October 29, 1997
4:56 p.m.
Castle Wyvern
Hudson woke up from a nightmare, his cry at awakening quickly splintering into a guttural wail of despair.
He didn't have nightmares often, and when he did, they generally paled in comparison to the horrors he had experienced over the course of his long, arduous life. But this had been no ordinary dream. It had forced him to relive the moment he had lost his mate over, and over, and over again.
He tried so hard not to think of that awful night. The night she fell in battle at the hands of one of King Cullen's men, mere seconds after saving one of their clan's children. The moment he'd held her crumpled body in his arms, crouched in the muck of the battlefield, and watched in horror as the life ebbed out of her. Her lips had parted as she took her final breath, and with it, all the joy went out of his life forever.
Having to revisit that hideous night again in graphic detail was more than the old gargoyle could bear. He buried his face in his hands, overcome with grief.
Lexington, who had been perched nearby, noticed Hudson's demeanor and the sorrow that gripped him. It was a rare thing for Hudson to display emotion like that, and it frightened Lex to behold him in such a state.
"Are… are you alright, Hudson?" Lexington asked him timidly.
It took his old leader a moment to collect himself.
"Aye. I'm alright, lad," he lied, his voice gruff.
"Have you been having bad dreams, too?" Lexington asked, his voice barely above a terrified whisper, like he was admitting something he was afraid to confess aloud.
Hudson eyed his rookery son thoughtfully.
"Aye, lad," he answered.
"Do you… do you want to talk about it?" Lex cautiously asked.
"Nay, lad," Hudson said even more gently.
The youth nodded and walked away. Lex didn't want to talk about his dreams either. He couldn't reveal that they had forced him to live his deepest, darkest fears. Dreams of confessing his feelings to Amp and being mocked and degraded for it, of his clan finding out his secret and then beating, berating, and banishing him for it.
Hudson pensively watched Lexington go. The lad had been withdrawn since they'd returned from London earlier in the year. He knew he'd been grappling with some difficult things. Things he probably didn't think Hudson was aware of. The old gargoyle had seen the way Lexington had lit up anytime he was around the young British gargoyle, Staghart. More so than he ever had around Angela or any other female in the London clan.
Hudson stroked his beard. It wasn't his place to tell the lad who he should or should not love. Nor was it his place to question him about it. Lex would tell them when he was ready, he assured himself.
He went to rest his hand on the pommel of his sword, a thing he often did subconsciously now when he was thinking or looking for something familiar and grounding, but his hand fumbled in empty space. He looked to his hip, but there was nothing there.
His sword was gone.
An unsettled, almost unbalanced feeling came over him upon finding it missing.
Hudson had a complicated relationship with his sword. Sometimes he was reassured by its weight, the sharpness of the blade, its ready presence on his hip, but other times it felt like a crutch, a reminder that he was not as young and hale as he once was. It was also a morbid reminder of the humans who had attacked their castle over a thousand years ago. He had taken it from one of Hakon's men. He hadn't meant to keep it, and yet, he had.
Hudson hadn't realized how accustomed he'd grown to it until it was gone.
He was all but certain he'd had it with him when he went to sleep that morning, but decided he would ask around anyway just in case he'd misremembered and someone had seen it.
Still a bit weary from his troubled sleep, the old gargoyle started speaking with the members of his clan, one by one, as he came across them in the castle. Young Nashville said something testily about it probably being in the same place as his kodachi, but Hudson knew that remark was of little use, and soldiered on. Though the other clan members had gentler responses, the result was always the same; no one had seen his missing sword.
He would have continued searching for it, but he had plans with a friend that evening that he didn't want to break.
Despite his best efforts to put the search for the sword out of his mind, the disconcerting feelings of being off-balance and semi-naked persisted all the way with him to the home of his friend, Jeffrey Robbins. As he alighted on Robbins's terrace, he glanced over at the stone wall surrounding his friend's home and was reminded of waking up there once with an important item missing from his grasp. He rolled his shoulder, trying to shake the sense of déjà vu, then tapped his knuckles against one of the many tempered-glass panes of the front door.
"I already have the kettle on, come on in," Robbins said when he answered Hudson's knock. Gilly, Robbins's seeing-eye dog, eagerly licked Hudson's talons in a cheerful greeting as the old gargoyle crossed the threshold. He gave her a gentle scratch behind the ear in response.
Hudson soon settled into a big, comfortable armchair next to the crackling fire and graciously accepted the cup of tea that Robbins pressed into his hands. As he took a sip, the steaming liquid sent a wave of warmth through his body that seeped into his bones and eased the night's chill, finally helping him feel a little more relaxed. Staring around his friend's peaceful home filled with shelves of books and service mementos, Hudson realized it was a relief to be away from the castle and the shenanigans going on there.
"How's the research on yer next book goin'?" Hudson asked as Robbins took a seat in the adjacent armchair.
"Good. It's been quite interesting. The Scrolls of Merlin that you told me about have been an invaluable resource for my research," he replied.
"Ye don't say?" Hudson said, intrigued though not surprised.
"Now that their translation from ancient Celtic to English has been published in braille, I've been able to read them myself. It's fascinating. I always thought Arthur and his court were just stories, but the scrolls themselves, and the haunting veracity of the words upon parchment, make you think that it could have all been real. That he really could have existed. Do you think that's possible?" Jeffrey mused rhetorically.
"Aye, I reckon so," Hudson replied wryly, causing Robbins to raise his eyebrows. The old gargoyle stroked his beard absentmindedly as he spoke. "Ye know… I ken a thing or two about King Arthur."
"Are the legends of King Arthur well known to your people, too?" Robbins asked, intrigued by Hudson's admission.
"Oh, we have a close connection, ye could say. Enough so, I wouldnae call them mere legends. Did ye know there were gargoyles in his court?"
"Really?"
"Aye."
"Fascinating. You originally hail from Scotland, correct?"
"Aye," Hudson replied with a smile that Robbins could hear in the fondness of his tone.
"I imagine there's an Arthurian legend or two from your neck of the woods."
"Some, but I've actually learned more about the man recently," Hudson replied cryptically.
"Because you can read now."
"Aye, that's one way to put it," Hudson said, smiling to himself.
He absentmindedly stirred his cup with a teaspoon as pensive thoughts worked their way to the surface. Things old superstitions would normally have prevented him from speaking aloud. But one thing he had learned in his many years of experience, and even more so from his recent education—knowledge was power, and it could both dispel and arm one against fear. Now was no time to shrink away from the unknown, he reminded himself. He shifted in his chair and cleared his throat.
"Robbins, in all yer research, ye haven't come across anything about ghosts, have ye?"
"Ghosts?" Robbins said surprised.
Hudson grunted in affirmation.
"Now that's a strange question. Can't say that I have," Robbins replied. "Why do you ask?"
"There have been some odd happenings at home lately. Things that are hard to explain, like items gone missin'. And I… I've been plagued by bad dreams of old memories lately that have resurfaced despite my best efforts to keep them at bay. Losses too terrible to dwell on…" Hudson's right hand moved to his chest, the palm settling just over his heart, as though pained.
"I'm sorry, Hudson, I don't think I can offer you any kind of meaningful explanation, especially not one involving the supernatural." Hudson's inquiries clearly spanned beyond the academic, and while Robbins couldn't actually see Hudson's face, the ache in his friend's voice was palpable. It was an ache he himself recognized all too well, even though the two had never spoken of it before. After a small pause, Robbins's tone took on an affectionate but sad note. "You know… I lost my partner a few years ago to a terrible disease."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Hudson said sympathetically, realizing his friend had seen right into the depths of his soul, despite his literal blindness. He should have known Robbins would. It was his gift, after all. "I lost my mate years ago to… to an accident." Hudson answered the unspoken question as best as he could. He knew he couldn't tell his friend about how she had really died by the sword in a battle that had occurred 1,026 years ago. That would be too much for him to relive and it would surely be too much for Robbins to take. Perhaps some day he would tell his friend the whole truth, but not tonight. The details weren't necessary, he told himself.
"That dreadful night… even the shadow of the memory… tears at me. I can't bear to speak of it much or even bring myself to think of her, or us, as we once were, lest it all comes floodin' back. The past is the past, and that's where it should stay."
Robbins was quiet a moment, then he smiled softly toward his friend. "We each grieve and learn to live with our grief in our own way, Hudson. But the past is never truly behind us, is it? It echoes and reverberates throughout every moment of our lives, shaping us, guiding us. And likewise, those we cared about are never truly gone either. Their love, their influence—even the sense of their presence—stays with us."
Robbins reached over the side of his armchair and gave Gilly a soft pat on the head. The dancing firelight reflected in his sunglasses, and his face angled away slightly, as though he were looking past Hudson toward some distant figure. When he finally spoke again, his voice had a misty quality to it.
"My partner had this tendency to leave his shoes out, no matter how much I scolded him for it, and every now and then I would trip over them. As you can imagine, it's important for me that everything be kept in the same place all the time. He knew that of course, but it's hard to break a habit, even for one that you love. Since his passing, I've lived alone, but every now and then I find a shoe where it shouldn't be. I like to believe it's Charles messing with me a little, like he's saying hello," Robbins said with a laugh. "Of course it could be Gilly who has a fondness for loafers, but I prefer to think it's Chuck."
Hudson chuckled along with Robbins, amused by the tale, and then he thought of his own experiences.
"Sometimes I feel my mate's presence, the weight of her hand on my shoulder, whispering advice into my ear, and… it does comfort me… when I let it," Hudson admitted.
"I don't speak often of Charles…" Robbins said sadly. "There aren't many who understand that kind of loss, especially since he wasn't my spouse… but he was in my heart. In every way that mattered."
"And that's all that should matter," Hudson said gruffly.
"You know, you're surprisingly open-minded, Hudson," Robbins observed, a smile in his voice.
Hudson scoffed. "I could say the same o' ye," he said, and Robbins chuckled. "My clan thinks I'm out o' touch at times, but I ken what's going on more than they realize."
"I do not doubt it, my friend," Robbins said fondly.
They sat a while enjoying their tea and the comfortable silence, and then the clock on the mantle chimed the hour.
"What're ye doin' on Halloween night?" Hudson asked after the clock had finished. All their talk of ghosts had suddenly given the old gargoyle an idea. "If yer interested, there's a celebration at the castle."
"At Xanatos's Castle?"
"Aye."
"That's an exclusive event. I've heard you can't get in without an invitation."
"If yer with me, you don't need an invitation," Hudson said.
Robbins smiled.
"So, those rumors are true then," he said.
"What rumors?"
"That Xanatos is harboring gargoyles at his castle skyscraper."
Hudson snorted, which Jeffrey took as a yes.
"I'd love to go with you, Hudson," he said with a smile. "Now, would you like to hear an excerpt from my book?"
"Aye, I'd love to," Hudson said as he settled in to listen.
…
…
After reading five bedtime stories, singing four songs, and giving several hugs and kisses, Fox had finally managed to get Alex to sleep. But toddler bedtime routines were tiring on both parties, and she was now exhausted and wanting nothing more than to soak in her large clawfoot tub with a glass of wine.
After filling the tub, adding some bath salts, and pouring herself a glass of her favorite full-bodied red, she climbed in, sighing with delight as she sank into the hot, effervescing water up to her neck.
She leaned back and soaked for a while. In a short span of time, she drained one glass of wine, then a second, and her mind delightfully drifted as the water soothed her tired muscles; she even started to doze off, lulled by the enveloping warmth of the bath.
The shock of her head suddenly submerging underwater woke her, thrusting her into a state of frenzied panic. She tried to sit up, to cough out the water she had inadvertently inhaled, but something was pinning her down.
As she flailed about, she dropped the wine glass that she'd been loosely holding in one hand, dangling over the side of the tub. Even with her ears submerged, she heard it shatter as it hit the floor. She cried out in alarm, but her voice was muffled by the water, and the sounds of her own thrashing, and she only managed to get another mouthful of water for her efforts. She spluttered and fought as she tried to sit up, but someone's arms held her down with an ironfast grip. She pushed, clawed, and hit back with impressive strength, but to no avail. She desperately wished she hadn't dropped the wine glass on the floor because she could have smashed it against the side of the tub and used the broken stem as a makeshift weapon against her attacker.
Her lungs were starting to burn from the lack of oxygen, but she managed to get her face above the surface just once and sucked down a lungful of air before another pair of arms grabbed her and pushed her back down into the water. She clawed at the two sets of arms, horrified that it wasn't just one but two people who were trying to drown her. Her limbs thrashed as she fought. Her lungs were burning again, the edges of her vision were turning black. Her strikes were becoming weaker, her limbs heavier as they were deprived of oxygen. She fought the urge to breathe in, despite how badly she wanted to, knowing her lungs would fill with water instead of air. Panic, fear, and a desperate need to survive replaced every other feeling and need.
In her desperation she reached for her magic. She felt the often impenetrable barrier that separated her from it. It was there on the other side just out of reach. She clawed for it, desperately reaching.
Please, she begged.
She was growing weaker. She couldn't fight any more. She felt helpless. And then that helplessness turned to anger, and she let it flood every limb, every pore, every part of her.
It's my magic. MINE! she projected loudly, and she felt the barrier shatter.
Power surged into her, through her, and she savagely unleashed it.
The arms that held her down relinquished their vice-like grip, releasing her instantly. Fox sat up, bursting out of the water, coughing and spluttering uncontrollably, gasping for breath, and sucking it down in massive gulps.
She looked frantically around for her attackers, for the people who had just tried to kill her, but there was no one in the bathroom but her. She climbed out of the tub, slipping a little on the water she had sloshed all over the floor in her frantic flailing, and grabbed onto the edge of the tub to keep from falling. She forgot about the broken glass, and her foot found a piece that sliced into her skin. She cried out in pain and nearly slipped on the wet floor as she hobbled across the tile and away from the shards of glass.
"David!" she shouted, her voice a little hoarse.
She desperately tried to cling to her magic, but she felt it slip through her grasp like she was trying to hold onto smoke. She cursed its fickle nature and looked around for anything she could use to defend herself with.
"DAVID!" she shouted again.
Her husband burst into the bathroom looking around for a threat. The sound of his wife's cry for help having drawn him in.
"What's going on?" he demanded.
Fox stood naked and dripping with water, shivering with cold and shock as blood oozed from her wounded foot.
"Two people just tried to kill me!" she cried.
Xanatos saw a bright flash of green in her eyes as her terror turned to fury.
…
…
Broadway pulled the lasagna he had made out of the oven and set it on the counter to cool. He inhaled the mouth-watering aroma that wafted from it, and felt pride in his accomplishment. Hopefully it tasted as good as it looked and smelled.
Everyone, except for Goliath who was tagging along with Matt and Elisa tonight, had begun to gather and situate themselves around the table. Even Hudson had rejoined the clan after returning from visiting his friend with Bronx loping along behind him.
"How's Jeffrey?" Brooklyn asked as Hudson settled in at the table.
"Doin' well. His next book is comin' along nicely," Hudson replied.
"We look forward to reading it again," Brooklyn replied with a wry smile.
"Ye've read the book he's currently writin'?" Hudson said, surprised.
"Yes, and that's the last thing I'll say about it," Brooklyn taunted.
"Does it do well?" Hudson pestered.
"I'm not saying another word, Hudson," Brooklyn said with a grin.
The elder gargoyle harrumphed.
Broadway placed the steaming lasagna on the table and started to serve it up onto plates, when Bronx stood up and started growling and barking loudly.
"Cool it Bronx, you'll get a piece, too," Broadway said. But he kept on barking and growling. And then Fu-Dog started up and joined him like he was in on the excitement.
"What the hell? Fu, no! Cool it!" Brooklyn scolded the beast.
The chaos and the cacophony caused by the two beasts was nearly intolerable and threatened to destroy the peaceful meal, but Hudson shrugged and lifted a fork-full of lasagna to his mouth. He'd put up with worse before.
Bronx leapt up onto the table, which groaned under his solid weight but held, as he knocked plates and dishes off right and left, and kicked the freshly-baked lasagna onto the floor. Then with a swipe of one massive paw, he knocked the forkful of lasagna right out of Hudson's hands.
Now that was a bridge too far.
"That's enough, Bronx!" Hudson growled angrily as he shook out his smarting hand. "Away with ye!"
Bronx leapt down, sending more dishes flying, and he scurried across the stone floor as Hudson chased him off, knocking over a trash can in his haste to get away.
Fu-Dog wandered over to sniff and inspect the contents of the can that had spilled out onto the floor, hoping to find a tasty morsel, but he jerked back and growled.
"The beasts are acting very strangely," Katana noted.
"I'm surprised Fu-Dog isn't cleaning up the ruined lasagna," Angela said as she picked the casserole dish up off the ground. "Wait… "
Something in the dish caught her eye, and she peered closer at it. A blue-green pellet peeked out from amongst the layers of noodles, meat, and cheese.
"What is that?" she said, a foreboding sensation creeping up her spine.
Fu-dog started barking loudly at the trash.
Angela poked at the lasagna with a talon and found a few more bluish pellets amongst the layers of bright red sauce and noodles.
Lexington picked up the spilled contents of the trash can when he made an unexpected discovery. He held up a box that had large, ominous warning labels all over it.
"Rat poison?" he said, alarmed. A few pellets spilled out of the box and onto the floor identical in shape and color to the ones found in the lasagna. "Do we have a rat problem?"
"I think it's in the lasagna," Angela speculated out loud, her voice filled with horror.
The others gathered around her to see for themselves, and gasps of shock rose up from the huddling crowd.
"If it weren't for Bronx and Fu-Dog, that could have made us very sick, or worse," Katana said.
"Yeah, good job, boys. Sorry we were slow to understand," Brooklyn said to the pair of beasts as he knelt down and scratched their heads.
"How did rat poison get in the lasagna?" Nashville asked.
"Because someone put it there, obviously," Lexington said snidely.
He glanced at Broadway, who caught the surreptitious look and immediately took offense to it. How could anyone think he had done it?
"I don't know how it got in there!" he said defensively as the others started looking at him for an explanation. "I didn't do it, I swear. I wouldn't hurt any of you!"
He felt sick to his stomach just at the thought.
"I know it wasn't you, Broadway," Angela said, defending her mate. "This is the work of someone or even… something else."
All eyes focused on Angela.
"What are ye supposin', lass?" Hudson asked encouragingly.
"Well… I know you've all noticed a lot of odd things happening around the castle lately. And it's my belief that there have been far too many for them to be merely coincidental, bad luck, or carelessness. We've been blaming each other for most of it, but… what if it's not any of us? What if it's not being caused by a gargoyle or a human at all?"
Everyone was staring at her now, but Angela wasn't sure if it was because they were merely stunned by the suggestion, or they thought her mad.
"Do you think it was Puck or Alex?" Lexington asked.
Angela shook her head.
"I don't think so."
"Then who else could it be?" Katana asked doubtfully. "Is it possible the rat poison got in by accident?"
"How?" Broadway said defensively.
"Well, you've put other things in the food before claiming it was an accident. Perhaps that is what happened tonight," Katana suggested.
"There's a big difference between accidentally putting the wrong spice in a meal and adding rat poison!" Broadway growled.
"Come now, all of ye," Hudson said firmly. "Let's not be blamin' each other. Not when we live with the devil himself."
"I don't think it was Xanatos, either," Angela said. "I think… I think this was supernatural." Her voice quavered slightly, but she put her hands on her hips and stood her ground.
"Come on," Brooklyn said doubtfully. "We've all seen weird shit, but really?"
"I believe you," Broadway said, taking her hand, and Angela smiled gratefully at her mate for having her back.
"Well, of course you'd take each other's side," Lexington said as he threw up his hands. "That doesn't prove anything."
"I think it's time we took this problem directly to the source," Hudson said as he stroked his beard. "We need to have a wee chat with Xanatos."
…
…
The clan marched to Xanatos's office intending to demand answers and access to the video surveillance footage of the kitchen. They weren't sure if the business tycoon would be awake this late, but he often kept odd hours, and it wasn't unusual to find him working in the middle of the night. But when they got to his office, they found Xanatos in the middle of an argument with his wife who looked like she had hastily gotten out of the bath. She was wearing nothing but a robe, and curiously, her left foot had been dressed and bandaged.
"There are no security cameras in the bathroom, obviously, but the cameras in the halls outside our quarters didn't pick up anyone entering the premises other than you. Are you certain you didn't accidentally fall asleep in the bath?" Xanatos asked his wife calmly. "You had been drinking."
That suggestion sent her whole body rigid, and she clenched her hands into fists.
"I know what happened!" she shouted. "I didn't just fall asleep, I was held down! And not just by one person! There were two sets of arms—that means two people, David! Two people tried to kill me!"
Xanatos put his hands reassuringly on her shoulders to try to smooth things over and calm her.
"Of course. I already have security doing a full sweep of the castle and the building," he said. "No one has turned up yet, but if they do, rest assured that I'll make them pay for hurting you."
Xanatos had ignored the gargoyles' unexpected entry as he spoke with his wife, but now he turned to address their intrusion.
"Can I help you?" he asked curtly, finally acknowledging their presence. He was usually fairly unflappable, but they could all hear the irritation in his tone.
"You need to add attempted poisoning onto your culprits' list of crimes," Angela said, and she marched forward and thrust the pan of lasagna onto his desk. "It's possible that whoever tried to hurt Fox also tried to poison us."
"Poison?" Xanatos said doubtfully.
"Yes. We found rat poison in the lasagna Broadway made, thankfully before anyone had eaten any of it."
"And Broadway isn't claiming responsibility, I take it?" Xanatos said wryly.
"Of course not!" Broadway and Angela said in unison.
Fox eyed the clan, and her eyes narrowed suspiciously as she made note of their unique anatomy and additional limbs.
"I'm starting to suspect that what I thought was a second set of arms were actually wings or a tail," she accused. "Perhaps the 'poisoner' was able to glide or climb down the side of the castle, enter through my bathroom window, and attack me."
"That's a plausible theory. I haven't looked at any of the footage from the external cameras yet," Xanatos said as he stroked his chin, the short hairs of his goatee rasping softly as he lent some validity to Fox's premise.
"Now, see here—" Hudson started to protest.
"We all know you've always had it out for me, Lex," Fox cut in.
"For good reason," Lexington countered. "But we have a truce. For Alex's sake."
"If I find out you or one of your clan are responsible—" the rest of Fox's words were drowned out as contentious shouts rose up among the clan as they all spoke up at once to defend Lex and themselves.
"Ye can't be blaming us, lass," Hudson said loudly over his clan, trying to sound calm and reasonable. "We'd never harm any o' ye, not unless it were in self defense. Don't ye forget that we have also been victims of this tomfoolery, and threats have been made to our own safety. There're also a number o' our personal belongings that have mysteriously gone missin'. My sword, fer instance—"
"And my kodachi!" Nashville piped up.
The others listed several items they were all missing, including Brooklyn's weapons and armor, and Katana's sword, amongst a number of other things.
"I couldn't care less about the trivial items you have lost," Xanatos snapped, his patience and tolerance worn thin. "Did you not hear that someone," he glared pointedly at them, "just tried to assassinate my wife tonight? And when I find out who, I don't care if it was Goliath himself, they will pay a very steep price, I can assure you."
If Xanatos had intended to offend the entire clan, he had certainly succeeded. Brightly glowing eyes and an ominous chorus of growls rose up from the clan at the threat he had leveled, and they readied themselves for a fight. Only Hudson kept a cool head, and he held up a hand to placate them.
"I see we won't be findin' any help here," he growled. "Come now, all o' ye."
The clan quickly filed out, giving the Xanatos couple baleful looks as they left. No one bothered to retrieve the pan of poisoned lasagna. They simply left it there, sitting accusatorially on the desk.