Brooklyn's beak hovered just an inch or so above the ground, eyes closed in concentration. "Well, your cops' dogs are idiots." He said disdainfully. "Anybody could tell that there was blood here."

"Can ye tell what kind, lad?" Hudson asked. He paced the length of the chain link fence near the foreman's trailer, the long wand of the metal detector clasped awkwardly in both his hands as he walked through the sand.

"Goliath's." He answered promptly. "Elisa's. I picked up some of yours over there. And a bat, I think… Donatello, what does raw mutagen smell like again?" He pointed to the other corner of the construction site, where a stack of plywood lay under a blue tarp.

"Kind of like burnt rubber and kerosene." He answered. "Although, my sense of smell is nothing like yours. You could probably pick up more nuance than I can."

"Kerosene is… something you burn, right?" Brooklyn asked. "I'm sorry, I'm gonna have to ask for a different comparison. We've only been here for a little under two months, if that. We're still figuring things out."

"I understand, I understand." Don nodded. "Honestly, it's amazing you picked up Modern English as fast as you did. I guess… maybe burning pitch? Like you'd use for a torch."

Donatello's voice was calm, but his eyes were following the enormous lumbering behemoth that had followed the old gargoyle. As Hudson paced the perimeter of the abandoned construction site, it wandered in his direction. He froze as Bronx's snout hovered near his shell, sniffing ponderously.

Don whimpered, trying to edge away from the horse-sized gargoyle beast. "Is he friendly?"

"He is if you are." Brooklyn answered, a wry smirk crinkling his eyes.

Bronx took another whiff near Don's backside, and the turtle practically flew several steps forward in some attempt at preserving his modesty and dignity. "Yeesh! He reminds me of Frankenstein." He tried shooing Bronx away, but the beast was insistent.

"Who's Frankenstein?" Brooklyn asked.

"Our friend Casey's pit bull. He can't keep his nose out of other–urgh!–peoples' business either!"

Bronx snorted, doggedly trotting off after him and Hudson laughed. "Ye must have something in your magic toolbelt that he wants. He thinks you're bringing him treats."

"What kind of things does he eat?!"

"Oh, anything." Hudson answered off-handedly, eyes fixed on the ground as he waved the metal detector back and forth. "But he's particularly fond of lizards, frogs… and turtles."

Donatello gave him a deeply offended look. Bronx's jaws closed around the end of his bō staff without warning, trying to tug it out of the sheath on his shell. Don yelped, suddenly dragged to the ground by Bronx's tremendous strength!

Brooklyn laughed. "I think he wants to play fetch!"

"Well he–oop!–can't play fetch with me-e-ee!" His words were dragged out and looped around as the gargoyle beast started to shake him back and forth like a toy.

Bronx, with a shake of his head, teased Don's aluminum-polyurethane staff out of its fastenings. Donatello fell face first into the sand with a muffled oof! Bronx promptly trotted around the construction site, glowing with pride at having secured the nicest, most important stick a giant scaly dog could find. He laid it at Hudson's feet, tongue lolling.

Hudson chuckled, picking it up. "Would ye mind if I borrowed this?"

Don lifted his head with a groan, spitting out a mouthful of sand. "Fine, as long as he doesn't chew on it." He sighed. Hudson tossed the staff across the construction site, Bronx bounding after it.

Donatello dusted himself off, jogged over to the foreman's trailer, and with a running leap and a grunt of effort, he hauled himself up onto its roof. He shrugged the duffel bag off of his shoulder, tools and gadgets gently rustling inside as he withdrew one in particular. He unfolded his laptop and set to work.

The three of them each continued to work quietly. Hudson, Bronx, and Brooklyn continued to pace the construction yard as they scoured the ground for clues. Donatello continued to try fiddling with his frequency finder plugged into his portable PC, trying to catch even a faint signal from the tracker he'd planted that night. It had been almost ten days. There was little to no chance that tracker was even still operational, let alone undiscovered. But still, if he were the kind of turtle that was easily discouraged, he would have made a lousy scientist.

He desperately wanted to text Baxter for advice. But now that they knew who had snatched him up from the jaws of his awful father, contacting him–at all–was just too dangerous.

He'd have to solve this alone.

Broadway and Lexington sat on two chairs in the Great Hall, quietly munching their breakfast. Broadway shoveled spoonfuls of Cap'n Crunch, while Lexington quietly nibbled at his omelet and read a book. Outside the window, the orange dusk was slowly fading to purple night. Goliath had left, and Brooklyn and Hudson had taken Bronx not long after.

Broadway took a swig of milk, straight from the jug, and wiped his lips. "You okay?" He asked.

"Hm?" Lexington didn't look up.

He gestured at Lex. "Well, you've been awful quiet lately. It's got me worried."

"I'm fine."

"No you're not."

Lexington blinked in surprise, then narrowed his eyes in accusation. "I said I'm fine. Why are you pestering me like this?"

Broadway folded his arms, and pulled a worried frown. He lowered his voice, his tongue forming much older words, in a language only they spoke in this world. ⟨Don't think I haven't noticed, Lex. Something's wrong, and you've been hiding it.⟩

"Will you stop bugging me?" Lexington snapped. "I've just had a lot on my mind lately."

⟨You know you can trust me, right?⟩ Broadway's frown deepened. ⟨You're my rookery brother, and I care about you. I'll always be on your side, and you know I'll help you with anything. Just… just talk to me, won't you? I'm not a mind reader, I can't help if you don't tell me what's wrong.⟩

Lexington scowled at his eggs. Finally, in Eald Englisc, he replied, ⟨I've… been thinking lately about who we are.⟩

⟨What do you mean?⟩

⟨Well...⟩ Lexington pushed his plate aside. He folded his arms on the table, and rested his chin upon them. ⟨The Gargoyle Way says that, 'A name is an addiction, a gateway to ego and therefore division'. We never had names because it made us all the same, all equals. I never questioned that, until now.⟩

Broadway put his hand on his chin, looking at the table thoughtfully. ⟨Do we have an ego?⟩

⟨You don't seem like you do.⟩ Lexington shrugged. ⟨You seem exactly like you always have. Just… I don't know, more sure of yourself. More confident. Same with Brooklyn.⟩

⟨You think so?⟩

Lexington picked up his fork, pushing around his eggs, studying them thoughtfully. ⟨It seems like it. And I gotta wonder… do you two have something I don't? Is there something wrong with me?

⟨Of course not!⟩ Broadway exclaimed. ⟨Why would you ever think that?⟩

Lexington didn't answer that right away. He finished his eggs, closed his book, and pushed in his chair. "I dunno." He held the book close to his chest. "Sometimes? I feel like I'm not… enough, somehow."

"That's all in your head. You're awesome, I promise. What's that you're reading?" Broadway pointed at the book.

"Hm? Oh." Lexington held out the book. " 'Introduction to Cybersecurity.' Donatello gave it to me. It's full of all kinds of cool things! It talks about how computers and electronics are in everything, from planes to laptops to TVs. How they're built, the problems they can fix or cause–it even talks about how people called 'hackers' can make them do whatever they want, just by talking to them!"

Broadway snickered. "Will it teach me how to talk Hudson into giving me more time on the TV? Because that would be useful."

Lexington rolled his eyes with a soft chuckle. "I dunno, I'll let you know when I finish it and give it back to him." He thought back to the conversation he'd briefly had with Donatello the night they'd met.

"The magic in this century is amazing!" He murmured with awe as he examined the inside of their van. "It's so warm in here!"

"It's just the heater, no magic required." Don chuckled. "This is all science. Things have come a long, long way since you fell asleep. I'll be honest, I didn't believe in magic at all until tonight."

"You didn't?"

"No." Don shook his head. "I tend to be a skeptic when it comes to things I can't see or test or explain. But hey, in a world where someone like me exists, I can't exactly discount the strange explanations either. Anything's possible. And I can't think of any other way you and your clan survived being frozen for a thousand years."

"No magic at all…" Lexington murmured with awe. "Then you can teach it to me! Right?"

Don's smile broadened. "Of course I can, I'd be happy to. In fact, hang on a sec." He stepped up into the van, and he climbed over the back seat of the old Volkswagen. There was the sound of junk being moved around, and he came back up with a book.

"Here." He lifted up the textbook. "This was something I checked out from the library a long while ago. I haven't had a chance to return it yet, but if you're interested in 'modern magic', I think this would be a great place to start."

He passed the textbook to him over the seat of the van. His claws brushed his hand. He felt his heart flop, his claws tingle at his touch. Don's kind amber eyes creased with a small smile behind his violet mask. "I hope you like it. I certainly did."

Lexington found himself stumbling for words. "Umm… th-thank you. I'll be sure to give it back to you."

It was such a strange moment. He couldn't quite put a claw on it, but it was such a unique feeling. Like nothing he'd experienced before. He'd heard the expression 'butterflies in the stomach', but he didn't think it would feel so literal. He didn't know how to describe the way Donatello made him feel in that brief moment. But he certainly knew he wanted to be his friend, at least.

"Hey, you mind walking with me? There's something I wanted to check."

"Oh, yeah? What?"

Lexington looked down the hall, out the door. "The Grimorum Arcanorum. There's something that's been bugging me."

"Hey, Hudson" Brooklyn looked up, a wisecrack putting a smirk on his cheek. "Maybe it'd be faster if we just flew home and asked Xanatos politely where he's hiding Elisa's brother."

"Þonne ic blǽwen heofon gesēo, lad." Hudson growled.

Brooklyn bristled at the oath. "Sheesh. I get how you feel, but you didn't have to be rude."

"What does that mean?" Don tilted his head.

"Uhhh…" Brooklyn grimaced and scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "Something really nasty. To us, anyway. I guess in the literal translation, it isn't that bad. It means 'When I see a blue sky.' "

Donatello looked down at Hudson, eyes asking for his explanation.

Hudson looked up at him, his one good eye dark and serious. "No gargoyle on this Earth has ever seen a blue sky. No living gargoyle, anyhow." Hudson said, without a shred of his ward's timidness. "I'll leave the rest to your imagination."

Hudson picked up Donatello's bō staff and tossed it to the other side of the lot, and Bronx sprinted after it. He called up to him, "Whatever are ye doin' up there, lad?"

"Remember the night we, uh… met?"

"Aye." Hudson stated calmly. "Ye blinded me with a smokescreen and ran from the fight like four yellow chickens."

"Your leader threw my brother through a brick wall." Don said flatly, before deftly returning to the subject. "I planted a tracking device on the kidnappers' van. I've been trying to get back in touch with it, but they're using some kind of jamming device. I haven't been able to triangulate–"

"Son," Hudson said slowly. "Not a bit of what you're saying makes any sense to me. Try explaining it a little differently."

"Oh." Don shifted his position, sitting with his legs underneath him. He spoke a little too slowly, enunciating his words too clearly. "I put a tiny machine on their van. It tells me where they are. They did something, and now I can't find my tiny machine."

Hudson narrowed his eyes at him. He crossed his arms, metal detector dangling from his hand. "Lad. I'm an old man from an old country, I'm not daft. Ye needn't speak to me like I'm soft in the head. How can your little machine not speak to ye?"

Don pursed his beak, realizing he'd been rude and feeling a little guilty. "They're using a jamming device. Something kind of like the smokescreen Leo threw at you and Goliath that night. As long as that jammer is active, my tracker can't phone home and relay its position. Basically, my computer can't see it. It's hidden behind a cloud of static."

"A smokescreen?" He echoed. "Can't ye see the smoke they're hiding behind?"

Don blinked, clearly not understanding. "I'm sorry?"

"They may be hiding their position behind a cloud," He said very slowly, enunciating a little too clearly. "But do ye know how to find a big, huge, cloud on a clear night?"

It took a moment to translate what Hudson was saying into a concept he could understand. But then Donatello's eyes widened. "Holy shell. That is brilliant!" He slammed his laptop shut and started rifling through his tool bag.

"Ha! I told ye, I'm not daft." Hudson gloated.

Brooklyn, curious, leapt up to the roof of the trailer with a powerful flap, throwing up a cloud of dust. He carefully balanced with his tail as he made his way across the roof. "What's brilliant?"

"My tracking device puts out a narrow-band radio frequency that pings off of local radio and cell phone towers, and communicates through a radio receiver I keep in my bag. That jammer pumps out co-channel interference! I can find the jamming signal with an RF monitor!" He laughed, almost giddy with the realization as he pulled a small, black handheld device with a long antennae out of his tool bag. "This whole time, I should have been looking for a radio outage!"

"...I understood none of that," Brooklyn peered suspiciously at Donatello's tool bag. "But good for you."

"Signals are hidden behind clouds of static all the time, and radio technicians have specialized equipment for finding the sources of that interference. We can't track the tracker, but we can track the cloud that swallowed it, at least." Don waved. "Thanks, Hudson!"

The metal detector started beeping in the old gargoyle's hand. "Oh, don't thank me for that." He said, stooping down to one knee. "Thank me for this."

Hudson cast aside the metal detector, digging his claws through the sand. "I knew the dirt here looked different than it did that night. They didnae haul off every one of these foul machines. They only buried them. Look!"

He triumphantly lifted a crushed robotic arm into the air, sand trailing out of its torn metallic skin in rivulets.

Bronx picked up Donatello's staff in his jaws again, returning to Hudson's side. He planted his bottom in the sand and woofed, his voice muffled by the stick in his mouth. Hudson beamed at him, scratching his ears. Bronx seemed to glow with doggy pride.

"And aye, ye found a stick. Good boy."

"I love dogs and all, but can I please have my staff back?"

The door swung open. Broadway's huge wings blocked out most of the light from the hallway as they entered the library. Lexington had to stretch his arm a bit to reach the light switch, but he flicked it on. Rows of incandescent lamps flickered to life, illuminating a labyrinth of books with a warm, steady light.

Broadway rolled his eyes. "Why worry about the Grimorum? The Magus is dead, the Arch-Mage died long before him, and no one in this era even believes in magic. Besides, it's just a dumb book. Most people can't even read it."

"Well, you can't read at all." Lexington pointed out.

"No, no I can't, and I don't need to." Broadway harrumphed. "The priests back in our time wouldn't stop going on and on about their Bible. Only jerks take a book that seriously. I'd rather live and see things with my own eyes, make up my own ideas. Makes way more sense to me."

Lexington rolled his eyes. "Back in our time, maybe that was true. But now? Everyone can read. It's not just something that priests and nobles use, it's like… I dunno, not knowing how to glide. You really should–"

"There it is." Broadway cut him off, clearly not interested in the discussion. "Same as it always was, right there where we left it. What's the big deal?"

There was the ancient tome, bound in dyed red leather and framed with golden catchplates at each of its four corners. An intricate latch kept the book closed, protecting the parchment from humidity and light. Scuffed, dulled, it certainly looked a little worse for wear than it did in their own time. Lexington remembered the book being a beautiful, stately piece of art. All things considered, he was surprised by how well preserved it was. Xanatos had said the book was extremely fragile now, and couldn't be removed from its case without risking damage to it.

But there were still key details that he remembered about it. He put a hand against the glass, breath slightly fogging up its surface. His keen eyes peeled back every detail of the book's cover, searching for a clue. Any clue.

And he found it. "Uh oh." Lex muttered.

"What?"

He tapped the glass with one claw. "Broadway, you remember how the Magus used to carry this book?"

"No. I didn't like the guy, and he didn't like us. Why would I be paying attention to something like that?"

"He kept it close to his chest, and he usually held it with one arm. He cradled it like a baby, and he never dropped it, except for once. I came around a corner, and I startled him, and it dropped onto the floor. There was a scuff on the cover, and he chewed me out for it for almost ten minutes. Boy, was he ever mad."

"Why does that matter?"

"This isn't the same scuff."

Broadway gave him an incredulous look. "You saw that book up close, a thousand years ago, once. Don't tell me you remember it that clearly."

"I'm telling you, I do!" He tapped the glass insistently. "The scratch marks go in the completely wrong direction. It looks almost exactly like the Grimorum Arcanorum, but…"

"But what?"

"I think it's a fake."

Broadway paused. His brow ridge furrowed. "Then… where's the real one?"