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Brood of a New Age

47.

Dante guessed that a few hundred yards behind Broadway, and far further behind, Goliath was also gliding. They did well to keep their distance. He was in a stinking mood. But even greater than his anger was his exhaustion. About this whole situation in this shitty America with this suicidal clan. And his chest hurt SO damn much. Worse than when Guiliano's henchman Rocco had jumped on his chest with his whole 130 kilos.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dante spied a gray silhouette. An almost ninja-clad, smaller gargoyle figure that, no sooner had he seen it, disappeared behind a building, visibly taken aback.

"Talk about suicidal, huh?" he muttered, unable to keep from smirking even with his immense pain. Obviously Nashville was the "critter" the Quarrymen had been looking for. And he had been carrying another child-a human child then? Impossible that the red, one-eyed superdaddy would let his chick out of the castle unaccompanied. The boy probably had secrets no one should know about.

He tucked in his wings and went into a intentional descent, but it was supposed to look like he was losing altitude due to weakness or pain. Broadway was beside him within seconds and he tolerated the brainless helpful fatso putting an arm around him and directing him into a strange tandem flight that enabled him to soar higher with minimal input of his own. It was a trick he had to remember. And it visibly slowed them down. As he had planned. For this embarrassment, the boy owed him.

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The whole clan was gathered on the battlements except Lexington and Nashville.

Grace jumped out of Luca's arms onto one of the battlements of the outermost wall as Broadway landed with Dante, and where she picked up her moaning brother Angela came to Broadway.

"What happened? Are you hurt?" she called over the others' questions.

Broadway hugged and kissed her on her delightfully adorable nose (so unlike his) and smiled broadly and apologetically at her.

"There's nothing wrong with me, Angela. Not a scratch."

Still a bit breathless and generally exhausted from the flight, Dante let his overprotective sister brush his hair out of his face.

"What happened? Dante, there's blood on your chest!" She grabbed him with her excessive strength to lift his west to check for wounds but this put pressure on his ribs and he groaned in agony.

"Where's the blood coming from!" she asked with red glowing eyes in Broadway's direction and now it was Angela's turn to stand in front of her mate and hiss.

"No fighting!" thundered Goliath's powerful leader voice over the group as he landed and said much more calmly. "It's my blood. And Dante has some broken ribs."

Elisa ran to him and he had to struggle not to hug her right away. For once, she had no intention of moving into his powerful embrace at all. She grabbed his hand and looked at his arm. The blood had dried by now, as had their loincloths, Dante's and Goliath's hair, Dante's clothes. Still, the gray gargoyle looked terribly deranged, even tolerating Luca supporting him now while they all bombarded Goliath with questions.

"It was a series of unfortunate circumstances," he said, grumbling guiltily.

"What circumstances?", Grace wanted to know, still annoyed, grabbing Dante's lower beak and forcing her brother's head up so he was looking at her. He shook off her hands and pushed Luca aside as well.

"Grace ... I-I can't talk about it. Those two almost drowned me just now, and I can't tonight." He turned to Luca. "Tomorrow you have to go and buy me some new cigarettes and a Zippo. Mine is in the Hudson, thanks to your beloved clan. Good night. Ciao."

Dante shuffled past the other clan members. He was so tired, so crestfallen, and so frustrated that he couldn't speak another snarky word- not even give a nod to Katana or Hudson.

"What happened, brother?" asked Coldstone.

Goliath and Broadway looked at each other in embarrassment before the leader opened his mouth "I think ... we'll take a quick shower and meet in the library in fifteen minutes with a few cups of cocoa to recap our night."

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Lexington clutched the translated documents to his chest. He had started printing them out as soon as he got home, although he was curious about Goliath's story of how the Quarrymen encounter had turned out. But more important to him was getting clarity on the Italian gargoyles. Grace and he were not going to be a couple one way or the other. But he needed to know if and how deeply they had been involved with the Italian Camorra. It was the duty of every gargoyle to protect the clan in his own way, and if they were a danger, he had to make that known even if Grace had saved his life. Uncertainly he touched the bandage on his arm. No longer the cloth handkerchief of Grace. She was so kind, and helpful, and a strong asset to the clan where none had her skills to show for it. But WHY did she have those abilities? Was it not because she was a killer after all? And this ... gruesome mindless obedience to authority that had caused her to break Angela's finger bones. If she or Dante could pose even the slightest danger in the future, it had to be discussed in the clan.

Unfortunately, for those who knew that Gargoyles had been operating in the Naples area, the reports - though vague - left no doubt. Too many testimonies pointed to monstros, demoni, and more. People of the underworld who told of winged killers. More than that, a Camorra boss named Della Marra is said to have made a pact with the devil who gave him two demon children who blindly followed his wishes and left a bloody trail among his competitors and generally everyone who stood in his way. For years.

Demon children of Della Mara. Few had survived to tell of them. Certainly more had survived than could be assumed, but perhaps they were afraid of death and therefore said nothing. For fear that rats would be devoured by the demons.

He pushed open the door to the library and heard Katana finish her sentence.

"-so Dante was actually already dead. And you brought him back."

"It was a close call. I deeply regret it all."

Goliath stood in front of the seating area with a petrified face. Everyone else had settled down on the cushions or on the carpet. Grace and Luca sat squashed together in one of the armchairs, looking terribly haunted.

"It really was an accident," Broadway said, wincing as the red gargoyle woman jumped up, fists clenched, and stomped away. Luca followed behind her.

No one asked where they were going. They all knew.

Lexington asked Katana, who was sipping her tea, what had happened and she enlightened him in a lengthy but very matter-of-factly delivered sentence."

"That's terrible," Lexington said quietly, feeling like the information on the leaves was burning a hole in his chest.

"What have you got there, friend?" asked Coldfire.

The little web-wing lifted the leaves as if he first had to remember why he was carrying them. He rolled up the bundle, smiled at the others and said. " Aw, nothin' at all. Nerd stuff."

.

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Lexington stepped into the room where his computer was located in a corner. It was not the general living area of the clan but a less frequented side room where he could isolate himself and get the privacy he needed especially for his chat friends. The privacy he needed for Amp. It was strange for a Gargoyle to seek distance so regularly. Everyone felt that way at times, but it was more in times of emotional crisis or in hours of reflection. But with him it was different. Just as he had always been a little different throughout his life. This made him sometimes a little solitary, but he had learned to cope with it. It was also not comparable to Goliath's reading hours, he thought. His computer games, his technology, his chat sessions - it was a hobby, an escape from reality and self-protection all in one. All this was denied him when he saw Dante lying on the couch in the other corner of the room. The papers in his hand crackled as he clutched them tighter without meaning to.

Dante didn't respond, had his back turned to him. His wild red hair flowed over the armrest and almost to the floor. But the understanding green gargoyle noticed how he pressed his hand to his ribs and a low whistle came from his beak with each breath. Although he now knew that it was highly likely that probably both Gargoyles (and perhaps Luca as well) had been (perhaps still were?) collaborators and assassins for the Camorra, he could not muster the fright and rejection that would have been appropriate. Not after that night. A night in which Grace had saved his life. A night when Dante had almost been killed. They were probably murderers. But for sure they were trying to get better now. Somehow even the unpleasant, rough Dante.

"Don't just stand there," this one growled. "You were probably about to tell me to fuck off out of your room."

"Wasn't going to," Lexington said, and walked over to his desk where he made the printouts disappear under a pile of printer paper.

"I just assumed you were staying in Luca's room."

Dante behind him grunted. "Too dangerous. As soon as he finishes helping my sister get her gold medal in praying, he'll come back there and maybe she will too, and she'll want to talk to me. Not up for that."

"I can understand that," Lexington muttered, his hand on his desk, looking indecisively at the bedraggled bundle on the couch. Normally, the scarred fellow looked much more pulled together. Probably it was not only because of his traumatic experience or the pain. He was more downcast than Lexington had ever seen him. It was not rancor, which seemed to be his constant companion. It was fatigue. And not one that could be cured with stone sleep.

"I feel your googly-eyed stare piercing my back," Dante grumbled. "Don't act like you care what's going on with an asshole like me. I don't want to talk. I don't want questions. Just do what you want to do here or kick me out of here."

Lex screwed up his face behind him because of the remarks, which were just a protective mechanism after all. Dante wasn't any older than he was (if you subtracted the thousand years of sleep), but he wasn't allowed to bitch like his first impulse was at Dante's snarky tone. It wouldn't make either of them feel better.

He turned on clawed feet, walked three rooms away to a bathroom that other clansmen liked to frequent, took what he needed there, and went back to his computer room. He approached the recumbent malefactor and touched his shoulder. Quick as a flash, he squirmed and grabbed Lexington's wrist in an iron-hard grip. Before he immediately let go and writhed in pain. "Ahhhrrrg! I told you to leave me alone."

"You actually said to do what I want. And I think you need someone to do your hair."

Dante looked at him through clenched teeth in confusion.

"Are you out of your mind?"

"No. I just always had the impression that you pride yourself on your neat appearance. And especially your hair. And really, it looks like a mob dried in the dirt right now."

Lex raised his hands with a cheeky smile. In which were comb, brush and several hair bands.

"So? How does it look? I don't want to talk. I just want to improve this - disaster there on your head."

Dante opened his mouth to say something very disgusting. Something about gay little baldies and hair. But instead he pulled one of his hair strands in front of his eyes. Dull and straw-like. A disgrace to him as a man and an Italian. Even the hair of Manhattan Clan barbarians looked many times better.

He took an involuntary whistling breath in and out and slid into an upright position along with his folded wings so that the little web-wing could fit behind him.

"This is not an invitation to fondle, okay?"

"I'll be able to hold myself back," Lex returned sternly, raising the comb.

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Nashville, after stealing back into the castle, washing off the paint and putting back the clothes, roamed the castle looking for Dante. He had seen him. He was quite sure of that. Nashville had quickly disappeared behind the next block of houses and had immediately taken another route to the castle, but he had been seen. By an adult. It was sad but good at that point that the ill-mannered Italian gargoyle still seemed isolated from many members of the clan, just like his sister. Perhaps Dante had not yet met anyone to whom he could gossip that the hatchling had flown out - for example, his mother.

He found Broadway and Coldfire in the kitchen (the cyborgs and animated robots didn't eat, but Coldfire could cut vegetables at the speed of light, which made her a welcome presence in the kitchen). Both told him about Goliath's mishap with Dante. Nashville was sorry to hear this, but he hoped that the gray gargoyle had retreated rather than spill the beans. But now he had been searching for twenty minutes on the battlements, in Luca De Santis' room, in the chapel where the human and Grace sat cuddled together in one of the benches, whispering to each other.

Only pro forma he peered into the room where he least thought he would find Dante. Yet there he was. He was squatting on the couch with Lexington ... and getting his hair braided?

Nash almost laughed, the scene was so ridiculous. And why could Lex braid hair? He didn't have a single strand of hair on his head!

The young gargoyle, fearful that one of his kin already knew of his transgression, stepped into the room and approached the mismatched pair. Dante - presumably to better bear the pain sat cross-legged with a very straight back. He was quiet (except for the whistling sound with each breath) and had his eyes closed as if he was enjoying what Lexington was doing, who was squatting behind him. On the floor lay a comb and a hairbrush full of long red hair, which was probably a sign that his uncle had been working on Dante for several minutes. But as strange as this ... collaboration was, it seemed to work. Never before had Nash seen the gray evildoer so content. As he stood next to Lex, the latter noticed him and smiled broadly. Dante at least seemed to sense that someone was there and turned his head.

"Hey!" said Lex almost indignantly, as the almost finished braid slipped from his clutches. Without comment, the Italian dutifully brought his head back to its original position. Nashville, ignoring Lexington's impromptu adhesive bandage around the upper arm, squatted unobtrusively on the floor next to Dante.

"A-Are you okay, Dante?" he asked cautiously, knowing his eyes were asking something else entirely.

And oddly enough, the Italic gargoyle smirked with a wink in Nash's direction, unseen by Lexington, raised - just as unseen - his hand in front of his beak and made the silence gesture with his index finger.

"Everything's okay," he said, and Nashville breathed a sigh of relief. Sharing a surprisingly amicable silence - one gargoyle savoring, one thinking, one working - there was absolute peace and tranquility in the room for two or three more minutes. Until Lexington, although he had already taken his time, had to lean back at some point because he was done.

"So - mission accomplished," he said, and Dante pulled his new braid forward.

Critically, he kneaded the braid.

"What's this?"

"It's called a five strand braid."

"Fancy," Dante admitted, turning around and giving both Nashville and Lexington a genuine smile for the first time. Lex suddenly coughed, hopped to his feet and grabbed the brush. With stiff steps he strode to the garbage basket at his desk and began to pull each of the red hairs out of the natural fiber brush. This he did with his back to the other two gargoyles so that no one could see his flaming red face.

"Didn't know you could braid," his nephew commented.

"Just because I don't have hair, or what? I was a youth rookery keeper for the next generation for two years in the Middle Ages. Hatchlings drag their hair through the dirt all the time. Do you know how many braids I had to do? It was torture. I can braid- but only do it now when it's ... uhh."

"Absolutely necessary?" offered Dante, and Lexington grinned across the length of the room.

"Exactly."

Nashville was about to open his mouth to say something - something trivial but inoffensive - to keep the relaxed mood going when there was a knock on the door and someone stuck his beak in.

"Ah, Signora Katana," Dante said, but lost his smile when behind the woman he liked, the clan leader who towered over her also entered and closed the door behind him. Although the wounds had already stopped bleeding for the most part, his entire forearm was wrapped in bandages. As a precaution and for hygiene reasons so that really no scars remained.

Katana sat down on the empty seat on the couch, smiled at her son but then took Dante's hand.

"You're looking a little better, Dante-kun."

"Yes. I'm feeling a little better. And Lexington fixed my hair."

Both Katana and Goliath looked wide-eyed at the green gargoyle, who just nodded and tried to maintain a not-too-shameful poker face.

"I wanted to apologize to you once more, Dante," Goliath said.

Dante - grim again, again with that cold expression, squinted his eyes, opened his beak to probably spit out truths and vulgarities at the same time, but then closed it again. His gaze went from Goliath to Katana and back again while it was obvious to everyone that his first angry impulse was fading away and giving way to higher thoughts.

"There were three of us. There were only four of them. We could have taken them down," he stated then.

"We don't act like that, Dante," Goliath said, getting down on one knee to be at the eye level of the gray gargoyle who had almost died because of him and was now injured.

"I know you don't act like that," Dante remarked, sounding as weary as any of the others had ever heard him. "You hide like mice avoiding the cat. You twist and turn to avoid a superior force of life-threatening enemies. More than that, you risk your lives night after night to help the ungrateful kind of these butchers."

He laughed bitterly and had he still had cigarettes or lighter (functional) he would have lit one now. "Serve and Protect. Why? For the good feeling? No, not for some petty egomaniacal helper complex shit. You justify it with your self-image, your nature, your essence. The essence of gargoyles." He put his head back and closed his eyes. "Then why haven't I something like that? Why?"

"You have it in you, too, Dante," Nashville said - surprised that none of the adults had sent him out yet.

"Don't you ... weren't you protecting your father and his uhh family in Italy?" the young Gargoyle asked cautiously. He didn't want to put himself in the spotlight so that one of the others would realize that he had no place in an adult conversation, but at the same time he wanted to contribute something to the topic. Something to make Dante feel better.

"That was something else," the former Camorra prince muttered.

"We understand that our handling of this threat frustrates you. But they're just angry, scared people," Katana opined.

"Angry, scared people killed the entire clan of Grace and me. And your clan. Don't look at me like that, I've listened to your stories. I always listen."

"We can't hate the whole world because a few people want to kill us. And you know that, you are smarter than that. A human raised you."

Dante let out a mirthless snort and smirked at the older purple gargoyle.

"You're a good clan leader Goliath. Although I don't know what a good clan leader should be like but I think just like that. Minus the drowning and breaking ribs. But you are right- I am smarter than that. That's why I know you know that my father was NOT the paragon of humanity."

Goliath pressed his lips together. He and Katana had a lot to say about his words, but held back because they both felt that Dante would never be more honest than in these minutes of pain and weakness. Lexington, at his desk, was trying to disappear into the shadows anyway, and had his hand on the pile of printer paper as if the printouts underneath could come to life and flutter out from under it without that.

"But, you still loved him," Goliath said reasonably. "One person is enough. One person you cared about. You don't hate them all because you know they're just ordinary ignorant people."

"Let me cut off the head of the snake," said the Italian seriously, reaching for Goliath's hand and immediately concretizing his words.

"Let me kill Castaway. No one else will I ever hurt seriously again."

"Nashville, get out," Lexington said in alarm but Dante grabbed the kid's shoulder.

"If he wants to, he can stay. He can keep quiet. I know it." He turned back to Katana and Goliath behind her. "Castaway's the only one I terminate. I don't get it that you guys are doing endless Sisyphean work catching little criminals who are out after a few hours or days anyway. But this fat fish I can take care of. Big actions - they change something. That's how I protect. I can do it. It's the only thing I'm good at. I'm fast. I can do it in such a way that no one will know a gargoyle was at work. Give me permission. And one hour with my knives. And after that ... I'll try to be a better Gargoyle."

Goliath and Katana looked at each other in horror, where Nashville could only look up at Dante, his face showing no emotion. But he and everyone else were wiser than to interfere now. This was a conversation for the clan leader.

The purple Gargoyle put his hands over Dante's, who had touched him before of his own accord.

"This is not the way of Gargoyles. We used to kill. In the heat of battle or to eliminate direct threats. But not like this."

"How direct does the threat have to get? So direct that Nashville dies?" Katana gasped, and Dante held her gaze. "Or until your mate dies? Or your detective?" He looked again at Goliath, and a rumble stirred in both the manhattan gargoyles' throats at the thought of losing their mates or children to Quarrymen. But Goliath swallowed his anger at the notion. He had to make Dante understand why they didn't kill Castaway. They themselves, with a good plan, could make it look like none of them were involved. But they would know.

"What would Grace say about this?" asked Katana.

"If she ever finds out, it will be enough to say that the elders and the clan leader approved."

"That's exactly what we can't do. We are not like those who hunt us."

"What good is your moral integrity and honor if your lives are in danger?"

"Dante. Having a life on your conscience robs you of a piece of yourself every time. Taking a life for revenge is bad enough. But taking one just as a preventive measure opens the door to arbitrariness. I know you know what I'm talking about."

"I know what you're talking about. But I don't get it."

"Do you want to disappoint your sister like that? Or Luca De Santis? Or me?" whispered Katana.

Dante looked up with wide eyes. Gently, he took the ice-blue woman's hand, guided it to his beak, and breathed a kiss on it.

"I don't want to disappoint you, signora. Not even Mister Clean do I want to disappoint. But I know you will not accept me into your great, noble clan."

"That's far from decided," Goliath said in a firm voice. "We're all different, and you can be a good protector once you break your hard shell and adapt more."

"And what if I don't want to? Or can't? What if I don't want you to break me up? Giuliano has spent decades breaking me, making me hard and cold." He narrowed his eyes and showed his usual grumpy expression. "If you break this shell, there will be nothing left of me. Nothing at all left for anyone to do anything with. My sister has her faith that can catch her. And Luca, when those two birdbrains are up to it. But I ... I have nothing."

"What about music?" asked Nashville, and all three adults looked down at him as if they were only now remembering him. Even Lexington's gaze Nash felt at his back and cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Grace said you could sing. You used to be happier when you sang. And you tried your hand at playing the guitar. I'm sure there's a guitar in Xanato's music room that he'll let you use."

The gray gargoyle laughed out loud and immediately held his ribs. Then he patted Nash's cheek like a patronizing but loving mafia godfather.

"Oh kiddo. No guitar can withstand our claws. The strings snap almost instantly. And I haven't sung in months. Last I think - in the ruins of our mansion. Since I've been in America, all music has faded. And even if it hadn't ... that would just be ridiculous."

"You alone decide what's ridiculous, Dante-kun. There are many paths to inner peace. Even if you can't see yourself as a protector the way we do ... maybe you can find something you're comfortable with someday. Something you can help others with in your own way," Katana said and stood up. "This conversation has exhausted us all. Would you like to join us for dinner?"

"... Yes. I'd love to. Thank you, Katana." Dante stood up laboriously. He and Goliath nodded to each other, at least somewhat smoothing the waters from the first half of the night, and Nashville shuffled after the adults, a little sad but half-satisfied as well. At the door, the gray gargoyle turned around again. His neat shiny braid was a waving adornment on the back of his neck.

"Are you coming?"

Lexington grinned broadly. "I'll return the brush and catch up," he said.

Then they were gone.

The technician and geek of the clan took a deep breath, pushed the printer paper aside and put his hand on the evidence that Dante and Grace were probably killers. Elisa would ask him about it. And he would have to answer her. But those printouts were a little too overwhelming. The summary he would come up with, on the other hand, would shine a light on the better sides of the two Italians. Lexington swept the stapled-together pages into the wastebasket. He didn't do it because Grace had saved his life. He didn't do it because Dante had shown him that wonderful grateful smile that made his whole body tingle. He did it because he was protecting Clan - and they were somehow Clan.

Ahhh hair braiding girls - so heartwarming. Why did Lexington never play the gay hairstylist for Heather in Souls of the Night? Because A- it was never an emergency and B- she bit him right at the beginning because his creation took too long for her.

Thanks for reading Q.T.