.

Brood of a New Age

18.

Around four o'clock on a Monday morning, three gargoyles landed silently on the outer wall of their castle.

Nashville hopped off the battlements and was already on his way inside. Brooklyn and Katana stayed behind and the gargoyle woman, similarly pale in color as Nashville, pulled her dark tenugui from her beak, which was slightly shorter than that of her red mate or child.

"Why did you keep looking toward Nashville during the patrol?" asked Katana.

Brooklyn shook his head."I don't know, Babe. Don't you think he's weird tonight?"

"He just grumbled less when we told him to stay on the roof during the break-in. And he triped the drug dealer up and tied him up without giving the superior We're-the-guardians-of-the-night talk."

"Exactly! Our brood! Complaining less! And he ... didn't seem to take much joy at all in the missions where he was allowed to participate. It's like his mind was somewhere else."

"Too much joy at something like this can kill - your rule number 8."

"Yes. But ... There's something wrong."

"That was one of the longest patrols he's been on in weeks. Almost three hours. Maybe he realized it was your way of apologizing for your outburst and aloofness the last few nights."

For a moment Brooklyn wanted to rebel against the assumptions (insinuations) of his partner. He was the Second of the Clan- he didn't have to grovel for an outburst and his strictness. Especially not to his child. But ...yes, it was his form of apology to Gnash. Katana was his mate and for years saw through him with ease (Most of the time at least. She had only recently figured out the Egwardo thing...but at least the Egg wasn't complaining yet when he was made fun of).

"Maybe - he just finally sees that he needs to listen to his parents without sulking like a child," she said placidly.

"How likely do you think that is?" asked Brooklyn sarcastically, giving her a doubting look.

"With you as the father of his egg? Very unlikely," his mate shot back with a smirk and Brooklyn grinned. Katana could be so stiff and sober. But her infrequent jokes and pointed remarks were well-taken. How could they not - with him as "teacher".

"I still think there's something fishy," he muttered thoughtfully.

"Maybe. But if we ask, we won't get a usable answer anyway."

"True, I guess."

"What was it they said after Goliath's trial? Benefit of -"

"-the doubt."

"Without trust, there is no clan. Let's enjoy his obedience while it lasts" she said. "Probably ... he realizes that soon a little sibling will hatch and he shouldn't act like a Hatchling anymore."

"Exactly-that will be it ... hopefully."

.

.

Elisa Maza hurried across the street toward the entrance of Harlem Hospital Center at five in the morning. Not a family emergency - but somehow she had felt affected by Matt's call in the most personal way. He had a crappy job as head of the Gargoyle Task Force, he and his team had to be on quasi constant alert for almost a year, following up thousands of calls and tips from concerned AND paranoid citizens, or being vilified when they did NOT follow up on some of them because it was obvious that citizens were upset about shadows on the walls.

Things hadn't really gotten any better since the court case even though Elisa was so glad to have her big guy back with her and the clan. Even the fact that she had told the world that she loved him and was confident that he loved her too - romantically - had caused less traumatic and life-changing side effects than she had thought. Than anyone had thought. Whereas Xanatos, smug as always, had implied that he had somehow sent every reporter and network executive in the state kindly worded emails and letters advising them not to bother Elisa Maza and thus the clan because at some point they would surely have to leave the house again at night.

The Gargoyles - although undimmed by their natural urge to protect the weakest in their territory - kept as low a profile as possible and after some unpleasant but for all parties smoothly ended clashes with Quarrymen had become remarkably good at avoiding these Castaway-instigated lunatics and also tried to keep personal and property damage within limits in order not to attract even worse press. This was all the more important because their status hung in the balance and the mayor, governor, probably even the president were waiting for clearly wrong moves. And now THIS!

She had said goodbye to her now very extended family for their day's rest, had come home and had pressed the blinking button of her answering machine with an uneasy feeling. And Matt's message - as vague as it had been, like everything else he discussed with her over the phone that could be intercepted - had put her on absolute alert, even though she was not a member of the GTF but was only acting in an advisory mediator capacity until Chavez could decide to let her rejoin the ranks of decent police officers. And that although the Internal Affairs Department had been breathing down her neck until a few weeks ago anyway, and her job was generally hanging by a thread.

For the umpteenth time, as she slipped back into her shoes, re-entered her Ford Fairlane and headed north, she rolled the thought back and forth in her head that she would soon have no choice but to get a cell phone. It would save hassle and time - but would make her even more connected and accessible. She loved Goliath, she loved the clan, but she'd probably be staring at the phone like a frightened hen worrying about her unattended eggs, waiting for bad news like this. She had to think about it again. But not now.

Matt Bluestone was standing with a paper cup in front of the hospital's informational flyer rack, putting the thin booklet that proclaimed "Colonoscopy Can Save Lives" back in its place, when she came up to him, trying not to look too upset.

"Hi Matt," she said quietly, raising her hand to his cup and leaning forward to examine the content. Tar-like bitter-smelling matter wafted inside.

"This is worse than the slop at the precinct," she commented, and Bluestone nodded and took a sip.

"This matches the situation."

"If I read your call correctly, you're thinking of gargoyle involvement?"

"The victims say it was a gargoyle."

"Victims? If they're Quarrymen they probably struck harder than the boys - but ... None of the clan was hurt just now. No one told me about a confrontation."

"And I know they tell you everything," Matt returned with a smirk, and Elisa blushed a little.

"No comment," she said dryly. At this early hour - even before the early shift of hard-working nurses replaced the night shift - there was no significant activity in the waiting area of the main information center of the hospital, but still the two detectives stood with their backs to the wall, observing their surroundings as discreetly as possible. They could not use eavesdroppers. Matt's next sentence was again serious for the occasion.

"I'm not 100% sure it was a gargoyle attack. But the Quarrymen who are conscious say so."

"How many are injured?"

"There were six Quarrymen involved in the ... fight. Two generals, as Castaway calls his more experienced jumping jacks, and four rookies. I'm still offended by the term every time I hear it, are you feeling the same way? Anyway. Elisa, I need you to give me your opinion on this case. You're the expert on how... how gargoyles fight. And there's something not right."

"What Matt?"

"I-you need to see this for yourself. Come on. I've already cleared the way for us." Elisa followed him into a wide hallway suitable for nursing beds. Orientation signs pointed toward the emergency room. They passed through a large open area where numerous curtains separated treatment beds. There was snoring from various directions, and quiet whining from others. Somewhere a nurse was talking to a patient. There was a smell of disinfectant and blood. At the latest since Broadway had accidentally shot her and she herself had been hospitalized, Elisa hated these places. So she was glad when Matt led her into an abandoned office.

Obviously a large desk had been cleared for him and on it lay six files. He opened all of them to the first page. Admission protocols and photos of the people on the first page. Elisa didn't know if this was normal procedure or if Matt had requested that photos be taken of everyone.

Matt began to narrate. "I haven't been able to interview two yet because they're still in surgery but-"

"Surgery! Matt, the guys are really trying hard not to cause life-threatening injuries to anyone in their fights and-"

"Elisa," Matt said, giving her a shut-up-and-listen glare.

She usually didn't put up with that but she gritted her teeth, resisted the urge to defend the clan, and nodded.

"I interviewed the remaining four individuals involved before they were all sent to dreamland with painkillers. One of the persons involved is not physically injured but severely traumatized. And their stories fit although there are inconsistencies. I think it happened this way:

They COULD have encountered a gargoyle. They spotted him over East Harlem, were on observation patrol." Elisa pursed her lips in disgust at the word patrol, which she usually associated with the Clan's noble mission but said nothing. " I rather assume the two generals gave the freshmen a flying lesson with the hovercrafts. They used three two-person Sky-Sleds, newest acquisitions to the Quarrymen, which still have not a uhh - street permit is the wrong word - but Castaway is pulling all the levers right now that they are allowed to ride them all over the city limits. He will get a warning that they are using them already as well as for the net launcher. The net had been shot down, the electrical charge depleted, showing signs that it had hit something alive. The tissue that was attached to it was so charred that forensics won't be able to do anything with it. If it was a gargoyle, they used it to force him to the ground-or rather, to a rooftop, where the fight took place." He took a deep breath and poured his tar in one go as if the following was a feat of strength.

The GTF leader pointed to a picture of a man about fifty years old with a crew cut - obviously printed out from an old military file to which matt had access as head of the GTF. "The first to be eliminated was the senior general, who presumably also gave the orders. Moreover, the very first thing he did was try to fry the gargoyle on the roof with his quarry hammer. Roger Warden, forty-six, former Navy Seal, dishonorably discharged, the only one with combat experience. He's still in the operating room. Severe hyoid and laryngeal trauma from a hand edge blow as the doctor suspects, plus eight broken ribs and his wrists AND legs were broken." Elisa gasped and Matt's look was hard toward the facts and compassionate toward her at the same time. "The guy will take years to recover from this and he'll have more metal in his body for months than any human should ever have. After that, the perpetrator or perpetrators must have worked their way down. The second Quarrymen to be taken out was Edgar Mortens, thirty-six and pretty tough muscle-bound bouncer from the Bronx. After the Navy Seal was rendered silent and unfit for combat, Mortens must have given the commands. Hand edge strike, same injuries to neck region. One of the Quarrymen freshmen said Mortens pulled his gun and tried to shoot the Gargoyle again."

"Again?"

Matt cleared his throat and looked at Elisa. "When someone of the clan is confronted with a gun- what do they do? What is their ... modus oprandi?"

Elisa rubbed her temple over the word. If gargoyles had modi operandi aside from doing almost anything necessary to stay alive then there was only one rule. Inflict as little serious injury on others- even the bad guys. "They would knock the weapon out of the hand of anyone who threatens them or anyone else with a weapon. With their tail or hand. Without using claws. Usually the weapon then flies far away. Otherwise, they prefer to crush the weapon like crepe paper, taking it out of circulation forever."

Matt nodded but his face was unchanged critical and dissatisfied.

"The assailant in this case reached Mortens while he was still holding the gun. Mortens missed and the alleged gargoyle grabbed his hand and squeezed. Elisa ... Mortens hand, his finger and metacarpal bones. Out of 27 bones in the hand, 21 are broken. Twenty-one. He literally mashed this guy's hand. And in doing so WITHOUT damaging the weapon itself. Instead, this." Matt unearthed another photo from each of Morten's and Warden's files. "These are the weapons that were found. One registered to each general. What do you notice?"

Elisa rolled her eyes at her colleague's game of Q&A. But that was better than conspiracy theories. She leaned over the pictures and saw it immediately as any police officer (maybe even any American with a gun of his own) would have seen it immediately.

"The magazine is removed."

"On both weapons. The alleged gargoyle would have done that with a single motion of his hands. We haven't found the magazines. After he ko'd Mortens with a blow to the head - that's why Mortens is in surgery right now,he has a severe brain hemorrhage - the guy went after the four rookies. They were already so scared that, according to them, they didn't fight anymore. Matt pointed to a picture of a balding thirty-something. "Jonny Carlson. Also had a hammer. Gargoyle supposedly threw himself at him and slammed his skull against his. Severe concussion and laceration as big as a tangerine in the middle of his forehead. In addition, a broken foot because his own hammer fell on it. The gargoyle used it against the next one. Henry Colbert- " Matt showed a picture of a young black boy. "- he rammed the hammer into his stomach. Fortunately without an electric charge. Still, the boy went down right away. Doc says it's a miracle he didn't have any internal bleeding. The third and fourth rookie were already fleeing, they had already brought the Sky Sled a few inches the air then the Gargoyle lunges and kicks the helmsman off the machine breaking six ribs and causing him to pass out immediately."

"Did the sled go out of control?"

"No. Hit the roof again. The last Quarrymen - one Quarrywoman - Sarah Coroner, fell on the roof. She ripped the hood off her head and begged for her life. Elisa, she's only 22 and she wet herself with fear."

Elisa cleared her throat. She had broken out in a cold sweat over the narrative. No one, no one! of her clan could have done that. No one of her family. But that hardly made the situation any better. "Please Matt. Tell me the assailant didn't hurt the girl." Elisa had been terribly annoyed when Matt had first used the word in connection with the alleged gargoyle. But now she couldn't avoid it herself.

"No, he didn't. But what he did instead is even stranger."

"What, what can be stranger than that?"

"He ordered her to destroy the Sky Sleds with her Quarryhammer. With and without an electrical charge."

"What, why?"

Matt shrugged.

"Sarah told me she had the impression he wanted to see what a hammer like that could do to metal. While Sarah was working on the hovercrafts - and apparently fear of death really gives you strength because those things are ONLY scrap metal - the Gargoyle pulled the pants off the kid he kicked."

"WHAT!"

Elisa looked at Matt in horror. He really managed to laugh bitterly. "The gargoyle - badly hurt as he was - gave Sarah the pants and told her to put them on. It would be too pathetic to leave her there, and I quote, " in pissed pants." Then he would have run off - äh glided off."

Matt closed all but one of the files, finally sat down in one of the swivel chairs in the office, and Elisa did the same. By God, she had to sit down.

"What do you think of that now?" inquired the head of the GTF, looking into his empty paper cup as if he wished for a new load of tar to poison his body with.

"Of this crazy story?" she snapped, feeling well prepared because she had been gathering counterarguments throughout the narrative. "Nothing at all, Matt. These Quarrymen have their versions well matched and they're lying-or they've had a ... I don't know, a group hallucination. Whatever!" She slapped her palm on the files on the table. "But these injuries are not the kind that gargoyle cause. The handling of the weapons. That the attacker takes a Quarryhammer himself and hurts his opponent with it. That they are with INTENT throughout, so brutal. And honestly- six against one? Even though four barely attacked- supposedly. I think even Goliath would have preferred to take off rather than let it come to a fight – not against such a heavily armed superior force." Briefly, Elisa thought of Thailog. But ... then there probably would have been a theatrical arrogant monologue and a maniacal sinister laugh somewhere in the story. And there would have been deaths. Two of the Quarrymen had probably skidded briefly past death but no one was dead. That was the only blurry clue that pointed to gargoyle involvement. "No matter who or what it was - It wasn't anyone from the clan," she said with confidence, and her partner nodded.

"We agree on that. So a non-clan gargoyle."

"Why do you think it was a gargoyle? In your story there were no fangs, no claws, no nothing to suggest a gargoyle. Are there claw marks on the roof? On the concrete? Anywhere?"

"No, nothing at all. Just one thing that might have happened to the perpetrator out of carelessness because he was injured and full of adrenaline. This is a picture of the rib area of the boy who was kicked by the Sky Sled." Matt reached into the last open file, handed her the photo, and Elisa gasped

A nearly black "footprint" was stamped into the skin. Inhuman. Large. Three toes. No heel because of the typical ball gait.

"I thought Quarrymen wore protective vests. Some Kevla compounds," Elisa whispered, feeling herself the stupidly stunned expression she must have put on her face.

"They do. Without it, the boy might have died. The Kevla vest dispersed the impact pressure. By now you can't see the footprint, just a massive blue-black bruise. This picture- taken right at the time of admission is the only visible proof that it COULD have been a gargoyle. Unless the perpetrator was wearing shoes whose soles looked like gargoyle feet." At the last sentence, Matthew Bluestone grinned wryly, this disbelieving gesture highly unusual for the conspiracy aficionado.

She brushed her hair behind her ears.

"Then that's what it was. No gargoyle is that brutal. And, and Demona wouldn't have bothered with that kind of fight. She would have shoot people down or ripped out their throats."

"The person description doesn't fit any of the guys-uh, and girls, either. It wasn't a robot or cyborg or anything else either."

"Well, let's hear what these lunatics came up with."

Matt took out a notebook and opened it.

"A full grown ashen-hued male with a beak. About 5.75 tall. Muscular but more athletic than a beefcake. Covered in scars. In particular, a cross-shaped scar over the left eye. Red long hair plaited into a braid. Red wing skins inside. Some kind of biker vest without arms and open in front. Torn jeans. Neatly trimmed goatee on "chin"."

Elisa, thoughtfully putting a hand to her mouth milled through the person description in her head. Comparing them to every gargoyle she had ever met. But a scarred gray male - she would remember had she seen or heard of someone like that. And the description, however, was too precise and specific for the Quarrymen (and woman) to have come up with. One who would have been wrapped up in Castaway's lies would have come up with a different kind of gargoyle. Something at least Goliath-sized, probably with a beak and a red skin color like Brooklyn. But the scars, the clothes, the goatee, for heaven's sake! These were too human-like details for fanatics who had only wanted to tell about ANOTHER demon to have made it up.

"Well, okay. Let's assume it was a gargoyle. A new gargoyle in town. A very violent one. Maybe it was just panic. Because he was meeting Quarrymen for the first time."

"Elisa- you're a professional. But this. You have to see this." Matt tapped the files, handed her the horrible picture with the footprint on formerly tender human skin. Elisa heard ribs cracking in her imagination at the sight.

"THAT was a different kind of professional."

She looked at him with wide eyes. And slowly shook her head. "Oh no Matt. Please don't."

"What?"

"No conspiracy theories."

"There's a grain of truth in every theory. What if... If this gargoyle is not a protector. Never was. But just the opposite. But not a usual villain like Demona or Thailog, either."

"For real. I would NOT describe any of these two as usual."

"No- but they are not trained to hurt and possibly kill."

"You think the guy who did this is a professional? A trained killer? An ... Gargoyle - Assassin?"

"Like Leon: The Professional."

"Great movie, love it. But Matt, this goes against everything gargoyles stand for. And who would have sent him?"

"Maybe no one. Maybe he came to find others. IF it was a gargoyle, he would be credited for not killing. If this gargoyle was as skilled in combat as it appeared to be, it would have been an easy thing for him to do. But either he had NO order to kill anyone OR he had orders to kill NO ONE. The evidence for that is too much to not consider that possibility."

Seeing Elisa's doubtful but wavering look, Matt pulled his net tighter to reel in this fish. This time he knew he was right and he would convince his colleague.

"Think about it: He had no interest in rendering weapons useless forever. He just wanted to prevent further shooting at him. In my estimation, he took out the Quarrymen in a clear order, which is supported by the testimony of the four we interviewed. He took out the leaders first. He deprived them of their ability to bark orders. He dealt with the biggest threat the most brutally, taking away morale and courage from the inexperienced members and making them easy opponents. And he took the time - when he had obviously calmed down a bit - to assess the effectiveness and striking power of the main weapon of his opponents. Not by wielding the weapon himself. But by letting a human do it. A woman, but still he was able to assess how these hammers are used and how their destructive power is on inanimate material - that is observation.

Making distance weapons and vehicles useless - prevention.

And taking out opponents from most dangerous to least dangerous - elimination."

"U can't be serious?" muttered Elisa grimly. Matt ignored her- now totally in the conspiracy game. He ran his fingers through his red hair like an excited child. It was almost a monologue he delivered, quietly, like their whole conversation but animated by manic joy.

"He was almost ... elegant. Precise. Which one of the guys is REALLY precise in combat? Katana maybe - a little bit. Precision has to be learned. And gargoyles, who naturally rely on their strength and claws and tails and whatnot, DON'T HAVE TO BE that precise. Gargoyles are experts at acting as a team, coordinating, following orders- this one was a deadly threat on its own. The gargoyles I know are smart and good fighters in their own way. But this is a whole other level with a different focus and requires training. And I swear to you; no training that a gargoyle clan could provide. The stories sound like this - as if this gray fellow doesn't even know how to fight as a Gargoyle. And quite honestly, it's a good thing he doesn't, because things would have turned out VERY much bloodier. I say this is a trained killer. A human-trained gargoyle killer."

"He did NOT kill."

"Fine. He held back a little. But he could have done it with ease. And maybe he has some kind of twisted code of honor. But before he showed mercy to the woman he was in fight mode. Not agitated brutal- but like with a... routine. Like he's done it dozens of times this way or that in a similar way."

"That's nuts, Matt."

"That's nuts- will probably be on my tombstone. But tell me it would be impossible. Put aside your fantasies about most gargoyles and tell me that to my face."

Elisa gritted her teeth, trying to find more arguments, more counter-evidence for ANYTHING. And found none. She stood up and waved the gruesome photo around before crossing her arms.

"Damn it Matt. That's the last thing the clan needs right now."

"I get it, I didn't send out any invitation cards. But we have at least one new player in New York. It was always to be considered that other gargoyles in the world might come here when those camera pictures went around the world. Why not gargoyles from Italy."

"Italy?"

"Oh yeah, forgot to say. Sarah indicated he had a heavy Italian accent. After all, he only spoke to her when he gave her the pants."

"A gargoyle from Italy? Brutal and almost ruthless. Fantastic."

"But a gentleman to the ladies-apparently," Matt opined, and Elisa scowled at him grimly für some seconds.

"The two generals must be questioned if they-" Elisa began louder, and both detectives raised their eyes to the man who now opened the door and spoke.

"I rather think not."

"Detective Sergeant Bluestone. Detective Maza." Castaway stepped into the room with two other men in suits, making the small office an agonizingly cramped place-but more in terms of atmosphere. He nodded to them and his gaze lingered on Elisa as he pronounced the word detective along with her name in obvious disgust.

As usually when Elisa Maza saw John Castaway she was not only angry, not only hurt because of what the man considered his divine mission, because of what he said, what he represented. No, she couldn't put her finger on it directly but this man irritated and yes, unsettled her too. As if she knew him. His eyes, his gestures toward her spoke as much of knowing her and possessing knowledge of her in a way that John Castaway shouldn't have. But before John Castaway made his appearance a few days after the events at the Clock Tower and St. Damien, she did not know this person. No one knew John Castaway. Even though his "resume" was by now well known and apparently watertight - Elisa knew from Lexington that you could fake ANYTHING if you had enough time and the right people for the job. But those eyes- his nearly imperceptible body reactions. Even though his face and English accent spoke against it- she knew this guy. And it scared her what Castaway might know and spread.

"Mister Castaway," Elisa said with iciness in her voice, and her emphasis on the word mister indicated that she thought the word was too good for her counterpart but left it at that because of the audience.

"What are you doing here?" asked Matt politely, placing his hand on the stack of files as if he feared the arrogant blond man might take them from him in a moment. Elisa had her arms folded steadfastly, a tiny glance confirming that Castaway and company couldn't see the photo she still held because the sleeves of her jacket hid it.

"My good Sarah called me and I just had to come here to see how my warriors were doing."

"Ah, and you feel responsible because you let these fired-up citizens with dangerous weapons and unlicensed vehicles loose on Manhattan and now your supporters have gotten hurt," Elisa said, and Castaway raised his finger as if to a small child.

"Injured in the doing their civic duty. They WERE injured. By a gargoyle. And the city will know about it. The whole country. The whole-"

"- world? Ah yes, fantastic. You incite a mob. Arm citizens who don't know how to use those weapons. Incite them that anyone who even speaks neutrally about gargoyles is considered an enemy. Weekly demonstrations in front of government offices that are always ramped up and fueled to the point that every employee there is scared to death. Bind police forces that should rather be investigating real crimes. Encourage hatred and intolerance."

"From you, Detective Maza, who admitted under oath to rather protect and serve monsters, I don't need to be educated on what the job of police officers is. HATE against monsters is self-protection."

"HATE and intolerance against HUMANS," shot back Elisa, lie and truth at the same time, shaking off Matt's admonishing hand on her shoulder and adding, "Last week four PIT members went to the hospital because they were attacked by Quarrymen."

"That was a dispute that came from both parties. My members wanted to put the truth in front of these liberal sheep."

"- and they wouldn't listen. To your truth."

"The only truth. The only way."

"Incitement to violence. Instigation to damage property a hundred times over. YOU and your people are disturbing the peace of this city much more than-"

"-than your friends. Or lovers?"

Elisa stared at Castaway. And he stared back as did his two "associates" If looks were bullets, they'd all have a bunch of holes in their faces.

Bluestone cleared his throat. "Mister Castaway. Your insinuations to an NYPD detective may result in a charge of libel," Matt said, then turned to his partner with a look that wasn't angry but told her to stop having her buttons pushed. "Elisa, your desire to protect the citizens of New york- EVEN from themselves- is honorable. But Mister Castaway will not be converted by even the best of arguments."

"Convert? Oh please. The seeing have always been condemned by the blind before others realized the truth. And regarding the accusation that Quarrymen are a danger to the normal population - I train my followers incessantly to rebel even really only against the flood of monsters and not against ... stupid citizens, too soft state officials. Not even against collaborators. His gaze flitted from Matt at the mention of weak state officials to Elisa for just a millisecond. She opened her mouth but her partner beat her to it.

"Mister Castaway. I say that with all due respect to you and your ... own desire to protect the people of this city."

Castaway smirked and bowed his head in feigned humility toward the carefully chosen words but his eyes narrowed as Matt continued to speak in an adamant voice. "BUT first of all, this is an ongoing investigation. You will NOT disprove the suspicions that the DA's office and many in this city's government have that you are inciting people if you now rain on the NYPD's parade with unverified dates and stories. And secondly, there is not one shred of evidence that gargoyles were involved. If your "colleagues" tell the story the way they told it to us then everyone will think they were drugged. An attack with no claw marks. Just injuries that could just as easily have been caused by a strong human."

"You're making a fool of yourself, Castaway," Elisa cut in again, trying not to sound too cheerful at what followed. "Or is this just growing desperation because the state will soon strip you of the squishy legal basis you use to justify your smear campaign and the actions of the Quarrymen? Every injured person hospitalized OR dead in morgues as a result of this propaganda of yours can be blamed on you."

"THAT is questionable if the state itself will not soon support us. Tonight's events are a building block in wiping this disgusting brood from the face of the world."

"Said Hitler," hissed Elisa, and Castaway smirked.

"Such a one-sided unbiased person. These are New York's finest. No wonder the GTF can't get a foot on the ground and then even let the only gargoyle they've ever caught get away."

"He did NOT get away. He was allowed to go. There was NO charge and ahh!"

Elisa almost doubled over because someone had kicked her in the heel. Not just anyone. Her OWN partner. He grabbed her by the arm and only because his fingers sank into the leather of her bomber jacket no one saw how hard he squeezed in a desperate attempt to silence her big mouth. He smiled deceptively at Castaway and his men.

"I regret that you have not been satisfied with the GTF's efforts thus far. I will take note of your concerns. But if I were you, Mr. Castaway, I would weigh my steps. Because if you start a fire and it turns into a firestorm, at some point you can't contain the flames. Worst-case scenario-if there are deaths as a result of riots. Or a storm on the mayor's official residence - or even on the Capitol in Washington. Something like that can bring down much more powerful people than you. What would it do to you? To the whole organization?"

Castaway was silent for a few seconds. His eyes narrowed, searching for falsity and menace in Matt's words. But he didn't find enough of them to rant on. Behind him, his co-workers cast uncertain, worried glances at each other, showing that they themselves knew on what feet of clay the whole organization stood with its actions.

"We'll talk to our members when they wake up," Castaway finally said quietly.

"So will members of the GTF," assured Matt with a nod and a smile that seemed almost friendly.

Then Castaway and his entourage were gone.

Elisa puffed deeply.

"You're becoming a really good speaker, Matt," she said, not meaning it ironically or sarcastically. She was just tired. And yes, she was grateful to him for shutting her up. Who did Castaway remind her of even though he didn't really look like anyone she'd ever met? He was a damned fascist, an arsonist, an agitator. And he played her like a flute. It was humiliating.

Her partner didn't even seem mad at her for acting like an angry child just now.

"If you have to talk to the press often enough and you're not allowed to fly off the handle, you acquire a talent like that."

"Castaway knows about my connection to the clan," Elisa whispered as if she feared one of the Quarrymen had bugged the office. Which wasn't the case. She had been keeping a close eye on all three of them.

"Well, you told the world about your feelings. And that Goliath returns them. Castaway doesn't need much brain power to know you're part of the clan. And before that the Quarrymen saw Goliath standing on your terrace and you two had to fight them all night. No matter what other background knowledge Castaway has, he can't do anything with that info without putting himself and the whole organization in the line of fire. Otherwise, he would have done it already," Matt muttered. "Your testimony in court last month was ... brave. But so far, everything remains reasonably calm and manageable for you, right? Xanatos keeps the promise to drive you to the castle in different cars according to your wishes and drop you off at alternate locations?"

"Yes, that works - even though I hate having to rely on the turncoat. Impossible to track me there. How often I have contact with the clan is probably in the dark. But ... the allusion just now was unmistakable. I - both of us - we have to assume he knows much more and will use it against me, you and the GTF at some point."

"Who's getting into conspiracy theories now?" teased Matt, and that made Elisa laugh even though the whole situation was no laughing matter.

"Go home, Elisa," Matthew advised with a mild smile. "I'll have Harris and Travanti spend the day with the Quarrymen and do the rest of the interviews. I assume I've taken the wind out of Castaway's sails for now, and he won't mention this new incident yet, at least in his next diatribes."

"Let's hope so." Elisa tucked the photo into an inside pocket of her bomber jacket.

"Elisa, I need that picture back."

His partner stood in the doorway, looking absolutely miserable.

"Matt. Don't make me ... choose. I'll sort it out. The clan will find this guy. Let the Gargoyles work it out amongst themselves."

"Elisa-that's not okay. You are ... on probation with Chavez and I.A."

"There's not just black and white. I don't have to tell you that. You got my back, partner?" Her hand rested seemingly relaxed on the doorframe. But Bluestone saw how white her knuckles stood out. So much pressure, so much tension. For him, it was about the job. For her, it was her whole life. About her family.

Matt sighed in frustration.

"You know the answer."

"Thanks."

She gave him a sad smile and left him alone with the pile of broken pieces. No, there wasn't just black and white. Who would know that better than him? Elisa had been a challenge since day one. But her sense of duty and honor was strong. Absolutely comparable to that of a gargoyle. That's why she was part of the clan and he was just a ... familiar. And that she now did something like this had to cause more pain to her self-image than it did to his to let the matter rest for the time being.

Maybe the gargoyles could work it out among themselves. Hopefully ... this gray scarred fellow was a little more friendly to them than to the Quarrymen if it came to a confrontation.

Thanks for reading, Q.T.