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Brood of a New Age

108.

She woke up alone again in the hospital bed shortly after sunset. A small bedside lamp was burning. Nevertheless, it took Graziella a few minutes to remember where she was and what she had experienced. She remembered - but she wished she didn't. She sensed that someone must have washed her, put a new stiff gown on her and her diaper was dry and empty. Still - the image of that ugly little person - who had only been herself - would haunt her nightmares for the rest of her days.

She had been told all her life how pretty and sweet she was. She didn't want to be a doll, but she didn't want to be ugly either. If her mamma was still alive, no one would ever compliment her on Graziella. They would turn away in disgust - her Mamma perhaps leave her. Without her long hair, with those deep-set eyes, with a ruined leg. Her mom wouldn't change the diapers of an eight-year-old or later an adult. Graziella tried hard to blink away the tears. Her mom was dead. It didn't matter what she had thought.

But she was so embarrassed to have peed herself in front of the other children and the adults and to have fainted. But it was worse to be alone. Even Sonny wouldn't stay with her if she stayed like she was now. So weak and ugly and pathetic. She didn't want to be alone. She wanted Nashville. The thought of him made everything inside her tighten with longing and fear. What if he didn't want her either when she was so ... broken now? She was worthless - to anyone - if she wasn't strong.

Suddenly, claws tapped on Graziella's window. She knew immediately that they were claws, although she couldn't even tell why. She turned her head - and lost her wide-eyed stare when it was "only" Dante. That surprised her... but not really that much.

The gray gargoyle who had once worked for her papa and still wore the same wrinkled, torn suit as when they had found him in that cage tilted his head in a droll way and pointed at the window latch. "Let me in," he said, barely audible because the window was closed. Graziella lifted the covers and sat back down on the edge of the bed with difficulty. Her nausea was better now, even though everything hurt so much. She grabbed her infusion stand again from which her drainage was now hanging, stood up on wobbly legs and shuffled to the window. She struggled for endless seconds and felt the pitying gaze of the Mobstergargoyle on her until she finally overcame this stupid child safety lock.

"Don't look at me like that," she said accusingly and turned to hobble back to her bed. She let out a whimper that was more surprise than pain as the gargoyle scooped her up in his arms and carried her back to the bed. Even he treated her like she was disabled. Which ... she probably was. She was so devastated by this fact that she couldn't snap at him and simply laid her head against his chest while he crawled into bed with her. He sat with his back against the headboard so that Graziella could sit half-reclined in his lap. A position that caused her remarkably little pain and made her sigh with contentment. He pulled the blanket over her as well as his wings. Graziella was so tired. She rubbed her face against him and imagined the smell of leather and dust was that of Nashville. It cleared her voice and her head.

"How did you find me?"

"I saw on the TV that Nashville's folks took off from here. So I figured you must be here too. And I've just been crawling from one window to another since sundown, trying to find you." Dante grinned and grabbed the teacup with the straw from the bedside table, held it under her nose and she drank eagerly even though the tea had been cold for a long time. "I've scared as many people as wanted my autograph. Crazy, isn't it? And I don't even hate it that much. I would never have thought that of myself." Dante babbled in his warm, lulling voice, which led Graziella to assume that he wasn't there because he wanted something, but just to visit her. And that was so comforting. Even though he had somehow made her pass out to go save Nashville himself (which hadn't worked out) and it was burning in the back of her mind that she had to get back at him somehow to make him realize that it wasn't okay, Graziella realized in that moment that she loved him dearly. Not as much as Nashville, of course. But he was kind of... family.

"Dante... does everyone love gargoyles now?" she asked softly.

"Phaa. Definitely not. Things are really looking up for us right now, though. Which doesn't mean that there won't always be people who hate and want to destroy those who are different. And let's be honest. These do-gooder Manhattan Gargoyles are passionate about making enemies. "He laughed softly and Graziella could have sunk into that deep chuckle. "I mean- even people they might want to take into their clan, they almost kill several times! Then what do they do with their enemies! So they'll always have a loyal tribe of opponents to make life difficult for them."

After the tea, the gargoyle picked up the white ceramic bowl, lifted the lid and smelled it.

"Oh, the soup is cold. Of course it's cold. Shitty business here."

"I want it anyway," Graziella said, disturbed and comforted at the same time by the fact that Dante naturally took the spoon and began to feed her the broth. The soup was cold and too salty (maybe her tongue was broken, too) but Graziella could feel that she was hungry. She didn't know if she would ever be strong again, but she knew she wouldn't get stronger without eating. When Dante set the empty bowl aside again and began to weigh her, Graziella was almost tired again. She felt that she was still on painkillers and still felt that it was not enough to numb her pain the way she needed. Still, she was close to falling asleep and fought the urge. There was one more thing on her mind that she could ask him - and ONLY him. She stroked the two splints she knew still contained his knives thoughtfully. Where had her own (stolen) splint gone?

"Dante?"

"Yes Graziella?"

"You used to be in Italy."

"Before and again soon, I think. After I paid a visit to my sister in the Cloud Castle. I'm sure she'll be waiting for me there with a rolled-up newspaper because it took me two nights to get in touch, but I know that if I go back, she won't let me out of her sight until I leave again. Besides, I've tried calling the Eyrie building several times and it's always on hold. I think ... I will try to become a musician. Someone told me I belong on a stage."

"That would be amazing. But ... about Italy ... you were a criminal there too?"

"... Why are you asking me that?"

"Do you know what ... pianta ... ra-rampicante is?"

She felt the gargoyle beneath her stiffen and he released her from the embrace of his wings to look at her in amazement.

She held his gaze. She gave him credit for being able to look at such an ugly thing like her for so long without averting her eyes.

"What do you know about it?" he asked uncertainly.

She smiled and knew it was just a ghastly shadow of her former smile.

"I heard Dino and Tony talking about it. On my first day in America. It's a school, isn't it? A school for bad guys. I made that up after I found out Tony was a gangster. You get tough and strong at this school, don't you? I can get tough and strong at that school."

Dante shook his head in disbelief.

"You can't want that. You don't even know what you're saying."

If she had been on top of her game, she would have chewed Dante out for patronizing her again. As it was, she had one more way to get someone to do what she wanted. Nashville had told her that nobody could act like her. She was broken and weak but she was NOT nobody. She stroked his cheek with big moist eyes and put as much pleading and pain into her voice as she could. "Please, Uncle Dante. Tell me about this school. You're leaving me soon. Tell me a story."

He looked down at her with wide eyes and an open beak. And for the first time, she saw him blushing up to his ears. A pink veil on his gray, scarred skin.

He took a breath as if she had breathed life into him for the first time, then he began to talk.

"It's ... a kind of Italian mafia forge. And at the same time, it can be so much more. All the families who can afford it send one or more of their children there. If they prove to be talented or dedicated, the children of employees are also sent there. Heck, even many government intelligence agencies send some recruits over there. Usually only for one or two years because it's so expensive or because the students can't endure the tough courses. It's ... like a mixture of school, booth camp and concentration camp. With different courses and subjects. From economics and crime concealment to "personnel management", marketing and recruitment, manipulation, scheming or seduction to the fine art of torture and killing and getting away with it - pianta rampicante teaches you. You know what the illuminati are? - even they send people there. If they're not even on the board of directors."

"Were you there?"

"Fuck, no. They would never have taken me or my sister in. Not that I would have wanted that. As you've probably noticed, I'm not overly ... well, I don't fit in well in institutions."

"How did you learn what you can do?"

"I'm more of an autodidact. I only know about pianta rampicante because my father was in it. For me, there were only ever two motivations. To protect my family. My father and my sister, but later also the whole organization. And to be able to defend myself at some point against those who hurt me and hated me for so long."

"Did you manage it? Stand up for yourself?"

"Yes. I did in the end. It almost killed me. My sister too. My father anyway and the family fell apart. It was necessary ... but revenge took everything that was important to me except for my sister. I was lucky I didn't lose her."

"But you killed the ones who hurt you?"

"Yes, I did. But honestly. It didn't make me happy. I didn't feel any better. I used to think that killing was the only thing I could do and that's why I wanted to do it. But there's a difference between what you think you want and what makes you happy. Or in short: killing is always shit. I'll never be the choirboy the other gargoyles and my sister want me to be - but hurting and killing ... I don't want that anymore. Not even really bad, evil people anymore. I think my sister has rubbed off on me too much. I now think my soul and my inner peace are more important to me than all the resentment and revenge ever were. And I regret that I'm only now realizing this. I would like to surround myself with beautiful things. Not with knives and severed heads."

"But you were able to protect your family."

"Yes - I was able to for a few years. But I wish ... I had been strong enough to have more influence on my father. To maybe somehow lead the family on a path ... that wasn't paved with corpses. Sorry, that's a difficult subject for a child."

"I killed."

He looked down at her again. He hadn't expected that. And by her eyes he could see that she had really done it.

"I rammed a knife into the throat of one of the bad guys in the hall where everyone was fighting and shooting. It was so easy and happened so fast. He fell over and stopped moving. I killed him."

She could see from his Adam's apple that he had to swallow this information.

"How... did it make you feel?" he then asked. It was a strange question. Perhaps the one he had wished for many years ago after his first kill.

The small, fragile creature that had suffered so much stroked his bracers.

"I think ... I didn't feel anything. But he was in my way. I got him out of the way. That's all it was."

"I know I'm the last person who has the right to lecture you. But ... you should always look for ways to solve your problems that don't involve bloodshed."

Her gaze became demanding again.

"Killing is easy - you and I know that now. Finding other ways is hard. I'm too weak and I have to learn to be the strongest person I can be. How can I become stronger if I stay here? Tell me how to get to this school in Italy?"

"You're too young for this school."

"My grandma always said that if you want to be a giant, stretch yourself early."

Dante rubbed his brow in frustration and muttered: "For heaven's sake, my father sometimes said that too. Why do you want to be a criminal?

I do NOT want to become a criminal. I want to become stronger."

"Then find a karate class, or whatever else you humans do. This school is like no other. Only a former member can recommend you and only if you can pay the infinitely high school fees. It - it breaks you up and spits you out as a completely different person. My father told me horror stories, whereas my cousin's torture seemed like walks on the beach. And what they do to female students. What they teach future female mafia leaders or future female agents," Dante said distraught. She grabbed her bandaged leg and pressed her healthy hand on it, tears in her voice.

"Dante, I HAVE to change. I am too weak. I have ... peed myself before everyone else."

"That will pass. It's just the pain. Or the medication. It will pass."

"I can't protect anyone if I'm not stronger than everyone else."

"You can't turn away all the evil in the world from everyone," Dante insisted and immediately made a face full of realization.

"Ohhh. This is about Nashville. ... It was never about anything or someone else."

Graziella smiled sadly. Dante stroked her cheek with his claw.

"Nashville will love you whether you can protect him or not."

She didn't answer for several seconds. He suspected she had a lot to say, but what she said next surprised him again.

"Dante?"

"Mhmm?"

"I want your knives. In these things-" she tapped his bracers. "You won't need them if you don't want to hurt anyone anymore. Give them to me."

She sounded terribly tired. Dante knew that if he talked to her a little longer, her eyes would fall shut. Then he would babble some more, transport her to dreamland and not have to fight this urge to fulfill her every wish.

"Graziella- I can't give a child a collection of knives. There's blood on them."

"I'd clean them up again."

"That was more figurative. These knives are murder tools. Who do you want to kill, Graziella? Didn't I tell you that revenge is useless? Or did you like it when you killed that man in The Granary? I guess some people lick blood right away. But I don't think you're one of those, my little swallow."

"I don't want them for revenge. I want them to protect."

"Are you pulling my tail?"

They had been talking quietly the whole time and Dante would have heard if anyone had approached the open door. Now he heard someone opening another door and talking to someone, obviously on the phone. He stood up with the child in his arms, careful not to put any pressure on her leg, and put her to bed. She heard the quiet talking too and pulled the blanket up to her nose with her functional hand as if to hide from the monster under the bed. He smiled at that. It had taken four weeks for a cute little girl to be eating out of the hands of real monsters (and vice versa) - probably even loving one and thinking about attending a secret syndicate school to get stronger to become a protector herself (or whatever). Not that she would ever be accepted there. Now that she was on the authorities' radar, they'd probably take Graziella away from the Dracons anyway. And then there was her leg. And the lack of money. The Dracons wouldn't let a crippled child be trained (for whatever) for hundreds of thousands of dollars. Despite her knife-throwing talent, despite her already shining through manipulation skills and callousness, which she nevertheless wanted to use for "good" - no one would invest in a crippled girl.

Naïve and self-centered as children were, she didn't let up.

"The knives!" she demanded quietly, while they both pricked up their ears and heard the nurse in the corridor finish her conversation. Apparently, a colleague from another floor told her that a gargoyle was clambering around on the facade looking for something (someone?). She sounded incredulous and indignant.

He snorted, ripped off both of his splints and the remaining leg splint, accompanied by crackling of Velcro, and shoved the hard-weave cuffs under her mattress. He glared at her a little mischievously but full of affection.

"They'll take them away from you as soon as they find them. Your loss, my stubborn, bossy mobster princess." He kissed her gently on the cheek.

The child - completely exhausted but satisfied because she thought she had gotten what she wanted - smiled. She still could. No matter what she looked like now, she would eventually acquire her glorious smile again. When the traces of her own American nightmare had healed.

"Ciao, Bella mia, I'm going to write a song about you."

"And I'll buy your first cassette," she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut a second after he jumped out the window.

The nurse who came in with a quick step stood rooted to the spot when she saw that the window was wide open. She looked towards the bed at the obviously sleeping child. Then back to the window.

"Damn it, not on my shift," she whispered, stepped to the window, closed it, this time locking the top latch as well. She glanced out again without seeing any unwelcome visitors of any kind, but she put on a very threatening look - just to be on the safe side. Then she drew the curtains. She walked to the bed and looked at the pathetic-looking creature in it. Even as maltreated as she looked, there was something beautiful and angelic about her. And the nurse hoped wherever her path took her, it was far away from New York. Whatever had led her near criminals, Quarrymen and Gargoyles - it had almost led to her death. A little girl didn't belong in this world.

Satisfied, she saw that the tea and soup from the bedside table had been eaten. She would tell the early shift on handover that the child was probably stable enough to be interviewed by the police and social workers to find out who her parents were. The press speculated whether the child had been abducted - by whichever party. Or that it was an orphan. The nurse looked at the window again. If it was true that a gargoyle had been looking for her, what had he wanted from her? Was he trying to ... kidnap her again? Should she report it to the police tomorrow? Now? As quietly as possible, the nurse unlocked the brakes on the castors of the bed and pushed it so that the headboard was facing the window and she could see from the door that the child was lying in bed. She didn't even notice the dark, folded-up splints under the mattress. Yes, it was better that way. She would also instruct the night watchmen to patrol more often. Those gargoyles wouldn't get her. She wondered if she should change the child's diaper again - but that would have woken her up in any case and she wanted to let her sleep as long as possible. This time she checked that the child's short arms would actually reach the alarm button, then she hurried out because a child in another room had started to cry. Graziella Dracon - currently better known as Jane Doe - had meanwhile really fallen asleep.

.

.

When the sixth floor of the NewYork-Presbyterian / Weill Cornell Medical Center was finally quiet that day, it was almost one in the night. As loud and hectic as it could be during the day, it was quiet at night. The children who were not sick enough to be exhausted had been given sleeping pills. For others, or the youngest, a parent was allowed to sleep in the room on one of the fold-out armchairs. So it was not unusual for the night shift on this ward to lie down at night with the door to her rest room open and the emergency phone next to her head which would ring if one of the little patients pressed the button on their bed.

And so no one noticed when a bright glowing fireball appeared in one of the material stores and disappeared again before the flames could even scorch the boxes of the numerous utensils. But one large square aluminum suitcase clattered to the ground. And two figures were spat out and where one landed halfway gently in one of the wheelchairs parked here in a hurry, the other figure plopped into the large sink next to the steam sterilizer for bedpans and buckets for the toilet chairs, causing it to screech briefly in pain. But only briefly, because the Timedancer had learned over the years to be quiet when the Phoenix Gate spat him out somewhere. Brooklyn looked around - still with his butt in the sink, the tap pressed into his back. But the almost dark room full of stuff seemed very safe and everything remained quiet even in front of the closed door. No threats, no dangers from humans, wildlife, fey or robots.

He relaxed and looked at his traveling companion.

"Are you all right, Babe?"

"You're not supposed to call me that. It's undignified," Katana grumbled, leaning back tiredly in her wheelchair, which was a little too narrow for her to be comfortable, and rubbing her protruding belly. Brooklyn loved it when she did that. She hated it when he fussed over her AND when he called her Babe but every time he saw her, heavy with his egg, he fell in love with her all over again. If it was possible to love her even more.

"I call you that because it annoys you and because you're so cute when you're annoyed- you might as well give me a cute nickname that I could hate," he stated, groaning as he tried to lift his butt and tail out of the deep sink the gate had dropped him into.

"I call you Gajin... and otōsan , that says all it needs to," the tired light blue female said, smirking at him while her three-fingered hand rubbed her stomach. He felt himself making that incredibly stupid love-struck face again as he finally managed to plop out of the sink - only to land with his clawed foot in an iron bedpan. He stared down at himself for a second, then put his head back in a grumble.

"Oh, please tell me this isn't used," he whispered.

"I don't even know what that's supposed to be," Katana commented.

"Seriously, Katana. I'm going INSANE with this piece of shit!" He pulled the still-smoking Phoenix Gate out of his belt pouch and looked like he wanted to break it. Katana - who had been with him for years - recognized when he was about to fall into another existential crisis and held out her hand. She grinned as he came to her in a funny clattering gait because his foot was still stuck in that tin thing.

"Remember our exercises. We're in a new place, in a new time. What's good here?"

Brooklyn sank to his knees in front of her, willingly doing the technique they'd been practicing for a long time as well as their rules.

"We're together."

"Hai. And what else?"

"And -" and Brooklyn looked around "- it's quiet and obviously safe in here."

"Yeah, I like that too. What else?"

Brooklyn laid his head on her stomach. Of course, his offspring couldn't kick Katana's belly and he might be charmed by it. But he closed his eyes, concentrated and smiled when he heard a second being's heartbeat in addition to Katana's strong, rapid heartbeat and the rushing of her blood. Very muffled by his mate's body and the eggshell, but steady and even.

He smiled and his anger almost evaporated.

"Eggister is asleep," he murmured - his voice a longing sigh. He would have to wait another ten years for him or her to hatch but in a few weeks he would be a father. HE! Brooklyn! Sometimes he was gripped by feelings of insecurity and fear. Sometimes that happened to Katana too. But they would get through everything. Together. Somehow they would get through it. Somehow he would lead his family home. He was afraid of when and how Katana would give birth to their egg. He had hoped it would happen at her penultimate station. That would have been perfect, warm, safe and with enough food. But the damn gate or whoever had other plans.

Both Timedancers stiffened as the gate in Brooklyn's hand briefly sparked... but didn't come to life. Sometimes it did that without opening a portal. As if it had ... a consciousness of its own. Something evil or at least wicked that was trapped inside, couldn't get out but kept pushing against its magical prison walls, causing the time and space jumps. Or ... there really was a higher plan behind it all. Brooklyn sighed in annoyance. "It's going all crazy again. First we end up in some backwoods pampa, in mid-air again, and land on this guy with the rifle. But only AFTER he shot that woman."

Katana puffed as well, brushing a few wild strands of hair out of her gajin's face.

"And the little girl right next to her. I wish ... we could have stopped it somehow-or comforted her."

"Which the wonderful Phoenix Gate has once again successfully thwarted. THEN we get zapped along with the guy - right in front of the mouth of a sabre-toothed tiger, which grabs the human. Then whoosh - another jump - bank robbery. Which totally went to shit for Lex and me because of us. ME! A version of me. I hope I didn't break my back when I landed on myself, and I looked old AND stupid with this eye patch."

"I thought you looked handsome," his mate muttered and Brooklyn pricked up his ears.

"What? Huh? That looked like chronic eye inflammation. Hopefully just that."

"At least now we know that the space-time continuum doesn't fall apart when you see yourself from another time."

"Yeah - lucky - yippee," Brooklyn said sarcastically. "The gate does that on purpose to harass not only us but everyone else, I'm telling you. At least they didn't see us because the gate blinded them. And just when I thought - great - I'm home - zap into the headquarters of some Quarrymen bigwig. God, my horror at the flag on the wall. What if someone had been there?"

"We were only there for three minutes before we were sent on."

"Yes. Into a dark shithole that was about to collapse where I had to smash one of the suitcases from the Quarymen against a lunatic's head to protect a child. Before we went further INTO the rookery in the castle. The "locked" rookery."

"At least we could rest there for two nights and eat properly again. And petrify without fear."

"I'm sure the food was for Lex and me. Or that red female I didn't know. But it's nice to see the clan growing."

"Do you think the food was for them - ähm Lexington-san and the older you? But they weren't there. The breeding den was deserted."

"As if Lexington didn't have a way to break out of a locked area. Who else would the food have been for? The failed thwarting of a bank robbery, then injured and frightened humans and bad publicity for gargoyles - wouldn't be the first time Goliath sent us to the rookery like naughty hatchlings."

"Well - YOU are often naughty too."

"I thought you liked that."

"Yes - sometimes."

Katana smiled.

"That food. The ramen soup. The onigiri. They tasted just like I would have made them. And I'm quite sure this was our egg. I felt it when I turned it. That proves we'll be arriving soon. In your home. Right time and right place."

"Our home."

She placed her hand on Brooklyn's, which was already resting on her womb.

"Our home. A few months or years."

"Only a few more years," he whispered, rising and pressing his forehead against hers. Then he looked at the remaining suitcase.

"And what do we do with that now?"

The large crate-like silver suitcase stood on the floor between them.

"It's the money of a dishonourable criminal organization. It must not fall into the wrong hands."

"It's probably stolen anyway. Or donated by people who hate Gargoyles as much as the asshole who lived there. Or lives. Let's destroy it. Whatever we were sent here for, at least we've done one good thing."

Brooklyn stood up and pulled his heavily pregnant mate out of her wheelchair - causing the wheelchair to lift itself because her butt was stuck in it. Brooklyn let out a grunting, barely contained chuckle and couldn't hide the grin despite the icy cold menacing stare of his portly mate.

"One wrong word and you can continue dancing alone."

He nodded with a smirk and held her tightly while his tail brought the wheelchair clinging to her to the floor. Then she helped him remove the bedpan from his foot.

Together they peeked out the door and then crept through the dark corridors.

Did I blow your minds? You're welcome - wait until I let Nathaniel break the fourth wall in the fourth part of Souls of the Night.

Thanks for reading, Q.T.