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Brood of a New Age
116.
Following the last text passage is a music note: The reader can already pick out the video/song to start it at this section (or can ignore the music altogether). It is just an accompaniment.
End Credit song :
Youtube: Wilder Woods - Maestro (Tears don't lie)- 3.37 min or Spotify: - 3. 22 min
Author's comment at the end of the lyrics at the bottom.
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"He can't be found."
"However, he has not taken a bus, train or plane to leave the city. Nor has he been sighted at the borders to the other states."
"Maybe dead?"
"Possibly."
"More than 100 million dollars in the suitcases with the magic locks and storage space have disappeared. Plus the donations he collected and hasn't accounted for yet."
"Annoying."
"And Canmore's stone? Irreplaceable."
"Collateral damage. Like the person himself."
"Do we have the doppelganger ready?"
"Yes."
"Then let's use him. A little less psychotic than the original, too."
"The organization won't get off the ground for a long time. Almost only the paid members are still in it."
"We don't think in years. We think in centuries. The important thing is that the organization continues to exist. Lying on the ground or remaining in the shadows for a few years or decades to the outside observer will lull our enemies into a sense of security. That is not a bad thing. At some point, we will be able to use it."
"A setback, then?"
"On the contrary. Thanks to Xanatos and the Manhattan Gargoyles, all the clans in the world will come to light in the next few years. It'll be child's play to find and wipe them out."
"The Illuminati will prevail in the end."
"As always."
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Owen made his daily rounds through the castle - despite all the world-shaking events surrounding the clan, he had no intention of changing his routine. But unfortunately - more annoying than an unemptied garbage can or residue from last night's mass gathering at the castle - something else caught his eye. Or rather- the lack of something caught his eye. He stepped to the wall of the music room, which displayed the collection of high-priced memorabilia. These had never been purchased to be played. Not even because they were special pieces of music or cultural history. But because they would always rise in price and contained "soul". Xanatos loved collections of all kinds. Gargoyles, machines, books, ... Musical instruments such as Mozart's piano or Herbert von Karajan's baton or one of Niccolò Paganini's violins were just parts of one of the many collections. The selection of musical instruments here was exquisite - but not so vast in quantity that Owen could have missed the empty spot on the wall. The human puffed discontentedly, while Puck giggled inside him.
He pulled out his cell phone.
Xanatos picked up after a few beeps.
"Sir, it seems our Italians left their mark when they left," he said, looking discontentedly at the spot where the Izabella Stratocaster had been hanging. The guitar on which Jimi Hendrix had distorted and reinterpreted the national anthem at Woodstock in 1969.
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No passenger bridge connecting aircraft to terminal. Graziella let Sonny carry her up the passenger stairs to the plane, princess style. That way, her leg still hurt the least. Still, she ordered him to put her on her feet at the top of the small platform. He supported her for a moment then handed her the cane he had put in his belt loop for the climb. No more Grigio - but a walking stick to keep her upright. Maybe for a few months. Maybe she would never again be able to stand on this leg as stably as she should. Still, Graziella didn't feel like whining or crying. Not anymore. She was stronger than that. She had Sonny, a goal in mind, and a suitcase full of money to reach that goal.
Everything went remarkably smoothly. She didn't know why Dino had signed the papers after making meaningful eye contact with Sonny for a few seconds - but he had wished them good luck. He even had called pianta rampicante and had recommended both of them that they could start there at all.
He would probably go to Sardinia - The old homeland. No danger of losing another limb due to gargoyle interference. He really seemed to want to retire. Maria also proved to be very amenable to Graziella's plan. She didn't even question the money Graziella had. At the latest when the frail and suffering-looking girl - weak on her feet - had fallen into her arms and whimpered that she needed a Mamma after all, the former Dracon housekeeper herself had asked for the pen to make the girl her daughter. Of course, the adult hadn't seen that Graziella had given Sonny a thumbs-up and that little devilish smile behind Maria's back.
Graziella had never asked for Maria's surname. And it had never been an issue. She had always just been Maria. It was blatantly ironic that Graziella Dracon ... would be called Rondine in the future. Which meant nothing other than swallow in Italian. Maria had proved useful again, arranging plane tickets under her name and making the transfer to Italy. The suitcase was still full even after the transfer of the "school fees" for her and Sonny. She herself would fly over in three days, once she had sorted everything out. Until they started school at the end of September, they would live in Graziella's old house in Limatola - which she had obviously inherited. There was no telling how her former neighbors and little school friends would react when they saw her. Graziella would enter the timeless collective memory of the mountain village as a horror story about going to America as a healthy, innocent child - and coming back as an ugly cripple. That's what the big wide world did to you. Graziella didn't give a damn. Sonny suspected that her thoughts would be somewhere else entirely. She had outgrown her mountain village. She had outgrown normal people. At eight years old, she was as far away from them as the sun was from the earth.
Again she looked back at the New York skyline lying in the evening glow. The Eyrie building as a pale ghostly silhouette. Like a distant dream. But nothing had been her dream. None of it. It was more like she had woken up from a dream - only to start another one now.
"Do you regret it?" asked Sonny, who had noticed her look, of course.
"No. Not for a second."
"We can still stay here. You have enough money to pay adults to -"
"No. "
"He and you - you need each other," the Sonny said, proving again that he was much more receptive and sensitive than he looked. That was actually what she liked best about him.
"He has the whole world now," Graziella said, a little aggrieved.
"I don't think he wanted the whole world."
"He has it now whether he wants it or not. They all have it. I'm sure it will cause them problems. That's exactly why I have to leave. I have to become stronger. So that I can change things. So that I can become who I need to be - for him and for the family. I need to fulfill my ... destiny. But you can still go, Sonny. I wouldn't be mad at you."
The boy next to her laughed softly.
"You won't get rid of me that easy, boss. You and me - we're in this together."
The children smiled at each other.
"When we come back, Sonny, we'll both be stronger. We will shape this city. Like you said - you have to build niches where you can live well."
"A girl and a faggot? They'll never have respect for us."
"They will. By us being stronger and smarter than everyone else. Besides ... Nashville – maybe all gargoyles - will help us with that."
"Whatever you say, bossgirl."
Then Graziella limped onto the plane. The stewardess was already waiting for them with the laminated tags for unaccompanied minors. Graziella and Sonny took theirs, threw them at the feet of the baffled woman, and headed for their seats. Not second class, but first class. They paid for it out of petty cash. Always four wide armchairs, facing each other but also able to swivel, were separated by curtains. On the other side of the aisle sat an older obese man in an expensive tailored suit, gawking in horror at the crippled girl and the tall raven-black boy with dyed blond hair as they settled into their four-person compartment. Only when it was obvious, after the first-class steward's affectionate yet professional inquiry about their drink requests, that they belonged here, did he look back at his quarterly report with a grim face. Not all of them could be bigwig- brats - some had to work for their place in this part of the plane.
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A few hours later, Graziella awoke. The chair, which could be tilted into reclining position and still had plenty of room to the other seats (so different from the normal passenger class) was not the problem. Nor was the whirring of the ventilation system, nor the overhead light still on over their small area, nor Sonny, who was snoring rather loudly in his recliner.
Her pain was immense. Although the drain had been removed by someone Sonny had called Doctor Frankenstein, Graziella wasn't sure if the man had been a doctor. She fished the bag out of her cast arm, which contained the painkillers stolen from the hospital. Sonny had said that adults wouldn't look in a child's cast. Whatever the reason someone should have taken the medication from her. She swallowed two of the pills and knew that in an hour she would be almost free of pain and almost free of thoughts. That made it easier not to think about Nash. She wanted to think about him all the time, but at the same time the thought that she wouldn't see him for a long time filled her with pain that merged with the pain in her body so much that she couldn't tell where the body ache ended and her ... heartache began. This dichotomy was exhausting for her childish brain and her body, which had not even begun to recover.
Soft music reached her ears. The music was good but what was really captivating was the voice. The voice that sang softly to it- so distant and muffled by drawn curtains that she could not understand the words. Nevertheless, the tone appealed to a familiar feeling in her that made it impossible for her not to pursue the matter. She put her chair in the sitting position. Sonny mumbled something in his sleep and curled up even more in his chair. Graziella noticed that he still had his shoes on. How uncomfortable. She pulled his already loosened big sneakers off his feet ... and stared for a few moments at this part of him she had never seen before. Then she smiled, spread the blanket that had been spread over her earlier over him, turned off the overhead light above her seats with the switch on her armrest, and limped through the curtain toward the music.
All other first class passenger areas were separated by the curtains and drawn, the further forward she got the more audible the strumming on a guitar and the soft Italian singing became, which made Graziella smile even though new waves of pain were surging up her leg. In front of another part of the corridor, also separated by a heavy curtain, sat in an unoccupied area of four the steward who had brought them warm, wet towels (for whatever), drinks and their multi-course dinner earlier in the evening. He was staring at the floor and the girl wasn't sure if he was introspective (and disturbed) about the person behind the curtain or introspective (and enraptured) about the singing, which she now realized was not a continuous song but fragments of a song. Behind the curtain something was being practiced. When she wanted to push the curtain aside, the Steward seemed to wake up from his stasis and immediately got in her way.
"Sorry," he purred a little hoarsely. Probably rather disturbed after all by the most extraordinary passenger he had ever had, Graziella thought, grinning broadly while he said uncertainly:
"You can't go that way, little man. There behind the curtain ... is the V.I.P area."
The child's grin became venomous but it's tone was confident, almost cheerful and it had learned just that seemed threatening to many people.
"If you call me little man one more time, I'm going to throw you off the plane before we land, you trolly dolly." Without taking her eyes off the horrified steward, she raised her voice and said, "Dante!" Not loud enough to wake a potentially sleeping person nearby but she knew how good gargoyle ears were.
The plucking on the guitar died away, as did the beguiling chant. A moment later, claws slid between the curtain panels. The steward backed away and slumped pale into one of the high-priced armchairs not intended for him, while the gray scarred gargoyle pushed his beak and following it his whole head through between the fabric panels, looked around snarling with a typically disdainful grim face - and only looked down when Graziella cleared her throat. Instantly, the expression of the former Camorra prince, former Manhattan Clan member on probation, former associate of Anthony Dracon turned surprised but mostly mellow.
"Hello Swallow. This world is strange with its many coincidences, isn't it? Luca told me we flew here on the same plane and now back together on the same one. Except that my new life will never include box class again," he said and for a moment Graziella wondered if she should forbid him to say that word. It pained her a little. Nashville's name for her. But ... it also reminded her of the deep friendship she felt for her best friend in this world. And the name reminded her of her mission. Dante should call her that. He was going to be the only one besides Nash who got to call her that. Not because he was a gargoyle but ... because somehow the name from his beak didn't sound out of place. As if a dear family member was saying her pet name. And the feeling also filled her with warmth despite the pain.
"Hello Dante, may I sit with you for a while. My right hand man is buzzing like a sawmill."
The gray reformed violent male chuckled softly and pulled the curtain further to the side so she could slip through. Before he pulled the curtain closed again his probing gaze fell on the steward, who was cowering in the chair, frightened because of gargoyle AND girl, put his index finger claw to his lips in a "no word" gesture and disappeared behind the curtain.
The V.I.P. area consisted of sixteen armchairs. Two people huddled in two at the very beginning-with no overhead lights on. Dim light from more distant groups of seats enveloped the deeply asleep Luca De Santis. He lay in the long arms of Grace, also apparently asleep. Even though it looked a little odd that a woman was holding a man like that and not the other way around, Graziella smiled at the sight. Only peripherally did she notice the large ring on the middle finger of the gargoyle woman's left hand. She followed Dante into the lighted area where a human woman with short brown hair and two guys sat, one with a green mohawk, the other with the prince valiant hairstyle.
The woman dropped the notes and sheet music she had just studied, but basically everyone was staring at Graziella.
"Who's that?" asked the mohawk, and Graziella shot him a perky look.
"I'm his niece! Problems with that?" she joked and Dante chuckled in a higher, really amused tone of voice but put one of his big hands on her head. "That's how it is. So what? If it's okay, I'd like to talk to my niece. Brainstorm and let's practice some other time. Fine with you guys, right?"
Graziella looked up and noticed that his questioning gaze was only on the woman. His gaze was warm and gentle. Graziella didn't think this woman was Dante's girlfriend (maybe not yet) but her opinion seemed important to him. The two human men were also waiting for the judgment of the normal but somehow powerful woman. She looked briefly surprised at Dante's displayed affection for the sickly and limbing human child, but then she smiled and gathered the papers spread on the table between the chairs.
"Course, that's okay. Geez, it's two in the morning, Dante. We humans need to hit the hay, too."
"Exactly, it takes us a while to adjust to your internal clock" grumbled the big guy and Mohawk confirmed that as everyone got up, cleared this area of four and retreated to other parts of the VIP section without taking their drinks, which were on the table.
Also on the table were several sheets of paper with words written on them in black felt-tip pen. One had Fanfare written on it - which was then crossed out. On one was Misfits (also crossed out).
"Are you looking for band names?" she asked as she sat down in one of the chairs, groaning. On her flight here she had had to sit painfully because she hadn't wanted to crumple her frilly dress or get it dirty. Now she was sitting there in pain because a building had fallen on her head - it was ridiculous how much her life had changed in four weeks.
"Yeah. Band names," Dante said, stretching to place the guitar he'd been plucking on one of the seats opposite her.
"A beautiful guitar," she said, finding the golden strings particularly pretty against the snow-white guitar body, even if it was a stark contrast to the rest of Dante's appearance. New black jeans, new vest. Someone had braided him a five-strand braid and the fact that he seemed so at peace with himself did something to his whole aura that lulled you in almost as much as his voice could. And then there was the stark contrast of his appearance. It was fascinating - perhaps more so than the brutal, instantly fear- and terror-inducing mobster gargoyle of the past had been.
Dante grinned - horrible and genuine at the same time. "Yes, Grace - Eva - promised to get me a guitar four weeks ago. And she kept her word. I'm sure she stole it from somewhere and is still slipping in a few Ave Maria for that. But she's my sister after all, the future Missus Clean. Did you know that Jimi Hendrix had one of those?"
"I don't know who Jimi Hendrix is," said the child, reaching for the glass in front of her that looked half full of orange juice. Dante took it from her hand.
"There's vodka in it, I'll order you something else," he said, raising his hand and snapping his fingers loudly. A stewardess poked her head out of the small galley. Her eyes widened briefly - less because of the gargoyle as a passenger than because of the sickly and injured "boy" next to him.
"Orange juice, signora," said Dante, and within ten seconds there really was a glass of juice in front of Graziella.
"I can get used to this," mumbled Dante as the child drank, making only a seemingly absent sound of agreement.
Then monster and child sat next to each other, neither seeming to know what to say. But ... no matter what they would talk about - there would be no discussion. Dante wasn't like that and he knew Graziella wouldn't be receptive to it either, would just shut down and strain the bond she supposedly shared with Nashville. So Dante simply brought it up without further ado.
"You're going to pianta rampicante?" He knew the answer, of course. The girl next to him may have looked like a child (now weaker and more battered than ever) - but she was as stubborn as an ox and could be as determined as a gargoyle.
"This school isn't what you think it is," he said quietly.
"I know it's going to be hard."
"It's not just going to be hard, Graziella. It's going to ... change you."
"But I do want to change. Sonny will be with me. Glasses' son. He's my right-hand man. We'll look out for each other."
"You're going to need more than Sonny."
"Maria has adopted me now. She'll be my legal representative."
"So you're not connected to Dracon anymore?"
" I'll always be connected to Tony - as long as he can be useful to me. And he'll be useful to me in the future when I want to change the world for myself and Nashville. After that, I can get rid of Tony."
Dante looked at her for several seconds with this thoughtful expression on his face. Then he leaned back in his chair, his drink in his hand. The girl really was the child of a mobster. Pretty cold. Why she wanted to "get rid" of Tony at some point, he didn't know, but he was sure Tony deserved it. Graziella was cold and pragmatic in a way that could be very damaging to her in the long run but could ensure her survival at pianta rampicante. If anyone would survive this shitshow relatively unbroken, it would be her. He wouldn't argue with her about her motivations. What could he say? That he had once been where she was now - not so long ago? That he knew better than she did? That she had the chance to be happy NOW and was just messing it up? She would see it differently. She might even hate him for it. He didn't want that. He loved this little future mafia boss, who probably didn't even suspect that she was heading in exactly that direction.
"And you have enough money? I can't imagine Tony or Dino sponsoring you," he continued.
Graziella giggled. "The angels sponsor me," she said with a cheeky gleam in her eyes.
Dante downed his schnapps. This was getting better and better here.
"If that's some kind of American metaphor, I don't get it," he muttered.
"No metaphor," Graziella said, and her bright eyes and the wide smile on her abused-looking face were despite everything beautiful and somehow delusional. "Real angels. They gave me a suitcase full of money. A magical suitcase where the contents look like dirty laundry and only turn into money when I want them to. I could even put your knives in it and this machine at the airport, where you send the suitcases through and take pictures of the contents, only showed the laundry. That's angel magic. They even wrote me a message."
The gray gargoyle eyed Graziella, who tolerated his stare with a confident grin. She didn't blame him if he didn't believe her. If it hadn't happened to her herself, she wouldn't believe it either.
"May ... I see the angel's message?" he asked.
Graziella fished her old familiar wallet out of the collar of her wide sweater, unzipped it and pulled out the sheet of paper.
Dante took it, looked at her again and she nodded affirmatively.
"Everything you want is on the other side of fear. Build the family you deserve. Be strong. Be happy," he read. He was silent for a few seconds, then took a deep breath.
"The angels should write fortune cookie messages," he muttered and Graziella took the sheet, laughing softly, and put it back in her purse. Dante had no idea what the child thought she had seen in her post-operative delirium. But angels didn't write fortune cookie messages on the backs of hospital forms. Whoever had written her that well-meaning message hadn't done her any favors. He didn't know if the story about the magic suitcase was true. Maybe - but he didn't care. He couldn't stop the child (who thought she had back-up from angels) unless he actually physically stopped her from going to that school. With an uneasy feeling, he remembered Lexington's bond story. His intervention could damage the bond. If the distance Graziella had just put between herself and Nashville didn't do it already. He looked to the side and realized that the girl was pressing a hand to her chest and rubbing it with a pinched face, lost in thought.
"Are you in pain?" he asked, not sure himself what kind of pain he meant.
Graziella smiled wryly.
"It will get better. I've just taken two painkillers."
Dante nodded, but only because he knew nothing better to do with his body. He suspected she was numbing some kind of pain that might only partly be related to her battered physical condition. This other kind of pain ... would not go away even if her leg and arm were healed. Oh yes ... the bond was not a one-way street. It wasn't just limited to Gargoyles. Graziella felt it too. And Dante wanted to help her somehow. But how - without damaging the bond. He pulled out one of the sheets of paper on the table and wrote a phone number on it.
"Put this in your pocket," he said as he handed it to her. "You'll call me when your first semester is over."
"Why?"
"Believe me ... you and Sonny will need someone to talk to about what you experienced in pianta rampicante."
"Are you saying ... you want to look after us? As my 'uncle'," she giggled and Dante felt himself blush.
"Me? No! I'll have enough shit of my own to do. But ... Man, just call, I'll take your call." Dante waved it off. "Just take the fucking phone number Graziella Dracon - don't argue with your uncle," he grumbled. Graziella leaned towards him, stretched as much as her plastered arm and still thickly bandaged leg would allow and kissed him on the cheek.
"Thank you, Uncle Dante, I think I may need you after all."
The former mobster gargoyle chuckled about the manipulative charismatic little creature next to him. As her face still hovered in front of his - divine in its childlike fragility and hints of a future queen in it, she smiled toothily and lowered her long eyelashes.
"Oh, and Dante?" she whispered. Oh she was good, she didn't need songs to wrap others around her finger.
"Yes, Swallow?"
She reached for the glass with the "not just juice" and before Dante could remind her that there was alcohol in it, she had emptied the contents over his pants. Straight onto his crotch. Dante jumped up gasping for air - and could just about control himself not to rant furiously. Instead, he looked grimly at the contentedly smirking child, who had leaned back in the cushion.
"You know what that was for, don't you?" she asked. And yes - he knew.
He growled, but he couldn't even muster up any real anger. Because this little brat was just so ... arrrrrgh she was just delightful and devilish in every way. He didn't have such a well-equipped wardrobe yet that he had a change of pants and sat down. Now Graziella raised her uninjured hand and snapped the stewardess over. Dante put his hands over his wet crotch, but by the look on the stewardess's face he could see what she was thinking, while Graziella ordered him another Limoncello.
"Nashville will really enjoy you when you're reunited. I hope he likes being tormented and dominated," he grumbled as the woman who thought the gargoyle had pissed himself on her plane was gone again.
"I'll teach him to like it," she said confidently, sipping her juice and pulling out one of the papers on the table and handing it to him.
"Call your band this," she instructed, handing him the paper. He looked at it - and smiled.
She would go her own way. Just as he would go his. They were both conductors of their own destiny. But they would manage. Graziella would manage. She was only eight and already an maestro in her very own field. Her fate - he suspected - would be hard. Because she was not a person who took the easy path. His path, on the other hand, had been difficult for many years and only now was he slowly beginning to see the light. Some needed the stony path to find themselves. He found the thought somehow - as tragic as Graziella Dracon's following years would be until she was reunited with Nashville - quite nice to be "useful" to her sometimes. Perhaps he was a passionate child sitter after all.
The girl, meanwhile, looked out the small window of the plane that brought them both closer to their respective futures and destinies. Every kilometer made the invisible bond stretch further. And although she looked content, her tired smile looked suffering. They were over the Atlantic and there was nothing to see but moonlit sky and black sparkling sea. But what her eyes saw was probably not important. Dante guessed she saw with her inner eye her future with the only person who mattered.
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Play/Watch Youtube: Wilder Woods - Maestro (Tears don't lie)- 3.37 min or Spotify: - 3. 22 min
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Text:
Say you love but you're leaving
Say you're here but you're gone
Throw me out like the change in your pocket baby
Move on
I can tell that you're trying
I can see that you're scared
Trail of fears and a face for denying baby
But I'm still here
Maestro
Taking my time
Lights low
Making me work
Shine on
Baby you're gonna be mine
I know
The thing about love is a
High road
It never is enough and the
Mind goes
It's all in your head
But the tears don't lie
Cashing out on a feeling
Walking high in a cloud
Close your eyes for a second and you'll see it
Baby
There's no way out
Trade your high for a fever
(high, so high)
Sink yourself in a hole
(way down low)
Cut me out like a face in your locket baby
Don't let go
(let me tell you about…)
Yeah we all got our reasons
To hold onto a kiss
But darling believe me
It's too late for a miss
There's blood in the water
And a river running down your face
That kind of woman you just can't replace
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AHHHHH- this is really the end of my first fanfiction! (If you consider Souls of the Night book 1 and 2 as not completed)
It was SO much fun developing Nashville and Graziella and making them grow. And damn- I have grown SO fond of both of them (not as much as my two gaylords Nate and Lex but for straights Nash and swallow are pretty cool and cute). I started out thinking they were just going to be decorative accessories- a little side story to the actual journey of Dante and Grace (who of course are still, and always will be, FIORE and EVA Della Marra). They belong, stone and hair, to Rita Micozzi, who allowed me to portray them. I hope - if Rita ever reads this story - I would never expect her to, she's a busy woman - she would nod and say ... yeah, not as shitty as it could have been. I even followed her actual master plan, which said in the end Luca and Eva would get married and Dante would become a rock star to heal. That was it - and it sounds cute but infantile - right? But if you prepare a plot twist well (say ... over 116 chapters) then it becomes quite credible, doesn't it? Hhahahahaha.
NOW I'm going to continue with Souls of the Night (book 3). I'll call the story that too but you don't have to look for book two because it's included in the normal "Souls of The Night" - short 135 chapters. I don't want to torture you, but if you haven't done so yet, you should read this story now at the latest if you want to understand the coming chapters.
One more thing: This story here - Brood of a New Age - will be the only one to get a T rating. Okay, I've had fingers cut off, children imprisoned and tortured and physically and mentally mutilated, among other things - but I have NOT had explicit sex in it (the Demona one wasn't explicit, in my opinion). All the other stories will have explicit sex and if you don't like that you shouldn't read any of my other stories (you will read them, we all know that ^^).
I will mark these chapters with M or put trigger warnings but this time you can't skip these chapters without distorting the meaning of the story. It generally gets very explicit, kinky, upsetting and obnoxious at times. Of course, I'll be covering Graziella and Nashville's relationship in 2023 - and if you read these scenes and are horrified, remember that a lot happened between 1997 and 2023 to make them like this. Yes, I'll cover HOW they got that way - but not in this story. But basically it's about Nathaniel and Lexington. And also a bit about Thailog, Enya and Brentwood. And their story and how they got to be the way they are in 2023 will be covered in another story, too - I promise. Until then ... I apologize for the batzillion teasers and questions that all the characters will raise - there's no other way - I have to follow MY master plan.
And at this point I thank all my readers and reviewers - you are so precious and every one of your comments. And most of all, thank you allegratree! You put SO much effort into this little German hillbilly potato and I learn so much about American culture, about English language and phrases that the best translation program can't spit out, and even about my story and characters themselves as I write them just from you. This story wouldn't have been the same without you and I love your own stories. I can't repay that ever.
Thanks and love and WOOHOOOO! GARGOYLES FOREVER!
Quinn Taxon
P.S: And now you want to know what Dante/Fiore will call his band? I'll tell you at the very end of Souls of The Night 4