Souls of the Night – Vol 3

7.

"Nate ... Nathaniel! ... Uncle Nate!"

"Huh!" I lifted my eyes from the pan and looked at Tachi, who was standing next to me with the plate, staring at me. Her gaze lowered reproachfully to the pan.

"For someone who's so into sausages, you're not doing a very good job here," she said. I followed her gaze.

"Oh, damn it!" I exclaimed, snatching the pan of half-charred sausages off the stove.

"I'm so sorry, I, crap. I'll throw them away."

She took the pan from me with two large oven mitts and tipped the two dozen Nuremberg sausages onto the plate.

"Nah, give it a rest. Gargoyles can still eat that. Heather and Broadway anyway."

"I'll take better care with the next batch. Really," I said ruefully as I turned down the temperature and added the contents of the second packet of sausages to the jumbo pan after a slice of margarine.

"Concentrate, Nathaniel," Tachi said, patting me on the shoulder. I nodded, which she probably didn't see because she'd already turned around and carried my accident to the table where everyone but Heather, Broadway and Nashville were gathered. Nashville had been put back on Dust Duty because Lexington's and my sentences were long over. Broadway had grabbed Heather and taken her to the shower before the maple syrup with whose bottle she'd had a quarrel could make her hair too sticky. I stood at the stove until then. Of course the others would have helped me. But I insisted on taking over the hobs. I had to think about things and I thought I could do it better with my back to everyone else than if the clan had read my troubled feelings on my face. Or if I had excused myself from breakfast altogether. I didn't feel like eating at all. I was ruminating my typical gargoyle hunger to typical Nathaniel Sharif nausea.

Yesterday morning, Lexington had told me everything. And damn, it really was a long, strange, distressing story. Beautiful at times. But to see what had become of it ... And to hear what it had been like after Nashville and Graziella's breakup ... that was more than relationship drama. It was ... psychodrama. I didn't get that bond thing but I understood what it was like to be traumatized and broken by past experiences. Many cracks never healed. At least I understood THAT. I also understood why Lexington and no one had ever mentioned it to me before. It was private. Even if I had remained a gargoyle and in the clan, this story would be private. I knew that gargoyles didn't care too much about privacy, depending on the situation, but a story like that - you don't throw that around. Not when the people involved obviously hadn't even begun to come to terms with it. Maybe they never would.

Still ... even if I understood Nashville a little better now and I felt sorry for him too... I couldn't get the image of him dominating Graziella Dracon out of my head, and it left such a cold lump in my stomach that I thought it would quench the magical heat. Using his gargoyle strength, his claws to claim her like a female dog... it was so stressful for me. It brought so many things to the surface that I didn't want to think about. I shouldn't even start comparing his situation with mine. They were two completely different things. Once again, it was completely self-centered and probably quite arrogant and hubristic. But ... how she had squirmed under him. How at his mercy she was. I couldn't help wondering if Graziella Dracon hadn't felt like me. When I had found myself under Jussuf's whip (or under his belt, to be precise).

Physical violence. Psychological violence. The terror of both parties not getting caught because it would be a stigma, but above all the terror of the weaker partner losing everything, everything (including the last threads that held their psyche together) if this "affair" came to light. So much fear that you had to surrender yourself to pain and psychological torment. Until you were just a vitreous doll filled with blood, pain and bodily fluids. That's how I had felt before Lexington had risked his life to save me. He had pulled me out of this situation, which I myself had sabotaged several times before because I didn't believe I could trust him. These thoughts weighed heavily on me. What if this powerful, dangerous woman was somehow a victim, even though Lexington had emphasized that both Nashville and Graziella were and still are victims and perpetrators on each other at the same time?

If there was even the slightest possibility that Graziella Dracon wasn't willingly letting these things happen to her ... then I needed to know. I had no idea how, but I had to find out. Bond or no bond, traumatic experiences or not, I had to get to the bottom of this. And help Graziella Dracon somehow - if that's what she wanted. As the human Nathaniel Sharif, I wouldn't even have dared to think about helping others or interfering in their affairs. I hadn't been able to help myself. But it didn't seem too invasive or too arduous for the gargoyle Nathaniel to pursue the matter. Either to learn so much that I knew Graziella Dracon was somehow content with the situation as it was. Or to help her out of this situation. My currently stabilized depression even predestined me for this somehow, I thought. No one in this clan knew better than me what it was like to experience violence in a relationship. Lexington had helped me. I would now try to help Graziella - which might also help Nashville in the long run. HOW I was going to help her, I didn't know. But the gargoyle in me was more in favor of gathering information first and planning second. I would take care of the matter. I decided that just in time to turn off the hob on which the pancakes were sizzling in a pan before they turned black.

.

"Okay, what the hell did you do?" Tachi growled, her eyes flashing briefly to emphasize her question.

The other gargoyles looked at the plate of burnt sausages, some of the worst of which she scraped onto Broadway's and Heather's plates and gave herself other - also rather dry-looking - pieces. I lifted my head as Elisa's, Katana's, Brooklyn's, Angela's, Goliath's reproachful gazes rested on me and scrutinized Nate's form at the stove. He was rubbing his frayed ear, lost in thought, and you could almost see the dark cloud above him. Even without his body smoking.

I was glad that I had told him. That I had told him everything I knew about this epic-tragic story, or at least what I thought was relevant to him (it really was most of it). And I was glad that afterwards my prince had cried but hadn't looked at me like I was a monster, a liar, someone who condoned or covered up rape or unjustified violence against weaker people in any way. I had even been allowed to kiss him just before sunrise, hug him and comfort him. So we were petrified. We hadn't made it to the battlements. But Nashville certainly hadn't either, because then the others would have seen the bleeding wound on his face that Graziella had surely inflicted before Nate and I got to the scene. So Nashville, like Nathaniel and I, had shown up at the North Tower shortly after sundown, freshly showered, typically grumpy but otherwise unsuspicious and ready for Dust Duty. He'd forgotten the time while talking to a friend on the phone - yadayada. With shampoo, he had managed to mask the hint of intercourse that especially younger Gargoyles could detect even after shedding the stoneskin.

I looked down as Tachi put the last and blackest sausages on my plate and then sat down.

"Eat- this is your doing. You still haven't made him realize he can stay a gargoyle. That's why he's brooding, isn't it?"

"I'm not going to manipulate him into staying a gargoyle. He's an adult, it's his decision and he knows that we'll all love him even if he becomes human again," I argued, slicing a bread roll with frustrated fidgeting. It was probably better if everyone thought he was brooding about becoming human than if the conversation turned to Nash and Graziella.

"Lex, if you screwed up my ironing assistant, then I'm angry with you. What did you do to make him so distracted?" my niece demanded to know in an even harsher tone.

I sighed in defeat and spoke just as quietly as she did. It was easy for all the Gargoyles at the table to hear but probably not audible to Nathaniel because of the sizzling in the pans (if he was at all receptive to external stimuli and wasn't just watching the next batch of sausages burn).

"I told him why Nashville is so out of it. Why the summer months are difficult for him. Why Graziella is such a touchy subject," I said, taking my fork and stabbing it into one of the sausages. Which broke in two like a wooden briquette. Just to punish myself and because Tachi would probably have forced it down my throat anyway, I took the briquette, put it in my mouth, chewed and choked it down while my half-assembled clan digested the information.

Goliath grumbled his most dissatisfied growl while Brooklyn massaged his temple, groaning like a migraine was rolling in.

"Why did you do that, Lexington?" Katana asked.

"He was so burdened by Nashville's behavior. I wanted him to understand better. That he doesn't think we're keeping information from him because he's too fragile or that it's none of his business because he's about to become human again. He is clan. The whole clan knows in one form or another." By that I meant Heather, who only knew the PG version.

"But Nathaniel with his backstory IS fragile," Angela pointed out, now staring at Nathaniel's back, who was scraping (very well-done but not quite burnt) pancakes onto a plate.

"What if you triggered his own traumas?" Brooklyn wanted to know.

Those are already triggered by what he saw yesterday, I thought as I chewed and swallowed the second and third briquettes. I'd agreed with Nate that we wouldn't tell the clan what we'd seen yesterday. And Nathaniel had accepted. I knew he wasn't necessarily doing it because he thought it was good to have ANOTHER secret in the clan, but because the conflict-shy, harmony-seeking part of him was terrified of that revelation. He didn't want to stab Nashville in the back even though he might still think his behavior was wrong and disgusting. Luckily, he hadn't asked about my motivations for not snitching on Nash. I was also in need of harmony. But above all, I knew that draconian punishments were useless in this regard. Everyone else knew that by now, including Brooklyn. Nash would be under increasing surveillance in the coming weeks anyway and the clan would try to schedule every hour of his night. We had all practiced that by now. Besides, Nashville had unloaded his anger on Dracon - literally. By satisfying his urges on her, he had also satisfied her urges - albeit in a very crass way. So it was safe to assume that neither Nashville nor Graziella would do anything radically offensive to get the other's attention. Apart from the fact that Dracon would continue to do her rotten business and Nashville would continue to try to prevent rotten things from happening. But how should one generally deal with someone who was driven to irrationality by their bond and so horribly triggered by their bond partner that they kept clashing with her - this time in the form of a seemingly non-consensual "rape". God, just putting that word in quotation marks in my head made me nauseous. Or did that the charcoal sausages?

"Nate is currently more burdened by thinking he won't be a clan member when he becomes human again," I said, washing down briquettes and nausea with a large glass of orange juice.

"Of course he is and will remain a clan member. Whether as a human or a gargoyle," Goliath stated resolutely and the others at the table nodded. They took it for granted and I smiled gratefully.

Yes - last night had shattered many of Nathaniel's illusions. But a relationship that was meant to last (and I wanted it to last) wasn't built on illusions. Nate needed to see the ugly side so he didn't feel betrayed. He knew that. I knew that now too. Probably ... it was even good for him to see that it wasn't just his life that had had gray and dirty sides. Depressed people felt inferior, worthless, debased in comparison to others. But all of our lives had stains that could not be washed away. None of us was superior or inferior to the other.

I smiled at Nate as he came to the table and he gave me a mild, apologetic smile in return.

He placed the large platter with the last of the pancakes and the not-so-bad-looking last of the sausages on the table.

He cleared his throat as he sat down.

"I was distracted earlier. But they look a little better now," he commented awkwardly.

"They look good, Nate," Elisa said, stabbing her fork into the pancakes and lifting one onto her plate. We all helped ourselves while Broadway and Heather returned to the table. Broadway eyed the Nurembergs on his plate where Heather immediately started shoveling in her half-black sausages. Her damp brown hair was sticking out of her head as if she'd been caught in a storm and Nate lovingly raked his claws through her hair.

"How am I going to braid it for you like this later, my mentor? I'll chase away the birds that have nested in it," he quipped affectionately. The nickname had stuck after Heather had coached Nathaniel's first flight and it always made us smile (and a little nostalgic because we remembered that Hudson had been baptized that way a long time ago. In a distant land, a distant time by royal proclamation.

Heather giggled and rubbed her cheek against his hand.

"We could cut her hair really short. Like a summer cut," Nashville said teasingly, exchanging a stick-out tongue tip with Heather as he plopped down in his seat next to Nate. My friend's hand bumped into Nashville's because they'd both reached into the bread basket at the same time, but only Nate dropped his roll and pulled his hand back like he'd burned himself. Bronx came running out of nowhere and snatched the bun before it came to rest on the floor. Nashville stared at my friend with the corner of his mouth pulled up, flashing a fang.

"Wow, even more jumpy than usual, Hercules. It's okay, I won't bite it off." Nashville began slicing open his roll where my friend rubbed his hand in obvious discomfort and meekly apologized. Broadway, Nashville and Heather had of course not heard our conversation and continued to eat unaffected (already used to the blue gargoyle being a skittish chicken) but everyone else exchanged discontented knowing glances. I patted Nate's hand under the table and gave him an encouraging nod which he returned with a smile. He had to pull himself together and not become overly anxious around Nashville. He knew that if he didn't want to provoke a conflict with him.

After dinner, Brooklyn cleared his throat.

"Remember- everyone involved in the altercation yesterday still has to write their reports." You know where the forms are. Give them to me in an hour before the patrols start."

"I um-. May I maybe... if it's okay with the others ähm-"

He poked at the remains of his fruit salad like a guilt-ridden teenager. Goliath and I exchanged glances.

"After you've checked our reports ... can I fly them to the local precinct?"

Brooklyn tipped his head quizzically.

"Yes? Would you do that? That would be very nice," Angela said. The 76th Precinct wasn't exactly on the route of any particular patrol. Besides, sometimes you had to wait quite a long time for one of the colleagues who was authorized to sign the report handover form. It was a courteous offer. And Nathaniel was courteous anyway. But his underlying motive was hard to ignore and I already knew that I was free to follow him unobtrusively if he got into any trouble.

"Are you sure you've memorized the way?" Katana asked. "Not that you're going to get lost."

Nate smiled almost convincingly.

"Always southeast and then 191 Union Street," Nate said, his chest swelling with pride because he had obviously memorized the locations of the numerous police stations in the New York City area over the past few weeks. "It's also nice to just glide and ... um, be alone with your thoughts," he added a little more softly.

"Without your boyfriend at your bum," Nash added as he stood up without looking at the others at the table to carry his plate to the dishwasher.

Nathaniel's red head spoke volumes. He was dying to tell us what he really wanted to do. But it was probably Nashville-related and he couldn't say it at the table. There was also a chance that he wanted to use the unsupervised detour to check in on his family in the Flatlands, but I didn't think he would have done that without some pep talk from me. He avoided the subject too much for that. He would deal with the humans when he could no longer avoid it.

.

.

God, this was SO boring. And coming from the clan nerd who could spend hours poring over a computer code (which some people supposedly thought was the quintessence of boredom), that had to mean something.

I had taken over mission control on my cell phone while Tachi's French and history lessons lasted, but now she was back in charge. So I had nothing to do while I spied on Nathaniel spying on Graziella Dracon. But I didn't know what Nate was thinking, sitting on Graziella's roof for hours watching her splash in the pool with her son and Sonny. She seemed to take the yes-no-maybe rape well apart from the fact that the top people in the syndicate were obviously taking a break for family bonding today. But at least it was safe for Nathaniel. As safe as it could be on the rooftop of a mafia capo-ness. If he just squatted there for hours and hours and hours. God, it was past two o'clock. Why was the child allowed to stay up so late and was still as chipper as if he had slept through the whole day before? A reversed day-night rhythm was unhealthy! No, no. Now I couldn't let the rookery keeper hang out. Human children and especially Graziella Dracon's spawn were none of my business. I sat down a little more comfortably in the tree axis where I had taken up position and could see Nathaniel's dark shadow on the roof 200 yards away and squinted at my cell phone, which showed Mission Control on the darkest setting. Not even an emergency call or a mission had come in that I'd had to coordinate. There were nights like that. But if this went on for another hour, I would go mad.

"Or my backside and tail will fall off," I grumbled and stretched so that my spine cracked. By now I almost wished Dracon herself got a call that some "business" of hers required her attention, just so Nathaniel could move with her and I could move too. Watching him all night months ago to make sure he didn't hurt himself had been more comfortable because A; I'd had more space where I'd taken up position and B; I'd had my laptop to play around on.

I tilted my head, turned it left and right to loosen the muscles in it - and was startled to death, jerked back and fell out of the tree because I had suddenly found myself face to beak with a large bird of prey. I managed not to scream but landing in the bushes under the tree was hardly pleasant and did little to slow my fall. Groaning, heart pounding, I looked up where the bird - some form of buzzard - blinked sleepily at me, tilted its head as if asking what that was all about, then fluffed itself up a little and after two or three wing beats glided off between the other trees on Dracon's estate.

"Stupid bird. Next time I'll eat you," I hissed as I straightened up and rubbed the rump I'd fallen on. I cocked my head to see if the incident had attracted the attention of the humans. But the kid was laughing bright as a bell and was trying to push Sonny under the water, who - huge as a mountain and just as motionless - let the kid work his way around him and Graziella Dracon filmed the show with her cell phone. That ... was cute. Very adorable, in fact. But I didn't want to think that this woman had a warm loving side that she denied Nashville or only showed when it benefited her. I didn't want to see her as a loving, proud mother. Grumbling, my backside throbbing, I scrambled back up the tree, stood in the tree line and peered around for Nathaniel. But his shadow was gone.

I pulled out my cell phone. It hadn't taken a hit from the fall, but of course I couldn't see Nathaniel's spot on the map, which showed the locations of the clan members. I had noticed earlier that he had either left his phone at the castle or turned it off (clever fellow - I couldn't even blame him for his sneakiness, which was so similar to mine). But this way I had no way of tracking his location and had to assume that he had FINALLY gotten tired of it and had flown back to the castle. It was exhausting to be as persistent as a lurking gargoyle - how had I put up with it before without a cell phone and laptop? And Nathaniel probably just didn't have the stamina. For which I was grateful. He had probably just been watching Graziella to check that she was okay. To chase away his own fears. To be able to forgive Nashville better and tolerate his snappy presence better.

It was probably a form of procrastination to deal with Nashville's situation - the will to somehow understand it better - so that he wouldn't have to deal with his imminent re-transformation and his problems with his family and Jussuf. I hadn't mentally prepared him for it myself, and Doctor Davis was nowhere near ready to address the "how do I confront my rapist and my family who are covering for him without knowing it" issue. That had been pretty selfish too. I feared that if I showed Nathaniel ways of coping without me, reconciling (however) with his family and enjoying more time in their company again - that would subtract from the time he spent with me. And because I wanted to spend as much time with him as possible, I spread my arms out and glided - in a wide arc around the humans on the ground - across the estate and back towards Manhattan. Once again, I let my gaze glide over the entire U-shaped roof area. Nathaniel was really gone.

Thanks for reading, Q.T.