The Times, They Are a-Changin'

by Kimberly T

NOW FINISHED! #12 thru 15 in the saga; Goliath and Elisa are getting married! And there are even more changes in store for our intrepid gargoyles, and their allies!

2. Part 2: Meetings and Turnabouts

LIFE GOES ON

THE TIMES, THEY ARE A-CHANGIN'… PART 2: MEETINGS AND TURNABOUTS

By Kimberly T. (e-mail: kimbertow at yahoo dot com)

Monday morning, 9:00 a.m. Half an hour early for their appointment; Mary Simmons glanced at her three companions, and hoped that nobody brought up the fact that they could have stopped for those donuts and lattes after all. She doubted they would; considering the fickle nature of Manhattan traffic and that nobody wanted to be late for a meeting of this importance, they'd all agreed to cut their morning classes and leave in plenty of time to arrive here, on the fifty-seventh floor of the Aerie Building, for their appointment at 9:30 with the head of Xanatos Enterprises' PR Department. But between 9:00 and 9:30, somebody's stomach was bound to start rumbling, probably hers because she'd been too nervous to eat breakfast…

After the gargoyle named Brooklyn had left the second PIT Crew meeting, which had been 500 more successful than the first one, it had been decided by a majority vote of the attendees that the P.I.T. would begin holding their meetings on Thursday nights starting the next week. Being both a Journalism major and the owner of her own website, Mary would use her 'Columbia Crowd' web pages to publish details of what went on at the meetings, for those people who might be interested but couldn't attend.

Two nights later, Professor MacDuff had met with Mary and Keith Hanford, as the three of them seemed to have become, by unspoken decree, the triumvirate in charge of the P.I.T. The professor had pulled out one of the Quarryman pamphlets that had been circulating around the campus, and quoted the old proverb that "Rumor will run a thousand miles, while Truth is still putting on its shoes."

There was no need for them to read over the pamphlet; all of them had seen it before. Keith said tersely that he'd taken one home to show to his parents, and his father had been painfully reminded of his youth in Alabama, and of the pamphlets that KKK had made decades ago, when spreading their racist propaganda. The Q-men left no stone unturned, when 'warning' people about "The Gargoyle Menace": the pamphlet accused them of everything from hunting humans as their nightly prey to spreading diseases amongst the human population, to even threatening the virtue of innocent young women. They'd even included a few biblical quotes, taken out of context of course, that "proved" gargoyles were Humanity's ancient foe and that their ultimate subjugation and/or destruction had been decreed by God as part of Man's Destiny. "Like a few Bible quotes makes any difference," Mary had snarled contemptuously, as she'd thrown the pamphlet on the coffee table in disgust. "Gargoyles are never mentioned in the Bible by name, probably for the same reason polar bears, parrots and paramecium aren't; nobody back in ancient Israel knew they existed!"

"Too true," Professor MacDuff had agreed with a sage nod. "But the fact remains that, in order to counter these pamphlets, we are going to have to generate some publicity that's favorable to gargoyles. And while I was able to have the flyers made for Tuesday's meeting and rent the meeting hall, my pockets are not infinitely deep, certainly not enough that I can afford to print pamphlets such as these by the thousands. Or rent billboards, or make commercials for radio or television…"

"The Q-balls have billboards now!" Mary had groaned. "And commercials!"

"I haven't seen any anti-gargoyle commercials yet," Professor MacDuff had hurried to reassure them. "I believe that the videotape hoax recently exposed by Travis Marshall of "Night Watch" has made them wary of that avenue for the time being. But yes, they have a billboard up now; I regret to say I saw it on my way to campus this morning, urging citizens to beware 'the gargoyle threat' and support the Quarrymen in their quest to 'make the streets safe for Humanity again'."

"Crap," Keith said succinctly, normally more polite around his elders and teachers but not tonight. "We need to get our hands on some serious money for advertising the truth, and fast… before the gargoyles find themselves facing angry mobs armed with makeshift clubs and torches."

Mary eyed him disbelievingly. "What, like in a Frankenstein movie?"

Keith's face was grim. "Actually, I was thinking of the LA riots."

Keith was right, there were no limits to the extremes of violence that an angry or frightened mob could achieve. And if the fear and hatred sprang from ignorance, then truly educational publicity was in order, and for that they needed big money… as in, a good corporate sponsor. And they had just the corporation in mind…

Mary placed the first phone call to Xanatos Enterprises herself, between classes on late Friday morning. She'd figured on spending at least twenty minutes being bounced from receptionists to secretaries for various people before finally being able to make an appointment to fill out an application to someday have an interview with the lowest-ranking flunky on the Public Relations totem pole, in hopes of eventually having enough time to plead their case about needing sponsorship and advertising money for the P.I.T. To her surprise, less than ten minutes later she had an appointment with the head of the PR department, for 9:30 a.m. on Monday. It was almost as if they'd been hoping somebody like her would call.

Friday night, most of Saturday and a large chunk of Sunday were occupied by marathon brainstorming sessions between Mary, Keith and nearly a dozen other P.I.T. members, fueled by pizzas and sodas. Who was going to go to the appointment? What would they say? Should they go with some prepared layouts for pamphlets and storyboards for commercials, or let the corporation decide how it wanted its money spent?

By Sunday night, they'd hammered out who would be on the representative committee, and what they would bring with them. Mary would go, cast and crutches and all, both because her years on the Debate team at her old high school had prepared her for public speaking and to show that they'd met opposition already, and were bloodied but unbowed. James 'Slick' Sliddick would go, not because he was an African-American (although that didn't hurt, showing that they were aware of racial intolerance as well) or because he was the football team's star quarterback but because he was a senior in Business Administration. To prepare for this, he had boned up on the hazards and pitfalls as well as the benefits of corporate sponsorship, and prepared a tentative list of what they were looking for in sponsorship and what the sponsoring corporation could expect from them in return. Lucy Ling, a petite Asian-American in her second year at Columbia's School of Law, had been chosen not just because she loved a good confrontation (Mary predicted she was going to make one helluva trial lawyer someday), but because she had already listed over a dozen of the many legal hurdles they and the gargoyles would face in their quest to make them equal and protected under the eyes of the law, and had produced copies of other nonprofit organizations' bylaws so they had a model for drafting theirs. Brian Coleman, a sophomore with a major in International and Public Affairs and a minor in Advertising, would be the fourth member of the party, and would be carrying the pamphlet layouts and commercial storyboards they had designed over the weekend.

They'd made three different pamphlet layouts and two possible storyboards, a rough draft of the P.I.T.'s proposed bylaws and James' list of sponsorship desires and expectations, and had prepared answers for a dozen of the most probable questions that they thought the PR head might ask. And they'd all 'dressed for success' for the interview; Mary glanced down at her cast, and thought ruefully that it was a pity that it didn't go with the smartly tailored business suit she was wearing. And she wished again that Professor MacDuff was coming with them; his excuse for not doing so seemed pretty flimsy, considering how much he supported the gargoyles as well. But without him, they had no one on the committee who was over 23; what if the PR head dismissed them all as just 'a bunch of idealistic youths'? Mary doubted that would happen, but still, she worried. She'd faced dozens of opponents and tough situations in her years on the debate team, but there was a lot more riding on this than just a nice little certificate for her bedroom wall and a little trophy for her school. This could make the difference between the gargoyles surviving in this city, or being overrun by fear-crazed mobs everywhere they went.

Time passed slowly, the ticking of the clock seeming to slow down just a little more with every minute that brought them closer to their appointment. Mary reminded herself every other minute that she shouldn't be surprised or disappointed if they had to wait past 9:30 a.m. to see Mr. Stephens, the department head; it was a well-known 'Dilbertism' that the greater the gap between boss and employee, the longer the employee should expect to be kept waiting to see the boss for an appointment, and the business truism probably applied to supplicants like themselves as well.

At 9:15 a.m., the outer door to the office opened, just as Mary's stomach began to rumble. A pale man with blonde hair, spectacles and a severe, emotionless expression came into the office; Mary thought to herself that he had "corporate flunky" written all over him with a bold marker. The only odd note was that he was wearing gloves indoors… He told Mr. Stephens' secretary, "Tell Mr. Stephens that his 9:30 appointment has been cancelled."

WHAT? Outrage brought Mary lurching to her feet, with her three compatriots right beside her. "Excuse me, Mister, but his 9:30 appointment is right here," she said pointedly as she gestured to herself and the others.

The man only looked at her and said, "Precisely. Follow me, please; Mr. Xanatos can give you only five minutes," as he turned on his heels and walked back out the door.

Mary, Brian, James and Lucy all stared at each other. "Did he say…?" "David Xanatos himself!" "…Hey, wait up!" as they hurried out the door after the employee.

They rode much farther up in the elevator, and Mary's ears popped twice more while they were en route; she figured they had to be close to the top of the Aerie Building now. The door opened, and the blonde employee led them down a lushly carpeted hall to the office of David Xanatos, CEO of Xanatos Enterprises and reputed to be the third-richest man in the world. A darkly handsome man who set aside the papers he was holding and smiled upon seeing them, and gestured to the chairs in front of his desk and the coffee and refreshments tray set to one side as he said, "Ah, the People for Interspecies Tolerance! I've been looking forward to meeting you. Come in, sit down! Would you like some coffee or pastries? I can guarantee they're better than what you'd find in your student cafeterias…"

No student ever turns down free food if he or she has a choice about it. Mary and the others helped themselves to fresh pastries while they introduced themselves. "As I'm sure you already know, sir," Mary said before biting into her éclair, "we've come in hopes of getting corporate sponsorship, and funding for educational commercials and pamphlets to counteract that fearmongering poison the Quarrymen are spewing out about the gargoyles." It was a stronger and more emotionally biased sentence than she would have used on Mr. Stephens, but if this guy had gargoyles actually living in the castle with him, he had to have strong feelings about the Quarrymen as well.

"A very good idea, and I commend you for it," Mr. Xanatos said approvingly.

Mary had just about bitten into her éclair when she paused again. Why had she just gotten that feeling that the other shoe was about to drop?

"However, I can't be your sponsor."

Thud. "Huh?" Mary blurted out. "But… but you've befriended the gargoyles! Brooklyn told us!"

"That's right, I have. And I'm scandalously rich, with money to spare for making commercials and pamphlets and such. Which is exactly why I'm the wrong choice for a sponsor for the P.I.T. Look at it this way: if you saw a commercial that was extolling the wonderful environmental benefits of nuclear power, and at the end of the commercial was a notice saying that it had been paid for by the local nuclear power plant, would you or would you not be just a little bit skeptical about just how truthful that commercial had been?"

The students exchanged rueful glances. Brian admitted, "Highly skeptical," and the others nodded in agreement.

"Exactly. And I'm already on the Quarrymen's black list as a traitor to humanity, who has supposedly sold my soul to the devil in return to material gain, et cetera, et cetera. And if Xanatos Enterprises paid for your commercials and pamphlets, the Quarrymen would decry them as simply tools of my own creation, to serve my own ends. And the P.I.T. would be denounced to the public as my paid stooges…"

Mary almost seemed to deflate as she slumped back in her chair and sighed. "I hadn't thought of that aspect…"

Xanatos smiled wryly. "To be honest, nor had I, until it was pointed out to me. However, I'm not going to send you away entirely empty-handed. I happen to know of a few other corporations whose CEO's are unofficially but sincerely friendly to gargoyles, and I've very quietly contacted one of them and asked him if he'd be willing to help you out. He's at least willing to see you and let you apply for sponsorship, although I warn you now that if he thinks you're worth sponsoring, he's going to expect a serious commitment from you in return; he's a man known for his integrity, and for demanding that same integrity from everyone he deals with. My personal assistant, Owen, is setting up the appointment for you right now, and he'll give you the information before you leave." Then he picked up his phone and said, "And now, I dislike having to cut this short, but I'm overdue for a conference call with some foreign offices. Feel free to take some of the pastries with you…"

There was no mistaking that they had just been dismissed, and Mary and the others shrugged and got to their feet, with Brian carrying Mary's coffee and pastry for her as they went back out to the outer office.

The outer desk was manned by the same man who had escorted them to Xanatos' office in the first place, and as they came out he hung up the phone and scribbled something on a sheet of paper. He handed the paper to James as they came up to him; Mary wondered briefly and resentfully if he just assumed James was their leader because he was the biggest man in their group, or because he was wearing the sharpest suit. He told them, "You now have two appointments with two different corporations whose CEO's are business acquaintances of Mr. Xanatos. Your first is for this very afternoon, at 1:30 p.m., and the second is for 8:30 a.m. tomorrow." He paused to adjust his glasses and continued, "I will warn you in advance, the CEO you will be meeting this afternoon is well known for her volatile temper, and bringing up the fact that you were referred to her by Xanatos will not be a point in your favor."

James glanced at the paper and the addresses and times written on it, then looked ruefully at the assistant. "Let me guess; she doesn't like Mr. Xanatos, but she owes him a big favor and this is how he's calling it in?"

The assistant coughed into his hand and admitted, "Something like that. You may have better success with your appointment at Cyberbiotics tomorrow morning, but I strongly urge you to give this afternoon's appointment your best effort as well."

"We will, and thank you," James said as they all went out together. Once the students were all in the elevator, he handed the paper to Mary and said with a shrug, "I hadn't figured on cutting classes for this afternoon and tomorrow morning, too, but 'in for a penny, in for a pound.' How about the rest of you?"

"I'm in," Mary said firmly, and Brian and Lucy added their assent. "Let's get back to campus for now, so we can make arrangements for others to take notes for us for the classes we'll be missing. And I want to go over our stuff one more time before the meeting this afternoon, and see if we've overlooked anything…"

oo00oo00oo oo00oo00oo

Back in his office, Xanatos sighed heavily, his mind not really on the conference call he was currently engaged in. He'd hated turning them down for sponsorship, and he was a little amazed that the students had swallowed the flimsy reason he'd given for doing so; there were at least two ways he could think of off the top of his head that could have prevented the P.I.T. from being labeled as his paid stooges. But he could hardly have given them the real reason for his refusal; that he was forbidden by the Illuminati to help or support them in any way. He had to admit he owed a lot to that organization, because without them and the Phoenix Gate, he wouldn't have been able to mail himself that antique coin and found his business empire. But there were times when he wished there were some way to be free of them, just be done with the whole secret society business. Not that he ever would be…

Owen came back into the room just after the call was finished, and Xanatos tried to smile at him. "Good thing Fox is mending fences with her father now, isn't it?" It had been Fox who had first called her father last night, to ask for his help in providing what David could not. "That gives Renard another good reason to take these kids under his wing… although just having an opportunity to help the gargoyles will probably be reason enough."

"Indeed, sir," Owen said with a straight face. "I have no doubt that they will have a productive meeting with him tomorrow morning… Though that is contingent, of course, upon the outcome of their meeting this afternoon."

Xanatos blinked at him, as he raised his coffee cup to his lips again. "This afternoon? Who are they meeting then?"

"The CEO of Nightstone Corporation; Dominique Destine."

Xanatos sprayed his coffee clear across the room.

oo00oo00oo oo00oo00oo

Over at Nightstone Corporation that afternoon, Candace kept a wary eye on the door leading to the CEO's office. Ms. Destine had been in a very distracted mood for most of the morning, not really focusing on her board meetings and appointments, but no one had dared to ask her what was on her mind instead. But by lunchtime, she'd been her usual foul-tempered self, and had nearly bitten the head off of the poor flunky who'd been just a trifle too slow in delivering a report to her office. As Ms. Destine's secretary, hired after her previous one had vanished without a trace (though rumor had it that she'd been arrested for some terrorist act, and that she'd been using a false name and Nightstone as cover for her activities), Candace was becoming experienced in ducking out of the way when her employer's temper erupted. But the distracted mood this morning seemed to make her later mood even fouler than usual, and Candace wondered if it wasn't time to update her résumé again and move on to greener pastures. Sure, Ms. Destine paid well, but if Candace hung around long enough to be fired by her, like so many employees had been recently, she wouldn't get a good recommendation for her next job.

Just then the phone rang, and Candace picked it up, automatically giving the required spiel. "Nightstone, CEO's secretary speaking…" It was the front desk calling, saying that the People for Interspecies Tolerance had arrived, twenty minutes early for their 1:30 p.m. appointment with Ms. Destine. Puzzled, Candace glanced at the appointment ledger; she didn't remember an appointment with… Well, there it was, in her own handwriting; P.I.T., at 1:30 today. Funny that she didn't remember writing it down before now, but she certainly recognized her own handwriting; maybe she'd scheduled the appointment sometime last Thursday morning, when she'd been so distracted. She'd been trying to discreetly help poor Marcy in hurriedly updating her résumé while the girl was cleaning out her desk after being fired, without attracting Ms. Destine's attention to herself… she shrugged the matter aside, and told the front desk to send them up.

oo00oo00oo oo00oo00oo

On their way up to the executive offices of Nightstone Corporation, Mary took one more quick look at her own attire and that of her companions, and hissed for Brian to straighten his tie. As he hurriedly did so, Mary's thoughts flickered back to the conversation they'd had just before piling into James' car to drive here. James had done a little online research on Nightstone Corporation over lunch, and reported that Nightstone's leading products were munitions and weaponry. "This is probably gonna be one tough interview," James had concluded grimly after telling them what he'd found. "Think about it; we're gonna be asking a corporation that makes weapons of war to help us work for peace…"

"Hey, let's not give up hope already," Brian, normally a rather quiet and shy individual, had spoken up. "This lady may surprise us. Remember, the Nobel Peace Prize was founded by the guy who invented dynamite…"

"He's right," Mary had said. "So this will probably be a harder sell than it would have been for Xanatos Enterprises; we already knew that. But between the four of us, we could probably convince anybody who's not an active Quarryman to root for the gargoyles instead!" And now, as they rode up to their second interview of the day, Mary silently repeated to herself, I hope.

oo00oo00oo oo00oo00oo

At her desk, Dominique scowled down at the quarterly reports, forcing herself to concentrate on them instead of on what had been occupying her thoughts for most of the morning. She'd come to a conclusion, and the matter was therefore settled, and certainly made no difference in her ultimate goal; and if she just poured more effort into her business, surely that little voice of doubt inside her head would shut the Hell up…

The students that had saved her from the Quarrymen last night had obviously thought that she was another human like them, clad in a Halloween costume. She had seen some of those gargoyle costumes herself, last Halloween; at a distance and at first glance, they were quite realistic looking. (Oh, how her heart had leaped into her throat when she'd looked out the window and seen those children dressed as hatchlings; then her crushing disappointment a few moments later, when she'd realized they were nothing more than trick-or-treaters… Part of her had wanted to go out and slay all those laughing and shouting imposters on the spot, and she might have, except for that odd stinging mist in her eyes, making it hard to see…) They had thought she'd been a human just like them, being set upon by a gang of common thugs, and had thought they'd been defending one of their own. That was all! No humans would ever stir themselves to fight their own kind, to save a gargoyle that had sworn to destroy them all!

(But she had been loping on all fours towards the dormitories, and humans couldn't easily run on all fours anymore; they had foolishly evolved away from that ability. And she had heard some students shouting as they'd trained their fire hoses on the Quarrymen, "You leave that gargoyle alone!" And when she had impulsively shouted thanks to them while running for the safety of the shadows, some of them had sounded both surprised and thrilled to learn she spoke their language. They would have had no such doubts about a fellow human…)

They had thought she was wearing a costume! A costume-wearing human, nothing more! She had been saved from yet another painful death by a false assumption. It was actually rather ironic, because no doubt if those students had known the truth about her, they would have used the fire hose on her instead, in defense of their own lives. And no mere fire hose would save them, or the rest of their despicable race, once she had found another sample of Ebola or some other highly lethal virus to combine with the CV-1000 carrier virus. When she finally had her talons on an inescapable contagion that would rid the world of hated Humanity at last…

The intercom unit on her desk buzzed. "Ms. Destine?" her secretary said quietly. "Your 1:30 appointment is here; the P.I.T."

P.I.T.? Oh, the Pacific Institute of Technology. Nightstone was currently in negotiations with them over a new microprocessing chip that could enhance her corporation's weapons technology considerably. (Though she'd thought their representatives weren't due in town till Wednesday…) She dismissed her momentary confusion and told her secretary, "Tell them it will be another fifteen minutes," before turning back to her paperwork. In reality, she could have set the papers aside and had them ushered in immediately, but she had long since learned the value of keeping people waiting; it drove home the implication that speaking to her directly was a privilege, and not to be treated lightly.

Fifteen minutes later, her secretary opened the door and herded four people into the room. The frown Dominique had been wearing for hours already deepened again; judging by the appearance of the four people who'd just come in and were milling about uncertainly, waiting for an invitation to sit down, their collective ages wouldn't add up to Demona's first century of life. She knew that the 'Digital Revolution' had resulted in thousands of youngsters with digital expertise being accelerated up the business ladder far faster than had been the norm, but these young pups looked like they should be working in mail rooms, not executive suites! Well, at least they had dressed well; if any of them had shown up in blue jeans, she would have tossed them out instantly for displaying such disrespect to a powerful corporate CEO. And she was mildly pleased to note that one of the youngsters was wearing a cast and crutches, but still dressed as well as the others; to fly cross-country and come to this meeting when obviously recently injured showed that she, at least, regarded it as highly important. She curtly gestured for them to sit, then made them wait an additional thirty seconds while she gave her secretary the papers she'd been working on and further instructions. Finally, her secretary left and she nodded for them to begin their presentation.

The youngster with the crutches stood up awkwardly and said, "Good afternoon, Ms. Destine, and thank you very much for agreeing to see us on such short notice. My name is Mary Simmons," and then she turned and introduced the other members of her party. The other girl stood up and nodded respectfully to her in greeting, and the two boys even bowed clumsily as they were introduced, and Dominique's eyebrows went up. Computer geeks with decent manners? Would wonders never cease…

After introducing her last companion, the first girl blathered something about this meeting really meaning a lot to them all, and Dominique's momentary surprise promptly gave way to irritation again. It was obvious now that they were sucking up to her in hopes of sweetening the deal for themselves, but she wasn't having any of that. "Yes, yes, and my time is limited, so get on with it," she said irritably.

If the speaker was taken aback by her abruptness, she hid it well. "Of course," she said briskly, and gestured to the other girl, who stood up and held out a pair of folders containing sheaves of papers. "We have here a proposed sponsorship agreement that details what you can expect from the executive committee of the People for Interspecies Tolerance for the three months, at least, and what we hope to have from you in return. We also have--"

"The what?" Dominique interrupted, as the words Ms. Simmons had spoken actually registered in her brain, and brought her business-oriented thought processes to a screeching halt. "The… People for…"

The four youngsters exchanged quick, uneasy glances, but the speaker repeated slowly and carefully, "The People for Interspecies Tolerance." Then she added, with an uneasy chuckle, "Also known to some as 'The Gargoyle-Lovers', and 'Second-Favorite Targets of the Quarrymen'…"

Dominique just gaped open-mouthed at them for a moment, before demanding seemingly despite herself, "Why are you here!"

Ms. Simmons took a deep breath, before continuing, "We're seeking corporate sponsorship, ma'am. For the advertising and media funding that both we and the gargoyles need, in order to promote better understanding and acceptance between our two species." And while Dominique just continued to stare at her in utter astonishment, she said in a manner that was somehow both forceful and pleading, "Ma'am, the gargoyles are not monsters; they're just people of a different species! There's no need to hunt them down and exterminate them, like the Quarrymen want to do, and it's wrong to do so; they just want to live in peace with us!"

Now Dominique sat back, her features shifting from the gape of astonishment to a sneer of derision. Now she had them pegged; the same sort of starry-eyed idealistic youngsters who had gone around spouting about Peace and Free Love during the Sixties, without having the faintest idea how to achieve their high-minded goals; most of them had seen their ideals collapse like pricked balloons upon first real contact with sharp reality. "Oh, really? And I suppose you've actually spoken peaceably with a gargoyle?"

She expected a stammering answer along the lines of 'Not yet, but we're hoping' but that's not what she got. "Yes, I have," Ms. Simmons said bluntly. "With two of them, in fact. The first one, a she-gargoyle named Angela, visited me in the hospital after the Quarrymen attacked me, and--"

Dominique interrupted again, blurting out without thought, "You spoke with my--with a female gargoyle?" she hastily corrected herself. She internally cursed herself in blistering terms for the verbal slip, but news of her daughter, still loved despite her perverse insistence that humans could be trusted, was too precious to her to be passed up.

"Yes, ma'am. And not only did she speak our language, she speaks it as well as any New Yorker--and better than some I could name," Ms. Simmons said with a wry grin. When Dominique did not smile in appreciation of the attempted joke, she continued, "She thanked me for starting the P.I.T. and told me she was sorry for my having been hurt by the Quarrymen just for speaking up on her people's behalf, and she hoped we wouldn't let the Quarrymen silence us… and we won't," she finished determinedly. "Someone has to speak up for them, to stand up to the Quarrymen and call them exactly what they are; a group of hate-mongering 'speciesists' no better than the Klu Klux Klan! And it's as wrong for them to persecute the gargoyles as it is for Klansmen to persecute African-Americans, just because they're different!"

Dominique echoed acidly, "They're 'just different'. Really. Gargoyles are more than 'just different', child… Or are you aware that our two species have been at war for over a thousand years?" Instantly, she silently cursed herself again for the slip of the tongue in saying, 'our two species' instead of 'our species and theirs', and hoped the slip wouldn't be noticed.

"We know, Ma'am," Ms. Simmons responded somberly. "We know that entire clans of gargoyles have been massacred in the past… which is why we've started the P.I.T.; to prevent that from happening again in the future." Then she raised her hand as Dominique began to speak again and continued, "And before you say anything, yes, we're aware that humans have been killed in the past by gargoyles as well!" That left Dominique with her mouth hanging open again as she said, "But war is not the answer; violence only begets more violence, on both sides! We have to stop killing, and start talking out solutions instead, or we as humans will have no right to use the term 'humane' ever again."

Dominique sat back again and shook her head in disdain. "You sing an old song… but one that is painfully out of tune with reality. Humanity is still at war with itself, or do you need me to list all the wars going on around the globe this very instant?" She almost indulged in gloating that she could name several of those conflicts immediately, as her company was involved in many of them, supplying high-tech weaponry for one side or the other (sometimes both), but did not. Instead, she continued, "And then there are all the massacres of humans by humans. There was mass genocide in Rwanda, only two years ago, and the 'ethnic cleansing' is still going on in Bosnia. And let us not forget the Killing Fields in Cambodia, in the late 1970's; and of course Germany, during the Second World War…"

Now the one named Lucy Ling stood up and interrupted, her voice tinged with both anger and contempt as she said, "And I'm sure you can list every major atrocity committed by Humanity, clear back to the Crusades." (That made Dominique shut up and freeze for a moment; she could indeed do so, as she had lived through all those centuries and witnessed many of those atrocities first-hand, but she wondered how this young pup could possibly know that…) "We're not denying that Humanity, as a race, has done some unconscionable things in the past. But we are saying that it's time to stop! To stop the intolerance, the racism and prejudice, and all the conflicts and killings and wars that result from them."

Now the one called James Sliddick stood up, his expression severe as he said, "Ma'am, you don't have to tell a Black man about racism and intolerance. Just last year, I was involved in an incident of racism, when four drunken Skinheads thought it was their civic duty to 'put them niggers in their place,' and attacked me and my date off-campus. But they were stopped before they could do more than give me this scar," as he shoved up his sleeve to show a thin pinkish line across his forearm, a scar from that knife attack, "by some friends of mine. Some White friends of mine," he slowly emphasized. "People who knew what was right and stood up for it, even though some of them got hurt themselves in the fight. And it was people like them who fought with my parents and grandparents during the Civil Rights Movement, and put an end to racial segregation and the Jim Crow laws! Maybe we can't change the whole world, ma'am, but we know we can change our own society for the better, because it's been done before!"

"Very noble sentiments," Dominique commented acidly. "And I will acknowledge that the Jim Crow laws are no more. But as you yourself witnessed, racism is still being practiced today. You said you were attacked last year, and just this last summer, one of your kind was dragged to death by a chain from the back of a pickup truck. You say you can change society, but can you really prevent people from hating?"

"We have to try, ma'am," the fourth member of their party said stoutly, as he stood up with his companions.

"Hatred and anger usually spring from fear," Ms. Simmons said, "and fear springs from ignorance! Most people have only seen gargoyles as monsters, not as people. But we can change that, by telling them the truth, not those lies the Quarrymen spew!" She gestured to Brian's overlarge briefcase, and he began to open it as she continued, "We'll start with educational pamphlets, to be distributed not just on the street corners and in the subways but in major businesses as well, and if we have enough money we can buy commercial time on the air, and--"

"And we'll be leaving now," Mr. Sliddick said abruptly, interrupting Ms. Simmons' impassioned speech and putting a hand firmly on his companion's case to prevent him from opening it. Then he put his hands on his companions' shoulders and began gently urging them towards the door, as he said firmly, "Sorry to waste your time, Ms. Destine. Have a good day."

The abruptness of their departure left Dominique open-mouthed again. She just sat there at her desk and watched them leave, hustled hurriedly out by Mr. Sliddick even though at least Ms. Simmons was clearly wanting to say more. As the last one left, they closed the door behind them but it bounced off the doorjamb, and swung partway open again. Moving almost automatically, she got up to close the door the rest of the way, and reached it just in time to hear Ms. Simmons whispering furiously to her companion, "Why did you cut me off like that! We didn't even get to the commercial storyboards!"

Her companion said softly but with intensity, "We were wasting our time, Mary. That woman will never do anything to help the gargoyles…"

Whaat! Only great self-control kept Dominique from ripping the door open again, and ripping that insolent pup's throat out with her fingernails.

But the man continued, "She's too used to hating. I've met 'her kind' before; people like her need somebody to hate, in order to justify their own miserable existence. And this one has probably spent too many years hating to stop now. Trust me on this; she'd never even admit to the possibility that her hatred is unjustified, because to do so would be to admit that she's wasted a good part of her life, working for war instead of peace. Come on, let's go. Hopefully we'll have better luck tomorrow…"

For long moments Dominique just stood there on the other side of the door, literally shaking with rage, grinding her teeth and clenching her fists as the soft sound of footsteps on the lush carpeting faded into the distance and the quiet hum of her office at work. How dare they! How dare that insolent pup judge her like that? How dare he say that she… that she…

For five long minutes, Dominique Destine stood there trembling in silence.

Then she went back to her desk and sat down, picked up her pen…

Threw the pen across the room and buried her head in her arms, and wept.

For the next fifteen minutes or more, she just sobbed into her hands, ruining her makeup and the papers on her desk. She was utterly oblivious to her secretary meekly peeking inside the still-open door, then quietly shutting it, going back to her desk and canceling all appointments and meetings for the rest of the afternoon.

After sobbing for a while, Dominique just sat there in silence for a while longer…

Then she began sobbing again, though not as fiercely as before; quiet but hopeless sobs, tears of utter despair.

Finally, she called her chauffeur, left the office, and went out to get stinking drunk.

oo00oo00oo oo00oo00oo

The building face didn't look all that impressive, in the pale light of the winter afternoon sun; common brickwork, but well-kept with very little graffiti. The sign posted next to the entrance simply read, Sugar & Spice. If not for the No Minors Allowed on the Premises sign posted underneath it, one might never have guessed that this was actually a rather famous, very exclusive strip club. As he walked into the club just before opening time and told the bouncer at the entrance that Officer Sung had referred him to the manager, Matt Bluestone reflected that sometimes having friends who worked in Vice paid off in interesting ways.

Tony the manager came walking up a few minutes later, in that deliberately casual way that those who had dealt with policemen many, many times in the past seemed to cultivate. "Afternoon, officer. What can I do for you?" His ever-so-casual manner perceptibly relaxed, in both surprise and humor, when Matt told him he wanted to hire a couple of his strippers--no, let us be politically correct, the exotic dancers he employed--for a private bachelor party, somewhere off-premises. "That can be arranged… though I have to warn you, the going rate for employing my fine ladies for such a function is usually more than the average policeman can afford to pay."

"Money is not a problem, I can guarantee," Matt told him, privately sure that whatever the going rate was, Xanatos could probably pay it out of petty cash. "But I need to interview the ladies first, to select the right ones for the job; there are a few conditions attached." Then he hefted the bag he'd brought with him as he added, "Including wearing specific outfits for the occasion…"

oo00oo00oo oo00oo00oo

Monday evening at the castle found the gargoyles roaring a waking greeting to the night, and Owen Burnett awaiting them in his usual stoic manner, indicating that Xanatos would like to speak to the clan leader after he had finished assigning the nightly patrols. Goliath frowned slightly but went ahead with the assignments, giving Brooklyn and Hudson had the first patrol, himself and Angela the second, and Broadway and Lexington the last patrol of the night. Once he'd finished, Goliath followed Owen inside, while Lexington headed for his computer (of course), and Angela let Fox lead her aside to talk about the party that they were going to surprise Elisa with on Friday night. (It was the same night that the male gargoyles were planning to have Goliath's bachelor party, though he didn't know about it yet either, or so they hoped.)

Bronx stood on the battlements and whined fretfully after Brooklyn and Hudson as they left for their patrol, but Brooklyn ignored that in favor of glancing at Broadway, as he launched from the castle as well and headed straight for the harbor. Brooklyn eyed his rookery brother with growing perplexity; was Broadway going to do a nonstop circuit around the entire island again! Every night since Friday, he had been going out to do laps; either just after his patrol, or well before it so he had time to recover from huffing and puffing his way all the way around Manhattan before going out to look for criminals. Goliath had given him permission to fly the laps solo after Broadway had promised to stay on the island's perimeter and high above the height of most buildings, where he was least likely to attract attention. But why was Broadway wearing himself out like this, night after night? When Brooklyn had asked him about it, he'd only replied tersely, "Gotta get in shape," and Brooklyn certainly couldn't argue with that. But a complete circuit of the island's edge was nearly thirty miles long; Broadway had to be pushing himself to the limits to go the entire way without stopping to rest, and if he did run into trouble before finishing his circuit, he'd be in no shape to handle it. Why was he so desperate to lose weight that he was risking his life for it?

oo00oo00oo oo00oo00oo

"…not sure I heard you clearly," as Goliath shook his head, as if hoping to shake out something stuck inside his ears. "You just said… Demona thanked some students for saving her!"

Xanatos spread his hands out in a there-you-have-it manner. "I know, it sounds about as realistic as a tap-dancing elephant, but that's what he said! MacBeth also said he hadn't believed it either, until he actually spoke with some of the students who live in that dorm. And they're all swearing up, down and sideways that after they drove the Quarrymen off with the fire hoses, the 'blue lady gargoyle' told them 'Thank you!' before running away. And how many blue-skinned, red-haired female gargoyles do you know who live in this city?"

"Only the one, unfortunately." Goliath growled softly as he shook his head again. "We can only hope that whatever deviltry Demona was up to on that campus, those Quarrymen put a stop to it before the students drove her off. It would be far too optimistic to assume she was only out to stretch her wings." Xanatos nodded soberly, and Goliath sighed before adding, "Thank you for bringing me in here to tell me about this privately."

Xanatos gave a wry smile. "You still haven't told Angela about Mommy Dearest being back in town, eh?"

Goliath shook his head again, looking pained. "No, I have not. Only Hudson, Brooklyn and Lexington know, and they have strict orders not to mention it in front of the others, even Broadway; he's the worst of us all at dissembling, and I fear he may let something slip in an unguarded moment." He sighed as he added, "And if Angela learned about this, I fear she'd take it as a positive sign that her mother is reforming and changing her views on humanity…"

"When it's more likely for Slobodan Milosevic to win the Nobel Peace Prize than for Demona to let go of a thousand-year-old grudge," Xanatos inserted.

"But Angela would not see that, and would immediately begin seeking her mother out, hoping to complete the reformation," Goliath said with a sigh. "And likely fall into whatever trap Demona has planned for just such an occasion."

"And you may be right… but you know that sooner or later Angela will find out Demona's back in Manhattan. Especially since I can almost guarantee that the P.I.T. will start crowing about this incident as their first victory over prejudice against gargoyles. And if Angela finds out you've been deliberately keeping the knowledge from her…" Xanatos didn't finish the sentence, but he didn't have to.

oo00oo00oo oo00oo00oo

Monday evening in the Labyrinth found five gargoyle clones literally dancing with excitement after they woke up and finished shedding their stone skins. "Going to lie-berry, going to lie-berry!" Malibu, Brentwood and Hollywood chanted gleefully together as they did an impromptu ring-around-the-rosy.

"Not yet you're not," Maggie said firmly as she tapped Malibu on the shoulder, and handed him the broom and dustpan. "First you've got to clean your room! You know the rules, and it's your turn tonight, Malibu. So let's get all that gravel swept up…"

"And tonight, only two of you are going," Talon said firmly as he came into the room. "The others will go on another trip. No, don't start whining!" as he waggled a stern finger at the clones, who had indeed started to protest. "You know the rules for outings; only a few of you at a time, instead of all of you at once. If there are too many of you in the air at once, it'll draw the attention of those nasty Quarrymen." Actually, the truth was that all five gargoyle clones together were just too hard to control and keep quiet, particularly when they were all excited like they were now; just one excited gargoyle could raise as much ruckus as half-a-dozen kindergarteners on a sugar high. "And we're not going to leave until almost midnight, so you can just settle down for a while…"

Tonight's outing was going to be special, though; Talon had to admit that. For tonight, they were going to begin raiding one of the old city libraries; the one above the NYPD 23rd Precinct stationhouse that had, for some reason, been boarded up and abandoned with books still inside it long before the clocktower above it had become home to a gargoyle clan.

When Hudson had visited the Labyrinth on Saturday night and Maggie had told him how they were lacking good reading material down here, he had told them about the library, which had been damaged but not completely destroyed in the missile strike that had left the clocktower in ruins. While it was true that the books in that library were decades old, nothing dated more recently than the 1960's, that didn't mean they weren't still readable, and possibly of better quality than many of the books being published on the mass market today. On Sunday night, Talon had made a quick pass over the stationhouse himself, and confirmed what Hudson had told them; that the library was disheveled, with bookcases overturned and books scattered on the floor, but still largely intact and accessible from above.

Elisa had told them that the construction crews that had been assigned to the task of rebuilding the damaged precinct building hadn't gotten much past clearing away the debris that had been knocked loose in the stationhouse itself, enough for the police to move back in and get back to work, before all work had halted by order of the unions; some sort of labor dispute. Rumor in the precinct had it that negotiations were deadlocked, but the Union reps were beginning to weaken; the workers had made it plain to them that they wanted to get back to work, and quickly. After all, Christmas was coming, and their kids were going to want to see toys under the Christmas trees… Talon knew that once construction began again, those books were going to be hauled away, so they didn't dare delay long. The best course of action would be to take a couple of clones at a time, to sneak in during the darkest hours of the night and quietly carry the books out in as many sacks as they could safely carry, and sweep their tracks up behind them as they left. He doubted that they'd be able to collect all the books before construction began again and workers cleared the place out, but even just a dozen or so sacks of books, chosen wisely, would satisfy the Labyrinth's reading requirements for a long time to come.

Tonight Talon chose Burbank and Hollywood to come with him as book-carriers, over a storm of protests from the other three. But Maggie reminded Delilah, Brentwood and Malibu that they'd get their turn on another night, and in the meantime they had their tunnel patrols and rat-catching duties to fulfill, and good gargoyles always patrolled their territory and protected the little children of the Labyrinth from rats, didn't they?

oo00oo00oo oo00oo00oo

It ain't easy being a rookie police officer, just a few months out of the police academy and finding out that as much as the academy tried to train you for real-life situations, the few aspects of the job that they didn't cover at the academy turns out to be a helluva lot. Especially when you're a member of the 23rd Precinct, and assigned to the Gargoyles Task Force.

Rookie John Davis leaned back in his chair and gave a sigh of relief as their latest interviewee left the squadroom. "Gone at last," he muttered sotto voce. "We really should have taken that one's statement at his home, so we could have faked a call or something and escaped faster."

Fellow rookie James Carter gave him a look of wry sympathy as he came back from the coffeemaker with two fresh cups. "No kidding. I thought we'd heard every nutcase variation on the theme by now, but I gotta admit, even on drugs, I couldn't have imagined a way to blame the gargoyles for the Watergate scandal."

Davis snorted even as he gratefully accepted the coffee from his buddy. "Well, why not? We've already heard them being blamed for acid rain, just about every unsolved murder, rape and robbery on the books since the 1920's, the extinction of a particular breed of pigeon, the rise of Communism, the overthrow of the rightful government of Rhodesia and the JFK assassination. Oh, and let us not forget the kidnapping of Elvis from Graceland, leaving an unidentified corpse to be buried in his place, and thereby of course proving that the King is still alive…"

"Well, jeez, that last one was almost to be expected, wasn't it? Seeing as how we get more gargoyle sightings than Elvis sightings these days. But you just wait until Christmas; I'll bet you ten bucks right now that we'll get a report of gargoyles sneaking down a chimney to steal presents from under a tree."

"Hell, I'll bet you ten bucks we'll get at least five of those. After, of course, insurance forms have been filled out on some of those more expensive presents…"

"You're getting cynical in your old age, Davis," Carter said wryly, well aware that neither of them had yet to see twenty-three years of age. But Detective Maza was right, even a few months of working in this precinct was apt to have that effect on an officer…

"Ah, let's blame the gargoyles for that too." Davis drained his coffee cup in three gulps and stood up determinedly. "Okay, what's next?"

"Just typing up the reports from the cases we got so far," Carter shrugged. "Detective Bluestone is still out on that missing kitty, and Detective Maza is still out on that robbery." The two cases he was referring to were also typical of the cases assigned to the Gargoyles Task force. Detective Bluestone was at the residence of an elderly woman who was insisting that gargoyles had catnapped and eaten her precious Fluffikins. (More often than not, the unfortunate victims of crimes such as this one were either found lying in the street with decidedly un-gargoyle-like tire treads running across the carcass, or wandered home unscathed a day or two later.) Detective Maza's case, on the other hand, had the potential to be more serious; a gargoyle had reportedly broken into a pawn shop and made off with some fairly expensive and dangerous items. Either Carter or Davis would have been delighted to go with her and investigate it, but Carter had been busy with taking the statement of a homeless man who insisted the gargoyles had stolen his kidneys (even though he was still up and walking around, whole if not exactly hale and hearty), and Davis had been stuck with interviewing the Watergate nut. Watergate, yet! Carter finished with a sigh, "You know, when we were first assigned to this task force, I was thrilled to death. But now I'd almost rather be walking a beat in the South Bronx…"

"Yeah," Davis sighed. "But you know, it wouldn't be so bad if we didn't get tossed every last stupid case that even hints of gargoyles being involved." As had been explained to them the last time they had complained, the GTF had been formed by the Commissioner expressly for the purpose of investigating gargoyle sightings, and learning all they could about these bizarre creatures. And if the captain chose to interpret that to mean they had to investigate every piddly reported incident, no matter how much the outright silly ones clogged up the system, that was her prerogative. "If they'd give us only the ones where they've got proof, like gargoyle tracks…"

oo00oo00oo oo00oo00oo

Gargoyle tracks, such as the ones Detective Maza was looking at right at that moment; the alley leading away from the pawn shop clearly showed a set of three-toed tracks in the dust and grime. But after only a second or two of looking at them while photographing them, she sighed and got to her feet again, stripping off the latex gloves she used for examining evidence. "Another GI, guys. Mr. Pedrotty, we'll let you know if your items turn up in any other pawnshops around here… Because whoever did this, he definitely wasn't a gargoyle."

"What do you mean!" Mr. Pedrotty exclaimed, outraged. "Of course it was a gargoyle; just look at those tracks!"

"I did," she retorted. "And if you'd care to take a closer look at them yourself, you'll see the treadmarks in them." She pointed to the faint but discernable jagged lines running across one three-toed footprint, looking remarkably like the prints from a popular brand of sneaker. "Those treadmarks mean that this was made by a 'GI', a Gargoyle Imitator; somebody wearing one of those costumes that came out last Halloween. The makers of the costumes put treads on all the costume boots, so people weren't as apt to slip and fall while they were walking around on tip-toe."

In point of fact, Xanatos had ordered that done not just as a safety feature, but so the police could readily identify fake gargoyle tracks. And after weeks of investigating crime scenes like these, Elisa could tell at a glance that this particular tread was from one of the more inexpensive costume models; model A74B, to be exact, the glider-winged version with an optional beak attachment. With that information and the costume color described by their one witness, a neighbor who had glanced out of his window across the street just as the thief was running away, they could do a vendor search and find out which stores had sold that model and color of costume, and who had bought said costumes from them using credit cards or other traceable methods of purchase. But instead of sharing that little tidbit with the pawnshop owner, she said, "And that explains the clear marks of the padlocks on your gun cases being cut, probably with bolt cutters, instead of merely broken apart. One thing we do know about true gargoyles is that they're incredibly strong; they wouldn't have bothered with bolt cutters. Sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Pedrotty, but your burglar wasn't a gargoyle, just an ordinary crook." She sighed as she said somewhat wistfully, "Things really were easier when they stuck to stockings over their heads and rubber Nixon masks…"

Just then, Morgan left the patrol car he'd gone back into to take a call, and came up to them, with a wry smile on his face. "Mr. Pedrotty, would you come with me? I think we found your burglar already, and your stolen goods."

"Already?" Mr. Pedrotty said with surprise. "That was fast…"

"Well, they do call us 'New York's Finest'," Morgan said modestly. Then he sheepishly grinned as he admitted, "But this time, we had it pretty easy."

Elisa turned to him with interest sparking in her eyes. "What'd we get, another SCOW candidate?" In the Manhattan precincts, SCOW stood for Stupid Criminal Of the Week, and cops liked to trade stories between precincts of dumb criminals and the ways they had been caught. Last Week's SCOW for the 23rd Precinct had been another gargoyle imitator; that one had broken into a liquor store and robbed the till, then tried to run for it while still in costume. But very few people have really mastered the art of running on tiptoe, particularly in boots with three toe-like protuberances sticking out in front. The SCOW had tripped over his own feet and knocked himself out cold on the doorframe he'd slammed into, waking up in the 'paddywagon' to the sound of the cops snickering in the front seat. And not two days after that, another costumed crook in the 14th Precinct's jurisdiction had robbed a late-night diner at gunpoint, but had actually gotten his rubber-spiked tail caught in the door on the way out! By the time he'd turned around and wrenched it free, an off-duty policeman had already gotten the drop on him, and the crook ended his decidedly short-lived crime spree in a jail cell.

"Not this time; I think we can thank 'The Originals' for this one." Morgan turned to Mr. Pedrotty and explained, "Another patrol car just called in, less than two blocks west of here; they found a man in the remains of a gargoyle costume unconscious and hanging upside-down from a lamppost. Somebody ripped the tail of his costume off and used it to tie him up there by his feet, and the wings were ripped off and used as a makeshift sling to stow what looks like about a dozen rifles up out of reach as well."

Elisa tried hard to suppress a knowing smile, but a little of it leaked out anyway. That was Brooklyn's style, to hang them up somewhere high by the ripped-off tails; Broadway and Lexington were more apt to just tie them up with the tails and the remains of the wings. "The Originals" really, really didn't like criminals wearing gargoyle costumes, and when they came upon one committing a crime in the course of their patrols they always wrecked the costume one way or another, and used the remains to aid in restraining the crook for the police. Aloud, she said, "Well, Mr. Pedrotty, if you've got your records handy, let's go over there and see if the weapons they found are yours, and if the missing jewelry is at the bottom of the sling. Then we'll take our little 'gift-wrapped package' back to the precinct for booking…"

oo00oo00oo oo00oo00oo

Back at the precinct, Carter was stirring more sugar into his coffee when he said abruptly, "You know, we're going about this the wrong way."

"What do you mean?" Davis asked as he turned to him.

"Well, the whole point of investigating every last gargoyle sighting is to see if we can detect a pattern to their movements and stuff, right? That's why we're plotting all the incidents that aren't total false alarms up on the map in the back of the squadroom. But one thing we haven't done is go straight to the source."

Davis reminded his friend patiently, "We already tried to get a warrant for the Aerie Building and the castle on top of it, remember? But both Bluestone and Maza came back from the judges empty-handed."

"Yeah, David Xanatos must have friends among the judges. But I'm talking about another source; one right above our heads!" as Carter pointed at the ceiling. "Remember, when those Scots terrorists blew up the clocktower in the first place, they released a clip that showed gargoyles leaving the ruins! They tried to blame the gargoyles for the explosion, but at her hearing the woman terrorist—what was her name, Birdie Can-something--"

"Robyn Canmore," Davis supplied helpfully.

"Right, and she said that they'd really been trying to kill the gargoyles living there! But so far as I know, nobody's really been up there looking for evidence of the gargoyles themselves; the bomb squad people just went up there to verify there was no unexploded ordnance, and then they left it alone. And the construction workers barely touched the upper levels before they went on strike. I'm betting we'll still find evidence of gargoyles up there…"

"But what good will that do, if they're not up there anymore?"

"It'll give us some clues as to their daily habits; you know, what they eat and stuff. Come on, didn't you ever see any National Geographic specials? You never know, we just might find something important…"

oo00oo00oo oo00oo00oo

"Now, this is important," Talon whispered seriously to Burbank and Hollywood as they alit on the remains of the broken balustrade outside the clocktower, each carrying two large and empty burlap sacks, and Hollywood carrying a scraggly-looking broom as well. "You have to be very, very quiet in a library; that's a very important Rule. You don't talk if you don't have to, and when you do, you talk only in whispers. And there's no running, or jumping, or doing other noisy things; you must be very, very quiet in a library. Understand?"

"Very, very quiet in lie-berry," Hollywood said as he and Burbank nodded seriously.

"That's library. Li-brar-y," Talon said slowly so they could tell the difference, before leading them inside.

Once they were down in the library, he lit the old lantern he'd brought with them, keeping the flame down low to provide a dim light that flickered across their faces. Neither he nor the gargoyles needed much light, anyway, thanks to their night-adapted eyes; if not for the necessity of reading the lettering on the library section labels, book titles and pages, they could have made do with the faint light filtering in through the gaping holes in the ceiling and dispensed with the lantern entirely. He led Hollywood and Burbank over to the children's books section, set the lantern down and set them to work in choosing books to put in their sacks. Neither of them could really read yet, but he assured them that if the pictures looked interesting, the book would probably be okay. He gave them each one sack apiece to fill as they pleased, then took the other four and the small pocket flashlight he'd brought and headed for the other sections. He planned to fill two sacks with general fiction books, and the other two with nonfiction and reference books. He was really hoping to find some how-to books on home construction, electrical work and even indoor gardening; the more work on the Labyrinth that his people could do for themselves, the more confidence they had in their own abilities. And if he was lucky he'd find some art books, just for Maggie, to go with the set of pencils and art supplies he'd had Elisa buy for Maggie's birthday the next Wednesday. Maggie had been doing some drawing lately, mostly pictures of the Labyrinth children at play, and in Derek's admittedly biased opinion she had a real talent for it…

oo00oo00oo oo00oo00oo

"Yeah, there it is, just like I remembered," Carter said with satisfaction as he pointed at the ceiling of the broom closet he and Davis had just walked into. They had debated ripping away the boards that sealed the door to the stairwell that led to the upper floors, but decided that would draw too much attention to themselves right now. Unless and until they found some solid gargoyle evidence, they wanted to keep their plans to themselves, after seeing other rookies being derided by senior officers for their 'harebrained ideas' on new and improved ways to fight crime. For their first exploratory foray, Carter had remembered seeing one of those fold-up ladders and a trapdoor in the broom closet, last time he'd gotten a mop to clean up some spilled coffee; that probably led to at least the next floor, and from there they could probably find a way up to the clocktower itself. "Got your flashlight?"

"Check," Davis said as he brandished his black Maglite. The massive flashlight, powered by four 'D'-cell batteries, was favored for use by police officers, both for its powerful beam of light and for its alternative use as a riot baton in sticky situations. But when he clicked it on, the light coming from the lens was so dim it was barely noticeable. "Nuts, the batteries are drained. I knew I shouldn't have let my neighbor borrow it yesterday… But I know where they keep the spare batteries; be back in a flash," as he went back out the door.

After waiting for a minute or two for Davis to return, Carter, admittedly the more impatient of the pair, decided that even if he'd agreed to wait for Davis before exploring the clocktower ruins, it wouldn't hurt to at least poke his head up through the trapdoor and see what he could see from there. He pulled down the ladder, climbed up it and eased open the trapdoor…

To see a gargoyle not six feet away from him, sitting cross-legged on the floor, reading a book by the light of a flickering lantern. An honest-to-God real gargoyle!

No, two gargoyles! Both of them were reading, and he must have gasped or made some other noise because one of them lifted its head and looked around and saw him!

And just lifted a hand and waved to him in a vaguely friendly but distracted fashion, and went back to reading. The motion of its companion attracted the attention of the other one, but all it did was the same thing—sort of wave to him—before poking his companion with one massive claw and gesturing for it to look at something in the book it was holding. The first one looked at the page, then smiled and nodded vigorously at the other one, who then put the book in a sack lying next to him and pulled another one off the shelf.

Carter gradually unfroze all his muscles, enough to slowly and carefully ease up another two steps, until more than just his head was poking out the trapdoor. Then he said slowly, feeling like a total idiot but not knowing what else to say, "I come in peace…"

The one closest to him, a giant orange creature, held one of those claw-tipped fingers up to his black-tusked mouth and whispered sternly, "Ssshhh! Talon says be very quiet in library!"

Carter swallowed hard, and said nothing for a few more seconds, while the gargoyles continued to pick up books, look at them and put them in bags. Then he swallowed again, and whispered, "I-is that your name? Talon?"

The big orange one shook his head and whispered, "No. I Hollywood." And since introductions were being given, the greenish-looking bearded one pointed to himself and said, "I Burbank."

Hollywood! Burbank! Carter had the increasing feeling that he'd taken a sharp left turn off of Reality Street a few minutes ago. But he gamely struggled on, "A-are you taking the books to your new home?" And when they nodded, he asked softly, "Where is your new home?"

"Labyrinth," the gargoyle named Burbank said helpfully.

Just then another voice came drifting over the bookshelves, hissing with annoyance. "I can hear some whispering over there! When I said for you two to keep quiet, I meant it! Don't make me come over there…"

At the sound of that voice, both of the huge creatures in front of him cringed like whipped puppies. Carter abruptly decided that he absolutely, positively did not want to meet the sort of creature that could inspire such fearful obedience in gargoyles, not without a full SWAT team as backup. Holding a frantic finger to his lips to keep them quiet, he very carefully and quietly eased himself back down the stairs, and closed the trapdoor over his head.

Just after he closed the door, he heard soft footsteps moving across the wooden floor. "Are your sacks full yet?" The unseen master of the gargoyles demanded. When the gargoyles replied that they were almost full, he said, "Okay, that's enough for this trip. We'll come back for more on another trip. No, don't give me those looks! Come on, let's get back to the Labyrinth…"

There were some soft rustling and swishing noises; then came the soft but heavy tread of footsteps amidst those rustling noises, moving away from the trap door overhead. Carter decided it would be prudent to wait a full five minutes to make sure the coast was clear, before going back upstairs.

While he poised frozen on the stairs, Davis opened the door to the broom closet, waving the large flashlight that presumably now had fresh batteries in it. "Ready when you are," he said cheerfully.

Carter frantically shushed him, then plastered his ear to the trapdoor to listen for possible footsteps returning. But he heard nothing from above, while Davis whispered tensely, "What is it? …Are they up there right now?"

"They were," Carter finally murmured, as he relaxed. "But I think the coast is clear now."

"What happened? Did they attack you!"

"N-no… actually, the two I saw were almost… friendly." Carter stared at the trapdoor without opening it, while the word "Labyrinth" ran through his head. The gargoyles lived in a labyrinth… Finally, he turned back to Davis and said, "This may sound crazy, but do you remember that kid's movie from about ten years ago, with giant Muppets and a labyrinth and David Bowie as a Goblin King?"

"Yeah…"

"Did you ever wonder if maybe they were really on to something?"

oo00oo00oo oo00oo00oo

Carter related to Davis what he'd seen, what the two gargoyles he'd seen had said to him and what their unseen master had said to them, while the two of them went up the ladder and explored the abandoned library. Davis had gone back and gotten the camera in expectation of finding fresh footprints, but when they went through the trapdoor, they were disappointed to find that the gargoyles had swept behind them as they were leaving; no tracks remained, just a path swept relatively free of dust. "And how are we going to prove that a gargoyle did this?" Davis complained, as he took a picture of the swept path anyway, just because. "Or that gargoyles took books off the shelves, if nobody knows what books were there on the shelves in the first place? The others will never believe us, if we tell them the gargoyles came by for a visit without having any proof…"

"They'll think I've been smoking crack or something. Especially since a lot of them won't want to believe me," Carter said glumly. He remembered how some members of the precinct had reacted to hearing that their stationhouse had been home to a pack of gargoyles. No less than six officers had immediately booked thorough physical exams with the station docs, to be checked for the Hanta virus or whatever weird disease it was that the Quarrymen said gargoyles spread. Two more officers had outright begged the captain for transfers to another precinct, even though she and Detective Maza assured them that the gargoyles weren't living there anymore, and one guy had freaked so badly he'd just turned in his badge and moved to Scranton, Pennsylvania.

Davis tried to cheer him up by saying, "Well, at least Bluestone should believe you. I mean, hell, he believes in UFO's and the Loch Ness Monster and everything else…"

"Yeah, but you know what Maza will say; she's skeptical of about 99 of the gargoyle reports we get. You know that's why we're doing more than our share of the interviews; Captain Chavez told her to stick to fresh crime scenes, because she kept getting in-your-face with people and telling them they were all full of crap, and she was about thirty seconds away from getting an official reprimand. She'll say I'm 'just a rookie with too much imagination and not enough common sense', and if I mention that bit about a 'labyrinth', she'll probably recommend me for a Psych evaluation," Carter predicted gloomily. Davis had to admit he was probably right. After another minute or so of futilely playing his flashlight beam over the bookshelves, Carter suddenly snapped his fingers and said, "I got an idea. If the guys want proof, we'll get them proof…"

oo00oo00oo oo00oo00oo

Tuesday morning, the delegation from the P.I.T. Crew had their meeting with the CEO of Cyberbiotics.

Mary glanced at the dark-haired, pale-faced man who ushered them into the CEO's office and finally figured out why he looked so familiar; except for the hair color, he could have been a perfect twin of the corporate stooge who had brought them to see Mr. Xanatos the day before. He even had the same utterly emotionless manner; did they teach people to act like that in Corporate Stooge School, or what? Or maybe the two men were related somehow; there were supposedly families in England that prided themselves on producing generations of butlers to the nobility… Then she dismissed him and her speculations from her mind, upon her first sight of Mr. Halcyon Renard.

Mr. Renard was an old, old man; his hair was reduced to a few white wisps on a scalp freckled with the "liver spots" of aging, and his face was wrinkled with more lines than the average topographical map. The hand he raised to gesture them towards a seat was so withered it was nearly clawlike, and the voice in which he said, "Be seated" was more raspy than a three-pack-a-day smoker's. But his eyes… now Mary knew what they meant by 'a piercing gaze', because when he swept that gaze over her, those eyes pinned her to her seat like a butterfly to an entomologist's board. A fierce intelligence and an indomitable will shone out of those eyes, and Mary had no doubt at all that as old and decrepit as he looked on the outside, this man could eat tigers for breakfast.

The bizarre chair Mr. Renard was sitting in turned out to be a fancy-rigged powered wheelchair, which he wheeled out from behind his desk to sit directly in front of them, almost as if daring them to flinch away from this terribly graphic reminder of what the cruel hand of Father Time could ultimately do to them all. But Mary's years on the debate team served her well, and she didn't flinch, though she caught movement from the corner of her eye and thought that James might have. Instead, she said courteously, "Thank you very much for agreeing to see us on such short notice, Mr. Renard."

"Yes, I'm sure you're grateful," he rasped with a slight disdaining gesture of his hand to cut off further words. "Now, as you can see, I am old and unwell, and my remaining time is precious. So let's dispense with the pleasantries and get to the heart of the matter: you youngsters say you want to help the gargoyles and you need my money to do so. Just how do you propose to help them?"

Well, at least this one knew what they were there for! Mary took a deep breath, and began.

They went through their presentation, showing him the pamphlet layouts and commercial storyboards they'd created, as well as their drafts of the P.I.T.'s charter and bylaws, and their proposed sponsorship agreement. Mr. Renard asked them several hard questions, dealing with not just the financial but the legal and political aspects of their campaign to aid the gargoyles, but if Mary couldn't answer his questions then either James, Lucy or Brian was able to step in.

Twenty minutes later Mr. Renard finished making notes and corrections on some of the papers they had handed him, and called his aide back into the room. "Mr. Vogel, take these young people straight to our Legal department, and tell Radison that I want a corporate sponsorship contract for the People for Interspecies Tolerance on my desk for signing before noon today; here's the rough draft. Then have Accounting set up an account with them at the same PR firm we use; they're to tell Schuster and Barnes that we'll pay the P.I.T.'s advertising expenses in full for the rest of this fiscal quarter and all of the next, and after that we'll renegotiate." Then he brandished the best of the three pamphlet layouts they'd brought with them as he added, "And that I expect to receive one of these pamphlets in the mail, along with at least 100,000 other New York residents, no later than next Tuesday!"

When they walked out of Mr. Renard's office, after thanking him so profusely that he'd begun to get irritated again, Mary wanted to go dancing in the streets, cast and crutches and all. This was almost as much of a rush as when the gargoyle named Brooklyn had talked with them; the P.I.T. was funded now, and ready to roll!

oo00oo00oo oo00oo00oo

Meanwhile, over at Xanatos Enterprises, another conversation had not gone nearly so well. Clifford Adkins, a senior member in the corporation's local Human Resources department, winced as the sound of a phone slamming down reverberated through the receiver he was holding, and gingerly put the phone back down in its cradle. His assistant looked at him apologetically, saying, "I'm sorry, sir, but she really insisted on talking to you…"

"It's all right, Dale; I've heard worse. It's what I make the big bucks for," Adkins joked weakly. But he scowled at the phone, thinking that the last couple of names he'd been called in the course of that 'conversation' had really been uncalled for. He'd explained to the lady on the phone--IF 'lady' could be used to describe such an obvious harridan--all the steps she'd have to take in order to be considered for the job she'd been asking about, as politely as he could, especially considering how irregular her request had been in the first place. His quite reasonable request that she follow the usual procedures for personnel looking to be hired by Xanatos Enterprises did not make him a 'tight-assed, bureaucratic toad!' He was not normally a vindictive man, but he made a mental note that if the first batch of required papers ever did show up, he'd make a point of dealing with them personally.

Not half an hour later, the fax machine over in the corner of the office began whirring and spitting out sheets of paper, and when Dale went over to pick them up, she glanced at the name emblazoned on the top sheet--L. Lacey--and reflexively winced. "Sir? She's decided to fax to us instead of using the mail system…"

"Such a pity about all these new-fangled electronic machines," Adkins said dryly as he came over and took the papers from her. "Sometimes, they just don't seem to work properly, and valuable data gets lost…" as he strode straight for the office shredder.

oo00oo00oo oo00oo00oo

Tuesday afternoon, Elisa Maza sighed as she saw the stark outlines of the many buildings of Riker's Island Correctional Facility through the windshield of her Fairlane. She'd been coming here nearly every Tuesday for the last two months, and each visit brought up those same conflicting feelings within her, but she always came anyway.

After showing her badge and passing through a series of checkpoints, a prison guard ushered her into the infirmary of the main prison, and the man lying in the third hospital bed from the end looked up and saw her, and smiled. A little portion of Elisa's heart twitched in response; even after being shot and paralyzed from the waist down, and jailed on charges of terrorism, destruction of public property, impersonating a police officer and a host of lesser crimes, Jason Canmore still had a beautiful smile…

Despite the fact that she was a female police officer, and any female walking into an all-male prison can expect plenty of rude, lewd and crude remarks from the prisoners there, most of the other inmates lying in infirmary beds appeared to studiously ignore her. The few who started to make catcalls were swiftly and harshly hushed by their neighbors, the long-term infirmary patients; they had learned from previous visits that it didn't pay to talk dirty when this particular lady cop came around, and not only because she had a razor tongue and could cut a guy's manhood off with it faster and nastier than a homemade shiv. Prisoner #8773659B, the one she always visited, had a way of making his displeasure known despite his paraplegic state, and inmates who were a pain in the neck when she visited inevitably found themselves in a lot more pain before the next morning's muster.

As she did every time she came, Elisa laid a carton of Marlboro's on the bed and asked, "So, how's it going?"

"Doing better," Jason said with determined cheer as he set the cigarettes aside. He didn't smoke, and she knew it, but they both knew how vital those cigarettes were to Jason's progress in physical rehabilitation.

The medical staff on Riker's Island was notoriously understaffed, undersupplied and overworked, and geared more towards patching together prisoners who had been knifed by their fellow inmates than towards helping a man who'd been shot in the spine regain his mobility, or the use of paralyzed limbs. But one trait Jason Canmore had inherited in full from his ancestors was a deep-seated stubbornness, and incredible determination to overcome whatever obstacles lay in the path to success. Those traits had helped them to track down and battle the Demon over a thousand years, even if they'd never succeeded in killing her (at least not permanently), and now they were just what was needed for rehabilitation. Within a week of his being shot, Jason had taught himself how to use one of the dilapidated wheelchairs the infirmary kept on hand, and had largely concocted his own rehabilitation regime from that point on. Every day he wheeled himself down to the gymnasium to lift weights, and he paid another inmate in the basic units of prison currency—packs of cigarettes—to help him exercise his legs to prevent their atrophy. He also used the cigarettes to trade for favors from some of the prison guards, who were also nicotine addicts just from breathing the smoke-filled air of the prison yards for years on end.

Today, after telling Elisa he was doing better, he closed his eyes and leaned back with a grin on his face, and told Elisa, "Hit me in the left knee."

"Huh!"

"Go ahead! Not hard enough to break anything, just hit it!" And when Elisa shrugged and slapped his left kneecap sharply, with his eyes still closed he grinned even wider and said playfully, "Ah, you hit like a girl!"

Understanding, Elisa grinned from ear to ear as she whacked his knee again. "You can feel that, huh?"

"Started feeling there again last Sunday," Jason confided as he reopened his eyes. "Still nothing below it, and nothing above the knee either for some reason, but it proves my spinal cord wasn't completely severed by the bullet; and the more I exercise, the more I could regain."

Elisa knew, as she knew he knew, that complete rehabilitation was extremely unlikely. The cold and brutal truth was that the severe spinal trauma Jason had suffered would likely leave him always partially paralyzed. But that truth was unspoken; they both refused to give up hope. They preferred to concentrate on another truth, that every SCI (Spinal Cord Injury) victim's recovery was different; some people did indeed make nearly full recoveries, and in Jason's case, it was too early to say how far he could progress. And while the medical staff here at Riker's was not exactly top-notch, Elisa had unashamedly pulled every string she could get her hands on to make sure that Jason got expert medical treatment up until the day he'd been sent there. She'd even bribed/threatened the EMT's in the ambulance into driving him to Bellevue Hospital instead of Manhattan Medical immediately after he was shot, because she'd heard from other officers and the EMT's she associated with that Bellevue had the better spinal treatment center, and she knew that treatment in the first and most critical eight hours after spinal cord injury were the most crucial in later recovery. Combining that excellent care at the beginning, with Jason's sheer raw determination… He might end up bound to a wheelchair for the rest of his life, or he could eventually end up walking with just a cane. No one could say yet, but they could hope…

After a little more small talk about his health, they moved on to the other subject talked about, though guardedly, every time she came. Jason asked, "So, how are 'the guys'?"

"Doing well," Elisa said with a smile. "Especially now that they know they have a few more friends out there. Oh, and I brought you some new reading material." That was her cue to lay a week's worth of the New York Times on his bed. That was how they communicated about the gargoyles; through newspaper articles about robberies that they had stopped or other activities they had engaged in. Elisa folded back the corners of the pertinent pages to make them easier for Jason to find, and if the newspaper didn't credit the gargoyles for their work (which was the way it usually went), she would casually highlight the particular article so Jason would know who was truly responsible. But today, there was a pale orange flyer stuck in amidst the newspapers, one that hadn't been there when they'd been distributed to the general public. Jason noticed it sticking out slightly and pulled it out, and smiled widely when he read the notice for the second meeting of the People for Interspecies Tolerance.

"Bloodied but not Beaten," Jason quoted aloud from the flyer with a satisfied smile on his face. "Nice catchphrase." Last Tuesday when she had visited, Elisa had told him about the first meeting of the P.I.T., which had been broken up (literally) by a cadre of Quarrymen. (And he'd cursed his brother in blistering terms for using such tactics on innocent people. In their thousand years of hunting the Demon, the Hunters' goal had always been to protect humans, not to persecute them! It was obvious to him that his poor brother Jon was sinking deeper and deeper into madness…) It was good to know that the Quarrymen had evidently failed in their goal to defeat the gargoyles' supporters.

The papers were set aside for later perusal, and they spent a little while longer making small talk about relatively innocuous topics, amusing anecdotes from the precinct or the latest happenings with Elisa's family, knowing that a lot had to remain unspoken. Such as the truth about the Gargoyles Task Force, and Elisa's involvement with the clan… And Elisa's love life. Though that would remain unspoken even if they were alone in an utterly private and unmonitored room. Jason knew that as much as he was attracted to Elisa, as much as he both cared for and desired her and could very easily have fallen deeply in love with her, they could never be more than friends so long as 'someone else' came first in her life. He never spoke of that, because as gently as it had been given, the rejection had stung, and he had no desire to reopen that emotional wound; just seeing her every week and having her friendship was bittersweet enough. For her part, Elisa kept silent about it because she had never told Jason the name of that 'someone else', and knew she probably never would. Despite the fact that he had taken a bullet for Goliath, Elisa sincerely doubted that Jason would understand or approve of having a gargoyle for a lover… and soon-to-be husband. And their bittersweet friendship, somehow forged despite the initial lies and betrayals, was still so fragile… No, some things were better left unsaid.

Soon enough it was time for Elisa to go. On her way out she always visited Jason's sister Robyn, also a prisoner at Riker's, to let her know how her brother was doing. And when driving back across the bridge that connected Riker's Island to Queens, Elisa would always let out a sigh of mingled relief, frustration and general weariness. It wasn't easy, being a cop and being friends with an inmate on Riker's; she'd had to do some fancy verbal tap-dancing in front of Captain Chavez, including claiming that Jason had actually taken that bullet for her instead, to keep the Board of Inquiry from sniffing into her visits. And she'd had to do some equally fancy tap-dancing in front of Goliath, when he'd found out about her visits during the daytime; persuading him that Jason was ultimately their best connection to Jon Castaway, even if right now the two brothers weren't communicating. (Her fiancé had a real jealous streak sometimes, particularly about Jason; Elisa sometimes wondered guiltily if he'd somehow found out about that one kiss in her apartment, but had never gotten up the nerve to ask.) She sometimes wondered if the weekly visits were worth all the trouble… and then she remembered that smile. Even if they could never and would never be more than friends, there was something about that smile…

oo00oo00oo oo00oo00oo

Tuesday night, the clan had just a little problem, a magical mishap:

David and Fox Xanatos came back from their dinner at Tavern on the Green to find the castle in an uproar that was raging louder than the thunderstorm outside. Most of the clan was talking or shouting while surrounding either Hudson or Bronx, except Goliath; he was holding Puck up against a wall a good three feet off the floor and snarling something at him while Puck was frantically babbling something back; and Anne was over in the corner trying to comfort both Alex and Bethany, who seemed to be engaged in a contest to see who could scream the loudest…

David and Fox looked at each other and sighed simultaneously. "You take the gargoyles, I'll take the kids," Fox said bluntly as she headed over to Anne and the children. David was about to retort that she'd given herself the easier job, when a particularly ear-splitting shriek from Bethany made him reconsider. Instead, he headed over to where the gargoyles were clustered.

The cluster resolved into three distinct groupings: Goliath pinning Puck against the wall while he snarled that this mess was entirely his fault, and if he didn't fix it fast Goliath was going to give him a cold iron collar to wear, while Puck was babbling frantically that he'd already explained twice that he couldn't fix it, not by himself… Brooklyn and Broadway pinning a raging Bronx down by brute force, to keep him from jumping at either Puck or Hudson, and begging him to settle down… and Lexington and Angela bracketing a sulking Hudson on either side and pleading for him to reconsider, that this wasn't fair to Hudson… David added two and two and two together, came up with the answer as he walked up to Goliath and Puck, and sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Let me guess… a botched lesson in soul transference?"

"I-it wasn't botched, exactly," Puck said with a forced grin, as he shoved futilely at the massive hand Goliath was using to keep him pinned against the wall; the geas laid on him by Oberon was evidently preventing him from using his powers to break free. "Bethany and Alex both did the spell perfectly, to simultaneously transfer the spirits of Hudson and Bronx between the two bodies!"

"But he tricked Hudson into being a willing participant!" Goliath growled, showing his fangs. "All Owen said to him when we awoke was that he wanted a volunteer who could glide on his own if need be, for a lesson for both the children. We thought it would be another lesson in levitation, not soul transference!"

"Well, if I'd told him everything, he wouldn't have volunteered for it, after the trouble we had with Coldstone and company!" Puck protested. "And the only soul-transfer spells basic enough that the children can learn them involve willing souls! But everything would have been fine, if Bronx hadn't decided he likes having wings, hands and speech!"

"Now he refuses to transfer back, and the real Hudson is royally pissed at both Puck and Bronx's spirit, and the kids got so upset from all the uproar that Bronx and Hudson are making that they started pitching fits too!" Brooklyn reported breathlessly, as he and Broadway fought to hold Bronx-Hudson down, which was no easy task considering how the watchbeast was struggling and snarling. "Dammit, Hudson, this is not helping the situation, and if you rip somebody's throat out we'll never get you put back!"

"Come on, Bronx; this really isn't fair to the one who really belongs in this body," Lexington said pleadingly as he looked up into Hudson-Bronx's face.

"This body isn't your real home," Angela said pleadingly from the other side. "Don't you want to go back to the body you were hatched and grew up in?"

"No!" Hudson-Bronx said sulkily. Then he gave a slow grin as he held up a rubber ball in one hand, and tossed it easily up and down as he said, "I like having hands." Then he flared his wings out as he said with a wider grin, "And I like having wings. And I like talking…" He rounded on Lexington as he said scoldingly, "Now I tell you, when you home, you always play with picture-box and tapping-board, and not with me!"

Lexington blushed. "You mean the computer? Look, I tell you what, Bronx; if you go back to your old body, I'll play with you for an hour every night from now on! Is it a deal?"

"No."

David exhaled heavily as he surveyed the chaotic room. They needed to find a way to persuade Bronx to go back to his own body, and they needed it fast, before the rightfully enraged Hudson really did rip somebody's throat out… Then the inspiration hit him, and he left the room to use the telephone, and to do a little hurried manipulation with the castle's security settings. After a few minutes he came back, and hunkered down by Bronx-Hudson, who was still snarling and straining to break free. He grabbed one of the watchbeast's fan-shaped ears and whispered very quietly into it, "Listen, I have an idea that might help, but first you've got to calm down. Just calm down, and when the detectives get here…"

Finally, Bronx-Hudson calmed down, and Brooklyn and Broadway were able to let him go. And after some quick quiet talking between Xanatos and Goliath, the clan leader let Puck go, turned to Hudson-Bronx and said, "Bronx, that body does not belong to you, and it is unjust to stay in it. Until you realize that and volunteer to return to your rightful body… This clan has nothing more to say to you." And with that, he turned his back on him.

The rest of the clan got the idea, and turned their backs on Hudson-Bronx as well. Bronx-Hudson gave him a low growl, then slunk off to lie down in Bronx's usual spot in the living room, on a large flat cushion next to Hudson's easy chair in front of the TV.

Hudson-Bronx looked extremely hurt for a moment, then sniffed and headed for the doors to the roof, saying smugly, "I go glide!" But just as he'd reached the doors, another boom of thunder rumbled through the air.

"You can't go right now!" Xanatos said hurriedly, as he ran over and grabbed Hudson-Bronx's arm. "The storm's right overhead, and with all that thunder and lightning, you'd be in danger if you went for a glide right now. Lightning is very, very dangerous, remember? That's why nobody goes gliding during thunderstorms."

Hudson sighed and nodded reluctantly, then grinned and went into the kitchen, where he proceeded to open the refrigerator door and start pulling out food for himself. One of the many advantages of having hands, Xanatos thought ruefully as he left the gargoyles' quarters and went down to his office. Puck, having changed back into Owen for the moment, followed him down the hall. Once they were definitely out of earshot, Xanatos turned to him and said, "For the moment, go to the main security station and keep the 'thunderstorm' going full force." At Owen's startled look, he explained, "I've activated the fire-extinguishing system's outdoor sprinklers and aimed them to keep them spattering water on the windows, while the security program is turning on the anti-collision strobe lights at random intervals and playing the sounds of a thunderstorm out over the loudspeakers." They were lucky they'd still had that old sound-effects CD left over from last year's aborted Halloween party.

"Ah. Very clever, sir," Owen said approvingly. "That should stall the transported Bronx's first flight for at least a few hours, even if the true storm ends."

"That's the idea. We can't keep it up forever, but with any luck we won't have to. We just have to keep him and the real Hudson in the same room together, until the detectives arrive…"

oo00oo00oo oo00oo00oo

Over an hour later, a familiar red Fairlane pulled up outside the Aerie Building, and Elisa and Matt got out and hurried up to the doors with boxes in hand. "Yeah, it's great that there's no real danger involved, but you have to admit that this is the weirdest real case yet for the 'Gargoyles Task Force'," Matt was saying as they summoned the night watchman to let them inside.

"Well, for the GTF specifically, I suppose so," Elisa admitted as they came inside. "But that's only because the Commissioner created the task force only a couple of months ago. Trust me, this is not the weirdest incident I've had to deal with. Being a gargoyle while Goliath was a human, now that was weird."

Matt eyed her skeptically as they rode up in the elevator. "I still have a hard time believing that. I remember being caught in the Big Sleep, and I remember losing all of one night and most of another when Demona turned everyone into statues, even if I don't specifically remember being stoned. If the whole population of New York suddenly sprouted wings and tails for half the night, including me, why don't I remember that?"

"Because Puck had no restrictions on his spell-casting back then, so he could screw with people's minds as easily as their bodies. Trust me, it happened!"

In a few moments, they arrived in the castle. "Showtime," Elisa muttered just before the elevator doors opened. "From what Xanatos said over the phone, if this doesn't work…"

"Relax," Matt muttered back to her. "Your family may have stuck with cats, but I had a dog as a kid. Trust me, this'll work." And with that, they plastered on big smiles and walked to the gargoyles' quarters, singing merrily together, "How Much is that Doggie in the Window?"

In the hour that it had taken for Matt and Elisa to leave the station, pick up the items Xanatos had arranged for them and get to the castle, the gargoyles had dispersed to various points of the castle; Goliath and Angela to the library, Broadway to the kitchen, and Brooklyn to the movie room. All of them had made it plain to Hudson-Bronx, without actually speaking to him directly, that he was not welcome to accompany them. So when their human friends came into the living room, the only ones there were Hudson-Bronx in the easy chair (practicing his channel-changing), Bronx-Hudson on the cushion (growling softly whenever the channel was changed on him before he could decide whether or not he liked that show), and Lexington at the computer (typing furiously away and doing his best to ignore the other two).

"Hi, guys!" Elisa said cheerfully as she spotted them. "How's it going tonight?"

"Don't ask," Lexington groaned as he glanced up from his keyboard. "Just don't ask… If you're looking for Goliath, he's in the library."

"Thanks, I'll see him later," Elisa said airily. "But right now, here's the one we're looking for tonight: Bronx!" as she pointed at the watchbeast on the cushion. The gargoyle sitting in the easy chair perked his ears and turned towards her with a hopeful expression, but the two humans ignored him as they went down on their knees next to Bronx's usual cushion.

Looking out through Bronx's eyes, Hudson gave Matt and Elisa a desperate, pleading look that said plainly, Get me out of this! Matt swiftly winked at him where Bronx, looking through Hudson's eyes, couldn't see it. Then he said aloud as he laid a fond hand on the watchbeast's head, "Guess what this week is, Bronxy Boy! It's National Pet Week!"

"That's right!" Elisa chimed in as she scratched under his chin. "This is the week when humans recognize all their four-footed friends, and treat them special. Yesterday we paid special attention to my cat Cagney, and tonight we're going to pay special attention to you! You'll like that, won't you, Bronx? Of course you will, good old Bronx…"

"I Bronx!" Hudson-Bronx piped up as he got out of his chair, to crouch next to them in anticipation of attention.

Matt looked him right in the eye and said flatly, "No, you're not. You're Hudson." Then he turned back to the watchbeast and said cheerfully as he reached into the insulated box he'd brought with him, "Got a real treat for you tonight, Bronx!" And he pulled out a Filet Mignon fresh from Tavern on the Green, done rare, the delicious aroma filling the air.

Hudson-Bronx whimpered softly as he watched Bronx-Hudson sniff the Filet Mignon with obvious appreciation, then start wolfing it down, while Elisa and Matt scritched behind the watchbeast's fan-shaped ears, rubbed his back ridges and told him he was the biggest, cleverest, bestest watchbeast in the entire world. Then the gargoyle folded his arms as he sat back down in the easy chair with a huff, and did his best to ignore them.

A minute or two later, the lavishing praise turned to delighted laughter, and a few seconds later the watchbeast and humans paraded in front of the easy chair. Elisa had brought a new, king-sized and extra-tough rawhide bone for a chew toy, and now she and Matt were using it to play tug-of-war with Bronx. Elisa held onto one end of the chew toy while Matt grabbed her around the waist to try to anchor her, and both of them were laughing delightedly as the watchbeast, moving backwards and growling playfully, began dragging them around the room.

Hudson-Bronx whimpered again, then jumped up out of the chair and fell to his knees next to Bronx-Hudson. "Not fair! Should be me!" Bronx-Hudson just eyed him and gave him a disdainful snort before he resumed playing with Matt and Elisa, and finally Hudson-Bronx gave in and howled at the ceiling, "Want to go back! Want to be Bronx again!"

Watching the scene with Owen in the security room, Xanatos grinned as he turned to Owen and said, "That's your cue, Puck!" But Owen was already running out the door, and shifting to Puck along the way to the nursery. Less than thirty seconds later he was in the living room with a sleepy and startled Alex under one arm and Bethany under the other, saying brightly, "Wakey-wakey, kids! Time for your next practice!"

By the time the rest of the gargoyles had gotten the word and converged on the living room, Bronx and Hudson were back in their original bodies. Matt started to get up to talk to Hudson once the gargoyle and watchbeast had stopped glowing with eldritch light, but Elisa grabbed his arm and kept him on his knees beside her, as she gestured for Bronx, now whining pitifully, to come over. Together they spent several minutes reassuring him that he'd done the right thing in returning to his own body, and he really was the biggest and cleverest and bestest watchbeast ever, and it just so happened that Xanatos had ordered for them two filet mignons from Tavern on the Green…

All the gargoyles first congratulated Hudson on being back in his own body, then also went to Bronx and added their praise on doing the right thing at last. "And I never really thought before how frustrated you must get sometimes, dear Bronx," Angela crooned as she scratched along his back ridges and behind his ears. "But you know that any of us would be happy to act as your hands and wings; you're an important part of our clan…"

"We really do need to pay more attention to him, and take him on more patrols," Goliath confided to Brooklyn in a quiet corner. "This might have been resolved sooner, if we could have convinced him of his worth as a clan member in his own right, and his own form."

"Yeah, especially now that Hudson probably won't want to have anything to do with him," Brooklyn agreed in a low voice as he looked over at Hudson, who was on the far side of the room from the gathering around Bronx and glaring daggers at the watchbeast.

Goliath sighed. "I'll speak to him later, as well. Hopefully he'll learn to forgive what happened tonight… in time."

Meanwhile, Anne was having a quiet but intense conversation with Puck-turned-Owen in the corner, and when she was finished, Owen sighed and went over to Hudson to say loudly, "I apologize for whatever inconvenience this lesson may have caused you--"

"Inconvenience!" The snarl in Hudson's voice made even Goliath take a step back, halfway across the room.

"--And I promise to never ask for your help in a magic lesson again without full disclosure first," Owen finished rapidly as he retreated.

"Ye'll never get me willing help in a magic lesson again, period!" Hudson thundered. "An' if ye ever try to trick me into it again, I'll rip yer ears off and stuff 'em down yer throat! Blasted Fey and yer blasted tricks… Next thing ye know, we'll have a second moon in the sky again!" he snarled as he stomped out of the room.

Brooklyn let his breath out in a silent whistle as he, like everyone else, stared at the doorway the gargoyle elder had just stomped through. "I haven't seen him that mad in over a thousand years…"

Like everyone else, Xanatos had been staring after Hudson's wildly lashing tail, but then the exact words the gargoyle elder had used ran through his mind again, and he turned to Goliath with a look of Did I hear that right? "Did he just say… a second moon in the sky… again!"

Goliath groaned and covered his eyes with his hand. "Don't ask. Not tonight… Please, Xanatos, just… don't ask."

oo00oo00oo oo00oo00oo

On Wednesday morning, someone else came calling on the Canmores.

In the Women's House of Detention at Riker's Island Correctional Facility, Robyn Canmore was grimly folding sheets in the prison laundry facility, and telling herself over and over that it really would be a very bad idea to stop doing her appointed task and take thirty seconds to kill the prison guard smirking at her over in the corner. Even if it would really take less than eight seconds…

Despite the stereotypes depicted in hundreds of B movies, most of the prison guards ("corrections officers", for the PC-paranoid) at Riker's were decent people. They were a mix of both men and women, though more women guarded the female inmates on Riker's just as more men guarded the males. And some of them could almost be called friendly; treating inmates like real people and not stereotypes, talking to them cordially at times instead of just barking orders. Most of them were, if not friendly then at least professional towards the inmates they watched over, though they always kept their guard up, watching for signs of violence or duplicity. That was understandable, considering that in dealing with some of the hardcore prisoners housed here, people who would literally kill for a pack of cigarettes (as had happened, in the not-so-distant past), one careless mistake or unforeseen circumstance could cost them their lives. But it seemed there were always a few bad apples in every barrel, and McCoy over there was definitely one of them. He was prone to harassing inmates who weren't causing trouble, just doing the jobs assigned to them, and was quick to use violence on those who showed even a hint of defiance. He also not-so-subtly hinted that he could make life a little easier for some of the ladies in this jail... for a price. Robyn had already been warned by another inmate that the price McCoy demanded in return for 'favorable treatment' was too high for anyone who wasn't seriously into S&M. "If you really need somethin', better off to go to Hansen, he's the blonde one watches the bakery. 'Least he's satisfied wit' just a blow job, an' he gets you extra phone time too…"

But harassment by one of the guards was only one of her current problems; she also had troubles with a few of her fellow inmates. Most of them were, again, more-or-less easy to get along with; the fact that she had come in here for blowing up a police station, even if nobody had actually been killed, had gained her an instant increase in status high over the majority of the women here. The majority of them were in for selling or possessing drugs, and most of the rest were in for theft or assault in various degrees. But there were hardcores here, as well, and one, of them, a woman named Cheryl Tauser who was in for the cold-blooded murder of her ex-boyfriend and his fiancée, saw Robyn as a threat to her own status as Top Bitch (as Robyn thought of her) of the jail. Cheryl had made it abundantly clear that she expected Robyn to kowtow to her in all things, to the point of being Cheryl's 'plaything'. When Robyn refused to comply, but just tried to ignore her instead of challenging her in return, Cheryl and her 'lieutenants' had launched a full-fledged harassment campaign designed to humiliate her and either break her will, or enrage her enough to get into a serious fight. And whether Cheryl won that fight (as she probably thought she would, having led a street gang of women prior to her arrest) or Robyn won it (as Robyn knew she would, having been trained in hand-to-hand combat and both conventional and improvisational weapons use since childhood), they would both end up being sent to 'the Bing', the complex on Riker's that housed the most violent inmates.

Though she had hidden it well from her brothers while growing up, Robyn was mildly claustrophobic, and she was having a hard enough time dealing with her confinement to a relatively spacious cell, as big as her bedroom while growing up even if it had a lot less amenities. As a regular prisoner, she at least had visits to the common rooms to watch TV or play cards with the other women, or the prison library to find books to read, and even her work in the prison laundry. She utterly dreaded the prospect of solitary confinement, being confined to a 6'-by-8' room for 23 hours out of the day, with nothing but her own thoughts to keep her company. More than a few weeks of that, she knew, and tough-as-nails Robyn Canmore, born and bred to be a Hunter, could end up broken inside. And she couldn't allow herself to break; she had to be strong, to survive this and somehow reunite with what was left of her family…

If not for her brother Jason being on Riker's as well, in the infirmary prison, she would have escaped long since. Riker's liked to boast that the island was inescapable, but Robyn had already devised two different escape routes, one with a fifty-fifty chance of escape and another that was virtually a sure thing for someone as calculating and as athletic as herself. But as long as Jason was here, partially paralyzed and lying helpless in a hospital bed, she would not leave him; not until she could devise a way to break both of them out.

From talks with the more cooperative guards, Robyn knew that after their trials were over, they would be sent to different prisons; she would most likely go to Bedford Hills, where lay New York's only maximum-security prison for women, while Jason's disabled status would not prevent him from being shipped to one of the eight maximum-security prisons for men in New York state. But the legal system was so bogged down that the Canmore siblings would likely have to wait at Riker's more than a year for their trials; some prisoners she'd spoken to after arriving here had been waiting more than eighteen months. That would be time enough for Jason to recover as much as he could from the wound received at the hands of their little brother (oh, Jon! Why, Jon, why?) When Detective Maza had visited her yesterday, as she always did after seeing Jason, she'd told Robyn the good news about Jason's rehabilitation. Robyn knew better than to dare hope that Jason would fully recover in time; their father had raised his children to be realists, not optimists. But every inch of ground regained, and every measure of strength Jason built into his upper body through his physical therapy, would probably be needed for when Robyn found a way to escape with him. And there was a way, there had to be a way…

She was brought out of her grim reverie by the arrival of another corrections officer; Gantry, one of the good ones, not friendly but smoothly professional. Under other circumstances, Robyn would have enjoyed having her as a sister-in-arms. McCoy hurriedly lost his smirk and lounging attitude when she walked in, straightening up and trying to act professional as well (a lost cause, in Robyn's opinion; he'd never appear to be more than what he was, a lowborn thug.) Gantry's face was sporting a mild frown as she came up to Robyn, but she merely said, "You have a visitor."

Robyn was startled. A visitor, on a Wednesday morning? Detective Maza had made her weekly visit yesterday, and wasn't due back for another week. She'd seen her lawyer last Thursday, a court-appointed public defender, and he'd made it fairly clear that he was a busy man with a heavy case load and she shouldn't expect to see him more than once a month until her trial drew near. And she'd never been visited by anyone else; Jason was unable to come see her, and Jon… could it be her little brother Jon, coming to visit her at long last in his new alias of Jon Castaway? Detective Maza had told her what Xanatos' spies had discovered about the leader of the Quarrymen, but since the evidence had been obtained illegally, the detective couldn't use it in any fashion. Jon Canmore would have been arrested for his part in the clocktower bombing the moment he'd shown his credentials, but Jon Castaway would raise no eyebrows at all. After he'd left the clocktower to pursue the Demon instead of helping her stop Jason's bleeding and move him to safety, after he'd abandoned them to the arms of the police, Robyn had concluded that Jon had dismissed them as unworthy to carry on the tradition of the Hunter, and therefore unworthy to even be considered family. But perhaps he had changed his mind…

She asked Gantry who her visitor was, but the name Gantry gave her as she led her to the visiting room was unfamiliar to her. As was the face, when she saw him at last; Robyn was very, very good at remembering faces, which is how she'd been able to identify Dominique Destine as Demona transformed during the day. But this oriental-featured man was utterly unfamiliar to her; she'd never seen him before, in all her globe-spanning travels with and without her brothers as they hunted the Demon. What did he want with her?

The man introduced himself to her, in an accented voice that suggested English was his second language (though he had learned it very well), and asked her most solicitously how she was doing. How did the foreign prat think she was doing! She was in jail, awaiting a trial and a probable sentencing of at least ten years more of imprisonment, probably twenty-to-life! But she just gave a thoroughly noncommittal reply. Then the man gave a knowing smile that had an edge of cruelty to it as he said, "From the accounts I've read, I understand you and your brothers once had a business of hunting down gargoyles…"

Inwardly, Robyn granted herself ten points; she'd privately bet herself that the word would pop up within the first two minutes of the conversation, and there it was, at one minute and fifty-eight seconds. But outwardly she kept her face expressionless, and said only, "We did."

The smile grew, becoming both satisfied and anticipatory, and just a shade crueler. "Then, Miss Canmore, I have a business proposition for you…"

oo00oo00oo oo00oo00oo

Wednesday evening, a chamber in the Labyrinth was lit with many small glowing candles, and voices both human and inhuman were raised together in song:

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you! Happy Birthday, dear Maggie, happy birthday to you!"

Maggie ducked her head and her facial fur bristled in embarrassment, but she still gave a feline smile to them all before taking a deep breath, and blowing out all the candles on her birthday cake. Or almost all of them; one wavered but didn't go out entirely… but then flickered and went out when a sudden swift breeze wafted past. (And of course, no one commented on why Maggie's husband had chosen just then to flex his right wing; he probably just had a muscle cramp or something.)

The cake was huge, two layers thick and easily two feet wide by three feet long, the size normally served for large banquets; it had taken the Labyrinth kitchen's main cook and helpers a while to figure out how to get one layer on top of the other without it falling apart on them, and it had taken eight full cans of icing to fill and frost. Broadway had wanted to bake and decorate the cake himself, but had been persuaded to let the Labyrinth residents do it rather than work out how to safely glide such a huge decorated cake across town. Instead, he, Hudson and Brooklyn had carried down several gallons of ice cream between them, the clan's biggest contribution to the party itself. It was very well appreciated, too; whether human, mutate or gargoyle, everybody loved ice cream. Once the candles were out, the giant cake was cut (it proved to have one layer of chocolate, and another of vanilla), and slices were served with ice cream; people were given a choice of German Chocolate, French Vanilla, Strawberry Cheesecake or Pecan Praline flavors. (Brooklyn eyed Broadway's plate with near-disbelief; Broadway had chosen one scoop of Pecan Praline to go with his slice, and was eating it very, very slowly with a wistful expression, trying to make it last. And here he'd have bet his next two patrols that his rookery brother would have taken at least one scoop of each flavor…)

After the cake and ice cream came the presents. After buying the art pencils, pens and charcoals for Derek to give to his wife, Elisa had decided her present would be a set of sketchbooks. The clones (with a little help from Derek, of course) made her a present of the art books that had been found in the old library last Monday night. Dana and Claw together presented her with a short stack of used-but-in-excellent-condition romance novels, knowing Maggie's secret addiction to them. Other Labyrinth residents presented her with homemade items or stuff found on foraging expeditions, not always expertly made or perfectly wrapped but given with honest affection.

Though the concept of birthday parties was relatively new to most of them, the clan had brought presents as well. Angela presented her with a small pillow embroidered with a night scene of dainty unicorns frolicking in a meadow (a scene from her memory, of a valley on Avalon). Brooklyn presented her with a pair of potted plants, while Lexington gave her a small sun lamp that would enable the plants to grow and thrive underground. Broadway presented her with a voucher good for a gourmet dinner for two, to be cooked and served by Broadway himself at any time she and Derek wanted; all they'd have to do is call the night before. Goliath, who had learned calligraphic writing at the feet of the same Benedictine monk who had taught him to read English and Latin, gave her a scroll made for hanging on the wall, with the bible verse that had been used in Maggie's wedding (I Corinthians 13:1-13: "Love is patient and kind…") beautifully rendered in ink. Anne Marsden and her daughter Bethany presented Maggie with a lovely silver necklace, bought with Anne's first paycheck as the Xanatos family's nanny, and Hudson, who enjoyed whittling, presented her with a small hand-carved jewelry box for putting the necklace in.

Though they hadn't been invited to the party, the Xanatos family sent with the gargoyles a pair of beautiful Waterford crystal goblets, and a bottle of top-quality but non-alcoholic champagne for christening them with. Matt Bluestone, who had been a little surprised to find himself invited to the party (at Maggie's insistence, once she knew Anne was coming), had hurriedly consulted with Elisa before presenting Maggie with a pair of artist's how-to books on drawing the human figure, and on drawing various birds and animals, both authored by a famous graphic artist.

From Arizona, Beth had mailed a hand-made Dream Catcher, decorated with feathers and made for hanging on the wall. Diane and Peter Maza presented their daughter-in-law with a pair of lovely backless dresses, made from the measurements they'd taken when making her wedding dress. "Oh, they're lovely… but I don't think I'll be able to fit into them anymore," Maggie said ruefully as she held up the first dress, a lovely and svelte green number, up against her current figure, with her belly swollen from pregnancy.

"Well, not that one," Diane admitted. "Think of that one as an incentive to lose weight after the baby's born. But this one," as she drew the other dress out of the box, a gorgeous sapphire-blue gown, "has an empire-waistline and is pleated just enough that it should fit well for another three months at least. Go ahead, dear, try it on!"

Maggie blushingly retreated to the bedroom to change into her new outfit. While she was gone, Derek murmured to Elisa and his parents, "Anything at all from her folks?" The Reeds had been given the addresses of those Maza family members who still lived aboveground, before going back to Ohio last month.

Elisa and their father just shook their heads. His mother said softly and sadly, "Nothing at all, not even a card in the mail. I just don't understand how two supposedly loving parents wouldn't want to keep in touch with their daughter, changed or not…"

Derek set his ears back as he softly growled, "If they can't accept her as she is, who needs 'em?"

Elisa put a placating hand on his shoulder as she said, "We understand, bro'. We'll always be here, for both of you."

When Maggie emerged from the bedroom in her new dress, Derek's ears perked up again, and he proved that felinoid mutates could also wolf-whistle. "Honey, you look fantastic!" And she did; Diane's supreme skill at sewing was proven again as the dress hung on Maggie perfectly, draping most gracefully over her pregnancy in a way that neither emphasized it nor attempted to hide it, but made it perfectly beautiful. (Over in a corner, Lex glanced at Brooklyn, then elbowed him sharply in the gut to get him to shut his gaping beak.)

After the party was over, Father Sullivan arrived with his apologies for being late, as he'd been leading a bible study group, and another gift for Maggie. And now that the entire wedding party was there, it was time to head over to the chapel for the dress rehearsal. Hudson grumbled a bit about the bother with rehearsing what was supposed to be a simple ceremony; he'd already memorized his lines and he was sure the good father knew his, and Goliath's and Elisa's were simple enough. But Diane had insisted on having a dress rehearsal, and by now Hudson had learned not to argue with this particular lady…

The dress rehearsal went smoothly, but before everyone could disperse, Diane declared that it was time the wedding party had their dress fittings as well. "Mom, Matt and I have to go to work!" Elisa protested, while Goliath tried to inconspicuously sidle out of the room.

"Then you two can go; I assume Matt has the sense to have his tuxedo fitted before Saturday, and I'll see you at the house for your fitting tomorrow afternoon. But where do you think you're going, mister?" as she caught Goliath before he could escape. "Come with me; I brought your suit down with me earlier…"

Goliath had time for only one pleading look over his shoulder as he let his mother-in-law-to-be drag him out of the room, but the rest of the clan only gave him sympathetic smiles, and barely-held-in snickers. Elisa and Matt escaped to the surface, but having been previously directed to stay put for her fitting later, Angela settled onto a bench to wait, and the Trio elected to wait with her; they were hoping to get an advance look at Goliath in his new finery. Hudson, however, went with Father Sullivan to visit the clones again. Bronx whined as he looked longingly in the direction Hudson and the priest had gone, but didn't go with them; Hudson was still so angry at him that he'd even refused to carry Bronx on the journey to the Labyrinth. While they were all waiting there in the chapel, Broadway noticed the pensive look on Angela's face and asked her, "What's on your mind, Angela? You've had that look since last night, after the soul-switching was fixed."

"It's something Hudson said afterwards," Angela said slowly. "About having two moons in the sky… I tried to ask him about that later, after he cooled down, but he just didn't want to talk about it. Neither did Father; all he would tell me is that the clan had a breeding season right after it, and laid the clutch that became me and my rookery brothers and sisters. Back on Avalon Princess Katherine had told us a little about it, but not much; all she really knew is that she woke up one night to find the whole castle in an uproar, and her nurse had barred both the door and the window shutters in her bedroom, and stood guard over her bed with a cross in one hand and a dagger in the other for the rest of the night. Guardian Tom said he'd been only a baby when it happened, too young to remember it, and the Magus said he had no memory of it either…"

The Trio all looked at each other uneasily. "It's not really something we like to talk about, Angela," Broadway said finally, "just like we don't like to talk about… the massacre. We lost some clan members on the Night of Two Moons… and the breeding season right afterwards, that nearly cost us even more members, because we weren't ready for it. I mean, it was great that it happened, because otherwise you and your rookery brothers and sisters wouldn't exist. But boy, it was all a mess…"

"That's putting it mildly," Brooklyn said emphatically. He looked at Lexington and said, "You were on the battlements when it started, Lex, and you're the best of us three at storytelling; you start. If you miss anything, we'll fill in the gaps."

"If you guys know more about what really happened than I do, I'll be delighted to hear it," Lexington sighed. "That night's bothered me ever since it happened. Angela, all we really know is that one September night in… 987, that was the year, though I don't remember the exact date; a night or two before the Fall Equinox… Close to midnight, all of a sudden the world went crazy for an hour or so. First this… ripple of magic went across the whole countryside, sweeping from north to south; we couldn't quite see it, but when it passed over the castle I got a tingle in my spine clear from my scalp to my tail-tip. Then a second moon appeared in the sky next to the original; a smaller one, about half the normal size. And the whole land… shuddered underfoot, for at least ten seconds… Looking back, I think we had an earthquake, but you just don't get earthquakes in Scotland. This one didn't do any real damage, the castle didn't fall over or anything, but everyone was so freaked out about it that everyone in the clan took to the air, while all the humans in the castle packed into the chapel and started praying as hard as they could. And the woods to the north of the castle went utterly crazy; we saw dozens of lights in different colors flickering like fireflies, and heard what the elders said sounded like dozens of wolves howling, but there hadn't been any wolves in those woods since before I was hatched!

"There had been a hunting party in the woods when it happened; six gargoyles and nearly a dozen watchbeasts, taking their turn to hunt down enough food to feed the clan for the upcoming Equinox feast. Goliath sent a dozen more warriors into the woods when we heard the howling, to scout out what was going on in there and report back immediately, then tripled the guard everywhere around the castle while he, Hudson and Prince Malcolm went to talk to the Magus and see if he knew what had happened to the world. They found the Magus passed out in his chambers; I think Goliath said it looked like he had fainted from something, or just lost his footing from the earthquake, and hit his head on the edge of the table as he went down. He didn't wake up for the rest of the night, and we were told later that when he did awaken, he didn't remember anything, not even falling down.

"About an hour after it appeared, the second moon just vanished out of the sky as if it had never been there to begin with; the land shivered again, but not as bad as before, and it was over within just a second or two; and all the lights in the woods and howling stopped dead. Then the scouting party returned, and nearly all of them looked…drained, like somebody had sucked most of the life out of them. They said they hadn't gone more than five wingspans into the woods when they'd seen this tall, pale woman dressed in a black gown step out from behind a tree, and smile at them… And the next thing they knew, they were all waking up on the ground, weak as kittens, and we were back to just the usual moon in the sky. The scouts were too weak to glide, even; they had to walk back to the castle. And the hunting party that had been in the woods when the whole nightmare had started never did return; we went looking for them later, but never found a trace of them, not even piles of gravel. About two weeks after that, Prince Malcolm was killed, and that sort of shoved the other incident out of everyone's minds for a little while."

Brooklyn snorted and interjected bitterly, "Of course, the humans had an easier time of doing that than we did, since to their way of thinking the night had cost the castle only six gargoyles and eleven watchbeasts."

Lexington nodded sadly. "Including nearly every female watchbeast in the clan, since the females all liked to hunt together; all we had left for females were two elderly ones who were long past breeding age, one that had hatched in our rookery generation but had stayed in the rookery with the males while the other females went hunting, and Bronx's three rookery sisters that had hatched with him nearly five years before. I know Goliath and the elders were worried about having so few females with so many males, worried about the males really fighting over the females and doing serious damage to each other when it came time to breed again. I think Goliath was preparing to send out a party to try to find our sister clan, the ones that had split off from us two centuries before; not just to see if they had been affected by the Night of Two Moons as well, but to see if they had any extra female watchbeasts that could come back to Wyvern to live and breed. But Prince Malcolm's death threw everyone into turmoil, and then, just as things were starting to settle down a little, somebody noticed that the night before the full moon, the last remaining breeding-age female was--ahem--getting lively in the courtyard with her mate." Lexington blushed a little. "Now, Hudson told you that watchbeasts only mate for egg-breeding, not just for fun, right? But we'd had a breeding season only fifteen years before, and it normally would have been another ten years before the next one. Some of the elders were thinking that perhaps that one female was trying to force a breeding season for herself, to repopulate her kind, but two warriors insisted that this meant we were about to have another Breeding Moon, out of cycle or not; the watchbeasts always start in a night or two before everyone else does.

"Just on the off chance that the warriors were right, Goliath ordered all the adult mated pairs to perch at dawn separate from the unmated ones, the elders and those too young to breed, just like they would for a regular breeding season… and the next sunset, sure enough, every breeding-age female in the clan felt the urges and rose to breed. Even some elderly females who had thought they were too old to breed anymore! And even the three females in our generation who'd already chosen mates, though we weren't even thirty years old then! And boy, did that cause a ruckus on the first night; Goliath had thought they would be too young to rise even if his siblings were right and we did have a breeding season, and so he hadn't bothered to assign separate perches for them." Lexington shook his head. "Two of our brothers just about tore each other to bits, because our gray-skinned brother with the spines running down his back had been perched right next to a mated pair when they woke up, and he got excited and tried to chase after our white-skinned rookery sister, instead of leaving her to our yellow-skinned and club-tailed brother, her mate."

Angela nodded uneasily. "Hudson told me breeding battles can be really vicious; that's why breeding pairs always have to perch far enough away that others aren't affected by the females' scent."

"As one of those who had to help patch my brothers up afterwards, I can tell you that whatever he told you wasn't bad enough," Lex said bluntly. "Our gray-skinned brother nearly died from shock and loss of blood before sunrise, and he never regrew that chunk of wing that our other brother had ripped out, in his fury at being challenged for his mate; he was crippled for the rest of his life, never able to fly as well as he had before. Of course, both mates were horrified at what had happened once they'd done their breeding that night and come back to their senses, but by then it was too late. Goliath really should have taken those two rookery siblings of his more seriously…" Then Lexington paused, and got a funny look on his face.

"What is it?" Angela asked, curious about that odd expression.

"I just realized something… The two warriors that had been so sure that we were about to have a breeding season, were two of the scouting party that had gone into the woods on the Night of Two Moons. And they were the only two that didn't come back looking drained and weak as kittens…"

"Hey, you're right!" Brooklyn said as he rubbed his beak in thought. "They said they'd become unconscious like the rest, but I wonder if they'd lied about that? If they saw or did something in those woods that night, that let them know ahead of time that we were about to have that breeding season out of cycle…"

Angela pondered that as well, then shrugged. "I guess we'll never know for sure."

Lexington scratched his scalp. "Actually, we might, if Coldstone and Coldfire ever come back to town. Because they were the two warriors we're talking about… But anyway, that's why your clutch had so many gargoyle eggs, more than we'd ever had in a single clutch before, but only one watchbeast egg in it. And that's really all I or anyone else can tell you about the Night of Two Moons, and the breeding season afterwards."

"Although I'm surprised that the Princess and Magus didn't give you all an earful about that breeding season, and the egg-carrying months afterwards," Brooklyn said sarcastically. "The Dragon knows they complained about it loudly enough at the time…"

Angela's eyes sparked angrily; while the Trio only remembered two of her three guardians as humans that were not friendly towards gargoyles, to Angela they had always been the dearest of substitute parents, and she didn't tolerate any unkind words about them. But before she could say anything, Diane reappeared and beckoned to her. "Your father's had his fitting, dear; now it's your turn. Oh, and I'm glad you stayed, Brooklyn. I've got an idea for your clothing that I'd like to try out…"

"Oh, hey, I dunno about that; traditional gargoyle attire for me, remember?" Brooklyn stammered, as he backed towards the door. But Broadway reached out a long arm and snagged him before he could escape, while Diane said that she was sure her idea would meet with approval, and he would stay put and wait for her if he knew what was good for him…

oo00oo00oo oo00oo00oo

On Thursday night, between the birthday party and the wedding, the clan had a funeral.

Everyone gathered in the arboretum below the castle, shortly after sunset. The gargoyle clan, the Xanatos family, Elisa, Matt, Maggie, Derek and a few other Labyrinth residents stood in a reverent and solemn semicircle around the white marble marker that had been set up in one corner of the arboretum, under a weeping willow tree. The face of the marker said simply:

IN LOVING MEMORY OF

PHILLIP K. MARSDEN

Nov. 15th, 1969- May 12th, 1995

LOVING HUSBAND

DEVOTED FATHER

All those assembled wore black, either black suits and dresses or black armbands for those with wings. They stood respectfully behind the chief mourner, Anne Marsden, as she held her daughter Bethany in her arms, and they listened to Father Sullivan intone, "…surely goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. Amen."

"Amen," Anne echoed softly, as did many of those arrayed behind her.

Father Sullivan then closed the Bible and addressed them all, his face solemn behind his eye patch (plain black, for the mournful occasion.) "Of all of us assembled, only Anne Marsden can say she truly had the privilege of knowing Phillip Kyle Marsden. But from what she has told me of him, he was a good and decent man. He emerged from the cold iron grip of a strict and unloving household with a spirit bright and strong, undimmed by the trials of his youth that would have scarred many a lesser man. He was rich not in gold but in spirit and in love, which are precious beyond all earthly measure. He was a kind and caring husband, a joyously devoted father, a friend to many and a generous soul, who would not hesitate to help out a stranger in need. I would have been privileged to have met him, and regret that time must wait until the day we are all gathered together before our Lord in Heaven. Until then, Phillip," as he turned to address the marker, "We honor your memory, in this manner and in caring for those you left behind." He turned to face the assembly again, and said quietly, "If any of you would care to say a few words…?"

Anne swallowed, then took a pace forward, closer to the marker, and spoke with a voice thick with tears. "Phil… We never got around to discussing graves and such. (sniff) You had a hard enough time just filling out the life insurance forms… not that the policy did us much good in the end. But even if we had, I'll bet you never would have imagined your marker to be where it is now, or what kind of people have come for the funeral. You were right, Phil, the world's a strange and wonderful place, even right here in New York. (sniff) Strange, in that I'm standing here in front of people with wings, and tails, and strange powers… and wonderful, in that we're all a sort of family. That Bible-thumping-bastard uncle of yours… er… (as she glanced uneasily at Father Sullivan, but he pretended not to have heard her) Well, he might have called them demons and monsters, but they're really people, good people, and Bethany and I are going to be okay now. (sniff) You'd be so amazed and so proud of Bethany…" Their daughter was definitely taking after Phil's side of the family now, even if Phil hadn't known of his Fey heritage while he lived. Puck was helping her learn to control her True Sight, or at least learn to distinguish between it and mundane 'eyeballs-only' sight, in addition to her lessons in spirit transfers and levitation. Anne thought to herself that later that night when their guests were gone, she'd come back to the marker and tell Phil about how Bethany had made that Piglet toy he'd given her dance around the nursery that afternoon, with Alex's 'gargy bear'… She swallowed down the lump in her throat and spoke again. "Phil, I promise I'll always tell Bethany about you, and how wonderful you were to me and to her, and… and I'll always love you, Phil. Always…"

After she had fallen silent for more than a few seconds, Goliath hesitantly stepped forward. "If I may speak…?" as he glanced questioningly at Anne. Anne silently nodded, and Goliath took one step further, to come down on one knee facing the marker. "Phillip Marsden, wherever your spirit resides, know that my clan has vowed to protect and care for Anne and Bethany as two of our own. We will protect them unto our last breaths, be true companions on their journey through life, and honor your memory with them always. Clear skies, Phillip Marsden, and safely rest; your clan will continue," as he bowed his head in respect before returning to his feet. Anne whispered her thanks to him as he returned to the circle.

Soon afterwards, Father Sullivan brought an end to the memorial service. Anne gently took the two white roses Bethany had been silently holding all through the service, and laid them in front of the marker before turning away. As the crowd dispersed, Maggie whispered to Elisa, "This was a good idea, holding a funeral for her husband. Even if the city still won't admit he's dead, at least she has a sense of closure now."

"Yeah, it was a good idea. But it wasn't my idea," Elisa admitted.

"Oh. Well, you've done good, then," Derek said to Goliath.

Goliath's lips quirked wryly as he shook his head. "If you're referring to the words I just spoke, thank you. But though gargoyles also have remembrance ceremonies, this was not my idea either."

Derek blinked, then looked at the retreating backs of David and Fox Xanatos with a somewhat rueful expression. "So they came up with this? It still sort of sticks in my craw to thank Xanatos for anything, but…"

"You don't have to, bro'. You can thank Owen," as Elisa discreetly jerked her thumb at where Owen was standing, seemingly contemplating the way the rising moon was shimmering on the waters of the arboretum's Olympic-sized pool. "He suggested this a few days ago, I guess it was on Phillip's birthday, when Anne was feeling particularly blue. Y'know, he's taken a real interest in Anne and Bethany..."

Derek frowned at that. "So he had a good idea… but he's a little old for Anne, don't you think? And way too much of a cold fish for her."

"Age is not a deterrent to true love," Goliath said with a cocked brow ridge at Derek. "But regardless, I do not think Owen's interest in them is of the romantic sort. He seems to me to have more a rookery keeper's attitude towards them both, though more towards Bethany than Anne."

"He means Owen feels paternal towards them," Elisa translated. She thought to herself that maybe 'avuncular' was the right word; he already had Bethany calling him 'Unca Puck' when he was in his true form and giving the children their magic lessons. She glanced at her watch. "We've still got nearly an hour before Matt and I have to go to work; did you want to come upstairs for coffee?"

Maggie said with a smile and a shake of her head, "That would be nice, but we should pay our respects to Anne and Bethany, and get ourselves and the others back to the Labyrinth. We're taking 'the kids' to pick up some more books tonight, and you know how kids are when they're all excited; if we stay here too long, they'll be running riot by the time we get back. See you there in two more nights…"

"In two more nights," Goliath said to them, but his eyes were on Elisa as he said it. She returned his gaze with a slight blush and a smile of anticipation, and the two of them became so lost in each other's eyes that they didn't even notice when the two mutates walked away to talk to Anne and Bethany, and pass on the greetings and sympathy from the Labyrinth dwellers who hadn't attended.

In fact, nobody noticed that Owen stayed behind after all the others had left, and no one saw when he silently placed a single white lily on the memorial, next to the roses, before returning to his duties in the castle.

oo00oo00oo oo00oo00oo

Immediately after the funeral, while Goliath and Elisa were otherwise occupied, the Trio held a whispered conversation with Xanatos and Matt Bluestone about Friday night's plans. After being assured that everything was set, they took off together from the castle; they had another appointment to keep.

The P.I.T. was holding their third meeting, and this time it was Lex's turn to be their guest speaker, while Brooklyn and Broadway kept watch outside for Quarrymen. "A little nervous, huh?" Brooklyn said shrewdly to Lex, eyeing his rookery brother's twitching tail, as they landed on the roof of the meeting hall together.

"Yeah, a little," Lex admitted. "I've never spoken in front of a lot of people before…"

"It might help if you think of them as a strange clan of wingless gargoyles; just picture them all as wearing loincloths or something. Good luck, and don't forget to ask MacBeth afterwards if he can make it to the bachelor party after all!" he whispered as they pried the skylight open, so Lex could drop down inside.

Lex hopped down into the meeting hall from the skylight opening, with cheerful words of greeting for the dozens of people sitting in their seats, and was a little nonplussed to find that the very first question he was asked after landing was, why hadn't he roared and made his eyes glow like Brooklyn had last time? "Uh, well, Professor MacDuff didn't ask me to do it. But I can if you really want me to…"

"That won't be necessary this time," 'Professor MacDuff' said hastily, as he stepped up to shake hands with Lex. "And it's a pleasure to see you again, Lexington."

"Nice to see you again, too," Lexington said wryly. He didn't say, but he knew MacBeth knew he was thinking, that is, as long as you're not shooting at me tonight…

After they shook hands, Lexington turned back to the crowd of students, once more running through his mind all the 'little white lies' he had to keep straight, the ones Brooklyn had concocted last time to protect the not-so-innocent. He was pretty sure they were (a) Demona had been in stone sleep with them for a thousand years, instead of becoming immortal as well as insane, (b) there was absolutely no connection between her and 'Professor MacDuff', (c) Xanatos had never really wanted to hurt or capture the clan, he just made really bad first impressions, and (d) he didn't know of any Fay or half-Fay, and certainly had no clue about what caused the Great Sleep last summer. And he sure hoped there weren't any more lies to keep track of; Lex knew he wasn't all that good at lying. (His rookery keepers had always been able to tell when he was fibbing; he'd never been able to look them in the eyes when he did, and his tail just wouldn't hold still…) But before he could say anything, one of the people in the fifth row shot to his feet and yelped, "Y-you're real! That was no costume; you're real! Oh, dude!"

Lex glanced at the professor and scratched his scalp, a little unsure of what to say. He'd thought that these people would have figured that out when Brooklyn had appeared in front of them last week… Then he remembered Brooklyn's encounter with the girl named Jeanine, and grinned as he asked, "Let me guess: you saw me at the Halloween party?"

"Dude, you sat at our table! I was the Vulcan High Priest of Kohlinahr! Dude, wait till I tell Richie; he was in the Starfleet Commander outfit!" Then the ex-Vulcan pointed proudly to Lexington as he told the room at large, "This gargoyle's a cyber-geek!"

That led to a barrage of questions, and predictably one of the first of them was about how a gargoyle who was originally from the tenth century could become so well-versed in computers and the Internet. Lexington told them he'd always been curious about how things worked, fascinated with devices of all kinds; if truth be told, he was far more at home in this century than the one he'd been hatched in. Back then, his interest in devices over the usual warrior training had made him something of an outcast; "It would have been even worse if it hadn't been for my two favorite rookery brothers sticking up for me all the time, as well as helping me in my warrior training. And the fact that our leader Goliath really enjoys reading too helped some; if some of the other elders who didn't know how to read and didn't care to learn had had their way, I might never have become a warrior at all," Lexington admitted wryly. But in this century, his quick intelligence and skills with machinery and computer programming had saved his clan from disaster more than once. If only, he very privately and wistfully thought to himself, this century had more female gargoyles…

After about half an hour of answering the questions he could answer, and dodging the few questions he couldn't or dared not answer (with the help of 'Professor MacDuff', who had to step in more than once to artfully redirect the conversation away from certain sensitive subjects), they took a break to dive into the munchies the professor had provided. The student who had recognized Lexington from the Halloween party took the opportunity to sidle up to him, introducing himself as Mike Keating and shyly holding out a piece of paper with some writing on it. "Uh, since you enjoy surfing the Net too, here are some chat rooms I like to hang out with from time to time. And that's the name I use most often online…"

Lexington looked at the paper, then did a double-take at what was written on it and nearly choked on his Sprite. After a moment, he grinned up at the student and said, "Bugjuice! So you're back online again? Last I'd heard, you'd borrowed Riffraff's terminal long enough to let everyone know you were down hard from a nasty virus." And when the student just gaped at him goggle-eyed, he made a short bow as he said, " 'Braveheart', at your service."

"Dude!"

After explaining that 'Riffraff' was actually Mike's buddy Richie, and that Mike had just gotten his hard drive fixed and software reloaded yesterday, the two hackers spent a few moments marveling at coincidence as well as catching Mike up on the latest word from their other friends online. Mike asked, "Hey, is LadyHawke back online yet? I thought she was going to be offline for just a few days, something about traveling to a family reunion…"

Lexington scratched his scalp as he tried to recall. "Nooo… I haven't heard from her at all. And it's been nearly three weeks now… Well, maybe she's getting an upgrade or something. Hey, wait till I tell you about StarStreaker's latest project…"

oo00oo00oo oo00oo00oo

Late Friday morning on Riker's Island. Normally, Jason would have been exercising down in the gymnasium at this time, lifting weights and pushing his body to the limits. But not this morning…

"Consider yourself lucky, pal; you can keep the wheelchair after all," the corrections officer said jovially as he gave Jason a little helpful push to roll onto the platform that had just lowered, with a hiss of hydraulics, from the bus that had pulled up in front of him a few minutes ago. "It's probably worth a few hundred bucks, too, but don't be stupid and try to fence it…"

Jason made no reply except a vague nod of his head, as the lift slowly raised up to the level of the bus entrance so he could roll inside. Other Riker inmates—former inmates—were already on board, and glaring impatiently at him for making them wait even for a few minutes before starting the drive back over the Riker's Island Bridge to Queens, and their freedom.

He was free again. Free! As he'd been leaving the mess hall that morning after breakfast, he'd been told that all charged against him had been dropped, and he was free to go. No reason had been given, either; the sudden shock of it, after nearly inuring himself to years of confinement, still left him feeling dazed and confused. How had this happened? …And what about Robyn, his sister? When he'd collected enough of his scattered thoughts together to ask about her, not long before being wheeled out to join the other ex-inmates waiting to leave, he'd been told that she'd been released already, and left on the first bus over the bridge that morning. And with his personal effects, he'd been handed an envelope with his name on it. Inside had been a long letter from Robyn, a very chatty one filled mostly with nonsense and false reminiscences, although only someone who'd been present when they were growing up would know they were falsehoods. What was going on?

As the bus rumbled over the bridge, Jason pulled the letter out again, looking it over… and realized it was in code. A very basic code, too, one that he would have seen through immediately if he hadn't been basically in shock for the last two hours. When reading every fifth word, the chatty letter full of nonsense resolved itself into a terse message:

Jason,

You're free because I made a business deal. Take care of yourself, I'll be out of the country but I'll contact you soon via the New York post office box we established.

Robyn

A business deal? What sort of business deal resulted in their freedom, all the charges against them being dropped? And what sort of businessman could offer such a deal? …Had Robyn sold her soul to secure her and her brother's release?

oo00oo00oo oo00oo00oo

The bus rumbled away from Queens Plaza, leaving Jason sitting there on the curb in his wheelchair with the few personal effects he'd entered prison in besides his clothes, contained in a paper bag clutched to his lap. Besides the wheelchair, which he'd been indeed lucky to keep, and the paltry few dollars they normally gave people released from Riker's, all he had was the standard two-fare Metrocard for the bus. Other ex-inmates milled uncertainly around him, in the same state of not knowing what to do next; others who either lived nearby or just had been through this routine before were already purposefully vanishing into the crowds.

A man came up to him, wearing an expression that was half-pitying and half-delighted to see him; Jason's brain kicked back into gear as it added up the expression and the leaflets in the man's had and summed up, charity mission worker. The man handed out the leaflets, which turned out to be advertisements for a mission house only four blocks away, and gave directions to several of the ex-inmates standing around. The leaflets promised food and shelter for the homeless, and Jason swallowed hard as he realized that that was very likely where he'd end up that night. The Canmores had money in various Swiss bank accounts, built up over a thousand years of making deals along with hunting the Demon, and Jason had long since memorized the numbers and access codes for them, but he was sure that his brother Jon had drained those accounts in order to fund and outfit his Quarrymen, and pay for all the anti-gargoyle advertising he'd been hearing about.

And not only did he have no money, but no friends hoping to see him either. Except Elisa, but when he'd tried to call her before his release, her phone had rung without answer; she might have unplugged it or just turned off the ringer in order to get a decent day's sleep, trusting the precinct to use the cell phone if they really needed to get in touch with her. But with Robyn gone and Jon, who'd evidently gotten in the habit of changing safe houses periodically, also beyond his reach, Elisa was his only remaining point of contact. He thought briefly of contacting the 23rd Precinct, but just as quickly dismissed the thought; there were probably a large number of officers there who held a real grudge against him for wrecking the place two months earlier, and would be not at all happy to see him out on the streets again.

He shivered as a chill wind snuck through his clothing and raised goosebumps on his skin, then resigned himself to spending time at the homeless shelter, at least until he could contact Elisa. He started rolling the wheelchair down the sidewalk, curtly refusing the well-meaning missionary's offer to push him there; he still had some pride left. Even if he had very little else; few friends, no money, and now that he no longer hunted the Demon, no purpose…

As he rolled along, shoving the wheels against the stiff wind picking up, an flyer advertising something cartwheeled down the sidewalk and slapped up against his paralyzed legs. Irritably, he paused to brush it off… Then paused. The flyer was an advertisement for a washing machine sale, but that wasn't what caught his attention. The flyer's paper was the same color as the one Elisa had sneaked in to him on Tuesday, about the P.I.T…

There had been a phone number at the bottom of the flyer, a point of contact for the meeting to be held. Bryce Canmore had ensured all his children were given memory and observation training along with their combat and weaponry lessons, as a Hunter had to be skilled at tracking his prey. Robyn had been the best at it, with nearly a photographic memory, but Jason had learned his lessons well enough to at least memorize simple strings of digits, such as phone numbers; he could clearly picture that number in his mind's eye. And now…

Jason grinned wryly as he began pushing himself down the sidewalk a little faster. Well, he still had no money and few friends, but now he had a purpose, and possibly the hope of making a few new friends as well. Even if his new purpose would have his dearly departed father, and every Canmore in his long and proud ancestry, spinning in their collective graves. Aye, if Da were alive he'd be dying again of the shock and shame, to find out that his eldest boy intends to join the People for Interspecies Tolerance, and actually help a clan of gargoyles in being accepted instead of hunted. But Father, the times have changed, and so have I…

TO BE CONTINUED!