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Brood of a New Age

17.

In Manhattan, on the top floor of a middle-class hotel whose only advantage for the guests was a balcony out of sight, another Grace and Luca squatted over the last newspaper articles, which he had been able to search and copy during the day in the National Library. They had spread out a detailed street map of Manhattan and whenever a report mentioned a neighborhood, a street or a place where gargoyles had been sighted, they stuck a pin in that spot. And the fact that he was now already spending hours going through the articles with the woman of his heart to maybe find a clue where the other gargoyles lived was a bonus- even if they hadn't found a lead yet.

Grace sat cross-legged next to him on the bed, had moved so close - almost certainly unconsciously - in the last hour that her pointed knee poked him but her concentrated work over the articles, her dogged expression when she tried to put the heavier English sentences together was just enchanting. Not for the first time, he thought she would have made one hell of a detective herself, and the wishful thinking of working with her on a real case made his heart beat faster. Officially working together? Such a thing would only be possible if she were human, he reminded himself. It would probably take years, even in America, before the status of gargoyles would be clarified in such a way that they would be able to hold official jobs, especially police jobs. He should stop dreaming and concentrate on their mission (not a case - but a mission).

Grace and he flinched as a thump from the terrace could be heard and a moment later the door was gruffly yanked open. Grace immediately had her hand on her new pistol. It was outrageous to Luca that, lacking a fixed home address, he had been forced to purchase a gun on the street like a criminal - and had been able to do it, just as easily as in Naples! But even if she had claws and fangs and superhuman strength. Like Dante, Grace had been raised by people (bad people) who had drilled into them that without weapons, you were as good as dead. That's why her request to get her a new gun - since he would never have gotten her made-for-precision guns out of Italy without more paperwork - and her instinctive grab for a weapon at any potential danger was perfectly understandable.

But it was only Dante who stumbled into the room grunting - along with the sickening smell of burning flesh.

Grace jumped off the bed so abruptly that her claws pierced the mattress and caught her brother as he toppled to his side, groaning.

"Dante! What happened?"

"Those fucking Quarrymen! Those bloody ass-fuckers!" cursed Dante shrilly. And let his sister drag him into the armchair. For a second Luca stared at the drops of blood Dante left on the gray carpet, then he managed to tear himself away, standing up in alarm, ran to the balcony door and peered out before closing the door and drawing the curtains.

"Did they follow you?" he asked and Dante flipped him the bird while Grace ran to the bathroom.

"Thanks for caring, super detective! I'm fine. Do you think I'm an idiot for leading this human feccia to my sister! Ahhh!" he screeched inhumanely as Grace stroked his ribs with a cloth retrieved from the bathroom, then knelt to inspect the burned skin on his ribs.

"How could you let them catch you?" she asked indignantly, and he was equally indignant. Like Luca, they were both Italian and when they argued it was fiery even while Grace tried as gently as possible to clean his wounds.

"You sound like I ran into that fucking electroshock hammer on purpose! Those bastards have flying machines!"

"Flying machines? Did they hit you on the head too?"

"They float in the air! Like - like a thing that floats in the air. Fucking hell, sister! Can you please get a fucking cheese grater, my rips doesn't hurt enough yet. These lousy sons of slimy bitches."

"Anyone who can curse like that won't die," Grace muttered, and Dante gave her a pained but almost proud grin.

"I'll pray a few rosaries for that later."

Luca wasn't sure if Dante was joking or serious. He knew from Grace that she was very devout - he had found her praying in church the first time they met. As with most Italians, a good dose of Catholicism was part of the standard program, and even the Camorra reconciled their crimes with their religion - which was absurd to him. But it worked.

Around the ribs and rib cage, even part of Dantes wings drew a charred burn pattern that looked like that of a roast.

"What caused these wounds?" wanted to know Luca. Dante groaned. "They had net launchers. And they - they were electrified somehow. Caught me in full flight, and luckily only half. I just managed to wriggle out before I would have popped open on a roof like a watermelon." Dante gave Luca an icy look. "I would have had a better chance if the detective hadn't insisted I leave my knives in the suitcase. Because that would look so hostile in case I ran into the other gargoyles."

He raised his arm with difficulty, showing his horribly burned side. "How hostile does that look to you? Mister Clean- Owuu." He growled as his sister poured disinfectant on his ribs which might leave stains that would be impossible to remove. Luca took a deep breath and the smell in the room made him nauseous. He marched to his suitcase. There he had the bottle of Limoncello di Sorrento, which he had hidden from Dante because it was meant for celebration when they found the other gargoyles. But this was also considered a special occasion.

Before the smell of burnt meat and disinfectant made him sick, he opened the bottle and took a big swig. The liquor tickled his nose and throat. Then he came to the armchair. "Here Dante" he said hoarsely. The gray gargoyle, who might keep some more scars on his body also because of Luca, mustered him coolly. Luca knew his opposite recognized a bottle for more than 80 dollars.

"An indirect kiss doesn't make it better, loverboy," he rumbled, wanting to reach for the bottle of expensive alcohol. But Grace beat him to it, grabbed the bottle and tilted her head back while she drank. Dante and Luca exchanged a horrified look. Gasping deeply, she took the bottle from her full lips.

"Uhhh, did you leave some in there for me, sister?" asked Dante and Grace nodded with a pinched face.

"I needed that."

"We saw that," her brother muttered, taking the bottle from her hands and drinking it himself.

After a few moments of Dante holding onto the bottle while his sister cleaned the wounds, Luca had his thoughts back in order.

"So they had flying machines. And net launchers. In addition to the hammers. That's a new threat we need to consider. From my research, the mood in the city is starting to heat up after the court ruling. Perhaps ... these Quarrymen are now shifting into high gear because they fear that an attack on Gargoyles will soon be considered and punished like an attack on humans. For the next few nights, you should stay together."

"Don't be stupid. We can cover more area if we search separately. They won't get me again."

"Did they ambush you and target you with the net launcher? Or are these flying machines fast and agile enough to keep up with a Gargoyle?"

"They tried to shoot me out of the sky!" He opened one of his wings and for the first time they noticed the hole that was close to the highest point of the wing bar. It was small but bloody and only the red coloring of the inner skin of his wing and the numerous black burns had distracted from it.

"Cazzo," Grace whispered, briefly holding her hand in front of her mouth. She didn't usually curse. The annoyed red glow in her eyes faded again, too.

"Luca, did you pack a needle and thread?" she asked, and the detective jumped up.

"Of course," he said, and now began to look for it.

"I lost my butts when I fell out of the sky," Dante whined, his prompting look causing Luca to immediately grab another pack, even shoving a butt into Dante's beak before searching for a lighter, needle and thread.

"So they chased you with the flying machines. Shot at you. And when you didn't crash from it but were impaired, they caught you with the net launcher," Luca put the puzzle pieces of the story together.

"Only caught briefly," Dante echoed, and although his gray skin tone was a little paler than usual, he looked highly pleased in a mischievous sort of way. He took a drag on his cigarette while Grace and Luca exchanged worried glances.

"What did you do with them?" the detective asked.

"It was pretty quick and I was kind of in pain so neither I nor they were receptive to a damn talking circle!"

"What Dante?" urged Grave in a frosty voice, and that made her brother defend himself.

"Nobody's dead, okay! I didn't even bring my knives because you told me to," he disguised his voice in an absolutely exaggerated way "Oh Dante, that's going to make a bad impression when we meet the others. - Starting tomorrow, I'm taking all my knives. All arm and leg bracers and I don't want to hear any more whining just because we're going soft here. If you get a gun you can barely shoot with because your claw hardly fits behind the trigger, I get to wear my toys too."

No one dared to contradict Dante. Luca didn't like that Dante wanted to use his weapons again, because he was too fast with them to not be deadly at times. But then again. He was a gargoyle- even without knives, he and Grace were deadly. But ... the fact that Dante had been hurt like that terrified him. And yes, even if it had been less noticeable on him than Grace- somewhere in the back of his mind, he wanted Dante to get the upper hand in the next conflict before he got hurt like that. Or what if Grace got in the line of fire next time? They should both have their weapons. Before Grace died, rather a dozen Quarrymen should kick the bucket. At these cruel and uncharacteristic thoughts, Luca shuddered.

"Are they still alive?" asked Grace through clenched fangs. Dante reached up and patted his grim-looking sister's cheek.

"Again -Yeah - they're still alive. But don't think the one who zapped me with the hammer is going to live without a wheelchair anytime soon."

"Oh Dante."

"Oh Grace," he cried, pointing with both hands at his burned middle.

Luka knew it - these guys were tremendously lucky if they'd survived a confrontation with Dante - if what he'd said was true, that he'd let them get away. Or was Dante the one who got off easy? Dante, meanwhile, was ashing impassively on the carpet and had even stubbed out the stub of his cigarette on the upholstery because he hadn't been given an ashtray.

"I can forget about my whole deposit," Luca whispered, and one could see how disgusted Dante was with the sentence - or with the human being in general. He made a very Italian wiping motion from his larynx toward his chin.

"Mi stai prendendo sulle palle, Luca!" he groaned between clenched teeth, and just so he didn't start cursing and clamoring even louder, Grace stuck another cigarette butt in his beak and lit it before standing next to him to sew up the wing.

"English, Dante."

"English can't express my feelings" the gray gargoyle growled wearily, taking another sip.

"But it wasn't entirely in vain." He shifted his weight a bit and pulled a green sheet of paper out of his pants pocket. It was crumpled and half torn.

"As I was finishing these guys off, one of them's bag popped open. Dozens of these notes, all torn, fluttered out. Must have been their mission for the night to rip off the information sheets everywhere."

He shoved the pieces of paper in Luca's face.

He took it, held the scraps together and read aloud.

"P.I.T - People for Interspecies Tolerance. Meeting Tuesday at 8 p.m. - 53 Washington Square South Floor 4E New York, NY 10012. That's tomorrow night!"

"Well, am I good or what?" said Dante rather cockily and Luca encouraged him by nodding. He really hadn't seen any of those notes yet. Probably the PIT members really put them up just before the meetings so the Quarrymen wouldn't find them all and tear them down before the meetings took place.

"That's fantastic. I've heard of this association but didn't know how to get in touch with them. I can go to this meeting."

"That's more than an hour hours before sundown, we can't protect you there," Grace said with a worried furrowed brow.

Luca smiled broadly. "Grace-I'm a police officer. Don't you think I can go to a college discussion event? Maybe one of these people knows how to find gargoyles?"

His sweetheart swayed her head back and forth like she was thinking about whether she could let her adolescent into the movies. "Yeah- okay," she then said, continuing to stitch her brother's wing.

"As long as you don't step up to the podium and announce that you have two roommates who petrify during the day, it's all the same to me," Dante muttered, perhaps a little dazed from the bottle of liquor he had by now almost emptied, barely able to keep his eyes open.

Half an hour later, Luca stepped out onto the patio.

"Grace?"

"Hi Luca."

"Dante dozed off. I crushed up a dozen aspirin and stirred them into the rest of the limonchello before he finished it. Although I didn't like mixing painkillers with alcohol."

"It wouldn't hurt a gargoyle," Grace said, lost in thought, leaning over the railing and staring into the distance-though there was no view to speak of.

Luca came to stand beside her.

"Grace. Don't worry about it-I'm sure these guys got off a lot worse than your brother."

"That's to be expected," she stated sullenly.

"You think he killed them?"

"If Dante says he didn't kill them, he didn't. But that doesn't mean they're better off alive after he's done with them. I'm ... sorry you ended up with us as a detective of all people. That must put you ... at odds with your conscience."

"Honestly ... not really. He was attacked. He fought back."

"But these Quarrymen aren't all bad humans. They're people who are afraid. Who want to protect their family. Dante and I heard this Castaway's speech last week. He's playing with their fear. He really tells them ... that gargoyles would steal children from their beds. CHILDREN, Luca. Father and his henchmen have been spreading really scary stories about us. Della Marra and his hell-spawn. But children were never part of it. If I were a weak human being. A mother - I would take a hammer in my own hand and -". She didn't dare finish the sentence, just shook her head with a dreadful expression.

"But some are certainly in it to hunt because it gives them pleasure. And to kill because they want to feel superior to another species. Certainly not all of them are aware of it, but to kill gargoyles would be murder if they succeeded. Even smashing a stone statue is murder if it is a sleeping gargoyle. The laws just have to catch up with these facts."

"Ah Luca. If all humans were like you, I wouldn't have to worry."

"Soon we'll find the others."

"We've already searched most of Manhattan. And ... these other Gargoyles they fly out surely also times. Despite the danger. I mean - it's like an urge. We get miserable if we don't fly. And our muscles weaken quickly. Why haven't we met any others?"

"Manhattan is big, it may be a coincidence that you always missed each other."

"What if they've left Manhattan? Even if they consider it their territory. Dante and I didn't just leave the Naples area. But even Italy, Europe, the other side of the globe. If we could do it, so could they. Or worse- what if they were killed or smashed without it being made public. Then, then we look for ghosts. We hunt the dead."

"No, Grace. It's not like that. I'm sure of it. I'm going to this PIT meeting tomorrow night. I have high hopes for it. We'll find the others. Very soon. I can feel it."

"Your detective instinct?"

"Yes."

"I wish I could be that confident. I-I really didn't think we'd have to look so long for them. I completely underestimated the danger of these Quarrymen and that the others would have to keep such a low profile EVEN though I did read the articles. I was naive and ignorant. And now Fiore has been wounded like this. I mean - Dante." She shook her head.

"Don't blame yourself. It won't do any good. "

"I know."

"Tomorrow night, I'm going to this event. Not everyone in New York hates gargoyles. There's hope."

"Hope yes." whispered Grace, looking up at the sky. "There are a lot less stars here" she said musingly and Luca looked up as well.

"There aren't any less stars. There are probably other constellations visible from here. And the fainter stars we don't see because the city lights are too bright. That's called light pollution. But they're there."

"Light pollution," Grace repeated, looking longingly at the sky.

Luca couldn't believe how incredibly stunning she looked in the dim light. Light pollution or not. Beautiful - and sorrowful. How he would have liked to kiss her now. Or at least put his hand on hers. But ... soon she would meet other gargoyles. He must not cling to her too much that she felt connected to him in a way that would not be fair. He was human. She wasn't. She had to have a right to find a partner of her own kind without being distracted by a lovesick human. But at the moment, maybe the woman of his heart needed something else anyway. Luca pulled the note out of his pocket that he had been carrying around for two days and had forgotten about. Until now.

"This is where you should go tomorrow evening. I know I can't get you or Dante to always stay together to watch each other's backs. That's why I'm just saying be careful. This church is not far away but I think these Americans don't even respect consecrated ground." Grace took the note from him and read the address on it.

"This church is having some windows replaced. No alarm system that I noticed. Easy to get into," Luca explained.

"You researched that for me?" She looked at him wide-eyed and he was under no illusion that she saw him blush a little as he shrugged nonchalantly.

"Maybe we need a little push from a higher power," he commented and Grace grinned. She knew he was not nearly as devout as she was. Being almost an atheist was worse than being a protestant. Maybe that's why she leaned over now, put her hand gently on his cheek and kissed him on the lips. It was only fleeting and gentle as a butterfly but Luca`s world stopped. When Grace broke away from him, thanked him and went back inside, he stayed behind. He looked at the almost starless sky and still knew they were there.

Grande amore, grande dolore," he whispered.

feccia = scum

cazzo = shit

Mi stai prendendo sulle palle, Luca! = You are a pain in the ass, Luca!

Grande amore, grande dolore = Great love, great pain

One of my favorite chapters because it illustrates the relationship between the three Italians well, and because Dante is so verbally abusive. And towards the end, a bit of contemplative heartache.

Thanks for reading, Q.T.