15: Recluse
It took a few hours for Sophie to requisition the vehicle. It was an older white police van, unmarked and normally reserved for undercover operations. With only a short while before sunrise, Brooklyn made himself comfortable in the rear of the vehicle whilst Sophie sent them on their way to rural New York state.
It was not easy to get lost these days, certainly not when one had a GPS on the dashboard. By the time sunrise came about, Sophie was already out of the greater New York City area and heading into the northwest of the state, where the cities and suburbs gave way to much more open greenery. Mostly forested hills and flowing rivers and the like. She had not often found herself this far from the city, if only because her work had kept her contained within the city limits. So, to see the countryside and during sunrise no less was a welcome sight, a preferred change to the normally grey city skyline and the smell of fuel that so often permeated the city air. By dawn, Sophie was exhausted, and she found herself pulling the van to a halt by one of the scattered motels that lined the main highways.
As expected, Captain Haden had tried calling her on her cell phone. And, as she had intended, she had not 'heard' it ring. Sure, she had felt it vibrate in her pocket, but she had been driving and this van did not have a hands-free system in place, so she had left it be. No need to be irresponsible, picking up the phone while driving. She was a police officer, after all.
Climbing out of the van outside a modest, single-floor motel along the New York upstate highway, she pulled the phone from her pocket and took a quick glance at the display. Not only had Haden called her, he had sent a few clearly aggravated text messages in turn. Sophie sent him one in reply, simply telling him that she and Brooklyn were pursuing a lead and would be back in a couple of days. That was the truth, more or less; just because she had neglected to inform Haden in advance of her plans, that did not mean she was not doing her job.
The sky above was almost cloudless, which allowed the summer sun to bear down on her hard as soon as she was out of the van. Even though she was lightly dressed, wearing a plain white top and jeans, she soon found herself feeling a little sweaty, and after sending her message she sidled around to the rear of the van. Opening the door back here, she poked her head inside to check on Brooklyn. He was seated on one of the bench-style seats at the left, his entire body now firmly encased in stone. Having a stone gargoyle in the back of your van was certainly unusual, but such was the life of a New York City Detective nowadays.
She closed the door and locked it. She figured if anyone was foolish enough to try stealing the thing, they might be in for a shock once the sun went down. Looking about the motel and the highway, there was little of note here save for some storefronts across the road, a bar and a post office. Beyond this small flyspeck of a 'town' (a word that barely applied here), there was little else but forest. Tall, lush green trees that went on for miles in all directions, covering rolling hills and broken up by the odd stream and the like.
The motel she had stopped at looked legitimate enough. The car park was occupied by several vehicles, so it certainly did decent business. It was quiet too, save for the subdued sounds of a television emanating from one of the nearby rooms.
Sophie slipped her sunglasses into a pocket on her top before heading for the office nearby. The man at the desk there was an older gentleman with greying hair, and he offered Sophie a convincing customer-service friendly smile as she entered. After brief exchange with him she had herself a room, one a few doors down from the office itself.
All she had intended was a nap, really. A few hours sleep to recharge her waning batteries. As soon as she entered the room, lit only by what light filtered through the thin white curtains over the front window, she kicked off her shoes and threw herself upon the bed. Within a few minutes, she was asleep. Her surprise was almost palpable when she woke up to find that a good six hours had passed, putting her firmly in the late afternoon. Nearly a whole day wasted. There was a text message from Griggs on her phone, she found. Apparently, he had managed to persuade the Captain as to the necessity of her road-trip and he eagerly awaited her return. By 'eager', Sophie surmised that it was more to do with the fact that Haden looked forward to verbally laying into her when she came back.
Since it was so close to sundown, Sophie went to the shops across the road and grabbed something to eat. She even bought something for Brooklyn, a couple of sandwiches, as the gargoyle was going to wake up soon. With that done, she went back to driving the clunky old van, doing so carefully. Partly because a paranoid feeling had set in, that hitting a hard-enough bump might shatter the stone gargoyle in the back. That was unlikely, but it was a worry that nagged away at her mind nonetheless.
Driving down the highway, she was treated to a decent view of the sunset off to the east, over a row of rocky, forested hills. And as soon as it was gone behind those hills, she became aware of the sound of something akin to breaking pottery in the van's passenger section behind her.
The small sliding hatch at the wall behind her slid open suddenly, and Brooklyn stuck his head through, a curious look in his eyes.
"Are we there yet?" He asked, a smirk forming at his mouth.
"You ask that again and you can walk the rest of the way," Sophie remarked. She glanced at the GPS on the dashboard, noticing that they were closing in on their intended destination. "Not to worry, Brook. We're nearly there. Sit back and relax, I even got you dinner." With one hand, she picked up the pair of wrapped ham and cheese sandwiches and passed them to him through the hatch. "You see, I take care of my friends."
"You got a drink?" Brooklyn asked her. As soon as he had asked the question, she had gone and thrust a can of Coca Cola into his free hand. "Of course you do, I mean."
"Like I said, I take care of my friends." Behind her, Brooklyn sat back down in the van's passenger section and got started on his modest dinner (which, to him, was more like 'breakfast').
The remaining twenty minutes of driving went by quietly. Brooklyn ate his dinner, had his cola and was otherwise a well-behaved passenger. Sophie turned the van onto a more remote stretch of highway, one with woodland flanking it on either side. Beyond the tree line on their right wound a murky creek, the banks swamped with overgrown grass. In the deepening darkness of night, the forest around them took on a more imposing appearance, with little more than the headlights of the van that enabled a proper view of what lay ahead. There was other traffic, the odd car racing by the other way, but otherwise the roads were quiet.
Even with the darkness, Sophie sighted the shape of the old house from some ways off. There was a light on out the front, illuminating part of the driveway. The house appeared a little worn out, with paint flaking off of the weatherboards and the lawn and shrubs in the front garden having been left to grow wildly. Sophie brought the van to a halt just off of the road, situating it upon a gravel stretch by the start of the driveway. She peered at the house through the windshield, the headlights casting it under a partial stark white glow, creating long, creeping shadows. The place looked almost abandoned. And without the light on at the front, she could have driven right past the place without seeing it.
Brooklyn poked his head through the open hatchway behind her. His eyes followed her gaze, and his brow narrowed into an uncertain frown.
"Is that it?" He asked her.
"That's it." Sophie pulled the old photograph out of her pocket, comparing the house in the image to the one before them now. The similarities were all there, save for the obvious difference in how much more the gardens had overgrown compared to those in the decades-old photo. "You think he's expecting us?" She gestured in the direction of the single light, fitted above the front door, its glow illuminating much of the driveway.
"Xanatos is a man who likes to be prepared," Brooklyn replied, his tone dry.
"We'll check it out." Sophie pulled open the glovebox. Inside was her waist holster, with her Colt Python revolver sitting snugly within it. She pulled the whole lot out and fitted the holster about her waist, before she pulled the gun from its sheath and quickly checked to make sure it was loaded. The hammer was set into its 'safe' position, but all six cylinders were loaded. Brooklyn watched her, keeping his frown as he did so.
"You think we'll run into trouble?" He asked her.
"I think it best we be prepared for anything," Sophie said. She slid the gun back into place before she swung open the driver's side door. She made sure to get the keys of the van as well, the headlights switching off and allowing the encroaching darkness to push ever closer.
It was cool outside, but not so much as to be chilly. Sophie climbed out of the van, with Brooklyn moving to the rear doors in turn before he opened one. It felt good to be out of the stifling confines, he had room to spread his wings out here. He did just that, flexing the aching extensions of himself, fluttering them even before slowly caping them over his back, the small 'claws' at the top of each one coming to rest snugly upon either shoulder. Sophie was already marching ahead to the front of the house, and so Brooklyn hurried after her, thinking it best he keep an eye on their flanks and rear in case any trouble did show itself.
Despite the ageing appearance of the house, there was something that suggested recent occupants: a surveillance camera was fitted to the front, a little off to the left of the doorway. Its lens observed the oncoming pair impassively, and Brooklyn found himself eyeing it in turn. The presence of the camera was as good as any indication that Xanatos, or someone with similar levels of paranoia, occupied the building. With this in mind, Brooklyn found himself becoming a little more alert than before.
Sophie stopped before the front door. She examined it briefly, spotting the small button off to its right that suggested a bell of sorts. She pressed it with one finger, the ding-dong resounding about the house's interior. After a pause, she rang it again, before she settled back a step for what she figured could be a long wait. Brooklyn sensed prying eyes watching the pair, and not just through the camera. Movement at one of the lower windows suggested someone was home, someone who was trying to be a little covert about their presence. His more sensitive ears picked up on the approaching footsteps from inside before Sophie's did, although she visibly tensed up when she heard them in turn.
The door opened, partially. There was a dead-bolt chain on the inside, keeping it from opening any further. It was dark on that other side. Sophie found herself struggling to make out the face of the man behind the door, save for the flash of glass in the subdued lighting that suggested the presence of spectacles.
"How may I help you, ma'am?" A refined, almost cultured voice. One hand adjusted the glasses set upon the nose of the house's occupant. He was a tall man with a slim frame, Sophie noticed. The man's head turned a little, his attention floating over to Brooklyn who remained a few metres behind. Instead of the expected shock or awe, the man simply paused for a moment as if to take stock of the gargoyle's presence before he turned his head back to Sophie.
"You keep unusual company," he said.
"I'm Detective McLaughlin, with the NYPD." She flashed her badge, before she nodded to Brooklyn. "My friend's name is Brooklyn. We were following up a lead, took us out here. We believe that a man by the name of David Xanatos may be on the premises or might have been at some point in the past."
Brooklyn's eyes detected a little more detail in the dim lighting than Sophie's own. He stepped forwards then, a half-smile forming at his mouth along with a look of flat-out recognition.
"Burnett?" The gargoyle sounded incredulous. "Burnett, is that you?"
"You know this guy?" Sophie turned to him, and Brooklyn stepped up alongside her. The man in the doorway, concealed in shadow with the dead-bolt chain in front of his face, did not immediately reply.
"I'd know that voice anywhere," Brooklyn said. "Owen Burnett. Assistant to David Xanatos." Brooklyn's brow narrowed, his expression becoming hard. It was one that suggested he was not here for fun and games. "Where is he?"
"Where is who, Brooklyn?" That same careful, refined voice.
"David Xanatos. Don't play games, Burnett. Or, should I say, Puck?"
"Who?" Sophie glanced at the gargoyle, confused. "Who the hell is 'Puck'? And what kind of name is that?"
"I haven't been 'Puck' for a long time, Brooklyn." The man on the other side unhitched the deadbolt chain, before he opened the door further. This allowed more of the light from the fitting above to fall upon him, revealing the face of a young thirty-something man with close-cropped blonde hair. He was dressed in a navy-blue business suit, his eyes narrowed into a careful, almost alert, expression. Behind him, the hallway was dark, with decades-old wallpaper and even older carpet underfoot.
"Where is he?" Brooklyn stepped forwards, but Owen moved directly into his path. Despite being faced with an increasingly impatient gargoyle, Owen appeared the very picture of calm and collected.
"You can't go forcing your way in here, Brooklyn." Owen eyed the dark-blue vest the gargoyle wore, complete with NYPD patch at the front. "Even if you are with the police."
"We don't want to intrude," Sophie said. "We just want to ask some questions. We can do that outside, if you'd like."
"That won't be necessary."
This was another voice, one from an older man. It sounded from somewhere down the hallway. A door swung open then, light from behind spilling out into the darkened hallway. From the doorway emerged the voice's owner, although he did not walk into sight. Rather, he rolled into view seated in a motorised wheelchair, his legs covered up with a blanket. He wore a plain grey gown, his hair appearing somewhat ruffled and greying. His thick, bushy beard was also flecked with grey, his face carrying with it the many lines that came with age. Some of those had clearly been brought on by stress rather than the years themselves, as Xanatos was not even that old.
This was David Xanatos, that much was clear. Sophie had seen photos of the man from years before, young and well-kempt and confident. Obviously, the years had not been kind to him. The wheelchair was the most obvious change, and it wheeled partway down the corridor, its electric motor whirring as it moved. Xanatos' eyes fell upon Brooklyn. His mouth curled into a beaming smile, his eyes lighting up noticeably.
"I had a feeling something would bring at least one of you here, one day," Xanatos said. His voice was filled with an irritating self-assurance that was all too familiar to Brooklyn.
"Xanatos," Brooklyn stated. He sounded almost resigned. "Is this where you've been? All this time?"
"I did not want to move too far from Manhattan," Xanatos replied. "I wanted to stay close enough to keep tabs on you and your clan. And, well, maybe I harboured some small hope that one day I would return to my old haunts in New York City." His face took on a more contemplative look then, and he emitted a long, drawn-out sigh. "No such luck so far, I'm afraid." He motioned back down the hallway with one hand. "Come on in, the both of you. I'm sure you came here for a good reason. And if not, there is plenty I can tell you."
He swivelled the electric wheelchair around before heading back the way he had come. Owen stepped aside, allowing the pair entry. Brooklyn followed Xanatos closely, with Sophie trailing behind. Xanatos rounded the corner, entering through the door he had come in from. Light spilled in from behind, perhaps the only light that was switched on within the old house. Sophie took in what she could of the place as they moved down the hall, noticing that much of what was in here looked old and worn-out. The furniture, the carpet, the shelves; it all had a certain 'used' quality to it, as if nothing had been replaced in this house for many years.
The door Xanatos took them through lead into the basement, Sophie realised. Instead of stairs, there had been placed a ramp at a gentler incline. This allowed Xanatos, on his motorised wheelchair, to move along it with ease.
The basement seemed an odd choice of room for a meeting, yet the whole situation was odd in itself. Here was a former billionaire, a philanthropist even, who had made a name for himself in donating large sums of money to charitable causes. Yet, behind closed doors he had funded a number of morally dubious operations, among them genetic manipulation and robotics that had, from what information had been released, been intended for military use. Not only that, but the man himself had been a confident sort, always one to turn heads and draw a crowd, never one to shun the spotlight.
Now, here he was, living with his aide in some backwoods house that would have been at home in an old horror movie. Sophie went after the man into the basement thinking she would find little else down there but drab grey concrete walls and some old junk. Instead, she found herself entering a veritable command centre, with photos and maps plastered upon the walls, computer terminals and server towers stacked about the central space and rows of filing cabinets taking up much of the backend of the room. The lights were on in full force down here, and Sophie found herself squinting slightly as her eyes adjusted.
Brooklyn looked as startled as she did by the sight of the place. Owen appeared at the top of the ramp, and Xanatos spun about as he came upon the central table.
"Owen, could you get my guests and I some coffee?"
"None for me," Brooklyn said.
"All right, two coffees. And some sandwiches, too."
"I already had my fill." Brooklyn again. He sounded a little dour. Sophie knew he and Xanatos had a history, and it had not been all good.
"Well, I haven't, Brooklyn. So, if you'll allow me, I'd like to have something to eat before it gets too late." Xanatos sounded amused by the gargoyle's increasing hostility. Sophie, on the other hand, felt somewhat uncomfortable here. She was out of place, an outsider to what had obviously been a strained acquaintance between Brooklyn and the former billionaire.
Owen acknowledged these instructions with a nod before he turned about and disappeared into the house above. Xanatos regarded both his visitors with keen interest, one hand scratching at his bushy beard.
"As you can see, I took what I could from my headquarters," Xanatos explained. With one hand, he motioned to their surroundings, inviting them to take a closer look. There were some interesting things, Sophie saw, especially with the photos pinned onto the walls. Some were of gargoyles, she noticed. None she recognized, save for those blurry stills from news footage taken on Devil's Night, seven years ago.
"I've been investigating certain avenues since things went bad," he continued. "And before you say anything, I know what you've been doing these past seven, eight years. Same goes for all your friends. I may not have all my resources anymore, but I've got enough to know you and Broadway have been treated poorly by the authorities. We have that in common, since it's those authorities who took away much of what I owned."
"All those things you did were bound to catch up to you eventually, Xanatos." Brooklyn delivered this comment as bluntly as he could manage. Xanatos did not even appear fazed by it, rather he simply gave a quick nod, as if he agreed.
"Well, maybe you are right in some way. Karma was never something I believed much in, superstitious nonsense as it was. Still, perhaps there was some small element of truth to be found in it?" He paused, allowing this question to hang about in the air between them. Sophie felt that this was hardly relevant, and so interjected then as to better steer the conversation the way she wanted:
"You know, we came here because of a case." She went to pull out her badge, but Xanatos raised a hand and shook his head.
"No need, Detective McLaughlin." He motioned towards a nearby computer monitor. Thereupon it was the camera feed from outside. "I saw and heard everything out there. A necessary security measure, for a man like me."
"Right." Sophie slipped the wallet containing her badge back into her pocket. "You let me in with a gun, though."
"I did. But that's because I saw your record, Detective. I know you wouldn't shoot anyone unless it was absolutely necessary. Not once have you killed anybody while working for the NYPD. On five occasions you have fired your weapon, but each time was either a warning or, on one occasion, you shot a violent suspect in the foot. A commendable level of control, especially for a New York Detective. The city is so dangerous these days, as you and I both know."
What irked Sophie about all this was how confident he sounded. He was so self-assured, smug even, that she found she was developing an urge to hit the man.
"You know so much about me," she said, evenly. "How?"
"I identified you as you came up the driveway," Xanatos said. "My computers pulled up your record."
"But that's not a record anyone can just find…"
"I can, Detective. Even as I live now, I can still do things most people can't." He gestured to his legs, immobile as they were. "With some exceptions, of course."
"What happened, Xanatos?" Brooklyn asked, his face bearing a measured, if curious, frown.
"What happened?" Xanatos quirked one brow. "Certainly, you heard about it yourself, Brooklyn? I was a wanted man for some time, still am, really. People think I was behind one of the worst acts of terrorism this nation has ever seen. I have to lay low, keep my head down, otherwise I might wake up one day and find it missing." He offered a half-smile at this remark. "One might say I had everything. It's surprising how fleeting that can be, to have everything only to lose it all practically overnight. A real 'riches-to-rags' tale."
"I meant your legs." Brooklyn rolled his eyes. Xanatos patted his thigh for emphasis, a much grimmer look appearing on his face.
"It was not the cleanest getaway," he said simply. "Not one of my best. But that doesn't matter. A man doesn't need his legs working to get by, and he certainly doesn't need his legs to get the best of his enemies." He tapped a finger against his temple. "No, my mind is perfectly intact. At the end of the day, that is the one weapon you will always have at your disposal."
"Until you get dementia," Sophie commented, offering the man a grin. "I mean, I am right, aren't I?"
"Very astute, Detective. Just the kind of observation I'd expect from one of New York City's finest." Xanatos wheeled his chair over to the table, sifting through the papers that were scattered about there. He neatened them up a bit, clearing some room. Given all that Sophie had heard of the man, she had figured he would be a bit of a neat freak, the kind of person to keep their workspace tidy and well-organized. The mishmash of documents, photographs and maps all over the table and the surrounding walls suggested the opposite. A trait that had changed over the years, no less, brought on by his change in circumstances.
"I have a very good idea what really happened that night, in 2016," Xanatos said. "The sixth of June, 2016. Six-six-sixteen. Six-six-six, hence the name 'Devil's Night'. Very apt, given that some people saw the offenders as 'devils', in a sense."
"Gargoyles," Sophie said.
"None that I knew, and certainly none that Brooklyn knew," Xanatos countered, turning her way again. "Lab-grown specimens, that much I am certain of. As for who created them, I have no idea. I did assume it was the doing of a certain Doctor Anton Sevarius, a man both Brooklyn and I are familiar with, but I've since been able to determine he had little input. It would be hard to have an input if you're dead, after all."
"Do you know who did it, then?" Brooklyn asked him. From the way he appeared now, leaning in a little more, attentive to whatever Xanatos said, it was apparent he wanted to know very badly. Xanatos returned the gargoyle's interested gaze with something much more downbeat.
"At this stage, I have no real names. Suspects, certainly." His eyes met with Sophie's. "Before I get to that, however, I want to know why you came here. What brought you, a Detective from New York City, to seek me out? I know it's not to arrest me. You would not have knocked on the door as you did, and you would not have come without backup."
"How do you know I haven't got backup waiting outside, hidden from your cameras?" A lie, of course, but part of Sophie wanted to see just what kind of man she was dealing with. An intelligent one, no less. Even a little bit paranoid. A few hypothetical questions would give her a better insight as to what he was truly like.
"Because you don't," Xanatos said. "You would never have announced your presence if you intended on taking me in. You came here because you need my help with something. Now, I suspect it has something to do with the break-in that occurred the other night at the twenty-third precinct on Manhattan island."
"You have been keeping tabs."
"Of course, Detective. Tabs on all manner of things, all over the world." He cocked one eyebrow. "Now, tell me, what is going on? You found me, no doubt from the little hints I left behind. Something is going on, and you need my help. Almost flattering, if a little worrying."
Sophie exchanged glances with Brooklyn. The gargoyle shrugged his shoulders. There was no harm in explaining it to him, then. With that unspoken agreement, Sophie told Xanatos of the events of the past few days: the deal-gone-bad at the meatworks, the ancient dagger, the mysterious suspect and the break-in at the precinct. And of course, her suspicions concerning Lockwood and the revelation that the man was a member of the Illuminati.
Upon hearing this part of the story, Xanatos' expression became much harder, grave even. He took his motorised wheelchair over to a desk at the nearby wall, which was occupied by a desktop computer. The wall itself was covered in photos and newspaper clippings, with various connections made between the mishmash of articles using coloured string.
"This dagger, it had an inscription?" Xanatos asked. Sophie was surprised to hear this, if only because she was yet to reveal that fact to him.
"Yes, it did." She remembered it word-for-word now, having studied it thoroughly the past twenty-four hours. "It goes, according to the translation provided by Lockwood, 'So be the child split between two worlds who inherits this blade, for they shall become the adjunct of life and death for all peoples under God'."
"Fascinating." Xanatos scratched at his beard. At that moment, Owen returned with a tray containing two freshly made coffees and several neatly-cut sandwiches. Some cheese, some ham and cheese, a few with tuna. Despite having only eaten about an hour ago now, Sophie found herself taking one of the tuna sandwiches and biting into it. Owen set the tray down on the space cleared upon the table, before he turned to Xanatos.
"Was there anything else, sir?"
"Not at this time, Owen. Take a break, read a book, watch some television. My friends and I are going to be a while."
"Very well, sir." Owen gave the man a curt nod, before he spun on his heels and left the basement. He was thoughtful enough to close the door behind him, giving the three below some privacy.
"I want to know more about the Illuminati," Sophie said, getting straight to the point. "I mean, are they real? I don't want to be some conspiracy nut—"
"They're real," Xanatos interrupted. "I would know, I used to be a member. Not anymore, as you can probably guess. And I didn't much approve of what they did back when I was a member. Maybe it was naivete that made me think they had the best interests of humanity at heart, but my eyes opened over the last twenty years. And after 'Devil's Night', well, I'm certain they act only in their own interests. That is, they wish to claim ultimate power for themselves, and they will take whatever measures necessary to achieve it. They influence the government, the media, the world's economy; everything necessary to keeping human civilisation running along, they have some significant control over."
"So, why hide here?" Sophie folded her arms over her chest, feeling some growing annoyance at the man. "You could expose them. Let the world know."
"The world doesn't care," Xanatos replied. "That is the overwhelmingly depressing nature of humankind, Detective. It is much easier to fool someone, than to convince them that they have been fooled. Unlearning the wrong information is far more difficult than teaching someone something new. And the Illuminati, they would have me killed as soon as I tried any form of exposé. Any attempt to reach the media would be futile, for they have their claws in the media. And it's not only the Illuminati. They have a multitude of front organizations all over the world, many of which do their bidding without even being aware that they're doing it. Facades over facades over facades, Detective. Deceptions within deceptions. It's how they've been able to keep themselves hidden."
There was a pause then. The silence between the three of them spoke volumes, as the reality of the situation set in for Brooklyn and Sophie. It did so suddenly and unforgivingly, and the Detective found herself internally reeling from this information. Could it be true? Could everything she had seen and learned throughout her life have been manipulated to some degree? And the Illuminati, had they really been the ones to do it?
"What do you know of the dagger?" Brooklyn asked.
"Not a lot, I'm afraid. Just that it was unearthed near the Dead Sea and changed hands from one private collector to another for some time. Since the early 1900s, I believe."
"Wait, what?" Sophie frowned. "Lockwood said he funded a dig to find it."
"And maybe he did fund a dig, but that dagger has changed hands many times over the past one-hundred years, more even. From the Middle East, through to Europe and across the Atlantic into the United States, before ending up in the hands of Josiah Lockwood. I'm well aware of the man, and I always suspected he was involved with the Illuminati. They always seek to recruit influential people, and Lockwood owns a sizeable tract of the media both here, in the north-eastern United States, and overseas in Great Britain. His father was a member, and his son has simply taken up the mantle."
"You have any idea what the blade's supposed to do?" Brooklyn again. "I've had plenty of run-ins with ancient artefacts. Some of them are more than just antiques."
"That blade is bad news," Xanatos said. "As for its true purpose, I don't know. It would have some ceremonial purpose, perhaps for use in a ritual? If I saw some photos, I may be able to work on my own translation. Primitive Aramaic isn't my speciality, but I do have sources."
Sophie reached into her jacket and retrieved a small yellow envelope filled with the relevant images. She handed it to Xanatos, who opened it up and pulled out the photographs. He examined each one with a careful eye, before neatly piling them upon the desk in front of him.
"Do you know anything else?" She felt as if she was not making much headway here, in terms of the case itself. Xanatos looked up at her, his face grim.
"I may know who wants this weapon," he suggested.
"Who? The Illuminati?"
"No, not just them." He put the envelope aside, before he reached over to the computer monitor on the desk and switched it on. Both Brooklyn and Sophie watched on as he tapped in some keywords on what was some kind of personal database, a means to access whatever was stored upon the server hard drives present in the basement.
"My investigation into the truth of what happened on Devil's Night led me to uncover not just ties to the Illuminati, but to someone, or a group of individuals, who have close ties to them." He brought up one set of documents, old ones at that, and began cycling through their pages. "I'm not sure who, or what, they are, but I have gathered enough evidence to believe that they are real and that they have a habit of appearing whenever some great conflict occurs. Wars, terrorist attacks; anything bad inflicted on human beings by other human beings, and these people have often turned up."
"People?" Brooklyn was intrigued now. The doubt in his voice was apparent, and Xanatos shook his head.
"Apparently not." Xanatos brought a somewhat blurry image onto the computer display, one taken in what appeared to be an underground car park. "This is from the basement car park at the Eyrie Building, same night as Devil's Night. It is the only photo I had of these people, as the surveillance systems conveniently malfunctioned. Footage was lost, and only this photo was retrieved from the corrupted files."
Sophie looked closely at it. There were four figures, clad in black, faces concealed behind tinted goggles, hoods and bandanas. They were all fairly tall and broad, having presumably dismounted the motorcycles parked near them. One of them lacked the goggles, and instead appeared to be staring directly into the camera. Piercing yellow eyes met with Sophie's own, flanked by dark, almost black skin. And the pointed ears, she saw, poking just out from under the cap the creature was wearing.
"They're not gargoyles," Brooklyn stated. Sophie turned to him, noticing the intense way he examined the photo. Whoever these 'people' were, they had got his attention completely.
"Obviously," Xanatos said. "So, I did some investigating of my own. These creatures had infiltrated my headquarters shortly before it was ransacked that night, and somehow, they had shut down the building's security systems. That speaks of a sophistication not many people have at their disposal."
"Who are they?"
"I have no names, no individual ones anyway." Xanatos had hit the switch on his motorised wheelchair, which took him a few metres past the desk and to a bookshelf. There, he pulled an ageing hardcover book from the middle shelf, the book itself being small and slim in volume. Coming back to the desk, he flipped the book open to a page near the end.
"This is a copy of a rare journal made by a schoolteacher back in the early 1900s," Xanatos explained. "It is one of the few explicit descriptions of similar creatures. As I said, I've determined that these beings have appeared at past catastrophes, often in a position that suggests influence. This schoolteacher was from Russia, specifically during the days of Tsar Nicholas II. He spent a good part of his teaching career in poor Russian villages, where he would teach the children how to read and write, often at his own expense. A charitable man, by any margin."
Sophie might have normally felt this was a little too far out for her, but given what she had heard so far she was willing to hear the man out. Brooklyn was certainly interested, so he believed it all. And if he believed it, then she could as well.
"This teacher made an entry in 1919, during the bloody civil war that followed the Russian Revolution. He was in a village that was hit by the Red Army, with them taking food for themselves and leaving the peasants with nothing. And those peasants who resisted were either arrested or killed. Our teacher, being the intellectual he was, was taken to another village where he was interrogated by operatives of the 'CHEKA'. That was the Bolshevik secret police, back in that period. Think gulags and death squads, with any potential dissidents being executed by the truckload. The Chekists questioned him, trying to determine his loyalty.
"It was when they were escorting him outside to what he knew would be his execution that he saw it, the creature. He describes it well, as it is clearly something that affected him deeply: 'As I was brought out of the dark interrogation room, I passed by another room where the door was partially open. It was an office, used by the Chekists for organizational purposes. I saw a man in there in the uniform of a high-ranking operative of the secret police, yet I realised very quickly that this was no man. What I saw was a creature of large stature, with skin as black as the night and eyes comprised of a piercing yellow. It was speaking into a phone, the voice deep and raspy, its Russian fluent. And as I went by that room, it looked up from its discussion, the eyes burning right into my own. The door was suddenly closed and then I was outside, the sighting little more than a moment in time but one I will never forget. I think I saw the Devil that day, or I was simply so stressed as to be hallucinating.'"
Xanatos paused for a moment, allowing these words to register in the pair standing before him. Sophie frowned, a little perplexed.
"This teacher survived?" She asked, curious.
"Partisans attacked the village shortly before the teacher was to be executed," Xanatos said, as he closed the book. "He was able to escape in the confusion. This account is just one of several I've dug up. Some of them go back to the sixteenth, seventeenth centuries. The days of burning witches at the stake, which I believe has some relevance to our mysterious friends."
Could this be genuine? A group of inhuman beings stirring up trouble through history, in league with the Illuminati no less? It seemed crazy, yet here she was in the basement of a former billionaire's house with a gargoyle for company, so she supposed it was not that crazy.
"Gargoyles are protectors, guardians of the night. And humans, we're the ones meant to protect our gargoyle protectors during the day. Then there is the third race, the faeries, once little more than myths themselves but Brooklyn and I know better, don't we?" Xanatos gave the glowering gargoyle a knowing smile. Sophie, on the other hand, found the news that faeries were real to actual news to her.
"You never told me about faeries," she said, looking to Brooklyn. He shrugged, offering her a sheepish smile.
"You never asked."
"Three races, each with their role in the greater design," Xanatos declared. "What if there was a fourth race? One that did the opposite of protect? One with only chaos in mind, a race that preyed upon the innocent because it is simply who they are? Gargoyles protect, it's what they do. But what were they meant to protect us from, originally? Other human beings, certainly. But that does raise the question as to what would happen if one gargoyle clan, protecting a group of humans, was met with an attack from another group with their own clan to spare. This 'design', if there is indeed a higher power behind it all, seems a little strange to me. Humans fighting humans, gargoyles fighting gargoyles and, in turn, other humans. Why pit the protectors against other people? There had to have been something else, some other threat."
"The fourth race," Brooklyn stated, with a dawning realisation. Sophie figured much the same, as the pieces fell together within her mind. The gargoyle's expression soured then, settling upon Xanatos with some intensity. "If you knew all of this, why didn't you tell us?"
"Because it's taken me years to uncover it," Xanatos countered, sharply. "And because I'm not one-hundred percent certain of it all. I'm still investigating, still trying to get to the bottom of what happened with Devil's Night and the Illuminati connection. These creatures, they may be working with the Illuminati or maybe they're not. Even if they are, they are working on their own agenda. A lot of bad things have happened over the past several years, and I would bet my now non-existent fortune that these creatures had something to do with it."
"What do you think they are, exactly?" Sophie asked him. This was all fascinating, even if they had little more than some blurry photos, a few historical accounts and the word of a former billionaire to go on. Until she saw one of them herself, she was not likely to believe this talk of another supernatural race of creatures.
"Demons?" Xanatos shook his head. "No, maybe not. Something tied to the occult, I believe. There are accounts from the old witch-hunting days of such creatures, 'familiars' for witches, 'imps'. I don't know if they're accurate, but there is some consistency to be found in regards to the way in which these creatures operate. Often behind the scenes to some war or social upheaval, taking advantage of the chaos for their own ends."
"Imps?" Sophie quirked one brow. "Someone says 'imp', I think of something small and mischievous. Those guys don't look small, and I don't know if ruthless killing is what I'd call 'mischievous'."
"Maybe those imps come in all shapes and sizes?" Xanatos suggested. "Like humans do and like gargoyles do. This business with the ancient dagger is probably their latest scheme. What that is, I couldn't tell you. What I can tell you is that you must proceed with the utmost caution, since these creatures are ruthless and will do anything necessary to achieve their ends, whatever those may be. You and Brooklyn may be falling into an incredibly dangerous situation." He glanced at the gargoyle, his mouth forming into a wry smirk. "Of course, that's never stopped you before."
"And they're the ones that stole the dagger?"
"Probably. Breaking into a police station sounds like something they'd do. And that inscription…" Xanatos trailed off, scratching at his beard again. A contemplative gesture, and Sophie could almost see the gears in the man's ever-calculating mind turning. Maybe they did not turn as well as they used to, perhaps there was some rust in the mechanism, but they turned nonetheless. Possibilities played out in his mind in rapid succession, with the less likely ones being discarded almost as soon as they had come to the fore.
"It can't be any coincidence that these creatures and that dagger were in New York at the same time," Xanatos stated. "Now, a child caught between two worlds? That brings to mind a few potentialities. Of course, we're going off of the word of a member of the Illuminati, so it could very well be a ruse to lead you on the wrong trail. Still, there can be no coincidence…" He trailed off, once again in deep thought. His eyes glanced at a framed photo on the desk, an older family snapshot of a much younger Xanatos with his wife, Fox, and their son. He was little more than a baby in his mother's arms then, yet there was no mistaking the likeness he had with his father.
"What happened to them?" Brooklyn had seen the way he had gazed at the photo, a mix of nostalgia, contemplation and longing having played across his face. Xanatos turned to him again, shaking his head slowly.
"Regrettably, I had to send them out of the country," he replied. "It was for their own safety, after Devil's Night. And like the fool I was, I stayed behind like a Captain sinking with his ship. They're in Europe somewhere, but I have no idea where. It's better that way, because if I don't know then none of my enemies can force that information out of me."
Xanatos looked genuinely morose now. There was no doubting how much he missed his family, yet there was also something assured to his gaze, the look of someone who was certain of having done the right thing. Sophie could not help but feel a little sorry for him. Sure, she had read the police records on the man: he had spent a few months in prison for one on some admittedly minor charge, but there was the whole ream of suspected criminal activity involving him. No one could ever pin it on him, unsurprisingly, and the public persona he displayed of generous wealthy philanthropist was most likely a cover for his more legally dubious activities. Now he was a shadow of his former self, one not without their fair share of rumours surrounding them. Conspiracies theories abounded concerning David Xanatos. From the look of it, few of them were close to the truth.
"This child born of two worlds, it wouldn't be my son," Xanatos added suddenly. "His connection to his grandmother's world is tenuous at best."
"What do you mean?" Sophie felt like she was missing something here. Brooklyn turned his head to her, speaking almost matter-of-factly:
"Xanatos' mother-in-law is queen of the faeries."
"What?" Sophie thought she had misheard him then. Brooklyn smiled, amused by her incredulity.
"Literally, queen of the faeries." He paused, attempting to gauge if Sophie had understood. "I'll tell you all about it later."
"Yeah, you better." Sophie turned back to Xanatos. "I don't know about your son, but I was thinking along the lines of a certain half-gargoyle child. You wouldn't happen to know one of those?"
"There is only one," Xanatos said.
"And you know where he is."
Xanatos glanced at Brooklyn, as if he was looking for approval from the gargoyle to speak on the subject. Brooklyn gave a nod, yet he did so in an almost resigned manner.
"The child of Elisa Maza and Goliath was under my protection, as were the other gargoyles themselves," Xanatos explained. "When the authorities began to hunt and arrest the gargoyles, I gave those two a means to escape. It was safer for their child, if as few people knew about it as possible. A consequence was that not even others in the clan, like Brooklyn, would know where they had gone. Much in the same way I sent my wife and son into safety, I sent Goliath and Maza away to keep their unique offspring from gaining the attention of the wrong people. I know of several scientists who would be very interested to have such a specimen for research purposes. It was for the child's own wellbeing that he go into hiding."
"He was sixteen when it happened," Brooklyn added. "Hardly a 'child'."
"That made it more difficult, I think. All those raging hormones, and when coupled with the short-fuse he inherited from his father—"
"The point, Xanatos." Sophie frowned. "Where is he? Where's Maza and Goliath? They may be in serious danger. Least we could do is warn them."
"The dagger is clearly only part of the plan, then." Again, that thoughtful expression came upon Xanatos' face. "And maybe Goliath's son is the other part? Which could mean…" He trailed off again, turning to his computer once more. A few rapid keystrokes later, he brought up some seemingly innocuous email. It was gone off the screen before Sophie could properly read it herself. "Believe it or not, but the Illuminati is a fractured organization. At least some of those in their ranks have different ideas in mind for the organization, and I have been in contact with someone I know of, someone who has been making moves recently within the organization, and there is a certain package…"
"Look, my concern is with Maza's son. Where is he?" Sophie felt as if they had spent long enough here. Sure, they had learned a lot but still not what they had come here for. Xanatos looked to her then. He appeared a little irritated by the interruption and by Sophie's souring tone of voice.
"Tell us, Xanatos." Brooklyn's eyes were set firmly upon the man, with the look suggesting that he would not take 'no' for an answer.
"There are few whom I would give that information to," Xanatos said. "I don't think giving it to a member of the NYPD would be wise."
"I won't tell anyone," Sophie countered. She meant it; she was no snitch. However, she simply had to pursue all avenues in the investigation. If a bunch of evil imps, backed by a secret society were after the child, then it would seem appropriate to find the kid first and stop them.
"You can trust her," Brooklyn said. He held out one clawed hand, an expectant gesture. "Please, David. They could be in real trouble. And, let's face it, you're not in much of a condition to help if it came down to a fight."
Xanatos let out a sigh. Slowly shaking his head, he hit the switch on the arm of his wheelchair. He rolled it on over to a shelf in the far corner of the basement, and from between two thick, ageing hardcover volumes he retrieved a small yellow envelope. It was dusty, having been in that very spot for several years. Wheeling back over, he handed it to Brooklyn, placing it into his offered hand.
"Everything you need is in there," Xanatos said. He sounded almost defeated, and judging from Brooklyn's quirked brow, this was an unusual thing for the man. "I had a feeling one of the clan would come looking for him one day. Still, I can't help but think I'm betraying that promise I made to Goliath."
"He'll understand," Brooklyn said.
"If anything happens, let me know. I can help."
There followed a long, awkward silence between the three of them. Xanatos appeared to be deep in thought again, eyes downcast. Brooklyn shoved the envelope into a pocket on his vest, before he nodded to the door up the stairs behind them.
"Come on, Sophie. We're done here." Before he started for the exit, he gave Xanatos one last, if somewhat forced, smile. "It was good seeing you again. Brings back all kinds of memories."
"Not all of them good, I'll bet?" Xanatos looked up, and the pair stared at each other for an extended and increasingly awkward moment. Sophie was already on her way for the door, a little startled to see it open as she neared the stairs. Owen was there, seemingly ready to escort her out of the house.
"Good and bad, like with anything else." Brooklyn turned around then, following Sophie upstairs. They left Xanatos to his more solitary lifestyle and again, Sophie did feel a twinge of sympathy for the man. Brooklyn did not feel quite the same way, and the sympathy he felt was only a sliver, mixed in with some conflicting emotions.