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Brood of a New Age
3.
Scratch scratch scratch...
"Eva, stop it."
"I can't hear you."
"You can."
"Speak English, we must take every opportunity to speak English."
"Damn it, I'm already dreaming in this ugly language at day and you-" scratch-scratch-scratch "-Will you stop that now! I swear, if you don't stop scratching around on the crate, I'm going to smash that thing into a thousand pieces and then stab every person who comes down here into the cargo hold."
"No, you won't. And don't call me that anymore. New life, new names, that's what we agreed on."
"But we're alone here."
"Doesn't matter. We have to get used to call each other that. No more Eva and Adamo because we're not the only ones. Who am I?"
"Why are you pestering me like this?"
"Who - am - I?"
" ... You are Grace, a gargoyle from Italy, who never murdered to protect her human father and family."
"And you are?"
She heard him groan in annoyance. "I am Dante, a cute little gargoyle from Italy who has never been a bloodthirsty killer and has not slain dozens of humans."
Eva took a deep breath though the air was very stuffy in the large transport crate in which they had been petrified the previous day - secured by straps they could undo themselves. A nonstop flight from Naples to New York took 11 hours, but considering the check-in of the crates and Luca's, they had to spend almost twenty hours in their wooden prison, maybe longer before Luca could rent a van at the airport in New York and give them the signal that the air was clear to break out of the crates. If Fiore - err Dante could take it that long. She herself was already tingling and nervous which was noticeable by her scratching at the wood around her.
"I just don't think everything can be that easy."
"We've been preparing for months, learning English and reading all about America and New York. Rehearsed our stories for months-."
"Yippee-ka-yay, motherfucker," Dante growled without a trace of humor in his voice. Joy had never been his major, and Eva knew that was partly her fault. To make sure her cousin Guiliano's wrath was directed less at her and more at Fiore he had put himself in his hands. For years he had been abused and mutilated by Giuliano and Rocco - in an almost childish desire to experiment which injuries a "demon body" was able to heal without residue and which not. But the physical scars were not the problem. Eva knew that somewhere under his battered, tough exterior was the gentleness and laughter that Eva had as one of her earliest childhood memories. Somewhere.
And maybe those would come out when they joined the other Gargoyles. They would try to show their most acceptable side. For sure they could help them this Quarrymen organization, which according to the news had formed to fight their kind. For Fiore, it would make no difference whether he killed for Father or for his conspecifics, and even if it would cause pain to her soul to kill humans again, Eva knew that she would have to bear this burden to protect her kind. They could use their unholy abilities for a new higher purpose and prove themselves to the new gargoyles. However, without revealing everything.
"The main thing is not to mention anything about father's job. Of the organization. I've heard the Camorra isn't very popular in other countries."
"It was popular in Naples among the normal population? That must have escaped my notice," Dante sneered wrily.
"Remember, your scars were inflicted by Guiliano because he was a perverted sadist-not because they thought it would make you stronger."
"He was a perverted sadist and his mutilations on me when I was a child he only justified to father with that lie. And that you can even reconcile it with your overpowering conscience to lie to the only other gargoyles in this world... God, I'm going crazy in this box - why did you have to take my cigarettes away?"
"Because I'm in that box with you, and we have no way of knowing if a box with smoke coming out of its air holes wouldn't cause a staff member to open said box. These are not physical cravings. They can't be after your wake up - it's just the psychological urge."
"'Psychological urge' my ass!"
"Take it easy, Dante. Stay cool." Her hand found his and he returned her firm grip. His hands were ice cold. When he couldn't smoke or have a drink, he actually played with his knives to make himself feel better. But now his collection of switchblades - his father's first gift to him other than the clothes he had had tailored for them to wear - was in a shrink-wrapped, lockable case somewhere in the belly of the plane. But Eva remembered something else that had captivated Fiore - long before he was raised to think he was supposed to be a Mafia hit man or even heir to the empire.
"When we get to America," she whispered, "I'll get you a guitar. A much nicer one than Guiliano's then, or than Don Armano's. And a glove that you won't tear the strings with."
"... We don't even know if the others will be alive when we arrive there. The humans bombed their shelter away," Dante whispered back, perhaps bypassing her promise because he didn't think that could be a path for him.
"They're tough like we're tough! Look on the bright side. New life. new family. And new names. No one will tease you anymore or not take you seriously when they hear the name Fiore."
Dante laughed his most venomous mobster laugh and she saw his eyes glow in the gloom of the box. "Not that any of those who dared to underestimate me are still alive."
"We never have to kill innocent people again."
"Most of our targets were not innocent."
"Dante. Please. Stop thinking everything into pieces. Be positive."
"... Okay. I'm positive ... moonlight and flowers. Moonlight and flowers -"
"So?" asked Grace after a few seconds of her brother reciting his old mantra to himself. "Did you come up with something positive?"
"Yes. I think it's positive that ex-Eva is finding everything here positive and is no longer sliding around on church floors grieving and praying."
"Grace!"
"Yes. That one, too."
"And what do you wish for the future, brother?"
"That Luca comes down here with butts and a bottle of grappa."
"Hardly think he'll get that up there in the second class."
"Look around. At least HE`s not traveling by boxcar, Eva!"
"GRACE!"
"Mea Culpa."
.
.
Luca stepped out of the plane into the strangely warm area of the passenger boarding bridge that connected the plane to the terminal. The child - backpack in one hand, Grigio in her arm and already holding the hand of an airport employee - turned around when he suddenly stopped. Now it was time to say goodbye. But there was one more thing he had to do, and he rummaged awkwardly in a side compartment of his hand luggage while the few people who had been sitting behind them pushed past them.
He tried to ignore the look on the employee's face as he pulled out his business card and handed it to her.
"It was a very pleasant flight thanks to you. I want you to take this and call me if there are any problems with your family."
The girl looked at the card with his name, profession and cell phone number. He had the business cards made after he bought a cell phone for the first time (and the most expensive one on the market, a Nokia 8110i, with the longest battery life) because he thought he might need one on this mission to track down other Gargoyles. Eva - no Grace! - he had bought the same one, whereupon Dante had ranted terribly why he had not received one, even though he had salvaged the safe from the ruins of the Della Massa household and ripped it open, and because of that they now had a pile of stocks and more than hundred thousand dollars in their possession. But who was Dante going to call, and what cell phone would stand up to the rude way he handled many things when he was pissed off?
"You're worried?" the girl asked, and Luca gave the alert-looking employee a serious glance before handing him his card as well to reassure him. "I'm a police officer, I always worry. Don't show your family the card and really only call if you realize you can't stay there," he repeated in an emphatic manner and to his surprise the child repositioned the bunny in her arms, pulled open a previously unnoticed zipper in the stuffed animal's back and put the card in there.
"I wish you well," he said, not without concern but a little relieved, and waved to her as the staff member and she started to move.
"Same to you, Signor De Santis."" she returned and for the first time, now that she had said his name in farewell he thought of something else.
"I just remembered- I didn't even ask for your name," he said aloud, since the two of them had already walked a good distance.
"I'm Graziella Draconi," she called over her shoulder, waving at him one last time before hurrying to keep up with the adult.
Luca laughed softly at this very appropriate first name and watched the girl being taken by the hand of the airport employee to the area where her collector would hopefully be waiting for her.
He pulled out a pen and his pad from his carry-on bag and wrote down the name before he could forget it - just for good measure. So much for that episode.
Then he contemplatively looked out the window of the passenger boarding bridge as the passengers' suitcases were unloaded. The large transport items would be next. He had already phoned ahead to find out where he had to go with his transporter to pick up his precious cargo. Everything had taken so much longer than he had anticipated. They had been on the road for almost twenty hours, Grace and Dante had been locked up for a whole night, and he had no doubt that at least Dante would be furious when he woke up in five hours. But in five hours he could organize a van, load the crate and drive to the hotel in Manhattan, where he had been assured - also by phone - that his van would fit into the parking garage next to it. And if he managed to get Dante his brand of cigarettes and something halfway decent to eat for both of them by sunset, the whole unpleasant trip would be quickly forgotten - so he hoped.
Thanks for reading, Q.T.