooka fascinates me.  Anyway, Avalon’s Children share a special part in our research as well.

“The Quarrymen are the problem,” he continued. “We have funded the Canmores over the last eight hundred years.  Several branches of the family tree were more interested in capturing specimens for study rather than murder.  However, the last few generations have been a bit of a disappointment, truth be told.  Unfortunately, not all Illuminatus agree.”

Matt could feel his universe split apart at the seams. “Are you saying,” he said slowly, careful to word it properly so he didn’t offend this powerful man, “someone in the ranks has gone rogue?”

“Exactly.”

“They helped Canmore escape.”

“Precisely.”

“That’s insane.”

“I know.”

“It’s a death sentence.”

“If they are caught, perhaps.  But it most certainly does not bode well for your friends.  And that is why I’ve kept a personal eye on you over the last few years, Matthew.  This interests you professionally, of course, but your social life has a distinct link to these majestic beasts as well.  As does mine.” A sad wrinkle appeared in the corner of his eye.

“It has to be more than one person,” Matt said. “The gun had to exchange several hands in order to get sneaked into Canmore’s quarters.”

“And it frightens me,” the Architect said truthfully. “Let me be frank: for not one, not two, but a swarm of people inside the Illuminati framework to go against everything the Illuminati has ever stood for … I am severely worried.”

“What do you want me to do about it?”

“I have my own spies.  Information will be coming in within the next few weeks.  Stay posted.  I may contact you again.  In fact, you can be assured of it.  This has just begun.  And by the by, Xanatos knows only tidbits.  Although he is in the Outer Circles, his playing host to the gargoyles made it necessary for the Grandmaster to let him in somewhat.  Please don’t share anything with him even if he mentions something to you.”

Matt, who struggled to scrape together cash for rent and his mechanic, preened at the idea of being higher up than Forbe’s Man of the Year, fourth time running. “You bet.”

There was a knock at the door. “Enter.”

A robust man with a graying ponytail peeked his head in. “Oh, quite sorry.  I thought you were alone, sir.”

A smile melted across the Architect’s crinkled features. “Just nearly, my boy.  Please do come in.  I believe Matthew was just about to go.”

Reality was quickly leaving by the back door.  Matt, who had spent his entire life chasing the phantom that was the Illuminati, had not just joined their ranks, but was being addressed by his first name from a man not even the Grandmaster was acquainted with.  His head hurt. “Leaving.  Right.” He fumbled the teacup down – on top of the now clearly annoyed owl – and stood up. “What should I do in the meantime?”

The Architect – Myrddin Starling (how many aliases did the man have?) – regarded him with a fond wariness. “Be a detective.  The problem with humans is that they spend too much time doing and not enough time being.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It is his way of saying hush up and keep your ears open,” the ponytail newcomer said helpfully. “Took me years to figure that out, so I offer you this morsel of information for free.”

“Ah, gotcha.  Sort of like Yoda.”

“My hair is much finer,” the Architect sniffed, though Matt saw a spark behind his eyes, somewhere. “In my life, young one, I have encountered betrayal and jealousy and anger.  Let me remind you that we are fighting the worst thing the gods ever gave us.”

“What’s that?”

“Our humanity.  Hmph, stop staring, Matthew, it’s true.  It strikes me,” he mused, “that for all our human faults, we’re not very humane, and many of the humane beings are not even human.  Don’t you find that the most deadly paradox of all?”

Matt didn’t know what to say.  Both men stared at him as if expecting a smart answer, but after several seconds he nervously put down the still-full teacup. “I’d better get to work on this.” He was at the door before the Architect spoke.

“You won’t find the answer right away, or in any one place you look,” the old man said. “I suggest meditating on it.  Oftentimes, solutions come from where you least expect them.”

“Got it.” Tolkien reject, Matt thought.  But secretly, he was impressed.

And maybe just a little afraid.

***

Arthur Pendragon settled himself into the chintzy chair and took up Matt’s untouched teacup, blew on it softly, and took a careful sip. “You told him?”

“Not everything.” Merlin stroked Archimedes’ breast feathers and got a friendly nip in the bargain. “When did I ever overfill your head?  I treat all my students the same.”

“Not much has changed in fifteen hundred years then.”

“Well, it took me a bit to work Matthew up to the challenge.  I appeared to him in a coffee shop a few days ago in disguise.  It worked to his male sensibilities.”

“Ha!  You always used interesting devices to your ends.” Arthur’s eyes glanced downward.  A well appeared in Merlin’s brow and he followed his student’s gaze. “That shirt … I do not think it is the highest of fashion.”

“I have an impeccable sense of taste,” Merlin informed him loftily.  Then again, the detective had given him an odd glance at first.  Most mortals seemed amused by sweater vests and Hawaiian shirts, a trait that Merlin lacked. “Where are you off to now?”

“I believe I have a lead,” Arthur said. “I shall inform you of my whereabouts upon my arrival.”

“Very well.”

“I have a … a feeling.”

“That is your mother’s side coming out.  If only I had started your magic training at a younger age, but …” Merlin shrugged. “That is a regret fifteen centuries past, and there’s hardly any use in lamenting shadows.”

Arthur downed the rest of the tea and stood up, tugging at the casual tee-shirt he wore.  He missed his armor. “If that is all, sir?  Unless things get any more exciting around here …”

Merlin smirked. “When aren’t they?” The antiquated brass-plate telephone on his desk jingled.  He jerked it off its stand, looking annoyed at the interruption. “Carmichael, I said under no circumstances tonight was I to be – what?  Could you repeat that?  I … don’t think …”

Arthur’s brawny arms shot across the desk to catch Merlin as the old man slid sideways. “Merlin!  What is it?” It was no use; Merlin lay on the tiger skin rug, out for the count.  Arthur snatched up the receiver. “Hallo, who is this?  What do you want?”

“Is the old bird alright?  Hope I didn’t kill him.”

“Who is this?  And how dare you call him a-”

“I call Merlin whatever I want, thank you very much,” the woman said in a no-nonsense tone.  Arthur stuttered at the use of Merlin’s true name instead of one of his endless aliases. “He didn’t faint, did he?”

“I fear he did.”

“Blast.  Well, then, could you try to rouse him?  I think it’s important.”

He knew that voice, a dusty reminder from a period of castles and gods and swords. “Who is this?” he said, though he knew.

“Oh, Arthur, you always were a bit thick, weren’t you?  Wake up the old bird.  It’s me.  Viviane.”

The End

Author’s note: CBGB () is an awesome club located on Bleeker Street in the Village.  It’s not easily noticed at first because of the scaffolding across the front (yet there never seems to be any repair work of any sorts going on); I was introduced to the place two years ago thanks to my friend Mark, who’s a drummer in The Connection.  Descriptions of the place are accurate, although I’ve yet to see Quarrymen downing shots at the bar.

It’s hard to make comments on the rest of this story as so much happened with so many characters.  Laurie and Oz’s jump onto the train tracks – and the ensuing semblance of suicide – popped into my head months ago.  I knew I had to use it somehow … and voila.

Relatives scare me.

I don’t know or understand what Puck’s thinking half the time, but he’s a continual source of amusement for me, perhaps because he’s actually not so light-hearted and frivolous as I’d initially pegged him.  He’s actually pretty deep.

Werewolves rock.  Drummers rock.  But a young tattoo artist bumming around with his band mates in-between full moons?  Classic.  And Lex and Laurie running into the same person who’d first brought them together years earlier – and nearly killed them both in the process – had to be done, only this time Oz actually saves them.  Hello, irony.  And a band called Hell Hounds with a werewolf for the drummer?  Oz, you rock.  I imagined him as a shyer version of Brad Pitt’s character in Fight Club in both looks and manner, because I loved Tyler Durden’s traits: wild, dark, feral, a hint of deadly.  I still think Oz is shyer, though; he’s the type of guy who’ll write lyrics but play the drums in the background while someone else sings his songs.

I think this story breaks my previous records: 45 pages in two weeks.  I hadn’t written anything in months due to real life interfering too much to put any decent thought into story writing (although I had a basic idea of what would happen next), but suddenly I had some time … and the creativity demons started paying daily visits.