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Brood of a New Age

69.

Maria had once loved Tony like a child of her own. In the past - decades ago, after two miscarriages and the death of her third child AND the assurance that she could never have children of her own, after which her husband had left her - it had sometimes felt as if God had provided her with employment in the Dracon household so that she could cuddle and love little Anthony. As compensation for her own barren womb. But over the years, the cute boy who had often been beaten up by his twin sister had become a self-centered, devious teenager and then a self-absorbed, power-hungry mobster. Best Dracon family tradition, which hopefully would not extend to the newest, adorable addition to the family. But ... blood and imprinting, which was largely beyond Mary's influence, argued against it. And the same as with Tony twenty years ago, or ten, or five years ago, Maria would stay. Because by now she had nothing but this "family."

And if the boss of the family rang her out of her sleep at four in the morning and told her she had to come, she would follow. She had anxiously asked if anything had happened to the child - and Tony had laughed and denied but that she still had to come because he wanted to show her something. Maria was relieved that it was obviously not about her little angel. Graziella had looked kind of frazzled the day before and had been completely out of it - as if in a daze. She had said that she had not slept well again and that she had even fallen out of bed, but although she had not denied it when Maria had asked if she was in pain, the child had not wanted to show her where she had bumped. She had given Graziella two more of her children pain pills which had made her so tired that she couldn't have sat through a class with Albers and she had slept all day on the couch where Maria had kept an eye on her.

Maria slipped on her shoes, wrapped a thin scarf around herself because of the chill of the hour before sunrise, and set off.

She lived only a ten-minute walk from the house where Graziella was housed, one of the oldest and most spacious mansions of the syndicate, which smelled of old money and exuded the flair of old New York from the 1930s, although before Graziella arrived it had hardly been used, at most for more important guests of the family.

There was even a chic, light-flooded winter garden whose plants Maria had been taking care of with devotion for decades, mainly because no one else was interested in them and it was her winter garden by now (no one should say otherwise). She liked to doze there for an hour or two in the afternoon after cooking and cleaning or grocery shopping. Or to read a good book in the rattan chair, take off her shoes and feel like an upper-class lady putting her feet up in her own kingdom.

When she opened the front door this morning (or was it still night?), she saw Glasses sitting on the landing. Maria's jaw dropped. Of course, she often saw Tony's boys with injuries. She herself had once helped a quack get a bullet out of one of the guys before he was patched up to keep him out of a hospital (and inevitably out of the hands of the cops). But Glasses, though he was Tony's right hand, had rarely been hurt. And now he sat there like he was waiting for his mother to show her that he had been beaten up by a schoolyard bully. His nose was so thick that his glasses now sat way too high and the glasses themselves were broken at the nose bridge and wrapped with tape the way a small child would have. Maria almost laughed out loud but then she saw the scowl from `Broken Glasses`.

"You're not going to like this, old girl," he muttered. And although Maria would have preferred to give him a smack on the head for his choice of words, she skipped over them.

"What?" she asked.

"The new guest you'll have to take care of starting today," Glasses said, pushing off a wry smile that Maria was aware it couldn't be a normal or pleasant guest.

"Did he do that to you?" she asked, and - though she knew it was shabby - was disappointed when he nodded. She had hoped for a moment that Sonny had broken his nose. Sonny would have finally stood up to him. She had known Sonny almost since he was born even though Barbara had always sat on the child for the first few years as if she didn't want others to have too much contact with him. Something like this sometimes occurred when young mothers had their first child. But it was only in the last two years, and especially in the last few months, that Sonny had grown on her. She liked his helpfulness, his calm nature (which may have been caused by neglect or abuse), his peacefulness even though his body was capable of other things, and most of all she liked that he didn't deny who he was and how he felt. That he liked boys, Maria didn't care. He stood tall and proud even though he was being disrespected and beaten up for it, so he already had more integrity and courage than most adults. That was many times better than all the closet gays who didn't live out their true selves and eventually did really bad things.

"Why would Tony put someone in one of his houses who beat up his right hand? If the guy is dangerous, he's not going to stay in this house," Maria made her statement.

"We are criminals, Maria. The kid already has more contact with dangerous people than any law enforcement officer. Although I have to admit ... the guy is quite a character." And again, Glasses smiled even though the moving muscles must have made his nose hurt.

"I'll talk to Tony!" said Maria.

Glasses nodded. "They're up in the sunroom. Wanted to give you a heads up. And don't want to be in the same room as the guy. Can't avoid it for long because the prick will probably become Tony's favorite if he does well but I`ll try as long as I can."

"Favorite or not. If he sticks his nose in the direction of my little girl, I'll beat him out of the house with a rolling pin."

Glasses laughed in agony as Maria walked up the stairs with a steady pace.

"Tell him that. Exactly that, Maria. Good luck."

Maria stomped through the second floor, seething with annoyance that she had only been awakened to meet this ominous and apparently very brutish guest. Why couldn't this be done at eight in the morning or during the day in general? And what did Tony think he was doing, trying to accommodate this guy here? Well, this house was elegant and was equipped to host higher-ranking guests. But there was already one person living here. There was no person more important! How could he accommodate a strange man, a dangerous criminal in the same house as his own defenseless child, already plagued by deaths and other traumas. His own daughter - that was also to be considered! They might live in a world where they counted criminals as family. But beyond that, there were countless variations of bad people. Countless variations of monsters.

Maria pushed open the door to the conservatory and saw Tony standing there. Next to a real monster that was admiring the blooming bird of paradise flowers (Strelitzia reginae) growing in large pots. Like Tony, it turned around, its clawed hands clasped behind its back, its night-black tailored suit with its white shirt and burgundy tie irritatingly perfect. The flamboyant scarlet petal cylinders of the Hanging Bottlebrush (Callistemon viminalis) behind him almost blended with the red of his red hair, with a braid hanging over his shoulder. An accurately trimmed goatee grew on his lower beak.

Maria stood, staring wordlessly in the room, having completely forgotten what she wanted. She would have stood there for minutes more without really processing what she was seeing if Tony hadn't approached her laughing and put an arm around her shoulder.

"Morning Maria. Gee, you look like you've seen a ghost, my good girl. Have I managed to rattle you, after all." He let go of her again and wandered over to the thing, which gave her not a pleased look, but a rather indulgent one, and actually nodded at her.

"Buongiorno," the thing said, and even from that one word - though she herself had been born in America - she heard that he was Italian and had not been in the country long.

Tony now squeezed the Thing's shoulder as if it were an old buddy.

"Let me introduce you to Dante. Newest addition to the syndicate."

Maria looked at Tony. Then at the thing with the scars on his face and wings, which he was raising just now which made her realize it wasn't a cape he was wearing. Lastly, her gaze found her employer and former charge again.

"It's a gargoyle, Tony."

He looked at her incomprehensibly for a moment, then glanced sideways at the "newest addition" and then said.

"For heaven's sake, you're right!"

The gargoyle chuckled, and it sounded absolutely human, yet animalistic in its ebb.

"Good one, boss," the gargoyle muttered, still with his arms folded behind his back as if intent on keeping his claws to himself. Maria would have advised him to do so. The latter shook her head in bewilderment.

"You ... really don't learn from your mistakes. Last year wasn't that long ago."

Tony made a waving-off hand gesture.

"Dante had nothing to do with the previous actions of the damn Manhattan gargoyles. He just came from Italy a few weeks ago, and he was already working for the ... dark side there." A grim smile escaped the gargoyle's lips at the comparison. His smirk, though showing little tooth, was somehow sly.

"That's why you rang me awake? To disturb me or to make stupid jokes?"

"Neither though both are very entertaining. I had to introduce him to you while he was awake before tomorrow when you go out to the winter garden to water the plants or whatever you're doing with the weeds in here. Before your eyes fall out of your head when, without warning, his statue is standing there."

"What, he's going to petrify here?" Maria looked around. "Here?"

"Gargoyles don't need beds. Only daylight, signora. You really have a green thumb. It is very beautiful here," the gargoyle praised, addressing her for the first time. His voice had a beautiful timbre. But that didn't excuse everything else. He could not stay here. Not in this house, and certainly not in HER winter garden. Tony made it worse.

"He's even going to live here. For now."

"How long?"

"Probably permanently. It's quiet and safe here, and there's plenty of natural light coming in almost all day. Just what the doctor prescribed for little mobster gargoyles."

"You can't be serious, Tony!"

"Yes I am, you'll keep the fridge well stocked now and always make enough for dinner for our new employee here. He appreciates good, Italian-style home cooking."

Maria imagined she could feel her eye twitch nervously. Hopefully, not another capillary in her eye would burst.

"May I remind you, Tony, that I'm here to watch your daughter. "

"Dante is a guest in this house. You've taken care of guests before. Just make sure he always gets a good portion of food. He'll even make less work than her because he'll sleep during the day and be gone most hours of the night. Wash his laundry. Sweep up his stone crumbs from the winter garden."

"Your DAUGHTER lives here!"

"I like children so much I could gobble them up," the gargoyle said, and where he and Tony laughed, Maria pulled up a corner of her mouth in disgust. She turned and grabbed the spray bottle with which she was moistening the tropical plants and sprayed the gargoyle in the face, making him jump backwards like a startled outraged cat.

"Get out!" hissed the housekeeper, spraying again as the gargoyle growled at her. But Tony stood in the way of both of them.

"Maria, jeez! He was just joking."

"Anthony Dracon! This house is where your daughter lives. A little girl who already has nightmares every night and worries about Quarrymen and hears stories on the street about gargoyles snatching little children from their beds. What if she wanders around during the day and finds his statue in the conservatory? What if she wanders through the house at night and sees him in the flesh?"

"He'll be gone most of the night, Maria. He works for me at night."

"And if he were working for the Pope - I don't want him to scare my protégé any further. What do you want me to do? Should I camp outside her door to protect her?"

"She doesn't need protection from me. I have never harmed a hair on a child's head," the gargoyle now said very seriously, almost huffily.

"I will not tolerate it."

Tony blew a strand of hair out of his forehead in annoyance. Then he turned and walked to the door.

"Where are you going?" asked Maria, indignant at the prospect of being left alone with the new "guest" who eyed her - or rather the spray bottle in her hand - vigilantly.

"I'll get the girl," the mobster said, turning the corner.

"What? No. It's five in the morning!"

"Maria, I'm not dad of the year. But I've already picked up that Gabriella is pretty tough and reacts differently than you'd expect little girls to. I'll get her and we'll introduce her to Dante. And if she doesn't piss herself, we know everything will be fine."

Maria came up behind him with an indignant face to argue some more.

You don't believe that yourself, Tony!", Dante heard her nag. "And her name is Graziella! At least remember her name!"

"Mamma mia," muttered the abandoned Dante, scratching his forehead horns thoughtfully. Graziella. Hadn't he just heard that name recently?

.

.

Graziella was startled out of her drug-induced, dreamless slumber when someone shook her shoulder roughly and dull waves of pain rippled through her body. She fixed her eyes on the man leaning over her, grinning, and it took her a few seconds to recognize him as her father in the yellow glow of her bedside lamp.

"Wake up, Dolly. Your old man has a surprise for you."

The child stared at him for a few seconds, trying to decipher the words.

"Up and at 'em, HopHop," Tony said. That was short enough. Graziella - still not quite sure if she wasn't dreaming now, rolled to her side and slid to the edge of the bed. The pain was numb. That was good. But the rest of her and her head felt numb, too. She tried awkwardly to slip into her slippers and couldn't manage it. Her father - whatever he wanted - seemed impatient and just took her in his arms, at which she groaned because of the pressure on her ribs. He moved with her too quickly into the much too bright hallway where she had to squint her eyes. Maria stood there, her face almost angry but also worried. Had she messed up? Had Maria noticed that she had helped herself to the adult medication? The woman stroked her cheek.

"Graziella, we're sorry to wake you," she said seriously.

"That's okay," she replied. Honestly, she didn't care about being woken up. Anger and every major emotion seemed to sink into the fog, and the peace that came with it - far from dead mothers, grandmothers, Quarrymen, fear for Nash, and stronger pain - was so blissful. She would sleep more later. Sleep until the pain got better. Her story of falling out of bed had helped in that Maria didn't question it out of pity.

"Remember ... when I said that if I got the chance to have coffee and talk with a gargoyle, I would take it?" asked Maria, her forceful tone really stirring interest and understanding in Graziella for the first time. She simply ignored her father's quiet laughter at Maria's words. She had learned to ignore many things and the pills made it even easier. Graziella nodded even though she wasn't quite sure why Maria was bringing it up now. Her favorite person smiled somehow desperately.

"We're going to introduce you to someone now. Don't be afraid. I will protect you."

Tony's laugh again.

"Okay," said Graziella, leaning woozily against the torso and head of her father, who groaned in amazement at this very gesture of weakness or at something else. His hair smelled of shampoo and hairspray.

"She's not really here," he muttered, and Maria replied.

'You roused an overtired child from a deep sleep, what do you expect? ... And I gave her painkillers because she was in pain from falling out of bed. Tomorrow - I'll give her less."

Her father walked with her down the hall and Maria, who not only caught up with them with a grim face but even overtook them, ran into the conservatory first and almost slammed the door against Tony's nose.

She stuck her head out and glared at the Mafia boss. "Come in when I call."

"Okayokay," her father said with amusement as Maria had already closed the door.

"What are you showing me, Papa," Graziella asked, not realizing until afterwards that she should call him Tony.

Her father didn't seem to mind as he bounced her on his arm to get a better grip under her thighs. She groaned in pain but he didn't seem to notice.

"I'll show you my new co-worker in a minute. He's going to live here. I'll be his boss so you have nothing to worry about. You get that, little boss?"

His almost gentle tone and pet name that was so much better than Dolly made Graziella chuckle. Why wasn't he like this when others were around? Or did she just perceive everything differently because she was on drugs?

"You can come in!" called Maria and Tony opened the door. Graziella first saw Maria standing in front of the plants with the very large shiny leaves that grew in big pots like all the plants in the room. But then her eyes fell on the man sitting in the rattan chair next to her. Except that somehow it wasn't a man. You might think it - in the first second because of the really fancy suit. But his shoes were not shoes. They were gray feet with claws. And his face was not a human face but he had a beak. It was the gargoyle that had saved her and Nashville's lives just last night.

"Am I dreaming?" Graziella asked herself, and it wasn't until she heard her father deny it and saw recognition in the gargoyle's eyes that she knew she had spoken the words aloud and it wasn't a dream.

Tony walked with her across the room until he stood in front of the rat chair. Graziella's eyes flew briefly to Maria, who was staring down at the gargoyle. In one hand of her interlocked arms she saw a spray bottle - for whatever reason.

The gargoyle cleared his throat and stood up as if in slow motion. He gave Maria and the spray bottle an inquiring look.

"This is Dante. My new employee," her father stated as the gargoyle stood in front of her, staring at her as if he didn't know what to say to her.

But Graziella knew.

She lifted her arm and put her small hand on his beak. It didn't feel like human skin but it didn't feel like leather either.

"Thanks," she whispered as the gargoyle smiled. Not as nice a smile as Nashville's, but similar enough to make her giggle. Maybe she was imagining it but she thought she saw him blush.

"Dante," her father corrected cluelessly, and Graziella giggled at that too.

"This...is your daughter?" asked Dante doubtfully. And repeated it probably more to digest the fact. "Tony Dracon's daughter."

"Yes. You wouldn't think I'd have a gold piece like that. She lives here too. Just in case you ever run into each other. And watch out around dart boards." Tony cackled at the joke, which Dante didn't get.

"Okay," the gargoyle muttered, and couldn't help but intently eye the kid who had rested her head on her father's mop of hair.

"I told you what would happen if you didn't behave properly towards her," Maria said threateningly from behind her.

"I remember. Spray bottle, rolling pin and frying pan. In that order."

Graziella giggled again. The thought that the gargoyle might end up in Maria's big iron frying pan - for whatever - was too funny. Because, after all, there was a rumor that gargoyles ate people, and then it would be the other way around. She chuckled and looked lovingly at Dante because his beak looked a little bit like that of her bestest friend in the world. Dante, meanwhile, even though he saw how adorable the girl was, as he did last night, felt quite caught off guard. The Dracons - one of the most powerful Mafia families in New York - could not possibly know that their gold piece, as Tony had called her, had a little gargoyle as a playmate and suffering companion. Otherwise, that would have come up by now. Otherwise they would somehow exploit that to nail these do-gooders. The girl was deceiving her family like Nashville was deceiving his clan. That was ... interesting. And would eventually lead to trouble. Sooner rather than later. But what bothered him even more was the confusion of Graziella being completely doped up.

Dante knew what someone looked like who was beyond good and evil. And this kid was totally high. Why? To keep her under control?

Tony, meanwhile, was looking at him all weird, maybe suspicious with his interest in the kid. Dante leaned back again, turned around and feigned as much I-don't-give-a-shit as he could. "Adorable little one, congratulations, boss. Throw her back in bed, we've seen she has no problem with me. Kids these days are really hard-boiled," he grumbled, pulling his cigarettes out of his pants pocket.

At Maria's killer glare, he faltered in his movement and pulled the cigarette back out of his mouth.

"I suppose it's just smoking outside."

"In the yard," the resolute housekeeper hissed.

Dante swallowed.

What had he gotten himself into again?

.

.

Grace knocked on the wooden door.

"Luca?"

After a few moments, her favorite human opened his door but only ten inches. Grace took a step back. The others had been right. He must really be sick. His eyes were tired, his face pale. He wore a face mask and a turtleneck as if he were cold. Even the nights were 77.0°F. Why were human bodies so prone to illness and fragile even in summer?

"Luca? Are you okay? Do you need anything?" she asked empathically and wanted to go in to him. But he blocked the door.

"No," he croaked- his voice just a raspy whisper that it hurt even Grace's throat.

"Oh Luca," she muttered, reaching through the crack in the door and stroking her sad-looking human across his skull where she felt soft stubble - a sign that he needed to shave it again. And his scalp was warm. Almost too warm. Was it fever or was it that sweater in the middle of July? He seemed to enjoy the touch for a moment and closed his eyes in agony.

"Why don't you let me in?" she asked gently. "You don't have to worry about infecting me. I'm about to petrify, aren't I?"

Even through the mask she saw that Luca was smiling. "It's okay. I just need a night or two of rest. I need to ... keep warm and drink a lot," he whispered, barely intelligible, and Grace heard and saw that every word was difficult for him. Still, he made an effort for her and looked absolutely crestfallen at his next sentence.

"I'm sorry I can't keep our trip to the Statue of Liberty."

"Don't even think about it Luca. I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

"You're overexerting yourself for us. For... me. The constant staying awake and that you're always exposed to the strong winds here when you're waiting for me. That's a lot for a human body."

"I like doing it," Luca replied, lowering his head as if ashamed of his frailty.

Yet Grace just found it attractive when he wasn't perfect.

"Get better and then we'll go on the trip. But don't think I'm taking you on another flight without warm clothes."

He nodded, showing a knowing glint in his eye through any fever haze he might have had.

"You won't see me without a scarf for much longer. The wind up here, the chilly masonry, and the air conditioners everywhere aren't doing my throat any good at all," he admitted, and Grace nodded. She felt the need to kiss him. On his wet forehead or on the fabric of his mask. But she didn't want to force herself on him with expressions of affection and pity that might embarrass him. So she stroked his ear again.

"I'll be back tomorrow night right after you wake up. Get some rest. I'll ... think of you."

"I'm thinking of you, too," he murmured, closing the door. She didn't hear him shuffle to his bed and imagined he would pause at the door as she did. But he did not open the door. She put her forehead against the wooden door. She had almost said that she loved him. But she had been able to avert that. How could she say such a thing to him now that he was sick? He would think she was just saying it out of sympathy. How could she ever tell him when he would soon leave her and live in the human world again. Under the sun. In the light. That would also be better for his health. She still had half an hour. She would pray for his recovery.

Luca released his forehead from the rough wood of the door against which he had been leaning. He had listened to hear her walking away. Which she hadn't done for a few seconds - perhaps at odds with herself about whether she should leave. How he wanted to imagine that she had the same feelings as he had. But it was better the way it was. They would soon go separate ways. At the latest when his visitor visa expired he had to go back.

"But then why did you buy the ring," he hissed as he turned around, ripped off his face mask and pulled the disgustingly warm turtleneck over his head and tossed it away. He'd only packed it anyway because he'd heard about crazy weather on North America's East Coast and wanted to be better safe than sorry. Now the sweater came in handy. But he would need more than that to hide the marks of Goliath's fingers until the bruises had healed. He had to go out in the morning and buy a bunch of scarves. In the height of summer! He plopped down on the bed and looked at the little bag with the Tiffany logo on his nightstand as if the thing was trying to taunt him. For his cowardice. For his own insecurity.

Owen Burnett had meant no harm. It was an unfortunate coincidence that the gargoyles had found that note and learned that he had been there with Elisa. Goliath had almost killed him! Out of anger, jealousy and passion. Because of a misunderstanding. He was not even really angry with Goliath. Because he had seen the agony in his eyes afterwards. But Luca had once again been made aware of his weakness. Physically - of course! But in the eyes of the mighty gargoyle he had seen a reflection of his own emotional weakness. A look into Goliath's self (at least a small, otherwise surely well hidden part) and at the same time a look into the proverbial mirror. Luca had no doubt that Goliath loved Elisa very much. But to strangle a supposed rival for her favor ... that was crass. And as Goliath and later Lexington had assured him, completely and utterly out of character for the clan leader his Grace was thinking of joining.

Were these simply challenges that an interracial couple had to face? To live with this petty jealousy and insecurity whenever the partner was with someone who seemed to be a better match - just because of the same race! Living with the fear that internal AND external influences were weighing down on the relationship. That would be another argument against being in a relationship with Grace. He did not want to put this burden on his lady of the heart at all. Buying the ring had been a displacement activity, spurred on by Elisa maza's energy. Her blind belief that nothing was impossible, not even the happy union of two such different beings. He had wanted to believe it then. He still wanted to. He really did. But ... would he give her the ring ... wouldn't that be blackmail somehow? Even in the unlikely event that she would feel obligated to say yes. Love alone was sometimes just not enough when the world was against you - no matter what Elisa said.

Thanks for reading, Q.T.